#Like it still would’ve been horrific to see them suffer in his hands but it would’ve been horrifically good not horrifically bad.

[insanesonofabitch]

Thinking about moc!Cas makes me feral tbh. Like i know Chuck was lying about The Cage but like—EVER SINCE I HAD TO BURY HIM IN A MALOK BOX. EVER SINCE THEN? Do you think Cas told Dean to be the one to bury him? Do you think they spent so much time together before The Mark took over? Do you think he realized the implications of The Mark making Cas kill him? Do you think Cas was calling his name while he was locking him up? Do you think tears were falling down his cheeks back then? Do you think about how reminiscent that would be of Dean burning him in season 13? Do you think he regularly prayed to Cas day and night? Do you think his prayers consisted to telling him I’m sorry, and telling him I love you? Do you think about how, despite still praying to Cas regularly, he has lost all hope and faith in the future because he lost him?

[berriweb]

╰┈➤ ❝ 3:19 AM ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. earth-42 miles morales x fem! reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. both y/n and miles smoke weed, short mentions of some injuries

: ̗̀➛ a/n. feel free to laugh and correct me on any fucked up spanish because i highly doubt google translate will be accurate and 4 years of high school spanish can only get one so far /3 the 42! miles brain rot I’m suffering from is LETHAL

Every few minutes a gust of wind would send shivers down your spine and poke chill bumps into your skin as air blew through the cracked bedroom window. You did your best to block out the chaotic sounds of sirens and the occasional arguments and fights breaking out in the streets below the apartment complex by turning up the speaker playing soothing music ever so slightly to combat them. Striding across the room, the smell of lavender, citrus, and maybe just a hint of cherry blossoms filled your nostrils and the room as you carefully lit incense and candles scattered across the desk in the corner of the room, before using the same lighter to re-ignite the joint hanging from between your pointer and middle finger.

Bringing it up to your lips, you took a long drag before releasing it and making an attempt to blow towards the crack and avoid stinking up the room with the stench of weed and burning paper, hence the candles and cracked window.

When you flopped back onto the made bed after setting your joint in the ash tray, your gaze turned from the dimly lit ceiling to the glowing red alarm clock sitting on the nightstand next to you, 3:19 AM.

Reaching for your phone charging next to it, you squinted at the screen before using Face ID to unlock it, your previous messages with Miles already being displayed seeing as you couldn’t stop checking to see if there were any updates.

5:15 PM

M&M <3: Something came up, got some business with Uncle Aaron. I’m going to be late.

You: we still on for movie night ? :(

M&M <3: Of course, wait for me til then? Give me til 11.

You: i’ll keep your spot warm :) stay safe, i love you &lt;3

M&M &lt;;3: Te amo, Ma.

5:19 PM

You: oh!!! tell aaron i said hey 2, haven’t been around to visit n a while😞

12:01 AM

You: everything good?

12:45 AM

You: a little worried, txt me back when you can :(

2:00 AM

You: ?

Despite trying your best to ignore the nightly chaos ensuing outside, it was becoming increasingly hard to do so when your boyfriend of many years had recently admitted to being the Prowler and spending most of the nights he wasn’t with you out in the city carrying out orders on behalf of Kingpin, especially when he’d texted you earlier that day planning to be back by 11 at latest for a movie night, only to follow up a few hours later saying that something had come up.

He’d assured you when he first broke the news that he’d always come back home to you, but that never stopped you from worrying every once in a while that something awful would occur that was out of his control. Especially when he wasn’t replying to any of your attempts to check up on him.

What if he’d been captured? What if it was a mission Aaron sent him on and he somehow screwed it up? What if someone had screwed him over? A rouge villain? An assassination gone wrong? A stray bullet he couldn’t dodge fast enough? What if-

Creak.

Your unintentional spiraling into horrific ‘what if’ scenarios was interrupted by the sound of rusted metal grinding against another, your head tilting up in less than a second to see a clawed hand further pushing up your window frame.

‘Speak of the devil.’

The relieved expression on your face couldn’t be hidden as you nearly jumped up from your spot on the bed to his side as he crawled through your window, with an admittedly suspicious gait when he stepped back from the window.

“You’re back! What took so long?” You chirped as you stood. Normally you would’ve avoided bombarding him with questions as soon as he’d come back, seeing as he’d likely already been dealing with enough before arriving, but he’d never come home this late before.

The plates on his mask pulled back to show his gorgeous, as usual, yet tired face behind it, exhaustion pulling at the ends of his lips. “Lo siento mami, tomó más tiempo de lo que pensaba, I got caught up with some bad people,” he hummed while carefully removing his clawed hands and leaving them resting in your desk, the rest of his geared suit coming off after until he was left in just his shirt and some nice sweatpants. Without all of the extra gear, you had a better chance to size him up before he pulled you into his embrace.

You suspected he kept it brief to avoid/distract you from worrying about him, which was hard to do when you noticed the slight discoloration on his ankle when part of his pant leg moved and his attempt to not put as much pressure on that foot when he walked, paired with the way his nose scrunched when he moved and his right side of his torso flexed.

Part of you admired his dedication to protecting you from knowing too much about what he did as the Prowler and trying to be a role model for you. The other part of you thought he was a fool for not letting you in and allowing you to help, which you often voiced your opinion on.

“They had you at it for hours? Are you alright?” You buried your face into his chest to get a whiff of his cologne and what you were sure was a hint of blood and outside. He mirrored your actions by resting his head on top of yours, making you appreciate past you for choosing to oil your scalp earlier that night.

“I’m alright, but why are you still up? I’ve told you about-” “I’m awake-” you cut your boyfriend off before he could start to lecture you, which you didn’t want to hear no matter how much you loved his accent, “because my boyfriend promised to be home for movie night but instead left me worrying for his safety all night then has the nerve to lie to me when he finally makes it back hours later.”

A look you’d learned was his attempt at hiding his guilty conscience crossed his face before he rose a brow at your accusation of lying. “Wait, wha-” this time he cut himself off when your arm slithered back from around his waist and you used to fingers to dig into his side, causing Miles to jerk back and wince, holding his side.

"¡Hijo de puta! What’s your deal Y/N?! Eso duele como el infierno! Jesus-”

You tried (and failed) to hold back from giggling at his irritated gaze before grabbing him by both hands and leading him to your bed, practically forcing him to sit down at the edge, not that he tried to fight back.

“Consider it karma, Miles. If you’re gonna go out and do dangerous shit at least don’t lie to my face about it,” you tsked, kneeling down as you ignored the pointed glare and mean mug he sent your way as his nose scrunched and he muttered something under his breath about you being cruel. Lifting the side of his shirt up, you eyed the damage his assumed rivals must have caused before he came, black and purple bruises littering his side in different colors and shades. You sucked your teeth, looking up at him with narrowed eyes which he only responded with by looking off to the side and biting the inside of his cheek.

Moving down, you pulled his pant leg up to see matching colors on his ankle, and given his previous limp you’d have to take a guess as to what happened. He hardly ever let you treat him in any capacity, which was mostly due to him feeling the need to always be treating you, but judging from the look in your eyes Miles knew he didn’t really have a choice this go round.

“It looks sprained, and those bruises are gonna take forever to heal. Do you need an ice pack?” “Please.” You we’re already rising to your seat, not waiting for a response before you quickly and quietly left your room to go retrieve one from the kitchen without waiting your parent(s).

When you returned, you were carrying an ice pack, along with some bandages to keep it in place and a small snack just in case he hadn’t eaten in a while, and knowing how he gets when he prioritizes being the Prowler over everything else, he likely hasn’t. He’d taken the liberty of finishing off the rest of your joint, evident by the evidence still being in his hand and the smoke blown into your mouth when you leaned in for a quick deep kiss before kneeling once again to work on his ankle the best you could. You were by no means a professional, but your attempt was better than leaving it alone and your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you even if you wanted to.

As you worked in silence the initial tension in the air seemed to ease up, partially due to the weed, but you couldn’t help but still be slightly bothered by how worried you’d been for him. Yeah, he made it back relatively okay this time despite his lateness, but what about next time, and the time after that?

“Y/N.”

Miles’ voice pulled you out of your thoughts, mainly due to the fact that he hardly ever called you by your first name, and you realized that you’d been quietly staring at the floor for a while after finishing up treating his injuries. You could feel him reach down to grab both your hands and pull you up to his feet until you were standing between both of his legs looking down at him.

“You worry too much,” he started, but that didn’t help at all to ease your mind. “You don’t worry enough! Miles, you were supposed to be here hours ago. How can you expect me to just sit around and go about my normal routine knowing that you’re out their risking your life nearly every night? I can’t do that for you and you know that!”

Miles felt guilt creeping up his throat, this felt like a long overdue conversation. “I don’t expect that of you, but what do you want me to do mami? I can’t just drop out and you know that. All of this- I do it for you, for us, you know I can’t just back out now, it’s my only sense of normalcy ever since-” he didn’t finish his sentence, but you didn’t need him to. You couldn’t bear to look him in eyes, your heartstrings tugging painfully at the reminder of how he ended him the way he was now.

You’d been there for him through the worst of it, when his father died, when the city went to shit. It was awful for a very long time, your only glimpse of hope being when Miles seemingly started regaining a sense of who he was long after the fact. You’d been happy for him, encouraging him to go out more and constantly reminding him that you were there for him. Unbeknownst to you, the “healthy” outlet he’d been using to cope with the fact was sneaking out with his Uncle to commit crimes on behalf of some of the worst known criminals. You’d be lying if you said you approved, that you were okay with what he did and that you thought Miles was too, but you’d learned to accept it on account of the fact that there really wasn’t any other option. You knew you couldn’t even entertain the thought of not always being by his side, you needed him just as much as he needed you.

You couldn’t argue with his point and couldn’t hold eye contact, trying to look off to the side to avoid his hardened gaze but he was quick to gently take hold of your chin and turn your head back to him, making a warm feeling crawl up your neck.

“Siento haberte preocupado, mi amor. Do you remember the promise I made you when I first told you?” He asked.

It was a random callback, but you remember it as clear as day, the night you’d shown up at Miles’ house to surprise him with a gift you found at the mall which reminded you of him, sitting in his room awaiting his return only for him to crawl in through the window clad in Prowler gear mid-unmasking. You swore you could still occasionally hear the sound of your jaw hitting the floor.

“You promised that you’d never keep another secret from me,” you recalled with a small sigh, feeling your shoulders drop.

“And?”

“And…that no matter what you’d always come back home to me.”

“Dije que nunca te dejaré esperando a alguien que nunca volverá a casa,” Miles’ hands caressed your sides before falling still at your hips. “I promised to always, no matter what, come back, no?”

Your hands fell down to his shoulders, tilting your head until your foreheads were touching and you could feel his breathe hitting your collarbone.

“I’m sorry baby, I just…”

“No need to apologize, mami, I don’t blame you.”

His words ease your concern, but you know that the issue is too big for one conversation to solve. At the same time, however, it’s also out of concern.

Deciding that you’ve stressed yourself out more than enough for one night, you move away from him to flop back onto your bed before tugging on his arm to bring him down with you. Miles wraps his arms around your waist to bring you closer and you throw a leg over both of his while being careful to not hurt any of his already injured parts, burying your face into the crook of his neck while your free hand reaches to run your nails across the part for his braids.

“They got you good, huh? Messed up your pretty braids n’ everything, they were so neat,” you mumbled, making Miles chuckle.

“You can always do ‘em again for me, huh mami? You always do them the best.”

“And you missed out of movie night, I had the best trilogy picked out…” he could practically feel your pout on his neck.

“How ‘bout I make it all up to you tomorrow? No school, I’ll take you shopping and we’ll go eat someplace nice. Then we can watch all the movies you want, I can even find a decent theater for us, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’d like that…” judging by the slur, he knew you were practically out for the night, which was confirmed by the yawn that followed your words. He let a small smile tug at his lips as he kissed your forehead before pulling the blankets up to covered the two of you.

“Buenas noches, mami.”

“G’night baby.”

[thelittlestoflives]

Maybe a part 1? Maybe a big load of nothing? All I know is I have JJK brainrot and I love these guys.

This is just a little drabble I did about the last interaction with Suguru.

Def not proofread, just vibes only!!!!!

_____________

“Hey, you.” Came a familiar voice. Suguru stood behind you, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. You stared at him like he was a ghost. 

“Yep, it’s me, the criminal.” He smirked.

“Suguru, what have you done?” You hiss, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from the crowd of people near you both. “Please, Sugu…”

He smiled sadly. “Something that should’ve been done a long time ago. You’re not going to try to convince me to stay, are you?”

“You’re not going to convince me to try and join you, are you?” You fired right back venomously. 

He chuckled. 

“As if anyone could convince you to do anything.” He looked at you fondly.

“Don’t do that.” You mutter, looking down. 

“Don’t do what?”

“Act like everything is fine. Like we’re friends.”

“Aren’t we?”

“Sugu… Your parents.”

“A necessary evil.”

“Evil, yeah. Necessary? Never.”

‘You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.” You snapped, throwing your hands in the air with exasperation. “Seriously. Explain it to me! I beg you. I beg you. I need to know why one of my best friends did this. How someone so kind, someone I love so much could do this.”

He looked at you, a sad smile plastered on his face. Somehow, his eyes looked brighter than they had in months.

You grab his hands, a look of surprise flashing across his features. You held them within your own, a lump in your throat.

“Please. Please. It isn’t too late. You can still come back. You can be with me and Satoru and Shoko. We once said we’d follow each other anywhere. I can’t if you choose this. Please don’t go somewhere we- I can’t follow.” The dam broke, and tears streamed down your cheeks. 

His face was hard and unreadable. 

“Y/N…”

“Please.” You choke out, desperation clawing up your throat. 

He sighed.

“Look, I know my decision must seem unthinkable to you. But this is something that needs to be done. Aren’t you tired of this? Being a cog in the machine, being used to get rid of something that humans create? Forced to clean up the problems of others? We can stop this. We can end it.”

“You’re playing god. It isn’t right.”

“Isn’t it?” He snapped. “You of all people should know how shit my technique is. How much I suffer every time. And you think that’s right?”

“That’s not what I said I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” he hissed.

“No! That’s not what I was going-”

“It’s easy for you and Satoru. You have no idea what it’s like.”

You felt like he slapped you.

“Excuse me? I have ‘no idea’?” You laugh bitterly. “Give me a fucking break. Do you think I would’ve chosen this life? Do you think that I enjoy the fact our peers die around us all the time? That most of us won’t make it to 40? That I have to deal with the most horrific cases, the most evil cursed spirits? That I have to leave everyone in the non-sorcerer world behind? You’re joking.”

He sighed again and rubbed his temples.

“If you truly understood, then you’d come with me.”

You scoffed. “Wonderful. So my two options are either to stay a sorcerer and watch everyone I love die around me or commit mass genocide? That’s just great. Just great.” You felt almost hysterical with emotion. You wanted so badly to turn the clock, to pinpoint the moment everything fell apart. To prevent this. But was there any way to prevent this? 

“Y/N…” Suguru said. “I’m sorry, this is the only way.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think it is. But I think you’ve made your mind up, haven’t you?”

He simply looked at you with unreadable eyes.

“Will I… Will I ever see you again?” You whisper, hating how timid and meek you sound.

“Maybe one day.” He said wistfully, watching the crowds of people walk past you both.

A sob wracked out of your chest. 

“Can I hug you? One last time?” You choke, barely giving him time to answer before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“You’re my best friend. I’m glad… I’m glad that we found each other, even though it was brief.” You murmur into his chest. You feel him stiffen but hug you back regardless. 

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he whispers.

“You bastard!” Satoru’s voice called down the street. “And you, Y/N? You’re going with him?”

You step back, sniffing slightly, shaking your head. You glance at Suguru, before walking over to Satoru. He was enraged. You’d never seen him like that. He trembled as he scanned your tear-stained face while you approached him.

“Did he hurt you?” He whispered hoarsely. 

“Not physically anyway.” You stood beside him, arms almost touching as you stared at the boy who had betrayed you both. 

Satoru yelled. He yelled and yelled at Suguru, who simply watched him with a sort of amusement. 

Suguru walked away, and Satoru held up his hands to curse him, then dropped them. He stared after the spot Suguru had been standing. You cried silently beside him.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” he said softly.

[dreaming-for-an-escape]

I am human and I deserve to be loved

My Heart, My Body, My Soul AU One-Shot. Turned out to be longer than expected but who wants to complain about that? 

Summary: Adrian met Aemond when he was at a young age, and thought nothing of his affections for her at first. She deemed them to be innocent, until they weren’t. If only she noticed sooner, maybe then she wouldn’t be where she was now in the clutch of his hands. Or maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference at all.  

A/N: Here’s another AU. This one possibly the darkest one-shot I’ve written so far. It’s another what if scenario as well. This one’s about Adrian arriving to Westeros years earlier and meeting Aemond at a younger age. Surprise, surprise Aemond still becomes obsessed with her but Adrian thinks he’s just a kid who’s misunderstood. Aemond obviously uses that against over her as the years go by. 

Warnings: 18+ content, so minors DNI. There is a 13 year age gap between Adrian and Aemond in this drabble/one-shot. Nothing happens until Aemond is of age though. Dark Aemond per usual, possessive Aemond, smut, non-con, dub-con…yeah read with caution.  

It wasn’t the sound of the roaring thunder that awoke Adrian from her slumber, but rather the feeling of something soft brushing against her face. She slowly opened her eyes, and because of her blurry vision she only saw the outline of a person before her bed.

Adrian would’ve been more frightened had she not recognized who the small figure in the dark of her room belonged to once the fogginess in her eyes cleared. “Aemond.” She uttered, moving to sit up in her bed, blankets falling onto her lap.

This wouldn't be the first time the ten year old snuck into her room. His presence wasn’t unusual, but what was unusual was how he woke her up. Usually he awoke Adrian from slumber by shaking her shoulder in a gentle way, never by touching her face. She let out an annoyed tired sigh, just as anyone would after having been disturbed from a peaceful sleep.

“It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing here?”

Aemond did his best to appear sheepish. He went on to say the one thing he knew would soften Adrian up. “I had a nightmare.” He murmured, and as he expected her demeanor immediately changed.

Any irritation Adrian felt disappeared, and only concern remained for the ten year old boy. Of course it had been a nightmare that made him seek her out to soothe his fears. What other reason was there? She tried comforting him in the same way his mother would.

“Do you want to tell me about it? Maybe that could help make you feel better.”

“It was about what happened at Driftmark, but I don’t want to talk about it.” Aemond lied, really selling the act of being low-spirited. He reached for one of her hands, and because she believed he suffered from a nightmare she let him hold it without any complaints. Recently for whatever reason she hadn’t been letting him hold her hand as much, and he was starting to get really annoyed by that.  

“Oh, okay.” Adrian mumbled. She became crestfallen when thinking back to the Driftmark incident. The horrific incident in which Aemond lost his left eye to his five year old nephew Lucerys felt like it happened forever ago, but really it had only been a month.

Aemond’s left eye had scarred terribly in his opinion. He often wore an eyepatch now to hide the angry scar during the day. It was only at night that he took off his eyepatch.

Only a few people were allowed to see him without his eyepatch. Adrian was one of those few people. She never looked at his scar with disgust but instead with sadness. Like right now.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m so sorry that this happened to you.” Adrian softly said, staring at his extended scar. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t deserve it.”

No one deserved what happened to them that night, but especially not Aemond. He was the only one of the children to obtain a life changing injury. Aemond had said it was a fair exchange, an eye for a dragon. But to Adrian it was still horrible.  

The twenty-three year old recalled the pain the ten year old had been in when he lost his eye. Not even the milk of the poppy he drank could soothe all of his anguish. It seemed only with her presence was able to calm him down.

That night Aemond refused to not be by her side. He kept her next to him when the maester stitched his injured left eye. Aemond also all but demanded she stay in the same room as him, and no one forbade this. Not even his mother. How could they after seeing him in such a terrible bloody state?

And after having just lost his left eye, Adrian felt like saying no to him would only cause him more agony. So she awkwardly agreed, and stayed by his side but she slept in a chair next to his bed. Not once throughout the night did Aemond let go of hand.

At the moment it was Aemond’s turn to squeeze her hand in return. He finally asked her the question he’d been wanting to ask since he entered her chambers. The real reason for why he went to her. “Can I stay with you? I won't be able to fall asleep alone after the nightmare I had.”

Adrian pulled her hand away, causing the now one-eyed prince to frown.

It wasn’t like he’d never slept in the same bed as her before. Since she mysteriously arrived in Westeros there’d been times where he’d sneak into her room scared, saying he had a nightmare.

Adrian’s nurturing side tended to come out a lot more around Aemond. She thought he was this vulnerable child, one who she felt was misunderstood, and had to unfortunately deal with bullying by his brother and nephews. Though any bullying done to him stopped once he lost his eye. Aemond still presented himself as this vulnerable child who needed coddling, and because of that she always tried helping him.

Sometimes when he came to her room at night in obvious distress she allowed him to stay in her bed, but there were conditions. The first condition was that Aemond had to stay on his side of the bed, and the second condition was that he had to return to his room before the sun was out.

This had never been a problem before but ever since Aemond had lost his eye he’d been extra clingy, and it was starting to get suffocating.

The last time Adrian allowed him to sleep in her bed she hadn’t even been able to move because of how tight Aemond wrapped his arms around her. He should’ve never even had his arms around her to begin with.

That was a condition he broke and she angrily told him so. He apologized when he woke up, giving her a puppy dog look that still worked on her even with only one eye. She faltered in her anger, and ended up forgiving him. But what started off as innocent didn’t feel like it anymore.

“I don’t think so.” Adrian finally told him, shaking her head.  

“Please.” Aemond beseeched. “I’ll leave before dawn approaches.”

Adrian tried being stern with him. “Aemond, no.”

Aemond’s lone eye blinked a few times, making himself tear up. “But…but I’m scared. The thunder…” He made his voice tremble, unable to finish his sentence.

Adrian mistook his tears for genuine ones. The tears on his face and his scar made her think about the pain he must have been in when he lost his eye. A large part of her would forever feel guilty. After all, Aemond did reveal to her that she was one of the main reasons why he claimed Vhagar.

Even with her short amount of time in Westeros, Adrian had already been able to claim a dragon of her own. It wasn’t just any dragon either, but a wild dragon. The infamous Cannibal. Many feared the black as coal dragon who was known to feast on other dragons. However to Adrian he was her sweetface.

Many thought the nickname to be ironic considering how ferocious looking the wild dragon was. But not to Adrian. She looked at the dragon as if he were the most magnificent creature to ever exist.

And having seen Adrian with a dragon of her own only made Aemond more determined to become a dragon rider himself. He desperately wanted to fly alongside her. And they were now able to do so, at the cost of Aemond’s eye.

His look of sadness was getting to Adrian, and a few seconds later she crumpled. She huffed, pushing away dark brown strands of hair from her face. “This is the last time. You can’t be doing this anymore, sneaking into my room in the middle of the night.” She told him in an attempted firm tone to let him know how serious she was. “It’s just not appropriate. We’re family but I need my space, okay?”

Aemond had to slowly breathe through his nose to calm down. He was the quietest for the longest time, with only the sound of thunder filling her chambers. It was only when Adrian said his name that he got a hold of himself. He gave a nod to acknowledge he heard her before he moved to get under the covers with her.

Adrian let him do so but to make sure he was to stay on his side of the bed she put a pillow in between them. She quickly turned back around, missing Aemond’s unhappy expression.

“Goodnight Adrian.” Aemond whispered right as she laid her head back down on her pillow.

Adrian yawned. “Goodnight, Aemond.” She replied, shutting her eyes. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

At some point Adrian woke up again, only this time from having Aemond’s arms wrapped around her body.

The pillow she put between them was no longer there. Aemond was snuggling her in his sleep, his face resting against the back of her neck where unknown to her he’d been smelling her eucalyptus scent.

Adrian tried moving but Aemond’s hold on her made it impossible. She said his name a few times in hopes of waking him up but all that got her was his arms tightening around her. She let out a frustrated sigh. There was a reason why she put a pillow in between them and he completely disregarded it.

