#i feel like alexander would be a more likely name for him to be given and i could still

[bearzocs]

Thinking about changing Uzian’s Layla’s dad) name to Usman…possibly I’m not sure yet. Also might change Zende’s (Layla’s oldest sibling) name to Alexander with Xande for short…

[footballffbarbiex]

Sharing Is Caring.

players: (slightly sub/shy)Dominik Szoboszlai, reader (non Y/N use), Trent Alexander Arnold. words: 6.8k warnings: mfm, fingering, dirty talk, praise, unprotected sex, protected sex, cream pies, oral sex (m+f), use of sex toys

A/N: I realise that no-one asked for this, not a single person requested this but once it was in my head, that was it. it's taken a while to write and post this as I really wanted to do it justice. if you enjoy it, please don't be a silent reader - interact with the post and drop me an ask if it leaves you feeling things. I love to hear your thoughts!

_

several months ago.

"Nah, go on. I wanna know. if you could invite anyone to the bedroom, with or without me but with my permission, who'd it be?"

"Trent baby, you don't want to go there." you scoff and turn your attention back to your phone screen.

"I asked, didn't I?"

"It never ends well," you press. you've seen relationships disintegrate when a third has been brought in, and part of you is already wondering which of your female friends he's hinting for you to have join you both.

"well it's not going to happen is it? but I want to know."

you set your phone down and stretch your arms above your head as you look at him. "ok. I'll entertain you. male or female?" you ask, your eyes preparing themselves for the inevitable roll.

"male."

this has your heart skipping a beat as you take in his single word. "you'd share me?"

"I might not necessarily share you." he replies in a tone that's as casual as if he'd asked what the plan was for the evening dinner. "I said I might not be there, did I not?"

"are you asking if I've cheated?" there's an unsettling feeling in your stomach as you wonder just how far between the lines you're reading.

"I know you've not cheated. but you can't bring up the idea of free use and threesomes and not expect me to ask."

"you were the one who said you'd want to try voyeurism." you point out. "and why would I sleep with someone if you weren't there if you're pressing me for a threesome name?"

"just to see if that would change who you brought to the bed. stop trying to stall and buy time and just tell me."

he's sat as calmly as he was when discussing his own fantasies. when he was saying in detail how he'd be happy to have someone watching as the two of you licked, sucked and fucked your way to an orgasm. that he liked the idea of watching you be pleasured by someone other than him. this then lead you asking if this would be a threesome situation or a cuck-uation.

"friend or teammate?"

"either."

"premier league limited?"

"Oh, you've got an international list have you?" he laughs and sits forward to look at you.

"considering my options." silence follows as you begin to think who. "Starting with Liverpool. Virg could be interesting. but I feel that would be too predictable."

"would it?"

"fucking your captain? it's like fucking your boss for you so you can get a promotion." you say as you raise your eyebrow. "Dom could be fun." you say as you drum your fingers on your thigh.

"he could. why him though?"

"he seems sweet, there's a joyous innocence about him, he's easily pleased but I think he'd change in bed. I bet he's the one that needs to give. he's got a beautiful mouth, I reckon he knows what to do with it."

"I'm starting to think you would actually be up for it, and not just thinking out loud," he muses.

you know the answer, but to blurt it out would imply that you've given it far more thought than just tonight. "I'd definitely have to give it more thought, but it's not an instant no." you tell him.

"who else then?" trent asks, but as you begin to continue, you can see his thoughts are drifting.

_

Current day.

rain is pelting the windows with the force of hailstone and has been for the past few hours. the sky has been a blanket of black clouds, forcing the sun into hiding long before it set. your bags were soaked by the time you hurried from the car, and even though it took a while for your skin to dry off, your hair remains damp.

"I like that colour." Trent says as he sits back in the bedroom chair and watches as you get changed.

"it'll look better with heels," you remark and turn on the spot to search for the pair that you'd dug out for this reason. Your feet slip into them, boosting you a few inches higher but you immediately change your posture. you immediately feel sexier.

he's been in a ratty mood the last few days and as a way to make it up to you, he's given you his credit card and said no spend limit. with a few purchases at a coffee shop, more books to add to your bookcase overflow pile and a new aftershave for him, you decided to treat yourself to new lingerie.

this was where his card got abused. the two of you had discussed the idea of you being shared on other occasions, and so when you sent him a picture of the store you were going into along with the caption, "going pick out something for your teammate to take off", it wasn't out of the blue.

the store was mostly sophisticated and dare you say "posh", with beautiful pieces of soft fabric ranging from full cups and high waisted panties. towards the back of the store, you found more daring pieces which on a good day could be considered there scraps of leather and lace being showcased on a mannequin in front of a strictly 18+ section. a crop and paddle set fell into your basket while there, as well as clitoral suction toy, some body licks, flavoured lubricants and an ankle spreader.

you're trying to close the clasp on the last set of "normal" underwear when Trent begins to rummage through the rest of the bag. "baby..." he says in a quiet tone, the crop laid out across those long beautiful fingers of his, while the clitoral toy is cupped in his palm. he's about to say something else, when his attention drifts back to the bag. the items are bunched into one hand while he pulls out the set you were most excited to show him.

"I think some of this is missing." he comments, holding up the crotchless panties in front of him.

"That's the whole point of them," you say, snatching them out of his hand while you try to work out if you feel embarrassed or not.

"show me?" the look on his face is enough to make you not complain that he's barely appreciated the set you're currently wearing. he dangles the new one from the tips of two fingers and you wait until you're stripped naked before you collect them.

The bra covers you more than the pants do, with your full breast concealed but pushed up. the panties, for the most part, are there, but open up from your clit down to where your holes are. Trent says nothing as he waits for you to pull it all into the right place, adjust it where needed. He sits and observes. Or so you thought. it's not until you're about to ask him something that you spot the ripped open battery pack and notice the clitoral toy now placed on his knee. the ankle spreader lays at his feet.

you stand before him, neither of you saying a word as he drinks you in. his eyes drag over your body, lingering on certain parts of you than others before they finally come to rest where your thighs meet. slowly, you take a step back. and another one when he doesn't object. you keep going until the soft bedding touches the back of your thighs.

when he doesn't urge you to come back to him, you sit down, pushing yourself as far back onto it as needed before lifting up a foot, anchoring yourself in place with the heel and letting your legs drop open.

"fuck babe, you're making me want to throw my plan out of the window."

"I hope it didn't involve fucking me." you tell him, fingers trailing over your skin. they dance over your stomach, stroke up towards the cup of your bra and back down to the very edge of your barely there panties. you can feel the whisper of your touch at the skin just above where your clit peaks from your folds.

"why's that?"

"you've been in a foul mood. you don't get to touch me. yet anyway."

"do I not?"

you shake your head at him and continue to explore your body with your hand, resisting the urge to smile when he shifts in his seat and a swelling becomes painstakingly apparent at his groin when your fingers finally trace over the spot between your legs.

goosebumps slowly arise and you can feel your clit throb a little with anticipation as your fingers touch anywhere but the sensitive nub or wet hole.

your name falls from his tongue in a velvety tone, and his hands begin to leave the arms of the chair. "you move. I stop." you tell him.

"you're not in charge of this," he tells you, eyes now fixated on your face rather than your pussy.

"neither are you." you counter, two fingers parting your folds and rubbing over your slicked entrance before teasing with the lightest of probes. "do you like watching me, Trent?"

"yes." the single word is dripping with a need that you haven't heard for a while.

"why?"

"I love watching you receive pleasure."

"even if it's not from you?" you query.

he nods, eyes never moving from where they stare. not even when you whimper ever so slightly as a finger finally sinks into you. you're not as wet as you could be, but it's still early days and it's enough to lubricate you current movements.

"do you know how sexy it is to watch you like this?" he asks, attention still firmly between your legs.

"I could say the same for the way it feels to when you watch me," you confess, your finger entering you fully now in an even rhythmic pace. your mind is wandering off, conjuring up thoughts and images of the way he'd use the spreader and toy. you wonder how he'd use the toy. you wonder at what point he'd need to restrain your ankles, spreading open your legs with the sole intention of giving you as much pleasure as possible without you preventing him from doing so. consensually of course. Trent wasn't like that, unless you asked.

"interesting that we've established that I like to watch you be pleasured and you like to watch me watching you be pleasured."

"that's a whole lot of me getting off baby, and I'm here for it."

"c'mere." he says, gesturing you forward with two fingers.

you reluctantly pull your fingers from your pussy, climb from the bed and make your way towards him. he reaches out, grabs your wrist when in reaching distance, closes his eyes and sucks your slick coated fingers between his lips.

"so good," he comments, your two fingers still within his mouth. when he finally opens his eyes again, he pushes your digits from between his lips with his tongue and looks at you in such a way, you're seconds away from climbing into his lap and kissing him. "can I use your new toy on you?" he asks.

you don't reply, but you do nod your head and begin to straddle his thighs.

"no baby, I want your back to me." he says, placing his hands on your waist and physically turns you around himself. once you're facing away from him, he guides you backwards and sits you on his lap before spreading your thighs wide. "pass me the toy." it's not an ask but a command and you do so willingly.

he doesn't switch it on yet, but he does drag it over your thighs, down from your knee and up to your centre where he coats the suction part in your wetness. "is this what you had in mind when you picked this up?

you want to answer but he's circling your clit with it and each delicious round he makes, it's harder to focus on stringing together a sentence. you lay your head back against his shoulder and stare at the ceiling, not taking your eyes from the same spot as you just take in everything he's doing. you're so exposed, so laid bare for him to do with as he wishes that you can't begin to imagine how turned on you'll be when he does introduce the spreader bar if this is how you're already feeling.

"well?" he pushes for an answer.

"yes." it's all that you can manage when he quickens the circles, and though he still hasn't switched the toy on, you're close to reaching your climax.

"I love this." he whispers, "slowly unravelling before me." he nips at your earlobe, and presses the "on" button and your hips buck as pleasure surges through you. "listening to your sounds. feeling every shudder and tremble. god you're amazing when you cum." he places kisses over every inch of available skin as he speaks, his hand forces the toy against your clit to apply slightly more pressure and leaves you forgetting how to breathe. you can feel your wetness grow, pool at your hole and then the way it trickles from you as your climax finally hits. your body feels as though it's vibrating and your eyes struggle to stay open. everything within you feel alight and your toes curl from the intensity of it.

Trent lowers the toy and turns it off, leaving his hand covering the length of your pussy area as he just holds you there, lips grazing over your neck as you grind your ass against his cock. "what do you say? think she's pretty when she cums?"

your brows furrow and you pull a face as you try to turn to look at him. "oh, should she be speaking in third person now?" you laugh, watching as he ignores you, his attention elsewhere.

"he wasn't asking you."

your body tenses at the sound of another man's voice and your face snaps to the side to find the owner of it as your thighs clamp around his hand to try and save whatever scraps of dignity you have left.

he stands with his side pressed to the doorframe, his arms are crossed and he's dressed in simple, casual joggers and a plain tee. his feet are bare and there's nothing to indicate he'd got here in a hurry.

"Dominik." you whisper. the corner of his lips twitches and your core pulses at the sight of it.

"I felt that by the way." Trent whispers and your cheeks heat with shame, more so when you feel it happen again. "your clit literally throbbed at the sight of him."

"what are you..." you trail off, unable to finish asking your question as your rack your brain for answers.

"I thought you had something for me to take off?"

"I felt that too," comes Trent's voice and bites down on the shell of your ear as you grind yourself a little harder against him, making him groan with frustration.

"somehow, I don't think this is your colour." you find yourself quipping, thankful for the coverage that your boyfriend's hand is providing.

"and yet," Dom throws a cautious look over your shoulder to Trent, "I think you would be a perfect fit around me."

"that's presumptuous," you comment, feeling yourself growing wetter the longer he looks at you.

"do you want him to go?" trent asks, seriousness in his tone for the first time since you left the house this morning.

your mind is whirling. had he been setting this up for days? had he pushed for you to go out today to find a reason to get Dominik in secretly?

"fuck babe, you're making me want to throw my plan out of the window."

his sentence comes back to you from earlier and you feel your stomach drop, flip and rise into your throat all at once.

"you orchestrated this whole thing," you whisper to yourself and feel Trent grin as he tries to kiss your shoulder.

"say right now if you don't want this." Dominik says as he watches the two of you together. "you may have picked me but that doesn't mean you've said yes to me being here tonight." he says. there was something hot about him seeking consent before he does anything and though his words didn't sound it out, his eyes are pleading with you to let him have you.

"and if I say no?"

"I'll leave. it won't change anything."

"what will you do to me?"

"whatever you want me to."

"and you?" you turn your body to look at Trent.

"as long as you're getting pleasure, I'll take anything."

you weigh up their words, knowing that the decision is completely yours. you have two men here, willing to obey your every wish and that is fucking sexy.

you open your thighs again and splay your own over Trent's hand, forcing his middle finger to bend, tilting his hand this way and that until his fingertip sinks into you. you manipulate his finger in such a way that he gets the gist of what you're asking and slowly, he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you while Dom watches as you grind against his hand.

"do you like that?" you ask him, as you guide another of Trent's fingers inside of you. "watching as I fuck myself with your friend's fingers? watching as I fuck my boyfriend's fingers?" you add for emphasis.

"what man wouldn't?" his hand dips to bottoms, dragging his palm over the length of his cock which is pressing against the fabric. you couldn't say whether or not the whimper that comes from you is because of Trent rubbing his palm intentionally against your swollen clit or because of the way his teammate strokes himself before you.

"what would you like me to do to you Dominik? I can't see you've come all the way here just to watch me and perhaps take off my underwear."

"I'm happy with whate-"

"no. I want to hear it from you. what do you want?"

Dominik gives an almost nervous glance towards Trent, clearly not knowing how reality vs fantasy will play out before he licks his lips and says, "I want you to suck my dick."

"that wasn't so difficult now was it?"

"get on the bed," Trent whispers, "I want to eat your pussy from behind."

"you're going to be the death of me," you say as you turn enough to place two fingers beneath his chin and bring his lips to yours. he pulls his fingers from you slowly as he deepens the kiss, mixing his tongue with yours slowly, almost lovingly.

"can I touch you?" Dom asks. you hold out your hand, barely able to get more than a "yes" out before Trent is kissing you again. your fingers is met with Dom's hair, surprising you as you expected his shirt and you guide him to your body. Dom's lips kiss over your neck, his short facial hair scraping lightly against your skin as he begins a slow progression down to your breast. his fingers carefully tug your nipple free and within seconds his lips close around it, tongue sucking it further into his mouth.

Trent's wet fingers grip your waist as the other dry hand grips your hip, almost pinning you against him and within moments or minutes, who knows, Dom's own fingers are feeling their way up your thighs. it's impossible to focus on any one thing. whenever you relish the feel of the swipe of a tongue, fingers scraping against your skin or curling against your pussy distracts you.

"no, I need you on that bed." Trent groans as he breaks the kiss and tries to shift beneath you, his cock now painfully hard and in desperate need of friction of some kind to give him any kind of stimulation. Dom reads the situation well and moves away from you, leaving you feeling needy now you have little to no contact from either of them.

this time, it's Dominik who is offering his hands to you to help you to your feet and the short distance to the bed. heeding Trent's words, you position yourself near to the end of the bed to allow you to take care of Dom while still being comfortable enough for Trent to have his way from behind.

"Come closer," you encourage Dom, noting the way his eyes drag over the curve of your body as you lean forward on your knees, your ass high up in the air, the slope of your back down to where you rest on your elbows. he steps forward, cock twitching against his bottoms and you reach forward to palm him. "feel free to correct me at any point if this doesn't feel good." you say, making yourself comfortable as Trent climbs onto the bed.

Dom dips his hand beneath the waistband and pulls his cock free for you as he nods his understanding and steps towards you. he's within licking distance but you don't use your mouth just yet. Trent sits beside you, hands stroking idly over your inner thigh as he watches the two of you. your fingers run over the length of Dom's silky shaft and take in every inch, vein and curve of it to familiarise yourself. despite the rest of him being unapologetically wild, he's trimmed and maintained the hair at the base of his dick.

only when Trent's fingers lazily strokes over your pussy lips, dragging a single finger through them at times to touch your clit and soaked hole, do you lean forward ever so slightly to lick over the head of Dom's cock. there’s no hiss, no groan but you can hear the hitch in his breathing instead and you know that the teasing and build up has done its job. 

your tongue swirls around the tip, he tastes clean and of fabric softener. as you begin to sink your lips down, taking the head into your mouth, this is when Trent slips two fingers inside of you. there’s a soft whimper that sounds from you and as it vibrates through Dom’s cock, he gives the most beautiful whine in retaliation. 

with each bob of your head you take a little bit more within your mouth, your tongue swirling around his shaft and trying to taste every inch of him that you can. the groan that comes from Dominik only strengthens the urge to take him faster and deeper. you circle your hips, trying to pull Trent's finger within you.

"i need more Trent." you barely pull your mouth from Dom to utter the words before you're swallowing him back down. if you thought the noise he'd made previously was glorious, then the new one is downright sinful.

"fuck." Dom pants as he watches inches upon inches slide between your lips before coming back into view again. "the mouth on her."

"can't even take credit, can I babe?" Trent asks, removing his fingers and you feel the way the mattress dips and rises again as he moves position. "she's always been cock hungry and it shows." he says as he slaps the curve of your ass before spreading your cheeks apart. "fuck you look amazing like this."

there's no time to consider where he's going to press his mouth as you feel the wet lick of his tongue against your core, his nose pressing against your skin as he begins to lap at you and you feel your cunt tense and tighten as he pushes his tongue inside of you, as though your body is trying to beg him to fill you in some way.

you use your hand, putting your weight into your knees and other arm and elbow to use your fingers to stroke over the last couple of inches, while also palming Dom's balls in unison with Trent's mouth. Dom's head drops back and a long, drawn out moan fills the room as you take as much of him into your mouth and fight against the gag reflex while you hold him there, lodged between your mouth and throat until it feels like your lungs are burning from holding your breath but you don't give up until he throbs against the walls of your throat and he curses your name.

only then do you come back up for air, your breathing laboured as your chest rises and falls heavily with a long thin trail of spit dangling from your lips and leading to his dick which twitches before you. your vision begins blurring with every merciless flick of Trent's tongue against your swollen clit and the whimpers you make when he effortlessly slips two fingers in from tip to knuckle and curls them is heaven.

"open," Dom instructs after a few moments - or minutes who could tell at this point, and through hazy blinks, you see him cock in hand while he strokes over the length of it. if lusting after your boyfriend's teammate's cock was wrong, then you didn't want to be right. you lick your lips before swirling your tongue around every crevice within your mouth to wet it before complying. Dom runs the tip of it over your lips, applying his pre-cum to your bottom lip and you eagerly lick it off.

"never did I see myself here doing this, but fuck am I going to make it last."

