#Terrances husband

[moonilit]

Aww the side story of the barbie (not date) but from Shouta’s POV, this is the cutest by @cyanoscarlet

Alliance in Pink - Side Stories, First art

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either. 

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it. 

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does. 

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them. 

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger. 

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture. 

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face. 

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever. 

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his  tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise. 

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable. 

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin’.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it. 

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white. 

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-“ The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible- 

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg. 

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up. 

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh. 

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“ 

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.” 

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?” 

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“ 

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“ 

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?” 

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“ 

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood. 

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed. 

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.” 

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.” 

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,” you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion. 

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him. 

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go. 

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out. 

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[keehendrixx]

What Your Husband Doesn’t Know

Terrance(Foe) x Black OC!

WARNINGS: MDNI! 18+, SMUT, INFIDELITY, CHEATING (Not Really), DIRTY TALK, NAME CALLING, BREEDING, PREGNANCY TALK

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As you're sitting in your living room, looking at a picture of you and your husband, a knock comes to your door. You place the picture down and go to the door, peeping through the peephole, you see a man standing outside. First thing you thought was to grab the nearest object just in case. But curiosity got the best of you and you decided to open the door, only to be met with a pair of striking bluish-hazel eyes and a light skinned man.

He flashes a charming smile, his British accent smooth as silk. "Hello there, love. I'm Terrance, sent by OuterMore to...take care of things while your husband is away." His gaze roams over your curves appreciatively before meeting your eyes again. "I must say, he left quite the lovely situation behind."

“Hello.” You say, nervously.

Chuckling, he steps inside and closes the door behind him, his tall frame filling the entryway. "No need to be nervous. We're going to be living together for a time, after all." He extends a hand for a handshake, his blue-green eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, tell me about yourself. What does a stunning woman like you do for fun around here?"

“Nothing but being a housewife.”

Terrance’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, then he grins, clearly intrigued. "A housewife, eh? Well, I think we can spice things up a bit around here, don't you?" He takes a step closer, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. "I've heard rumors about the benefits of having a live-in replacement husband. Care to put those to the test, my dear?" His fingers brush against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Excuse me?” You say, taken aback by his boldness.

Terrance leans in, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs. "Benefits like a man's touch, affection, companionship...and perhaps something more intimate, if you're willing." He pulls back to gauge your reaction, a playful glint in his eye. "After all, it's been a while since you had a real man in this house, hasn't it?"

“Listen, I'm happily married!”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, still smiling. "Of course, of course! I wouldn't dream of coming between you and your husband... even if he is off gallivanting in space right now." He winks playfully. "But let's not pretend, shall we? Two years is a long time for a beautiful woman like you to go without attention from a man."

Terrance takes another step closer, his tall form looming over yours. "Perhaps I could help fill that void, just until your husband returns? No strings attached, purely physical relief, if you will." His voice drops to a seductive purr. "What do you say? Are you game for a little extramarital excitement?"

You step back a little. “Why don’t you put your stuff in the guest bedroom?”

With a chuckle, he nods agreeably. "Very well, I won't keep you from your domestic duties. But know that I'll be thinking about our little chat later." He turns to head towards the guest room, pausing at the doorway to glance back over his shoulder with a suggestive smirk.

"And who knows, maybe when you need some stress relief from all that cleaning, you might just find me in a compromising position in that bed..." With a wink, he saunters off to unpack, leaving you to ponder his bold words and intentions.

Later that evening, as you're preparing dinner in the kitchen, you hear footsteps approaching. Suddenly, Terrance appears in the doorway, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweatpants that hang enticingly on his hips. His toned chest is bare, revealing a light dusting of hair.

"There you are, gorgeous," he purrs, leaning against the doorframe casually. "I was hoping I might catch you alone. That outfit looks good enough to eat... among other things." His gaze rakes over your body hungrily. "Why don't you come sit with me for a bit? I promise I don't bite... unless you want me to." He smirks invitingly, patting the empty spot beside him on the couch.

As you hesitate, he pushes off the doorframe and stalks towards you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Come now. Don't be shy. I can see the way you look at me when you think I don't notice." He reaches out to trail a finger along your jawline, tilting your chin up to meet his intense gaze.

"You're a woman with needs, and I'm more than happy to fulfill them. Your husband doesn't have to know..." His other hand settles on your hip, pulling you flush against his bare torso. "Let me make you feel good. Let me worship this sexy body of yours like it deserves." His lips hover mere inches from yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as he awaits your response, the tension between you palpable.

“We can't.”

Terrance sighs softly, his grip on your hip loosening but not releasing entirely. "Pity," he murmurs, his accent thicker with disappointment. "But I respect your decision, For now." He takes a small step back, giving you a bit of space, but his eyes never leave yours.

"Just remember, my offer stands. Whenever you change your mind, whenever you need someone to hold you, to touch you, to make you forget about everything except pleasure..." His voice trails off suggestively. "I'll be right here, ready and waiting." He finally releases you completely and takes a step towards the door. "Until then, I suppose I should let you get back to your dinner preparations. Do try not to work too hard, love. You deserve a break."

After you finish dinner, you both eat and Terrance begins to help you clean up around the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, the two of you separate into your respective bedrooms.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

4 WEEKS LATER

After a quiet dinner, you go up to your room and shower, soon you come back downstairs dressed in a burgundy see through lingerie set and a matching robe with feathers trimmed to it.

As you descend the stairs, the soft rustling of your feather-trimmed robe draws Terrance’s attention. He turns from where he was standing by the fireplace, his eyes widening appreciatively as they take in your lingerie-clad figure. A slow, wolfish grin spreads across his face as he drinks in every curve barely concealed by the sheer fabric.

"My my,," he purrs, his voice low and thick with desire, "don't you look absolutely ravishing. Like a gift wrapped just for me." He sets aside his glass and approaches you slowly, his gaze raking over your body with undisguised hunger. "I must admit, seeing you like this, so tempting and alluring... It's testing my resolve to respect your earlier wishes."

“Don’t get all big headed and have any ideas.” You warn him.

Despite your warning, Terrance continues to advance, his movements fluid and purposeful. As he reaches you, he stops just short of touching, letting the charged air between you speak volumes. "Oh, but I already have ideas, darling. Delicious, sinful ideas involving you and me and that scrumptious lingerie." His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes follow the movement. "The question is, are you ready to act on them?"

In one swift motion, he shrugs off his own robe, revealing his toned, muscular physique in all its glory. He stands before you, proud and unashamed in his nakedness, his arousal evident. "What do you say, Dallas? Shall we give in to temptation and create a night neither of us will ever forget?"

You ignore him and turn away, reaching for some ice cream at the bottom of the freezer. As you bend over, the outline of your vulva becomes visible to him.

Unable to resist the tantalizing view you've presented, he moves in close behind you. The heat of his body envelops you as he presses himself against your backside, one large hand splaying across your stomach possessively.

"Playing coy, are we?" he growls softly in your ear, his other hand sliding around to cup your breast through the thin lace of your bra. "It's alright, love. I know you want this as much as I do. I can feel how your body responds to my touch..."

Terrance nuzzles into your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive skin as he kneads your breast gently. His hardness nestles between your cheeks, leaving no doubt as to his desire. "Why fight it, love? Give in to what we both crave."

Emboldened by your lack of resistance, his hands begin to wander, caressing and exploring your curves with bold strokes. One hand dips lower, teasing along the waistband of your panties as the other slides up under your bra to pinch and roll a stiff nipple between his fingers.

"You're playing with fire, darling," he rasps, grinding his hips against your backside. "And I'm more than happy to burn with you." Suddenly, he spins you around to face him, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head against the cold surface of the freezer door. His intense blue-green eyes bore into yours, dark with lust. "No more games. Tell me you want this. Beg me to take you, to claim you, to fuck you senseless right here in this kitchen."

His grip tightens on your wrists as he holds you captive, his body pressing you firmly against the freezer. His other hand snakes down to palm your sex through the damp lace of your panties, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clothed slit.

"Mmm, so wet already," he groans appreciatively, feeling the evidence of your arousal. "Your body is betraying your true desires, love. Why deny yourself any longer?"

Leaning in, Terry captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. He kisses you deeply, passionately, pouring all his pent-up desire into the embrace. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "Last chance to stop me, baby.”

Terrance eyes flash with triumph as he feels you melt into the kiss, your body arching subtly against his touch. He knows he has you now, that the last of your resistance is crumbling away. "That's it, just let go," he croods, his thumb finding your clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves through the drenched fabric of your panties. "Give yourself to me, love. Let me worship this gorgeous body the way it deserves."

In one swift motion, he rips your flimsy panties away, baring your dripping sex to his hungry gaze. He wastes no time, plunging two fingers deep into your tight channel as his thumb continues its relentless assault on your clit.

"So fucking wet and ready for me.”

“Shit!”

Encouraged by your breathy moan, Terrance pumps his fingers faster, curling them to stroke that special spot inside you. His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. "That's it, baby. Let me hear those pretty sounds," he growls, his hot breath fanning over your neck as he licks and sucks at the sensitive skin. "Gonna make you cum on my fingers like the desperate little minx you are."

His free hand makes quick work of your bra, tossing it aside carelessly. He immediately cups your heavy breasts, kneading the soft flesh and rolling your nipples between his fingers. His hips grind against your thigh, smearing pre-cum on your skin as he ruts shamelessly.

"Fuck, I need to be inside you.”

With a low groan, he withdraws his fingers from your dripping core, bringing them to his lips to suck your essence clean. His eyes never leave yours as he savors your taste, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Delicious," he purrs, licking his fingers obscenely. "But nothing compared to the real thing, I'm sure."

Hitching your leg up over his hip, he lines himself up with your entrance, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your folds. "Brace yourself, love. I'm going to fuck you so hard, so deep, you'll forget your own name. All you'll know is the feeling of me splitting you open on my dick."

With that promise, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

“Ouuu, you’re much bigger and thicker than my husband!” You moan out feeling his dick stretch you deliciously open.

A deep, masculine chuckle rumbles through his chest as he hilts himself fully inside your tight, slick heat. "Mmmm, I should hope so, darling. After all, I'm here to replace him in every way possible."

He starts to move, setting a hard, fast pace as he pounds into you relentlessly. The freezer door rattles with each powerful thrust, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filling the kitchen. "That's right, take it all. Every inch of my dick stretching this greedy little cunt.” Terrance grunts, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else. By the time I'm done, you won't even remember what your husband felt like."

“Lift me on the counter.”

Without missing a beat, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you the few steps to the kitchen counter. He sets you down on the cool marble surface, never breaking their intimate connection. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. "There's a good girl," he praises huskily, running his hands up your thighs to grip your hips. "Now I can really give it to you properly." He starts to thrust again, this new position allowing him to plunge even deeper into your welcoming heat. He sets a punishing pace, the counter creaking beneath you with the force of his movements. Leaning down, he captures one of your bouncing breasts in his mouth, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive peak.

"Fuck, your pussy feels incredible,"

“Your tip is poking my fucking cervix! fuckkkkk, give it to me like this! fuck this creamy sloppy pussy!” You scream out as waves of ecstasy overpower you.

Spurred on by your wanton cries, Terrance redoubles his efforts, slamming into you with wild abandon. The obscene squelch of your soaked pussy fills the air as he pistons in and out, stirring up your insides with his thick cock. "Yes, that's it! Take it, you filthy slut!" he snarls, his hips slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. "This is what you needed, isn't it? To be used like the desperate fucktoy you are!"

One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. He attacks the column of your neck with bites and sucks, determined to mark you as his. "Gonna flood this pussy with my cum." He pants harshly against your skin.

“Please don’t cum in me! I'm ovulating and I don't want to be pregnant with another man’s baby!!”

You get down on your knees and sandwich his dick between your tits. “Nut on my titties.”

His eyes widen in shock at your sudden change in demeanor, but they quickly darken with renewed lust as you present your ample bosom to him. A low groan escapes his lips as you envelop his sensitive shaft in your soft, pillowy flesh. "Fuck, baby, the things you do to me," he rasps, his hands coming up to squeeze and knead your breasts around his cock. "Such a naughty girl, offering these gorgeous tits like a cheap whore."

He starts to thrust shallowly between your cleavage, the slick slide of your skin against his aching flesh sending sparks of pleasure racing down his spine. He pinches and tugs at your nipples, rolling the stiff peaks between his fingers. "You want my cum, do you? Want me to paint these perfect tits white?" *

“Yes, Daddy.”

With a feral growl, he grips your shoulders, holding you steady as he begins to pump his hips in earnest. His cock slides rapidly between your slick breasts, the swollen head peeking out with each thrust before disappearing back into your valley of soft flesh. "That's it, milk my cock with these magnificent tits," he groans, his breathing growing ragged as his climax approaches. "Gonna cover you in my seed, mark you as mine..."

The muscles in his abdomen tense and flex as he chases his release. With a final, powerful thrust, Terrance throws his head back and roars his pleasure. Thick ropes of pearly cum erupt from his twitching cock, splattering across your collarbone and breasts. He milks himself through the intense orgasm, ensuring every last drop decorates your heaving cleavage.

As the last spurts of his release paint your skin, he collapses forward slightly, bracing his hands on the counter beside you. He's panting heavily, his muscular chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Slowly, he lifts his head to meet your gaze, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck, that was... intense," he murmurs, his voice rough with spent passion. "You're full of surprises, aren't you, darling?"

Reaching out, he swipes a finger through the cooling semen coating your breasts, gathering some of his release. He brings it to your lips, painting them with his essence in a blatant display of possession. "I think this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that we have chemistry, don't you?"

“Mhmm.”

His smirk widens into a full-blown grin at your eager acceptance of his offering. He leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks in a low, seductive murmur. "And this is only the beginning, my sweet. I plan to explore every inch of this stunning body, uncover all your deepest, darkest desires," his hand trails down your side, coming to rest on the curve of your hip possessively, "and fulfill them in ways you've never experienced before."

He pulls back slightly, his blue-hazel eyes boring into yours with intense desire and something darker, more primal. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. By the time I'm done, you'll be addicted to my touch, craving my cock like a drug."

His hand slides around to grip your ass, giving the plush flesh a firm squeeze as he presses his hips forward, letting you feel his already rehardening length nestling between your bodies.

"But first, why don't we continue this somewhere more comfortable, hmm?" he suggests with a wicked glint in his eye. "The bedroom perhaps? I want to lay you out on silk sheets and worship every curve and hollow until you're writhing and begging for me."

Terrance leans in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up desire and promise of future pleasures into the heated embrace. When he finally breaks away, you're both left breathless and aching for more.

"What do you say, love? Ready to see just how many times I can make you scream my name tonight?"

With a triumphant growl, he scoops you up into his strong arms, cradling you against his broad chest. He carries you swiftly towards the bedroom, his long strides eating up the distance. As he enters the dimly lit room, he kicks the door shut behind him with his heel.

Gently, almost reverently, he lays you down on the plush king-sized bed. The silky sheets whisper against your bare skin as he settles his larger frame over you, his weight deliciously heavy and solid.