Going back to sleep was not possible anymore because of how overwhelmed she felt. No longer did Adrian think she’d be able to handle Aemond’s clinginess by herself. She would need to talk to Alicent about it, and soon because whatever this was couldn’t continue anymore.

═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════

After an awkward conversation with Alicent about the rising issue of Aemond’s unhealthy attachment with Adrian, the older woman agreed that time apart would do Aemond some good.

Therefore in the past week Adrian began spending less time with Aemond. It started off small to not make her distancing from him obvious, but unsurprisingly he eventually caught on. Adrian could tell by each passing day how upset he was getting now that he was no longer attached to her hip.

She decided to just rip the bandaid and be upfront with Aemond, and tell him the news about her soon-to-be departure. Adrian asked Alicent if she could stay while she did this, thinking her being there would make things go smoother.

Alicent concurred, taking a seat across from her.

A serving girl was sent to find Aemond and inform him that Adrian wanted him to meet her in her chambers. He’d been in the training yard practicing his sword skills when he received the message.

Subsequently, Aemond promptly dropped his training sword. He did not care about the disapproving look Ser Criston threw at him, or the annoyed look Aegon gave him after stepping on his foot when running passed him.

All Aemond cared about was getting to Adrian as fast as possible. The bright smile on his face instantly vanished once he entered her chambers. To his disappointment Adrian wasn’t alone as he thought she’d be. His dutiful mother sat across from Adrian in the center where a lavish set of couches were.

“Mother.” Aemond addressed her, shifting his eye toward Adrian. There was a puzzled expression on his freckled face. “Adrian, what is going on?” He could sense something in the air, something of grave concern and it made him feel nervous all of a sudden.

Adrian tried smiling to make things less tense for him. “Aemond, I asked for you to come here because there’s something I need to tell you.” She shared a brief look with Alicent, gesturing Aemond over to her. “Please, take a seat.”

Alicent moved down a bit to make room for Aemond to sit but he instead took a seat next to Adrian. She frowned, and when she looked at Adrian she saw her do the same.

Adrian cleared her face before Aemond could see. She scooted to put room between them. “I know you’ve noticed that I’ve been spending less time with you.”

Aemond kissed his teeth, feeling a spark of annoyance at the mere mention of her putting distance between them. Every time he’d want to spend time together in these last few days she’d come up with some excuse, practically running from him. “Yes, I have noticed.”

Her absence had been tiresome, and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Hence why he was happy to hear she wanted to see him. But now Aemond was more puzzled than happy.

“Well, it’s because I thought we needed time apart.” Adrian admitted to him. “You were practically with me all the time, it was starting to feel odd. You're ten, you should be doing things that you like.”

Aemond frowned, feeling an ache in his heart. “But I already do the things that I like with you.”

“You know what I mean.” Adrian softly sighed.

Aemond then narrowed his eye, his expression hardening. “So that’s why you asked me to come here? To tell me you still won’t spend time with me?”

Adrian was gentle with her words. If she wasn’t careful she knew she could deeply hurt him, and the last thing she wanted was to hurt Aemond. This had to be said though. “Actually, I wanted to tell you I’m going to be leaving King’s Landing for a while.”

Aemond felt as if he’d just awoken from an actual nightmare. Nightmares were very rare for him, and the few ones he did have it was always of him falling from somewhere. He usually awoke frightened with his head dizzy, heart pounding. That was exactly how he felt at the moment.

“You’re leaving?” He questioned, his remaining indigo eye widening. Did she somehow figure out a way to return back to her world?

Adrian nodded her head. “Yes, I’m going to Dorne.”

“Because you want to be far away from me?” Aemond questioned a bit louder, not caring about his apparent sulking. Even though he was relieved she wasn’t going back to her world, Dorne was still too far away for him.

The dark haired woman was quick with her response after hearing his growing distress. She needed him to remain calm. “No, it’s because I have family there.” She reassured him. Her going to Dorne wasn’t solely because she wanted to put space between them.  

Unknown to the young prince, Adrian had been secretly exchanging letters with Prince Qoren Martell for the past month. According to him, all her family from her grandmother Aurelia's side in Dorne were very eager to meet her.

In Qoren’s letter he stated that his oldest daughter Aliandra, who was a few years younger than Aemond, was very curious about her. And honestly Adrian was also very curious about the rest of her family in Dorne.

“But you have family here.” Aemond argued briskly. “I’m your family.”

“Yes you are, but I haven’t met my grandmother’s side of the family. I really want to meet them.” Adrian tried giving him a smile. “I’ll come back.”

“When?” Aemond inquired, his chest feeling exponentially heavy.

Adrian swallowed, her smile fading. “I’m not sure when exactly, but I will.”

“This is for the best, Aemond.” Alicent solemnly added into the conversation. She’d been silent up until now, closely watching her son's behavior with Adrian. It definitely fed into the worry that recently emerged.

Alicent wasn’t unmindful. She was aware about her second oldest son’s fondness for Adrian. However there was no disquietude since Alicent only saw how happy he was. Aemond smiled and laughed around Adrian more than he ever did with her or anyone else in their family.

It was a wonder to Alicent, and she often thanked the Gods for Adrian. Aemond’s demeanor changed partially as a result of Adrian’s enigmatic arrival in King’s Landing. She’d been the reason Aemond broke out of that tough shell of his.

And she thought it was sweet the way Aemond began tagging along Adrian’s side, even more so than with Aegon and Helaena. Alicent even thought if Daeron had stayed in King's Landing instead of going to Oldtown he too would’ve taken a liking to Adrian.

But then Adrian shared her worries with Alicent about Aemond’s growing attachment to her. About Aemond's lack of boundaries in regards to whenever he had nightmares and would go to Adrian’s chambers in the middle of the night. Adrian thought it was starting to get out of control and that something had to be done.

Adrian needed Alicent’s support, and thankfully she got it after she said her piece. The older woman thought time apart would do Aemond some good. It was evident though that he did not think so.

Aemond abruptly stood up, startling both women. “No. I won’t allow it.” He looked at Adrian, shaking his head. His indigo eye glinted. “You can’t leave me.”

Adrian let out another sigh as she got up. “Aemond, you sweet boy…” She gasped, jumping in place when Aemond cut her off with his yelling.

“Stop calling me that! I’m not a boy! And you can’t leave! You’re mine!”

The nickname of sweet boy made Aemond see red everytime Adrian called him so. Initially he did not mind but soon enough that changed when he realized it meant she’d only see him as a boy.

The whole room went silent from his outburst. Alicent stared at her son in shock and Adrian looked at him in total disbelief. “What?” She murmured her question, thrown off not necessarily by his yelling but rather what was said.

“Aemond.” Alicent admonished him, her honey brown eyes wide because of his untypical behavior. She expected this sort of appalling behavior from Aegon but never from Aemond who was the most poised of her children.

Aemond paid his mother no mind, acting as if she were no longer there. “You heard me.” He stared up at Adrian with his lone indigo eye, utterly frantic. “You're mine.”

The disbelief Adrian originally felt turned into indignation. Her dark brown eyes hardened. “I am not a toy Aemond.” She scolded him. His possessiveness over her was unacceptable, and she was quick to let him know that. “I am a human being and I deserve to be treated with respect.”

Aemond’s anger deflated in some measure. He did treat Adrian with respect, he’d always done so. But he was deeply hurt to hear her speak about leaving King’s Landing, of leaving him.

Didn’t Adrian care about being with him? Why was she eager to leave? So she can be with people from her grandmother’s side? They were her family but she already had family in King’s Landing. She didn't need them when she already had him.

“Then tell me you won’t leave.” Aemond childishly demanded.

Adrian did not backpedal, not even when Aemond gave her the puppy dog look that usually crumbled her resolve. She remained stern. “I’m leaving and that’s final.”

The sad look Aemond tried using on her morphed into an angry one. It was the angriest Adrian and Alicent had ever seen him.

“You’re not!” The one-eyed prince told Adrian in a frenetic manner. He then proceeded to flip the refectory table that was in between the couches, severely startling both women.

The flower vase resting on the table broke once hitting the ground. There was now water on the floor, along with pieces of the vase and blue irises Adrian picked out earlier in the gardens with Helaena.

Alicent was absolutely flabbergasted by what Aemond had done. Her ten year old son flipped the heavy refectory table made of mahogany as if it weighed nothing. Adrian was so astounded she became speechless, her eyes wide in alarm.

It was Alicent who broke from shock first. “Aemond, that is enough.” She tried saying in a firm voice to gain control of the situation, but it did no such thing.

“No!” Aemond shouted, and reacted immediately when Adrian took a step back from him. He leaped forward, kneeling to wrap his arms around her midsection.

Adrian stumbled, almost falling to the ground. Aemond’s face pressed against her stomach, hugging her to the point where it hurt and she was struggling to breathe. She tried pushing him off but it was as if he’d glued himself to her. She found her voice again through the panic and exasperation.

“Aemond, stop it! Get off!”

Aemond didn’t listen, his hold only tightened. It was if he were trying to become one with her with the way he was painfully hugging her.  

“Aemond!” Alicent called out in horror, coming to Adrian’s aid.

The older woman had frozen from where she sat, in denial about her son’s behavior. She told herself this all must’ve been a terrible dream because Aemond wasn’t like this. He didn’t flip tables and refused to let go of people. That was unbecoming of him.

However after picking at her fingernails enough to draw some blood, Alicent faced the horrible truth that she indeed was wide awake.

It was a struggle but with Alicent’s help Adrian was able to get Aemond off her. Before being pulled too far apart, Aemond harshly pulled on Adrian’s necklace, snapping it off her neck.

Adrian touched her bare neck, her breathing returning to normal at the lack of his painful squeezing. “Aemond, please give it back.” She implored, sticking her hand out toward him.

Aemond wriggled in his mother’s arms until he was out of them. He shoved his mother’s hand when she tried reaching for the necklace. He was too inflamed, his emotions getting the worst of him.

The one-eyed prince didn’t pay any attention to his mother’s hurt look or the way Adrian was pleading with him over the necklace. All he could focus on was his anger and in a moment of fury he threw the necklace to the ground.

“No, don't!” Adrian attempted to stop him but it was too late. She could only watch with misty eyes as the ruby gemstone inside the pendant broke. The necklace that once belonged to her grandmother was now ruined.

The piece of jewelry was the only item Adrian had to connect with why she was even in Westeros. She’d been planning on figuring out more about the necklace perhaps thinking it was the key to her way home. But now the supposed key was broken, as were any chances of returning home. If there were any chances to begin with. Still, she was overwrought.

Adrian picked up the broken pieces of the ruby gemstone. She stared at Aemond, downright dispirited. “How could you do this?”  

Aemond gulped, his anger diminishing to be replaced with guilt he wished would disappear. She looked at him as if he’d betrayed her. Except he wasn’t the one doing the betraying here.

“How could you ever want to leave me?” Aemond retorted, voice cracking from the emotional distress. Perhaps breaking her grandmother’s necklace had been a bridge too far, as was the embrace but he was only trying to make Adrian understand that she was hurting him by saying she was leaving.  

Adrian shook her head, exasperation presently written all over her face. “Aemond, your dreadful behavior has only proven to me that leaving is the right choice. ”

Aemond wanted to disagree, he wanted to wrap his arms tightly around Adrian until she changed her mind, but he was flooded with dejection. The walls started to feel as if they were closing in on him, and his eyes were welling up with tears. He was close to breaking down, and not out of anger this time. He felt a single tear go down his face before he turned around and promptly ran out of Adrian’s chambers. Her wounding words and disappointed face was all he could see.  

Adrian opened her mouth to call his name but quickly shut it. She silently watched him bolt, dismayed. She switched her gaze onto Alicent at the sound of her sighing loudly. The Queen rubbed at her temples as if she had the world's worst headache. The twenty-three year old wished she still had Advil to give her some but unfortunately she already ran out.

Alicent’s honey brown eyes flickered over to her. She was still quite shaken up from everything that happened. “Perhaps it is best that Aemond is not there when you take off.” She solemnly said, and although she never said it aloud her stare offered many apologies to Adrian.

“I think that’s best too.” Adrian forced out, holding back tears. It wasn’t until Alicent excused herself that Adrian began to cry alone in her room.

Even though she’d agreed with Alicent that Aemond not being there when she left was for the best, a part of her was still hurt by his absence. In front of the others she kept composure, only shedding tears once in the sky with Cannibal.

About a week after Adrian’s safe arrival to Dorne did she receive letters by raven from King’s Landing. Everyone she’d gotten along with in King’s Landing wrote to her, even Aegon had sent her something.

Everyone except for Aemond.

Adrian would not receive a letter from him during her stay in Dorne. She wouldn’t even see Aemond for the longest time, and when she finally did things would end abysmally for her.

═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════

Nine years Later

Dorne, Sunspear to be precise, became a second home to Adrian. She was originally only there to visit for a while, but plans quickly changed once she arrived and met the descendants of her grandmother’s. Her descendants too, technically.

When Adrian met her family from her biological grandfather’s side it had been a very strange experience at first. She didn’t feel this same strangeness when meeting her family from her grandmother’s side. Adrian automatically felt comfortable with them in Sunspear, never once having her doubts.

Although Adrian greatly missed her family back in the modern world, she’d come to love the capitol of Dorne. It wasn’t her real home but it was the closest she was ever going to get to a home while in Westeros.

Being in Sunspear lessened the sorrow of being away from her loved ones. She never felt this way when she’d been in King’s Landing. Even with its grand size the castle felt frowzy, and not at all liberating as Dorne. Adrian actually felt the sun on her, unlike in King’s Landing.  

And so for nine long years she lived contentedly with her grandmother’s side of the family. Until one day her contentment was suddenly disturbed by virtue of a letter from the place she left nine years ago.

“So it is true. You really are going.”

Adrian’s packing came to a standstill. Her dark brown eyes landed on Aliandra Martell, the oldest daughter of Prince Qoren Martell. Aliandra and her siblings sadly lost their mother at very young ages, and because of that they each became close with Adrian.

The soon to be fourteen year old girl became like a younger sister to Adrian. She could never replace her real sister, but being around Aliandra certainly helped minimize the pain of missing Julieta. Many years have passed and Adrian remained curious about what her younger sister was up to in the modern world.  

To not let the ache in her heart get to her mood down, Adrian focused on Aliandra. It didn’t help that she wasn’t her usual playful self. Adrian knew it was because of what Aliandra’s father told her. She hadn’t even bothered to knock on the door, not that she ever did and not that it actually bothered Adrian.

The thirty-two year old woman got used to Aliandra abruptly entering her room over the years. At least Aliandra knew when to and when not to enter her room. Adrian never worried about random middle of the night visits by her.

“King Viserys has requested my presence. I’ll only be gone for a fortnight.” Adrian informed the adolescent. In the letter she received it was written that King Viserys requested she come back to court for a visit. Apparently he and everyone else missed her dearly, and that it had been far too long since they were graced with her presence. Nine years too long to be exact.

Aliandra walked over to the chaise and sat down with an exaggerated huff. “And why am I barely being told about this?”

Adrian took a seat next to her with a small smile. “Relax.” She pacified her annoyance with a soft tone. She was aware how much Aliandra disliked being excluded and the last to know about things. Aliandra always wanted to be included in the loop and Adrian tried to do just that.

“Coryanne and Qyle still don’t know that I’m going to leave. Your father told me he would tell them today around super time.”

Aliandra huffed out a laugh, already imagining the unhappy looks of her younger siblings. “They will not be happy either to hear about you going away.”

The older woman’s smile wavered at her sigh. “I figured as much. I remember how devastated Coryanne looked the last time I left for Starfall.”

Coryanne, the middle child, was the most sensitive at the age of twelve. Qyle, who was only a year younger than Coryanne, wasn’t that much different. However Coryanne always appeared the saddest whenever Adrian left Sunspear. Even if she were going somewhere as close as Starfall. At least her sadness never turned into a full blown temper tantrum.

Adrian was well known in Starfall having been there a good amount of times over the years. Each time she visited had been enjoyable for her. She’d come to meet some very interesting people along the way, forming close platonic and intimate relationships.

Her relationship with Osvaldo Dayne stood out from the rest. Just thinking about him had her swooning almost. Her blissful thoughts of chestnut brown hair and blue eyes were interrupted when she heard Aliandra talk, bringing her back to the topic of conversation.  

“And you were gone only for a few days.”

How fun those few days were.

Adrian cleared her throat, pushing aside images of a certain handsome man. “Coryanne will be fine. She’ll have you, Qyle, and your father.” She gave her an earnest look. “You’ll be fine as well.”

Aliandra's first instinct was to say something along the lines that just because she would be fine without her didn’t mean she wouldn’t miss her.

Instead she forced herself to look down at her nails, suddenly wishing Adrian still had the stuff she called nail polish. After a bit of silence and more time to gain composure, Aliandra directed her gaze onto Adrian again, face inquisitive.

“How do you feel about going back to King’s Landing?”

Truthfully, Adrian was a big ball of uncertainty. The last time she’d been in King’s Landing was years ago, and she hadn’t left on the best of terms with Alicent’s second oldest son. But so much time had passed, surely Aemond changed for the better.

The nerves she felt did nothing to take away her curiosity either. She wanted to see how everyone was doing, especially Helaena. Aside from Aemond, it was Helaena who Adrian spent the most time with. Mainly in the gardens, where Helaena talked about bugs and happily showed Adrian her collection.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been there.” Adrian began telling Aliandra. “So I can’t help but feel nervous.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’re going to arrive with your dragon.” Aliandra fired back with a huge grin. “Cannibal is the most ferocious dragon to exist.”

Even though it’s been years, Adrian hadn’t forgotten about the dragons that resided in King’s Landing, just as she hadn’t forgotten its people. “Some may argue and say Vhagar is the most ferocious.”

“She’s just the largest.” Aliandra corrected as if that were nothing, pursuing her lips. “But she’s nothing like Cannibal.”

Adrian fixed the teenager with an amused look. “You haven’t even seen Vhagar.” The only dragon Aliandra and her siblings had seen and been close to was Cannibal. Adrian’s sweetface of a dragon who many feared.

For how ferocious Cannibal was, he’d never once attacked anyone in Dorne. The Dornish people knew better than to approach him without Adrian there, and those who did were family members of Adrian. All Cannibal ever did was growl and stare them down with those intimidating emerald eyes of his.

Aliandra simply shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t need to. I already know Cannibal is better.”  

“Well, I’ll tell him you said so when I go on dragonback.”

Aliandra laughed merrily along with Adrian before turning serious. “Promise you’ll return before my nameday.”

“As if I’d miss your fourteenth nameday.” Adrian replied in a warm manner. “I promise I’ll come back in time, and I’ll return with a special gift too.”

Her response was enough to get a smile out of Aliandra. “I can’t wait.”

Adrian then resumed packing her trunk with Aliandra now lending a hand. Afterwards they went to the watergardens, wanting to relax in the water while the sun began to set.

As Aliandra and her talked animatedly to each other, she thought about what to get Aliandra for her nameday. Aliandra was really looking forward to her nameday celebration, so Adrian wanted to get the perfect gift for her.

Unbeknownst to the thirty-two year old, she would not make it back for Aliandra’s nameday. Adrian wouldn’t make it back to Dorne at all.

═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════

It was strange being back in King’s Landing. Adrian felt like a fish out of water, identical to how she felt nine years ago when she wandered the castle’s corridors. Her welcome to court hadn’t been cold but she got the chills when exchanging greetings.

These chills down Adrian’s spine were caused from the intense staring done by the boy she used to coddle. Aemond Targaryen was no longer a ten year old boy anymore, though. He was now a young man of nineteen, who changed significantly in his appearance.

Once upon a time, Adrian had been taller than him. Now it was Aemond who towered over her. The freckles she found adorable on his cheeks faded over the years, and his hair grew to be long and luxurious. His features were vastly striking; almost as if he walked right out of a classical painting.

Although he’d grown to be a beautiful young man, he was still way younger than her. Adrian couldn’t help but only see him as a boy. The same boy who used to crave her kind words after being bullied by his older brother and nephews, who liked hearing her read to him, and who would play Cyvasse with her after teaching her how to play.  

The good memories from the past did not comfort Adrian now with the way Aemond stared at her using his remaining eye. It was unnerving to say the least, but it wasn’t the only unnerving thing to come about this visit.

What unnerved Adrian, what shocked her more was learning about the King’s Viserys health. She suspected something was not right when Viserys did not greet her with the others.

Alicent had been the one to escort Adrian to his private royal chambers. It was there she saw Viserys’ sickly form in bed, appearing more dead than alive. Adrian’s reaction hadn’t been a good one and Alicent took action, quickly explaining that his health had been declining over the years.

Only recently the King gained enough strength to order a letter be written and sent to Adrian. Now Viserys was again weak, his breathing slow and wheezing a common occurrence.

When Viserys finally opened his remaining eye it took him a moment before he finally recognized her. Adrian almost burst into tears when he uttered her name, his lips trying to smile but struggled to do so. She hated seeing him like this, a mere shell of the man she’d known when she unexpectedly arrived in Westeros.

Adrian just about lost it during the dinner Viserys planned for her. Seeing Viserys strain himself was harrowing but for his sake she did her best to make it seem like she was having a swell time.  

However, sitting next to Aemond’s right side didn’t help, and it only made her heart beat rapidly. Adrian felt his eye on her as she ate, or rather as she tried to eat. His intense staring affected her appetite.

Adrian avoided looking his way, letting her eyes wander around the table. Even willing to stare at Otto with his grim expression.  

Thankfully Alicent was good at making conversation. Helaena joined in every now and then with her questions or compliments toward Adrian. Even Aegon participated, though his way of participating was more lackadaisical.  

Other than in his appearance, Aegon hadn’t changed much these last nine years. Except he did drink more than what she remembered, and that was saying something because she recalled finding him passed out drunk several times when he’d been only a teenager.

Adrian somewhat found it amusing when Aegon randomly pulled out the sunglasses she left behind for him during dinner. He put on the sunglasses, only for them to be taken off him by his mother with a glare.

Alas the smidge of lightheartedness dissipated when King Viserys wasn’t able to withhold his pain anymore. He was carried back to his chambers not long after the second course was served.

The King not present at the table made it harder for Adrian to keep up this ‘I’m having so much fun’ act. She dropped it entirely, no longer able to stand giving out a forced bright smile and being under the watchful eye of Aemond.

So Adrian made her own leave, not even bothering with dessert. Alicent thought her excuse was because she was tired from traveling, and so Adrian let her think that.

Adrian left in such a hurry she failed to notice the indigo eye watching her retreating figure.

King's Landing brought the thirty-two year old the same amount of comfort it did at the age of twenty-three. She missed Dorne in the same way she ached for her home in the modern world.

She was in King’s Landing, and would be for the next two weeks. It was a depressing realization for Adrian that she was already grieving a King she knew would be gone soon.  

When Adrian arrived at her temporary room she politely asked the serving girls that were there for a bath to be drawn. She thought maybe a warm bath would make her feel better.

It didn’t really but the water being warm as the sun in Dorne was greatly appreciated.  

After changing into her nightgown, Adrian waited until her hair was damp to start brushing it. Once hair tangled free she got up from the vanity table, her eyes scrutinizing her surroundings. The temporary room given to her was actually her old room from when she lived in King’s Landing.

Now that Adrian had enough time to look around she noticed something weird. It didn’t click before because she’d been away for so long, but when it did click it she furrowed her eyebrows. Everything in this room—her old room —was exactly the same as she left it with the exception of the fresh bed covers and the table in between the couches in the center of the room.

The original refectory table made of mahogany had been damaged.

“I did my best to keep everything the same since you left.”

Adrian gasped, jumping slightly. She turned around, an indescribable feeling bloomed in her stomach at the sight of Aemond standing a few feet away from her.

“Aemond, you startled me. What are you doing here?”

Adrian was tremendously befuddled. When did Aemond enter her room? And how did she not hear him make his way inside? A light bulb went off in her head remembering an important detail. Had he used the secret tunnels like he’d done in the past?

As she asked herself these questions, the one-eyed prince admired her figure in the marigold nightgown she wore. The thin nightgown made of silk was specifically for the Dornish climate. Yet she wore it here in King’s Landing.