"should I be insulted that you've not thought about me like I have you?" you ask before closing your eyes and biting down on your lip as you groan. these actions makes you miss the nervous glance that Dom looks to Trent's forehead and when he doesn't stop eating your pussy, he swallows before answering.

"not insulted," he circles your tongue with his dick, eye fixated on your mouth. "it's just not often you can mention how many times you've had a wank to the thought of your friend's girlfriend."

your eyes open wide as your lips seperate, your breathing now little more than pants as your orgasm begins to not only take form, but take hold. your stomach automatically tightens, your toes curl and as your thighs tremble, you feel your release.

only, Trent doesn't let up. whether this is because he wants to show Dom how he can make you feel, how he can make you come, how you respond to him or because he truly wants you to have a night to remember, you do not know. you can barely string a sentence together in your mind as your orgasm rolls into another effortlessly, let alone try and figure out your boyfriend's agenda.

Dom's hands feel for you, helping you to stay upright while the last of the tremors from your high pass. "you look so fucking gorgeous when you come." he says as Trent's fingers pull out of you, your wetness dripping down your inner thigh as a result.

"there's no need to lie, I'd have fucked you regardless." you tell him, earning you a real laugh. you feel Trent move behind you, slipping from the bed and hear the sound of drawers being opened and boxes being pulled apart. you're just turning your head when you watch as Trent's arm extends past you, a condom wrapper held out between two fingers.

he graciously accepts, taking no time to place the wrapper between his teeth and tearing it open as you sit back on your heels and watch as he rolls it down his shaft.

you catch Trent's movements in your peripheral vision before "he's right though," Trent's lips are at your ear, his words so quiet that only you can hear. "there's nothing sexier than watching you lose yourself in me."

you turn to look at him, really looking at him for the first time since Dom stepped into the room, and take him in fully. "how do you feel with this?" you ask him. "reality can be different."

"I'd have no issues with kicking him out if I changed my mind." he tells you and cups his hand at your nape and pulls you forward for a kiss. you can taste yourself upon his tongue but god do you need this. Dom is momentarily out of your mind as your attention is fully on your boyfriend. his hand stays at your neck while the other does everything he can to pull you flush to him. he strokes over your skin and kisses you like you're the only two in the room.

your own hand dips between you both, grasping his hard cock through his boxers. there's growing wet patch from where his pre-cum has soaked through, and for a second, you feel pangs of guilt for ignoring Trent's needs. A groan that rumbles through the both of you from him and instinctively you clench your thighs with want. he feels perfect, like his dick was made for you.

he kisses you with everything he has, pouring everything from this afternoon into it, letting you know just how turned on this whole situation has made him. once freed from his shorts, he bucks into the hand you've used to wrap your fingers around his shaft, envelope him into a fist with the right pressure that makes him begin to lose control. but it's when your thumb swipes over the very sensitive tip right now, Trent is not too proud to beg.

you break the kiss, not wanting to waste another second or more to not taste him. he's between your lips within seconds and this time, it's Trent's moans that reach your ears. you swirl your tongue around the tip before taking more of him within your mouth before repeating the process. he begins to meet you halfway, bucking his hips to thrust into your mouth far enough without making you gag. spit gathers in your mouth, pooling at the corners of your lips and dripping down your chin as he fucks your mouth. you try to keep your eyes on his face but it's not possible.

"I can't." he hisses as he slows his pace and pulls out of your mouth, his cock visibly twitching before you and his balls tighten. "I wanna finish inside you after. fuck you make it hard to stop."

he tucks himself away, the look on his face telling you that having to wait to finish is the last thing that he wants to do but the self restraint is impressive. you turn your attention back to Dom as he stands palming his cock in long, slow strokes and wipe the mess from your face.

"I can g-"

"no." both you and Trent say at once and any further protests he could have planned are stopped with the look upon your face. "unless you've changed your mind," you give him a moment to be able to back out now.

"I haven't." he shakes his head and his expression sets. "I just thought..." he shoots a look at Trent.

"when you stroked your cock, what did you think about?" you change the subject and reference something he'd eluded to earlier.

"you sucking my dick, sometimes I'd be eating your pussy and wondering how you'd sound. other times you'd be on top of me while I fuck up into you, watching as your boobs bounce."

"mmmm," you hum happily, "a favourite of mine. come lay down," you pat the bed beside you. despite the bravado you're giving, your heart hammers against your chest. you've not long since had this man's cock in your mouth and yet, the idea of having him inside you, deep inside your cunt, is something else. when you swallow, you push down the rising nerves and try to compose yourself. you want this.

but what if you're not goo-

no. you squash the thought before it can fully take hold and move before you can think your way out of this situation. you straddle Dom's waist, knees bent at his hips and feet resting beside his knees as your clit rests at the base of his cock which lays against his stomach.

"you look so pretty beneath me." you tell him, running your hands over his chest, down over his abs and resting on his waist with his cock in the middle of them. "how is reality treating you after fantasising about it?"

"it's making me wish I wasn't about to go back to just fantasising about this after tonight."

"sounds like another conversation for another day," Trent says as he takes a seat.

you walk your fingers over his stomach, smiling as he instinctively sucks in and watch as his cock twitches as you near it. you grip it at the base, admiring the fact that he's still so hard after being neglected for this long. lifting your hips, you scoot forward ever so slightly and begin to rub the tip of it up and down your slit - from clit to hole and back again.

when his breathing deepens, eyes locked between your bodies in anticipation of him slipping into you, you take your time to build the tension and when he finally enters you, you're tight around him. he cusses, head pressing into the duvet as he savours the first feel of you wrapped around him. you copy your actions from giving head, taking a few inches at a time, working your body to accustom his size and the way he reacts. slowly you move up and down until you finally take him all the way.

"you feel so fucking good," Dom hisses as you steady yourself, placing one hand on your thigh and the other on his stomach and only then do you begin to ride him. he watches, torn between your face and the way you sink down onto his cock. he watches as he spreads you open, as inches of him are taken with ease with only drips of your wetness remaining at the base of his cock.

his hands grip your waist, helping to build you up to a pace that he likes. feeling him slowly take control, urging you to fuck him the way that he enjoys is delicious. when you give well timed pussy clenches, his eyes damn near roll into the back of his head, his fingertips digging into your skin in such a way you kinda hope they'll leave some small marks to look at long after the feel of his cock inside of you has faded.

those beautiful soft brown eyes seem darker when he manages to look at you again, and there's something in his expression that has you amending your hand placements. he shifts himself slightly beneath you as you rise up above him and he begins to meet your movements, thrusting up inside of you until your own movements cease and he has full control over the depth and speed in which he fucks you.

one thrust bleeds into another to the point where you no longer know where one finishes and the next starts. his movements are fluid and effortless. when you arch your back, it changes the angle of your hips and in turn, the way he feels. when your bodies come together, there's slight friction against your swollen clit which makes your eyes flutter closed and there's a ghost of a stroke within you against where your g-spot is. your breathing comes out in little more than pants, whimpers abandon you and any other noises you could possibly conjure are fruitless.

your head dips back ever so slightly, your fingers find your nipple and you begin to roll and pinch until pleasure ebbs through you. you're concentrating on nothing more than the feel of Dom's cock thrusting into your soaked pussy that the strange sensation of something pressing against your clit confuses you for a second. you feel it before you hear it and opening your eyes becomes a struggle. through blurred vision, you see Trent beside the bed, arm extended as he holds the clit sucker against you. waves upon waves of pleasure crash through your body, heat builds up and spreads throughout your body like a wildfire. there's a tightening in your stomach that does so in such a way that it feels too much and not enough.

you're writhing above him, a pathetic cry comes from your lips and all you can do is hold onto Trent's arm and Dom's waist for dear life as you quake above him as the orgasm you were not anticipating wreaks havoc with your body. Dom snaps his hips quicker, chasing his own high now as you're still in a euphoric state, your climax lingering in ways you hadn't known before. the digging of his fingers into your hips and waist continues as Trent removes the toy from your clit, finally allowing you a moment's reprieve and with a series of Hungarian phrases in a deep grunt, he buries himself deeply within you as he finally comes. you can feel the way his balls twitch against your ass cheeks, and his cock throbs inside of you as he spills every last drop he can.

his eyes have a glazed look over them, his lips are parted and there's a slight frown upon his face as he tries to control his breathing. you can see the way his vision clears, his features soften and his mouth curves into a grin when he notices you watching him. unable to stop yourself, you gently push his hair from his forehead and lean down to press your lips to his in a quick but dare you even say meaningful kiss. a silent way of saying "thank you" of some sorts.

you lift yourself from him and begin to sit on the bed when you realise that Trent has other ideas. he pushes you backwards by your shoulders, his hands prizing open your legs before hooking under your knees and pulling you towards him so that your ass is close to the edge of the bed. he pulls his cock free once more, coats the head of it in your wetness before pushing all the way in. any brief feeling of sadness you may have had for the absence of Dom's cock is now out of your mind as Trent's fills you up.

he leans over your torso, lips locking around your puckered nipple and sucks it into his mouth. his tongue flicks and swirls against it like he had your clit as his cock pumps in and out of you with disgusting ease. your body is spent, there is no chance for another orgasm and yet your body is still heightened from everything. every nerve in your body feels as though it's singing for the encore; everything within you returning to normality at this familiarity.

try as he might to take his time, to savour reclaiming your pussy as his own, he's movements are like a man starved. he ravishes you in ways you could never have dreamt. there's little pain as he scoops an arm under your back, forcing you to arch your back, pushing your tit closer to his face as he continues to pound into you, needing to be as close to you as possible. your arms wrap around him, holding him in place as you feel the tell-tale frantic thrusts that signal he's close to finishing.

you feel it. the burst of warmth that fills you up as he shudders to a stop, your name dripping from his tongue in ways Dom couldn't. he slumps against you, mouth now peppering kisses over where he can reach - from one breast to the other, over your shoulders and up your neck until finally, his lips are on yours once more. his. you're his once more. it's only now that you realise that Dom is re-emerging into the bedroom. when he'd disappeared is beyond you, but he's tidied himself up and is clutching a damp wash cloth, a towel and a glass of water.

"I wasn't sure what kind of aftercare you both do, but it seemed like it was the least I could do." he says while he steps towards the bed and lays the towel down and hands you wet cloth which you dab over your face, relishing in the coolness against your hot skin. Trent slowly pulls out, ensuring that your legs are together before pushing your feet to his chest, lifting your lower half up to spread the towel beneath you. he then places his hands on your knees to spread your legs wide to marvel. you pat the damp cloth over your chest before placing it between your legs - much to Trent's clear dismay - and clean yourself up the best you can before your boyfriend takes it from you and finishes you off.

"oh baby," you say to Trent softly. "where do we go from here now?"

"that's for me to work out, and you to find out. but I think that this worked too well to stop here...."

[ruins-of-babylon]

Legacy

Mattheo Riddle x reader angst & smut

♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♥︎

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎：after your traitorous brother runs away, abandoning his carefully placed destiny, you are forced to take his place, abandoning any and all plans you had for your future.

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈：blood, main character gets cut, kinda psychopath main character at the end, fem pronouns, some smut, arranged marriage, kinda mean!mattheo, mentions of drugs and alcohol, mentions of self harm, you have a brother, let me know if I missed anything!

𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ：how I felt writing, “it hung over your head like a halo, but it was nowhere close to holy.” : 😈

⚠︎︎⚠︎︎this fic is pretty dark. MDNI❗️⚠︎︎⚠︎︎

Your fate had been decided when you were 5 years old. It hung over your head like a halo, but it was nowhere close to holy. It was placed by your father, who was among the many servants of Voldemort, which made your role very important. You were not here for yourself, you were brought into this world for one purpose only. When he sat you down and told you this, it was hard to comprehend, your 5 year old brain not quite wrapping around the concept, but it became more and more real as you grew older. It went as followed: You would grow up, and at 20 years old you would marry the dark lord’s son, Mattheo Riddle. It would add power and influence to your family name. Your older brother, Alexander, would carry the family business along with the new generation, that ‘business’ would be working as the right hand man to the dark lord, his own private assassin. It was all set in stone, an unwavering commitment.

————

The first time you met your future husband was on the first day of your first year. He was gentler then, a mischievous but likable boy, before he turned bitter. He recognized you, having also being told his decided fate since day one, and came up to you. While you expected a handshake, maybe a hug, he instead pushed you to the hard ground before running away. The concrete dug into your soft skin, tearing your skin mercilessly. Your knees, palms, and elbows took the most damage, but his apparent dislike of you almost hurt more. You avoided him as much as possible, knowing you and him had an inevitable lifetime to spend with each other when you graduated. That, however, was hard, since you were both in the same house and had many classes together.

As the time passed, your disdain for him only grew. As he got older, his physical bullying turned to mental and emotional, plus he had earned himself the reputation as a manwhore, his ego growing too large for your liking. He was cocky, arrogant, irrational, and just a fucking dick. His attractiveness only made everything worse. You were conflicted; he clearly wasn’t attracted to you, from what you could tell, and you realized he would be a terrible husband. But god, was he handsome.

One night, you were hanging out with your friend group, which just so happened to contain Mattheo, at this moment. No one could tell where he was or would be at any given time. You all had gathered in a circle, playing truth or dare. Theodore Nott, being the annoying prick he was, picked Mattheo. He chose truth.

Theo’s exact words, “Are you happy to marry (Y/n)?” You all held your breath, his question echoed around the room as all the side conversations went silent. Everyone wondered the same question, but no one was brave enough to ask. Anticipation hung in the air, and you had a bad feeling he was going to say no.

“Not at all. I’d rather be with anyone else, but I have to be stuck with her, of all fucking people.” He said, looking at Theo as he spoke your worst fear. He made eye contact with you before continuing, “You’re the reason I’m miserable, you’ve ruined my life.” You held eye contact with him, an evil smile on his face, trying to maintain a stoic expression on your own. Your heart tensed, feeling heavy in your chest. You broke eye contact with him and stood up, waking away as calmly as you could. No one tried to stop you, or call out your name to come back. They all watched you as your feet carried you back to your room faithfully. Your vision swirled as tears brimmed in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall until you were out of sight. A shaky breath of relief exited your lungs as you shut the door behind you, locking it and holding yourself as you let your body slide down to the floor against the door. The tears finally fell, a seemingly endless stream of them flowing down your cheeks, past your chin, settling on your lips. After what felt like hours, you stood up and walked towards your desk. You opened the top drawer and sorted around the various distractions you kept for moments just like these. To stay numb, you kept a small selection of drugs, small blades, a lighter and pack of cigarettes, and a few small bottles of various alcohol. You decided on a bag of fine white powder and a cigarette.

Later that night there was a knock at your door, as there usually was. You didn’t feel like opening it, satisfied to stay sitting on the windowsill blowing smoke into the night sky. But, unfortunately for you, you forgot to lock the door. As the door swung open, you didn’t even turn to look at him, already knowing who he was.

You blew out the smoke from your lungs. “What do you want?” You could hear his footsteps getting closer to you, but you still couldn’t find the energy to turn your head and look at him. His cold hand gently placed itself on your shoulder, turning you around to face him. You stared into his eyes, which looked like deep pools of honey if the sun shines just right. Now, in the darkness, they almost looked black, a probable reflection of his soul.

He held your gaze, an almost sorry look in his eyes. “You know what I say isn’t true, right?” He asks in a whisper. You nod, taking another drag of the cigarette between your fingers, looking back outside the window. His sighed, not content with your response. He took the cigarette from your hand and put it out on the ashtray next to you on the window. “Let me make it up to you.” He proposed, waiting for you to say yes.

A small smile graced your lips, “You better.” He laughed softly before picking you up and walking you towards your bed. He gently laid you down, your back on the soft mattress, taking off your clothes and throwing them down on the floor. His kisses started on your neck, your soft whines fueling his desire to please you. He moved down your body inch by inch, slowly placing his lips over your body, your collarbones, chest, breasts, torso, hips, and thighs receiving equal attention from him. He laid between your legs, slowly dragging a finger through your folds.

“My pretty girl, so wet for me.” He said, gathering some of your wetness on his fingertip before bringing it to your clit, keeping it still. Your body jolted at the stimulation, moaning for him to just move, do something. He quietly laughed at your desperation, finally moving his finger in small circles around your little bundle of nerves. “I love this perfect pussy so much.” You jumped at his actions, a whiny groan slipping past your lips. Taking his finger away from your clit, he brought it down to your entrance, slowly pushing it in as your inner walls gladly sucked him in. You grumbled at the loss of attention on your puffy clit before he replaced his finger with his mouth. He started with soft licks with the tip of his tongue, letting you relax into him, before he harshly sucked on your pearl, wrapping his lips around it. You nearly screamed from how good it felt, your legs moving around, switching between squeezing his head and opening wider, the stimulation almost too much. He laughed against you, sending delicious vibrations to your core before taking his finger out of you and pushing your legs apart. You moaned his name along with curses over and over again, almost sounding like you were worshipping him. How could you not when he made you feel so good? He switched between harsh sucks, gentle licks, and grazing his teeth against your sensitive clit, every now and then teasing your hole by pushing his tongue into it. It took almost no time before you were cumming against his mouth, breathing heavily as he drank up every last drop of your release. As you came down from your high, he pulled his body up until he was hovering right above you. His lips met yours with so much passion, so much love, you could almost believe he felt even a fraction of what you felt for him. After a moment, he pulled away.

“You’re so fucking good at that.” You told him breathlessly, savoring his chuckle. Oh how you wished he would love you. A silence settled between you, whether it was comfortable to awkward, you couldn’t tell. You just stared at each other, and you would have given anything to know what he was thinking about.

That was 2 weeks before your life would change, for better or for worse, you would find out. It was also the last time you would let him hurt you with his words. This change would start with an unexpected letter from your father:

（𝒴／𝓃）， ℐ𝓃 𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓃ℯ𝓍𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁ℯ 𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃 ℴ𝒻 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝓉𝓈，𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℴ𝓁𝒹ℯ𝓇 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇，𝒜𝓁ℯ𝓍𝒶𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓇，𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎．ℐ 𝓈𝓊𝓁𝓁ℴ𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉ℴ 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋ℯ ℴ𝓊𝓇 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹，𝒶𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓈ℯ𝓇𝓋𝒿𝒸ℯ 𝓌ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉ℯ𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓂ℴ𝓈𝓉 ℯ𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒶 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇ℴ𝓂 𝓃ℴ𝓌．ℋℯ 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻ℯ𝓇 𝒶 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓈ℯ 𝒻𝒶𝓉ℯ，ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇．ℱℴ𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊，𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝑔ℯ𝓉 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝓁ℯ𝒹𝑔ℯ ℴ𝒻 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸ℯ．𝒜𝓈 𝓈ℴℴ𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒹𝓊𝒶𝓉ℯ 𝓁𝒶𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒷𝒿𝓈 𝓎ℯ𝒶𝓇，𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑔ℴ 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℴ𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ℴ𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂ℯ𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝓇ℴ𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇，𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇ℯ𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸ℯ 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅ℯ𝓇𝓈ℴ𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃 𝒻ℴ𝓇 ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 ℒℴ𝓇𝒹．𝒫𝓇ℯ𝓅𝒶𝓇ℯ．

－ℱ𝒶𝓉𝒽ℯ𝓇

At first, it didn’t feel real. This had to have been some kind of joke, right? Alexander was so excited to take on his role, or so it seemed. As reality settled in, you started to distance yourself from everyone. You blew off your friends, preferring to stay in your dorm and wallow in self pity. It wasn’t fair. Your brother had his fate, you had yours. It was set in stone. You had almost looked forward to it at times. But not anymore. You had to suppress your emotions, adapt to this new world. You would train to become an assassin for the Dark Lord, you would destroy what you loved, everything you touched would break. For this, you had to sacrifice your feelings, tears, and longing for a life you could no longer have. You counted down the days until graduation, the time in between was hell. You left all your friends, replacing them with drugs. The time seemed to tick by slower and slower, like staring at a clock’s hands tick tick tick as they seemed to hesitate to go where you wanted.