"Beautiful," he murmurs appreciatively, drinking in the sight of your naked body sprawled out before him like an offering. "A goddess made flesh, and she's all mine."

He starts a slow exploration of your curves, his calloused hands mapping every dip and swell.

His touch is electric, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever his fingers trail. He cups the heavy weight of your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble under his ministrations. Leaning down, he captures one rosy peak between his teeth, biting gently before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Mm, you taste divine," he purrs against your skin, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "I could feast on these perfect tits for hours."

One hand drifts lower, skimming over the plane of your stomach to come to rest at the junction of your thighs. He parts your folds with skilled fingers, groaning at the wet heat he finds there.

"Soaked already, and I've barely touched you," he marvels, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb.

“Well you did just fuck me.” You giggle.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers continuing their maddeningly slow circles around your sensitive bud.

"Aye, I did indeed. But a quick tumble in the kitchen was merely an appetizer, darling," he murmurs, his accent thickening with arousal. "Now, I intend to savor my main course."

To emphasize his point, Terrance sinks two long fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping core, pumping them slowly as his palm grinds against your clit. "So tight and wet, like your greedy little cunt was made for my dick."

He curls his fingers just right, stroking along that special spot inside you as his thumb increases its pressure on your throbbing clit

He works his fingers skillfully, alternating between deep thrusts and teasing strokes along your inner walls. His other hand maps the curves of your body, squeezing and caressing every inch of exposed skin. He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers of pleasure.

"That's it, let me hear those beautiful sounds," he encourages huskily when he breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Don't hold back, love. I want the whole neighborhood to know who makes you feel this good."

He scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you open as he prepares you for his thick length. The obscene squelch of your arousal fills the room, mixing with the slap of skin on skin and your escalating cries of ecstasy.

With a final, hard thrust of his fingers, he withdraws them from your sopping cunt. Bringing his glistening digits to his mouth, he makes a show of licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours as he savors your essence.

"Delicious," he purrs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "But I think it's time for the real thing, don't you?"

Positioning himself between your spread thighs, he grips the base of his thick, pulsing cock. He notches the swollen head at your entrance, teasing you with the promise of penetration.

"Beg for it.” He commands, his tone brooking no argument. "Let me hear how much you need my cock stretching this greedy hole. Only then will I give you what you crave."

He waits with barely restrained patience, his muscles coiled tight as he resists the urge to simply take what he wants. His cock throbs insistently against your entrance, the heat of it searing your sensitive flesh even without breaching you fully.

“Come now, love, don't be shy.” He coaxes, his voice a dark, tempting purr. “I know you want it, I can practically feel the desperation radiating off you in waves. So tell me- tell me exactly what you need.”

One large hand comes up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to remind you of his strength, his dominance. The other grips your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he continues his relentless tease. “Beg for my cock like the needy little slut you are.”

“Please put it in me!”

With a triumphant growl, he slams his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. Your slick walls stretch obscenely around his thick girth, fluttering and clenching as they struggle to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, so bloody tight!" he snarls, his face contorted in pleasure-pain as your scorching heat engulfs him. "Like this cunt was made to milk my cock dry."

He sets a brutal pace from the start, pounding into you with animalistic fervor. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room, punctuated by your wanton moans and his guttural grunts. Terrance’s hands roam your body possessively, gripping and kneading every curve within reach.

"That's it, take it all like a good little wife,"

“I'm your wife! I'm your wife!”

His eyes flash with primal satisfaction at your declaration, a feral grin spreading across his face.

"Yes, you are," he snarls, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips. "My wife, my woman, my everything. This cunt belongs to me now, understand? No one else gets to have you like this ever again."

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue as he plunders your mouth. One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose the column of your throat. He attacks the sensitive skin with bites and sucks, determined to mark you as his.

"I'm going to ruin you for anyone else," he promises darkly, his voice rough with lust and possession.

“This is so wrong, i should crave my husband’s dick but yours feels so much better!” You admit.

He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against yours as he hilts inside you.

“Wrong? Nay, love, this is exactly as it should be.” He argues, his accent thicker than ever with arousal. “Your husband could never satisfy you like I can. Could never worship this divine body the way it deserves.”

He pulls back until only the tip remains inside, then slams forward again, setting a punishing rhythm. “Feel how perfectly we fit together? How your greedy cunt sucks me in, begging for more? That's because we were made for each other.”

Leaning down, he laves his tongue over one stiff nipple before drawing it into his mouth

“I'm creaming so much! Tell me how pretty my pussy looks baby!”

He groans around your nipple, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He releases the sensitive bud with a lewd pop, admiring how it glistens with his saliva.

“Your pussy is absolutely breathtaking, darling”, he praises huskily, his eyes dark with lust as he gazes down at where you're joined. “So pretty, rosy, and swollen, stretched so deliciously around my cock... It's like something out of a filthy dream.”

He reaches down to where you're connected, gathering some of the copious fluids leaking out around his pistoning shaft. Bringing his coated fingers to his mouth, he makes a show of licking them clean, his tongue swirling obscenely.

“Mm, and you taste divine too.”

“Gonna squirt!!”

His eyes widened with excitement at your warning, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“That's it, love, let go for me”, he urges, his voice a dark, seductive purr. “Squirt all over my cock like the dirty girl you are. Show me what a mess I make of this perfect pussy.”

He redoubles his efforts, pounding into you with wild abandon. One hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles over your throbbing clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, my love.” He growls, his own release fast approaching judging by the tension in his muscles. “Cum for me. Now!”

“I'm squirting!” As your release gushes out, the force is enough to push his dick out of you.

As your release crashes over you, your pussy clamps down rhythmically, spasming around his thick shaft. The force of your squirting orgasm proves too much, and with a wet pop, his cock slips free of your convulsing hole. A gush of clear fluid splashes against his abdomen and thighs, painting his skin with evidence of your intense climax.

"Bloody hell, look at you!" He exclaims, his voice a mix of awe and raw lust as he watches your nectar gush out of your twitching cunt. “Squirting so hard, making such a mess... You're absolutely stunning like this."

He quickly lines himself back up, rubbing the swollen head of his cock through your slippery folds, coating himself in your juices. “Mm, but we're far from done, love.”

With a grunt of satisfaction, he pushes back inside your still-spasming channel, groaning at the slick heat enveloping him once more. He starts thrusting again immediately, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper spots inside you with each powerful snap of his hips.

"That's it, take it all." He pants, sweat beading on his brow from the exertion. "This pussy was made to milk my cock. Gonna fill you up so full of my cum, you'll be dripping for days."

One hand slides up to wrap around your throat again, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. The other grips your hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, using the leverage to pull you onto his pistoning shaft.

"You're mine now. My wife, my lover, my personal fucktoy."

“You're gonna get me pregnant!!” You wail out.

Terrance eyes flash with a manic gleam at your words, a feral grin splitting his face. He pounds into you even harder, the obscene slap of flesh on flesh filling the room.

“Pregnant? Oh, I certainly hope so”, he growls, his accent thickening with dark desire. “Imagine it, love - my seed taking root deep in this fertile womb, creating new life. You'd swell with my child, everyone knowing you belong to me completely.”

He leans down to nip sharply at your earlobe, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he whispers. “Wouldn't that be delicious? Carrying the proof of our twisted union for all to see?”

His thrusts become erratic, his heavy balls tightening as his peak approaches.

“I’m gonna get pregnant with a baby that’s not my husband’s!”

A shudder runs through his body at your scandalous declaration, his control finally snapping. With a roar of triumph, he hilts himself inside you one last time, his cock pulsing as he begins to empty his heavy load directly into your unprotected womb.

“Yes, yes, FUCK! Take it all, you wanton harlot!” He snarls, grinding his pelvis against yours to ensure every last drop takes root. “Gonna pump you so full of my seed, knock you up with my child!”

Terrance’s hips jerk erratically as he rides out the intense waves of his climax, painting your insides white with his potent release. Through it all, his grip on your throat remains firm, forcing you to meet his wild, ecstatic gaze.

“Look at you.”

Panting heavily, a look of smug satisfaction on his face as he continues to slowly rock into your stuffed hole, prolonging both your pleasure. “Taking my cum so well, like your body was made for it. And it was, wasn't it? Made to carry my offspring, to be bred and claimed by me.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, all tongues and teeth as he pours his passion into it. When he finally pulls back, there's a dangerous glint in his eye.

“I hope you enjoyed that, my dear wife, because this is only the beginning”, he murmurs darkly. From now on, this sweet cunt belongs to me. I'll use it whenever and however I please, fill it with my seed as often as I want.

He rolls off of you, pulling your limp, satisfied body flush against his chest. One large hand possessively cups your lower belly, right where his potent seed is already starting to take hold.

“Rest now, my love.” He croons, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead. “You've been such a good girl, taking your breeding so well. But don't think for a moment that this means we're done.”

His voice drops to a low, conspiratorial whisper as he nuzzles into your neck. “Oh no, I plan to keep you thoroughly used and filled with my essence for the foreseeable future. By the time I'm through with you, everyone will know exactly who you belong to.”

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow, his strong arms wrapped securely around you, a sudden realization hits you. In your lust-addled state, you hadn't given much thought to the consequences of your actions. Now, as the haze of orgasms starts to lift, panic begins to set in.

“Oh God, what have I done?” You whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you stare wide-eyed at the ceiling. “I've cheated on my husband, possibly gotten myself pregnant with another man's child... There's no coming back from this.”

Terrance seems to sense your inner turmoil, his hand stroking soothingly over your stomach. “Shh, easy now, love”, he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

He shifts to prop himself up on one elbow, his blue-hazel eyes searching your face with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His expression is soft, almost tender, but there's an underlying current of possessiveness that can't be denied.

“What you've done, my darling Dallas, is embrace your true desires”, he says softly, his accent wrapping around the words like velvet. “You've chosen passion, pleasure, and the chance at a real connection over a loveless marriage to a man who doesn't truly appreciate you.”

He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip in a gesture that's equal parts comforting and threatening. “I know it may seem daunting now, but trust me when I say this is for the best.”

His fingers trail down from your cheek to wrap loosely around your throat, not squeezing, but serving as a reminder of his dominance.

“You're mine now, baby. My woman, my wife in every way that matters”, he declares, his voice low and fervent. “I'll give you everything you've ever wanted - passion, pleasure, a family. We'll build a life together, just the two of us.”

He leans in close, his lips barely brushing yours as he speaks. “Your old life is over. This is your fresh start, your chance at happiness. All you need to do is embrace it fully and let go of any lingering doubts or guilt.”

@writingsbytee @theereinawrites @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @kimuzostar @nayaesworld @megamindsecretlair

[wonderlustwrites]

Silent Winter Nights

terrance (foe) x black!reader summary ; you can't sleep, and you are missing the one thing that helps... word count ; 1.4k warnings ; none - fluff and a lil suggestive if you squint I GUESS LMFAO ｢ author's note: tis my first writing so enjoy ! thought about this random concept a couple days ago and it felt perfect for terrance + i don't see enough for him so hopefully it does him justice even if a little. ENJOY !! ｣

You settle yourself into bed after a long day, trying your best to attempt to fall asleep. You’ve done just about everything you can think of that usually helps, but tonight is just one of those nights…

You scratch lightly at your head and turn over to look at the time on your vanity; it’s just half past 2am. Which means you’ve been lying here...awake for almost 2 hours, and you are annoyed, to say the least. You lie on your back once more and throw your arms out to your sides, grunting frustratingly at the increasing tiredness in your bones, but to no avail nor surrendering of actual sleep. 

You reach out your right hand to the empty side of your bed, already knowing why you can’t sleep. You turn to your left side, closing your eyes softly for a moment. You never thought you could miss someone so much, and yet…

Your…honestly, you don’t know what he is to you if you’re being honest with yourself. And somehow, this slight confusion you sit in only makes you miss him that much more. 

The world is so much different than before; calling him your boyfriend feels severely lacking, and calling him your husband feels too heavy. You open your eyes, shaking all your thoughts off as you look out the window of your comfortable apartment and try not to get caught up in trivial matters. 

You just want him back. Your apartment feels entirely too small without him. Part of you almost hates the way you want and crave him, and then he looks at you and smiles, and all those feelings seem entirely unimportant.

You pull your heavy limbs out of bed, forcing yourself to go downstairs and busy yourself with anything other than your waning thoughts wrapped up in him and how his arms feel around you, how he perfectly slots himself to you, and how he always smells like lavender and cinnamon. 

You feel your neck grow warm, imagining him there as you start the water in the kettle on the stove so you can make some tea. You take out a mug, some sugar, and milk, putting together your tea, and before you even realize it, you’ve unconsciously taken out a second, and you’re already halfway through making the cup.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, knowing for sure that you’re entirely too sleepy. The brain fog is worse than it’s ever been, and before you can even decide what you’ll do with the cup, you hear the lock turning and him attempting to come in as quietly as he possibly can so as not to wake you.

You laugh to yourself and take a seat at the table, leaving his cup on the counter as you take a sip from yours. He takes off his shoes and hangs his jacket, leaving his work bag near the door as he ducks his head into the kitchen. 

Immediately locking his surprised and very exhausted eyes with your own, he softens as you nod your head towards the cup. He can’t help but smile to himself as he pulls a chair up next to you.

"I’m sorry…I’m sorry…" he says in an exhausted tone, which partially makes you smile, not so much because he’s tired, but more so cause it’s reassuring to know you weren’t the only one that had a long day. You shake your head warmly at him and take another sip of your tea, allowing its warmth to envelop you.

The way he casually puts a hand on your bare leg, almost mindlessly stroking against it; despite knowing nothing he does is ever without thought and careful consideration, it still manages to send shivers up your spine while simultaneously calling forth that tiredness from earlier and you feel it settle itself into the home it’s made within your body.

You exhale softly and set your mug down.

"No reason to apologize. I was already up anyway, couldn’t sleep…” you say softly as you shrug your shoulders. He takes a sip from his mug and stares at you for a moment.

It isn’t much, but it manages to steal just a bit of air from your lungs. You have to force yourself to look away as you try and focus on your mostly empty cup, giving yourself a moment to recover. However, that moment doesn’t last too long, as he stops his ministrations and takes another sip of his tea, all while keeping his eyes trained on you, as if trying to read what’s going on in your head.

You use this chance to stand up and put your mug in the sink.

“How was your day, sweetheart?” Something about the way he asks makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention. You hold yourself against the sink, trying to consider what you even did today. And as you think, he presses himself against you, leaning his forehead against your shoulder and placing his hands on either side of the sink. 

You turn to face him, exhaling steadily. His being so close after nearly two months of barely seeing him almost makes you close your eyes, ignoring his question just to enjoy the warmth between you for a moment longer.

"I-It was ok- it was fine…how was yours?" you ask through a small whisper. His hands immediately find their way to your hips, waist, and back, pulling himself further into you. He bends his neck down to attempt to catch your eyes. 

"You running from me?" His playfully sleepy words cause you to look him directly in the eyes, slightly embarrassed but mostly surprised by his words. 