His mother would have slapped him if she were here, seeing him lust after Adrian in her nightgown, no matter how revealing. Adrian looked so divine, and her age did not wane his feelings for her. He only saw the naturalness of her beauty.    

Aemond thought Adrian’s legs to be her most attractive feature, but there was no denying her breasts were a work of art. If he focused his eye hard enough he’d be able to see her nipples. A pleasing sight he believed was only ever meant for him.

His mood however soured at the thought of another man seeing Adrian wearing anything like this when she’d been in Dorne. If there’d been a man, and Aemond ever found out who precisely, he would show him no mercy. He would happily gouge the ignoramus’ eyes out and feed the rest of him to Vhagar.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.” Aemond answered Adrian, thoughts of killing any romantic rivals halted as his gaze swallowed her comeliness. “You left dinner rather perturbed.”

Adrian felt the weight of his stare much like before. The difference this time was that she couldn’t focus on anyone else since it was just the two of them. A part of Adrian felt nervous around him, but then another part of her felt silly. This was Aemond, the boy she used to look out for, similar to that of a mother with their child.

The happy memories made Adrian keep things civil between them. “I’m fine, Aemond. I’m just tired.” She excused with a small smile thrown his way. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” Aemond said, his gaze on her plump lips before staring into dark brown eyes. “I was worried my father’s well-being frightened you.”

“Frightened? No, of course not.” Adrian shook her head, becoming crestfallen. “Seeing him so sick took me by surprise though. I didn’t expect it to be that bad.” Despite remembering Viserys having already been in bad shape when she left nine years ago, Adrian never expected his state to be worse ten times over.  

“My father’s health has been dwindling ever since I can remember.” Aemond mentioned evenly, and if there was any heartache about his father approaching death’s door he did a good job in hiding it. “The best we can do is to make him as comfortable as possible.”

Adrian frowned, thinking back to the past. Aemond sounded everybit as clinical when talking about Viserys. As a child he hadn’t been the closest to his father, none of Viserys' children by Alicent were if she was being honest.

But Adrian noticed that Aemond in particular never looked at his father with hatred, not even after the Driftmark incident. Aemond’s stare only showed indifference. Which she believed to be much worse.

When Adrian left King’s Landing she hoped that the relationship between Aemond and his father would have improved, but evidently it did not. This only meant Aemond was over trying to rebuild anything with his father, and had been over it for sometime.

As shitty as a father Viserys may have been, losing a parent was not a smooth sailing. Adrian wanted to tell him this but he briskly changed the subject during the melancholic moment she'd been having.

“So what do you think of your chambers?”

Adrian needed another moment to gather her bearings. She looked around in her room, furrowing her eyebrows like before. “You really did keep everything the same way…” The older woman drawled, uneasiness trying to creep into her stomach. She tried ignoring the feeling, thinking it to be needless.

“Yes.” Aemond nodded his head, taking silent steps to get closer to her when she’d turn her back to him.

The one-eyed prince had made it his mission these last nine years to make sure her chambers stayed the same, aside from the new table and fresh set of covers that were brought in earlier today. But those who dared taking or even moving a single item in Adrian’s chambers dealt with his wrath as consequences.

Adrian’s breath hitched, startled to find Aemond standing right in front of her. He once again snuck up on her, much to her chagrin. There’d been a time where she needed to stare down when addressing him, now she needed to crane her head up a bit.

His fingers suddenly brushing against her hand brought Adrian out of her cloud of annoyance. She moved back a bit, his close proximity proving to be overwhelming.

“Thank you for checking up on me, but you should go now.”

“Why?” Aemond remained where he stood. He tilted his head at her. “I’ve only arrived, and we haven’t spoken as much since you’ve returned.”

Adrian no longer believed the nervous feeling she got in her stomach was not without reason. “It’s getting late.”

“And?” Aemond’s indigo eye gleamed. “I seem to remember coming to you in the middle of the night quite often.”

Adrian rubbed her arms, growing more uncomfortable as the seconds went by. “Yes but I also remember telling you how inappropriate that became. Just how this feels inappropriate.”

It hadn’t clicked at first because she never worried about what she wore in front of Aemond, even to sleep. Things had changed though in these last nine years, and she wanted him out of her personal space now more than ever.

“I don’t think it’s inappropriate.”

Aemond's reply only made her feel uneasier as he said it with nonchalance. The thirty-two year old was not only nervous, but her patience was wearing thin. “Fine, agree to disagree. Please just leave.”

Aemond slowly exhaled, looking down at her through the lashes of his right eye. “Hmm…no.”

Adrian shook her head, utterly done with him. She opened her mouth to call for the guard outside her room but what Aemond said next made her shut her mouth.

“You can try calling for your guard but he won’t come.”

Adrian gulped, heart racing. “Why do you say that?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Aemond’s angular face. “Because when a prince tells someone, even a knight of the Kingsguard, to go elsewhere they listen. If an order doesn't do it, then a bit of gold helps.”

“You bribed my guard?” Adrian questioned with a deep, troubled frown. The knight assigned to guard her was not Ser Harrold or either of the Cargyll twins. It was a knight she did not recognize but she nonetheless trusted he would protect her. That was his duty, to protect. Therefore it was disheartening to hear all it took for him to leave his post was a bit of gold.

Aemond’s confirmation was without any ounce of shame. “Yes I did.”

Adrian couldn’t listen to this anymore, couldn’t be in the same room as him. She moved past Aemond to get her robe before making her exit. Unfortunately Aemond was faster than her, and when he turned her around to face him she ended up dropping her robe.

The older woman tried shaking him off her but it was no use. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. “Why are you really here Aemond?” Although she was agitated she refused to let him see how he was affecting her.

“I’ve missed you.” Aemond softly admitted, now holding onto her hands. “Nine years I’ve been without you. Do you have any idea how painful it’s been?”

Even with the trepidation he caused, Adrian had enough attitude to sass him. “Really? I had no idea you missed me. In those nine years you never wrote to me. I wrote to you a few times and never once did I get a letter back from you.”

Aemond let out a heartfelt sigh. “I did write to you, I just couldn’t send them.” He squeezed her hands, ignoring her frown. “I wanted you, and sending letters wouldn’t have done any good. I wanted the real thing.” An actual smile appeared on his face. “And now you’re here. It took some time but I was finally able to get you here.”

“What did you just say?” Adrian whispered, dread filling her bones.  

“It only took a few whispers in my father’s ear but it finally stuck.” Aemond disclosed what he did to his dark haired beauty.

The older woman was shocked, frozen in place with him holding onto her hands. “You planned for this? For me to come to King’s Landing?” With wide eyes she watched him nod his head.

“Yes.”

“But…why?” Adrian nervously asked.

Aemond gave her hands another squeeze before moving to caress her cheeks. They felt warm under his touch. “Do you love me?”

That was a forward question, and Adrian hadn’t been expecting it. However it did get her out of the daze she was in. She took a step back from Aemond, his hands falling from her face and to his sides. Her stomach churned as she thought over his question.  

Of course she loved him, just not in the way she was now suspecting he loved her. When did these feelings for her start to develop? Or had they always been there? Her unease amplified at the last question. If that was true it explained his terrible temper tantrum from nine years ago, and that made her feel ill for a number of reasons.

“You know that I do but we’re family. I’ll never see you as anything but a boy.” Adrian truthfully said, rejecting him without being cruel. “Even now, I’m thirty-two and you’re nineteen.”

Aemond reacted negatively by clenching his jaw. “I’m no longer a mere boy.” He declared at full height, looking down at her with his indigo eye. “I am a man now.”

His intense stare did not stop Adrian from correcting him. “You’re a young man.”

“That does not make me any less of a man.” Aemond stubbornly retorted.

Like him, Adrian was obstinate with her reply. “Maybe not, but you’re still younger than me.”

Aemond hummed, invigorating determination seeped into his sharp features. “I'm old enough to do this.” He gave her little chance to stop him from doing the thing he’d been wanting to do for years.

The one-eyed prince kissed her with everything he felt for her. One of his hands found her damp hair, the other found her waist. Despite her protests he pressed her front against his, elated at the feeling of her breasts as he continued kissing her.

Adrian’s plump lips were indeed soft, just as Aemond dreamed they’d be. He groaned into her mouth, his tongue barely tracing her own before she was able to gather enough strength to push him off her.

“What the hell was that?!” Adrian sputtered, aghast from being kissed so abruptly by the person who she’d known since he was a kid. By a family member of hers no less. It was a distressing situation, to put it mildly.  

“That was a kiss, the first of many between us.” Aemond simply told her, trying to press his lips against hers again. The kiss to him had been phenomenal and he wanted more now that he knew what it was like to kiss her.

Before he planted another kiss, Adrian stopped him in time by putting a hand to his sturdy chest. “Aemond stop this.” She desperately tried reasoning with him. “I will never see you in that way.”

Her declaration didn’t dissuade Aemond. He was so lost in his love for her he failed to see her side of things. “You will. Or perhaps you already have and you are in denial.”

Adrian scoffed at his absurdity. “In denial?”

Aemond moved forward and watched with a frown as she backed away from him. “You’re afraid of your feelings for me but you don’t need to be.”

Yes, Adrian was afraid but not for the reason he thought. She steadied her expression, maintaining her distance from him. “That is not the reason. I just don’t want to be with you.” She bluntly said in hopes he’d get it through his thick skull.  

Aemond refused to believe that. There had to be a reason, and once he knew what was stopping her from being with him he would swoop in with a remedy. “No, there’s a reason. Pray tell, what is your reasoning then? Other than our age difference because I don’t care about that.”

“We’re related!” Adrian fired back.

Aemond raised a perfect brow. “Is that supposed to discourage me?”

Well, it sure discouraged her.

A disturbing fact Adrian had come to learn was that the Targaryens were known to marry within the family. Despite being half Targaryen through her biological grandfather—who unfortunately was Maegor—Adrian did not participate in that custom. She didn’t even want to get married, hence why she kept any intimate relationships she’d made since living in Dorne on the casual side.

Even with Osvaldo, who she’d become quite close to romantically and intimately, she did not want to marry. Adrian still believed she would one day return home, and marrying someone with this being a possibility didn’t seem fair to them. Osvaldo respected her choice the moment she told him, only making her like the Dayne man more.

“It’s not as if there’s another in your life.” Aemond went on to say as a jest but the way her eyes lowered instantly felt like a punch to the gut. “Is there someone else?” He was basically foaming at the mouth, his pupil widely blown. “You dare let another man touch what is mine?”

Adrian exploded from anger. She was taken back to the past, to a somewhat similar scenario. And like then she hated being viewed as an object to be owned. “I am not yours!” How could he even say that?

What was that saying she heard before? Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land. Perhaps he’d finally gone mad. Regardless whether Aemond was really mad or not, she wasn’t about to be treated this way by him.

“And it’s none of your business who I’ve been with.” Adrian heatedly finished saying to him.

Aemond stared down at her, his nostrils flaring. “Of course it’s my business.” He hated hearing that she’d been touched by another. She should have stayed in King’s Landing, everything would’ve been done his way…the right way.

Alas he couldn’t change what had already happened. His features wiped away any anger from showing. He’d learned from last time that letting his anger get the best of him would do him no good. No, this time he would do things differently.

This time Aemond would get to Adrian another way. A way he’d been reading about and even went through an unpleasant encounter just for her. It was with this way that he’d also convince her that he was the better option.

After this any thoughts of returning to Dorne, and reuniting with whatever lover she had there would be forgotten about. Only he would go to Dorne once he learned the name of the man who dared touch her. Whoever he was, his days were numbered. But he’d focus on that later. Right now he needed to concentrate on his love.  

Aemond rushed forward to where Adrian stood before slipping down to his knees.

Adrian stared down at him with wide startled eyes. “What are you doing? Stop it, get off your knees.”

“I’ll show you.” Aemond proclaimed vehemently, bunching up her nightgown to her waist. Her pushes to his shoulders did absolutely nothing to him. “I’ll show you how much better I am.”

Before she could utter another protest, Aemond pushed aside her smallclothes to bury his face between her legs. Her nightgown fell down, hiding him from view.  

Aemond would finally put all those erotic tomes he’d read and his unpleasant encounter at the Street of Silk to good use. He’d been waiting for the perfect moment with Adrian, and after nine years this was it.

Adrian's attempts to push him off became languish. She gasped at the feel of his tongue licking her folds. Oral sex wasn’t unfamiliar to Adrian. She liked it being done to her…when it was with a partner of her choosing.

Osvaldo was quite good at it. In all the times he’d gone down at her though he’d never made her cry. And that’s what Aemond was doing. Her eyes welling up by just the feel of his mouth. She did not think this was a good thing…and yet she felt her body responding to him.

Adrian tried getting away by ignoring the pleasure Aemond was forcing on her. Except the one-eyed prince had his hands underneath her nightgown to hold onto her bottom, pushing his face further into her.

It was nearly possible to move due to his strength. She didn’t give up but a hard push to his shoulder underneath her nightgown had him gently retaliating by tracing her bud with his tongue. That made her lean forward further, holding onto his shoulders instead of pushing him as she drew a sharp breath.

“Oh God.”

“No, my love.” Aemond moved from Adrian’s core to nip at her thighs, getting whimpers out of her. “It is I, Aemond, who is giving you pleasure.” He kissed her soft thighs before feasting on her delicious cunny again. From underneath her nightgown, he closed his eye from bliss.

Aemond almost finished then and there but he was determined to not release until he was inside her. For tonight would be the night he would make Adrian his. Her release would not be prolonged. Aemond planned on making her climax more than once tonight.

Adrian could tell she was close to orgasming. Her pushes to his shoulders were more determined to get him off her but Aemond’s hold tightened in return. She kept saying no over and over again while she felt Aemond mouth yes against her core. Her orgasm was unavoidable, and when she climaxed she nearly lost consciousness from the overwhelmingness.  

Aemond licked his lips, tasting her delicious slick. He hummed, loving the taste of her. Adrian tasted like peaches. Aemond got out from underneath her nightgown, happy to tell her this when he saw her half closed eyes, swaying. She was barely able to stand, and had it not been for his hold on her she would’ve fallen. He quickly acted, carrying her back to her bed and gently laid her down. He couldn’t believe this was the result after giving her pleasure.

It certainly made him feel good about himself. He’d been able to please his love properly when it came to licking her cunny. He could only hope when it came to the act of making love he’d be just as good.

Aemond would soon find out. He caressed Adrian’s warm face, smiling at how beautiful she looked from having climaxed. He’d been able to bring her to the state of euphoria with only a gentle hand…well, mouth. He was proud of himself for not being like his older brother.

Aegon brought shame to Helaena by frequently seeking out women in the Street of Silk, and by also being rough with the serving girls in the Red Keep. The one-eyed prince did none of that.

Aside from the upsetting encounter Aemond had with the prostitute Aegon all but threw him toward on his thirteenth nameday, he’d never been with another woman. The only reason Aemond even engaged with the woman from the Street of Silk was to gain experience for when he’d meet Adrian again. He wanted to know what to do in order to please her.

One time had been enough for Aemond though. It had been uncomfortable, but thankfully quick. Still, there were times he’d feel ill, shudders going down his spine when thinking about what the woman from the Street of Silk did to him.

After that Aemond only got experience from reading countless tomes. He wasn’t even interested in anyone else, only in Adrian. And although she’d basically confirmed she’d been with another while in Dorne he knew she felt the same way about him. Why else was her body so pliable under his touch?

It’s this reason why Aemond made himself comfortable by taking off his clothing. The only thing remaining on him was his eyepatch, but he would wait for Adrian to regain consciousness before taking that off. It took longer than he thought for Adrian to fully wake up, not that he minded.

When Adrian’s eyes fluttered open she was met with Aemond staring down at her, his body covering her own. She failed to notice his state of undress on account of him swiftly taking off his eyepatch. She inhaled sharply at what she saw.

In what was supposed to be an empty socket was a sparkling ruby. Not just any ruby, but the same ruby that had once been her grandmother’s necklace. The same necklace she left behind because Aemond had broken it nine years ago.

“You kept it?” Adrian wondered aloud.

Aemond nodded his head, the length of his hair tickling her face. “After you left I did my best to fix it. I’ve kept it close since then because it felt like I had a piece of you with me.”

Adrian didn’t even know what to say to that. Not that it really mattered, since her attention shifted toward something else that was more dire. “Aemond, where are your clothes?” She felt nauseous asking such a question.

His next words would haunt her for years to come.

“My love, I am ready for us to be one.”

Adrian went to get up but she was pushed back down by Aemond. One of his hands pinned both of her hands above her head. “Stop, I don’t want this.” She vehemently voiced.

“If that is the truth you’d fight me. You’d push me away as if you meant it, slap me, call for help, do everything you could to get away. And yet you’re not.” Aemond slid his other hand underneath her nightgown to in between her thighs. He nearly broke into song from what he felt with his fingers. “Instead you remain under me, wet and warm.”

Adrian gasped loudly, tears stinging her eyes when he got between her legs and entered her with a smooth thrust.

Aemond groaned, his face scrunching up. He needed a moment to compose himself, the tight fit of Adrian’s cunny almost made him release too soon. After years of dreaming of this moment he was going to make it last for as long as possible. One of his hands was still pinning down both of Adrian’s, while the other moved to touch her face as he began a slow pace.

“See?” Aemond pressed kisses along her neck, making sure to leave a good amount of marks there for everyone to see. Gods, she felt incredible. There would never be a better feeling than from being inside Adrian. “And I’m supposed to believe you don’t really want me?”

“All that’s physiological!” Adrian tried arguing right as she felt him thrust again.

Aemond gently tutted, using his free hand to tear her nightgown’s neckline. Her breasts were out in the open for him to freely kiss. “Make up any lie you want, it doesn’t take away how good I’m making you feel. Just accept it, my love.”

Adrian cried loudly at another thrust given to her by him.

“Every time I move you clench around me, refusing to let go.” Aemond groaned over her fulmination. “I thought of you every night since you left me, often stroking myself until completion. But it doesn’t compare to what I am feeling now.” He blithely admitted now that he was inside her velvet walls. “This is paradise. Being in you is paradise, my love. And I know you feel the same way.”

Adrian thrashed her head from side to side, trying to stop herself from peaking again. “No.” She cried, her chest heaving.

Aemond let go of her hands that were pinned by his own. He forced her to look at him by keeping his hand on her cheek. His other hand lifted one of her legs to wrap around him. He kept his hand there, rubbing her thigh, enjoying her softness.

“Yes.” He kept eye contact with her as he moved his hips against hers. His movements were slow but very deep, now hitting a special spot within her walls that almost made her lose whatever little resolve she had left. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from moaning. Her hands fisted the furs to the sides of her.

But Adrian could tell Aemond sensed this weakness of hers. And after seeing her reaction, Aemond purposefully kept hitting that special spot with his measured but intense thrusts. He was determined to see her fall apart again.

“No.” Adrian cried out again, albeit much weaker than before. She’d been determined to not climax again but unfortunately this was proving to be a battle she would not be winning.

Aemond stared at her with so much love in his eye, the tears going down her face did not disturb him in the slightest. If anything it only urged him on, his thrusting never ceasing. She mewled when the hand on her thigh slithered back to her warm wet center.

Using the same amount of gentleness as his thrusting, Aemond pressed his thumb on her bud. “Yes.” He whispered, kissing her tear streaked face, and he watched in awe as she tumbled from the pleasure he’d been generously giving her.  

To Adrian’s immense shame the coil she felt in her stomach snapped in half. This orgasm of hers was much more intense than the previous one. It was so intense she was seeing stars behind her closed eyes. She completely lost any resolve she had, woefully calling out his name.

“Aemond!”

The one-eyed prince moved his face back a bit just in time to see Adrian break apart so beautifully from below him. He smiled, a few tears of his own trailing down his face. He took a moment to bask in this glorious sight before carrying on with his gentle thrusting.

“Please…” Adrian’s breathing was shallow, her body still shaking from her recent climax. Aemond took her begging as one caused from pleasure, but whether it truly was was disregarded by him.

“I love you Adrian.” Aemond heartfeltly declared, thrusting once more with extra vigor to make sure he hit deeply. He groaned, spilling everything he had inside her. Afterwards he stayed within her, not wanting any of his seed to go to waste. He beamed at the thought of her round and heavy with his child. It was a dream of his that would soon come true.

Adrian was completely spent beneath Aemond’s lean but muscular body, looking up at the canopy of her old bed with a blank expression. To her horror she remembered this was the same bed where she used to hold Aemond when he’d been a boy, like a mother would their child. Each time claiming he could not find sleep because of a nightmare.

Years later it was now the bed where he raped her. Because that’s exactly what happened. Aemond had raped her. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been rough, or that his touches were considered loving, it was still rape.

Adrian was as heartbroken as she was angry with him, and herself. She was also equally disgusted with herself. Like Aemond told her, she could have fought him off, and even yelled for help until her face turned blue…but she didn’t. She just laid there, allowing him to take control. Adrian hated that her body had reacted so quickly to Aemond’s touches. She hated herself.

The older woman could blame physiology all she wanted, but that didn’t excuse the brief moments where she’d welcomed the pleasure.

Adrian’s blank expression faltered, her watery eyes flickering back to Aemond.

The one-eyed prince nuzzled his face in between her breasts, liking the dewiness from their lovemaking. He kissed both her breasts before lifting his face to smile lovingly at her. “Tomorrow I’ll call for Septon Eustace and have him marry us.”

Adrian’s response to this was a sniffle, followed by another round of tears going down her face. Even after it was over Aemond remained inside, and his member, although soft, nevertheless made her feel full.

Aemond used his hand to gently rub the tears away. He looked at her with so much love it made Adrian feel sick. “I would’ve married you all those years ago. I know you said I was only a boy but even back then a part of you must have known.” He admired her glistening eyes and her glowing golden skin.  

Adrian had always looked beautiful to him, but in this moment she was ethereal. She was a Goddess, one he would worship until the end of his days.

Aemond kissed her softly on her pouting lips, ignoring the cry he heard from her. “You’re mine Adrian. You've been mine since the moment we met all those years ago.”

[werewolfstory]

💘 for lennox, 🌋 for crow, 🙈 for baize, and 🔫 for kaleela?

💘 HEART W/ ARROW - what traits do they look for in a relationship? do they believe in love at first sight?

Lennox… ok so. First, Lennox is scared of certainty, finality, commitment, etc in his personal life so no he doesn’t believe in love at first sight. To him love is something that is very serious and permanent (and worrying).

How does he know if he’s chosen the right person to commit to? What if even though he’s happy now, there could be a different hypothetical relationship where he’s even happier? What if this is the best relationship and he’s squandering it by thinking there’s better out there?

He’s too stressed thinking about possibilities to enjoy the present so he wouldn’t let himself fall in love at first sight, even if he wanted to. He hates closing off options in case he makes an irreversibly bad choice

Lennox gets into relationships with people he thinks are hot with dogshit personalities on purpose because he knows there’s no future with them so he doesn’t even need to worry about it. He has issues with self esteem. That’s another thing, if someone’s legitimately very nice to him he gets paranoid and wants to strangle them to death. He’ll push people he likes away because he’s scared of being serious with anyone and doesn’t want to get hurt. He needs the upper hand in everything or he feels threatened. Ok yeah he’s a bit of a control freak

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

Crow. So. He’s very good at keeping his temper under control and has trained to do this for years. It’s very difficult to get him visibly angry, unless specific things are said or done. If he does get angry, the loud, big exploding anger is almost completely harmless. It’s like stimming more than anything, just a lot of noise and movement, undirected at a particular person, to vent frustrations. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, but it could still be frightening. When he truly is angry, it’s a very calm, calculated rage.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don't want to show other people?

No one on Earth can see Baize being sad or nice. The first ever woman to suffer from toxic masculinity. It physically pains her. One on one it’s not as bad but she’d never let herself be emotionally vulnerable in public. She’d rather explode and die. It makes her feel horrifically awkward and embarrassed and weak. Also she knows if she starts being sad, she’ll find it difficult to stop and all of her repressed grief will consume her. So she chooses to be Like That instead. Feminism

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back on someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

Kaleela…. I think in general she trusts people until they give her a reason not to. She likes to see the best in people even if it isn’t really there. I’m not sure if I’d call her naive though. She’s optimistic and forgiving, but has the awareness to understand when someone’s unwilling to change or grow.