A soft knock sounded from you door, and you had a sneaking suspicion of who it was. You didn’t know why he even bothered knocking. You never opened the door for him, nor anyone as of late. As the door slowly opened and his frame emerged from it, looking around for you. His eyes landed on your desk, slowly walking towards you to investigate. You slowly blinked at him as he watched you, clearly intoxicated. The evidence sat right behind you, the little white pills contrasting with the dark wood of your desk.

“Oh, angel,” he whispered, placing his hand on the back of your head and stroking your hair as you stared up at him. “Why?”

He was surprised when you laughed. It was mocking, cold. You didn’t feel anything for him anymore. You couldn’t. “Why are you here?” You asked him, clumsily pulling his hand from your head. Everything felt fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop chasing the feeling.

“Just wanted to check on you. You haven’t been coming to meals and your friends said you dropped them.” He answered, a seemingly genuine look of concern in his eyes.

“Haven’t you heard?” You asked him, referring to your cancelled marriage and your new role to fill.

“Heard what?” He was confused, his brows furrowed together as he anticipated your answer. You laughed again, thinking he must be joking.

“Your daddy didn’t tell you? My brother ran away so I have to take his place. And our arranged marriage is cancelled.” You state. You laugh again, everything seems so funny. Now he looks even more confused. Shock, horror, and despair run through his features as he takes it all in. Then he laughs, a nervous-sounding forced laugh.

“You finally get what you want. Lucky you.” You add, bitterly. Now, he’s silent. As you stare at his face, a sudden rage floods your veins. You stand up, facing him, and push him, your hands pressing against his muscular chest. Again, again, and again, you push him until he’s standing before your door, letting you move him. As you move to push him one final time out of your dorm, he stops moving at your will.

“Wait,” he starts. “I-.”

You interrupt him. “GET OUT!” You scream at him, balling your hands into fists and beating his chest as hard as you can, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. A cold bucket of water seems to fall on your head, everything you’ve bottled for the past weeks suddenly bursting from its cage. Tears flow freely down your face, you finally stop hitting and screaming at him, placing your palms flat on his chest and resting your head between your hands, crying into him. He gently strokes your back, holding you against him. He rests his cheek on the top of your head, comforting you.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says. “Let it all out.” He’s so gentle, holding you, speaking comforting words, trying to make you feel better. This might be the only time you’ve ever felt truly safe and loved, and that scares you. Just as you feel the warmth in your chest, you push him away one final time, so the cold can settle in again. You slam the door and lock it, sliding down it onto the floor as he bangs against it a few times.

”Please, baby, let me in.” He says, you can tell he’s right outside. You’re tempted to open it, let him in, let him hold you and make you feel loved for the last time. But as your hand hesitantly reaches up, you stop it. It will hurt more if you let him again. The tears still fall, an added weight on your shoulders. You slowly crawl from the door to your bed, exhaustedly tucking yourself in, curling into a ball as he continues to try to convince you to open the door from the outside.

❀❀❀❀

How did I get here? You wonder as you stood before the dark lord himself, his son standing a little farther behind him. Your father’s instructions had been rather clear: tell him what he wants to hear, don’t talk back, be respectful. You fidget with your fingers behind your back, subtly wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Your heart was beating fast inside your chest, your head pounding.

“It was such a shame that your brother ran away. Now you must take his place, revise any plans you thought you had for a life you never imagined.” He said, walking in tight circles around you. You stared at the floor in front of you.

“He made his decision, however selfish it was. The show must go on.” You curtly replied, a tone in your voice that you didn’t intend. You brought your hands back to your sides, pressing your palms to the sides of your thighs, brushing the fabric of your pants. You could feel his presence behind you, radiating a cold sort of energy that contrasted with the hot room.

“Yes, you are correct. I must inform you that your first assignment will be to hunt him down and kill him. Will that be a problem?” He asked, now standing a foot away from you to your left. You had suspected something like this.

“Not at all. My duty will always come before emotion.” You answered, hoping that would satisfy him. You still looked down, following a crack on the concrete floor with your eyes. You could feel your palms sweating again.

“Good answer, my dear.” He said, now standing directly in front of you. You brought your eyes up to meet his. “There’s one last thing I will do, then you’re official.” He finished. Mattheo stayed completely still, not a single word from him as he stood watching you. So much hung between you, there were so many emotions, words, and tension you wanted to share, say, and break.

“Anything.” You calmly replied, ready to face whatever he had for you. From his robes he pulled a dagger with a jagged blade, spurring your curiosity. As he reached for your right hand, he pulled it towards himself, facing your palm upwards. He inspected the dark mark inked on your wrist before bringing his attention back to whatever he was doing. You held your breath, waiting for him to place the knife in your hand. Several seconds passed as the both of you just stood there, his cold hand grasping your wrist as you nearly shook from anticipation. He briskly pulled his hand up, and as you stared at your reflection, you felt a wave of some emotion you couldn’t name flood your bones. As you began to prepare to be pierced by his blade, he instead rested it in your hand. Just as you breathe your sigh of relief, he rotates the blade slightly and slices right through your palm, a deep and forceful cut. The blade must have been very sharp; It seemed to glide through your skin with little effort. The pain hits you all at once, a stinging sensation emitted from the wound. You gasp, sucking in a sharp breath, and bite your lip hard enough to pierce the delicate skin, now bleeding.

Blood poured from the wound like a fountain as you took it all in. All the pain, all the feeling, all the blood, flowing down your wrist and soaking the ground below you. You couldn’t close your eyes. That was the moment you knew this would suit you. The sight of your blood flowing from you satisfied an itch deep inside. You craved it, again and again, ready to devote your life to the craft assigned to you by cruel karma, god, the universe, or whatever you want to call it. Although, it was right. This is what you were born for. This is what you will die for. In fate’s eyes, you watch yourself. ‘This is me.’ Is all your reflection seems to say.

This is me.

𖧷𖧷𖧷𖧷

Hello lovelies! I hope you enjoyed. I’m thinking of doing a part two about Mattheo’s POV, so let me know if you’d like that! <3

[mooshedts]

traitors s3 ep5 thoughts/full on rambles i talk way too much about this

- i know i said they'd kick tyler out the clique for being the only person whose name doesn't start with L but i actually didn’t expect that.

- and it was such a clique as well i'm glad leanne and leon (he really tried not to get involved bless him) saw sense.

- also dan's eyerolls are the funniest thing ever he's defo becoming one of my favourites.

- i do feel bad for him though because minah's basically the only one he trusts and it's highkey reminding me of molly and harry from s2. if the traitors recruit again he'd be a really good choice (mostly because i can't deal with these divas going against each other).

- i really thought anna was going to accept the recruitment offer since she's quite impulsive and headstrong but i'm glad she saw their motives. if i was a faithful i would not have given them the satisfaction.

- the two new additions are going complete opposite tactics i feel like alexander has slipped COMPLETELY under the radar while fozia's getting quite involved which is honestly such a queen move but it's putting her on the chopping block straight away.

- the heat is probably going to be on linda tomorrow because people already thought it was either her or lisa and now that lisa's revealed she's a priest i doubt people will suspect her.

- but i think linda's getting a bit better at being a traitor and actually contributing her own ideas.

- i swear each season gets more and more dramatic because not only is everyone so mean this season but they keep crying as well. no hate but it's surprising me how emotional they're getting.

- less dire news but how do we feel about queen diane on uncloaked tonighttt?

[theblueseassoul]

“Exauhsted.”

It’s been a long day.

I might make a part two.

Song listened to while writing: “What the water gave me - Florence + The Machine”

Zayne x Reader

Love and deep space fan fiction

Talk of mental health.

No use of Y/n. Gender neutral reader. Read in the second person. Established relationship.

This past week has been hell. And the most annoying part is that you have absolutely no idea why. This happened once in a while, but it hadn’t happened in so long so you thought you’d be able to escape it for a while longer. Instead, here you sat curled up in your work chair, arms around your legs and gazing out of the window nearby once more. At least it had a nice view of the city, you thought, as you watched time pass. You sighed softly, closing your eyes for a moment. Not even a few moments later, you heard someone call out your name. You winced, hoping if you hid your head in your arms they wouldn’t see you, but you knew that isn’t how it worked. They called your name again.

When you looked up, you found Alexander. Alexander was your co-worker, and often took your kindness for granted. You worked hard, everyone knew that, you even took on missions that you weren’t even required to do. You loved your job. This was something you’d dreamed of for… you don’t know how long. So of course you put everything you had into it, you were protecting people by doing your job. It was worth it. However, Alexander made you hate it just for a moment. a brief moment but a moment nonetheless. He grinned, brown hair annoyingly messy as was his uniform. “Are you done with that assignment I asked you to help me with?” He asked, leaning against your desk.

You raised a brow slightly but offered your politest smile. You could have done better on a better day, however this was not one of them, so that was the best he would get. “I did. I saw you had a lot of errors though. You missed a lot of dangerous-“ as you pulled it up to show him what had gone wrong, he waved his hand and cut you off.

“It’s whatever. No one actually reads them.” Alexander’s tone was dismissive, not even glancing at the highlighted sections. You looked at the title of the document and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. It was a complete overview of one of the sectors of the city getting more wanderers by the day, and metaflux’s. You knew people read them because you were people. These were given out to hunters for assignments to know what to expect. They were updated frequently and needed to be as accurate as possible for both hunter and civilian safety. You looked back at him.

“Yes, we do.” You stated, losing the patience you had to smile. “It’s actually vital for us hunters and the civilians who might come across these areas. You know that right? That lives depend on these reports?”

He scoffed, mumbling dismissive none sense and waving his hand in the air once more before saying “thanks for finishing it anyways. See you tomorrow yeah?” As he turned his back, you rolled your eyes and put your head face in your hands, mocking him under your breath.

“See you tomorrow! Whatever.” You murmured and once you knew he was out of the room, groaned in annoyance as you leaned back into your chair. “No one reads it anyways.” You mocked again, shaking your head. “Come on. It’s like you forgot the…” you went on into a nonsensical ramble and continued, until you noticed your phone buzzing next to your mouse. You sat up, picking up your phone and reading the caller ID. It read ‘snowy seal.’ It was Zayne, your doctor, and your boyfriend who didn’t call out of the blue often. You raised a brow and picked up, and he spoke almost immediately.

“There you are.” He hummed into the speaker, and as you started to question him, he continued “I texted you when my shift ended. Usually you’re done by now, are you working over time? You know you shouldn’t.” He warned you. You smiled softly. You knew he was lecturing you again, but it made you feel all warm inside knowing he cared so much. He was stern about it, but he was always that way. It was part of his charm.

“No, I was just..” you sighed, blowing a raspberry as you stood up. You turned off your computer with one hand while you held the phone up to your ear with the other “A co worker wanted to speak with me. Did you need something?” You asked, putting your jacket on your fore arm and picking up your back. He paused for a moment, the sound of a car rushing by before he started talking again.

“I’m waiting outside. Hurry, let’s go home.” Zayne said, and you swore you could hear the soft grin through the phone. Once you had everything and said goodbye to everyone, you left, and it only took a few steps before you heard your boyfriend’s cool voice calling your name. You smiled in almost relief, and wrapped your arms around him immediately. He hugged you back, one arm firmly around your waist and the other against your back holding you close to him.

At home, after you’d gotten changed and showered, you decided to do the dishes. They were piling up anyways. So you rolled your sleeves up, and started to empty the dishwasher. Usually, this task came easily to you. Of course you had your moments when motivation wasn’t at its peak, but if you forced yourself to do it, you would find yourself more content by the end of it. It was the same with a lot of house hold chores. You didn’t mind doing them, it was your house, of course you should take care of it. But it was just.. hard sometimes. You felt like a child because of it, how emotional you got over small things. Bouts of depression, Zayne called it. When it was hard to do anything at all. You forced your way through it though, with the help of your trusty doctor.

While you put the dishes away, you had dropped a plastic cup. You clicked your tongue softly in annoyance, “god..” you murmured and picked it up, rolling your eyes at yourself before putting it in its cabinet. Then, after a while, you dropped a spatula after letting go too early. This too made your patience wane. You felt the pricking feeling in the back of your eyes when you got frustrated, and got even more frustrated. You sighed and placed the spatula in its drawer, muttering “stay.” Before closing it. The last straw was when you were putting away pans, when they all fell out of the cabinet because they wouldn’t fit. At this point you weren’t sure if you wanted to scream or cry. The clashing and clanging was more than enough to wince, and you had to step back for a moment and try not to absolutely break down then and there. You flexed your hands, taking a deep breath. “This is ridiculous to get upset about.” You told yourself. You headed to the fridge for a drink, and on the way.. you ended up ramming your side into the island corner.

Zayne had walked into the kitchen then. Just as you simply gave up, sliding against the island and to the floor, covering your face. He heard you muttering to yourself about something stupid, being annoyed, and such. He knew how you got. You must’ve had a hard day, he thought. Or week. Or month. And so he carefully knelt down beside you, hand on your arm. “Honey.” He called, softly, in a tone he only ever used with you to calm you. Usually you felt special. Right now you were just filled with conflicting emotions you didn’t really know what to do or how to respond.

“Not even something to get upset about. Just dishes.” You groaned to yourself as you pulled your head up from your hands. Zayne carefully pulled you up to your feet, and walked you into your bedroom, rubbing your shoulder the whole time. He listened to your nonesense words, talking about how “I don’t even know why they all fell out.” Or “I’m so clumsy today. What is wrong with me.” Sometimes it wasn’t words, just noises sort of mushed together. He understood anyways.

Zayne sat you down on the bed, and crawled in beside you. He pulled the comforter over the both of you and opened an arm towards you, offering a hug if you wanted it. You leaned into him almost immediately, and his arm wrapped around you tightly, to keep you firmly against his side. He was silent for a while. He usually waited for you to start talking about what bothered you, because he didn’t want you to talk about it if you didn’t feel up to it. You did this time, but you didn’t even know what the issue was. That was what made it so frustrating. He rubbed his thumb against your arm, and asked softly “rough day?”

You sniffed. “I don’t know.” You shook your head, and he nodded slightly, to let you know he was listening. You continued, “I did what I usually do. I fought wanderers. Did reports. Alexander, he handed me an unfinished report and asked if I could do it because he had so much to do and I said yes.”

“The man who never finishes on time?”

“Yeah.” You nodded to Zayne’s question. “So I did. I found some stuff wrong so I corrected them and told him about it and he said..” you rolled your eyes, your lips pulling into a frown “no one ever reads them so why doesn’t it matter.” You threw a hand up slightly. “Like he doesn’t know that it’s actually crucial. Like what it a civilian wandered there and got hurt because we didn’t keep them from it because the report said there wasn’t any danger but there was. Someone could die. It’s our job to protect these people, you know?” You dropped your hand helplessly and shuffled closer to Zayne. “But that isn’t even what made me upset. It was dropping dishes.” You scoffed.

He hummed softly as he listened to you, leaning his head against yours as you curled into him further. When you stopped your ramble, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before he spoke “it sounds like you’re just overwhelmed. It happens, it’s alright.” Zayne said, rocking you back and forth slightly with him. His words were always carefully chosen, you could tell by the slow way he spoke and the pauses between his sentences. It was a nice grounder though. “You’ve been working very hard lately. I’m proud of you, you know.” This was just above a whisper, just for your ears. He rested his chin against your head again.

“You should take a day off.” Zayne suddenly suggested. You looked up at him, puzzled. He glanced at you and chuckled softly and continued to explain “you deserve it. You haven’t taken a day off in.. ages. If you do, I’ll stay here and take care of you. You can come into the office with me as well, if you want.” He said, squeezing your shoulders gently. You debated it, tilting your head into him and looking down at your hands laying in your lap.

“Mm.” You hummed softly in thought. You debated it, wondering if it was a good idea. You have been working hard lately, it wouldn’t hurt to have a day off. Just one. With Zayne, no less. He was usually drowning with work, it would be nice to have a just the two of you day. You nodded “I’d like that.” You finally said, looking up at him.

He smiled softly, a smile he only gave you. Warm, and filled with so much love it made your heart melt every time you saw it. “Good.” He kissed your forehead, and then your nose bridge, the tip of your nose, and then two firm ones against your cheeks, kissing away the trails the tears from before had left. “Let’s get you to bed early then. I’ll make dinner, after you’ll take your medicine, and tomorrow we will have lots of staying home to do.” He said, happily. You nodded, a warm smile spreading over your lips to match his.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Devotion

1,2k. words I Yandere! Alexander Anderson x gn! Reader

Warnings: captivity, stockholm-syndrome

Some say a person's room mirrors the state of their mind.

In case of your captor, it is chaotic and badly maintained. Make of that observation whatever you want.

The only possession he allows himself are books, they are scattered basically everywhere. You didn't have any indication of how long you've been here, but at this point you've read almost all of them.

Almost 7pm. He will soon return from supper.

You tense at the thought, yet at the same time you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of excitement at his company. Most of the time he's away on missions, and his subordinates are not allowed to interact with you in any way. The solitude was slowly driving you insane.

Isolation as means of making someone subservient and dependant, clever...

Anderson had promised you that once the 'adjustment period' was over, you'd be allowed more freedom again...but the subtle indication that he was sure you'd eventually give in to your fate wasn't any comfort.

Running in circles like an animal trapped in a tiny cage, your glance wanders from the blank white ceiling to the wall next to the bed. So many doodles handdrawn by 'his' children as he fondly calls them, proudly put up there for him to admire.

It made you wonder if there was still some kind of humanity inside of him you could appeal to.

The sound of something rattling on the other side of the door teared you away from your thoughts, making cold dread drop like lead to your stomach.

He's back.

Father Alexander Anderson, a holy paladin known by many names, cleansing the world of unholy abominations threatening the catholic church.

Ironically, he turned out to be a monster in his own right.

Instantly you pull the blanket over yourself and squeeze your eyes shut, a fruitless attempt to shun out the inevitable. You hear him lock the door again, then for a while just tensed silence.