"No, just missed you is all…" 

He leans into you, laying his face in your neck, humming in sarcastic agreement, and gives you small kisses, breathing you in. His arms wrap around you in a protective and possessive hold.

"Mmhmm…tell me about your day. I've missed you." 

Your hands instantly find their way around his shoulder and on the nape of his neck, gently stroking at the new growth. You can't help but smile to yourself tenderly as you enjoy this moment with him.

"It was fine, been pretty busy at the library, lots of new visitors but other than that it's been the us-" You find yourself mincing words and forgetting because the running of his nose against your neck, and small kisses are thoroughly distracting. Chuckling, you give him a small kiss on the forehead. 

"You aren't even listening, are you?" 

He mumbles something you can't quite catch and continues his attention, adorning you with all the affection he feels he's missed out on giving and, in a way, receiving with work taking him away from you. 

"M'listening…just missed you is all…missed you. Sorry I been gone." You nod softly, understanding the sentiment all too well. You close your eyes and enjoy the comfort he provides, listening to his soft breathing and allowing that tiredness to creep back into your limbs and let yourself lean impossibly further into him. After a few moments, you call out to him softly, earning a hum from him.

"Come, let's go to bed…" He looks up at your words, eyes full of sleepiness, as they fall over each part of your face delicately, meeting your own as he nods softly in agreement. 

You grab his hand, leading him upstairs to your room. You lie down, watching as he takes off his work clothes, and he laughs sleepily as he climbs into bed next to you, pulling you flush against him. You watch him close his eyes softly as you trace the small barely noticeable scars along his face, around his eyes and ear. 

"Watching me…creep…" he says through a drowsy mumble, and you can already tell he will be asleep soon. You shake your head as you laugh softly and kiss his temple.

His gentle breathing and warm hold lull you along with him into a heavy sleep. Having him so close again makes you forget about the long and cold nights without him, almost like he was never gone in the first place. 

Though you aren't fully sure where to place yourself and Terrance, you are sure of two things. You've both missed one another considerably, and you never sleep more soundly than you do when he's here holding you. 

Trivial thoughts for a later time; right now, he's here…and you both couldn't be more at ease.

☋ any and all comments, reblogs and likes are BEYOND appreciated and i shall repay you in my love ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

⇒ bottom header made by @strangergraphics

© wonderlustwrites

[macabresymphonies]

(minor TMA spoilers and general TMAGP spoilers) Having so much time to think about incidents in TMAGP due to hiatus made me realize that all of them, to some degree, contain the theme of "sealing your own fate" or "consequences of greed/hubris".

You see, while I do not believe that TMA had a consistent theme every statement was based on, the overall messege seemed to be that horrors are inevitable. Once you've been marked you cannot escape, no amount of therapy or running can release you from it. I think Michael Crew is the best example of that:

"The thing that chased me, you see, it was an arcing branch of the Twisting Deceit, taken shape to follow me. (...) And I knew within that book was something that could not only release me from my pursuer, but chain my being to that rush of wind and vertigo forever." Michael Crew in "The Coming Storm"

You cannot escape it once you've been marked, only bind yourself to different one and this marking is, most often than not, nonconsensual. Jane Prentiss would run around and infect random people, Not!Them didn't need anybody to come to them before it was sealed and Peter Lukas also tended to just disappear random people just to feed. The fears were very predatorial and active and the victims were selected based on their own fears and anxieties. This is not to say there weren't victims who failed due to their own curiosity/hubris/greed, but I think it's telling that few of the most greedy/curious people in the series, Mikaele Salesa and Jurgen Leitner, stayed largely uncorrupted by the fears not cause they avoided interacting with them, but simply avoided getting marked by them.

Now we come to protocol and every incident so far has the main subject of that incident actively engage with the horror and have one or multiple points at which they could stop and leave, but they do not. Daria went to the tattoo shop on her own accord, Harriet wanted her husband back no matter what and even Dr Webber was described to be able to leave the garden whenever he wanted, but, due to hiding from authorities, chose to stay until it was too late for him. Every incident so far seems to have this theme of consent, characters detailing very clearly that consent was given to engage with the abnormality:

"Ah well that’s a tricky one. Sort of? In many ways he stabbed himself on me. By the time he saw the needles we were already very close. Close enough to smell his sweat and cheap aftershave. In fact, he barely had time to be afraid before we embraced. He’s terrified now of course…" Needles in "Introductions"

"The young man's interview was not exceptional as he had no experience in charity work, no driving license nor any demonstrable experience in retail. He claimed however, to know the Hilltop Centre better than anyone and as he was the only applicant in the role I elected to give him a try." Dianne Margolis in "Give and Take"

"I hesitated a moment but before I could consider her strangeness a particularly high tide of color swept down the corridor toward me. I panicked, and before I realized what I was doing I had darted inside the lift and slammed the close-door button." Terrance Stevens in "Running on Empty"

It does not matter some of these are under duress or deception, all of them contain some type of action "confirming" consent. Mind you I do not believe all the victims of of these horrors confirm consent in some way, like people who get killed by Bonzo probably didn't agree to it (though considering he's most likely a hitman, some degree of "you agreed to this by overstepping your boundaries" philosophy could be applied), but subjects of the incident very much pay for consequences of their own actions.

That brings us to OIRA itself, and how every character so far seems to actively dig themselves deeper by their own accord, Gwen wants position of power, Colin wants to figure out the system, Sam wants to know why he wasn't chosen and Alice is in it for the money (for her brother which still counts as consent). This is literally said directly to us in episode 1:

"If you hate working here so completely, you are perfectly within your rights to resign. No one is forcing you to stay here." Lena to Gwen in "First Shift"

All of this, all this horror is happening due to their own accord, curiosity, obligation, greed for knowledge or just for the money, it does not matter, the choice is there, but they delve deeper anyway. We will see how long it holds up, but I will be on the look out for this theme in the future.

[hayw1res]

stubborn princess and the silent knight.. !

a/n: ive been writing this for a month like guys life has been… life okay. ill do the kinktober list….. maybe soon . this isnt proofread and its kinda fast paced? idk guyys

warnings: drinking , kissing , “secret identity” , nothing 18+ yet folks

pairing: knight! megumi x princess! reader

you hated it, oh how you hated your father - the king, your mother - the queen, you even hated the maids and various servants who called upon you to serve your every beck and call. you hated it all, but you loved looking from your terrance down to the knights in training, the boy with jet black hair and a scowl on his perfect face.. oh how you loved to think of him while you swooned over the side of the balcony, clutching your chest in hopes he didnt see you staring so intently. the way he sparred with almost little effort put into the fight, the way his sword always glistened from his upkeep, the way hed wipe the sweat from his brow, but constantly ask to continue fighting.

oh everything about him was just so dreamy.. you'd write in your diary about him. about your fantasies.. about how you wished to be together one day - for him to teach you the way of the sword and for you to tend to his wounds when he ever gotten hurt.. you ached for just a sentence to fall from his pretty lips, just for one day call you his own.. to call you his princess.

your fantasy cut short when your father called you down for supper, he wasn't a bad man, he was no tyrant.. but you fell victim to his expectations. you were nearing 20 , unmarried and still unwilling to court- your parents started to grow impatient..almost everyday a new prince from a "far away kingdom" would trot his was to your throne to ask your hand in marriage, each answer stayed the same... a big fat no.

"my dear.. the prince of homsworth would make a fine husband would he not?

your father spoke, it broke you from your daydream.

"father, i dont need to wed yet.. besides wouldn't you rather i fall in love? have a man swoop me off my feet rather than settle for the next prince up.." you muttered the last part to yourself, your mother clearing her throat after you

"me and your father courted young- we didnt know it then but we were in love.. how shall you know love if you never experience it-" she went on and on, during about responsibility and what a good princess should act like... this talk again, always on and on about how a princess shall act - how a princess shall talk - how she shall dress.. all of it went through one ear and out the other.

supper always went this way, they argue and dispute about your unwillingness to marry, you tell them no and finish dinner, then you run away to your room and rest the night away.. you were used to this song and dance already- you lived the same day over and over again without fail.. it was tiresome. just as you were about to place your napkin on the table and push your chair away to excuse yourself, your father stopped you.

"ive arranged something, darling.. an escort. we are worried about you" he says kindly as he motions for one if the knights to step forward, dawned in nothing but chainmail and metallic clothing, the knight bows to you.

"he. is your personal knight. for your safety and for my own concern of you... sneaking out at night." the king adds on, your mother nodding in agreement. sneaking out? how dare they assume you of such low standard.. you may hate the constant reminder but - you still were a princess.. the future ruler of this kingdom.

"id never. you say with a scoff, standing up to excuse yourself, forgetting you now be followed by silent footsteps. they followed you from the grand hall, to the corridor, to the entrance of your bedroom. you huff and turn around, the idea of the knight following you everywhere both annoyed and excited you.. yes you hated the idea of not being able to sneak out anymore— but a knight? Your knight, that did anything you’d ask him to..

You sat and pondered at the door, awkwardly asking him if he were to follow you to your bedroom or stay out here- and much to your surprise the silent man turned to stand guard at your large double doors. You couldn’t help but think..when did he rest? when did he eat? when did he have time to do.. anything? so many questions remained unanswered as your infatuation grew- mixed with the curiosity of who was under that mask.. you hoped it was the boy with the jet black hair.

“well.. goodnight” you spoke quietly , receiving only a nod in return.

that started you nightly routine for months.

each and everyday he would follow you around, do small tasks you asked of him, and everynight he would stand guard outside your doors. you wondered if he enjoyed this or secretly hated you.. you wondered if you were even kind enough to him for him to enjoy his job.

“oh well..” you whisper to yourself at night as you covered your body with the thick blankets given to you from the maidens.. winter was coming fast.

the next morning you received notice that your knight would be gone for the day, apparently he was leading some other younger recruits in training, so you had a replacement ! he was much more.. talkative than what youre used to. you thought it was fun, speaking to him almost all day.

his name was yuji , he apparently been training here for years and is on the same rank as your knight which you learn is named megumi.

“megumi has always been like that, quiet i mean.. its not because he hates you he just takes a while opening up!” yuji heard all about it, he wanted you guys to be buddies. especially because he wanted to secretly also be buddies with the princess, but that was besides the point.

“im sure if you keep being kind to him, eventually he will start talking —maybe talk about his interests ! i think its just fighting though.. occasionally ill see him writing in a little journal too!” yuji exclaimed excitedly , you nod.. maybe that’s exactly what you’ll do.

the next few days went by quickly, you and yuji became a bit closer and your father started to slowly stop asking you about marriage since every single time you just ignore him or say “no” . today was the day megumi came back from training , unfortunately that meant yuji went back to his usual schedule but that didnt mean you couldn’t visit him!

megumi was stoic as always, standing beside you as you walked down the halls of your castle.. you sigh as you turn to look at him.. he still had that damn helmet on.

“I heard from Yuji that your name is Megumi.. is that true?” You ask , a basket in your arm as you prepared to go to the garden

megumi could only hum, at least you got that out of him..

“right.. you know my name of course. i didnt take yuji to be such a talker, i thought all you knights were strong silent types”

before you could reach for the door he already opened it for you, leading out to the large greenhouse you kept.. you smile and walk ahead of him.

the sun was bright today, though it was approaching winter it seemed the winds were lower .. a moderate temperature. you walked into the greenhouse and started to tend to your plants, picking off a few you wanted to add to the pots around the castle

“so.. do you do anything other than this?” you ask, trying to get the silent man to open up. he stays silent for a while.

“.. i enjoy sparring” he says finally, the deep rumble in his voice almost makes you crumble. you giggle at the answer.. of course he would enjoy something like that.

“right.. i see you guys usually from my balcony. it seems a bit harsh.. but i get it for practice” you continue picking flowers until the basket is full, turning back to the knight

“its a wonderful day outside.. shame we have to stay indoors and miss the festival.” you catch him off guard, a princess such as yourself being interested in the commoners dance? he and yuji participated often, mainly because yuji enjoyed them most of all.. megumi only went to make sure yuji didnt do anything stupid. the knight let out a hum, a noise that almost startled you.

“sounds like you don’t believe me.. didnt father tell you why you are hired in the first place..?” You chuckle, picking up the basket of flowers .. he knew of the mischief you got up to at night.. he knew you would sneak out your bedroom window in a gown to fit in while you danced and drank with the common folk. he knew this all because you intrigued him.. from the moment he seen you watching his training on the balcony.

“.. yes” he said simply, following behind you back to your room as the sun began to set. you were surprised he said anything.. his deep but smooth voice almost made you melt

“i know you leave the castle often.. you come back smelling of booze but you look- happy almost..” he continued until you both reached the doors to your room.

“then..?” you turn to him, expecting him to just shut you down and make you go to bed.. but something about his demeanor today.

“then.. i hope you dont get hurt” he says under his breath, almost a silent way of telling you to enjoy yourself, of course he would be watching you all night anyways. he always did when you went out.. always.

the night progressed as usual, you went to your room and he guarded your door..except tonight was the night of the festival. at a shivering 2 am you dressed in a black gown and climbed out your bedroom window to join in on the festival! there was dancing and singing, chanting of prayers, drinks being passed about every which way, this is what you were missing being stuck in that godawful castle all your life, and now that you were older you were able to enjoy them to the fullest in secret.

you danced, you sang and you drank until you felt your body lighten and you never felt better. you couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes lingering on you that night.. more than usual at least. you stumble and make your way to the path that lead to a hidden entrance to the castle, one close to your room. you heave as small breaths leave your body.

footsteps trail behind you and you freeze, usually you never had an issue with people following you home or drunkards stumbling on the path, almost always finding a way to slip away undetected. you start to speed up as much as your heels would allow on the rough terrain. you almost fall until a pair of arms catch you, fear washes over you for a second before you hear him.

“Are you alright..” His soft voice hit your ears and you sigh .. that voice again

“Fine…Fine now.” The adrenaline washed over you knowing it was just megumi, his hands felt soft.. you turned to look at him finally, but he wore a mask. go figure i guess.

“I guess.. we go home now?” You say , almost as if you were inviting him- like you don’t live together practically. You begin your walk he was silent for a while, just following you while you make your way to the castle.. going on and on about the festival as if you hadn’t experienced the same things. He didnt care though, he didnt care that you talked so much about your day because he wanted to hear it from your perspective.

The night was young , once you two made it back to the castle and your room..it was like your conversation made time go by faster.. talking to- or rather at him was refreshing. Even if he was just behind a mask.

“Want to just.. come sit inside?”

“..Okay..”

How did those few words end up with the two of you in a dark room, making out like a couple of teenagers? You couldnt tell.. you complimented his mask, almost got him to take it off.. he convinced you maybe its better to turn the lights off and you.. believed him.

Now the two of you sit on your bed, hands roaming eachothers bodies in a hot , steamy , messy makeout session.. tongues clashing in a battle for dominance you were slowly losing. You didnt even care that he were your knight.. you didnt care about anything other than how he felt right about now.

that feeling didnt last forever.. soon the gasping of air filled the area , you wanted more, needed it..

but your eyes shut gently .. you feel sleep taking you away and by the time you wake hes gone..