Of course she’s been backstabbed, she’s a dancer. That environment can be so mean and competitive. Not all of the time, but there would’ve definitely been big instances of friendship breakdowns and disagreements that got her to where she is at the beginning of the story.

And for the ultimatum, it would depend on what it was. If she thought it was justifiable, then yes. I think she could betray someone, but she wouldn’t feel good about it and would probably end up regretting it in the future

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Of Princes and Witches Chapter 18- Legolas Greenleaf x OC

Legolas Greenleaf x Alphine Barrowes

Description: The Fellowship travels to the Black Gate to cause a distraction while Frodo and Sam grow nearer to Mount Doom. And it works.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Guys, we are now only two chapters away from finally ending this series :( I almost don't want it to end. I had so much fun writing this. I honestly may write another series with an oc insert for either The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings after this haha. But, we must get through this and the next two chapters, so enjoy!

Alphine sat atop Talysan outside the Black Gate to Mordor. What was left of the armies of Gondor and Rohan were behind her and the rest of the Fellowship, who all sat on horses of their own (aside from Gimli, who rode with Legolas, Merry who sat with Aragorn, and Pippin, who rode with Alphine). The gate was closed to the rest of the world, with no life sounding on the other side. Everyone watched it in silence, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. 

“Where are they?” Pippin asked nervously. Aragorn glanced at the Hobbit, sharing his unease (albeit subtly), before riding towards the gate. Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Eomer and Alphine followed him. 

“Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth,” Aragorn shouted at the gate. “Let justice be done upon him!” As if on cue the gates opened just a sliver, forcing the horses to back up a bit. Out came Sauron’s Lieutenant, whose face was little more than a large mouth with disgusting yellowing teeth and a helmet atop his head. A shiver shot up the Witch’s spine. He was horrific to even look at. 

“My master Sauron the Great bids thee welcome,” he started, voice hissing like a snake grew vocal chords. “Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?” 

“We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed,” Gandalf responded. “Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart with these lands, never to return.” The mouth laughed, and what a horrid sound it was. 

“Old Graybeard! I have a token I was bidden to show thee.” He held up what looked to be a silver shirt to the Wizard. Was that…

“Frodo,” Pippin gasped. It was Frodo’s mithril shirt. The mouth threw the shirt to Gandalf, who caught it with ease. 

“Frodo!” Pippin repeated, more panicked now. 

“Silence,” demanded the Wizard. 

“No!” Merry cried out, receiving the same response from Gandalf. Alphine’s arms wrapped around Pippin in an attempt to calm him down as the mouth spoke. 

“The Halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host Who would’ve thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did.” The Witch’s eyes clenched shut in order to not tear up at the thought of Frodo being in any amount of pain. She bowed her head, nearly burying her face in the Hobbit’s hair. 

“And who is this?” Asked the mouth. “Isildur’s heir? It takes more to make a King than a broken Elvish blade.” Alphine heard the sound of a blade swinging, and when she opened her eyes Sauron’s Lieutenant no longer bore a head. 

“I guess that concludes negotiations,” Gimli muttered. Aragorn looked at the mithril short that still sat in Gandalf’s hands, then shook his head. 

“I do not believe it. I will not.” 

“What do we do now?” Alphine asked, voice nearly cracking before she cleared it. She’d been desperately hoping that Frodo was okay, but now she wasn’t so sure. Aragorn didn’t have an answer. They sat there for a few minutes as they attempted to figure out what to do, but then the Black Gate began to open again. Thousands of Orcs began marching through, which admittedly made the Witch gasp. 

“Pull back,” Aragorn instructed. “Pull back!” The five horses rode back towards the army they brought, the Orcs following them. The soldiers looked uncertain (borderline scared) at the sheer number of their enemy. 

“Hold your ground!” Aragorn yelled, beginning to ride across the front of the army to address them. “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!” 

The soldiers unsheathed their weapons and stood ready, looking much more encouraged than they were before. Aragorn nodded in approval and wheeled around on his horse to face the oncoming enemy. No one moved as the enemy surrounded them, all waiting for Aragorn’s instruction. Soon enough they were completely surrounded. Alphine stood between Merry and Legolas, trying to keep herself calm as her eyes grazed over the many Orc faces. 

“Never thought I’d die fighting side by side with an Elf,” she heard Gimli grumble from the other side of Legolas. 

“What about side by side with a friend?” The Elf suggested, glancing down at Gimli with a smile. The Dwarf looked up at him, a small smile forming on his face. 

“Aye, I could do that.” 

Alphine smiled at his response as her hand reached out, brushing against Legolas’. He met her the rest of the way and gingerly grabbed her hand, interlocking their fingers and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. They shared a weak smile, and Alphine felt much better knowing that if she died, it would be with him by her side. Aragorn stood in front of the army, pausing when he heard a hissed whisper of his name. 

“Aragorn…” It was the Eye of Sauron. “Elessar…” The Man’s sword slowly dropped to his side as he stepped forward, almost as if mesmerized. He snapped out of it quickly however and turned to look at Gandalf. The Wizard didn’t speak and instead held up Frodo’s mithril shirt for Aragorn to see. The Man smiled. 

“For Frodo,” he announced softly. And with that he raised his sword and ran forward towards the Orc army. Merry and Pippin were the first ones to shout and run after him, their own swords raised. That was enough to kickstart the Gondorian and Rohan army to follow them with their own battle cries. The two armies collided in a fit of slashing swords and clanging metal and the battle had begun. 

Alphine fought with a newfound vigor. Gone was her exhaustion and nervousness about the prospect of dying and was replaced with the willpower to at least go down fighting tooth and nail until her last breath. She once again harnessed as much of her power as she could manage to take out as many groups of Orcs as possible (though she’d since learned how to moderate it so she didn’t get as exhausted quickly). Between her bouts of magic she slayed Orcs with her sword. 

Screams and screeches rang from above, which made her look up. Ringwraiths had joined the fight from above, attacking as they did so in Minas Tirith. She lifted her hands and shot various spells at them to at least slow them down, but with so many Orcs surrounding her on the ground she couldn’t focus on them for long. Thankfully she no longer had to worry about the Ringwraiths as another screech was heard. It wasn’t a wraith this time, however, but an Eagle who intercepted a Ringwraith who was aiming for Gandalf. 

“The Eagles!” Pippin exclaimed excitedly from somewhere she couldn’t see. “The Eagles are coming!” And, just like he said, more Eagles flew into battle and engaged with the fell beasts that the wraiths rode on. 

Out of nowhere the Eye of Sauron flared, looking around desperately. Everyone in front of the Black Gate stopped to look at it confusedly. The Eye began screeching and groaning loudly shortly before the tower of Barad Dur began to collapse to the ground. Just before the Eye hit the ground it exploded in a ball of fire, sending a shockwave through the armies. Frodo was alive after all, and he had done it. 

“Frodo!” Merry exclaimed excitedly as Alphine gasped in both shock and delight. 

“He did it!” She cheered jovially, Gimli shouting gleefully afterwards. The Black gate began to collapse. The army of Orcs tried to run away, but the ground below them gave way and they were destroyed. Only the land that the peoples of Middle Earth stood on were spared. 

Alphine watched the chaos with an oddly overwhelming sense of joy, but it was abruptly halted as Mount Doom erupted. Immediately all noise ceased except for Merry and Pippin, who began to cry for their friends. The Witch covered her mouth in horror, tears springing to her eyes as she watched lava begin to flow steadily out of the volcano. 

“No.” Her gaze was quickly broken when she heard Gandalf’s exclamation. She faced him just in time to see him mount one of the Eagles. 

“Gandalf, what are you doing?” She asked worriedly. 

“I am going to find Frodo and Samwise. There is hope for them yet,” was all he had time to say before the Eagle took off with two others (one for Sam and the other for Gollum, who they knew was supposed to be leading them through Mordor), heading straight for Mount Doom. She watched them fly into the distance worriedly, beginning to pick at her nails absentmindedly. It was only when another hand grabbed hers that she stopped, looking at the hand’s owner. She wasn’t surprised to see Legolas standing beside her, though his gaze was also on the three Eagles. 

“Eomer, take them back to Minas Tirith to recuperate,” she heard Aragorn instruct from behind her. 

“What about you?” The new King of Rohan questioned. The Man didn’t answer, though it seemed that Eomer didn’t need one as he instructed his men to get the wounded on horses and head back to the White City. 

The only ones left were the members of the Fellowship, who were waiting for what very well could have been a miracle. Alphine bided her time by making sure no one was hurt and comforting the Hobbits. She knew that it may have been in vain, but she held onto the hope that Frodo and Sam had survived it. And her hope was proven right when she noticed three Eagles flying towards them after what felt like hours (though she knew it wasn’t). 

“Look! The Eagles!” She exclaimed, pointing them out to the others. All heads turned, and Merry and Pippin began celebrating when they realized that two of them held none other than Frodo and Sam. 

“To Minas Tirith!” Aragorn yelled, climbing onto his horse. The rest of the Fellowship scrambled to their horses. Alphine wasted no time in helping Pippin up once she was seated on Talysan. She barely allowed him to get comfortable before she clicked the horse's reins, forcing him to gallop off. The others followed immediately after. They rode under the Eagles’ shadows, heading straight for Minas Tirith. 

Alphine hadn’t been this happy since long before she met and agreed to join the Fellowship of the Ring. It had been a few days since the Ring was destroyed and the battle concluded after a long, difficult and terrifying fight. While she waited for Frodo to wake up, Alphine opted to help with healing wounded soldiers. Of course she agreed to do so, and in between healing she helped clean Pelennor Fields. Things had been coming along wonderfully thus far, and she couldn’t have been happier. Well, she could be, but for that to happen, Frodo would have to wake up. Until then she was content with her work as a distraction. 

After nearly a week passed, Alphine stepped out of the Hall of Healing. She’d been working since dawn arose, so she figured that it was okay for her to take a break. She sighed softly as she closed the door behind her, leaning against the wall beside it as she reveled in the peaceful moment. Well, at least until she heard her name being called.

“Lady Alphine,” a Gondorian guard she’d come to learn was named Irolas called as he jogged up to her. 

“Yes?” She responded confusedly, standing upright as he reached her. “Is everything okay Irolas?” 

“Very,” the Man responded with a smile. “I’ve been told to inform you that the Hobbit, Frodo Baggins, is awake.” The Witch’s eyes widened at the information. She barely had time to offer him thanks before she was running down the hall towards Frodo’s temporary room. Gimli, Legolas, Aragorn and Samwise stood outside the door, all turning to face her when they heard her approaching. 

“Is it true?” She asked, trying to contain her excitement as she came to a stop.

“Aye lass, he’s awake,” Gimli answered for them. Alphine’s smile widened (if it were even possible) and she moved to walk in, but was stopped by Legolas grabbing her hands. 

“Hold on,” he muttered, which made her look at him in bewilderment. “Gandalf wants us to go in one by one so he does not get overwhelmed.” The Witch sighed, though she understood his reasoning. 

“Oh, fine,” she huffed. Just then Gandalf’s head poked through the door and he said Gimli’s name. It seemed that was the Dwarf’s cue to walk in. He did so, stopping in the doorway to spread his arms out and yell jovially. 

“Gimli,” Alphine heard the Hobbit yell happily, which brought a smile to her face. \

The Wizard smiled then gestured for Alphine to come inside. She wasted no time in doing so, the smile on her face becoming wider when she saw Frodo sitting up in bed with Merry and Pippin on either side of him. He looked much better than he did when he first arrived back in Minas Tirith. He had been bathed (well, as well as he could be while unconscious) and it took both Gandalf and Alphine to heal what they could of any injuries he had. Seeing him so clean, lively and happy brought tears to her eyes as they met his.

“Alphine!” He said, almost relieved to see her. She laughed softly and wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she walked closer to him. Just a moment later she felt a presence beside her, and an arm wrapped around her waist. She leaned her head on Legolas’ shoulder as he and Frodo shared a smile. Aragorn was next, then finally Samwise. The six of them sat there, basking in each other’s presences and being happy that all of it was finally over.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

��𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

“Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[ianfm]

closed starter for lou ryder ( @shrieks​ ) location: shrike county hospital

Ian wondered when his life would stop changing. It felt like just when he was finally able to breathe again his life would get shaken up. He’d barely felt like he’d come out of hiding after the most recent attack and now he was faced with another horrific attack he couldn’t even figure out all the details from. Pain constantly felt too fresh and Ian felt like he’d been smeared so incredibly thing the last few days since his life had gotten shaken up. Despite having the luxury of being able to come and go from the hospital as a visitor (this time) he didn’t feel that made anything easier. Both he and his partner were suffering greatly. So many important people in their lives had fallen victim to the events that had transpired that night it would’ve been hard enough dealing with had they both not met fates far too similar. Friends, exes, coworkers, mentors-- it’d keep anyone up at night and it did. 

The bags under Ian’s eyes were so dark someone might’ve thought Bo was trying out monster makeup on him. Ian was exhausted but sleep didn’t come easily to him right now even though that was all he wanted to do. Shutting his head off from the world felt like the only safe thing he could do but he couldn’t live in dreamland right now too many people needed him. He wanted to be there for his friends but that didn’t make any of this easier. Ian hated hospitals long before they became a hotspot in town. He felt he’d run into more people at the hospital’s cafeteria than he would had he ventured into the mall’s food court. 

This trip to the hospital’s cafeteria didn’t produce any interactions with friends. The hospital wasn’t exactly the place you wanted to meet up with someone during a time like this. He wouldn’t go long without seeing a friend he cared about. He’d just been with Bo and Orwell passing the time as they waited out their hospital stay when Ian needed to excuse himself and take a walk to clear his head. Going from checking on one person he cared about to another wasn’t exactly catching his breath like he intended but it was hard for him to truly take a moment for himself so instead he thought to check on Lou bearing crudy hospital desserts in hand. Even though he was uncomfortable he knew all of his friends there were in even worse pain and he needed to push through it to be there for those he cared about. Ian approached Lou’s room cautiously his visit was unannounced after all and he didn’t know what sort of situation he’d walk into or who they might have in the room with them. Ian knocked on their door gently before slowly opening. “Hey, it’s Ian,” he began greeting them before he’d even made his presence seen. Ian remembered from his own stay here how much he hated that just about anyone could walk into his room and he wanted to minimize that feeling as much as possible for Lou now. “I’ve got cookies too. They’re just from the cafeteria but they’re actually fresh. They’re still warm in my hand,” he tried to upsell the lackluster offering he had with him. 

[mattie-bo-baddie]

Fuck right off America.

With today’s horrific news, I need to share my story. 

I have been open about many of the things that have happened to me; the abuse I suffered, my mental health journey, but there is one part of the story that I haven’t shared publicly.

I have had an abortion.

In 2017, I found out I was pregnant. This was of course during the height of the abuse suffered at my spouse's hands. I missed my period, and while my cycle was never perfect, I never had missed it entirely. I waited until a day he was at work to take the test, and I watched in horror as that second line appeared. 

I was scared for so many reasons. I knew that he would first be furious; this was during the time we were in the title circuit, and I would be “ruining” his opportunities, because of course, it would be my fault for getting “knocked up.” I feared for the fetus inside me. This potential child had nothing but a life of abuse ahead of it. After his anger subsided, I would have no doubt that he would’ve ‘loved’ the child, but that would not stop the abuse that child would see and likely be a victim to. His claimed love for me never stopped him from abusing me. 

Even if I had found the strength to leave him, I would’ve been forever connected to him if I had had his child. I would be dealing with his anger, abuse, narcissism, and manipulation for the rest of my life. I would not allow myself or another to deal with that.

In a fit of desperation, I googled methods of inducing a miscarriage. I went so far as to attempt an “herbal remedy” used vaginally to no effect. Thankfully, I suffered no medical side-effects, unlike so many that try to induce miscarriage on their own.

I sought out the help of Planned Parenthood. I made my appointment. I went, telling him I had a doctor’s appointment with a dermatologist, cause he cared more about my ‘disgusting’ acne than any other health issues I may have had. I was right at 9 weeks, which is the cut off for a medication abortion. To have an aspiration abortion, I would’ve had to have someone there to take care of me afterwards, and I felt I had no one that I could go to, so I made the decision to go with medication despite the risks.

I will not go into the details, but I will let you know this; it was painful, it was scary, and I bled more in that next week than I have in total in my entire life. 

But most importantly, I do not regret that decision at all. 

I have no way of knowing how life would have been different now if a child had entered my life at the time, but I do know this, I would not be happy. In addition to all the reasons mentioned above, there is also the glaring fact that I do not want to be a parent. Not since my early childhood playing with dolls, did I ever want to have kids. I was just told that I should, so I thought I did. I barely have my own life in some semblance of order, and you’d have me inflict that on a child?? Fuck right off.

I have been crying today, thinking of the abuse victims like myself, caught in these horrible situations, now without access to facilities that can see to their medical needs. While my situation was horrible, and I hate that I had to sneak and lie, I still had that access, I still had a way. Current and future victims will be forced to deal with abuse and misery because they do not have rights to their own body, they will be further subjugated by abusive partners. I never thought I would see a world in which our rights, which were so valiantly fought for, are being stripped away.

Possessing a uterus does not make me, or anyone else, less. A person’s choice to have an abortion should be made by them and them alone. It is an essential reproductive health care procedure. There should be no special clause, or exceptions, no asterisks on our rights. 

[dysphoriaposting]

Thinking about the villains in the main Pokemon Games:

Besides Teams Aqua, Magma, and Yell, all the leaders in Pokemon suffer some sort of horrific or miserable ending.

> You can't tell me Giovanni's sudden disappearance was peaceful. Either he was killed in an unrecorded event by someone from Team Rocket, the International Police, or some third source, or he took his own life. Perhaps Mewtwo killed the man who tried to bend it to his will? I can't see that being the most pleasant ending.

> Team Galactic's Cyrus is my second least favorite ending of any Team. Being confined to the hellish realm of Giratina would most certainly be terrible. Are you saying that Giratina didn't try to attack a random living thing that just *showed up?* And if not, surely Cyrus starved (more far more likely, died of dehydration). To top it all off, even if this place broke the basic need to consume nutrients and water to live, he would definitely go insane with boredom.

> Ghetsis had the tamest of punishments by far. Not only was the Shadow Triad, a trio of ninjas who I definitely wouldn't mind tending to me hand and foot, still loyal to Ghetsis, but he still had all of his Pokemon! Sure, he was "on the run", but is that honestly so bad when you still have both Pokemon and ninjas to help you?

> Lysandre takes the cake for worst punishment in Pokemon games history (going off of only the main games.) After his plans for making the world beautiful cannot be fully realized, he realizes that the only way to make some semblance of his earlier goal is to blow up the facility containing the Ultimate Weapon (forgot its real name, pardon me), killing himself and everyone inside. However, the game suggests that he wasn't vaporized by the laser's blast, but rather crushed by the rubble of his own building. The impact (pun wasn't on purpose) really sets in when you think about the fact that some people irl can be stuck in demolished buildings for days, slowly dying because rescue crews simply cannot reach them. It's worse when you realize that depending on the game's version, he could've either been crushed outright OR rendered immortal and left to be underneath the several hundred tons of stone and steel, among the blood and rotting bodies of his fellow Flare members and their Pokemon. I can imagine no worse fate than crushing weights, eternal darkness, and the decaying stench of people who trusted me with their life.

> Guzma, my poor boy Guzma. Whether he helped Lusamine because he desperately needed recognition or because he was in it for the milf cooter, his punishment was more than too much. In both the normal and Ultra Sun and Moon games, Guzma is shown to have some serious mental traumas from his time in Nihilego's realm. Not only that, but having to disband Team Skull, a group that he treated like his own family (albeit a dysfunctional and frat house-esque one), would surely hurt him in the heart.

> Lusamine got rekt. Okay, now that I got that out of my mouth, let's be more serious. In the standard Sun and Moon games, Lusamine treated her children like shit and definitely deserved what came next: being so hyped on Nihilego drugs that she went into a coma. That being said, she's given a suggested redemption arc when the postgame shows Lillie bringing her to the mainland to see if she can find medical help for her severely injured mother. Ultra Sun and Moon is when things feel offbeat. Lusamine wasn't so much punished as she was sorta pushed to the side to confront Rainbow Team Rocket. Lame, but I think her treatment in normal S & M is more than enough to make up for it.

> Rose had the modern nightmare of a fate. Once a man who had it all, his fall from grace after trying to bring about the Darkest Day sorta ruined all of that. His reputation as a world-renowned businessman tarnished and his social standing among both socialites and the basic populace of Galar would surely make him persona non grata wherever he goes. No way to make money when no one wants to hire him and banks would surely deny giving him loans. No person to turn to when everyone hates him for basically trying to destroy the region. Let's be honest, Rose's public personality and broadcasting of his attempts probably made his punishment worse off than it would've been if less people knew his name and tied it to the game's big event, like with Ghetsis or Giovanni.

[vicarfelix]

Internal Suffering

Vicar Max x Fem! Captain

Warnings: Language.

Word Count: 2,756

“Captain. You’re better than this.”

“Is she okay?”

“Should we get SAM to break open the door?”

“Damn. No amount of alcohol in the world could drown out what she probably saw.”

“ERROR. Status of Captain’s door...LOCKED.”

Max finally held up a hand to silence the rest babbling crew that was expressing their concern for their Captain from where they sat around the kitchen table. They had known something was wrong the moment that Ellie, Max, and the Captain returned to the ship after they had been out for almost two days. She didn’t say much at all, only offering a brief hello before snatching a drink from the fridge and taking a shower before keeping herself buried away in her quarters. 

She was bruised and had minor injuries in various places. Not to mention that she hadn’t slept in almost 48 hours. But it was clear that was the least of things on her mind.

Max had managed to convince her to open the door long enough for him to check on her, which didn’t amount to much considering that she practically yelled at him to get out and leave her alone for a while. Max usually wouldn’t give up so easily, but he could tell that (despite her angry tone) she wasn’t mad. 

She was hurt.

She was completely rattled by what they had seen today. An ugly painting of horrific images and gruesome smells that not even the hottest of showers could wash away. It would haunt her for weeks to come, and on top of that, she was worried about how this was affecting her crew. 

Thankfully, she had taken Max and Ellie along today, which made her feel a bit better considering they were two of the more thicker skinned of the group. Still, she felt guilty for exposing them to that. 

Max and Ellie gave the crew a brief rundown of what had happened. While they were sickened by it, they were more worried about the Captain.

“Come on. We just want to know if she’s okay.” Felix pleaded.

“She’s just seen probably the worst that the colony has to offer,” Ellie huffed; “I’d be worried if she was okay.”

Max sighed heavily. He was beyond concerned. It wasn’t like you at all to shut out the crew like this. It wasn’t like you to shut him out. He was afraid that this had pushed you over the edge.

“She wishes to be by herself,” Max announced; “We should all give her some space and let her work it out.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Mr. Vicar.” Parvati replied.

“Yeah, I don’t think she ought to be alone after seeing something as traumatic as you’re saying it was.” Nyoka detested.

Max shook his head.

“I know. But she doesn’t want to talk to us. We don’t need to push her.” Max pointed out.

Felix looked stunned at that, his eyes widening.

“She must be really shaken up if she won’t even talk to Max.” He said, clearly alarmed.

While Felix’s statement had innocent intentions, it caused a sting in Max’s chest. It was true that the Captain always seemed to flock to Max when she needed to talk. It was a mixture of things really. He was a professional when it came to listening to confessions, but he was even more comforting being as he was her boyfriend. She never felt like she couldn’t go to him when she needed him until now. 

It was killing him that she was closing herself off to him.

“She’ll be alright. Give her a couple days...or weeks. She’ll feel better when we get this job done.” Ellie stated.

Max sure hoped that Ellie was right. He wasn’t going to be able to stand it if the Captain never got over this. For now, all he could do was keep his arms open to her for when she was ready. Or for when he knew she couldn’t take it anymore.