First thing he notices is that you cleaned his room, organized the books even since you didn't really have anything better to do. There had been order in his mess - one only he understood - but he was grateful either way.

That's what you're here for, after all - to bring some fresh air into his empty life.

Hearing him come closer with tentative steps, you manage not to shriek yet are unable to suppress the slight tremor shaking your body anyways.

During the few nights he had spent here, the priest at least had the decency to sleep on the floor - but now you feel the mattress sink under his weight as he slouched on the edge of the bed. He quietly watches you for a while before folding his hands in his lap, uttering a barely audible prayer...asking the Lord's forgiveness for his deeds.

As the back of his hand barely strokes your cheek you cannot help but wince, and he finally lets out a deep, saddened sigh. "Ah know ye're awake, lamb..."

Your eyes gloss with tears as soon as they snap open, the sight filling him with shame and guilt. He tries to make himself appear as harmless as possible, an impossible feat even without the given circumstance.

"It's awright" he finally wrings out, his usual eloquence failing him. "Ah'm no' gonnae hurt ye." You nod wordlessly. Surely he won't. He didn't do it before, and never gave you any reason to believe he would.

Quite the opposite, even: He could so easily achieve your submission through violence, and yet he was nothing but gentle.

That fact didn't make your current situation any less frightening.

"It wis a lang day" you hear him whisper after what felt like an eternity of silence, sounding uncertain with himself. "Can ah lie wi' ye, please?"

Please. Such a soft word yet coming across sharp like one of his blades. He wasn't giving you an option, not really. Saying so was mere courtesy and maybe a bit of pity as well. It almost felt like he was taunting you, a harsh reminder that there was absolutely nothing you had control over anymore.

There is no chance, no other way but to yield to this, to him.

"Of course." Trying to calm your racing heartbeat as you pat the empty spot next to you, playing your part by beckoning him over. "Come here."

Anderson lets out a relieved sob, like your consent was absolving him in some way, as if it wasn't forced by the sheer power imbalance alone. Still, he is hesistant to do as he was told, even though he had dreamt of that exact moment for so long already.

He's not delusioned, he's aware exactly of the severity of it all.

But this once he'd allow himself to get lost in the moment, shoving his awareness of those wicked actions far back into his disturbed mind.

The bed is small, even without you there it wouldn't allow him to stretch out fully, so at least partially your bodies were huddled up against each other. You can feel him shuffle uncomfortably as he tries to give you space, so you decide to have mercy on him and take the initiative, leading his arms around your middle.

Anderson lets out a surprised gasp, his eyes sparling in meek wonder as he crushes your body tightly against his.

His strenght is impossible to ignore, inhuman and titanous. You were trapped in an iron grip, able to sense his barely contained force even though he was touching you with the utmost gentleness. He was touching you like you were made out of porcellain and compared to his power you might as well be.

It was like a steel vice around your waist, inescapable and suffocating.

You feel his breath rapid and shuddering, his hands trembling as they rest on your stomach. Having this beast of a man present himself so very much at your mercy stirrs something inside of you, a mixture of overwhelming emotions making your blood boil.

How dare he.

The audacity of acting like this after the cruelty of tearing you out of your old life and forcefully implanting you into his own was simply unbearable.

Out of a whim you straddle his waist and he inhales sharply, his pupils dilating at the action. He looks so helpless and desperate like this, it disgusts you.

"Why?" you ask, despite knowing no matter what, the answer won't be sufficient. It can't change anything. "Why me?"

"���whit can I say? Ah have no excuse or reason." It's the first time you see this resilient man cry, and much to your horror you feel yourself tearing up in sympathy. "There was no other way for someone like me tae have ye…I just-I need ye in ma life. Ah' couldn't stand another day without ye. I'm so sorry fur causin' ye this pain,… but I love ye, I really do."

A loud noise drang to your ear when you slapped him with all your might at this pitiful confession and how it made you feel nonetheless - yet he wouldn't budge in the slightest, instead gazing up to you with an unfaltering adoration in his eyes.

"Do whitiver ye want wi' me" he pronounces genuinely, blissful even. "Ah dinnae think ye understand just how much ye mean tae me, or whit lengths ah'm willin' to go to, to keep ye safe an' happy."

"...I think I might be starting to." Your voice is indifferent, defeated, as is your expression. You capture his lips in a kiss and he visibly breaks down beneath you, sobbing countless apologies as he held you oh so carefully in his arms.

What breaks you most however is how you've slowly come to terms with the idea of accepting what he offers - a bond that should've never existed, yet so intense it defied all probability and logic.

You'll try to love him.

[littlesparklight]

The... idk, but "oddness" of, yeah, I think of Paris as "Paris" and obviously talk of him using that name. And use "Paris" for him when he's my POV character in fic. (But other characters, like Helen and Menelaos, usually use Alexander unless it's an AU where 'Paris' is the only name I'm using for Paris.)

BUT, I am also absolutely attached to and think "Alexander" is very important for his character! I hate it when translations of the Iliad replace all the Alexanders with "Paris"! Partially because Paris occurs so rarely in the Iliad itself, so it feels... I don't know, but it just feels odd to me to decide to replace it? And aside from that it's just interesting that Alexandros IS used so much more often than "Paris" is in the Iliad.

It's interesting that Alexander is used by basically everyone else at all times. Interesting that you can't, actually (as some academics have tried) reduce it to "Alexander is his 'international' name and Paris is his Trojan one". The absolute proof against that would be that Hektor uses Alexander in his own head during the lead-in to the duel against Achilles and Paris when he says Apollo and, well, Paris will be the ones to kill him to Achilles!

I love the idea/"solution" that one name was given by his parents (even if/especially because he was going to be killed) as an infant and that Agelaos gave him another. And I like/prefer that the name Hekuba and Priam gave him is Alexander, exactly because how it's used in the Iliad.

And sure, Paris became the name so much more popular to use for him, even just in Antiquity. But even then Alexander was still used by some authors, sometimes to exclusion. You can't just TAKE THAT AWAY, is my feeling about it. He's Alexander/Alexandros as much as he's Paris!!

[themultifandomgal]

Tommy Shelby- Out Of The Blue Pt2

Pt1 Pt3

Weeks pass by and Tommys teasing about YNs fiancé don't let up. In fact the more trips he took to London the more Tommys words stuck in her mind 'he obviously has a whore'. Doubt sets in her mind, was he actually away on business or was he with another woman?

Walking into the betting shop YN puts her bag down and pulls her coat of placing on the chair behind her desk. Tommy immediately walks out of his office

"YN I nee you to go to the garrison. Tell Harry I have a meeting there tonight 6:30"

"I've just walked in" YN groans

"Don't care" Tommy walks back into his office. YN puts her coat back on muttering about how Tommy actually hates her and does all of this on purpose.

When arriving at the garrison she hears a woman asking for her fiancé

"Excuse me but do you know where I might find Mr Alexander?" she asks Harry

"Why are you looking for my fiancé?" YN asks frowning

"Oh hello I'm his wife"

"Wife?!" YN shouts "don't you mean ex wife?"

"No. I'm his wife you must be YN YLN?"

"Yes. How do you know my name?"

"Well you didn't really think my George actually loves you right? Your in with the Shelby's am I not correct?"

"Your just some crazy ex girlfriend or ex wife who is trying to scare me off. Harry Tommy said he has a meeting tonight" YN turns around and leaves the Garrison and begins to make her way back to the betting shop.

That evening YN arrives home. She can hear George's voice, but he's not alone there's someone else here

"You can't just show up here. You could ruin everything!" George shouts. Not taking of her coat, frowning YN gently closes the front door and quietly makes her way to her shared bedroom where the voices are coming from

"You've been at this for over a year now. I thought you would have made your move by now"

"Are you jealous?"

"Of her? No, but do I like the idea of my husband warming another woman's bed even if he is just trying to get to the Shelby's? Yes of course it bothers me" YN feels like she's going to be sick hearing this

"Fine. I'll do it tonight. Tonight is the night I kill Thomas Shelby" a lump forms in YNs throat and her feet are immediately carrying her towards the Shelby's residence.

Knocking on the door Polly answers

"What are you...."

"Where's Tommy?" YN frantically asks

"At the garrison having his meeting"

"Shit"

"What's going on?"

"My fiancé is married and is only using me to kill Tommy and probably all of you"

"Did you know!" Polly shouts

"I wouldn't be stood here panicking if I knew Polly. Look I have to go warn him"

YN has never run so fast in her life. Arriving at the Garrison she doesn't care that Tommy is in the middle of a meeting. She bursts through the door panting

"YN what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm so sorry Tommy I didn't know"

"Didn't know what?"

"YN what's wrong?" Johns soothing voice says

"It's George"

"What the fuck has he done?" John shouts anger laced in his voice "has he hurt you?"

"We'll fucking kill 'im" Arthur yells

"YN what is going on?" Tommy asks

"George. He's already married. He's been using me. He's coming to kill you all"

"Why are you only just telling us? Are you involved?" Tommy stands

"What no of course not. I just found out"

"John take YN home, Arthur..."

"No!" YN shouts "I can't go home. That's where they are"

"Fine. Stay here. John let's go"

It's been 30 minutes since the Shelby's left. YN sits at the bar waiting for them to return. Every time she hears the door of the Garrison open she looks hoping that her best friend and his brothers are walking in. But her heart drops every time, so by now she's given up looking at the door and just focus's on her drink in hand. Suddenly she jumps hearing what sounds like a gun shot going off. Looking up she sees him there, George. If he's here then where are the Shelby's?

"Tommy Shelby!" he shouts. So he doesn't know they went after him "where the fuck is he?

George points the gun at me "YN where is he?"

"I... I don't know"

"Fuck. You weren't meant to be here" YN frown getting off her chair

"Why? So you could kill the Shelby's then leave with their money to go back to your wife?"

"How do you..."

"Know? Because I walked into our house and heard everything"

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he shouts "this wasn't supposed to happen like this. This is your fucking fault" that's when YN feels a burning sensation in her abdomen and heard a ringing in her ears.

[cipher00]

I come bearing a gift!

Alexander Anderson/Reader Smut

Aphrodisiacs

Tags:

Breeding Kink

Biting Kink

Dom!Alexander

Sub!Reader

Dirty talk

NSFW under the cut! Do not proceed if you're under 18!

He'd been acting distant from you all day. Your dear sweet Alexander had hardly spoke to you, much less come near you. You didn't know what was up with him, but you were determined to find out. It wasn't normal for him to act this way, especially not to you. You were his beloved, and you'd been that to him ever since he left the church years ago. You were his respite, his solace, and everything beautiful in life. Those were his words, anyway.

 

You were sitting on the couch in the living room, absentmindedly watching TV as you pondered what you should do. He had holed himself up in your shared bedroom, not even coming out for food when you knocked and told him that dinner was ready. Not even a reply. You would've assumed he was sleeping, were it not for the faint sounds of shuffling within the room. 

 

You considered going up to check on him, but if he was avoiding you like this for this long, he probably had a good reason for it. You didn't believe he would just avoid you for the hell of it. He was always affectionate towards you, from wrapping his arms around your waist while you cooked, to small things like twining his fingers with yours while you both watched the TV. Still, you couldn't help but be worried. You continued to stare at the TV, not really paying attention to what was going on in the show, debating on what you should do.

 

 

 

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

Alexander was restless inside of the little bedroom you both shared. He didn't like hiding away from you, but he sure as hell wasn't going to get close to you while he was like this. He didn't know what this feeling was, only the thoughts and images it plagued his mind with. It was unrelenting, almost uncontrollable, and it made him want to do... Less than holy things to you, to say the very least. He must have drank something he shouldn't have at the pub he visited, he figured. Earlier, he'd been out having a drink with some acquaintances, but this feeling hadn't really raged until he'd gotten home. Until he'd gotten near you. When you embraced him when he walked through the door, a white hot sensation had surged through him. Though he was the one in your embrace, he almost felt the desire to pounce on you. That's when he noticed something was wrong. He was always careful and gentle with you, given how strong he was, and how much bigger he was than you. 

 

He locked himself inside of your room shortly after. He wasn't entirely sure what this was, but he wasn't going to let it be the cause of harm towards you. He was going to stay up there, and wait this out. It would be easy.

 

That is what he thought, until he heard the sound of your footsteps coming up the stairs, followed by a call of his name. 

 

"Alex? You've been up there all day... Are you alright? Is there anything you want to talk about?" 

 

Of course you were worried about him, sweet little thing you were. It was adorable how you were concerned for his wellbeing, wanting to take care of him.

 

Though now, he'd like for you to take care of him in a different way. He'd just love to hear your voice wrapped around his name with a different tone of voice...

 

Stop.

 

He scolded himself internally, for allowing his thoughts to dip into that territory. It wasn't like sex between the two of you was a completely foreign concept, but in the few times prior, he was always very gentle, treating you like you might break. Which, was a very real possibility given his size and strength. You were so small, he really didn't want to accidentally hurt you, especially during something as intimate and as special as that kind of encounter between the two of you. 

 

But, despite knowing this, he couldn't stop the ideas that were trickling through his head, threatening to burst into actions if he didn't have more self control. In his thoughts, he'd have loved nothing more than to have you beneath him, trembling and begging for him to fill you up, taking you how he pleased while you took it like the good girl he knew you were. 

 

He once again shook himself out of this train of thought quickly. He couldn't- No, wouldn't do that to you. He didn't even know if you liked that sort of thing, if you'd even be okay with it. What if you saw him akin to some depraved animal? He wasn't going to have that, and he sure as hell wasn't going to have the possibility of hurting you. 

He'd just do this himself, if that's what it took to make this feeling go away. Right now he didn't care how sinful it was, how much it would've sullied his reputation with the church had anyone from his life years ago known this.

 

Even if they did find out somehow, he would've preferred that to the prospect of hurting you. 

 

What he had forgotten, however, was that you'd just come up the stairs to check on him. 

 

And you were outside the door.

 

 

 

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

You were really starting to worry about Alexander. He didn't even come out for dinner, and he always loved it when you cooked for him. The sun had set quite a while ago, and still no word from him. You would've thought he was sleeping, were it not for the fact he was an insomniac. Most nights he couldn't even sleep, but he was just content to hold you close to him, listening to the soothing sound of your peaceful breathing.

 

... Wait.

 

The sound you heard from the other side of the bedroom door also sounded like breathing, but it was anything but peaceful. It was ragged, shaky breaths. Now you were really worried. What if he was sick, or upset, or-

 

Oh.

 

The sound of a quiet, muffled groan pulled you out of your racing thoughts. He was most definitely not sick. 

 

Blush rose to your cheeks as you realized the situation. That suddenly made a whole lot more sense, so you thought. Perhaps he was pent up, and didn't want to take out any frustrations on you. You knew he handled you carefully for fear of breaking you, and he often wouldn't initiate because he didn't want to seem like he was trying to demand it from you, even though that's the opposite of how it came off. But still, he was always careful, always mindful. And even during sex, he'd refuse to let go any. His hands would tremble as he balled them up into the sheets, threatening to rip them through. Rather the sheets, which were replaceable, than you.

 

You figured this was the case, and you were half right. What you didn't know was he locked himself away in an attempt to save you from himself, or rather what he may do if he were to lose his self control. The good Lord knew how tempting you could be, how even when he wasn't under the effect of this aphrodisiac, you'd stir up thoughts he'd kept shoved down. Thoughts of making you submit to him, of pure indulgence in his darkest fantasies about you. He was only a man after all, and definitely not immune to your charms. 

 

You contemplated what to do. On one hand, this was extremely private, and even though you were his girlfriend, you shouldn't intrude on his business like this.

 

On the other hand, the sounds he was making was extremely fucking hot. You weren't going to lie to yourself about that. 

 

...Fuck it.

 

You were going to get in that room, and see if you could change his mindset about you being fragile. You could handle more than he gave you before. You could handle him letting loose a bit. At least, you thought so.

 

No better time than the present to find out. 

 

And even if you couldn't, you knew the experience was going to be 100% worth it.

 

You dug around in your pocket, finding the key to your bedroom and inserting it into the handle. Before you turned it, you knocked on the door gently. "Alex? I'm gonna come in, okay?" You heard scrambling, and some muffled protests as you turned the handle. You peeked your head into the room. It was dark, except for the ray of light that had entered from the slightly open door. 

 

There, on the bed, sat a very disheveled, embarassed looking Alexander. His face was flushed, his glasses askew, and his breathing hard. It looked like he was trying to cover himself, but he was having a difficult time. You could see his hands shaking as he gripped the sheets, trying to pull them over himself. Even with that dazed look on his face, he looked like a deer caught in headlights. His chest rose and fell quickly as his eyes scanned over you.

 

You looked so...

 

Your face reddened as you took in the sight of him. Sporting a very obvious hard on, even with his attempt at covering it with the sheet. That look of desperation on his face, the hazy look in his eyes. "Do you, ah... Need help?" You asked sheepishly. Alex's eyes darted away from yours, a look of shame crossing his face. "Ye weren' supposed te see me like this." He muttered, twisting and untwisting his hands into the sheets out of nervousness. Great, now you'd think he was no better than some animal. He'd done it this time.

 

You laughed lightly, a hand coming up to rub the back of your neck. "It's not like I mind... To be honest, you look... Really good like this." You admitted, trying to meet his gaze, but his eyes were still avoiding you. "I can help...? If you'd like me to?" He was surprised for a moment. You... Didn't think poorly of him for this? He was sure that this would lower your opinion of him. Masturbating was still pretty much a foreign concept to him; the nuns that raised him had drilled it into his head that it was something disgraceful. But here you were, even wanting to help him with this?

 

He wanted to say yes so badly, but still...

 

He shook his head, his stare fixed on the floor. Despite the fact you wanted to do this with him, he couldn't look at you out of a mix of shame and embarrassment. "I... Drank somethin' I shouldn' have at the pub earlier today. I don't know wha' it was, bu' it has this really strong effect. I locked myself away to keep from hurting you by accident." 

 

'Hurt me? What-'

 

Oh.

 

Ohhhh.

 

"So, let me get this straight." You began. "You basically drank an aphrodisiac, and you've kept your distance from me so you wouldn't give in, accidentally hurt me?"

 

Damn.

 

It was a little embarrassing when you said it aloud. 

 

"...Yes, exactly. I wan' to do so many things to ye." The red on your face deepened. "Bu' I could never forgive myself if I hurt ye. Yer such a small thing compared teh me. I can barely even keep my self control together around ye righ' now," He admitted. You shivered at the implication. You said nothing, but stepped further into the room and closed the door behind you. 

 

His eyes slowly readjusted to the darkness, with the help of a ray of moonlight shining through the window. You were bathed in soft white light, and he saw you approach him slowly. "Wha' are ye doing?" The bed shifted with your weight as you crawled towards him. "I want to prove you wrong. I can take more than you think I can." You settled on his stomach, cupping his face with both your hands as you kissed him. It started off slow, but turned into something much hungrier. His large hands ghosted over your hips tentatively, shaking violently. He was trying so hard to hold back, still scared that he was going to break you if he gave in.