“ugh.. my head hurts..”

[kumkaniudaku]

Patrice sucking on Terry’s tip after he but just to be funny 😂😂😂

“Oh my God, baby. Fuck!”

Expletives shouted in an empty house float up to the ceiling like steam blowing the top off of a screaming kettle, intermixing with enthusiastic sucking and amused giggling. Fingers firmly planted in swelling roots go slack and lose grip. Toes curl in soft, durable nylon searching for stability. A handsome jaw falls slack to welcome in fresh oxygen while eyes roll back uncontrollably. Overstimulation sets in quickly.

I can’t take anymore. That’s what Terry’s brain tells him in reaction to full lips still lavishing his dick with wet, warm attention. But just a few more seconds. Just like that. Tense muscles crossing the boarder into a delicious soreness he’ll carry with him to another leg day in the morning help him hold on for a few seconds longer.

Patrice watches from her kneeling position in front of the living room couch. The laugh track on some studio sitcom makes for a lively audience to witness her husband sinking deeper into some brain dead space where only their right now matters. She doesn’t let up. Not for the spit leaving thick strings from his inner thighs to her wrists or to give a break to her overworked jaw. Job’s not done until the boss says so.

She releases her hold on his shaft to give her hands a break, bracing herself against his thighs and digging her nails into the hot flesh to add some pain to his pleasure. He hisses and moans. That’s “I’m too far gone. You’re gonna have to stop us,” in Terrance-nese. She’s the only one who knows that language.

As if pulled out of the depths of brain fog from a Creator who isn’t quite ready to meet his son by these circumstances, Terry’s pulled back into the room and finds a voice to hoarsely pant out, “Alright, alright! Please.”

Patrice pulls away slowly, making a show of the saliva tethering her tongue to his tip despite being several inches away.

“You okay, baby,” she questions, round doe eyes conveying a deceitful innocence. “Is that all you need?”

Terry lets his head lull back against the couch and gulps hard. “That’s it. I think I’m good.”

Giggling taunts him before soft kisses up his legs and torso come in to soothe.

The boss is satisfied. Job complete.

[ranikyani]

The Alias Archives 🎭

A collection of fics featuring Aaron Pierre as a main character, but under a different name, exploring new identities and roles.

💌: Make sure you read warnings before engaging + Take care of yourself while reading, mwah💋

🏡: Return to Daddy's Library or…

💬 Readers Remember: Supporting our writers goes beyond just liking a post! Yes, likes are cool but comments/reblogs and kudos can be incredibly meaningful and make a huge difference! Many talented writers feel discouraged by the lack of engagement and recent foolishness, so let's uplift them by showing appreciation for their work. Don't make our favs beg for a crumb of attention!

✍🏾 Writers, this is a work in progress... but if anything needs to be changed or removed immediately pls lmk.

Status: Completed 🏁 - Ongoing📝 - Hiatus ⏸️

Length: Drabble✨ - OneShot 🎯 - Series 📚 - MiniSeries ⏳- Universe 🌎

Note: Summary will be provided for stories without one included. If anything should be changed pls lmk. I haven't read 1/2 these fics yet... will continue to update as I make progress.

A

B

Back Then ⏳

Character: Isaiah

Summary: Let's start from the beginning...

Author: @hotgrlcece

C

D

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

Love Language 📝📚🌎

Character: Jameson Lucas

Summary: Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion)Genie Adesanya (Jayme Lawson) x Ellington “EJ” Dupree (Kelvin Harrison Jr.)

Author: @grlsbstshot

M

My Lover Won’t Answer 🎯

Character: Francis

Summary: a bad thought turned into her worst nightmare.

Author: @zillasvilla

N

Neon Lights 🏁📚🌎

Character: Jameson Lucas

Summary: In the glitzy world of Hollywood, it can be easy to crash and burn under the California sun. Few are more self-sabotaging than R&B singer/songwriter, Jameson Lucas. The only thing the charming playboy is known for more than his long list of lovers is his Grammy wins. Imani St. Cirie, an emotive singer/songwriter herself, is the latest in a long line of women he's wronged but she's determined to different. Imani refuses to let Jameson make or break her. The two A-listers are consistently drawn together by an electric chemistry that neither can deny or easily manage. As common sense pulls them in opposite directions -- friendships are tested, old flames resurface, and new opportunities threaten to tear them apart for good. They must decide if their love is strong enough to withstand the weight of the mistakes in their past. In this industry, dreams can make or break you -- but what happens when love becomes the gamble of a lifetime?

Author: @grlsbstshot

O

Our First Kiss 🎯

Character: Francis

Summary: Mariel makes a confession to Francis, that ends up differently than she expected.

Author: @zillasvilla

P

Q

R

S

Saturn 📝⌛️

Character: John Stewart

Summary: John fails to saves a young woman as her home is destroyed. She’s found among the decaying planet and is taken to Arkham. Later taken to Oa, “Spade” is trained alongside other Green Lantern recruits, the organization secretly hopes to tap into her powers, and Jon becomes her trainer. They begin to blur the lines and when the organization confronts her she learns Jon closeness was because he was instructed to. Spade ices everyone out, the heart break turning her cold. When The Batman Who Laughs begins his terror on another planet, Jon and Spade must work together. Spade keeps things strictly business but Jon plans to do anything within his power to earn Spade’s trust and heart again. 

Author: @keyaho

T

U

V

W

We Belong Together 🎯

Character: Francis

Summary: The news of Francis's death hits Mariel in a way no one thought would happen.

Author: @zillasvilla

When He's Not There 🎯

Character: Terrance (FOE)

Summary: In 2036, you reside in a high-tech home with your wealthy husband, Arlo. One night, a striking 6'3" stranger named Terrence, representing a company focused on off-Earth habitation, arrives. While he engages Arlo in conversation, while your husband is away, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Visited by him.

Author: @notapradagurl7

X

Y

Z

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Crimson Tango: A Dance of Diamonds and Revenge Chapter 2 - It Always Ends Badly✨

Series Masterlist

A/N: Me and @mountainsandmayhem are having so much fun writing this Moulin Rouge au! We hope you enjoy chapter two ☺️ Comments and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

Word Count: 5.7k

Pairings: Joel x fem! reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Chapter Summary: Joel and reader finally meet. Things get a little heated till reader’s uncle interrupts. Plans take a turn for the worst when your uncle introduces you to Terrance, the man you absolutely loathe.

Chapter Tags: Flirting, feelings, fluff and thoughts of smut, angst, longing, grief

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

In the bright lights of your room, you notice things about the handsome stranger that you couldn’t quite see while you were up on stage. Like his eyes… They aren’t just dark brown. No. They’re lighter than you expected, almost the color of honey and copper mixed together. Light flecks of warmth reflecting off them. It almost reminds you of sunlight. Beautiful, warm. And just for a second you swear you can see home in those bright brown eyes that call to you. And his face is so beautiful. So smooth, tan, angelic.

“I - I’m sorry,” Joel stutters, using every ounce of self preservation he has to tear his eyes away from you.

You turn your back to him to put the dressing gown on properly, tying the satin pink sash in a bow to make sure the gown doesn’t slip off. The spike of adrenaline from performing always seems to cloud your mind and you must have forgotten to lock your door again. You glance over your shoulder to see Joel's wide brown eyes looking at your guitar and pottery wheel. “It’s okay, I should have locked the door,” you reply shyly.

You spin back around to face him, and in the sensual lighting of your bachelor style living quarters he might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. You wonder how old he is and if he’s married. You find yourself hoping he’s not. A married woman wouldn’t let her husband work in a place like this.

“Perhaps I should come back another time,” Joel says hesitantly.

“No, no please. Stay.” Your heart thunders in your chest, you’re sure he sees you as others around town do, a whore. That title has never bothered you before, let them think what they want to think, you know what you are. You are the Sparkling Diamond. The one that all men want, but can never have. You’re their fantasy, and unbeknownst to them you’re an untouchable fantasy. But Joel’s opinion feels like it should matter, you can’t explain why, but you want him to know that you aren’t like the other girls that work here.

“Alright,” he murmurs out, tugging at the collar around his shirt that is starting to feel too tight. “I just need to fix that dripping faucet for you and replace that light and umm, then I’ll be out of your way, ma’am.”

You say your name and his right cheek lifts slightly as he repeats it back to you. It’s never sounded sweeter coming out of someone’s lips. He glances quickly at your guitar and pottery wheel again before walking further into your room to inspect the sink.

“You’re Mr. Miller, right?” You had heard some of the women talking about the handsome new handyman your uncle had hired earlier.

“Yes, just Joel will do, ma’am.” His heart is hammering in his chest, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it across the room. He opens the cabinets under your sink and sees a pipe with a steady drip running down to the floor.

You repeat your name again with a laugh.

“Sorry, that’s not how I was raised, darlin’.”

Darlin’. The nickname gives you butterflies low in your stomach and warmth floods your body. You feel your cheeks flush as Joel glances over you slowly.

His breath gets caught in his throat with how beautiful you look with a slight pink blush lighting your cheeks. His mind flashes to you on top of him, that blush spreading down your neck and chest slowly. Soft breasts in his palms as you bob up and down on his cock.

“Darling,” you repeat back dreamily, “you could just call me that if you like. I like it,” you blush crimson as you flutter your long eyelashes at him.

Joel is thankful his face is now hidden under the sink, the big grin across his face would definitely give him away. You watch his strong arms flexing as he tugs and pulls on the hardware under your sink. Watch the way his bulging biceps cling to the flannel every time he reaches and flexes his muscles. The sight alone makes you gulp with desire.

“Okay, if that’s the case then,” he raises his head to lock eyes with you, “can you please turn the water on, darlin’? Let’s see if I’ve fixed this.”

You pad over to the sink in your barefeet, toes painted the same red as your fingernails. You lean over Joel's outstretched body to turn the water on. Everything happens all at once; first, the water sputters and then shoots out of the faucet with much more pressure than usual, then the pipe underneath pours down on Joel. Before you can even comprehend what’s happened, Joel has you scooped up in his arm, while the other reaches to turn off the tap. He’s completely soaked now and when the two of you lock eyes you both start laughing. Neither of you can really remember when you’ve laughed like this. Warm, genuine laughter as he walks you away from the wet floor of your kitchen area.

“Shit,” you laugh, ‘I’m sorry! You’re soaked.”

Joel places your feet gently on the ground at the foot of your bed. “I think we need to replace that.”

You stumble slightly when he puts you down, like a few minutes of his touch has already made you weak and boneless. He grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it up to wipe his face. You should look away, but instead you let your eyes wander down to the exposed skin of his abdomen, your bottom lip sliding in between your teeth. His flat abdomen has a little trail of hair that leads to the one spot you haven’t been able to stop thinking about since you saw him. Between that and the v shaped divots of his hip bones, you’re mesmerized. You want him, need him. Badly.

His brown eyes lock with yours as he lowers his shirt slowly, keeping his eyes intently focused on you. Your breaths come out shallow, causing your breasts to rise and fall rapidly. His eyes dart to your parted lips as you step closer to him. His warmth and mahogany smell wraps around you, enveloping you in a thick fog. He’s taller than you, much taller. You have to crane your neck up to look at him. One of his hands grazes against yours and you suck in a nervous breath as you feel electricity run through your connected skin. His fingers are soft and warm, but also rough and scalding all at the same time. The hands of a hardworking man.

“Darlin’?” He says in a cracked whisper.

“Y-yeah?” you coo, fingers reaching for his, your pointer finger linking gently with his pinky.

Joel hears Edward’s voice, don’t touch my girls. But his hands seem to have developed a mind of their own as he finishes intertwining your fingers with one hand, the other tracing a gentle line up your arm towards your shoulder.

“You have to stop looking at me like that…” he says, pushing your soft curls off your shoulder, brushing your exposed collarbone, his delicate touch causing your clit to throb. He’s so handsome, so… gentle. Soft.

You hold in a moan, his strong, thick fingers feeling like heaven on your skin. “Like what?” you ask quietly, locking your fingers with his as calloused fingers drag along yours smoothly. It’s like fire burning your skin. Warm, tempting, smoldering, life ending.

He steps closer, so close that if you could take a full breath your barely covered breasts would graze against his body. Your nipples are hard and sensitive against the silkiness of your dressing gown, begging to be released from the material.

“Like you want me to kiss you, baby girl.”

Baby girl, fuck.

His gentle touch continues up your neck and you can’t hold it in anymore, a moan slips from your lips as you lean into his touch. His eyes haven’t left yours, and they darken as he watches your body responding to his fingers. He traces your jaw line, stopping below your chin and lowering his face to yours. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

A breathy ‘yes’ starts to come past your lips when a loud knock on your door has you both jumping apart like you had touched a live wire. Joel rushes into your kitchen, grabbing a towel to clean the puddle of water on the floor quickly. You tighten your dressing gown and head to the door, opening it just a crack.

“Hi, petal,” your uncle says, “just checking on the sink situation. Did Joel stop by?”

You open the door the rest of the way and gesture for him to come in.

“Sorry, sir,” Joel says from his crouched position on the floor. “I think we’re gonna need to replace it. The one pipe is stripped and you can’t get a good seal without the threads.”

You smile at Joel from behind your uncle. He appears to be rambling. Nervous rambling.

“Do what you need to do, Joel. This is the room of our most prized possession. If she wants it, she gets it.”

If she wants it, she gets it. The words run through Joel’s head over and over again like a broken record on repeat. Like how you were practically begging him to kiss you seconds ago. Those smooth, glossy lips tempting him to dark places he shouldn’t go. He shouldn’t, he knows better. But he’s beginning to realise he has no sense of self preservation when it comes to you.

Joel notices the way your eyes glaze over with sadness when Edward calls you a possession and that’s when he feels it again. The connection, the tight string that pulls him to you. He can tell that you hate that, that you want to be seen for you and not just the fantasy you put out there for those sick men.

He can’t say no to you, he’ll never say no to you. To hell with the rules, he’d already broken them the moment he saw you. He wants to know you, he wants to play guitar with you and maybe you can teach him how to use that pottery wheel. He’s truly, royally fucked. Ruined. But so be it. As long as he could have you, he didn’t care about the consequences because all he wanted was you. His Sparkling Diamond.

“Petal, come to my office when he’s done here, please?”

You nod and smile sweetly, “Of course.”

After he leaves, Joel sighs and leans against your porcelain counter, crossing his strong arms across his chest, his soft chocolate eyes staring back at you. His eyebrows knit together and you can see him grinding his teeth together while his jaw clenches into a tight fist.

“Sorry.” It comes out of your mouth instinctively. You don’t know what you’re sorry for but it’s certainly not for almost kissing him.

“No, I want to, darlin’. I really want to. It’s just…” he walks towards you slowly, almost hesitating before he reaches for you. He’s known you all of twenty minutes and he already can’t stand being in the same room with you and not touching you. As his hands come up to lightly cup the back of your head he continues, “It’s just that doing that will get me fired.”

“Didn’t you hear him? If I want it, I can have it.”