The crew dispersed reluctantly to finish out their chores to close out the day, the Captain weighing heavily on their minds. Max went to take a shower to wash off the blood (some his and some not his), dirt, and sweat from his body. He took a moment to reflect on what he had seen earlier, realizing that he hadn’t given himself a moment to process everything. He wasn’t quite like Ellie Fenhill who preferred to drink herself into oblivion until her mind was too foggy to remember much of it. He’d rather come to terms with it on his own time.

Max had killed more people that day than he had the entire time he had been traveling with you. The strung out marauders and the doped up test subjects were probably the most terrifying people he had ever encountered. They were basically soul ridden beings with no sense of purpose or morale. They were just blood thirsty, violent animals that were once loving people.

That was the scariest thing imaginable.

Max stood under the stream of water until it threatened to turn cold, prompting his exit. He changed into a pair of clean clothes before leaving the bathroom, debating on what he should do next. By the time he had freshened up, everyone else had turned in for the night. The only sounds were the humming and singing around the ship, as well as Felix’s beloved Tuesday night adventure serial coming from his cabin. 

Max eyed his own cabin, the only one with the door open and the lights turned on. Max chuckled to himself as he entered. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had actually spent an extended amount of time in his cabin. Ever since establishing a serious relationship with the Captain, he found himself staying in her room pretty much always. Her cabin was much larger than his, and despite the fact that her bed was exactly the same as his, he was convinced that it was comfier. 

Maybe because he always had someone he loved snuggled up to him at the end of every day.

He ran a hand through his damp hair to somewhat even it out. It always seemed to have a mind of its own when water dripped from his graying hair. She had always told him that she liked seeing his hair somewhat out of order, which was why she was likely the only person who had ever seen his hair unkempt.

He wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping alone, considering he had gotten so used to having her with him. But if she didn’t want him, then he would respect her desires. He bit the inside of his cheek in disapproval when he tried to stretch out onto his bunk. He sank into the mattress that hadn’t been used in quite some time, but it didn’t feel the same. 

His entire cabin just didn’t have the same comfort that hers did. Although, it wasn’t her cabin that he found comfort in. 

It was her.

Every other thought was occupied by his Captain. He wondered what she was doing as he lay there awake, worrying himself beyond measure. He was beginning to go against his own word, tempted to go to her even if she had pushed him away. She was struggling right now. She was suffering. 

He couldn’t just let the woman he loved be in pain like that.

He got up from his bed, quietly going down the stairs to the Captain’s door. The red light above her door indicated that it was still locked, and he couldn’t get in unless she opened it from inside or ADA unlocked it for him. It was awfully quiet from inside the Captain’s quarters, and he hoped that she was just asleep.

He traveled down to the ship’s computer asking ADA nicely to unlock the Captain’s bedroom. ADA, however, almost always gave Max a run for his money.

“I cannot take orders from anyone other than Captain Hawthorne.” ADA informed the vicar.

He groaned. 

“I know, ADA, but I’m worried about her. I just need to get into her room.” Max explained.

He always felt so stupid arguing with a machine. Although, ADA was likely light years smarter than he was.

“I can only take orders from Captain Hawthorne. You are not Captain Hawthorne.” ADA replied.

Max grumbled to himself. He’d have to take a different approach.

“Well...can you at least tell her I want to speak with her?” Max questioned.

“The Captain gave me direct instructions not to converse with her unless there was an emergency. Is this an emergency?” ADA acquired.

“No...” Max responded gruffly. He was a little surprised that the Captain had taken so many steps to avoid anyone from seeing her; “How would I go about unlocking her door myself?”

“Hypothetically, her door would automatically unlock if I entered a rest cycle. But that requires my restart button to be push-”

Suddenly, ADA’s screen went dark as Max put her into a manual rest cycle. The Captain usually ordered ADA to take a rest cycle overnight anyway unless something with the ship went wrong, so Max didn’t feel bad for shutting the computer up for a bit.

He commuted back to the Captain’s door, the doors whirring open to reveal what appeared to be an empty room. The Captain wasn’t sitting at her desk or laying in her bed, and she appeared to be nowhere to be found. Just as Max went to panic, he heard a sound. 

It was a soft noise that he would’ve missed if the room hadn’t been as quiet as it was. He followed the sound of sniffling over to the far corner of the room behind her bunk. 

The Captain was backed into the corner, knees huddled up to her chest with her head buried behind them. Her towel from her earlier shower was still wrapped around her naked body, indicating that she hadn’t even gotten dressed afterwards. Her skin was dry now, and her hair was just barely wet as if she had been there the entire time. She raised her head from her knees when she felt his presence, revealing her reddened, watery eyes and blotchy cheeks from her hours of crying. 

Max’s heart broke at the sight of his Captain falling to pieces like this. She was hands down the strongest, most confident person that he knew. He always reminded her how proud of her he was for always being the bigger person and doing what was right. Maybe that was his mistake. Perhaps he had made her feel like she had to be at her best all the time. 

She looked at him through bleary eyes, a fresh set of tears falling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked as she spoke, her tone thick with sobbing.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She apologized, almost choking on her cries.

Immediately, Max was sitting at her side, her head falling onto his chest as she wailed. He eventually brought her into his lap to hold her close, rubbing her back up and down and kissing her temple. He hushed her, hating the feeling in his gut every time she sobbed out again. Her face was buried into the soft material of his shirt, her tears staining it. Her arms and legs were freezing from being exposed to the cold air of her quarters for so long without clothes, Max’s hands rubbing up and down to provide her some warmth.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.” He hummed, holding the back of her neck in his hand.

“It was horrible. I’ve never seen anything like that,” She cried; “I don’t know how Spacer’s Choice could ever be capable of something like that.”

“Spacer’s Choice is arguably the most powerful corporation in the colony,” Max spoke; “The stronger the company, the more room there is for catastrophic events.”

The Captain sat up from his chest, leaning against Max’s leg that he had hiked up for her to lean on.

“I fucking hate the Board,” She hissed; “If I have to personally put a bullet in the skull of every single person involved then I swear to Law I’ll do it.”

Max was alarmed by her harsh words, his hands coming to her face to wipe away her tears.

“Captain. You’re better than this,” He remarked; “What’s the number one rule you always tell us? Try to talk it out before pulling the trigger.”

The Captain shook her head. Her tears had dried, but the anger coursing through her was giving her more energy than she had in days. 

“It’s becoming obvious that doesn’t always work. I don’t care if I have to wipe out every soul in Byzantium if it means overthrowing the Board.” She growled.

The last thing that Max ever wanted was for the Captain’s heart of gold to be hardened by all the things she had seen. In the beginning, the Captain had the most hope for the colony’s revival. Now though, her hope was diminishing with each new discovery she made.

He didn’t want her to become a lost soul the way that he had been for so long.

“What happened to my darling Captain? This isn’t you.” Max stated.

“I want the Board out of the system. Halcyon’s never going to make it with them around.” She replied in fury, ignoring his question.

“Captain, I-”

“I personally want to throw Sophia Akande out of an airlock.” She went on.

“Listen to me, this isn’t-”

“I’d like to throw her in a cell and pump her full of drugs just like-”

“Stop,” Max cut her off; “This isn’t how you do things. I know this isn’t how you want to do things.”

She finally let her tense shoulders relax for a second. Her eyes falling downward, her hands fiddling with the edge of her towel. 

“I know,” She whispered out; “I’m just tired of seeing so many people get hurt. Earth was never like this...not really.”

Max felt relief. Now she was beginning to sound like herself again. He pushed her hair behind her ear to reveal her pretty, but tired face. He caressed her face with his hand, her cheek resting in his palm. 

“If you keep doing things the way you have been, taking things day by day...then we’re going to be fine,” Max said; “I believe in you. I believe in us.”

She nodded, his hand falling to her waist and rubbing through her towel. 

“What do I do now?” She asked.

Max smiled softly.

“For now, let’s get you in bed. We can figure everything else out in the morning.” Max said, kissing the Captain’s knuckles in a gentle manner.

“Okay.” She replied.

She had to admit, it felt nice to have someone else giving orders for once.

Sleeping the rest of the night away was sounding really good to the Captain right about now. Without really giving it a second thought, the Captain let her towel fall so she could get dressed. She caught the way his eyes lit up at her naked frame, a blush evident on his face as he looked over her. She smirked a little, the first real positive emotion she’d had all day.

“You’re blushing, Vicar.” She teased,

His grin was blinding, as he pulled his leg in more to bring you in closer. 

“It’s hard not to,” He purred; “Beautiful...”

She kissed him like she meant it. His hands were warm on her exposed skin as he touched her the way he had dozens of times before. She ran her fingers through his hair, his smirk showing on her lips.

“I’m here for you. I love you.” He rumbled deeply.

“I love you.” She returned.

Max guided her up from the floor, wincing at the way her joints cracked from being uncomfortable for so long. He got her into a shirt to sleep in, bringing her over to her bed and getting her comfortable up against him. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep. The feel of Max next to her and the softness of the mattress under her was enough to send her straight to sleep. Max was tired too, but he wanted to make sure she was okay before he got any sleep. 

He knew she wasn’t totally back to normal. It’d be a while before she felt like herself fully again. But he didn’t care how long he had to wait.

He’d always be there for her.

[slytherinsnekxvii]

hi, remember that murder snily au i'm always talking abt but never have anything to show for? yeah, i've scrapped it like six times now and i finally have a version of it i'm marginally satisfied with. so, here you go, this is the first part of maybe three or four, i think? have fun:

anger

/ˈaŋɡə/

noun

noun: anger; plural noun: angers

1. Normal anger does not split open one's ribcage and wind itself around their heart. Normal anger does not coat itself in venom and sit behind one's teeth and hide under their tongue and lie patiently in wait. Normal anger is not cold and slow and remorseless. Lily thinks that what she calls anger is normal. Lily does not realise that she is extraordinary.

Lily's brand of anger is decidedly... different. What, exactly, makes it so different isn't exactly obvious to her, but she knows that it's not like anyone else's. At least, not as far as she's aware. Hers is a cold sort of anger, an all-encompassing thing that bites and burns and hurts. It's patient, too, winding in and around her ribcage and clawing its way upwards to settle behind her teeth, waiting for a reason to show itself. It's protective, aiming to eliminate a threat before it has a chance to do further damage.

She's... aware of her anger. Not very much so, but it's seen the light of day often enough to be familiar to her. She doesn't know it, though, hasn't made herself properly acquainted with the more... unfortunate spectrum of her emotions, and that is what makes it truly dangerous.

When she feels something scratching at her insides and festering beneath a vindictive sort of justice at seeing Black and Potter and Lupin and Pettigrew suffer the displeasure of the Slytherins, she thinks it's anger. She finds herself in a dusty, unused classroom in the dungeons, helping to refine a brutal spell designed to rend the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to be on the wrong end of it and she thinks it's anger that curls around her and whispers into her ear, "Make sure it hurts."

It isn't. She calls it anger, claims it a necessity, insists that she's protecting her best friend, but she doesn't realise she's mistaken.

The story of the "Prank" gets out—doctored, of course, to keep Black out of Azkaban, and Lupin away from execution—and Lily titters into the back of her hand when she hears it told in bits and pieces throughout the corridors.

"Did you hear?"

"Who would've thought—"

"—bloody idiots went into the Forest! At night! What kind of—"

"—ll five of them, yeah. Can't figure out for the life of me how they managed to get Snape to go—"

"—must've dragged 'im kicking an' screamin', I'm telling y—"

"—Gryffindors, my left tit! Damn cowards just ran off and left Lupin and Snape to deal with—"

"—no clue what happened, but have you seen the scars?"

"—out of the Hospital Wing, already? How—"

"—down fifty points! All because that lot wanted to play jokes aga—"

She smiles, a tiny, smug thing that she doesn't notice, and moves on. The Slytherins are properly riled up now, Rosier and Mulciber and Wilkes and Avery hovering around her and Severus with expressions she can't describe as anything but sadistic. At some point, she realises that their presence makes her feel much less uncomfortable than it did a week ago. She doesn't dwell on it, ignoring the small part of her that worries and shivers in favour of leaning over Severus's shoulder to read about the sort of magic that appears in nightmares.

She grips her wand, idly twirling the twelve-and-a-half inches of willow and dragon heartstring as she skims over detailings of ancient, arcane magic. It's always about blood, she thinks, staring a diagram of a pricked finger dripping red into a cauldron. Potion for Transferring Magic from One Wizard to Another, the heading proclaims. She shakes her head, accidentally knocking into Severus's in the process. "Ow."

He winces a little, and then tells her, "I'm turning the page."

She hums, eyes glued to a book she wouldn't dare look at not even a week ago, and says, "Okay."

It's fascinating, Lily has to admit. Gruesome in some cases and horrific in others, yes, but there's something... mesmerising about it, something hideously captivating in the way that the diagrams seem to eagerly demonstrate their attached spells. On the page, a young wizard is neatly flayed alive, the entire process precise. Her stomach rolls, but Lily can't seem to tear her gaze away for even a second. She doesn't think about it.

She doesn't think about a lot of things, actually, staunchly refusing to acknowledge the way she finds herself drawn away from her Housemates and friends, instead choosing to orbit around her best friend and the seemingly endless rotation of Dark Arts tomes he's somehow gotten his hands on.

Mary's sick of her excuses, she knows, responding to every one with a nod and an, "Oh, alright, then," in that tone that lands somewhere in the middle of disappointment, exasperation and concern.

Marlene has given up entirely, the whole of their interactions reduced to simple greetings in the hall and nods when they pass each other between classes.

Dorcas is nice about it, still catching her arm on the way to breakfast, still offering to study with her when they're all together in the Common and she doesn't want anyone to feel left out. It's undeniable, though, that her smile isn't near as warm as it used to be and it's tinged with worry at the corners.

No one makes it a secret of what they think about her recent activities. And as for the company she's keeping? Well, they'd always been particularly vocal about that.

Things must come to a head eventually, and they do, not even ten minutes after Professor Sprout has dismissed them from the classroom on Wednesday afternoon. She hears the whispers first, half of them from students she doesn't even know, has never said a word to.

"—conspiring with snakes—"

"—think it's the first time I've heard of a Gryff going Dark—"

"—ck was right about her, she's got no—"

Something ugly twists in her chest, and she forces her feet to turn and move, one step after the other. She can make it to the Common Room reasonably quickly, she thinks, and then she catches the self-proclaimed Marauders outside the Great Hall. Or rather, they catch her.

"You can do better than a bunch of slimy snakes, Evans," Potter crows, and she stops dead in her tracks. "Why bother with them when you've got a fine piece of Gryffindor right here?"

"Get lost," she says, the words ground flat between grit teeth.

Potter does not get lost. "Come on, Evans," he continues. "You're not acting like a proper Gryffindor. Where's your House loyalty? I can guarantee that chivalry and bravery are much better than whatever they're offering." It sounds... like a taunt, and this is when Lily realises that what she's been feeling isn't anger.

"Chivalry? Bravery? What would you know about any of that? It's not very chivalrous to corner students four-to-one, now, is it?" She hisses her words, each one more scathing than the last, and as she spits them out, every last one dripping venom, she realises that she wants it to hurt. "And it certainly doesn't seem brave to leave behind someone who needs help because you got cold feet! I'm not a proper Gryffindor? No, I think you've got it wrong, James. If you want to see an improper Gryffindor, the whole lot of you can go right ahead and look in a bloody mirror! I will not be talked down to by the likes of spiteful little cowards like you! I'm more Gryffindor than all four of you put together, but if you're what our House is supposed to look like, then I want nothing to do with it!"

Her ears are ringing when she's done, the whole world narrowed down to one singular focal point, the group of boys headed by the one who'd been desperate to get her attention and regrets it now that he has it. She looks at each of them in turn, summoning a contempt she didn't know she possessed until now. "Save your breath," she snaps, when Black's jaw unlocks, and she turns around and walks away.

Something slots into the place at the back of her mind, and she thinks, oh, her fingers itching to wrap themselves around her wand and whisper the words that will turn them inside out, call the blood from their pores and make it sing. Something clicks, when she thinks about she felt just then, and she can tell the difference quite clearly, very easily, between pure, white-hot, blinding rage and what she's been calling anger. She doesn't know what it really is, and she doesn't want to. She doesn't think about it, either, simply pushes the entire realisation to the back of her head and thinks, oh.

It changes... very little. Something inside of her has changed, and she finds herself growing steadily more unbothered by the voice in her that tells her about old, forbidden magicks of the body and the mind and the blood. It's always about blood.

She doesn't bother reading over Severus's shoulder anymore, the two of them scribbling notes as the pages flip on their own once they've both finished reading.

What does change things is when Rosier corners her after Defence one day, a sealed envelope held in his hand.

"What's this?" Lily asks, eyeing the pristine letter suspiciously. She might get along with the Slytherins much better now—especially after the incident with the Marauders that Rosier had found particularly amusing—but she can't say she truly trusts them.

"An invitation," he says, and before she can speak, he continues. "Every rule has its exceptions. We'd thought there was only room for one Mudblood prodigy, but it looks like there's space for two."

"Don't call me that," she bites, and he waves the envelope at her.

"Think about it. As it stands now, men like Potter and Dumbledore are holding too many of the cards. Men who would let people die and then cover it up to save their own hides. Don't you want to see them get what's coming to them?"

"There's no difference between you and them," she says.

"Isn't there? We've never claimed to be good."

She stares at him, silent.

"It's a new age, Evans. Don't you want to change the world?" he asks.

She takes the envelope.

anyways, i hope you enjoyed that! thanks for reading :)

[littleoddwriter]

Hiya! Your prompt list interested me and I would like to request you a Zsaszmask story with Dialogue Prompt n°5 "I wasn't sure your remembered me". Plot: During a fight with a rival gang, Victor gets knocked out and suffered amnesia. It hurts Roman who tried everything to help him. Angst+happy ending would be nice. I am sure it will be brilliant as always! Thanks in advance and have a nice day!

Remember Me | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hiya! <3 Thank you so much for this delightful request! It's totally run away from me, istg (it's over 4k words long, rip). I really hope you enjoy what I've done with it!

summary; see above.

notes; Angst with Happy Ending; Amnesia; Hospitals; Recovery; Mentions of Murder and Fantasies of it; Mentions of having been stabbed and shot; probably bad depiction of how hospitals and such work despite the medical dramas i've watched.

Stupid fucking rival gangs. He wished he could kill them all over again.

Stupid fucking Victor Zsasz. He was always so fucking loyal and protective.

Fucking hell!

Fuck!

Roman was fuming; his blood was still boiling, thrumming through his body in high speed, making him tremble. Although to be fair, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was only shaking because of his rage. It might have also been caused by the fear that’s settled deep into his bones.

Fear! He, Roman Beauvais Sionis, the notorious Black Mask – scared! It was laughable, really.

It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been for the fact that Victor’s blood was all over his clothes.

It would’ve been laughable if it hadn’t been for the fact that Zsasz was lying on the hospital bed, wires and tubes attached to him, looking so lifeless.

Because yes, it was scary, indeed.

Roman thought even the cruellest people in the world would agree that the uncertainty of whether or not the person you cared about the most was coming back to you at all or not, warranted such feelings of fear. It was perfectly fine.

If only it didn’t feel so wrong.

If only he didn’t feel like ripping his own heart out, so he could make these emotions stop.

That’s one of the many reasons that he despised just how close he was to Victor, how close he let him get.

He’s always known that someday, he may as well lose him one way or another.

And then what?

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

The strangest thing of all to him, in this very moment that he’s been sitting on the hospital chair next to Victor’s bed, was that he hasn’t left that spot even once so far. He was too scared to move. He felt as though the second his eyes left Zsasz’s shape, he would suddenly disappear. Because right now, he was still here. He was still alive, if only just barely, but he was still here.

He hadn’t even dared to change his clothes, the dried blood making them crusty and uncomfortable. It was disgusting and under any other circumstances he would have gone to change the second he had been out of danger.

Yet, here he was.

If only Zsasz knew just how much he actually cared about him.

Thinking about it though, he probably did. He seemed to know Roman better than he knew himself. Sometimes that scared him, but most of the time it only lit this raging fire inside him. He couldn’t stand the way he depended on this one person.

It was dangerous.

He couldn’t help himself, though. He’s tried before, but every time it led him right back to Zsasz. A strange pull kept hold of him, not letting him get out of Victor’s magnetic field under any circumstances.

Roman knew that Zsasz would probably say that it was some kind of fate thing. Destiny. They were meant to be together from the day they’d been born, only to wreak havoc on Gotham the way they’ve been doing ever since.

It was kind of charming, really, that Victor was so set on his theories about the universe. Sionis never questioned that Zsasz might have a point, considering that his purpose was to free all these birds from their cages, but he often failed to extent his belief in Victor’s theories to themselves.

Until now, at least.

The way he’s been feeling since Victor got knocked out, stabbed, and shot made him unsure of everything, now.

Because it truly felt as though with the very real notion of possibly losing his Victor, he’s suddenly felt so lost. Incomplete. It was as though with every action the rival gang’s taken, another part’s been ripped out of his body, his heart – his very soul.

It was absolutely horrific and now he could only hope that Zsasz would wake up again, without any permanent damages. He didn’t know what he would do if there were any at all. Would he rage? Mourn? Kill? He just hoped he’d never have to find out at all.

Several weeks later – fifty-six days, in fact – Roman sat in his chair beside Victor’s bed, like he’s done day and night since it had first happened.

Of course, he had changed out of his clothes after the first night, showered and slept, but he’s done it all in Zsasz’s hospital room. He didn’t dare leave him.

All business was done over the phone, or by meetings in Victor’s room. It wasn’t the most convenient situation. It also left him exposed, seemingly weak, and he’s made certain that they all knew that if they so much as thought of him as any less dangerous and cruel, they’d be dead faceless men. They seemed to have taken his threats seriously enough. At least nothing has come up so far.

After a while, Roman has started to hold Victor’s right hand in both of his, stroking his thumb over his palm, his wrist – tracing the only scar he found there. He even talked to him. The doctors have said that often times it helped to talk to a coma patient, that they’ve woken up earlier than expected – or at all – when they’ve been spoken to. So he had muttered about the incident that even got them there in the first place, but as time has passed, he just started talking about everything and nothing.

In rare moments of sentimentality, he’d even go on about how much he missed Victor, how scared he felt, even after weeks. Maybe especially because it’s been weeks – almost two months– now. He was so afraid that perhaps Zsasz wouldn’t wake up after all. The doctors have certainly never given him a clear answer.

Lost in his musing, he felt Victor’s hand, which has been still enveloped by both of his, twitch.

He immediately held completely still, not even breathing, as he looked at Zsasz curiously, expectantly.

“Zsasz?” he rasped, sounding so small to his own ears that he cringed internally.

The hand twitched again, fingers clenching and releasing around Roman’s hand.

“Victor, hey. Come back to me, hm?” he spoke softly, a nervous smile twisting his mouth upward.

After a few more moments, Victor’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly, he seemed to adjust to the bright lights in the room. Clearing his throat and groaning quietly, he sluggishly turned his head to the side, his eyes meeting Roman’s.

As soon as he had taken him in, Victor’s eyes widened.

Roman felt confusion coursing through him.

Zsasz looked – scared? Confused as well? He certainly didn’t look very happy to see Roman alive and well next to him.

“Who are you?”

The world seemed to stop around Roman; his heart was pounding, feeling it in his throat. He was kidding. He had to be.

“Excuse me?” Roman inquired instead, giving Zsasz a chance out of this uncalled for joke.

“Who are you?” Victor repeated, his voice still hoarse and broken, but louder. He looked so genuine, too.

An icy chill settled in Roman’s stomach, spreading through his entire body.

“Now’s really not the time for jokes, Mr. Zsasz,” Sionis reprimanded him, trying once more to make Victor react differently and say he’s only been kidding after all, before he called a doctor in panic.

But then Victor pried his hand out of Roman’s tight grip and said, “I’m really not joking, sir.”

Okay, maybe he really wasn’t, because Victor’s certainly never called him ‘sir’ outside of sex; even then, it was a rare occurrence.