 

Alex was breathing heavily when you drew back from him, and in the dull light of the room, you could see the hazy look in his eyes. Pure lust. You moved your mouth to his neck, pulling at the skin lightly with your teeth. He let out a hiss as his hands finally settled on your hips, squeezing lightly. Just a bit more...

 

"I'm not going to break, Alex. And even if you did rough me up, to be honest... I'd probably like it." He tightened his grip on your hips, and you smiled. "I want you to be able to let go with me. I want you to have your way with me." You pressed another kiss to his lips, before meeting his heated gaze. "Please?" 

 

Oh, he couldn't keep it together after that. How could he when you asked like that? He planted one hand on the back of your head, pulling you back to him to meet him in another kiss, this one much more heated than the first. You whined, pressing your body firmly against his. He reacted immediately, a low groan rumbling in his throat as he slid you down so you'd be sitting in his lap. He ground his cock against your clothed heat, causing a gasp to slip from you. 

 

"Ye feel that, sweetheart? Tha's all because of yeh. Can hardly resist ye, pretty little thing." You squirmed in his lap, arousal filling your core. He was painfully hard, and you could feel that even through your clothes.

 

God, you wanted that inside of you.

 

"Shit, Alex," You whispered, pressing your hips down harder into his, trying to get more friction. He smirked at you, watching your expression change from coy to something needier. "Yeh're such a needy girl. And just for me? I'm truly blessed." His statement flustered you, causing you to look away, but he wasn't having any of that. He gripped your chin with his hand, pulling your gaze back to him. "Look a' me. I wan' ta see tha' pretty face of yours when I make ye see the pearly gates." You whined, keeping your eyes on him like he wanted. "Good girl. Such an obedient little thing," He purred.

 

Fuck, that sent a spike of heat shooting right through you. Alexander noticed how it affected you when he heard your breath hitch. He smiled at you mischievously.

 

Oh no.

 

"Wha' was that? Ye like it when I praise ye, hmm?" You were so flustered, but you didn't look away, per his previous instructions. "If tha's the case..." He brought one of your hands up to his lips, kissing your palm before continuing. 

 

"Yeh're so beau'iful, so good fer me. Not a day goes by tha' I don' think how lucky I am to have such a sweet little thing all to myself. Beau'iful when yeh're not even tryin'. When yeh're sleepin, enjoyin yer hobbies..." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.

 

"When yeh're stuffed full o' my cock..." 

 

You let out a quiet moan at that, the heat in your abdomen growing as you tried more and more to grind against him, but he held you firmly in place. "Alex..." You whimpered. "Yeees, my love?" He drawled. "I want it." He raised his eyebrows at you, an absolutely devious look on his face. "Already? I've barely even touched ye, and yeh want me that much?" He didn't say it, but he wanted you far more than you knew right now. He loved to tease you, but he wasn't going to be able to keep this up for much longer. The aphrodisiac was still burning strong in his veins, and having you all over him had only made it worse.

 

"Well, you can't just say stuff like that and expect me not to." You admit, quickly pulling your shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room. For once, Alex was grateful for your impatience. That, and he loved just how eager you were for him. "You're so fucking sexy when you talk like that..." You murmur, raising up from his lap so you could wriggle out of your pants. You went to unclasp your bra, but he stopped you.

 

"Let me. I wan' ta unwrap this little present yeh've brought me." You nodded, and he curled his arms around you to undo the clasp. It fell away from your chest, exposing you more to him. You shivered, the cool air of the room hitting you fully. He chuckled, lowering his face to your chest. "Ye cold? Poor little thing. Tha's alright, ye won' be fer much longer." He connected his lips with one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it as his free hand went up to knead your other breast softly. You sighed, tangling one of your hands into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp lightly. He groaned, giving a light suck to your bud.

 

Once you started giving breathy whines, he moved on. He held you, swapping your positions. You were lying back into the pillows, and his face was between your thighs, giving soft nips to your lovely skin. 

 

He was going to have to prep you for him; He was proportionate to his size, and that was large. He towered over you easily, being over seven feet. He knew you'd struggle regardless, but he wanted to at least avoid discomfort for you where he could help it.

 

Your underwear was the last thing in his way, and you'd completely soaked those through. He hummed a laugh, before slowly pulling them down your thighs. "Ye look much prettier without these." He tossed the offending garment, and now there was nothing to cover you up. He spread your legs wider, putting your soaking cunt on full display for him. "Damn, sweetheart... Yeh're so wet fer me..." He groaned, taking in the sight of you. Your arousal was leaking down your thighs, and being completely exposed to Alexander just made your core throb in anticipation.

 

He swiped a finger up your slit, collecting some of your moisture before bringing it to his lips, tasting you. This just made you hotter as you watched him, wide eyed. "Ye taste so sweet. So sweet, just fer me." He whispered, before giving full attention to what was in front of him. "You can't just say things like- AaH!" Your sentence was cut short as he licked a stripe from the bottom of your hole to the top, before dipping his tongue into your soaked entrance experimentally. You placed one of your hands on the back of his head, trying to bring him closer to you, but he took both of your hands and held them firmly by your sides. 

 

"If I recall correctly, ye wanted me ta have my way with yeh. So, yeh're goin ta take wha' I give ye." 

 

Fuck, that tone was downright sinful. His words earned him a shudder, and a curse to fall from your lips. Alex chuckled, squeezing your hands lightly. "Watch yer mouth, or I might have ta put it ta work." He warned. You whined, your hips bucking involuntarily at the thought. "Oh? Does the thought of me usin yer mouth excite yeh? Such a dirty girl. Maybe I should teach ye the right way ta behave." He growled, his reprimanding only sending more heat to your core. 

 

"Please, Alex..." You whimpered. How could he deny you when you plead like that? Especially with your honeyed voice wrapped so beautifully around his name, too.

 

Finally he indulged you, wrapping his lips around your swollen clit as he collected more of your juices on his fingers, before slipping one of them inside you. His fingers were already quite thick, so he still took care when prepping you for him. You were all but mewling, your thighs spasming next to the sides of his head as he slowly worked you. He worked one finger in and out of your tight walls, delighted as he found no resistance. You were dripping for him, and he'd barely even done much to you. 

 

God, he loved you.

 

He added another, pumping them a little faster while he attended to your sensitive bud with his tongue, unrelenting in his ministrations. His long fingers eventually found that spongy spot inside of you, brushing up against it. You moaned rather loudly, bucking your hips wildly. You didn't even mean to, but it was all beginning to become too much for your sensitive little body. 

 

"Shit, Alex, there-!" You balled up your fists in his grasp, trying to find purchase amidst what was painfully slowly building up to orgasm. You could feel him smile against you as he pushed his fingers even deeper inside, hitting that spot repeatedly. Your moans got louder, and Alexander felt your walls tightening even more around him. "Alex, I'm-" Just when the twisted up coil in your belly was about to snap, he stopped altogether, pulling his fingers out of you, and backing off from your throbbing sex.

 

"No, yeh're not. Not yet." 

 

You cried out in frustration as the tension in your core slowly ebbed way, leaving you very much unsatisfied and needing more. "Why- I was so close-" You panted, trying to sit up, but he stopped you. He got up and settled between your thighs, gripping your hips tightly. "I need ye now. And yeh're more than ready fer me." You felt the blunt head of his cock prod your entrance, finding no resistance. You eyed his cock hungrily, reminded of the sheer size of him. You're definitely glad he prepared you. He leaned down, kissing you hungrily. You reciprocated happily, running your hands over his shoulders and tangling them in his beautiful blonde hair once again.

 

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving you open mouthed kisses against your pretty, sensitive neck. You relaxed for a moment, but a cry was wrenched from you as he sunk his teeth into the juncture between your neck and shoulder lightly. You arched into his chest, your nails dragging down his sides. He bucked his hips into yours at your reaction, causing the tip of his length to slip inside your entrance with ease. You gasped, trying to push your hips into his to take more of him in, but he held you firm.

 

When he pulled back, he was met with the beautiful sight of your flushed face, half lidded eyes, and your chest rising and falling quickly with your choppy breaths. "Please Alex, I want it, want you inside." Your plea came off of a whiny exhale, and this ignited something in him. He cursed under his breath, pulling you even closer to him as he leaned down next to your ear. 

 

"Yeh'll be lucky if I can even hold back for yer sake, if ye keep talking like tha'." He muttered.

 

"Don't. I told you already I want you to let loose. I'm not gonna break, Alex. So, ruin me," You whispered, pecking a kiss to his lips. 

 

You heard him whisper to himself, something about how lucky he was as he adjusted himself, before slowly slipping into your heat. You grit your teeth as each inch entered. It did sting, and even when you felt full, he still hadn't bottomed out yet. Finally, when he was fully seated in you, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. He stretched you out so good, and he hadn't even started moving yet. You reached a hand up, petting his hair as you waited for a moment to adjust to his massive size. Alexander gave you the most lovestruck look - There you were, beneath him, filled to the brim with his cock, taking it so well. Your hair was splayed out in a halo on the pillows, and he thought to himself that he must have been blessed, angel that you were.

 

Finally, you bucked your hips against his, signaling for him to move. He slowly pulled out, leaving only the head in, before thrusting back into your heat with earnest. You gasped at the sensation, the drag of his cock against your tight walls sending delicious waves of pleasure rolling throughout your entire body. Alexander sucked in a sharp breath, both at your noise and at the feeling of you. He spread your legs further apart, before setting a harsh pace, following your earlier instructions to ruin you. You were quickly turned into a moaning mess as his cock drove deeper into you with each meeting of your hips, rubbing up against your sweet spot and kissing your cervix. 

 

One of his hands left your hip in favor of giving attention to your clit, and your moans got even louder as jolts of electricity shot through you. "Alex-!" You cried, digging your nails into his shoulders. This only spurred him on, causing him to curse and drive himself into you even harder. You pushed your hips against his, causing him to slip in even deeper than before, causing a whimper to slip from your lips.

 

Alex looked down at where the both of you connected, watching his cock disappear into you with each thrust. You also looked down, but instead your eyes were locked onto your belly - You could see his length appear there, and this only served to add to the liquid fire coursing through your veins. "You keep doing that, you're gonna end up getting me knocked up-" You chuckled, but that was quickly replaced with a whine as his hips stuttered momentarily, but turned into him grabbing your legs, folding and pressing them upwards against your chest, so he could hit even deeper inside of you. You had no more quips; every sound that came from your mouth had devolved into incomprehensible praises and lewd noises.

 

He leaned down, so his mouth could be level with your ear. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and thick with desire. 

 

"Yeh'd look so fuckin' beau'iful, with yer belly plump with my child. Make such a lovely little wife, just fer me. Maybe I'll give ye one, yeah? I'll stuff ye so full of my seed, there's no way ye won' end up with one." He groaned, just envisioning the sight of sweet little you, with child. A family of his own, with you, his beloved. 

 

Just the thought of that made your gut stir in the best way. You released a breathy moan, your walls squeezing even tighter around his cock, and he smiled at you. "Ye like that idea too? Raising our child? Yeh'll be such a good mother, and an amazin' wife. All fer me." He captured your lips, this time the kiss being less hungrier than before, rather with more passionate fervor, and love. You reciprocated, doing the best you could to cup his cheek with your hand while your body rocked back and forth with the intensity of each roll of his hips against yours.

 

You really did love this man... The idea of having a family with him sounded like your own personal slice of heaven. 

 

Your high was building up quickly, a combination of the ideas he put in your head, and the white hot pleasure that every harsh thrust sent rolling through you. Your mind was fuzzy, at a loss for words. 'I love you's and his name tumbled repeatedly from you, your poor head not being able to conjure up many other things to say. Alexander's pace was becoming inconsistent, a mix of deep and shallow thrusts, signaling his end was also fast approaching. 

 

"A-Alex, I'm close-!" You whined, your nails scratching down his back. You were on the edge, so ready to tumble over. "Cum fer me, my love." He grunted, his voice strained as he took in that beautiful fucked out look on your face. He did that, he was the one to make you feel so blindingly good.

 

Your high hit you like a freight train, and you all but screamed as burning hot pleasure ripped through you. Your walls clamped down hard on his cock, and your release spilling over him is what caused him to reach his end. You felt his warmth flood you, making you feel so very full. 

 

Alexander was bracing himself on his arms overtop of you, hovering there in favor of falling on top of you. The both of you were panting hard, trying to catch up. Finally he pulled out of you, almost reluctantly. A final whine slipped from you as he dragged against your overstimulated walls. He watched his cum leak out of you, the sight of you being filled so full with him almost lighting him up again. He reached down, pushing a finger into you to keep the rest from leaking out. You were flustered once your mind finally caught up to where you were and what had just happened. Alex leaned in, pressing one last slow kiss to your lips. When he leaned back, he was smiling at you sheepishly. 

 

Damn, talk about a 180. He looked so embarassed after basically trying to get you pregnant.

 

...

WAITTHATWASSOMETHINGTHATHAPPENED.

 

Memories of all he'd just said flooded back to you, and you covered your face with your hands out of newfound shyness. He wanted you to be his wife? And to raise a kid with you??

 

And you didn't even dislike the idea.

 

When you uncovered your face, you were looking at very confused, but cute Alexander.

 

"Alex, sweetie. You really want to raise a kid, with me?" 

 

A genuine smile spread across your face as you watched a pretty shade of pink spread across his, all the way up to the tips of his ears. Adorable.

 

He covered part of his face with one hand, trying to hide his now flustered self as what exactly he said came back to him. "Lord, I didn' mean to say tha' out loud-" He mumbled, his voice muffled slightly by his hand. "But you diiiid," You teased. " 'I'll stuff you so full of my seed, there's no way ya won't end up with one'~" You mimicked a scottish accent, though it was pretty shoddy. He made a sound that was a cross between a laugh at your attempt at his accent, and a small noise of embarrassment. 

 

You sat up, crawling towards him as you took his hand in yours, moving it away from his face. "Hey, look at me." Alex met your gaze, almost taken aback by the sheer amount of love you looked at him with. "I'm not opposed to the idea..." You said, sheepishly. "As long as it's with you. Especially the idea of being your wife." Your tone dipped to something soft, genuine, loving. He smiled at you, so full of happiness as he pulled you into his embrace. "I love ye so much, sweetheart. How did I ever get blessed with an angel like yeh?" He murmured against your skin, littering it with small kisses. 

 

You hummed a laugh, leaning up to reach his forehead as best you could, planting a kiss on it. "I love you too, you big softie."

[rom-e-o]

I've always wondered how Connie and Scrooge (modern or otherwise) would react to my Percival and Thorne, considering how different they are as characters and the whole 'Marley is NOT dead to begin with and is also Scrooge's husband' thing.

Here's Percival's notes from my Google docs:

Born to Zachariah Winthrop Scrooge and Kathleen Quill Scrooge, conceived in a drunken tryst gone wrong, Ebenezer is the co-CEO of his and Jacob’s multinational, multi-billion pound tech conglomerate, Asplex Industries. Known as the Shark of London in the world of business, Ebenezer is renowned for his cunning and ruthlessness, tied only with his terrifyingly true ability in the art of inventing high-quality technological innovations, closer to the realm of madness.

And here's Thorne's:

Born to Gene Thorne and Lilith Knight under the name Alexander Thorne, and adopted by Abel and Lenore Marley at ten-years-old, Jacob is the co-CEO of his and Ebenezer’s multinational, multi-billion pound tech conglomerate, Asplex Industries. Known as the Snake of London, Jacob is known for his charismatic nature and silver tongue, able to predict market trends with incredible ease and convincing subsidiaries to sign with them by speaking only the truth.

I don't really touch upon it too much on the fic, though I will get back to rewriting it I SWEAR, but Percival ends up getting back on good terms with Belle and her husband Richard (Dick Wilkins) who were childhood friends of both him and Thorne.

And we also know how Percival ALMOST fucked up his relationship with Thorne (*cough* Percival didn't think they were married because it wasn't legal in England before 2015 but Thorne did and Thorne thought Percival didn't love him and that this was all transactional *cough)

They get therapy don't worry

Honestly I feel like Connie and Scrooge would see Percival and Thorne very differently, and Connie herself would feel some level of kinship with Thorne thanks to her experiences with Orin.

But honestly those are just some of my thoughts ngl- ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ooooh, this is such a fun question! There would be some interest, for certain.

My Scrooge and Connie’s personalities from their modern to classic renditions don’t vary too much in disposition (aside from their speech patterns, the presence of different amenities, etc.) so I feel both sets would react similarly in both timelines, but differently from each other, haha.

My version of Scrooge tends to lean a bit introverted, is a slight (intense) perfectionist, and can be a little shy and skittish. Some might even call him nervous, but only in his personal life, because romance is so new to him again, and it’s been a long time since he’s wanted anyone in his life. He doesn’t want to mess anything up. Professionally, he’s always charming, well-spoken, and a true gentleman. Handsome, too. An Adonis, which is his nickname, haha.

I think he’d see Percival and Thorne, firstly, with intrigue. His business partner is still alive, and they’re … together? When I started “Begin Again” I decided to make it vague if Scrooge and Marley were business partners or more, and to what degree. Their relationship is left extremely vague. After Isabel, he really had ONLY Marley as companionship. So, a version of him and Marley being a couple is not a concept that completely blindsides him. I hc him and Connie as both bi/pan (especially because Scroogey has so many lovers and OCs that love him across universes - it just feels right.)

I think he’d ask how he was still alive, and if there really was something he could have done to save his partner (in the classic verse or modern verse.)

Finding out about the car accident and aftermath would remind him of his own redemption, and I think he’d find comfort in knowing that he was given a second chance across many timelines. And seeing him reconnect with Belle and Dick, something he has yet to do in the modern verse but has in the classical one (I am in the same boat of needing to get back to writing fics, including this one, so I feel you lmao) would give him reassure.

“I must say, our backgrounds of ruthlessness are…similar. Your resilience is inspiring."

As for Thorne, I think he'd want to learn more about him and kind of compare him to the Marley he knows. How similar are they? He's got the same charisma, that's for certain.

The funny thing? My Scrooge LOVES sparkling water, and Thorne finds it refreshing, as we’ve learned from their dinner date. For some reason, I see him feeling victorious.

A: Haha, finally, someone else who understands that is a perfectly lovely beverage. Please continue to give your husband grief.

C: Darling! You shouldn’t inspire a married couple to fight. Especially you and Marley.

A: Normally, I wouldn’t, but like you said, it’s a version of me from another universe. Fair game, my dear. Trust me, we’ve all earned our fair share of teasing. 😌

Speaking of Connie, she’s never met Marley, but she’s heard stories upon stories. To meet him from another would would be like meeting a celebrity!

I think she would find kinship with Thorne, exactly like you said, because of what she faced with Orin. Also, he provides Percival with love and companionship, and they become a couple and family.

She adores Ebenezer, so to know that he found love in that universe with another, let along one he has such a storied past with, brings her happiness.