You let your hand roam over his chest, and he can’t help but melt at your touch. “Fuck, baby girl. You’re so…I’m just…”

“Are you feeling flustered, Mr. Miller?”

“Very,” he says before crashing his lips into yours.

His lips are soft and fit perfectly against yours as they nip at your bottom lip and devour you nice and slow. You run a hand through his soft tousled curls and hear him groan against your mouth. He likes that, likes your fingers wrapped around his hair.

He slides his arms around your waist and pulls you tight against his broad chest, making your head spin with want and need. You can smell every inch of him, feel the mahogany and woodsy scent seep into every crevice of your skin. It’s intoxicating, electrifying. You want him, you need him, crave him like you’ve never craved anything else in your entire life. It’s him, it’s only him.

It takes everything inside you to break the kiss, and both of you whine out when you part. Joel fights the urge to readjust himself, he doesn’t want you thinking he’s like every other guy in here. He’s not looking for a quick fuck, he never wants to do anything quick with you.

“Fuck,” you say breathily, “I have to go. I don’t want to go, but he’ll come back.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be back tomorrow.” His thumbs graze the sides of your waist affectionately as he pulls back.

“Can I see you again?” Joel didn’t realise the elation that could come from those five little words. You step into him, resting your cheek against his chest, hands roaming his broad back. “Please?” you almost beg.

Joel groans at your touch, “Nothing would make me happier, darlin’.”

Before he steps out of your reach, you look to your acoustic guitar and back up into his warm brown eyes. “I saw you looking at my guitar earlier. Do you play?” you ask with your eyes focused on him intently.

“Mhm. Been playin’ a long time,” he replies and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, making you want to melt into his touch forever. “And you? I’m guessin’ you also play?” he asks with the cock of his thick eyebrow.

“Yeah, a little. I kinda taught myself as a child,” you say shyly.

A low whistle escapes his lips. “Taught yourself, yeah? Smart girl.” A smirk curls against his lips and it nearly knocks the breath from your body. “I could give you lessons, you know. If you’d want, that is.”

You don’t hesitate at all before you squeak out. “Please! I’d love nothing more,” you almost shout with a huge grin on your matted red lips.

“Perfect. It’s a date then…” he says as he slides his hand through his tousled curls nervously, making his brown flecks of color pop with his shy smile. You nearly explode at the thought of his strong arms around yours, his calloused hands guiding you along the strings as his smooth lips trace your neck line, whispering praises to you each time you learn something new.

Good girl. Doin’ so good for me, baby girl. Learnin’ so fast. Such a good girl… The thoughts nearly take you down to the floor.

“Well, guess I should let you get to Edward,” he sighs, already starting to move his arms from your waist. The feeling of him leaving makes you feel empty, hollow. A lost void in the darkness. You don’t want him to go…

After managing to pull yourselves out of each other's arms, Joel slips out of your room slowly, sending you a flirtatious wink and a small smile before closing the door gently. When you peel your eyes off the now closed door, you throw on a pair of pink lacy panties and a wrap around dress before heading out to your uncle's office.

When you open your door, you enter back into the chaos and madness of it all. You forgot that all of this was happening all around you when you were alone with Joel, almost like being locked in his eyes turned off the whole word. The burlesque is still hustling and bustling with men, dancers swarming them on the dance floor as they grab and take what they want from the women. You decide right then and there that you are done with this place and then roll your eyes bitterly as you make your way down the grand staircase, then down to the wooden floor, clicking your heels across the wood as you saunter your way to your uncle’s office.

You can feel the eyes roaming over your body, hear the cat calls the men make as they whistle and call your name. You tune them out, pretend you don’t hear the barbaric things they yell at you.

What could your uncle possibly want to talk about that couldn’t wait till tomorrow? Was he letting you come up with a new routine, maybe let you coach some more of the children on how to do kicks and twirls and little dance numbers? You liked the children, loved seeing their faces light up when you showed them a dance move or two. Maybe that’s what this was about. You hoped it was.

When you cross the dim lit hallway with red wallpaper and dark wooden floors, you turn the golden doorknob into your uncle’s spacious office. “Hi, uncle! You wanted to see me?” you ask brightly. As you turn you stop in your tracks, the door shutting quietly behind you. There’s a strange man standing almost menacingly near your uncle.

“Oh, uhh. Who’s this?” you ask cautiously, taking in the tall stranger that stands at the corner of your uncle’s long, wooden desk.

“Oh, petal. So happy you made it. This is Terrance. Terrance, this is our Sparkling Diamond.” Your uncle says your name to Terrance and he smirks at the mention of it.

Something about him makes your skin crawl. You can’t place what it is, but your gut and intuition are telling you to be afraid of this man and to run. Bile rises in your throat from questions that swirl violently in your brain.

Why was Terrance in here alone with your uncle? And why were you being introduced to him? Something wasn’t right. Something was off, very off.

Maybe when you’re 18, you can join them. No, that wouldn’t be it, he promised you that you would just be a dancer.

You blink away your thoughts and take in his appearance. He stands maybe six feet high, he’s built but somehow frail at the same time. When he takes his black top hat off and nods his head at you, you see the thinning hair that sits atop his head. It’s ash blonde with grey streaks running through every other strand. And his mustache is almost slimy looking, wet and slicked over with a grease like gel to hold it in place. You find yourself comparing it to Joel’s soft, trimmed beard and mustache. It’s nothing like this man’s. This man is… unkempt.

You take in his wrinkles, see the way his leathery skin pulls at the evil smirk that encases his chapped lips. This man is much older than you. Much, much older. Maybe the same age as your uncle or even older. You can’t tell, but he was way too old to be after a girl like you.

“So good to finally get to meet you, m’lady.” He takes your hand and brings his lips over your knuckles, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on your skin that makes you cringe. When you drop your hand back down, you run it over the back of your dress as you wipe the drool off your hand.

My lady? Just who did this guy think he was?

“Are you here to meet some of the dancers?” you ask him cautiously as you watch his grey eyes turn cold, calculating, and vindictive, but most importantly lust filled.

You watch his eyes scrape over you like sharp glass tearing through your skin, see the way he looks at you like a fresh piece of meat. He hones you like a hawk, piercing eyes scanning every inch of your body. You feel as if he sees right through the thin dress as he undresses you with his glazed over eyes. You cross your arms over your body and wrap the dress tighter around you, pretending as if that’ll make you feel slightly less exposed. It doesn’t help, not one bit.

“Not exactly,” he says, the vowels getting caught in between his teeth as he draws it out, words hooking on his annoyingly proper accent.

“Ummm, about that,” your uncle says nervously. He wipes at a bead of sweat on his forehead as his green eyes become big and wide before he says his next words. “He’s here for you.”

Your blood runs cold, veins constricting as you feel ice run down your bloodstream. You repeat the words in your head, almost positive you misheard him. He’s here for you. Here for you. But you hadn’t misheard. You heard him just right.

Maybe when you’re eighteen, you can join them.

“For me?” you whisper out, wide eyes looking over at Terrance as he runs his rough tongue along his bottom lip seductively, grey eyes hounding your body as he nearly combusts from his desire for you.

You see the way he looks at you, like a dog would a fresh bone. You see the way his fingers dig into his top hat as he stares at your breasts as they sit halfway exposed from the dress. There’s nothing but lust and desire in his eyes. Nothing but the mere inkling to rip your dress off and expose every inch of your body for him to indulge in. He doesn’t look at your eyes, or face, doesn’t even seem to care that tears are burning in the back of your eyes as he manages to violate you without even touching you.

Your uncle is selling you to him…

You hold your head high and bite your cheek before you say something hasty. You tear your watering eyes off Terrance, not able to look into the lust filled pits of his eyes anymore. Joel… Joel would never look at you like that, would never make you feel as small and feeble as Terrance just did. Joel looked at you with passion, need, like you were the only girl in the entire world. And that’s all you could think of now was him. Joel… the one you wanted.

“That’s right. For you,” Terrance smirks out the words as you stare distraughtly at him.

Your uncle looks between the two of you, the lines of his forehead wrinkling into worry lines. He looks nervous, sad even. And you know then this had to be a sick joke. He couldn’t be serious. He wouldn’t.

“Terrance, can you wait outside for us at the bar? Maybe go grab yourself a scotch? Need to speak to my little petal here,” your uncle says. Terrance nods and moves toward the door, sliding up behind you as you feel his hand brush up against the back of your dress, dangerously close to your ass. You suck in a breath and let him pass through the door, waiting a few seconds till you can’t hear his light footsteps down the hall anymore. Then you attack.

“What do you mean he’s here for me?” Your voice is raised, anger biting back as you snarl down at your uncle sitting calmly in his leather office chair.

“He’s…. uhhh he’s….” he stutters, nervous drips of sweat falling from his forehead as he takes a hand towel and dabs at his drenched skin.

“Just tell me!” you demand, almost screaming at him as your red polished fingers slam on top of his desk with a jolt, making a stack of thick papers fly down to the floor.

He sighs and nods before telling you. “He paid me money to have you…” he whispers out defeatedly.

“You sold me? To him?!” you yell loudly as your face floods with hot heat, anger and broken trust filling your insides like hot lava.

“Petal, I can explain,” he pleads as he holds his hands out, begging you to let him speak.

“Don’t!” you cry out, pointing your index finger in his direction as you see the shiny red polish shimmer back your way. “Don’t you dare call me that!”

Silence fills the air and you have to swallow the sob that creeps up your throat. Your hand falls to your side, “You lied to me,” you say quietly, hurt seeping through you as you feel your heart shattering. He was the one person you always counted on to be honest with you.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t lie,” he says defensively.

His defensive tone comes out cockily and you feel the anger bubble back to the surface, “You lied to me the day you started making me entertain those men! The day you made me sit on their laps as they looked at me like I was just a wet hole for them to fill.”

Your uncle cringes but you aren’t done, “You lied to me the moment you promised I’d never have to be fucked by any of those men! And now look. You fucking sold me to an older man, who spent the whole time looking at me like I wasn’t even a fucking person! Like he just wants to use me till I’m no more, until I’m nothing!” The words get caught on a choked cry as you feel a wet tear slide down your cheek. You swear with how quietly still the room is that you hear it splash on the floor.

Your uncle just looks at you with sad, distant eyes. Eyes that say they’re sorry all on their own. It makes you burn hotter, the betrayal cutting a clear knife down your back. You trusted him. You fucking trusted him. And look what he did. Sold you out to get fucking paid. Pathetic.

You turn toward the dark door and reach for the gold handle, but he stops you before you can twist it open. “Please, wait. Let me explain,” he begs as he stands from his chair, nearly knocking over the large picture of the Eiffel Tower off the back of the red walls.

You drop your hand from the door and walk back over to his desk, crossing your arms tightly over you as you wait to see what good excuse he gives you. “So, tell me. Go on. Tell me why you did this to me. I’m waiting,” you say coldly, eyes burning into his as he gulps and runs a hand through his sandy overgrown hair.

“I got a visit from some government people today. They don’t like what we’re doing here, petal. They threatened to shut us down. They found out it was more than a bar. Found out exactly what goes on here every night, and they don’t like it. Not one bit.”

He takes a large gulp of his brandy drink and shakes his head as he continues. “They’re making us pay double the property tax now. Says they’ll let us stay open if we keep that agreement. But do you realize how much money that is every year? And then Terrance walked in. I offered him any other girl, multiple girls if he wanted. I tried introducing him to other dancers, but the only one he wanted was you. I saw no other way, sweet pea. I was desperate.”

You take a step back and peel your eyes to the floor, your eyebrows knitting together as you take in his words. Your eyes grow wide at the information he just told you, but you can’t say anything. You’re too shocked from everything he just said, the words hitting every single nerve ending in your body like a freight train crashing right into you.

“They wanted to shut down the Moulin Rouge…” you barely whisper, your voice coming out as quiet as a helpless mouse.

“That’s right, petal. I had to strike a deal or they would’ve shut us completely down tonight. We would’ve ended up on the streets. All the women and children of this place; unsheltered and without work or food. Can you imagine?”

“No… I can’t imagine that…'' you say starstruck, your mind in a thick cloud of haze as you slowly face him again. His face is so sad, so drenched with apologies as he looks right at you with eyes that scream to you to forgive him. And you can’t say no, you can’t deny him that. Not even if what he did was cruel and selfish. But it wasn’t really that selfish because he was saving the Moulin Rouge. He was saving everyone that lived here, even you…

He comes around the desk and steps in front of you, taking one of your hands in his as he looks at you with sincere eyes. “You know I’d never do anything to hurt you on purpose, right?”

You stare at the floor and purse your lips, deep in thought as you gulp down tears and meet his eyes again cautiously. You nod your head slowly as you continue to listen to him.

“I love you like my own daughter. And I promise you, if this incident didn’t happen today then I never would’ve taken him up on his offer. I never would’ve sold you like that, but I was desperate. I saw it as the only way out of this deep hole I got myself into. And I’m so sorry, so very sorry…”

You drag your tongue over your pristine teeth and look at him with hurt eyes, but you understand why he did it. He was desperate, only trying to save the ones he cared about. But that dark, nagging thought at the back of your head continues to scream at you, trying to tell you that he would do it anyway. If it was a large sum of money, would he still have sold you out? Without the government getting involved? You’d never know…

“How much?” you ask thickly.

“How much what?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows.

“How much did he offer you for me?” you ask coldly, choking back tears as you stare up at him with hurt written all over your face.

“$300,000…”

Oh.

Your eyes go wide at the large sum of money. $300,000? Holy shit…

“That’s a… wow. That’s a lot,” you gasp in shock.

“It is. It’s enough to save us, petal. Enough to keep it all going,” he smiles, eyes turning a bit brighter as he says it.

“How long am I supposed to entertain him or be with him or… whatever this is,” you ask in disgust, not wanting to think about his sloppy hands and greasy moustache on your clean skin.

“It’s not forever, petal. He’s much older than you. Maybe a few years with him, if that.”

“A few years?!” you shriek in surprise. “But he… but I don’t…” The words leave your mouth in choppy stutters. Your throat feels dry and constricted, and you can’t find the strength to finish your sentence.

“I know, petal. I know. Again, I’m so sorry. I know he isn’t your first choice. But he’s got a lot of money. He can take care of you. Maybe in ways I never could…” he says sadly, eyes dropping to the ground. He means he couldn’t save you from your impending doom. He couldn’t save you from the grimy hands of Terrance, the man that came and wrecked your life like a ship caught in a raging storm. But he’s the one that sold you… your uncle. The man you used to see as your hero.

“I don’t want him to take care of me. I get along just well on my own,” you say proudly with your chin raised high, trying your best to sound brave when your entire world is getting flipped upside down like a coiled up ball of yarn, no way of untangling your way out.

He sighs and shakes his head sadly. “I’m sorry, petal. I did what I could. Why don’t you just go back to your room and take a nice long bath. Don’t worry about Terrance tonight. You can see him tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow night. That meant he’d expect to sleep with you, show you off like his prized possession amongst all his rich friends. You feel a wave of nausea roll over your stomach, feel the backs of your eyes sting with fresh tears waiting to fall like raindrops down your face, feel the pure need to run to Joel, have him wrap you in his strong arms where it’s warm and safe. Where you belong. Where your heart burns.