Sionis took a deep breath and then leaned over to press the call-button, hoping the doctors – who were all on his pay roll, of course – would have an answer that was at least mildly satisfactory.

No such luck, though.

The doctors came in and asked Roman to step outside first, so they could check Victor over.

In front of his room, Sionis started pacing, running his hands through his hair in frustration, anxiety, and rage. He was trying so hard not to explode; it made him tremble all over again. He felt exactly like he had when they had first come into the hospital nearly two months ago.

This was just a really bad fucking nightmare. It had to be.

When the doctor and his nurses were done checking him over, they asked Roman back into the room. He’s kept his distance now, not daring to come any closer to Victor, his Victor.

“You said you don’t know who this is?” the doctor – whatshisname – inquired calmly, looking at Victor, but pointing at Roman.

“Yeah, no idea,” Victor replied, his voice started to sound clearer, which only made it so much worse for Roman when he couldn’t detect any underlying inflection that may have told him that this really was just a prank after all.

“But you do know who you are, correct? Do you know your name?” the doctor continued, looking at Roman, a hint of fear in his eyes. He hated it. He wanted to gouge them out, so he didn’t have to see the fear anymore. Instead, he just looked away, staring at Victor intently.

“I know who I am, yeah. Name’s Victor Zsasz.”

“Alright. Could you tell me what year we have, Mr. Zsasz?”

His brows furrowed, deep in thought, and then, “2002.” Fuck.

The doctor stopped short, Roman’s hands clenched into tight fists, the leather of his gloves squeaking audibly in the all too quiet room.

“I’m sorry to say it, but it is actually 2019. Do you have any idea why you’re in the hospital at all?”

Victor’s eyes widened again, just like when he’s spotted Roman for the first time a little while ago.

“That can’t be right. No, I don’t remember that. What the hell’s going on, Doc? What did you do to me?” The last part was directed at Roman, who felt as though his heart’s been stabbed, ripped out and stomped on with those words and the accusatory delivery of them.

“Mr. Sionis, I’d have to ask you to wait outside until I’m done here, please,” the doctor said.

Without another word and as if he was on autopilot, Roman let himself out of the room and sat down in the chair in front of it, burying his head in his hands. This couldn’t possibly be true. He had to wake up from this horrible nightmare, soon. He just had to.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back outside.

“Mr. Sionis, it looks as though Mr. Zsasz suffers from amnesia. It was most likely caused by the blow to his head.”

“But he’ll be fine, right? Amnesia is only temporary. Right?” Roman hated that he couldn’t hide the anxiety he felt, the utter dread.

“Not always. We’d have to do some more tests, CTs and such, to make sure. After that I can disclose more certain information to you. Would that be alright?”

Sionis sighed, frustrated, “Yes. Do whatever you’ve got to, as long as it’ll help bring him back to normal.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll go and order the tests right now. I’d suggest that you go home now. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got any new information, but it certainly wouldn’t do any good to confuse Mr. Zsasz even further now, when we barely know what’s really going on. Alright? I promise to be fast.”

“You better be,” Roman muttered and turned to leave the hospital, his driver waiting a couple of blocks away from it.

Normally, he’d have been raging now, throwing things, spitting into doctors faces, cussing them out – but he couldn’t.

He was in shock.

He could barely process the reality of what was even happening.

He felt so alone.

Two days later, in which he might’ve gone a little mad, really, his doctor finally called him. When he’s come in to see him, he’s told him that Victor did indeed only suffer from temporary memory loss. Unfortunately, such amnesia was quite unpredictable and it could be a few days, weeks, months, or even years until all memories were back.

Still, the good news were that the doctor has managed to warm up Zsasz to the idea of going back to living with Roman, after assuring him that it’s been this way for many years, now. To that Victor had first asked if he was gay, because apparently at that point in his life, Zsasz hadn’t had a clue about his sexuality, or that he could truly like anyone at all.

All of this was utterly ridiculous to Roman.

How can a person just lose access to such a big portion of their life, of their identity, essentially?

The same day that Roman’s received the news, he was also allowed to take Victor back home with him, already. Apparently his wounds had healed a great deal, while he’d been out, and so the rest could be done from home. Additionally, it’d be extremely beneficial to bringing his memories back if he was surrounded by things so familiar to him.

Roman hoped it worked fast.

“I had your old room prepared for you,” Roman commented when they’ve finally arrived back at the penthouse.

Victor was holding himself up with a hand on the wall. He hadn’t liked when Roman touched him and offered him to support him. Sionis couldn’t really find words for just how much he’s hated that.

“’Old room’? What’s with my new one?” Victor asked, almost looking like a caged animal, when their eyes met.

“Well, I had thought you wouldn’t want to sleep in one bed with me, right now,” Roman replied, hoping he’d catch on without needing him to spell it out for him.

Realisation dawned on him quickly, a slight pink tint to his cheeks. “Right.”

“Exactly. Anyway, so this is your room, there’s an en-suite bathroom, through that door,” Roman explained, showing Victor around. He was glad that he was such a natural at these things, it eased him a little, bringing back some much needed familiarity.

“Huh, compared to the shithole I used to live in, this is really luxerias.”

“Luxurious,” Roman corrected him without thinking.

“Uh-huh, whatever,” Victor just muttered darkly.

“Dinner will be ready at 6pm sharp. Until then you can- I don’t know, stay in bed, I suppose. If you should need anything, or you’re having an emergency you can either call for my staff, or me; whichever you prefer.” Fuck, Roman really hated just how much he cared about this asshole. He’d never do this for anyone else. If it had been anyone else, Roman would have dropped them – killed them – the second they had to have been rushed to the fucking hospital.

“Okay. Thanks, Mr. Sionis,” Zsasz said, gingerly sitting down on his bed.

“Just call me Roman, Zsasz.” Or boss, he added in his mind, but didn’t dare to speak it.

When he left Victor’s room, he stalked into his own, silent tears gathered in his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

He just wanted his Victor back.

Dinner was awkward to say the least. Victor sat in his usual place at the head of the table, to Roman’s right, and he ate just like he always did – like a fucking pig. But he didn’t talk to Roman at all, even when he had tried to start up a conversation. Instead, he only side-eyed him, looking suspicious of him. It enraged Roman.

In the morning, Victor didn’t show up for breakfast.

After a few minutes of waiting for him to come, Roman got up to look after Zsasz. His first thoughts had been that perhaps something’s gone wrong and Victor died in his sleep, but when he opened the door to his room – after knocking first, of course, he wasn’t a savage after all – Zsasz glared at him so darkly that an unpleasant shiver ran down Roman’s spine.

So he didn’t try to force him out if he didn’t want to. His doctor had told him to give him time and be patient with him, so he tried his fucking best to do exactly that. It was really fucking hard, though. He hoped that Zsasz would at least appreciate his efforts properly, when he was all his again.

In the end, Victor hasn’t come out of his room at all that day. It was extremely frustrating to Roman, who proceeded to trash his own room at night, when it had all just come to a head for him. He didn’t care if Victor could hear him scream and throw things, destroying them.

The day after, Victor sat at the breakfast table first, to Roman’s surprise. Sionis didn’t say anything, even though he so desperately wanted to make a snide remark, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk of having Zsasz lock himself into his room, again.

“The doc said that showing me some things could jog my memory,” Victor rasped eventually, when Roman had been ready to get up and leave.

“I know. So you’re willing to do that?” He only received a nod in response.

For a moment, Roman mulled it over, thinking about what he could show Victor to help him remember his life the best and the fastest.

Then it hit him.

Zsasz didn’t remember him. Well, maybe he would if he saw Roman wearing his Black Mask in the club they’ve first met, when Galante introduced them to each other.

“Alright, I’ve got something to show you. I’ll just make a phone call and we could go, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

Roman had made sure that Victor wouldn’t see him in the Black Mask until they were to re-enact their first meeting – only that this time they’d be all by themselves.

He really hoped this worked.

Roman told Zsasz to stand in the same spot he’s stood when Black Mask had first stridden in to greet Galante. Just like he’s done with Sionis since, he’d stood leaned against a pillar. Usually his arms would be behind his back, but it would put too much strain on the still tender wounds on his abdomen, so he just let them dangle at his sides. Roman felt a painful tug on his heart strings. He had missed seeing Victor like this.

“Wait here,” he instructed Zsasz, who just nodded.

Then Roman went back to the car and got out his Black Mask and put it on.

“If this doesn’t fucking work…,” he muttered gloomily, before he opened the empty club’s door to walk in, like he’s done all those sixteen years ago.

As much as he hated admitting it, he was lucky that the mask gave him such a sense of security and protection, so that whenever he wore it, he practically became a different person. It made it a lot easier to hold himself with all the extravagance and intent that he’s displayed over a decade and a half ago (and every other day before all this), too.

He watched Victor like a hawk as he marched up to him, and Zsasz’s gaze was just as sharp and piercing as was his.

Black Mask stopped right in front of Zsasz, only a few inches away. He tilted his head a little, and gruffly inquired, “Anything at all, Mr. Zsasz?”

Victor swallowed thickly; Roman could see the way his throat worked around it. Then his eyes widened again, just like in the hospital, but this time recognition lied underneath his sharp gaze.

“Black Mask,” he whispered, a grin spread on his face, showing off his two beautiful golden teeth.

Sionis inhaled sharply. “I wasn’t sure you remembered me,” he rasped, a soft, sad inflection coming along with it.

“I’m so sorry, boss.” Victor lifted his hands and cupped the mask with them, oh, so gently. He’s always known to be careful with it. Then he stroked his thumbs over the seams and the roughly textured leather, a wonder in his eyes that Roman’s missed seeing more than he’d ever dare to admit.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Zsasz,” Black Mask said, his voice strained from holding back. He didn’t know just how much Victor remembered now. They obviously haven’t been more than employer and employee from the get-go.

But fuck, he wanted to hold him close and kiss him so badly. It’s been far too long since and all the hospital stress has made him desperate for the assurance that Victor wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Still, he just stood there, watching Zsasz marvel at his mask for a while. Victor’s always loved his mask, and Roman couldn’t ever deny him from admiring it, when it was such a boost to his ego as well.

When it felt as though fifteen minutes must have passed, Roman got a little impatient, though. Victor’s not said anything since and he needed to know what other memories he’s gotten back; so he asked, “What else do you remember?”

Zsasz’s eyes were glazed over a little, having gotten completely lost in his own little world.

Under the mask, Roman smiled.

“Hm, I remember the Bertinelli Massacre,” the way he talked – it was a testament to just how far away into his mind he’s just gone, his voice sounded so light, pondering, Roman loved it, “And I remember you coming to Galante afterwards and buying my contract from him. How I became your exclusive assassin and later right-hand man. I remember how nervous you were about opening the club after your parents had just kicked you out. I remember how ecstatic you were when it had all started to work out in your favour, the way it should have.”

He paused.

Roman almost thought that had been it. They would have to wait for everything else to come back, too. And then who knew how long it’d take?

But then Victor continued with a smile on his face, “I remember the first time we’ve gotten each other off after I freed someone for you. And how you avoided me afterwards for a little while, so angry that you’ve given in to your urges. Then I remember how we just went from there. How we share a bed now, even though you hated it so much at first, but you can’t sleep anymore when I’m not there. And I remember just how close you are to owning Gotham the way you were always meant to do.” Zsasz ended it by kissing the mask’s teeth, like he would do so often.

Roman’s breath audibly stuttered. He wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist, careful not to squeeze, just holding onto him gently.

“Take my mask off,” he commanded.

With a cute little pout, Victor did as he was told and gently took off Roman’s Black Mask, setting it down on the table beside them. As soon as he’s done that, Roman captured Victor’s pretty, plush lips in a searing kiss that conveyed all the emotions that have plagued him for almost two months then. Zsasz reciprocated it just as enthusiastically, cupping Roman’s face in his hands. They both groaned into the kiss.

Their mouths open, Roman immediately plunged his tongue into his partner’s mouth, tasting and exploring him again after so long. It may have been the most amazing and intoxicating thing he’s ever experienced.

After a couple of minutes, they separated, although their noses still brushed against one another, their lips just barely apart at all.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, baby,” Roman murmured, pressing another small kiss to Victor’s slack lips.

Zsasz smiled, “I know. I missed you, too. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“Shut the fuck up, it wasn’t your fault, ‘kay? I’m just glad you’re back and all mine again. You are, aren’t you, Victor? All mine?”

“I sure am, boss. All yours. Only yours.”

Roman smiled, kissing Victor once more, a relieved sigh leaving him. He was beyond happy he’s gotten him back. He truly had no idea what he would have done if that hadn’t happened. Those past two months had been the worst of his entire life, he was sure of it.

“Never do that to me again. You hear me?”

“Never. I promise.”

Reblogs > Likes! Support content creators, please! Thanks!

[iamnotawomanimagod]

Hollywood is not a show about recreating history. It’s a show about rewriting history. 

It’s a show about telling the stories that were there all along, and about what it might have looked and felt like if people had been successful.

Those untold stories, and their “what could have beens.” The hushed-up diversity of identities in the history of American media, which is an absolute reality, not just present-day wishful thinking retroactively inserted for woke points.

People like us - queer people, people of color, and those few true allies who see us as the complex and emotional human beings that we are - have always existed, and will always exist. 

Our histories are painful. They’re filled with slow, difficult progress, with violence and cruelty and endless obstacles.

But what if it hadn’t been that way? 

What if we’d been able to overcome so many of those obstacles during the Golden Era of Hollywood? 

Golly gee, isn’t that a dream? 

That’s the story Ryan Murphy wanted to tell, and he does so brilliantly.

Are the characters accurate representations of who those people were in history? No. Much like with most of Ryan Murphy’s work, Hollywood is a fictionalized version of reality, a hyper-vibrant and clever and smooth representation of real events. It’s far from the first time he’s taken liberties with “the truth” - anyone who’s seen his American Crime Story series or even certain fictionalized representations of real people in American Horror Story will already be familiar with the way he inserts real-life figures in order to root his fantastical stories in reality. It’s a hallmark of his work (and part of why I personally am drawn to so many of his stories, but I digress.)

Unlike many of Murphy’s past works, however, Hollywood is far from the bleak, dark tale one might expect it to be. It’s one of the most inspiring and emotionally fulfilling pieces of media I’ve seen in a long, long time.

This is not a story about the dark, depressing, real history of the slow march towards diverse representation in media. Rather, it’s a wish-fulfillment style fantasy that asks the question - 

What if - instead of being beaten down, of being pushed over the edge, of having to suffer in silence - what if those who were most oppressed and least represented in media at this time (and to this day) had risen up? Had been able to become the stars they should have been all along? What if they’d known recognition, representation, and accolades way back at the dawn of the Golden Era of Hollywood?

And it asks this question to make us know how it would feel. Not to show us what would’ve happened, and how it would’ve changed the world. We already know that. No, this story exists purely to give us that incredible warmth and pride that fills you from your toes to your scalp when you see people like you succeed, and it lets us glimpse, for a moment, how it would feel if that had happened when it was already long overdue, 70 years ago.

As it turns out, it feels fucking incredible. And it hurts so goddamn much that it isn’t real.

Many viewers have commented about crying throughout the final episode, so I was bracing myself for some horrific and tragic twist - but it never came. You can trust the title of the final episode - “A Hollywood Ending” - to deliver exactly that.

What makes it special and important and unique is who that happy ending is for.

Black men, black women, Asian women, gay men, and the elderly. Every dream they could ever want - success, love, acceptance, bravery, joy - all of it was delivered to them, without caveat within the story. It isn’t too late for anyone. Nobody is ever brutally punished for being true and honest about themselves. The show ends in a black-and-white shot and the words “The Beginning.”

Within the story, it’s perfect. It’s Hollywood. A happy ending.

But it’s still a Ryan Murphy story. The setting is intentional, because the late 1940s were such a pivotal time for American media and for American culture. The heartbreak, the real-world caveat, comes when you wake up from “Dreamland,” and remember reality.

I had to pause and cry for a good five minutes when Hattie McDaniel says to Camille: “They let me in the room this time.” As far as I know, that never happened for her. 

Or when Anna May Wong got her Oscar. That didn’t happen for her.

Or when Roy and Archie walked the red carpet hand-in-hand, an interracial gay couple in 1947. Obviously, that never happened for anyone.

But god, do you know how good it felt to imagine? To see it? To dream?

And not only did we get to see those huge, satisfying moments - we got to see an in-world context of how it might’ve affected people alive back then. A poor immigrant Chinese family; a solitary black gay writer; a black family, particularly a little black girl - we get to watch them all explode with joy and happy tears and acceptance as they’re seen, for the first time, by America at large.

That didn’t happen in 1947. It has barely even happened now.

That’s why Hollywood is intentionally “unrealistic,” why it rewrites history. Why the opening credits sequence shows all of this downtrodden people working together to lift each other up the Hollywood sign, to catch each other when they slip, to watch each other when they take the leap - and to enjoy the gorgeous, golden glow of the city together when they reach the top.

It’s about community, bravery, and fighting the good fight. And it’s about winning.

This is the first piece of escapist media I’ve seen in a long time, and it is a tenderly written love letter to queer, elderly, and poc creatives.

That’s worth a million times more than so-called realism ever will be.

[thyandrawrites]

Could you help me understand the popular notion that while death for Dabi would not be a good narrative choice that it would be just fine for Hawks? I love almost all of the characters so maybe it’s my bias, it’s just I can’t wrap my head around the idea that two young lives were horrifically affected by less than stellar adults, where one decides to be a villain while recognizing his morals he goes on ignoring them for a bigger goal, and the other is made into a hero and that is all they’ve ever known so their emotions are not allowed enough to act on their subconscious wants to the point it’s hard for them to break free (very real life problem in a fantasy situation), both or one have to die to be so called “redeemed”. Another confusing point is that both of these characters get so much unnecessary hate, as if placed in another anime the very people hating them would be rooting for them. But I’m more interested in your take on narrative acceptance of certain plot points.

oh man, I hate talking about this topic because the last time I did, it spiralled into discourse. So I’m gonna keep this brief.

I don’t think it would be “just fine”. I know a lot of Hawks fans, I’m in a server of 400+ people dedicated to a ship about him, and so far I have yet to see someone who isn’t conflicted and unhappy about the death flags he’s been collecting for the past year. When people (including me) discuss his likelihood to die, they’re not discussing what they want to see, they’re talking about what the story is setting us up to expect.

In my opinion, and this is just me, I think that the sharp difference that people show when they discuss Dabi’s possible death as opposed to Hawks in terms of acceptance is motivated by their different narratives inside the story. Dabi’s character rotates around the theme of death. He’s legally dead. His family has been mourning him for ten years. He looks like a Frankenstein’s monster with his stitched up appearance. He’s at death’s doorstep every time he overuses his quirk. He literally tried to kill himself in an attempt to take down his father just recently. Typically, when a story shows a character struggling to hard to stay alive, to find a motivation to keep trudging on despite how hard everything is, that narrative of hopelessness is flipped by the end of the character’s journey. Take Kaneki from Tokyo Ghoul for example. He suffers hell throughout the story, is suicidal for the entirety of it, and yet at the end he still finds something worth living for, and sets off to a path of healing. So it’s only normal for people to expect a similar end for Dabi. Especially since we just saw his family coming together to bring him back.

Hawks, on the other hand, is a different case. He doesn’t have any family left, and was literally abandoned to his fate by his own mother (who knew Dabi would come after him and didn’t even warn him). He doesn’t have any ties with someone who might help him “correct” his path, and is thus spiralling and spiralling further into darkness. He rejected his one redeeming factor, aka his own victimhood. He rejected his one redeeming tie, aka his friendship with Twice. He made the conscious decision to stay a tool of the system instead of questioning his own ethics. He remained stagnant.

With this I’m not trying to say that Hawks isn’t a sympathetic character, or that I want him to die. Or that his death is even remotely a satisfying end for me personally. I would’ve much rather seen a path of healing for him as well, because as you pointed out, he’s a victim of the system just as much as Dabi. In fact, I literally dedicate all my fic endeavors to exploring that moral struggle, the could’ve beens. But the natural point to develop that growth was right after Jin’s death. Or immediately before it. Yet, Horikoshi has yet to explore any sort of guilt, any sort of self-reflection on his actions. Hawks is sorry for Jin’s death, but he’d do it again. That is the opposite of growth. He’s clinging to his self-righteousness. He’s clinging to the idea that heroes are always right when they act as law enforcers. A character who refuses to grow, particularly in regards to a system that is already foreshadowed to collapse once Deku reforms it, doesn’t have a future. Plus, the foreshadowing of his heroic fall (likely while saving someone else since that’s the theme his character rotates around) has been there since his introduction. Which is why a lot of people think that Hawks isn’t going to survive the manga. It’s not a hopeful prediction, it’s just a mere statement of what we can see from the writing so far.

All that said, though, I still have hope that his death might be the moment he finally redeems himself by doing the right thing

I hope that answered your doubts. Oh and btw. Please don’t send follow up asks! I don’t really have anything else to add on this topic

[let-the-dream-begin]

When the World is Free Chapter 6: I Just Can’t Find My Way Out

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Jamie was falling. Air was rushing past him and metal was clanging, deafening him. There was a blaring in his ears, a ringing in his head. His guts were in his throat, and he actually prayed that he would vomit for any semblance of relief.

It felt like it would never stop, and the blaring and ringing just kept getting louder, and the churning of his insides got more and more unbearable. It got to the point where he was begging for impact, begging for it to kill him, so he didn’t have to suffer any longer.

But then the ground was fast approaching, and he’d never been so terrified.

——

He woke with a start, just before he hit the ground.

“Jamie…?”

His pulse was racing, there was bile in his throat, every muscle in his body was tense.

And his back was on fire.

He began whimpering against his will. It hurt so unbelievably badly. He was burning.

“Jamie…it’s alright, I’m here.”

He knew he was awake, he knew the falling had been a dream, as it always was. He often relived the crash in his dreams and woke up before impact in Claire’s arms. But the pain he was feeling was real. The terror he felt at the thought of bleeding out in the middle of the woods was real.

He could not get enough air. His chest burned almost as much as his back. His breath heaved between clenched teeth. He was trembling.

“Jamie…are you awake? It’s alright, love, I’m here.”

He whimpered again, and it morphed into pitiful weeping. He did not even have the sense to be ashamed. He just wanted it to stop.

“Jamie, are you in pain?”

Yes. Help me. Help me, Sorcha. Save me.

He sputtered incoherently, the fire spreading wider over his back.

“Jamie…what can I do? Tell me how to help you.”

She gingerly touched his shoulder, turning him from his side to lay on his back.

He screamed in agony, unable to hold it back anymore. The noise was joined suddenly by Brianna’s crying.

“Jamie!” Claire was frightened, he could see it, hear it in her voice. “God, I’m sorry! What’s wrong?”

He recoiled from her, turning back on his side to face away from her.

“It…burns!”

“Your back? It hurts?”

He sobbed gutturally in response, and he felt the bed shift behind him, then heard Claire running around to the other side of the bed.

“Jamie, look at me.”

She knelt on the floor right in front of him.

“Look at my eyes, Jamie.”

He obeyed her, finding her eyes with his bloodshot ones.

“I’m going to take your hand. Is that alright?”

He ground his teeth, attempting to quiet his whimpering, and he nodded.

“Alright, my hand is coming to yours. There.”

He felt both of her hands close around the one that he was clenching his pillow with.

“You are awake, Jamie. I know it hurts, but it isn’t real. I am real. Can you feel me?”

She squeezed his hand between hers. It was warm, it was real.

“Breathe, Jamie. Let the air come in. It’s real.”

He obeyed, breathing sputtering breath after sputtering breath.

“Good…may I touch your face, Jamie?”

He blinked rapidly, and he nodded. She kept one hand on his and let the other trail to his face. Her hand was soft, and warm, and real.

“Do you feel me, Jamie?”

He nodded.

“I’m here. You’re awake. It’s over. You’re safe, you’re unharmed. It’s alright.”

He listened to the soothing tones of her voice, leaned into her touch. Gradually, the burning subsided to a dull ache, throbbing rhythmically.