"I'm glad he's loved in your universe too." <3

Also, Connie finds out about the boxing, and begs to be taught, haha. She only know pilates, and promises to be a good student. "I have an ex-husband I may need to punch one day. Can you give me some pointers?"

I feel like I just barely scratched the surface, but I think there is a lot of fun stuff these four could get up to, haha.

I totally feel you about fic writing, haha. It's always worth the wait when you publish (the characterization, the banter, the imagery ... top-tier across the board), so please don't worry about taking those beats to make sure you love it! I will be SO READY to keep reading those updates!

[football-and-fanfics]

Sick - Trent Alexander-Arnold & Dominik Szoboszlai

Who: Trent Alexander-Arnold, Dominik Szoboszlai Request: puhleaeaease write a sickfic with Dom and TAA?! 😍🤩 I love these two & their weird bromance thingy 😁 ur the best! Requested by: anonymous Warnings: mentions of being sick

The sixth day of Liverpool's two week training camp in Austria was about to start. The team gathered in their hotel's restaurant for breakfast, but there was one very significant absentee.

"Wheres Trent?" Dominik was the first to notice the Scouser's unusual absence. Since he had been named vice-captain, Trent always was among the first to arrive for any team activity. But now he was nowhere to be seen, while even the most notorious latecomers were already present.

Andy, sitting at the same table as Dominik, looked around. "Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him yet." "That’s not like him at all." Dominik shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat. An uneasy feeling was creeping up on him somehow. He had absolutely no reason to, but there was a gut-feeling not to trust this situation.

As if their conversation had been overheard, Virgil suddenly appeared behind Andy, holding up his phone and looking equally worried. "Have any of you seen Trent today?" The Dutchman asked, sounding serious. "No one’s seen him yet, and he’s not answering his phone either." "That’s it." Dominik threw his napkin onto the table and resolutely got to his feet. "I’m checking his room. I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

With Virgil and Andy close behind him, Dominik hurried up to the floor of Trent’s room. "Trent!" Dominik pounded his fist on the door. "Trent, if you’re there, open up!" Dominik shared a concerned look with Andy and Virgil as he listened for sounds from inside the room. He was just about to slam his fist into the door some more, when he heard the weakest voice from inside.

"On my way… no need to kick the door down…"

The hotel room door finally opened up to a completely dark room. Trent stood in the door opening, clearly still in his nightwear, and looking absolutely miserable. "Are you okay?" Dominik immediately asked, although Trent swaying visibly on his feet should already answer his question. "Sick…" Trent’s voice sounded uncharacteristically lifeless and raspy.

Dominik was glad they had located Trent, but the state in which they found him was definitely cause for concern. "Can I come in?" Dominik asked. "Sure." Trent shrugged minutely, already turning around to go back to bed.

Before he stepped in, Dominik shared another look with Andy and Virgil. Given Trent’s current condition he didn’t think it wise for all three of them to go in. His two teammates understood wordlessly. "We’ll go inform the gaffer," Andy said, before he and Virgil left.

Dominik silently closed the door behind him. "Can I turn on a light?" "Yes." Came a muffled reply. Dominik switched on a small light. He found Trent lying on his front on the bed, looking very much out of it. "What’s wrong?" He sat himself down on the edge of the bed, looking down at his vice-captain’s sweat-covered shoulders. "Just… sick," Trent mumbled, "my head’s killing me, and I’m pretty sure I’m running a fever." Dominik shortly held the back of his hand to Trent’s neck, feeling the heat radiating off the skin. "You are most definitely running a fever."

Dominik strode over to the bathroom to run a wash cloth under the cold tap, which he then gently placed across Trent’s neck. Trent groaned a soft word of thanks in reply.

"I’m going to get you some aspirin," Dominik announced, "and maybe it’s best if I stay here today, too." The fact that Trent did not protest to that in any way, was all the confirmation Dominik needed to indeed watch over his friend all day.

---

For most of the day, Dominik sat in the sitting area of the room, reading a book or watching something on his phone, while Trent slept. Occasionally Dominik would check up on his friend, but could only conclude that Trent was sound asleep.

Halfway through the afternoon came the first signs of life from Trent again. He groaned softly a few times, before slowly rolling himself onto his back. He still felt rather feverish, but at least his headache was a lot less. A slight movement to the left side of the room made him look, and he found Dominik sitting there.

"You really did stay." Trent’s voice sounded somewhat raspy from not being used for a while. Dominik startled slightly, but he quickly recollected himself. "Of course I did." Trent propped himself up on his elbows. "You didn’t have to do that." "You didn’t see yourself this morning." Dominik chuckled wryly. "No way we were going to leave you alone, mate." Trent frowned. "We?" "Yeah, the whole team’s been worried about you." Dominik answered, "but, more importantly, are you feeling any better?" "A little," Trent mumbled, "I’m not rid of it yet, though."

Dominik slowly rose to his feet, walking the few paces that separated him and Trent. "May I?" He asked. Trent nodded, even though he didn’t know what his teammate was asking permission for. Without any further advance notice, Dominik held the back of his hand against Trent’s neck, just like he had done that morning. "You feel less warm," Dominik concluded, "but still a bit feverish I imagine." "Yeah." Trent lay back again.

Dominik watched as Trent made himself comfortable again, ready to sleep off the rest of the flu or whatever this was. "Are you staying?" Trent mumbled. "Would you want me to?" Dominik asked. There was a short moment of silence before Trent answered. "If you don’t mind."

Dominik chuckled softly and sat back in the armchair he had occupied for most of the day so far. "Don’t worry, I’ll be staying right here."

Tags: @stonesyyyy, @footballffbarbiex, @football1921, @laurasstufff1, @ella33

Request an imagine | Add me to the tags list Trent Alexander-Arnold masterlist | General masterlist

[alexanderlightweight]

Hiiiiiiii, (tries to look at you with the biggest puppy eyes) is there a chance for more in the cider verse? What happens post wedding? Relationship reveal with a bang? The terrible trio crashing and burning? „Surprise, the cup is safe!“? #wednesdayprompt

Cider verse tho I don’t have a name for the sequel yet!

Haha not much happens just yet. Magnus and Alec are waiting for the right time and Alec finding out his siblings stole his stele and committed treason is not great for those honeymoon vibes.

Alec needs to figure out how much damage he has to salvage before he blows up the ground under him and everywhere else

Hehe the cup is a problem ^_^ but it’s not Alec’s problem (not yet at least)

I hope you enjoy

💜 lumine

—

Alec wants nothing more than to bask in the glory of a warm afternoon sun and the gorgeous, relaxed body of his husband.

Alec can’t help his grin, the way he moves closer so he can press his lips adoringly against Magnus' chest.

Magnus grumbles, a sleepy protest at Alec’s stubble against his bare skin and Alec just nuzzles closer still.

Magnus arms come up, solid and strong and keeping Alec close in a way that has Alec aching to shut away the world for just a little longer.

Despite the fact that he knows he can’t, he shuts his eyes and tries to let sleep steal him back under.

“Alexander—“ he hears what feels like an instant and a lifetime later, all at once. Alec shakes his head, a stubborn refusal as he inhales the scent of Magnus and his shampoo and them.

It’s addicting and Alec whines, shaking his head when Magnus insistently pets his back.

“The world will not wait for us, darling.” Magnus reminds him gently, “we’ve stolen away all that we can risk already, Alexander.”

Alec knows that.

He does.

But he selfishly loathes the thought of once again, fighting for every chance to see Magnus. And not only that, but fighting a war on all sides when it comes to his siblings, parents and the clave.

“I can’t be kept from you.” Magnus reminds him gently — the strength of his grip giving away his own concerns.

Alec knows that.

It’s why they did what they did.

Magnus and he are tied together in every possible way that can protect them.

Knowing all of that doesn’t make it any easier though.

—

When Alec had made the choices he did, he hadn’t realized his siblings would be stupid enough to commit outright treason.

The sheer gall of it has him pacing the deck as he pulls every active-duty shadowhunter in his Institute and puts them on alert.

Alec had barely given himself and Magnus thirty hours to just be with each other, and now he finds himself forming teams to search.

As he’d already reported the theft of his stele to Lydia, Alec can’t be incriminated. He’d purposefully taken himself out of the equation for Lydia to take charge for a few days and while it’s kept him from trouble, he’s in no position to help his siblings.

It means that Alec has to be cold, nearly voiceless as the power he gave to Lydia to be used against his parents is now used against Jace and Izzy.

Alec still isn’t sure exactly what anyone was thinking throughout the entire debacle — Lydia ordering Meliorn interrogated is a step far beyond the power he allowed her — but regardless, it’s happened.

Alec can’t even deal with the fallout just yet, not when he needs to let Lydia see this through.

“I did warn you to secure them and to not act overly hasty.” Alec hears Mirai murmur to Lydia, his second is less than impressed with the clave’s envoy and he doesn’t blame her. Alec and Mirai had finally been making progress and Lydia… well Alec’s not sure her purpose or plans but they no longer mesh with his own.

“I couldn’t risk that he had information we needed.” Lydia replies and then she winces when Mirai gives her a dark look.

“It wasn’t your risk to take, Branwell. But it is your mess to clean up. Alec extended a hand of trust, to both the clave and you through his actions. His trust was poorly received.”

Mirai isn’t wrong, and Alec is relieved to find his professional trust not completely betrayed. That she is watching his back without knowing he can hear her is a boon and one Alec needs.

Especially after his parabatai and sister who committed treason — Alec is refusing to think about Max’s role — it was under the clave’s watch that it happened.

After all, the last thing Alec needs is a charge of treason on the night he married the love of his life.

—

Magnus: darling… not to play devils advocate for your siblings but he is one of my favorite uncles and you need a distraction. Did you not do something similarly risky and Ill-advised recently?

Alec: babe the difference is I didn’t get caught. It would be one thing if they ONLY got caught. But they didn’t just get caught. They announced that they were breaking the rules loudly and happily and almost gave the cup to Valentine while also letting him know exactly where it is… allegedly

Magnus: true, you’re much careful with your attempts at sedition

Alec grumbling as he gets ready for bed: they’re not attempts if they’re successful

[loosesodamarble]

Welcome to the Black Bird Part 2: Alexander the Bodyguard

Summary: Introducing Sukehiro as Alexander, the strong and stalwart bodyguard butler of the Black Bird. Genre: general Word count: ~800 A/N: I commissioned the art of Yami from @cringeyvanillamilk.

..........

“We just don’t think you can bring what our business is looking for.”

“There aren’t any open positions, sorry.”

“Sorry, kid, given your record, we’ve decided against hiring you.”

Sukehiro threw his phone onto his bed before flopping down on the mattress.

What was the fucking point of applying to every job he could find only to get turned down by every place? He was starting to believe that there wasn’t a point. He’d be stuck going nowhere. He’d spend the last of his savings on renting out a shithole apartment and once he was out, he’d be on the streets.

He’d probably wind up dead in a ditch soon after.

Because no one would bother caring for someone like him.

And then one day, when Sukehiro was walking to the convenience store for some cheap shopping, he ran into a man.

Short blond hair. Dark purple eyes that seemed wise beyond their years. The oddest name Sukehiro had ever heard, Julius Novachrono.

“The moving crew I hired is a little overwhelmed by how much I have,” he explained with an awkward laugh. “Would you mind lending a hand? It’s just at the apartment building next door. I’ll even pay in cash if you’d like.”

The money was a hundred dollars an hour at minimum. Of course Sukehiro took the chance.

And one chance encounter was all it took…

…..

“My lady, I humbly offer my arm to you so that you may walk without fear of falling on your way to your table,” Sukehiro said as he slightly bowed from his waist.

“No need today, Alexander,” replied Charlotte Roselei, one of the regulars at the Black Bird. She was also a regular to Sukehiro’s butler persona, asking for him whenever he was available.

“I shall still guide you, and I will take care to watch for anything that might endanger you.”

Charlotte laughed softly then replied, “Fine by me.”

On the way to the table, Sukehiro made a bit of a show of himself. He put his arm out, stopping fellow waiter “Flynn” from crossing in front of Charlotte.

“Watch your step, Flynn. You could’ve bumped into my mistress and done her harm,” Sukehiro said sternly, glaring into his coworker’s eyes.

“Flynn” clicked his tongue and replied, “You gotta be a real loser to be so protective.”

Sukehiro scoffed. In the corner of his eye, he saw Charlotte pass by, and so he put his arm down and let “Flynn” by. He hurried back to Charlotte’s side, guiding her. No words were exchanged, not until Charlotte was seated and had the menu in hand.

“I don’t find it lame at all,” she muttered.

“Hm? Whatever do you mean, my lady?” Sukehiro asked, already knowing but feeling the need to entertain a brief conversation.

“Being protective of others, whether it be as intimate as family or casually for a customer, is noble in my opinion. Although…” She turned the page of the menu and stared at the entree selection. “I feel like your effort is wasted on someone like me. Since well…” Charlotte lifted her arm and flexed, showing the lean muscle of her bicep.

Against his better judgment, Sukehiro chuckled. “I would only consider it wasted effort if you didn’t appreciate it.”

…..

Shielded Sea Fry. One of the pricier dishes on the specialty menu, but only because it so heavily relied on seafood.

Sukehiro grew up in a coastal town, eating more fish than beef or pork. So of course a dish based on who he was would have to involve seafood. He preferred cracking a crab open and eating it plain but for the sake of the cafe’s aesthetic, he agreed that a crab salad served in a cleaned out shell would suffice. The entree also had seared scallops, a boiled lobster tail, and an acidic seaweed salad to balance the richness of the crustaceans.

The seafood was plated within the shells, reflecting the protective persona that Sukehiro put on for his customers.

Reflecting the shield that Sukehiro had hidden himself behind for years before. Because, back then, no one was going to protect him except himself.

That was then. In the present though, he was at the Black Bird.

Where everything was clean and polished, even himself. Where the customers would admire his physique rather than take his appearance alone as a threat to be mugged. And where he met some weirdos and made some wonderful friends too.

Never did Sukehiro believe he’d end up where he was. But he was there and he didn’t plan on leaving any time soon.

“One Shielded Sea Fry for Table #10!” the head chef yelled.

“Picking it up!” Sukehiro called back.

.....

[herrkalt-m]

bilumiart replied from ( here ) : Well he's a dictator and he's based of that German dictator and Alexander the Great (in season 1 he wrote his name on one of his books). And most dictators of the world had a similar childhood (there's a book about it). And maybe that's why they gave him a similar childhood. that's why I'm not sure if it counts as retconing because A.rktos can lie about himself in his songs to make himself scarier.

maybe , buuuuut i'm a little skeptical given how much the series retcons so much lmao . the first season insinuated that the old boy was always like this back when tyrion was still little , only for that to suddenly change in later seasons . maybe it's just the way the show presents itself , but a.rktos' personal lore drops feel kinda shoe-horned in my opinion .

( i would have just made it that a.rktos was simply collecting tragic backstories to justify his megalomania . that would be hilarious . or tragic . or both . )

regardless -- THIS blog's a.rktos stays true to his original origins . i just feel like it makes him more interesting & it's a fun dichotomy given his eccentric personality . plus , there's something about ancient horrors being bound by the consequences of mortal morality that tickles my fancy more .

[usmsgutterson]

Achilles Heel - Givenson

oooookay!! This is the second chapter of this work. If you missed the first chapter, this chapter probably won't make sense, and if you'd prefer to read it on ao3 here's the link!

fic type - this is, once again, like if hurt/comfort and fluff had a weird child of neutrality

warnings - just like the last chapter--alcoholism and it's adverse effects are discussed (heart attack is mentioned a lot in this one and once is used for a dark humour-y kind of joke, the root cause for it is revealed and specified a bit more, and the seizure is mentioned at least once) tims time in the military is discussed a little, PTSD manifests as an anxiety attack and a bit like a flashback at the same time. Tims childhood trauma is discussed so physical abuse, as well as mental and verbal abuse are mentioned. There are a few mentions of guns in correlation to said trauma and a lot of talk about booze in the general sense.

“Well,” Rachel says as she enters Tims apartment a week later, having gotten in using the spare key he’d surrendered to her seven weeks beforehand. “That explains the kitten formula in your truck.”  

He’s lounging on his couch wearing an old pair of cargo pants and a shirt that he’d gotten when he first joined infantry two and a half decades back—it's one with the military logo on it as well as his unit number from those days. It's one of the only things he got from his military days apart from the PTSD and it's only something he wears when there's just about nothing else, but it's laundry day in the Gutterson manor so he's decided to give himself a pass.

“Found her in the engine of my truck,” Tim says. “After my last appointment with Alexander. Any new leads?”  

“WIth the Boyd case? Nah,” she says, objecting to sit on the floor in the space between Tims couch and his coffee table because Tim has sprawled out over his couch and has the kitten on his chest. “Figured I’d get Raylan’n we’d come and bug you for a while, try to get inside Boyds head a little bit.”  

“There in lies the reason you left the door unlocked,” Tim nods, having noticed she left it unlocked after she came in. “Are Dunlop, Stevens and Marino invited to this meetin’ of ours?”  

“They don’t know Boyd as well as we do,” Rachel shrugs. “What’s the furballs name?”  

“Her name is Roulette,” Tim answers. “Found her in the engine of my truck so I figured it would be funny if I named her after a transformer, and she was almost named Megatron, so I feel like I could’ve done worse.”  

Roulette is a cat of five weeks old who’s got a calico pattern of primarily orange and black with some white on her chin, stomach, and paws. She meows at pretty much all hours of the day and has given Tim’s heart a few jumpstarts since he’d found her in the engine of his truck, as well as having costed him nearly $600 in vet bills across four appointments.  

“You could’ve,” Rachel shrugs again. “She’s cute, for what it’s worth.”  

“Yeah, and she keeps me off the booze,” he says. “You told Raylan the full story yet?”  

“No,” she says. “Figured I’d leave that to you. Has he stopped trying to get details?”  

“Mostly,” Tim shrugs, rapidly opening and closing his fist in lieu of enrichment for Roulette so that he doesn’t have to think about Raylan more than he already has been.  

“You gonna tell him anything, ever?”  

“The way I see it, he doesn’t know right now and he can go on blissful in his ignorance. If I tell him, he’ll just get mad nobody told him when it happened. Act like he woulda been on a plane down here with the drop of that stupid fuckin’ stetson had you or anyone else called.”  

“You don’t think he woulda meant it, had he said it?”  

“Not really, no,” it kind of hurts to admit, but it’s the truth. Tim doubts that Raylan would’ve been at his bedside had Rachel called him, doesn’t even think he’d pick up the damn phone had Rachel gone against Tims wish and called him anyway. “I think that he’d say he would’ve, but I also think that if I looked him in the eye when he spoke, I’d see that he wouldn’t mean it.”  

“You’re only sayin’ that because of that weird little affair you two had goin’ on on and off while he was around,” Rachel says. “I notice things, Tim, and it was damn near impossible not to notice that.”  