You don’t turn back around to say goodnight to your uncle, you just place your hand on the cold metal knob and twist, stepping back into the loud hallway as men chant and girls twirl and dance for the men vulgarly. You walk past them lifelessly, holding in your tears till you reach the staircase, making yourself walk faster as the anxiety starts to crush you.

You grip the cold railing of the staircase and climb up each step with the weight of the world on your chest. It’s hard to breathe, hard to filter in fresh air when you feel as if you’re stuck underground with no escape in sight, suffocating on dirt and the stench of Terrance, weighing yourself down as you remember him carving his cold eyes over your body like a hyena ready to make you his dinner.

As soon as you enter the dark hallway, you turn the opposite way of your room. Your body almost having a mind of its own as you head to the dance studio. This room where you teach the children, a place of innocence and laughter. You close the door behind you, slide down the back of the door and end up on the floor as you curl your head into your knees, feeling the wet tears hit the pink material of your dress. You choke out tears knowing what you’ll have to do tomorrow, grab your silky hair between your polished fingers as you think of his dirty paws all over you.

It’s not forever. You can fake it. You can do this.

But you aren’t sure you can because every time you even think of Terrance your mind goes to Joel. Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s the one you want, the one you need. And you want him so badly that even thinking about him hurts.

Joel. He can’t find out. Not yet. What would you tell him? What would he do? You’d have to keep it to yourself. At least for a few days. Yes, just a few days. You could do that… right?

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

DC Comics Superhero OC: Chickadee, The Boy Wonder of Toronto

Co created by @confusedhummingbird and yours truly

Civilian Name: Henry Holland

Son of Natalie Holland, Captain within the Royal Canadian Mounted Police O Division and Lieutenant Colonel Terrence Holland, of the 32 Brigade Group of the Canadian Army

Age: 12 1/2 years old

Height: 5’0”

Weight: 77 lbs

Personality: Mature Minded and Intelligent with Tactics in the Field, Formal and Professional When Addressing Older Heroes and Civilian akin to a Military Officer, Determined and Steadfast, Stubborn in his Attempts of Leading a Team Efficiently, Has a Low Sense of Humor That He tries to work on, Doesn’t Like to Show Any Weakness of any Degrees in front of enemies and allies, Deep Down All of That, an Utter Fanboy of Nightwing in particular and if his guard is down, can be an excitable, passionate and cheerful. He’s begun to slowly open up more courtesy of being around fellow heroes around his age range.

Possible Junior Partner to Flying Fox II and Definite Leader of the Canadian based Titans North

(More Below the Cut)

History: Born to both a Soldier within the Canadian Army and what are commonly referred to as Mounties, Henry is a child that easily takes much inspiration from his parents’ works whom they take with honor and distinction. Though this comes at the drawback even in the present day of being usually with his aunt or a babysitter at home during days he’s not on patrol or at school due to the consistent scheduling his Mother Natalie has keeping her away from home. As for his father Terrance, there’s an element of tragedy to him which effects both Henry and his mother to this day; during a combat tour in a war torn Middle East as part of a US led coalition, Terrance’s platoon became ambushed by extremist insurgents and in the chaos that initially wiped out most of said platoon, Terrance was taken captive. For two weeks, the Lieutenant Colonel was brutalized and tortured for any sort of intel the extremists wanted yet through it all, he maintained a stern silence and refused to talk. Eventually the insurgents found their hideout under attack by a rescue operation from other Canadian and American troops, so they proceed to execute Terrance, rather gruesomely, so much so, the other soldiers had no choice but to simply take the dog tags and leave the body behind.

Natalie and Henry of course took the loss hard given how much of a good man Terrance was for them as a husband and father respectively but both maintained a firm and strong face at the memorial service, knowing at least they have together as long as they do. They’ll remain strong. Wanting to honor both of his parents for their many deeds to save, serve and protect others, being a lifelong fanboy of the first Robin, the Boy Wonder and later the leader of the Titans International, Nightwing, in addition to some encouragement and advice from the Flying Fox, the recent one to bear that mantle and with some self teaching in martial arts and police detective work, Henry decides to create and don a mantle of his own choosing for which he can patrol and protect the streets of his native Toronto, being a hero for the city the way his parents are for their county or entire country.

As for why the Chickadee, not only are the commonly found throughout Canada and have a degree of being an equivalent to the Robin birds of America, but when Henry was five, during one of the few times the Holland family was able to have a vacation, they took a hiking trek on Mount McKay. Whilst there for a photo for both Terrance and little Henry, two Chickadees perched gently on top of their heads to which made a perfect photo for Natalie to capture and a new nickname for Henry that his parents especially Terrance would refer to him. Hence naming his mantle as such serves a tribute to Terrance as far as Henry is concerned.

Skills, Equipment, and Abilities:

- Black Belt in Judo, Yellow Belt in Tai Tzu and Lui He martial arts

- Has Proficient Enough Knowledge in Using a Grappling Hook and Wires

- Ametuer level with the arts of Disguise

- Advanced Junior Training in Forensics

- Wing suit flaps built into his suit

- Can communicate in English, Francaise, Algonquin and 3 other Amerindian languages (Related Below, also two Jewish languages)

Occupation: Student at Robbins Hebrew Academy

Physical Appearance: Light Brown Hair, Peach tone skin with freckles on the face, Green Eyes and a Birthmark on the Back of his neck

Crime Fighter Uniform:

- Black Domino Mask, Advanced in meaning containing a Holographic Heads Up Display, featuring a Radar for contacts within 50 meter radius, Heart Rate Monitor, Proximity Sensor for incoming attacks, connected to ear piece for contact with teammates

- A White Cape that extends to the back of the legs with a Light Brown Underbelly, attached to it being a black hoodie which covers the back and crown of the head, leaving only the face open

- White Bulletproof Vest with Black Long Sleeves and Light Brown Highlights throughout the buttons. Has his Logo, a Red Chickadee Silhouette displaying its wings in a white circular background with a black circle around it, on the right side of chest

- White Fingerless Gloves with Light Brown Soles

- Black Utility Belt with a buckle having said Chickadee logo; contains pouches housing Grappling Hook, Magnifying Glass, Signal Flares, Smoke Pellets, Flashbang Grenades, Snacks including Toffee, and Spare Masks

- Black Kevlar Pants with Light Brown highlights on Knee Caps

- White Robin Style Pixie Boots with built in hidden Steel Toes, and White Soles. Made from a leather and Kevlar fabric blend that makes them extra sturdy and durable in harsh environments

Additional Facts and Trivia

- The Holland family are prominently descendants of Ashkenazi Jews who emigrated from Poland during the Interwar Period (1920-1939). While having Liberal leaning politics and values, the Hollands are Orthodox with their Faith, adhering in particular to Halakhic traditions and customs. Therefore Henry wears a black Kippah on his head even as Chickadee which his hood covers. Henry also has a Kosher diet based on said Halakhic Orthodox customs. He’s currently training in reading the Torah in preparation for his Bar Mitzvah. He’s so far made it to Shemot, also known for The Christian faith as the Book of Exodus. The Hollands are fluent in both Hebrew and especially Yiddish, the latter more promotional spoken between the two languages in that front.

- As stated above, leads a small Canadian branch of Titans, named Titans North, who as of yet are not yet officially affiliated with the well known Titans International but have so far managed to earn a small follow of supporters and fans across the Toronto metropolitan area and other localities throughout the state of Ontario. Often gets teased playfully by said teammates for being the youngest of them

- Among the Titans North, one member called Push-and-Pull, a 14 year old Algonquin female Metahuman with a compassionate and caring tomboy personality, possessing the ability to control and manipulate gravity with the palms of her hands (Similar to My Hero Academia’s Ochaka Uraraka) and Chickadee having a small budding crush between them or at least the starts of one in process ever since they first met

- Has a small hobby of playing video games, mainly on the console side. Not interested in competitive or online play as due to lack of friends outside his Titans North, he nonetheless has a fondness for games that are both sci-fi and military themed as befitting his background. Henry however finds himself woefully out of date when it comes buying the latest hardware; his most advanced console in possession being the DCU equivalent of an Xbox 360

- Trivia: Can in fact Successfully Curl his Tongue while the rest of his teammates can’t

- While an admitted fan of the first Robin (therefore also fond of Nightwing), Henry is rather very cautious and weary of the Batman himself. This can be attributed to his earlier childhood having been told of terrifying stories surrounding the Bat, a lot of them coming the earlier days when he worked solo and was regarded as an urban myth. As for Superman, Henry has a trust and respect for him. He’d probably however faint from excitement should he meet Nightwing in particular

- Is particularly interested and into the music elective in his school, more so in particular having a liking for classical songs and artists, mainly Beethoven and Salieri. Plays the Cello as his main instrument. While not intolerant and rather okay with more modern music, his playlist on his phone features mainly said classical songs and is working on working on compositions himself.

[sageispunk]

main masterlist

updated: 2/23/25 | ⭐️ smut | 🐚 fluff | 🥀 angst | 🖤 dark |

✦ the bear (hulu)

'might be' - Richie Jerimovich x f!reader ⭐️

The first time you meet 🍃 dealer Richie.

'he finds out ur a squirter' - Richie Jerimovich x reader ⭐️

Passionate missionary with bf Richie talking you through it.

'looking ahead' - Richie Jerimovich x reader ⭐️

Richie can't help but to watch. Even if you didn't mean to leave your door open. (dubcon)

breeding kink drabble - Richie Jerimovich x reader ⭐️

Richie can't wait until you're finally knocked up with his baby.

✦ they cloned tyrone

'drown in it' - Fontaine x black!reader ⭐️

He makes you squirt on his face. Happily.

NSFW alphabet - Fontaine x black! reader ⭐️

The ABCs of Fontaine's love.

'eyes on me' - Fontaine x black! reader ⭐️ (Ao3)

You're a little too interested in Fontaine's weapons.

✦ rebel ridge (2024)

'anointed' - Terry Richmond x black!reader ⭐️

When he eats you through the panties.

'red lipstick' - maintenance man!Terry Richmond x black!OC ⭐️

Don't let your husband stop you from finding the love of your life...

✦ wwe

'pretty like u' - Jeff Hardy x black!reader ⭐️

A little lipstick never hurt anyone...

'told you so' - Jey Uso x black!OC Ravyn ⭐️

[infidelity, teasing, crazy dirty talk, rough sex]

'belongs to another' - Jimmy Uso x black!reader ⭐️🐚🥀

[friends with benefits, infidelity, weed use]

untitled - Jey Uso x black!reader ⭐️

[alcohol use, groping, teasing]

✦ triple frontier

‘too divine’ - Frankie Morales x f!reader ⭐️

Riding Frankie after a long night out.

'homecoming' pt. 1 - Santi Garcia x reader x Frankie Morales ⭐️🥀

Santi's back and wants your forgiveness.

✦ marvel

'just one more' - Matt Murdock x f!reader ⭐️

Matthew is out of town but you still need him. (Ktober prompt: phone sex)

'wriggle' - Erik Stevens x black!reader ⭐️🐚

[roommates, teasing, tickling kink]

✦ the last of us (hbo)

'what u need' - Joel Miller x f!reader ⭐️

Teasing Joel underneath a table in a bar sometimes leads to getting ruined on the side of the road.

'melting' - Joel Miller x f!reader ⭐️

Joel wants to try something new. (Ktober prompt: temperature play)

'sticky' - Joel Miller x f!reader ⭐️

Joel wants to learn. So you let him. (Ktober prompt: squirting + masturbation)

'inside'- Joel Miller x mistress ⭐️🥀 (Ao3)

When the cat's away, the mice will play.

✦ how high (2001)

'what's it gonna be?' - Silas x black!reader ⭐️🐚

When two friends finally get a night alone...

'as nature intended' - Silas x black!reader ⭐️🐚

[weed use, hairy coochie praise, breeding kink mention]

✦ formula 1

'foolish' - Lewis Hamilton x black!reader ⭐️🥀

Cause I can't seem to break away from your foolish love...

✦ misc.

'control' - Max Phillips x f!reader ⭐️

Drinking with your boss goes differently than you'd planned. (Ktober prompt: sex pollen, thigh-riding, forced orgasm)

'4/20' - Terrance Coin x black!reader ⭐️🐚

[weed use, neighbors to lovers, age gap]

'sweet dreams' - Gustavo Fring x reader ⭐️🖤 (Ao3)

When Mr. Fring finally gets his hands on you...

'work it out' - Method Man x black!reader ⭐️

An impromptu lunch date gone too long...

✦ series & AUs

'the first taste' - vamp!Lewis Hamilton x black!reader ⭐️🐚🥀🖤

What do you do when one night just isn't enough?

'all the way down' - Clifford Smith x black!reader ⭐️🐚🥀

When a night of spontaneity spirals into a full-blown affair out of your control.

'same ol' mistakes' - Jordan x reader x Sophie ⭐️🐚🥀

When they love you more than they hate each other...

✦ OCs & Unnamed characters

'crush' - blackfem!OCs x black!OCs⭐️🐚🥀

Oneshot series based on each song of Ravyn Lenae's Crush EP.

'rise n shine' - blackfemme!reader x blackfemme!OC⭐️

Cute lil something about waking up with a pretty girl...

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

[mimi-0007]

In the 1950s and '60s, young Ruben Santiago Jr. (Marcus Franklin) lives in a lively boardinghouse in the blue-collar town of Lackawanna, New York, with his father (Jimmy Smits) after his parents separate. Run by the motherly Nanny Crosby (S. Epatha Merkerson) and her taciturn husband (Terrance Dashon Howard), the boardinghouse residents, including The Bandleader (Mos Def), singer Pauline (Macy Gray) and cabaret owner Dick Barrymore (Ernie Hudson), teach the young boy about life and art.

[whumpspicelatte]

To Be Grateful: Terry in Prince's Solace

Tismoria and Echo's OCs belong to @echo-goes-mmm / @echo-goes-aaa

Warnings: slavery, implied human trafficking, implied past dubcon and noncon

Terrance was…fairly certain that being invited, and allowed, to sit at the small dining table alongside Master and the king was a good sign. Hopeful, at least. It spoke well to the king’s character. 

He…hoped so, anyway. Hoped that the invitation had no malicious ulterior motives. There had to be some outside motive, of course. Why else would a king let his gift eat alongside his old and future masters? But all he could hope was that this wasn’t a trap. That he could get out of this unharmed. 

Hope was all Terrance got to keep anymore. And even that had dimmed to something more…suitable, to one of his new station. 

The room they they dined in must have been constructed for privacy, for all the thin windows running from ceiling to floor to let light stream in past the parted curtains. A warm beam burned into his back with the same heat of the brazier used to heat the brand his trainers had burned into the base of his spine. 

Its absence, highlighted in the clarity of sensation in once-dead nerves, left Terrance unmoored in odd moments like these. 

Not all of Terrance’s princely bearing had been beaten out of him over the years; instead, it had simply been tempered, melted down then reforged to better suit the slave they made of him. He clung to what he could get away with right now to carry him through this to whatever standards the king might have of him. 

