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freshbakedbreadstick · 3 months

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No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Ten/FINALE

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: Every single time you were reminded of Mikey, you fled. But this time… you didn’t.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers for season 1. Beginning flashback includes sexual activity; breast groping/worship, grinding, quickie that doesn’t happen but comes close to, fingering, reader has a vagina and wants to use it. Mentions of grief, angst, strained relationships, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, financial talk.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Besties . . . the finale has arrived . Added a little smut flashback as i wanted to showcase more of Reader and Mikey’s dynamic before they passed . I sweat it is relevant to the plot ! ! 1 ! Anyways im SO psyched for season 3 ! No spoilers though ! As always besties , i hope you all enjoy this last chapter before i continue the next part of the series . Im debating ending it here and not continuing the season 2 series depending on what u all think ! Either way , im happy to make more works (both within and out of this universe) especially now that we have a new season of delicious content . I love u all, have a wonderful day ! (:

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic @eternallyvenus @jackierose902109

Masterlist

Your teeth caught the skin of your bottom lip, gnawing on the already stinging flesh there as your shaky hands rearranged the bouquet of flowers on the dining table for the 9th time that night. Your fingers shook, skimming over the carefully chosen tablecloth to the empty plates that you adjusted and the silverware that you proceeded to reshine.

It was family meal night and you were worried.

From the kitchen, the smell of roasted garlic and fresh braciole wafted throughout the small apartment, invading your senses as you huffed over the decorations and the presentation of the dining table.

A head pokes out of the kitchen and through the doorway into the living room to look at you, a growing teasing smile on their face as they watched you flitter over the supposedly crooked plates.

“Baby, you’re still going at it?”

You whipped your whole body around, wielding the fork you were shining against your chest with wide eyes like a child who got caught with a stolen cookie from the cookie jar.

His laugh echoed in the apartment, filling the air with the rumbling sound and drowning out the noise of the soft jazz coming from the speakers in the kitchen and living room.

“Jesus, put the goddamn towel down!”

Your shock melts away, replaced with a loving annoyance that only Mikey could make you feel and appreciate.

“I swear it was still dirty!”

You turned away, placing the fork carefully down onto its place aside the dinner fork. The fork was then gently nudged to try and match the entire set up perfectly.

Mikey’s voice echoes from the kitchen as you narrowed your eyes, glaring at the fork that just wouldn’t sit straight, “You're gonna go cross eyed fixing everything for the 200th time in a row.”

But you ignored him, opting to lean over the table and continue to hit the fork with the very tip of your finger, nudging it milimeters to the left and then to the right, but not quite getting it to sit right smack in the middle.

Having grown up around the Berzattos, family meal night became a tradition for you too. Once you became an adult and got your own place, the tradition continued. It was a no brainer for you that this tradition will continue to happen once you and Mikey moved into your own place together.

Well today was that day and boy were you so nervous.

In the kitchen, Mikey poured the finished spaghetti into the ceramic tray you excitedly unpacked and showed him earlier that day, the beautiful hand painted designs on the sides showcasing vines that weaved around it. You claimed it was the most perfect tray to serve family dinner spaghetti in, and Mikey couldn’t help but agree.

He always seemed to agree when you had that giddy smile on your face.

He gently brushed a bit of the sauce that found its way onto the rim of the tray with his thumb before bringing it up to his lips, sucking the sauce off of it gently. He hummed, satisfied with the sweet and savory taste of the tomatoes and garlic mashing together with the basil.

With a small sigh, he grabbed the tray and opened the oven, carefully placing it beside all the other food you had prepared together for dinner. He then shut the oven door, humming along with the jazz that played as he left the dishes to keep warm. He then eyed the clock on the wall behind him, seeing that it was about 10 minutes before the guests of the night would arrive.

His large frame stepped away from the kitchen and back to the doorway, listening and watching you bend over the table, growling curses under your breath as the fork refused to straighten out.

Mikey smirked, moving closer with silent footsteps. He approached you as carefully as possible, slowly adjusting himself so that his hands were hovering over your hips, ready to pounce at the right second.

Right as you huffed one last time, Mikey clamped his hands on each side of your hips, gripping them tightly as he pressed his body up against your own. You screeched, body jerking forward with his movement and consequently jerking the table and making all your careful table set ups askew with a loud clang.