“You’re alright,” she said again, leaning in closer, her breath dancing on his skin. “I’ve got you, love.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he closed his eyes, sighing.

He was suddenly aware that Brianna’s wailing had stopped, and he tensed, flicking his eyes in the direction of her cradle.

“She’s alright,” Claire said softly. “John came in and took her, you must not have noticed. He’s got her. Relax.”

His breathing slowly returned to normal under Claire’s touch. She stroked his arm, his cheeks, his hair, all while carefully avoiding his back. The throbbing continued, slowing gradually.

Jamie’s nightmares were nothing unusual. They’d been happening since he’d returned. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up screaming either, but this was the first time he’d done so with an infant in the room. He felt ashamed and pathetic; his wife shared a room with her husband and her near two-month-old daughter, and the husband was the one waking her up, and waking up the baby while he was at it.

For the first time, Jamie was grateful that John hadn’t moved out yet.

After Brianna was born, Claire was beyond exhausted, alternating between sleeping and feeding constantly. She needed all the help she could get with nappy changes, cooking, cleaning, and grocery shopping, and were Jamie a working man at that time, he wouldn’t have been able to help. He was begrudgingly glad that John could go out and earn money for their living while Jamie took care of his wife and child.

Well…she still wasn’t his wife.

Claire had reasoned that they would not be able to afford the divorce lawyer until Jamie had a steady income as well, and she had also reminded him how much help John was in terms of Brianna.

“And besides, it’s nearly Christmas. What are you planning to say to him? ‘Merry Christmas, get out of my home’?”

Claire had been quite smug when she’d said it, but Jamie had to admit she’d had a point.

And now, Claire was taking care of him, and John was taking care of the baby.

Christ, he felt useless. Even though he’d found a job, working at John’s office, he still felt useless.

After a while, Claire got back into bed behind Jamie.

“I’m going to touch your back now. Is that alright?”

“No,” he said reflexively.

“It’s alright, Jamie, you’ve healed. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you trust me?”

“Aye…I do.”

“Alright. Here come my hands.”

Jamie braced for impact, his muscles tensing and his eyes squeezing shut, but all he felt was two small hands on his body, and then lips pressing between the hands.

It’s gone.

He sighed heavily in relief, leaning greedily into her touch.

“That’s right. It’s alright.”

He slowly turned around, laying on his back and turning his head to look at her.

“There you go.”

He sighed again, reaching up for her. She obliged him, allowing him to pull her against his chest and hold onto her for dear life.

“I’m��I’m sorry, mo ghraidh.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She tightened her grip on him, kissing his chest.

“I ken how little sleep ye get wi’ the bairn, and I’m only making it worse.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she insisted. “I just wish I could help you. I hate seeing you in such pain.”

“I dinna understand it…I ken I’m safe, I ken it’s over…but my mind…”

“Shh…” She reached up to stroke his jaw, caress his cheek. “Trying to understand it will make you mad.”

“I feel like I am mad.”

“You’re not,” she said firmly, leaning on her hand so she could look him in the eye. “You are not the only soldier with shell shock. You went through something horrific. Your mind knows you’re safe, but your body is trying to catch up. And I will be here until it does, and long after.”

“I dinna deserve ye.”

“Nonsense.” Claire leaned down and kissed him sweetly. “I love you, Soldier.”

“I love you too.”

A small cry broke them apart, and Claire sat up.

“See? She would've needed a feeding soon anyway.” She flashed Jamie a smile before getting out of bed and going into the living room, returning with Brianna after a few seconds.

“Oh…I know, I know,” Claire crooned, making her way to the rocking chair.

“Claire.”

She paused, looking up at him.

“Feed her here, wi’ me.” He sat up, adjusting pillows so that Claire could sit up and lean against him comfortably while Brianna fed.

Claire smiled, making her way back to bed. She sighed as she settled in Jamie’s arms, and Brianna latched on immediately as Claire exposed her breast.

“I could watch ye do this every second fer the rest of my life,” Jamie whispered. “Give our child life like this. It’s beautiful.”

Claire smiled, but then she snorted. “Are you sure it isn’t just because you like my breasts this size?”

“Och!” Jamie pinched her arm, being that her arse was currently unavailable to him. “I didna say that wasna part of it, but that’s no’ why. And ye ken it.”

Claire laughed, putting her head on his shoulder. “I know.”

Jamie kissed the crown of her head, his eyes not leaving Brianna.

“Have I told ye lately how much I love ye, m’annsachd?” He rested his cheek on Claire’s head, stroking Brianna’s hair.

“Perhaps not in the last hour,” Claire answered, and Jamie heard the smile in her voice. “It still never feels like it’s enough, does it?”

“No, it doesna.”

“We love you, baby girl,” Claire whispered. “With all our hearts.”

“Aye, and we always will.”

——

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Jamie?” Claire asked for perhaps the tenth time that morning. Brianna cooed from her small wooden playpen on the floor as if in agreement, and Jamie did not miss the smile that John flashed in her direction.

“I dinna ken how else to say it, Sassenach,” Jamie said, agitated. “I’m no’ made of glass. I’m bloody fine.”

He was standing in the doorway in nothing but his trousers, feet and chest bare. He made his way to the icebox for something to eat.

“All I meant was that you hardly got any sleep last night,” she tried again, gently. Her voice floated closer until she was standing in the doorway, holding her robe closed against the chill.

“I’m no’ calling in sick my first day because I had a wee nightmare,” Jamie said, popping cheese into his mouth. He rationally knew that it had been much more than a wee nightmare, but in the light of day, remembering that he’d literally thought himself on fire while fully awake was nothing short of embarrassing.

“It wouldn’t be calling in sick. You’d just be delaying it another day. They wouldn’t mind, would they, John?”

Jamie smushed an entire slice of bread into his mouth, and was barely able to stifle the groan that bubbled up in his chest. John’s head popped up from the pan he was working at to turn and look at Claire.

“Ehm, well, no, I don’t think so. If you’re not feeling well — ”

“I’m fine.”

John jumped a little, and Jamie almost felt sorry.

John had ended up securing Jamie a job at his architecture firm; not as an architect, but something to do with bookkeeping. He’d been reluctant to accept a position he’d felt would be so stifling, though he’d tried to hide it from Claire (without much success). But Claire had assured him it was only temporary until they could move into the country or even back to the Highlands, where he could work in nature or with animals again. Jamie had tried to persuade Claire to just move back to Lallybroch with him, but she’d been adamant about not being ready to face his family yet. Not to mention she did not want to travel in the bitter cold with an infant, which he’d immediately agreed with.

He could spare a few months of discomfort to keep his child safe and healthy, even if said health and safety were maintained in a stuffy London flat.

Jamie knew he should be grateful for that stuffy London flat. It had kept a roof over his wee family’s head when he was unable. And he knew that it only had done so because John had seen to it.

Jamie knew that he meant no harm. After the moments they’d shared the day Brianna was born, Jamie could accept that any pain caused was not deliberate, that everything that had happened had been set on course with the best of intentions. Brute though he may be, Jamie was not brute enough to hold ill will against a man who he’d seen openly weep when cradling Jamie’s child, a man who’d gone to the ends of the earth to ensure Claire’s safety and comfort. A man who’d kept his promise, and then some.

No, it was impossible to bear any ill will.

And yet, though his mind knew this, his body could not be stopped from snapping at him, snarling, even growling. He’d be seized at once by images of Claire astride John, John’s fingers digging into her flesh, or John’s lips kissing the swell of her belly, and he’d go blind with rage.

He knew it was unfair.

But there was something broiling within him that was ready to explode, and he could not find a way to stop it from coming. He felt powerless to determine his own actions, like his soul was trapped in a shell of hatred and cold indifference.

“Oh! Look at you!”

Jamie snapped out of his reverie, realizing a little too late that he had completely crushed a second piece of white bread beyond recognition in his trembling, white-knuckled fist.

“You clever girl!”

Jamie felt the tension rolling away from his shoulders, and his fingers unconsciously unfurled around the lump of squished bread, letting it fall to the counter unceremoniously. Claire’s unbridled joy was music to his ears, and he was drawn to it before he even told his body to move. When he crossed the threshold into the living room, Claire was holding Brianna over her head, positively beaming at her. Brianna’s thumb was stuck in her mouth, apparently unfazed by whatever she’d done to make her mother so giddy. Jamie’s heart melted, and he took a few eager steps into the room.

“What’s she done?”

“She turned over!” Claire exclaimed, turning her radiant face to Jamie and bringing the baby back against her chest.

Her smile and her eyes were brighter than he’d ever seen the sun, and he instantly fell more in love with her than he’d been just two minutes ago.

“All by herself,” Claire went on, cooing into Brianna’s red wisps, patting her soft bottom.

“Did she now?” Jamie said, closing the distance between them. “Is it no’ a bit early for her to be doing that?”

“Doctor Spock said she shouldn’t be doing it for at least another month,” Claire said with a soft laugh.

“Och, what does Doctor Spock know?” Jamie reached for her and Claire obliged. “Ah, come here, lass. Such a braw wee thing.” He tenderly kissed her nose, and her pudgy hand clumsily swatted at his chin, eliciting laughter from Claire and himself. Jamie held her securely in one arm, holding her wee hand in place with his free hand, and he gently kissed the very center of her palm. His eyes flicked from the top of Brianna’s head to see Claire staring at him with nothing short of adoration, pressing her hand into his bare chest. He smiled back at her from behind Brianna’s tiny fingers sprawled over his lips, and the little heathen took this as a cue to stick them between, pulling at his bottom lip.

Claire laughed again, tutting and shaking her head as she pried Brianna’s fingers from his mouth. “Be nice to Da, lovie,” she crooned, kissing the back of her hand, then her head, and then leaning up to kiss Jamie.

“Every day I think my heart canna possibly get any bigger,” Jamie whispered. “And then I hold my lasses in my arms again and I’m proven wrong again and again.”

“I feel the same way,” she answered, nuzzling his nose with hers. Brianna abruptly turned her head, smooshing her face against Claire’s, and both her parents chuckled again.

“I am alright, Claire,” Jamie said, looking into her eyes. “I ken it looks like I’m being haunted; perhaps I am. That’s certainly what it feels like. But yer sweet faces…both of ye. Ye bring me back to life, slowly but surely.”

Claire nodded, understanding. “I love you.”

“Aye. I love you, too.”

Brianna began fussing, and the moment was gone. Jamie began bouncing her lightly, patting her bottom and walking around.

“Sit down, mo ghraidh. Ye’ll be alone wi’ her all day. Let me tend to her.”

“You need to put on a shirt, Jamie,” Claire chided even as she plopped onto the couch gratefully.

“I’ll bide. No’ time to go yet.” He crossed back into the kitchen, still bouncing Brianna.

“Would you quit rifling through the icebox?” Claire’s voice stopped him cold while he was reaching for the handle. “You know full well John is cooking. And it’s meant for all of us.���

Jamie glowered at John, and then he had to put conscious effort into not thinking about how ridiculous he must have looked wearing such a face while he bounced like a fool.

“I’ve put on extra bacon,” John said, indicating the smaller pan, the larger one holding the eggs. “So Claire won’t get up in arms about you stealing hers.”

Jamie hmphed, opening the icebox anyway and popping more cheese into his mouth.

“Stubborn Scottish arse,” he heard Claire mutter. He rolled his eyes, but then was met with a soft chuckle from the stove, and he scowled at John again.

“Forgive me,” John said quickly, though Jamie was certain he wasn’t at all very sorry.

He felt very much like he was being ganged up on by this pair of sassenachs, and that perhaps the near-to-whistling tea kettle would join the ranks next.

“Here.” John moved the pans off the burners. “Everything is done. Let me have her so you can finish getting dressed.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes at him.

“Come on, man. We don’t have all day.”

Jamie hmphed again before relinquishing his daughter to John, and he deliberately told himself to not think about how their hands lingered together in the exchange.

He continued to tell himself not to think about it as he buttoned his shirt, tucked it in, put on a belt and a tie, and grabbed a jacket to throw over later. He heard laughter coming from the kitchen as he departed the bedroom, and yet another fire lit behind his eyes, steaming out his ears, and propelling him to move faster to join them.

He stopped dead in his tracks, then, to see John and Claire facing one another in their chairs, John cradling Brianna in his arms as Claire gave her nose a little tap, causing her to swat blindly at her mother’s fingers and toss her head back and forth.

“Stop tormenting her,” John chastised, though his smile did not fade. “She’ll grow to resent you.”

“Oh…you wouldn’t, would you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t see how she could,” John relented, beaming down at the baby and then up at Claire.

Jamie almost jumped when John’s eyes landed on him, and he didn’t realize why until Claire turned around and John uncomfortably cleared his throat.

He hadn’t wanted it to end.

It was like watching a beautiful family that he was not a part of, touched by their familiarity, their warmth.

Except that was his family.

He shook his head.

He’s no’ yer family, man. He’s a friend, a friend who is leaving.

Jamie reluctantly sat down next to Claire, wordlessly shoveling eggs onto his plate.

“Here, I’ll — ”

“No, I’ve got her.” John stood up, encouraged Claire to keep eating, and then disappeared to put Brianna in her cradle.

Claire swallowed and stared at her food for a moment before turning her face up toward Jamie, offering a tiny smile.

“He made extra bacon today,” she said softly, pushing the plate toward him gently.

“Aye,” Jamie muttered, stabbing several pieces at once with his fork and depositing them on his plate. “I ken.”

——

Jamie woke with a start, his pulse racing. He’d been falling again, waking up just in time before hitting the ground. He waited in terror for the burning in his back to start, but it didn’t come. He turned over, desperate to see her, to feel her, her warmth, her realness. To ground himself before any delusions began.

Moonlight illuminated her face, and it calmed his heart. He tenderly brushed a curl away from her face and kissed her temple before reluctantly extricating himself from her nuzzling grip and pulling the blankets back. Best not to wake her with this one since it seemed to already be over. It had been over a week since the last one where he’d woken up on fire; perhaps Claire could sleep easier thinking that they were ceasing all together.

Jamie pulled the blankets up to Claire’s chin, knowing that she’d be cold without him next to her, and then he made his way to Brianna’s cradle. He needed to feel her next, her tiny softness and warmth, the realness of her featherlight weight, the unconditional trust that he had in her, knowing none of his demons or shortcomings. He needed that.

But when he reached the cradle, it was empty.

Jamie sighed, knowing exactly where she was. He crept silently to the bedroom door, slipping through and shutting it behind him. He was right, of course; John was sitting in the armchair beside the illuminated lamp, holding the sleeping baby, his makeshift bed set-up on the couch abandoned for now.

He was just…watching her. He was not speaking, or rocking. He was just holding her close to his chest, watching her sleep. Jamie almost felt guilty when John looked up, having heard the door shut.

“I, uh…” he said uneasily. “Sometimes I do this. Just hold her close and watch her sleep.”

“Aye,” Jamie said gruffly. “So do I.”

“Could you not sleep?” John said gently. “Another dream?”

“Aye.” Jamie lingered uncomfortably in the doorway, tempted to just disappear back into the bedroom and bury his face in Claire’s hair until his mind was blank.

“Did you…?” John stood up carefully, taking a few steps toward Jamie, clearly meaning to give Brianna to him.

“Nah, it’s…it’s alright,” Jamie said, crossing his arms uncomfortably over his bare chest. “Could ye…could ye no’ sleep either?”

“Not quite,” John said. “I’ve got…a lot of thoughts racing in my mind.”

“Like what?” Jamie challenged.

John opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t?” Another challenge. Jamie unfolded his arms and took a few steps into the room. “Try me.”

John blanched, gulping. “Well, it…” He cleared his throat. “I…have no idea what I’m doing, Jamie.”

“What d’ye mean?”

“I mean I have no idea what I’m doing here. With you, and Claire. And Brianna.” He seemed at a loss.

“I dinna ken either, man,” Jamie said, more unkindly than he’d meant it.

John sighed, adjusting Brianna’s weight in his arms. “Surely you understand how it feels to be lost?”

“Aye…I do,” Jamie’s voice softened, tinged with pain.

“I’m completely and utterly lost…” John’s eyes left Jamie, and wandered down to look at Brianna. “But then there are these…moments of clarity.” He stroked her cheek, and Jamie’s chest tightened with what he was nearly certain was possessive jealousy. Nearly certain.

“Do you know why I watch her sleep?” John said, his voice hardly above a whisper as he stared into her face. “Because I…I’m so afraid that I’ll…forget…”

His voice trailed off, and Jamie’s brow furrowed with concern, not understanding. John sighed again, finally looking back up at Jamie.

“I know I’m not her father, Jamie. When you were gone, it was all I could think about, raising this child that wasn’t my own. But I was bound by honor to her, the same way Claire is bound by honor to me. I made promises to Claire, because of the promises I made to you. I wasn’t at all sure how it would be between the three of us. To…to father a child that I didn’t sire. But then I…I felt her moving…inside. And when I felt her little foot against my palm…I fell in love.” He looked into Brianna’s face, and Jamie could not deny that the man was speaking true. “And seeing her now…that love is stronger than ever.”

Jamie’s insides roiled, his heart palpitating. Why couldn't he breathe…?

“If you want me to go, Jamie, just say the word and I will. I can use this red hair to cry adultery, and the divorce would be all too easy.” John’s voice quavered, as if it would not at all be easy. “You need never see me or hear from me again, and Brianna need never know that any of this ever happened. But…and forgive me for presuming to know her heart better than you do…but I don’t think Claire would ever forgive you.”

He crossed the room and transferred the tiny bundle into Jamie’s arms, a purposeful look in his eye. “And it would break my damned heart.”

Brianna fussed a bit, and Jamie tore his eyes away from John’s pained gaze to look at his daughter, bouncing her a bit.

“It’s alright, love,” John whispered, stroking a long, gentle finger over the baby’s cheek.

A switch flipped in Jamie’s heart at the sound of John’s words whispered lovingly to his child, at the sight of his tender, soothing touch to her cheek.

It was beautiful.

Jamie was unable to stop himself from gripping the back of John’s head and turning his face up so he could press their lips together. It felt the same and yet so different than the last time they had done this. So very much had changed…and yet so much was the same.

Jamie pulled away when he felt John’s tears slipping onto his cheeks.

“I dinna want ye to go,” Jamie whispered hoarsely, nuzzling his nose against John’s.

Claire would never forgive him…and he’d never forgive himself either.

Brianna fussed again, disrupting whatever moment had bloomed between them.

“D’ye…suppose she’s hungry?” Jamie said, partly to break the tension and partly because he had no idea if the bairn needed something he could not provide.

“Perhaps.” They both looked down and tried to soothe her, but to no avail.

“I’ll take her to Claire,” Jamie said reluctantly, knowing that the last thing he wanted to do was to disturb her sleep. He turned to go to the bedroom, but stopped. He turned back around, feeling very much like a dog with his tail between his legs. “Ye’ll…wait here, then? Ye won’t leave?”

John’s face morphed through a wide range of emotions without saying anything, and then he nodded, swiping at the tears that still lingered on his cheeks. “I won’t leave.”

Jamie nodded gratefully, his heart twisting and his stomach churning, and then finished his journey to the bedroom just as Brianna started squalling in earnest.

When he opened the door and crept into the dark room, Claire was already sitting up with the lamp on, squinting her still sleepy eyes at him, likely having heard Brianna’s cries. She lowered her nightgown and reached her arms for the baby, leaning back into the pillows with a contented sigh as she latched on to nurse.

“Can I…tell ye something, Claire?” Jamie said, his pulse quickening as he sat on down on the bed beside Claire.

“Of course,” she said, her eyes not leaving the suckling bairn at her breast.

“I kissed John again.”

Her head whipped up, her stroking finger freezing on Brianna’s cheek.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Ehm…when?”

“Jest now. Before I came back in,” Jamie had thought it would take quite a bit more prodding from Claire and quite a bit more time, but he found himself blurting it out like a sprung leak in a dam. “Bairn in my arms and all…I jest…leaned in and kissed him.”

“Are you…alright?”

Jamie nodded. “He was…saying that he’d leave us. If I wished it.”

He saw Claire visibly stiffen at that, and immediately it confirmed that John’s words rang true.

“The only thing I thought to do was…kiss him.”

“So you don’t want him to go.”

It wasn’t a question. She already knew it to be true.

“No…I don’t.”

A few tense moments of silence passed, the only sounds to be heard Jamie’s heavy breathing and Brianna’s tiny snuffling as she greedily fed at Claire’s breast.

“I dinna understand it,” Jamie finally said, breaking the silence. “I’m no’…I’m no’ like him, Claire. Not that I judge him, mind, but…I love you, and yer body…every part of ye.” His fingers absently trailed over the swell of her breast, half covered by Brianna’s little head.

“Perhaps you…desire both. Women’s bodies as well as men’s,” Claire said gently. “It’s not impossible.”

“But I…I’ve never had those…inclinations before. No’ like John.”

“I didn’t bed a man until I was sixteen,” Claire shrugged. “I didn’t really know until then that I would enjoy it.”

Jamie’s brow twitched at the mention of Claire bedding any other man, and then it fully furrowed, remembering that she’d bedded the man he’d just given his lips to.

“Christ,” he hissed in frustration. “This is a right mess.”

Claire sighed, and then winced as Brianna gave a particularly hard tug. “It is…confusing. I’m not at all sure how to approach the situation.”

“D’ye have to…approach it?”

Claire scoffed. “What would you have us do? Just ignore the fact that he’s still in love with you, and ignore that you feel desire to return his affections?”

Jamie averted his eyes. “Aye. I was hoping we could.”

“Christ,” Claire sighed with exasperation. “How many babies am I taking care of?”

Jamie glowered at her, apparently proving her point.

“Answer me this, Jamie. Who are you most jealous of?”

“What?”

“When you think of John and I in bed, who are you most jealous of?”

Jamie’s face turned red, and heat rushed to his cock at the mere suggestion.

Jesus…she kens exactly how to get the truth out of me.

“I…I couldna say. It’s as if I…I want tae…tae share ye both. Wi��� each other.”

Brianna fell away from Claire’s breast, and Claire sighed heavily, heaving herself out of bed to walk around the room with her so she could burp. Jamie felt himself burning with shame at his admission, and he tried to calm himself by counting Claire’s footsteps, tapping his finger on his thigh in time with her gentle patting of their baby’s back.

“You don’t need to feel ashamed, Jamie,” Claire said softly, and her voice floated on the surface of his subconscious, keeping him from passing out. “Because I…I feel almost the same.”

His blood ran cold, and he whipped his head up to look at her.

“I don’t want to give either of you up,” she said softly. Brianna finally burped, and Claire sighed with relief, smiling in spite of the turmoil that Jamie could see forming between her brows.

“There you go,” she crooned, moving the baby off her shoulder and cradling her lovingly. “All ready for bed now, darling.” Claire exhaled heavily as she sat in the chair beside Brianna’s cradle, facing Jamie on the bed.

“What exactly are ye saying, Sassenach?”

“I know how it sounds, but it’s no crazier than anything you’ve told me,” Claire said, preemptively protecting herself from any oncoming jealous rage. “You know that you are the love of my life, Jamie. You know that my love for you knows no bounds. Don’t you? You know that?”

Jamie’s gaze remained fixed on the floor, but he nodded. “Aye. I ken that.”

“And I know it’s the same for you to me,” she said. “What you and I share is…is deeper than something…usual. But John is…I don’t know. I feel such…tenderness for him. I can’t explain it. I think of him touching my belly when Brianna was inside and I…my heart feels fit to burst.” Jamie looked up to see the wee lass in question was just about asleep in her mother’s arms.

“I think of him holding me as I cried for you all those months, and…yes, I think about our…sexual experiences together. Even though we never truly had sex after that one horrible night…we do have very intimate knowledge of each other’s bodies. And I think of you, so terribly alone during the war, with no one but him to comfort you. I trusted him with you the same way you trusted him with me, really.” She looked down at Brianna and ran a finger down her face, stopping at her little button nose. She stood up and placed Brianna in the cradle despite her tiny protests, then sat back down and rocked the cradle to quiet her again.

“It’s not the same kind of love I have for you Jamie, not at all,” she went on. “But…I do love him quite dearly. More than I should as his companion.”