While he had been prepared on what to expect in the unlikely case that he was invited to dine alongside his master, he very much doubted any of his trainers could have predicted that he’d wind up at the scrutiny of literal royalty. 

He had never felt so grateful for the Timorsian dining etiquette he’d been taught by his mother. 

Terrance quietly picked his way through the pull-apart bread, spiced vegetables and sea bass offered his way, a modest meal that he could comfortably eat without drawing attention from anything like lacking size despite his lacking appetite, something he’d long since learned to ignore. 

Across from him, Master and the king spoke as old friends. While Terrance watched and listened, careful to keep his attentiveness light and mostly focus on his food to give them some amount of privacy, he didn’t say a single word. 

The only times he spoke was when he thanked the staff, even as he took care to be grateful for the meal. Neither the king nor his master had called on him to speak, so he stayed silent. The way a proper slave should. 

His gratitude was sincere. He hadn’t been able to stomach much today, and his body no longer satiated itself off of the slim pickings of his appetite. 

He was grateful. He was. 

Good slaves were grateful. Silent. Obedient. 

Thallos took care to be all of those things, exactly the way he was meant to be. Exactly how he had been bent and broken and bidden leave to do. Exactly as his trainers had taught him to do. To be. For his sake. 

Timorsia did not tolerate ungrateful slaves. 

“Thallos.” 

Terrance’s fingers froze at the sound of the king’s voice. Carefully, he set down down the pull-apart bread to give the king his full attention. 

His voice came out as soft as ever, as lacking in any bite, its icy fangs long since yanked out by the root. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

King Jason V’s green eyes flicked over his body, and Terrance’s mind spiralled, heart stilling in his chest. Only the placid attentiveness carefully trained to replace his old princely masks kept anxiety from pulling at the skin of his face. His posture was as perfect as he could get it, he knew. Back straight, shoulders relaxed, chin tilted slightly downwards in submission, hands currently folded neatly on his lap. Was there some flaw the king could see? Could pick out from him?

Could he see the eyes of Queen Catherine on a face with the jaw of her husband? 

Timorsia had never been friendly with Rhodantheia. Terrance’s trainers had made very sure that he knew just what would happen to him if anyone found out who he was. What he was. 

And that was just under the assumption of Terrance being the simple nobleman they mistook him for. 

What would Timorsia do with a foreign, practically enemy, prince? 

The king’s lips quirked upwards at the corners. “Achilles tells me you have been trained as not just a caregiver, tutor and nurse, but also as a…what was it, a ‘host’? Could you tell me about what that entails?”

“The host specialty is one of the subsidiary skillsets Hesione Trading House educates its elect-class slaves in, depending on the pre-existing natural talents and inclinations of trainees like myself,” he answered promptly. “Hosts like myself are trained to offer company and entertainment to our masters with a strong focus on the fine arts.” He dipped his head slightly, every motion now instinctively loaded in submissive elegance and maximum aesthetic appeal, just as it had been for the past year. 

Hosts were trained in the deliverance of both sexual and chaste pleasure, although Terrance knew better than to be so crass as to speak of his sexual training. 

“My main specialties in the host skillset lie in playing stringed instruments with a particular focus on the violin, the lyre, the zither and the piano, dance, tea preparation, poetry, oral storytelling and etiquette, Your Majesty.” His strongest skills- the ones he had taken best to. Many he already had before that fateful night, although not all. 

His gaze flicked up tentatively to meet the king’s own. “Does such an answer satisfy what you wish to know?”

The king’s head tilted to the side with a small hint of a smile. Unreadable. 

Had he misspoke? 

“I see.” The king leaned back in his chair. “And your…primary skillset, I assume? Tell me about it.”

“My primary specialty lies in the safe, healthy rearing of children from pregnancy to adulthood,” Terrance answered halfway on reflex. “I have been trained to help accommodate as wide a variety of needs and possibilities as Hesione Trading House could manage, as well as to act as an aide in medical care, general caregiving and proper physical, mental and emotional maturation and recovery concerning my charges. It is strongly advised that I act in a supplementary nature in my role, however I can act as primary caregiver in general childcare and medical care on a long-term basis if necessary.”

His throat hurt, but he took care not to let it show. 

“And how long have you been trained in by Hesione Trading House?”

Four years, one month, seventeen days. “Six years, Your Majesty.” The lie slipped out as easily as if it were truth. It might as well be. Sometimes, it was difficult to remember it was not.

His tongue felt parched, dimly remembering the many days and night spent without sleep, water or food as the collar sent lightning through him over and over and over and would only stop so long as he repeated his truths, he was a slave of Timorsia and had been since birth, his Master always knew best, he was made to be owned, good slaves are obedient, good slaves are quiet, good slaves are grateful, good slaves, Hesione Trading House saved him, he owed Hesione Trading House his life, he was a slave, he was a good slave, he was a good slave or he was nothing-

The king nodded, falling silent. Master’s gaze flicked his way to meet his eyes, then looked down at Terrance’s half-empty cup, then back up at Terrance meaningfully. 

Terrance still belonged to Master. Good slaves obey. 

He lifted his glass, fingers steady, and took a sip. Wine. A dry wine, better than any he’d had since he was free. He didn’t let it show how only ash coated his tongue. 

It burned as it went down, the way it always did. 

Terrance hadn’t liked wine, once. 

Good slaves were grateful. Thallos was a good slave. Thallos was grateful for the wine. 

Because he had to be.

“Can you read?” The king mused. “Write?”

Dangerous territory. 

Terrance set down his glass without even a clink. “I have been taught to read, Your Majesty, but not to write. In case one of my charges or my master would like me to read aloud to them for whatever reason they may like.” 

He barely heard the king hum past the roar of his own blood. Magic crackled in his lungs. If he needed to defend himself- no. No. He would stand down and take what he was given, and he’d be grateful for it. He was a good slave. Punishment made sure to keep him good. 

He belonged to his master. His body, his life, his future- it all belonged to his master. 

Slaves didn’t get to own anything at all. Terrance’s own magic, memories, thoughts and forbidden skills only remained his so long as he kept them close to his chest. 

And that threatened to make him a bad slave, so he had to be grateful. Silent. Obedient. 

Always. 

It was all he was good for anymore. 

Master asked the king a question that Terrance couldn’t quite make out past the slight buzzing in his ears, and the attention shifted off of him. When neither of them were looking his way, he forced his muscles to untense. 

For a time, he was allowed to return to his meal. When he was offered another serving, he refused with a soft, ever-grateful smile. 

Grateful. He was grateful. He had to be grateful. 

“Thallos?” Terrance looked up to meet the king’s gaze yet again, stomach slowly sinking. “What do you like to do in your free time?”

Terrance’s mind blanked. 

What did he like to do in his free time? 

He liked… he liked to sleep. To take care of and be with the children. To go over everything and triple-check for new things to do. To sew. To hum. To let his magic flicker to life, when he could manage it. 

To think of home. 

The answer that passed his lips was the truth, the sincere, genuine truth, but an acceptable truth. A good truth for a useful slave. “I like to keep my hands and mind busy, your Majesty. In whatever way I can.”

“I see.”

But maybe the truth wasn’t enough.

When had the truth ever been enough?

[lessergoodnow]

Aid fundraisers verified by Western journalism outlets

incomplete list, updated 2025-01-24 (check for updates)

Khartoum Aid Kitchen

GoFundMe: Fight Hunger in Sudan: The Khartoum Kitchen appeal, organized by Mustafa Ibrahim

Sources: NPR, BBC News, The Irish Times (paywalled)

Instagram: khartoum_aid_kitchen

Twitter: khartoumkitchen (verified)

Gaza Soup Kitchen

Sources: PBS News, NPR [1], NPR [2], NBC News (1), NBC News (2), Financial Times, CBC

Donate through GoFundMe: Hot meals 4 Starved Palestinian Kids in north Gaza

Donate through givebutter: https://givebutter.com/gaza-soup-kitchen

Website: https://gazasoupkitchen.org/

Instagram: gazasoupkitchen

Facebook: Hani Almadhoun

Crips for eSims for Gaza

(supporting Connecting Humanity, also known as eSims for Gaza)

Sources: NPR, NBC News, CNN, Wikipedia, Electronic Frontier Foundation, The Guardian

Donate on Chuffed: Crips for eSims for Gaza

Donate via PayPal: Jane Shi E-S1ms for G@za

Website and information: https://disabilityvisibilityproject.com/2023/12/25/crips-for-esims-for-gaza/

Families in need

GoFundMe to evacuate Noor, her husband, and their three baby girls; organized by Noor's cousin, Joseph Shaath of Mississauga, Ontario - covered by the Toronto Star

GoFundMe for Nariman Ajjur's family - also covered by the Toronto Star

GoFundMe for the Alhaddad family, including Waseem (13), Tala (11), Rakan (5 months), Mayar (6) - covered in Terrance Standard: "Palestinian woman living in B.C. raising funds to get family out of Gaza"

GoFundMe for Hend and Marwa Alqataa's family, organized by German sister-in-law Manuela - covered by the Toronto Star in the article "‘Can you help us?’ Gazans turn to crowdfunding, cold-calling influencers in bid to flee war zone", following an earlier feature

GoFundMe for Lamea Abuelrous' family, including six children age 10 and under - covered by the San Francisco Examiner, local news site Mission Local, and other outlets

Bear in mind: If your family were in danger now, would your voices be important enough to be platformed by a major foreign news outlet, in a language you don't speak? There are many families legitimately in need, and only some have gotten to have their stories told in international media.

Related

Commissions for a Cause — Redeem your donation receipts for commissions. Also support zines and other projects fundraising for various causes.

Boycott, Divest, Sanction Movement and the Boycat web extension and app

[lemoncakesandwine]

Crowns & Jewelry of House Targaryen

This is a list of House Targaryen jewels I compiled for my “Fall of the Stag AU”. Some crowns are already mentioned in canon, while the others I came up with myself. Please credit if you make use of this list.

A/n: Chameleon stones – Alexandrite

Notable crowns and other jewelry still in the possession of House Targaryen during the reign of Rhaegar I Targaryen:

Crown of Aenys I – A large and ornate crown of yellow-gold. It is inlaid with jade and pearl, and the faces of the Seven are etched onto the seven sides of the crown. Due to the loss of the crown of Aegon I, this crown was and is still worn by kings on the day of their anointing.

Crown of Aegon III – A simple circlet of yellow-gold. Rhaegar I favors it over the others, as it is the least cumbersome of the crowns worn by kings. 

Crown of Aegon IV – A large and heavy crown made of red-gold. It has seven points. Each point is topped with a dragon’s head with dragon-glass beads for eyes. 

Crown of Maekar I – A band of red-gold with sharp black iron points.

Crown of Queen Visenya – A band wrought of pure Valyrian steel, unornamented. This crown has not been worn by other queens after her death, due to its association with her. 

Crown of Queen Rhaenys – A Valyrian diadem wrought of yellow-gold. It is ornamented with golden dragons engraved into the metal. Rubies make up their eyes. It is worn by queen consorts during their anointing. 

Coronet of Queen Alysanne – A slender red-gold crown adorned with sixteen inverted pieces of dragon-glass carefully shaped and polished into pear-shaped stones. This coronet was commissioned by Jaehaerys I himself, as a gift in honor of Alyssane’s sixteenth name-day. After her death, it was worn by queen consorts during formal occasions. 

Crown of Queen Alysanne – A copy of the circlet worn by her husband, Jaehaerys I, with seven jewels of seven different colors. Alyssane often wore this when carrying out her day-to-day duties. 

Rogare Festoon Necklace – A necklace commissioned by the wealthy Lysene banker, Lord Lysandro Rogare, and presented as a gift to his daughter, Larra, upon her marriage to Prince Viserys Targaryen in 134 AC. Five strands of rare platinum and flawless amethysts make up this spectacular necklace, and it was left for Naerys when Larra returned to Lys. Her daughter never wore it when she became queen, and her husband, Aegon the Unworthy, presented it to Lady Bethany Bracken as a gift after she agreed to become his mistress. When she was later found abed with Ser Terrance Toyne, a knight of the Kingsguard, Aegon took back the necklace after he had Bethany and her father executed. It remained in the Targaryen family vault, unused, until Aegon V encouraged his wife, Queen Betha Blackwood, to wear it for feasts.   

Medallion Collar of Aegon III – A collar of matched medallions, unadorned, save for a golden three-headed dragon resting in the center.

Medallion Collar of Princess Daena Targaryen (Also known as Daena the Defiant) –  A copy of the collar worn by her father, Aegon III. Her collar, however, has rubies adorning every medallion. A golden three-headed dragon rests in the center.

Dragon’s Eye Diadem – A red-gold Valyrian diadem studded with six dragon’s eye rubies, man-made gems crafted by mages and smiths in Valyria before the Doom. It was commissioned by Lady Naehra Targaryen, the grandmother of Aenar the Exile, and it was given to him on the occasion of his marriage to his third wife, whom his grandmother personally approved of. The skill and knowledge that went into the making of these stones were jealously guarded secrets that died with the destruction of Valyria. No one knows how many there are still in existence, save for the few seen on this diadem and in rings adorning the fingers of a small group of high-born women in the free cities. All new attempts to make these gems have ended in failure. The diadem was once hidden away during the reign of Aegon the Unworthy, after he began giving away treasures to his mistresses. It was returned to the crown after the death of the king, and it was set aside for the use of queens.

Crown of Naerys – A simple white-gold circlet, unadorned. Naerys rarely wore it.

The Stars of Winter set – A queen’s crown wrought of platinum, adorned with large and small platinum snowflakes studded with tiny diamonds. The crown came with a matching necklace, also of platinum snowflakes studded with diamonds. They were commissioned by Aegon I, to be presented to his sister-wife and Queen, Rhaenys, as a gift after she had been safely delivered of Prince Aenys during the Wintermonth of 7AC. Aegon the Unworthy gave the crown and necklace away to his legitimized bastard daughter, Shiera Seastar. She never wore them, and she did not give them away, either. They were retrieved after her death in 211 AC. Only a queen or a crown princess may wear them.  

The Sunburst Tiara – A yellow-gold tiara ornamented with yellow-gold suns studded with a yellow topaz in the center of each sun. It was first worn by Princess Myriah Martell during her wedding ceremony to Prince Daeron Targaryen in 152 AC. 

The Menagerie necklace – A heavy bib-like necklace wrought of yellow-gold, and adorned with interconnected pendants, each fashioned to look like one of the many exotic animals prominent families of the Free Cities keep in their walled and caged gardens. It was gifted to Queen Alysanne by envoys from Braavos during the first Seventh Day Feast in 51 AC. 

The Dragon of Summer diadem – A white-gold Valyrian diadem Aegon I commissioned for his sister-wife, Queen Visenya, after she had been safely delivered of a son, Prince Maegor, during the Midsummer of 12 AC. The diadem has been shaped to look like a twisting dragon in flight, with scales edged with mother of pearl. Visenya rarely wore it, and it, too, remains unworn after her death due to its association with her.    