Tim smiles, his chest slightly aching. “Careful, Rachel,” he says cautiously. “Don’t need my heart givin’ out at the reminder of that whole mess.” He says it with a clear intent in his head—get Rachel the fuck away from talking about their relationship, even if it means they talk about The Incident again,  

“Don’t make jokes like that,” Rachel says. She grabs one of the stupid decorative magazines Tim keeps on his coffee table for appearances sake and thwacks him over the head with it before she sets it back down and Tim finds himself celebrating it silently. Talking about the attack and the seizure is, for some reason, better than talking about Raylan. “Your heart attack wasn’t funny, neither was seein’ you in the middle of a damn seizure covered in your own fuckin’ vomit. I know you like a bit of dark humour, but—you gotta understand my perspective. You lived, sure, but when I walked into that bathroom, I thought you were gonna die on me. I can’t have that.”  

“I know,” he says, letting his voice take on a gentle tone as Roulette the kitten bites his finger. It’s a tone reserved for Rachel and Roulette alike, something that Raylan Givens has never heard a day in his life. “I’m sorry.”  

Waking up from the heart attack was scary enough—he couldn’t remember much about before he’d passed out apart from the drinking and the chest pain he’d thought nothing of, figuring it was a harmless side effect of the booze. Then he turned his head to the right and saw Rachel and guilt opened it’s gnarly mouth and damn near swallowed him whole.  

He doesn’t think about it much—can't unless he wants to go down a spiral that'll induce a second heart attack—but Rachels perspective of the events of that night were chronicalized so that Tim could try and jog his memory and try as he might, seven weeks gone from the day he woke up in the hospital and he has yet to forget the words she wrote on that piece of paper.  

He remembers the way her hand shook as she wrote in the notepad, remembers the steeled, determined expression on her face, completely and totally determined not to show weakness despite it all.  

“It was terrifying,” Rachel says. “Don’t you ever put me through that again.”  

Roulette the cat curls up on his chest and starts purring up a storm, and Tim reaches out, gives Rachels shoulder a squeeze.  

“You and I have spent the last eleven years since Raylan left saying that the only way we’d ever leave Kentucky was if we were transferred out by force, or we were shufflin’ out the same way we’d shuffle off’a this mortal coil, in a body bag,” Rachel says. “You promised me that once, that you’d stop being reckless.”  

“I didn’t keep that promise,” Tim says. “I know. I’m an ass at my best, Rachel. You know that.”  

“I like that about you, usually,” Rachel shrugs. “I can’t shake it, though. Every time I walk in here I get scared I’m gonna see you in the bathtub again, vomit all over your chin and your heart having gave out. I’m sorry to be a burdensome chief and friend, but I can’t deal with that alone anymore.”  

“You’re not burdensome,” Tim says. “Do you—would it—you need me to tell Raylan, for your sake, don’t you?”  

Rachel smiles. “If you wanna tell him, you can.”  

“If he wants to tell me what?” Rachel and Tim both flinch at the sound of his voice, and the sound of the door closing behind him wakes up Roulette, who protests the sleep disruption by getting on her feet and meowing as loud as her little lungs will let her.  

Tim sits up. Raylan sits across from Rachel, his gorgeous brown eyes piercing Tims in a way that makes the ache in his chest intensify.  

Tim looks at Rachel silently. Please don’t make me tell him.  

Rachel looks back at Tim. I don't think you have another option.

Tim takes a deep breath in, tries to will himself into some version of less irritated.

“You need to do a better job of making your presence known when you’re entering someones goddamn home,” Tim says, tone a bit angrier than he means for it to be. “You--it’s not—you are not allowed to freak out. No yelling, no glaring—if I see your nostrils flare or one hand gesture while you talk at me, you are picking your ass up off my floor and getting the fuck out of my apartment.”  

Roulette settles in Tims lap. Tim takes a breath in, and Raylan nods.  

“Must be serious,” Raylan says. “You have a deal.”  

“Seven weeks ago I had a heart attack,” Tim says. He watches Raylans face contort in shock, then disbelief, then anger all the space of thirty total seconds. “Rachels the one that found me, and if it weren’t for her, I’d probably be dead.”  

“And--what--” Raylans lips form an angry line and he directs the anger at Rachel first. “He had a heart attack and—seven weeks! Seven weeks and neither of you called?”  

Tim immediately takes the defense. “Hey! Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t. If you’re gonna be angry at anyone, be angry at me. Rachel isn’t the one at fault here, and neither of us called because we didn’t see the point. You have a life in Miami, Raylan, forgive me for not calling because you have a kid and a job and a thousand different reasons as to why you wouldn’t’ve been able to drop everything and visit a coworker you haven’t worked with in more than a decade.” By the time Tim finishes, he’s out of breath but he decides it’s worth it.

He can see that his words touch a nerve, too. “You know that’s bullshit,” Raylan says. “I would’ve come running the minute Rachel asked, or the minute you did. You had a heart attack, Tim. That’s not just anything. You could’ve died.”  

“He didn’t,” Rachel says. “Calm your ass down, Raylan. I need you to focus on Boyd right now—he could be headin’ this way and we need at least an outline of a game plan to take to Mariano, Stevens and Dunlop in the morning. You know him best, so you’re at least in charge of ideas.”  

Raylan turns his glare to Tim. "I want details about this, the second you get a chance," he says. "You don't get to tell me you had a heart attack like it's as simple as asking me about the damn weather."

Tims lips form a line. He bites the inside corner of his mouth in silent protest and hates how every single emotion Raylan feels or has ever felt is displayed in his eyes. As he gives a begrudging, mildly aggressive, singular nod, he sees care that goes back a decade and anguish lingering somewhere in Raylans eyes and almost hates him for still caring after so long.  

“Fine,” he says. “Now--let’s do our jobs for an hour or two, why don’t we?”  

Rachel reaches up, scoops Roulette out from Tims lap and tucks her into the space under her chin. “I like that idea,” she intones, looking pointedly at Raylan.  

- 

That night, they do manage to get somewhere and the following day, Tim wakes up feeling refreshed and optimistic.  

Rachel does the mean thing, though. She sends him and Raylan down to Harlan to interrogate witnesses as a few have come forward with having seen Boyd down at what used to be Johnny Crowders bar, before Boyd had him killed across state lines.  

The drive to Harlan starts out silent, but Tim can tell Raylan has things he wants or needs to say, so half an hour in, he breaks the silence of his own volition.  

“All right,” he says, putting his hands up in mock surrender and glancing at Raylan, who’s sitting in the drivers seat. “That’s it—I'm done dealin’ with this. You say what you need to say to me while we’re in this damn car, and when we get to Harlan and have to step out, we get real civil with each other real quick because I spent a decade in the damn military. I can handle silences, Raylan, just as well as I can handle havin’ to sleep on a freezin’ mountain in Afghanistan or sitting in the scorching heat in Iraq, but I can’t handle ‘em when it’s clear you have shit to say and you expect me to listen but you ain’t sayin’ none of it.”  

“Why didn’t you call?” Raylan asks.  

“I didn’t think you’d come if I did,” he answers. “You say that you woulda but—it's like I said last night. You have a job, a kid, and a thousand other things keepin’ you in Miami. I didn’t think you’d come, didn’t wanna risk gettin’ my heart broken again, and didn’t wanna waste your time when I came out the other end just fine.”  

“What triggered it?”  

“Got home at midnight, drank my way through three entire bottles of Jack Daniels, a sixer of beer and an entire bottle of peach wine that my sister had sent along last Christmas,” he answers. “Guessin’ that was too much. My BAC was 0.38.”  

Raylan glances at Tim. Tim returns the gesture and their gazes meet.  

“You should’ve called,” he says. “Knowing you how I do--”  

“How you used to,” Tim cuts. “Knowing me how you used to know me—what? What are you gonna say, Raylan. You best make it believable because if you know me as well as you think you do, you know I’m gonna be able to see right through it if you’re lyin’ to me. Don’t do that.”  

“Knowin’ you how I used to to—the Tim that I knew woulda called in a heartbeat,” Raylan says. “That guy—he knew I’d drop everythin’ to get to him, no matter how far away I was.”  

Tim leans back in his seat, looks at Raylan through a lense more skeptical than he ever thought himself capable.  

“Yeah?” He asks, voice even, tone practically showing off the fact that he’s looking for a fight. “I don’t think you knew the guy I was back then, either. If you think I thought that way for longer than half a second before I came to my senses, you’re as dumb as I was goin’ into the fuckin’ military thinking it’d fix all of my issues instead of load me up with more of ‘em. I was eighteen then, Raylan. I have an excuse. What excuse do you have at 56?”  

It’s a low blow, and Tim knows that. It hurting as much as it does is the intention, and the hurt is, just like all of his other emotions, clearest in Raylans eyes. 

“That’s hardly fair,” Raylan says. “I would’ve--”  

“You keep saying that,” Tim cuts. “You’re saying it like you’re trying to make yourself believe it. I’ve got a decade of military experience under my belt and sixteen years total with the Marshals, Raylan. I pick up on that shit. Half of the sentences you’ve spoken have begun with ‘I would’ve’ like this is some sort of hypothetical. It’s not.”  

Raylan goes to defend himself, but Tim cuts him off again.  

“It’s not a hypothetical. I drank myself into a heart attack, had a seizure amidst that mess, and then when I woke up in the hospital after almost dying with Rachel sitting at my bedside as the one and only person who has consistently stuck by me whether or not I wanted her to, I told her not to call,” he says. “That--that is the reality. I don’t give a damn what you think you would’ve done had I called, whether you’re telling me that you would’ve dropped everything so that you can eventually get to a point where you believe the shit you’re spewin’ or if you actually mean it. I’m done with this conversation, Raylan. I had a heart attack, I didn’t want you there, and that’s that.”  

He’s lying, but at least he acknowledges that with himself.  

He’d told Rachel not to call Raylan and when she could see that Tim wanted him there, she offered to do it anyway. He said no again, insisted that she go home so she didn’t have to deal with the mess he’d made of himself by drinking himself into heart failure. When she refused and pretty much put her foot down, Tim had known he had no choice. He was in bed for the following few days recovering, a big part of him yearning for Raylan more than he’d ever admit to anyone, let alone Raylan himself.  

“Just--let me have this one thing,” Raylan says. “If you’d called, or if you asked Rachel to, what do you think would’ve happened?”  

Tim glares at Raylan for a second but gives in nonetheless. “All right,” he says. “Fine. I’ll play your game, but we’re doing this my way. Had Rachel been the one to call you after the ambulance had carted me off, she’d’ve called you at about quarter to seven in the morning. It’s pretty much obligation to have your ringer on in our line of work, but would you have picked up the phone that early?”  

“Yep,” Raylan says. Tim searches his face and finds he’s telling the truth.  

“All right,” he shrugs. “Would you have, our history with or notwithstanding, called Dan to tell him you wouldn’t be able to make it to work that day and gotten on the earliest flight you could get?”  

“Absolutely,” Raylan says, even nodding that time. If he’s trying to convince Tim, he’s doing too good a job at it. “Without hesitation.” 

“And--would you have stayed for at least a week, if not two, had I asked?”  

“Yeah,” Raylan gets this really sincere look in his eye when he meets Tims gaze again, and Tim swallows thickly. It’s shit like that that got his heart broken a decade past, and he’s not about to let anything like that go down again, especially not when Raylans only in Kentucky because of Boyd and would otherwise be content in avoiding it for the rest of his life. “You done?”  

“Yeah,” he says. “All right—let's play it your way. Ask me your question again.”  

“If you’d called or asked Rachel to do it, what do you think would’ve happened?”  

“Well--the Raylan I knew a decade ago would probably take at least a few minutes to answer the phone especially if he were asleep and even more so if he’d taken the day off,” Tim answers. “I don’t think you woulda picked up and I think Rachel would get tired of dialin’ your number after the fourth time, which is being generous as to her patience as I know it. I think, despite the fact that I’d had a heart attack and wasn’t picked up til about quarter to seven, even if Rachel called, when you missed the call and woke up about two hours later, you’d be in my hospital room for four thirty just like she was.”  

“Four-thirty ain’t bad.”  

“I had a heart attack and was carried away at almost seven. Had Rachel called when the ambulance came and you failed to call her back until about nine then you didn’t get into Kentucky til 4:30, it’s still bullshit. Gate to gate, Miami to Lexington is two and a half hours. What exactly coulda been more important than flyin’ in to see me that leads you to wait about four hours to catch a plane?”  

“Callin’ Dan, first off,”  

“Takes fifteen, tops. Provided you don’t shower, you can do it while you get dressed.”  

“Then Winona--”  

“That is another fifteen minutes,” Tim says. “Half an hour if it’s your week with Willa. Adding in that time, ten to two o’clock is still three hours.”  

“You’re being pedantic,” Raylan says, exasperated.  

“You used to love that about me,” Tim says, and he knows it’s the truth. Raylan had said it a few times back in the day and it's because of how odd it was that the compliment had stuck with him.

“Didn’t particularly like being your partner for a year and a half, then two years later being the rebound to your rebound.”  

“Our--” love affair? Relationship? Those words to describe it feel juvenile because he knows it was more but can’t find the word to describe ir, and partner doesn’t feel right, either. “--Thing had ended eight months before I even so much as thought about Mark like that. Do me a favour and either shut up or avoid making this into something it’s not.” 

“I’m not--” Raylan shrugs. “I just—you shot Colt over it, Tim.”  

“My motivations for shooting someone who was pointin’ a gun at me are absolutely none of your concern,” Tim rebuts. “And--it wasn’t like that.”  

“What was it like, then?”  

“It was—damnit, Raylan,” Tim laughs. He and Raylan began a weird friends-with-benefits type deal around the tail end of his first year in the Marshals service. That lasted all of a year and a half, give or take, and eight months later after they'd stopped, into his fourth year, Mark had called him for something unrelated to the debts he owed from his days of active addiction.  

He and Mark had only really fooled around a bit but in true Tim Gutterson, unwaiveringly loyal to anyone who he thinks deserves it style, he felt something real and true. It was there, and it lingered for far longer than Tim was comfortable with, and when Tim had shown up to the scene where Mark and his dealers body were both dead, that feeling evaporated without choice but simultaneously without incident.  

“How long after you shot him were you on my doorstep, just barely sober enough to make the drive over?”  

“Almost eight months,” Tim grits his teeth.  

“And--what you two had—the grief you felt, it was gone by then?”  

“You and Mark are two different people,” Tim says. “I’ve never spent much time on grief, Raylan, so yeah.”  

“Did the military teach you that?”  

“Bein’ raised in southern Indiana with siblings who ain’t spent a day in their lives worth their salt and parents who are somehow worse taught me that,” Tim rebuts. “I grieved Mark once, now shut up before I shoot you and have to grieve you twice.”  

Raylan, at least, does as Tim asks. He stops talking and the car stays quiet for the rest of the trip down to Harlan.  

- 

Raylan does the nice thing and lets Tim deliver the news, citing a need for coffee and telling him he’d bring one back around for Tims sake because they’ve finally gotten somewhere.  

Tim knocks on Rachels door with a big, stupid smile, and when she lets him come in, her expression remains neutral.  

“You get a lead?” She asks.  

“We did,” Tim nods. “A few, actually. Locals at what used to Johnnys Bar but is now a veterans bar named Kingstons gave us leads that put Boyd near Louisville but comin’ in hot.”  

“You said you had a few,” she says. “Please tell me you got one better than that or that someone elaborated with specifics as to Boyds current whereabouts even though the initial lead already put him in Harlan?”  

Tim sits down in the chair opposite her desk, grin big and wide and stupid—he's gotten himself a victory. It’ll be something positive to bring up with Alexander, who asks him for something positive at the beginning of every single Friday session.  

“Other lead puts Boyd a little more’n four hours outta Harlan,” Tim says. “Holed up in a pay-by-the-hour style motel called Charlies out in an Indiana spot called Crawford. The first lead I gave you was elaborated by someone—that lead says Boyds in Louisville but will be sniffin’ around Lexington in a couple’a days, when it becomes safer to do so, and he’ll only stay around Lexington for half a day before he heads down to Harlan, gets in touch with a few old contacts he used to have and waits it out.”  

“What’s Crowder got to wait for?”  

“More’n a decade gone and he still wants Raylan dead,” Tim shrugs. “Says the good patrons at Kingstons, anyway. Raylan and Ava are his biggest targets and try as he might, he apparently can’t find any leads as to Avas whereabouts. I say we put Nelson, Marino and Stevens on the Crawford lead.”  

“’N you, Raylan and I go check out Louisville? I like that brain of yours even when I know it’s primary objective is avoiding Indiana in it’s entire,” Rachel laughs. “Only took two weeks’n we managed to get somewheres good. Did the Louisville lead get you anywhere else?”  

“A few of his local haunts, all of which are primarily way out in the country,” Tim says. “It’s not a lot, but it’s good. More than we’ve had the last two weeks, at least.”  

Rachel nods. “You’n Raylan managed not to kill each other,” she says. “That’s good too. You two have it out?”  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “We did, kind of.”  

“Kind of?”  

“He said his piece, I said mine,” Tim shrugs. “It’s not—we're not—it's not like it was. No hard feelings or let downs or—well—I fuckin’ hate it when you put me on the spot.”  

“Yeah, you do,” Rachel nods. “But Raylan texted asking me to make sure you don’t leave til he comes back with your coffee, so I’m doin’ it for his sake. You got an appointment with Alexander tonight?”  

“Eight through nine,” Tim says. “Or nine thirty, or ten, depending on how long I need to talk for. Raylans gonna come over once I’m done with it, and we’re going do the thing we would’ve done had the—thing—never happened. We’re gonna catch up for a bit, and the only Corona I’m having tonight is nonalcoholic.”  

“Nonalcoholic booze and pizza from—let me guess—Antonios? You lucky, lucky bastard,” Rachel smiles.  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “How much longer do you think Raylan is going to take?”  

“The VFW is like—it's closer to the office than your apartment is,” Rachel says, tone skeptical. “What is it? Does coffee still make your chest hurt?”  

“Only if I drink it right after a run or right before or right after I’ve eaten,” Tim says. “Or if I drink too much. Just kind of—wantin' to get there, you know? They do have free decaf.”  

Rachel laughs. “What is it, really? Don’t lie to me and tell me you miss Roulette.”  

“Is a guy not allowed to miss the kitten he finds in the engine of his truck?”  

“Who, Roulette?” Raylans voice comes through the room as he enters and Tim jumps.  

“Damn it, Raylan!” He curses. “I had a heart attack seven weeks ago. You are not allowed to do that to me.”  

“Yeah,” Rachel says. “Roulette the kitten.”  

“She’s cute,” Raylan smiles. “Was always more of a dog person, but cats are the self sufficent type so I always debated gettin’ one.” 

“I didn’t pick her,” Tim says. “Found her in the engine of my truck after therapy.”  

Raylan sets down a drink tray and passes them out accordingly, giving Rachel hers first and then passing Tims to him.  