Jamie nodded. It was not often at all that Claire had the words that Jamie lacked. She was never able to express her thoughts as easily as Jamie, and she often sat back and listened to him ramble away the workings of his own mind, or even deciphering the workings of Claire’s own mind just by watching her face change in silence. So for Claire to sit there and put to words exactly what was churning in his muddled brain was quite astonishing to him.

Claire took her hand off the cradle, seeing as Brianna had finally quieted, and she settled her hands in her lap.

“What are you thinking, Jamie?”

He looked up at her; his face was still burning red, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact as he said:

“I’m thinking that ye understand how I’m feeling a great deal more than I ever hoped ye could.”

——

John was collapsed on the couch, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

What the bloody hell had just happened?

It wasn’t possible. Jamie couldn’t possibly. All these months of rage and hostility after John had coveted his love…it was impossible. Yes, he’d kissed him before. But before, the possibility that one or both of them may die was very real. Jamie was being kind, expressing gratitude for his promise to look after Claire.

Being “kind” by kissing you on the mouth?

It didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t. Well, it had meant the world to John, of course it had. It was the first time his heart and soul had truly come alive in his entire life. But for Jamie? It was…pity. A last rites of sorts, for either one or both of them.

But this?

For the second time, Jamie had initiated a kiss. John would never dream of doing such a thing, would never dream of forcing himself on a man that did not share his predilections. A man who loved a woman.

And yes, he loved Claire. God, John knew it. Whatever this kiss meant, it could not mean that Jamie ceased to have feelings for Claire. That was truly impossible.

So then…what could it mean…?

Jamie was likely in there telling Claire right this moment. He’d told her about the last time. Obviously she hadn’t minded, but circumstances had been different. What was she saying now? Would she throw John out now for coveting her husband? Would she finally understand how Jamie felt all these months and agree it was time for him to go?

God…he couldn’t bear it.

Just when he thought he might faint, the door to the bedroom opened. Claire. John opened his mouth to stammer apologies, to blame himself entirely, but then Jamie followed behind her, shutting the door. He didn’t know what to think. Claire smiled weakly, crossing the room to sit beside John on the couch. She looked behind her at Jamie, giving him some look that prompted him to hmph and make his way to sit on the other side of her. John fumbled with the pillows he’d been sleeping with, tossing them onto the floor to make more room on the couch.

“Claire…I…”

“We want to talk to you about something,” she interrupted. “Something that’s weighing heavily on us, and I think on you, too.”

John’s throat went dry, but he snapped his mouth shut and nodded mutely.

“This…isn’t the first time that Jamie has been…romantic with you,” she began. “And you know, I…I’ve never been the least bit jealous. Perhaps at first, the first time, but after that, I was more…curious. Than anything else.”

John felt bewildered, and his face must have shown it. 

“I was intrigued by the idea…that he could love me with all his heart and still be…drawn to you that way,” she explained. “I couldn’t understand it. But now…”

John’s stomach flipped.

“I find myself…missing you.” Her hand covered his clammy one, resting on the couch cushion. “And I…I can’t make any sense of it. Because getting Jamie back is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But I…I can’t help the way I feel. And I…I miss…” Her hand lingered mid-air, as if she meant to cup his cheek, but stopped. Her voice trailed off, and she returned her hand to her lap, keeping the other on John’s.

“So I…understand now, I suppose,” she finished quietly. “Because I love Jamie with all my heart, but I…I’m drawn to you, John.”

Her eyes were hooded. John’s mouth flapped uselessly, staring in awe between the couple. He expected to see rage in Jamie, that same fire he’d seen all these months, but he was met with a fire of a different kind.

“I…I am too, John,” he whispered, barely audible. “I canna…canna explain it. Ye…ye set me ablaze, man.”

Claire exhaled with a shudder, and John’s chest felt tight.

“I…I don’t…know what to say…” he stammered, hardly any air in his lungs.

“You don’t have to,” Claire said. “Just…” She swallowed, taking a breath. “I know that I’m…not what you want. And that’s alright. I just…” She looked back at Jamie, whose veins were now throbbing in his temples. “Will you let me…be here?”

It took John a moment to realize she was speaking to him. “Be here…? For…?”

“I want to see it.”

“I beg your pardon?” John stammered.

“I want to see you kiss,” she repeated, rather detached, almost as if speaking of something medical and scientific.

John blinked dumbly at her like she had two heads, then turned to Jamie, expecting to see his own bewilderment mirrored back at him. Instead, he almost jumped out of his skin at the intensity of the gaze he was met with. Jamie was practically staring directly into his soul.

“D’ye want me, man? Or no’?”

John’s jaw fell slack, his mouth went dry.

“Go on, darling,” Claire crooned, reaching out to stroke John’s cheek in encouragement.

Do I want him? Of fucking course I do.

It was madness. What they were about to do was complete bloody madness.

But as Claire slowly guided his face closer to Jamie’s he didn’t give a damn.

John was unable to stop himself from fiercely gripping Jamie’s face and kissing him, hard. It was no less urgent than any of the previous kisses they had shared, but this time, there was fire. Jamie was still for a moment, not moving hands or lips as he hadn’t the other times. But then John moved his mouth over Jamie’s again, probing his lips with his tongue, and something ignited within Jamie.

In an instant, Jamie was kissing him back, threading his hands in John’s hair, thrusting his tongue against John’s. A gasp floated on the surface of John’s subconscious, a sound John knew had come from Claire. His cock was hard as rock, every inch of his skin felt lit afire. Jamie bloody Fraser was kissing him. And he meant it.

Overcome with either lust, love, or both, John trailed his lips down Jamie’s face until he latched onto his neck, and the grunts and growls that John’s ears were filled with were music to his ears. To bring Jamie pleasure, to be allowed to do so…it was beyond anything he had ever dreamed. Jamie’s shirt was moving beneath him, and it didn’t take long for John to realize that Claire was pulling it over his head for him. John moaned in appreciation of Jamie’s beautifully sculpted body and began greedily devouring every inch of his exposed torso. John heard whimpering and suckling above his head, and one quick glance upward revealed to him that Claire and Jamie were kissing madly, thrusting tongues in and out and twisting their heads.

John ran his tongue all over the lines of Jamie’s muscles, then watched in fascination as Claire’s hand traveled down Jamie’s chest as well. Her hand stopped over his left nipple, and Jamie cried out into her mouth as she pinched it, hard. John took the hint and moved his mouth to Jamie’s right nipple, sucking hard and flicking rapidly with his tongue.

“Do you like it, Jamie?” John heard Claire breathe out. “Do you like it when John does that just like I do?”

John’s cock hardened even further. To answer Claire, Jamie seized John’s face between his enormous hands and dragged him back up to kiss him savagely. Claire moaned loudly despite the fact that she was the only one left untouched; the sight alone was seemingly enough for her. Jamie began reciprocating John’s attentions, tugging impatiently on John’s shirt until it was over his head. Claire moaned again, and John’s breath caught in his throat to see that her nightgown was rucked up over her hips, her fingers moving in circles over herself. Before he could contemplate this, Jamie’s teeth latched firmly onto his neck, and he cried out in shocked arousal. He could not stop the pathetic keening from his own mouth as Jamie moved his lips and tongue all over his neck and chest, paying equal attention to both of John’s nipples as John had done for him.

Suddenly, Jamie choked out a moan, and John opened his eyes to see that Claire had a firm grip on Jamie’s cock over his trousers. John truly thought he might faint; he was perhaps seconds away from laying eyes on Jamie’s manhood.

Dear God in Heaven.

Claire’s other hand had not left herself, and Jamie was quickly losing patience with his trousers. He practically forced Claire’s hand under the waistband, and she pulled him free, fisting him tightly. John could not say whose groan was louder: Jamie’s at the contact of Claire’s hand, or John at the sight of him. Claire began pumping him slowly, and Jamie moved his mouth back up to John’s, kissing him even more sloppily than before. Teeth clashed, tongues and lips were bitten. John very suddenly felt electricity shoot through him that took him a moment to pinpoint where it started.

Claire had sprung his cock free as well, and she was now stroking them both, one in each hand.

John and Jamie both were now crying out, grunting into each other’s mouths. Claire occasionally dipped her head to kiss, lick, or bite at Jamie’s neck, and sometimes Jamie’s mouth left John’s to kiss Claire on the mouth. John watched them kiss, his hips unconsciously thrusting into Claire’s hand, and then she pulled away from Jamie and looked at him.

“Do you want to kiss me, John?” she said breathlessly.

In her eyes, he saw the rest of what she wanted to say: you don’t have to.

She knew that perhaps this was a moment that she was privy to witness and help Jamie with, but not necessarily to participate in herself. She knew that perhaps John would draw that boundary.

She was a woman after all.

But, God, the pink flush to her cheeks, her neck, the swollen plumpness of her lips, the wild look in her eyes…

“God, yes.”

Claire groaned loudly as John seized her face in his hands and kissed her hungrily. As he did, she tightened her grip on his cock and sped her pace. He was dangerously close to climax now, and became all the more so when he latched his teeth onto Claire’s neck, and she gasped out:

“Oh, John!”

The muscles in his stomach clenched, his balls grew tight, and then suddenly, everything stopped, and he stopped kissing Claire, looking down frantically. Jamie’s hand had wrapped around her wrist.

For a moment, the only sound was panting from all three of them. John stared at Jamie, who stared at Claire, who stared back at Jamie.

“Let me,” Jamie said, breaking the silence.

“God in Heaven,” John groaned.

Claire’s hand left both of their cocks, and she breathed raggedly as Jamie moved closer to John. John hissed loudly when Jamie’s warm, large hand closed around him.

“Jamie…” he panted. “God, Jamie…”

“Aye, man.” Jamie gave an experimental stroke, having never done this to anyone but himself. “Let me hear ye.”

John pressed his forehead into Jamie’s, his lips parted, his jaw slack, moaning without restraint.

“It feels…like heaven, Jamie…”

Jamie growled possessively and claimed John’s lips, increasing his pace. John knew he would not last long like this, not when he’d dreamed of Jamie’s hand around him for years.

Jamie pulled his lips away from John’s and burned his eyes into his.

“Kiss her, John. Kiss our woman while ye fuck my hand.”

Our woman.

Claire made a sound between a moan and a sigh of relief as she grabbed John’s face and kissed him soundly. Jamie buried his face in the crook of John’s neck as he began pumping him furiously, and John threaded the fingers of one hand into Jamie’s hair, and the other into Claire’s at the nape of her neck.

John’s entire body seized up, and he choked out a gasp against Claire’s lips, then nearly screamed as Jamie’s lips latched onto his neck. He shot his seed onto his stomach, keening like a woman as Jamie stroked out every last drop, running his tongue over the bite marks he’d left, and as Claire swallowed the sounds he made.

It took him several seconds to recover, but he was surrounded by Jamie and Claire all the while, Jamie’s hand cupping his softening cock and balls and absently stroking his back, Claire stroking his face and kissing him sweetly.

“Are you alright?” she whispered after John had more or less caught his breath.

“I’m…more alright than I’ve been in years,” he panted, and Claire smiled shyly.

“Jamie?” Claire said.

“Are you…are you alright, love?”

It slipped out; John hadn’t meant to say it. Not to him. Not now.

Jamie unthreaded himself from John and sat up on his knees, facing him.

“I’m alright, John.” He firmly gripped John’s thigh. “I’m…happy to have…given ye that.”

Claire smiled tenderly and kissed Jamie’s cheek.

Neither of them seemed to mind John’s near-fatal slip of the tongue.

“I’m…I’m happy too,” he said instead, rather stupidly.

Claire kissed his cheek as well, and he felt warmth spread from head to toe.

Our woman, he remembered.

“Do you…” John flicked his eyes down to Jamie’s still-throbbing cock, standing straight up. “Would you like it if I…?”

“Aye, I would,” Jamie said. “But not until I’ve served the lady.”

Claire wet her lips and exhaled raggedly, and John felt his stomach flip.

“Let me show ye how to pleasure a woman, a charaid.”

Claire was panting again, and she reached down to pull her nightgown over her head. John observed that her nipples were hard and erect, larger than they’d been the last time he’d gotten a good look at them.

“They’re beautiful, are they no’?” Jamie said, as though presenting fine jewels to clientele, running his hands over her breasts. “Plump and swelled with milk for my child.”

Claire moaned as he firmly squeezed them both, and then he closed his lips around a nipple. She leaned into the back of the couch lazily, allowing Jamie’s ministrations to melt her into the cushions.

“Go on, John,” Claire panted, guiding his hand to her breast. “We want you to.”

John gulped and hesitantly squeezed the breast that Jamie was not attending to, and Claire groaned.

“Yes…” She arched her neck, her eyes sliding shut and a crease appearing between her brows.

It wasn’t long before John’s confidence grew, and he was kissing her breast and teasing the nipple as Jamie was doing on the other side. Her noises were exactly as John remembered them to be, exactly as he used to overhear. Being the one — rather, one of the ones to pull them out of her, and this time it being in joy and bliss…he felt more blessed than he could put into words.

John and Jamie teased her until John was sure she could stand no more; she was hoarse with crying for more, and her hips were thrusting blindly into nothing.

John knew that Claire and Jamie had yet to be intimate since Brianna’s birth, and also knew how painful such a thing could be if one didn’t wait the proper amount of time. But Claire seemed more than eager, and when John experimentally swiped his fingers over her hot center, he could feel that she was more than ready.

“When a woman is aroused…Instead of a cockstand, she gets…wet.”

Yes, he’d retained at least that.

Jamie’s mouth left her breast and trailed down her body until he was sliding off the couch and kneeling before her.

“Just…” Claire panted. “Go slow.”

“Aye, mo ghraidh. Ye can trust me.”

John sat beside Claire on the sofa, watching hungrily as Jamie hooked one of her legs over his shoulder. His stomach turned to liquid as Jamie’s mouth came in contact with her, and Claire practically screamed. She was still quite sensitive from the birth, and from weeks and months of not being touched. John stared at Jamie’s mouth as it worked on her, so enraptured that he jumped when Claire leaned her head against him. Upon instinct after months of caring for her, he gently caressed her smooth cheeks with his hand.

“God, Jamie…” she cooed. “I’m ready…just one for now…”

Before John could contemplate what she meant, she was threading her fingers in his hair and tugging as if her life depended on it. She nearly screamed again, tensing slightly and tightening her grip. She breathed heavily against John’s skin, and John instinctually kissed her out of comfort.

Just one finger. That’s what she meant.

It was the first thing to have penetrated her since she’d pushed a baby out, so she was bound to experience some discomfort.

“Ye alright, mo chridhe?”

“Mhmm…” Claire managed, keeping her fingers locked in John’s hair.

Jamie returned his attention to his task, and Claire resumed kissing John, occasionally throwing her head back to scream, squeezing his face to the point where he thought she’d bruise him.

“Another, Jamie. Another.”

John knew Jamie had obliged when Claire gave a throaty grunt, this time with no evident pain.

“Yes…that’s it…”

Her noises became louder and more frequent, and it wasn’t long before John had his face buried in her neck, her arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, pinning him in place.

“More, Jamie!”

John felt his cock growing impossibly hard again.

“Are ye sure — ?”

Claire cut him off by throwing her other leg over his other shoulder, trapping his face between her thighs.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” Claire spat, and John knew she was filled with another of Jamie’s fingers when she screamed again, digging her nails into John’s back. It wasn’t long after that before she found release, shrieking unabashedly and nearly drawing blood from John as he suckled at the nape of her neck.

John picked his head up, his eyes wide with wonder to see her coming like this, not a dash of grief etched in any of her features. Her neck, chest, breasts, and nipples were covered in bruises, bite marks, and angry red splotches; whoever left each was anybody’s guess. She was a work of art, a living canvas littered with marks of possession from her two husbands, crying out in pure joy.

“You’re…” he breathed in disbelief. “That was…beautiful.”

Claire laughed airily, her eyes still shut, her chest still heaving. Jamie rose from the floor, sitting beside Claire on the couch.

“Ye’re alright? There’s no pain?”

Claire shook her head, a lazy smile finding its way to her sleepy face.

“I’m splendid.”

John chuckled, pushing a sweaty tendril away from her face. Before he knew what was happening next, Jamie’s hands were on his face, kissing him ferociously. He was met with an unfamiliar taste that had his brow furrowing until he realized.

He was tasting Claire on Jamie’s lips and tongue.

It was enough to stiffen his cock even further.

“D’ye taste her, John?” Jamie growled between kisses.

“Yes…” John groaned.

“I look forward to watching ye taste her fer yourself someday.” Jamie ran his tongue over John’s lips in a tantalizing circle.

“Yes, someday,” Claire piped up, her voice still drugged with her climax. “For now…” She pushed on Jamie’s chest to separate him from John. “Your turn, Soldier.”

Claire dropped to her knees on the floor just as Jamie had done to her, and Jamie cried out as her lips closed around his cock. John could not help himself; he began stroking himself, not knowing what else to do to relieve the painful throbbing that the sight was giving him. Jamie reached to kiss John much the same way as Claire had, and then Jamie’s hand replaced John’s on his cock. Whenever Jamie gave a particularly loud cry in response to whatever Claire was doing, he gripped John’s cock harder, causing John to cry out as well.

It was overwhelming, almost enough to make John spill his seed again.

But then Jamie’s hand stopped, and John opened his eyes to see Claire holding Jamie’s wrist, her mouth having left his cock.

“Do you want John to do it?” she said huskily. John gulped and looked wordlessly back and forth between Jamie and Claire, and then Jamie nodded. Claire gently pulled John off the couch to kneel beside her before Jamie’s solid member. Claire sweetly kissed John, and he could taste Jamie on her.

“Go on, darling,” she whispered lovingly.

“God in Heaven…” John muttered, positioning himself before Jamie. How many nights had he dreamed of this, of having this god of a man at his mercy, of bringing him pleasure beyond description, of making him cry out his name…

It was almost too much to bear.

He peppered Jamie’s inner thighs with kisses, leaving the occasional bite that caused the man to hiss in Gaelic. When he reached his cock, he teased it with kisses as well, leaving Jamie panting, sweating, and groaning before John finally took him into his mouth.

It was like playing one of God’s own instruments.

He worked him in his mouth, and alternated between digging his nails into Jamie’s thighs and stroking gently, playing him like a string.

Just after John had gotten a good rhythm going, he stuttered, feeling Claire’s soft lips between his shoulder blades. Her hands trailed down his back and around to the front, grasping his cock. She began pumping mercilessly as John worked Jamie back up to where Claire had left him. Both of Jamie’s hands gripped John’s hair ferociously; the man was growling. John thought he might pass out. It was too much, Jamie in his mouth, in his hair, Claire around his cock, her lips on his shoulder, his neck…

Jamie lost control first, crying out loudly and shooting his seed down John’s throat. Just knowing that he was swallowing Jamie was enough to set John off again, and he moaned loudly, unable to yell out loud with Jamie’s softening cock still in his mouth.

John removed Jamie from his mouth and collapsed with his cheek on his inner thigh, panting heavily as Claire stroked him down from his high. John thought sheepishly that he’d likely shot his seed right into the couch in front of him, or at least on the rug beneath him. He made a note to insist on cleaning it himself if he caught Claire trying to do so tomorrow.

John had barely registered that Jamie’s grip on his hair had loosened; all he was suddenly aware of was that Jamie’s fingers were lazily running circles in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. He realized, too, that Claire’s cheek rested on Jamie’s other thigh, she having hoisted herself back onto the couch and curled up into his side like a cat. Jamie’s other hand was stroking Claire’s hair just as lovingly.

John felt a rush of tears at the realization that Jamie was treating John exactly the way he was treating Claire. Claire caught his eye across Jamie’s lap, and she reached across to caress his cheek.

“Are you alright, John?”

John exhaled in disbelief, meaning for it to be a laugh, but it came out as a choked sort of sound. “God…alright doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Despite the exhaustion in his limbs from expending himself twice, John reached to his face to gently take Claire’s hand in his so he could press a kiss to her knuckles.

“I enjoyed it too, darling,” she whispered.

John kept his lips on her fingers, closing his eyes for a moment, breathing them in, savoring them. When next he opened his eyes, Claire’s breathing was heavier, and her eyes were closed. She’d fallen asleep. John heard Jamie hum in amusement, and he finally picked his head up.

“Tired her out,” Jamie said lazily. “Puir wee thing should be sleeping when the bairn isna asking fer milk. Shame I’m a greedy bastard.”

He tucked a curl behind her ear, and John laughed softly. “What does that make me, then?”

Jamie made one of those Scottish noises of his, then unraveled his fingers from John’s hair to caress his face. “Come here, man.”

John pulled himself onto the couch and beside Jamie, suddenly entirely too self-conscious to be fully naked in front of him now that he was thinking clearly again.

“Was it really alright, Jamie?” John whispered. “I couldn’t live with myself if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Christ, John. Are ye deaf as well as blind? Not a single person has made me that mad wi’ lust but Claire. No one else but you.”

John’s breath stuttered in his chest, and he felt yet another rush of tears.

“And it…it was alright, even when I…when Claire…”

“Aye. That was…” Jamie swallowed, averting his eyes for a moment, perhaps in embarrassment. “As little sense as it may make, I quite enjoyed watching ye ravish her.”

John blushed fiercely, but he could not help the swell of masculine pride in his chest for having managed to arouse both of these beautiful creatures in one fell swoop. John tentatively reached across Jamie’s lap to caress Claire’s cheek.

“I didn’t think I’d ever love someone as much as I loved you, Jamie.”

For the second time that night, the weight of John’s words did not sink in until it was too late.

Not only had he admitted it to Jamie, he’d admitted it to himself. Something he’d had yet to do.

I really and truly am in love with her.

“Please pretend you didn’t hear that,” John whispered almost inaudibly. “I didn’t mean…”

“Hush, man. Ye’ll drive yerself mad.”

John closed his lips and nodded, reluctantly drawing his touch away from Claire and meeting Jamie’s eye again.

“I’m just…” he stammered. “Very grateful. For you both.”

“As am I. For ye both.”

Jamie kissed him sweetly, and John could have died right then and there a happy man.

“Suppose I should get this one to bed,” Jamie said, proceeding to maneuver Claire in such a way that he was cradling her in his lap. He stood up to carry her bridal style to the bedroom.

“I’ll…see you in the morning, then,” John said uncomfortably, reaching for his trousers.

“John.”

He looked up to see Jamie’s gaze piercing through him.

“D’ye think I’d let ye do what ye just did wi’ yer mouth and no’ let ye into my bed?”

John blinked dumbly, his lips flapping uselessly for a moment. “I…I didn’t think…”

“Besides. Claire would never let me live it down,” Jamie interrupted. “Must I carry ye as well? Get up, man. Take my trousers wi’ ye. And Claire’s nightgown.”

Jamie turned then and carried Claire into the bedroom, leaving John to scramble for their clothing and follow after him. He watched as Jamie placed Claire onto the bed — on the left side — like she was made of porcelain and glass. Jamie gestured for John to throw their clothes on the floor by the foot of the bed, and then he made his way over to the cradle.

“She slept through all that racket, then?” John whispered.

“It would appear as such.”

Jamie leaned in and kissed Brianna’s tiny head, and John’s heart strained in his chest. Jamie whispered something in Gaelic and then left the cradle. John approached it next, almost as if he didn’t believe that she was really asleep. He smiled to see that she was, and he swiped at a few copper tufts on her forehead.

“Goodnight, little love.” He kissed her head as Jamie had, and then turned to see that Jamie had gotten into bed on the right side and gathered Claire into his arms.

“Where should I…?”

“Just get in the bed, ye stuffy wee fusspot.”

John blushed, grinning sheepishly as he made his way to the bed. He got in on the right, and he was indescribably touched when Jamie folded him into his side as he’d just seen him do to Claire.

“Jamie, I…” At a loss for words, John pressed a fervent kiss to Jamie’s chest. “Thank you.”

He heard Jamie inhale deeply through his nose as he pressed a kiss to the crown of Claire’s head, then he felt as Jamie did the same to him. It made him feel safe, it made him feel whole.

“Thank you, John.”