The Dragon’s Wings tiara – A delicate white-and yellow-gold circlet adorned with a dragon’s wing on either side and studded with diamonds. It was gifted to Rhaella by Aerys just before their wedding. There are some who claim that it was Jaehaerys II who had secretly commissioned the making of the tiara and that it was he who insisted that his son present it to his bride on the day of their wedding.  

Queen of the Night Diadem – A Valyrian diadem wrought of Valyrian steel and adorned with crescent moons fashioned out of moonstones. It belonged to Lady Maelera, chief wife to Aenar the Exile, and it was presented to her as a gift by her husband to mark the occasion of their wedding. Another rare and precious heirloom from Valyria before the Doom, it was once hidden away by a Maester after he was instructed to do so by Aemon the Dragonknight after Aegon the Unworthy began giving away treasures to his mistresses. The diadem was returned to the vault after the death of the king, and it, too, was set aside for the use of queens. 

Notable jewelry that belongs to Princess Vaesella Targaryen:

Ulosi diadem and necklace – The diadem is a small crown made of yellow-gold, and it is adorned with rare, oval-shaped chameleon stones that are a vibrant green in daylight, and a brilliant reddish-purple in candlelight. The necklace that was presented with it is wrought of yellow-gold also, and another chameleon stone the size of a raven’s egg hangs in the center. This set was a gift that was presented to Princess Vaesella in 280 AC when emissaries from the isle of Ulos returned with Jarran Rykker, as it was her financial support that made the captain’s journey and his subsequent meeting with the inhabitants of Ulos and Ulthos proper possible. Unlike traditional tiaras, crowns, and diadems, the Ulosi diadem is worn around hair that has been arranged into a high bun. 

The Holly tiara – A yellow-gold tiara frame studded with emeralds carved to look like holly leaves and rubies shaped to look like berries. This tiara is part of a set: a pair of earrings, a wrist cuff, and a splendid necklace. They are all made of yellow-gold, with emeralds shaped like holly leaves and rubies shaped like berries. It was given to the princess as a gift by her mother, Queen Rhaella, on the day she turned eight and ten. 

Ears of Wheat set – A tiara, wrist cuff, and clasp set wrought of silver and yellow-gold fashioned to look like ears of wheat. They are studded with diamonds shaped to represent wheat kernels. This set was commissioned by the princess herself, to wear for a harvest feast at the Red Keep in 279 AC.  

The Feathers of Paradise necklace – A yellow-gold necklace adorned with feathers of the same metal. Each feather is studded with jewels of a different color to represent the birds found on the Summer Isles. It was gifted to the princess after her wedding to Rhaegar Targaryen.

Notable jewelry that was lost, sold, or bequeathed to others:

Crown of Aegon I – A Valyrian steel circlet set with large, square-cut rubies. It was lost in Dorne after the death of Daeron I in 161 AC. No one truly knows what became of this circlet, though some claim House Martel took it as a war prize. 

Crown of Jaehaerys I – A slender yellow-gold band set with seven jewels of seven different colors. It was sold by Rhaenyra in order to buy passage on a Braavosi ship after she fled King’s Landing. 

Crown of Queen Alyssa Velaryon: A delicate white-gold crown adorned with seahorses. It became an heirloom of House Baratheon after Alyssa wed Rogar Baratheon, and it was later gifted to their daughter, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, after she came of age. 

The Hightower Tiara – A yellow-gold tiara studded with diamonds and a dozen inverted pear-shaped emeralds. It was worn by Alicent Hightower when she was queen. She gave this crown to her daughter, Helaena, when she became queen. After the death of his first wife, Jaehaera, Aegon III sent it to House Hightower because he wanted no reminder of Aegon II.  

The Hoar Frost Tiara – A white-gold circlet with cloudy white diamonds that had been cut, shaped, and arranged to look like hoar frost. It was commissioned by Rhaenys, wife of Aegon I, and she wore it when she attended her first winter solstice feast as Queen of Westeros. Aegon the Unworthy gave it away to one of his unacknowledged mistresses in return for her allowing him to bed her. It has not been found or even seen since then. 

Lilies-of-the-valley set – A necklace, ring, and wreath-like tiara set made for Rhaella by her mother and father for her eighteenth name-day. They are made of white-gold, with white mother-of-pearl pieces shaped to look like the petals of the flower, and green enamel leaves. After Rhaella’s death, the necklace was passed onto Princess Vaesella, the ring was passed onto Prince Viserys, and the tiara was kept for Princess Daenerys, to wear after she came of age.

[in3rci4]

• A THOUGHT ABOUT THE BLAKE FAMILY •

Author's note : I'm slowly coming back to The Black Phone fandom , and here's a little theory of mine of the story behind the Blake's family , I'll gave the nickname of " Dahlia " the mother because of the flower , they never said her name so don't take it as the official name or the one I'm calling her , warning , this headcanons might be long and out of pocket . Probably there's spelling mistakes , and there's angst too so suicide , violence , mental , physical illness , etc would be also mentioned.

What's the backstory of the Blake kids parents ?

I believe Terrance had it tough on his youth , a housewife mother that came from the country side by his arranged and much older husband that yes , was hard working , but he was an asshole with his family . Terrance would be scolded by his mother for standing up for her when her husband used her as a punch bag , he would be sent regulary to detention for his smart mouth and would often get into fights for the same reason or to defend someone else when the fight was unfair on his eyes . Once his poor sick mother died and he had to stay alone with his dad , he spent more time on the streets as a rebellious teenager , drinking and having fun with his same out cast friends . Once he got his first job , he saved enough money to leave his house and have a new life , much calmer and stable life .

Dahlia was the daughter of a homeless woman that was often seeing near the local church asking for money or food , people said she was kind , but she was ... touched . If she wasn't asking anything , she was seen talking to the air , sometimes calmly , sometimes angry , in the worst cases scared , running away from the unknown , and those were the times people would avoid her to all costs . Nobody knows exactly who's the father of Dahlia , or if she was consented at all , but one day the woman started to have a pregnant bumb on her belly , and then after 9 months , she disappeared and left her baby on the church's door the exact hour they opened it . The nuns took her to the orphanage along with the other children , and a lot of times the couples that came looking for a child to take care of wanted to adopt her , but they never actually did it , not even once . Dahlia was a sensitive and quiet child , and the other kids loved to bother her , often ending in crying or silent regret for not being more vocal about her dislikes . Her friends ? Only imaginary.... Or well , that's what everyone thought . With time as she grew up the nuns called a doctor on her because she insisted a little way too much that she saw these invisible people , everyone believing a mental illness was starting to form in her . Pills , injections , holy water , praying , it didn't stop until her late teens when she just accepted not being adopt at all and her " friends " didn't exist , just focusing on her grades , so they disappeared , just like her dreams . Outside , the world showed her another way to live without feeling fear or shame for who she was , the 60's being her wild card to meet people that was all about magic , pacifism and freedom , feeling finally understood and free to live her life how she wanted .

One night without moon in a secluded bar the two met , in Terrance eyes , she was the most beautiful woman in the entire place , standing on a corner looking at some random painting hanging on the wall , he got close to her , and starting to have a small conversation that soon got bigger .

He never felt like this with someone before , or thought someone could be this beautiful .

Between laughs and smiles , they got separated in the morning and forgot to ask each other's names or phone numbers , but destiny had another surprise for them . They bumped into each other while walking on the street weeks later and started to talk and laugh once again , but they both made sure to stay in contact and meet a next time . They were different yet had a lot of things in common , and the things they didn't share to like , they would be open try them out if the had the opportunity to see the other smile .

1 year going steady was enough for the young couple and they got married with some other guests on their wedding , Terrance was already saving money to buy himself a house , and so he did to start living their own american dream .

Without warning , Terrance got fired from his job , and Dahlia's work as a cleaner wasn't enough to maintain the house , and he didn't want his wife to have that weight on her shoulders , so when a friend of his recommend him to go and try in the Rocky Flats nuclear plant , he didn't thought twice in signing in . It was a demanding job , but at least he had one instead of nothing . Terrance was lucky he would say , a lot of his co workers say they felt weakness in their bodies , see their skin become more reddish than normal , loose almost all the hair on their bodies or have random bleedings in their nose or mouth from time to time , in the worst cases a huge pain in muscles or eyes . He listened , but he wasn't scared , no , as long as you did everything carefully, the radiation won't catch you , right ?

Dahlia happily announced him that she was pregnant and he was ecstatic about it , it was like the energy boost that he needed to continue . Terrance didn't told Dahlia anything about it , how could he ? She was carrying a baby and dealing with all the stress and sickness that a pregnancy comes with , she didn't need to know the sudden deafening headaches that he suffered , he needed to be strong for her , for them , and if his pain had to be sucked up in silence , then so be it .

1965 , their baby boy Finney was born , he was the most well behaved baby in the mother - baby unit by the nurses words , they would compliment Dahlia for such adorable and healthy little gentleman and she would smile proud of doing such a good job with her kid . When Terrance was finally allowed to go inside the room , his eyes couldn't believe he was now the father of such fragile child , he was hesitant to carry him on his arms, afraid to hurt him accidentally, but his wife assured him that it was fine , and so she gently put Finn closer to his chest , and he swears that for one instant when he looked down and smiled with blurry eyes , his little baby boy smiled back to him .

A few years later , when Finney was a curious and talkative toddler , Dahlia got pregnant once again with their second child , his father happy to hear that they will have their second baby on the way , and their older brother Finney even more , totally ready to have little sibling to play with . Their little little Gwendolyn was the princess of the house , she would be spoiled with all her mother's kisses , her brother hugs and her dad's cuddling .

They were a happy family , a good , healthy and happy family .

But then Dahlia started to notice little Finney talking by himself ,and if she asked who he was talking to , he would always answer that with a friend , and at first , like once the nuns did , she dismissed it as imaginary friends , and that's it . When Gwenny got old enough speak , she would sometimes run towards her mom scared of nightmares that she had , and that's what they look like , only nightmares . They seemed weird , but not enough to panic .

The panic began when Gwenny had way too specific dreams about people in danger and Finney started to touch things or go to to places that he knew he shouldn't go , but he would do it anyway because " the voices told him to " . She took them to the doctor , but they didn't find any wrongness in the children . She started to have anxiety towards what this could possibly mean , or how could she make her stop , but Dahlia didn't even know how she got over it in the past in the first place .

This continue for a long time until it stopped , and when their mother would ask them about their dreams or " friends " they would answer confused that it was fine , as if they didn't remember what they been through before . Dahlia confused yet relieved she let it go , and never told Terrance anything about it .

Little by little , her own dreams and "imagination" started to come back to her , sometimes a whisper behind her neck , weird dreams that felt too real , an undistinguishable silhouette on the dark , a person that would speak or be seen by her and then all the sudden disappear like air or magic . She tried to ignore it , Dahlia tried hard to live her normal life and focus on her family and job .

But then the encounters got more and more frequent , people would ask her who she was talking to as they didn't saw anyone near her , she would find out that her dreams had something to do with people on television or the missing posters , and when spirits recognized her as a their only way to speak with the living world , they got more persistent and multiply as well .

When Dahlia couldn't ignore them anymore , she tried to help them in her own way , maybe telling them a direction , talk with a family member of theirs to give them a message , visit places that they used to go , take a special object for them , etc . And it worked at first .

She sometimes would apologize to those poor ghosts that would find out their lover got married once again , that their family moved to another town , that their loved pet died , that she couldn't just go and find their bodies , and some would forgive her ,

Some wouldn't .

The haunting dreams would make her wake up with guilt and regret , but all she needed is to watch her children faces in the morning and Dahlia would remember once again why's she's doing what she's doing . Terrance noticed his wife more anxious and nervous , but she would tell him it that she was fine , and she would come up with a simple excuse that would let her husband skeptical , but he had his own headaches to deal with , so he would let it slide .

One benevolent spirit told her to search protection for her and her kids , because their special gift might attract evil forces towards them . Dahlia tried to ask them for more information , but they disappeared . And she didn't know where to start searching that so called protection for her family .

She went to the church , but the holy water and prayers would only make her dreams go away , not the ghosts . She went to a gypsy woman that had spirtual knowledge , those rocks and incenses cleared all the ghosts from her sight , but her dreams would start to be more and more gruesome than before . Nothing was working , and she gave up .

And when she gave up , the evil spirits entered on the game .

These poltergeists would show her the crimes they committed in life , these poltergeists would scare her in her job , in her house and in Dahlia's dreams as well , the worst ones would be terrifyingly close to her kids or throw things at her when she ignore them or tried to go somewhere else .

Dahlia couldn't hide her fear anymore , her kids started to ask their mom if she was ok , her coworkers recommend her to take a break and try to get some sleep , but Terrance didn't believe Dahlia's excuses anymore , but it wasn't like she wanted to tell him what was going on .

He then decided to go to her orphanage and ask the nuns what they knew about her , and they told Terrance about her " mental illness / schizophrenia " when she was a child and teenager there in the orphanage , reason why the adults never wanted to adopt her .

He came back home late thanks to the long driving to that old creepy place , but Terrance could never imagined that when he came back home , he would find his wife , the love of his life , holding a knife against the air as she screams prayers like a maniac , while his kids were in a corner scared and crying from fear of the situation .

Terrance runs towards her and takes the knife out of her hands while he hugs to calm her down , in Dahlia's eyes , she sees how the evil phantom comes closer to her children , so in fear she takes back again her knife in her hands and runs towards her children . Confused they run away from her , as she tries to stab the soul of the one that's hunting her , but they dissolve like magic , and Dahlia realizes Terrance look of disappointment and her babies look of fear in their eyes .

Dahlia cries , cries and drops the knife , tired , frustrated , confused , scared , without a clue of what to do or how to stop all of this . Terrance tells the kids to go to bed as he gets closer to his wife to hug her back once again , she hugs him back tightly desperate from any comfort and warmth of her lover . The married couple goes to bed as they cuddle after so long without doing it, because the next morning , the physiatrists knocked at their door , so they could gently ask Mrs Dahlia Blake to start a treatment in their establishment .

The woman started to yell at his husband because how betrayed she felt , after he told her he believed what she says , after promising to stay by her side forever . This didn't stay unnoticed by the specialists as they tried to calm her down , but Dahlia couldn't go to mental hospital , she couldn't take pills and receive injections that she doesn't need to stay docile , not again , so she refuses , she expressed her anger by yelling at them to get out of her house . They went outside yes , but came back with syringes filled with haloperidol so they could take her away .

Her last words :

" No , please , stop ! Terrance please believe me ! Please don't let them hurt the kids ! Protect them fr- ...."

The drug that they gave her made her lost the little control she was trying so hard to keep , so when she goes to sleep , the evil in the night possesses her body to walk towards the 2d floor window , as they let her body falls she wakes up , only to die seconds later on the cold floor of the hospital's yard

Without the opportunity to do anything , without the opportunity to say goodbye or see one last time her family .

But if the other life exists , she will be always watching over them , waiting for her turn to be listened .

Ps : I would like to know if you share this idea or not guys , I want to see your opinions !