“You said coffee makes your chest hurt—I did decaf,” Raylan says. “Dunno if it’ll make much of a difference, but I figured I’d try anyway.”  

“What would—what would thirty-four year old Tim Gutterson say if he learned that forty-five year old Tim Gutterson couldn’t drink coffee without chest pain?” Rachel asks, tone teasing.  

“He’d make fun of me, no doubt,” Tim shakes his head. “Probably do the smart thing’n assume it wasn’t just age and then lose his shit at me upon learnin’ I drank us into a heart attack at forty-five years old. Then again—that dumbass has still been out of the military less time than he was in it for and he has no fuckin’ clue what’s comin’.”  

Raylan laughs and sits down to Tims right. Tim takes a sip of his coffee and hates how perfect it is. 

“Time check?” Tim asks. Raylan glances at the clock.  

“Quarter to eight,” he says. “We’ve got you for what—five more minutes, if not eight, am I right?”  

“I never went to the VFW while you were kickin’ shit up here through the beginning to the middle of the twenty-fuckin'-tens, how the fuck do you know that?”  

Raylan shrugs, smirking gently. “Guessed,” he says. “Not my fault I got it right.”  

“Bullshit,” Tim sing-songs. “Nope. No way. Did Art call? He knows I’ve been goin’.”  

“You still talk to Art?” Rachel asks. “I mean—more than once or twice very few months?”  

“He calls me every other week,” Tim shrugs. “Found out I was booze free and just about demanded he be my sponsor. I think he’s discovered how boring retirement is in the last decade since his age forced him out of the service, and now he’s projecting that onto me.”  

“You tell him about ‘The Incident’?” Raylan asks.  

“No,” Tim answers. “With how big your goddamned mouth is, I was hopin’ you’d do it.”  

“Whys he think you’re sober, then?”  

“I dunno,” Tim shrugs again. “Haven’t asked and don’t intend to.”  

Rachel laughs. “What’re you gonna do, if Raylan does tell him? Say Raylan assumes your accusation and insult are open season on tellin’ Art everything he knows, and then Art calls you all pissed off?”  

“I’m going to be dodgin’ those calls like Avas managed to dodge the US Marshals service’ locatin’ her for the past eleven goddamned years,” Tim says. “Not for eleven years, though. Eleven days, at most.”  

Rachel laughs a bit more, and Tim checks the clock before getting up in a manner that’s almost too excited.  

“Ah, it would be time,” Rachel says. “You meet Raylan and I back here for seven, all right? Louisville is only an hour and some change away, but we need as much daylight as we can get if we wanna get Boyd before he does some serious damage.”  

Tim smiles, nods, grips his to-go cup of coffee just a tad tighter than usual, and heads out.  

He makes it to the VFW with a minute to spare, is walking through Alexanders open door for eight on the dot.  

“Something positive,” Alexander says in a voice that’s almost singsonging it but not quite there.  

“We got a break in the case we’ve been workin’,” Tim says, closing the door behind him before he plops down onto Alexanders couch. “Two weeks of nothin’ and finally—we got somewhere! I’m so happy right now I could just—I could pour all of the booze in my fridge out like I’ve been meaning to do for seven weeks now.”  

“I really hope you’ll do that once you get home,” Alexander says. “Now for the heavy stuff. You been thinkin’ much about your time in the military in recent?”  

“Not since Wednesday,” Tim smiles, tight lipped, and moves into a laying down position so he can stare at the ceiling because doing that, oddly, always helps. “Bet I’m about to start, though, aren’t I?”  

Alexander gives a hearty laugh. “Monday and Wednesday we focused on your time in the infantry,” he says. “We’re not doing this structured in any particular way and you’ve had a rough few weeks and I thought we’d hit infantry first, child and teenhood trauma second, then rangers trauma last. Today is child and teenhood trauma day, likely much to your chagrin.”  

Tim takes a deep breath in. A full hour spent talking about all the ways in which his father failed him? He can handle that. Totally.  

“Okay,” Tim nods.  

“All right,” Alexander says. “First and foremost, when did you get the idea to take the ASVAB?”  

“I was—it was January of my senior year,” Tim says. “I’d grown up in an awful environment and joinin’ the military seemed like the only way out. I figured I’d take the test, join on the day I hit eighteen and then be set to go from there.”  

“How bad was your life at home?”  

“My father drank almost all the time,” Tim says. “Every single day, unless my grandparents came around.”  

“How did your mother feel about the drinking?”  

“She hated it,” Tim says it earnestly, almost hates admitting that he’d been around his family long enough to make that observation because that—by default, that means the eighteen years he’d spent under their roof were absolute shit instead of just inherently bad or difficult. “She and my old man used to get into fights over it all the time.”  

“Did those fights ever become physical?”  

“No--my father always told my brother and I traditional shit like ‘boys don’t cry’ and ‘don’t ever hit a woman!’,” Tim sighs. “My brother turned out to be worse about the alcohol than my father was, and I turned out gay, so my hitting a woman has become something of very little concern over the years, but that’s besides the point. My father never laid a hand on her; verbal and psychological abuse suited his needs just fine.”  

“And you thought that joining the military was your golden ticket?”  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. He clenches and unclenches his fists, needing something to do to distract his mind, even if that distraction is momentary. “I did. I was seventeen when I took the test, barely more than eighteen when I joined up.”  

He’d joined the week after he’d graduated, four days after his birthday. He could operate a gun and knew the precise mechanisms and tools required for cleaning one before he could legally drink in the very USA that he spent a decade serving.  

“How did your family feel about it?”  

“I left my childhood home the night before I was due in Georgia for basic,” Tim answers. “I’d told my mother—she was scared shitless but she knew there was nothing that’d stop me. My father tried by attempting to barricade me into my bedroom from the outside in, but I just climbed out the window. Neither of them liked it, but they had different reasons.” 

“What are those reasons?”  

“My mother didn’t want me to go because the idea of me dyin' scared her shitless,” Tim laughs. “She didn’t wanna lose me to the military, and no matter how much I reassured her, nothing did the trick.”  

He sits up, slides his hands down his face and plants his elbows on his knees.

“My father hated it because it meant he couldn’t control me anymore, and he didn’t realize that until he saw what little of my life I cared to bring along tucked into a suitcase, the rest of it sold or donated.”  

“Did you ever see your dad again after you left?”  

“He died before I got back from Basic,” Tim shrugs, leans back, tries to force himself to relax even though nothing does the trick. “I wasn’t even there for the funeral.”  

“Do you wish you had been?”  

“Not even a little,” Tim admits, laughing a bit, fighting the anxiety that’s creeping up on him just like it always does when he talks about his childhood or his parents, or those last very tepid few days before he joined the military. “My mother played the grieving widow and my siblings and I grieved in our own ways—Keith took to the very menial amount of booze that my father had left behind, I went to the shooting range everyday until my anger subsided and Lisa poured herself into her degree. My mother inherited the house, I inherited a few of the guns he’d wave around to scare us as kids, my brother claimed his booze collection and my sister claimed the law school textbooks he kept in his study.”  

“All right,” Alexander smiles. “Seems like we’re getting somewhere and we’ve barely been here fifteen minutes! Nice.”  

Tim knows it’s a ploy to get him to relax—he can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way that his teeth are clenched and his jaw is set.  

“Yeah,” Tim nods. “I don’t wanna lose momentum and I’d rather just get this out in the open so I don’t have to think about it—so—next thing.”  

“Tell me more about your families structure,” Alexander says. “As a start.”  

“Lisas the oldest—she's five years older than I am so she’d be fifty by now, if not close to it,” Tim says. “She sends booze at Christmas in a bid to win me over so I give her the house but we don’t talk so I can’t really remember her birthday anymore. Keith is forty-seven.”  

“Do you and Keith talk?”  

“He calls me once every few months,” Tim shrugs. “I should really stop pickin’ up the phone, but—he's my brother, you know?”  

“It can be hard to let go of family ties,” Alexander nods. “How did your siblings feel about you bein’ in the military?”  

“Keith thought it was cool. He joked a few times that I’d be the only one in our family to ever make it out of Indiana. He was right and sometimes I hate him for it a little bit, you know?” Tim says. “If Lisa felt anything, she didn’t show it—the opposite of love is indifference, and sometimes I think that's all she's ever felt."

Alexander laughs a little. Tim, absently, finds that he'd rather shrivel up and die than divulge more of his childhood or teenage years, but he does it anyway for his own sake.

Alexander asks him more about his family, and Tim tells him everything he wants to know, dissociating his way through the process because of how mentally draining it gets.  

He talks about his first ever time seeing a gun—he was seven, his father was pissed, and he was threatening to kill everyone in the kitchen a la murder suicide—and then the first time he ever watched his father get so angry over something he felt the need to scream—he'd been nine, it was because a candle his mother had lit had been left to burn til the wick was put out by being submerged under the wax—and then went on further to talk about the explosive reactions his father had to every academic failing during his middle and high school years, the way that his father used to smile when Tim would flinch and how by the time he was seventeen, he stopped flinching and learned that just staring straight ahead was the best option because eventually, his father would get bored of his torments and either go locate his mother or go to his study.  

When he’s done, it’s 9:30 and he’s drank the coffee Raylan had gotten him in it’s entire. He leaves the VFW with a certain kind of weight in his chest, the kind he’d’ve drank away if he could still drink without fearing one sip would send his heart into overdrive.  

- 

Fourteen hours later, they have a lead at last. Raylan and Tim are cooperating with each other and despite the fact that Raylan, ever one to enjoy the front passengers seat, has been booted to the middle back seat of Tims truck, things are going decently.  

After spending a good three or so hours in Louisville, they have a concrete lead that will place Boyd in or around Harlan come nightfall. He’ll be at Kingstons bar and Rachel has decided to have Tim and Raylan there while she waits posted with Dunlop, Stevens and Marino just down the road from Avas old place, just in case Boyd swings by on the off chance the lead was wrong.  

What used to be known as Johnny Crowders bar among the locals is now Kingstons, a spot not too unlike the VFW: only vets and their guests are permitted entry.  

He and Raylan linger at a table near the back, Tim nursing a nonalcoholic modelo—which, having drank the alcoholic version of the same, he will never understand Rachels preference for Modelo over Corona or just about any other beer on the market—and Raylan is drinking a bourbon.  

They’re in a spot just hidden enough to not be visible from the door but visible if you take a seat at the bar and decide to look around a little bit. Raylan isn’t wearing his hat, thankfully, and Tim is dressed as nondescript as he can be, wearing a pair of black jeans, the same green carhartt he’d decided to wear upon going back to the VFW for therapy, and a black leather jacket because it’s fuckin’ mid-October in Kentucky and therefore, cold.  

He’s deep in thought like he always is whenever he’s surrounded by people who’ve had experiences similar to his own, and Raylan is quick to pick up on that.  

“Relax,” Raylan says, his voice gentle. “I can see the cogs turning in your fried veteran brain.”  

“My brain’s not fried, my heart is,” Tim rebuts. “And--there are no cogs to turn anyway. I’m fine.”  

“Are you?” He’s thinking about his time in the rangers after hearing a few guys his age talk about their time only a table or two away, so he’s not, but he’s not going to tell Raylan that.  

“Yes,” Tim says, albeit a little forcefully. “I’m good. You don’t need to worry about me—I'm asking you not to worry about me.” 

In truth, his mind is on his second tour in Afghanistan and his second-last tour with the military as a whole. He’s somewhere between the glint of the scope on his rifle and laughing with Mark on base, feeling his shoulder touch Marks as he finally eases up enough to be capable of sleeping through the night.  

Raylan shrugs. “You seem jumpy,” he says. Tim picks up the Modelo, takes a sip and fights his grimace. He’s going to finish it no matter how much he dislikes the damn thing—it costed him too much not to drink it entire.  

“I’m not,” Tim denies. He has half a mind to tell Raylan the truth but he doesn’t. Raylans not a vet, he wouldn’t understand, he works in law enforcement. but he’s always lived a civilian lifestyle--or at least these are the excuses Tim uses to justify it. Raylan has spent his entire life a civilian, never gone a decade without it like Tim had done willingly when he thought the military was his only way out of a crappy home and a crappy city in Indiana.  

“Okay,” Raylan says. “Just--talk. You look to me like you’re three seconds away from wanderin’ off on me entirely and I would really rather not have that happen. We’re going to talk about The Incident.”  

“I thought we were done with that,” Tim realises that Raylans doing this because he can sense that something is off, and even as his mind runs through active zones of combat from his days working infantry, he’s grateful for it.  

“I told Art,” Raylan confesses, the words whispered and the guilt evident in his tone.  

“Well,” Tim laughs, grips the Modelo like his life depends on it as he tries to remember what Alexander had told him to do when his trauma was manifesting in the form of brutal flashbacks and anxiety. "I’ll be avoiding his calls for the next several days.”  

“Are you havin’ a panic attack?” Raylan asks, voice calm and even. “It looks to me like you’re havin’ a panic attack.”  

He takes a deep breath in, his mind somehow trapped in three separate places all at once.  

“I dunno,” Tim says. He takes another sip of the Modelo, tries to calm his mind again, only to find it doesn’t work. He takes in another deep breath, and then he feels the rough but still sort of soft skin of Raylans palm against the top of his left hand, and that—it just—fuck.  

It snaps him right back to reality, works better than any deep breathing ever has, and he snaps his hand away despite wanting that contact. Raylan, he decides, does not get to touch him like that. Not given their history coupled with the fact that he'd never have come back to Kentucky if not for a case or the fact that it'd been Rachel who'd asked him back around.

“Okay,” Raylan says. “I told Art about the heart attack.”  

“How’d he react?”  

“He was angry you hadn’t told him,” Raylan says. “He said he’d mention it eventually, but only if you didn’t first and he got sick of waitin’. He was shocked Rachel didn’t call either, but that doesn’t surprise me at all. I suspect she ran the necessary channels by you, and you vetoed everyone except her and maybe Dunlops presence in the—what, three, four days you spent in the hospital recoverin’?”  

Tim takes his lip between his teeth, the sound of Marks laughter and the smell of gunpowder fading just to a point where they’re tolerable.  

“Just Rachel,” he says. “No Dunlop. Just her.”  

“You two have been workin’ together since—well, forever,” Raylan snorts. “And neither of you have transferred out?”  

“Contrary to what you believe, Kentucky is not a universally hated state,” Tim laughs. “I’ve lived here for sixteen years and I like it just as much as I did my first week. Rachel and I have had a running joke since before you came around—only way either of us is leavin’ Kentucky is if we’re transferred out and forced, or if we go at the same time we shuffle off this side of the ground.”  

Raylan laughs in turn, and Tim sighs. It, really, doesn’t feel like Boyd’s gonna come in. Maybe the lead they had had fed them bullshit?  

“Where abouts did you grow up, anyhow?” Raylan asks.  

“Indiana,” Tim shrugs. “Small town about ninety miles outside of Corydon. Smaller than Corydon, too.”  

“How much smaller?”  

“Corydon has more than three thousand people,” Tim says. “My town has barely enough to breakeven with 1000, and that’s on a good day.”  

Raylan snorts, and of course, their conversation somewhat slows. Raylan gets up to piss and Tim heads out to smoke the last cigarette in his pack, sticks close to his truck in the process. He idly checks his phone, sees that Rachels found nothing while waiting at Avas. He reports back that he and Raylan have yet to hit the jackpot, finishes his smoke down to the last puff and puts it out with his foot.  

Instead of going back in, searching for a trashcan, he objects to put the empty cigarette carton back in his truck. He stores it in the center console, figuring he’ll just throw it out once he’s home and the only person who can judge him for smoking at all is himself.  

As soon as he closes the door of his truck, he’s knocked out cold.

[missin-you-already]

10, 11, and 12 ?

Thank you for the ask <33

10. Favorite & least favorite character in Apocalypse?

Favorite? Jill Valentine. I am also a huge Jill fangirl when it comes to the games and love both versions of 3 to death, so not really a surprise there. Sienna Guillory was the perfect choice for her. She kicks ass but also has that moment of emotional vulnerability with Peyton's death. If you've ever listened to the commentary, Sienna goes on about how important that moment was for her character. Love when she walks up to Alice until the barrel of her pistol is pressed into her neck to protect Peyton, zero shits given. The line "Those were some pretty slick moves back there. I'm good, but I'm not that good," is burned into my brain.

And on a vaguely unrelated note, the fact that Alice shields Angie with the fire blanket but lets Jill go flying into a table is really funny to me.

For the sake of not repeating my easy answer to part of the next question, I'll say Major Cain is my least favorite. I do like the added stuff about how he knew One from the novels, and how many characters we see in the security division wouldn't have been hired if not for him, but we don't get that in Apocalypse so he's the most boring villain we get to see Imo.

I would've loved if those characters reacted to Cain's face if they learned that he decided the quarantine efforts were to be abandoned.

11. Favorite & least favorite character in Extinction?

Favorite? K-Mart! That kid is queer-coded as hell. The scene where she gives Alice one of her rainbow bracelets is pretty adorable. Claire says everyone was freaked out by Alice's crazy mind powers, but K-Mart is just waiting in the room for her to wake up like "Hi :D" lol. The part where she cries and hugs Carlos goodbye always gets me too.

Least favorite? Dr. J. Isaacs. I am his number 1 hater, I'm pretty sure. I dislike him more than Alexander Isaacs or his other weird clone with the same name. It feels like he directly put Alice through more pain and bs than either of them. He was also obsessed with her in a way they weren't, going so far as to clone her over a hundred times to try and replicate her, filling a ditch with their dead bodies when they weren't good enough. It wasn't just about the Super Undead and altering how the T-virus affected people, man. And he only went to kill the real Alice when it became apparent he couldn't keep her leashed.

12. Favorite & least favorite character in Afterlife?

Favorite? Luther West. Luther is just a cool dude. Incredibly friend-shaped. Good heart. "Resident superstar".

We're talking about Afterlife here, but I do wanna bring up how I love him being a part of Wesker's strike team in Retribution. Leon and Barry have military/law enforcement backgrounds, Sergei is the tech guy, Tony is probably military or some shit, and Luther is simply a dude who used to play basketball. He's here because he heard his friend Alice is here. Wesker probably picked him because his presence would make her agree quicker.

Least favorite? Bennett Sinclair. He's one of those weasely, pathetic bad guys and I'm generally not crazy about those types of characters. Shocked Wesker didn't kill him or shove him in a tube with the others when he arrived on the Arcadia. He isn't the type to be like "Hm... yes... I need help handling Project Alice, whom I slammed around easily in Tokyo and rendered essentially human after neutralizing her T-virus abilities, and Chris and Claire Redfield, two humans. More specifically, I need the help of this snivelly loser." I mean, Wesker did lose in the end, but he sees himself as too superior to have foreseen an outcome like that, and I don't see what benefit he got out of allowing Bennett to help him. Not having to move from his cool bad guy pose in his chair and lift a gun at Alice himself?