“Michael Berzatto!” You yelled, voice shrill.

Mikey just laughed as your body tried to wrestle out of his grip, jerking this way and that. His body was just too strong, overpowering you with his grip as he held you flush against him. He growled playfully under his breath, feeling you inadvertently grind yourself against him.

“Sweetheart, you know what you’re doing?” His voice was deep and gravely as he said this, making you still and blush.

You two were in a honeymoon phase once again now that you got your own place together. The excitement of entering a new phase in your life sent you two in a frenzy of warm, fuzzy emotions… and admittedly hot and shiver inducing emotions too.

Now that you were frozen in place, Mikey took the opportunity to run his hands up and down your body, feeling the soft fabric of what you wore caress your skin as he ran across it.

“You know… I don’t think we have found the time to christen this new table…” he murmured, lips breathing hot breath right by your ear.

You shivered, goosebumps running across your skin in an instant. It really did feel like you two were stupid, emotion riddled teenagers again.

“Baby,” your voice came out whinier than you would’ve liked, making you swallow roughly before continuing, “Everyone will be here in a couple minutes and i gotta fix the table-”

You were interrupted with Mikey’s soft shushes as well as the feeling of his hands wandering under your clothes, touch so gentle it was almost unnoticeable if it weren’t for the feel of your clothes getting wrinkled as he pushed them aside.

“I promise i’ll be quick… please baby…” he whispered, pressing a sweet kiss to your ear after. Your self restraint was already wearing thin, and it didn’t help that his hands moved up to grope your breasts.

His attention was fully on your body now, large, rough hands moving to gently squeeze with your breasts, panting softly as he felt you unconsciously beginning to move your hips against him.

You couldn’t pretend that the feeling of him didn’t do anything to you. In an instant, you desperately wanted him against you, to touch and tease you in all the ways you loved. But even through a hazy mind, you knew that you didn’t exactly have time to spare.

Plus, you weren’t sure you could sit through a dinner with his siblings with the memory of what you did on the table freshly on your mind.

“Mikey!” You stuttered, feeling his calloused fingers graze your nipple, making you jump with the way they came to gently pinch them.

All he could do was laugh at your reaction, hips pinning you against the table.

His hands moved to grip your breasts, warm hands caressing your skin as he gently maneuvered you to bend over the table.

“Please… I'm beggin here babe… just real quick…” he whispered, voice cracking as he spoke.

Shivering, you were just about ready to give in. You could avoid Sugar’s eyes as she places a vase of flowers on the table, you could tune out when Richie inevitably knocked on the wood and said it was a ‘sturdy table’... right?

As you were rationalizing in your head, you missed the way Mikey slid his hands back, leaving you bent over the table. It was the jingle of his belt buckle that brought you back, the metal clang echoing in the room, the soft jazz music long forgotten.

“R-real quick? I don’t know…” you breathed out, heart thumping in your ears as you clenched your thighs together.

You then looked over your shoulder at Mikey. Big mistake.

His pupils were blown wide, making the brown in his eyes look almost black. His eyes were trained on yours, unabashedly staring as he began to pull the zipper to his pants down. He yanked his shirt up a bit, exposing a small peak of the v line of his hips. It was enough to make you gasp and throw all inhibitions out the window.

You didn’t object when one of his hands dipped below his boxers, the other quickly coming to your clothes. As a matter of fact, you actually began to help him, pulling fabric off and away for him.

He chuckled deeply, ripping his eyes off of yours as he watched you spread your legs. He continued to watch as you arched, whining softly as you exposed the uncomfortable hot and wet heat between your legs.

You could feel yourself clench against nothing as his free hand began to slide down the skin of your ass cheek and between your legs, thick fingers gently sliding down to gather the wetness on his fingers. They gently circled your aching clit, rubbing smooth, tight circles around it in a way that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He growled softly, a grin forming on his face as he watched you lower your head on the table, whining and panting as your eyes shifted in and out of focus. You weren’t even sure what you were looking at anymore, focused on the feeling of his fingers gently teasing around your entrance, enjoying the way your body reacted by gushing out a bit and clenching around nothing.

He moved his hand away from his throbbing cock, using both to grip your back hips up after he noticed your knees slowly making you sag before bringing his thumbs down to spread your outer lips, the cool air making you hiss as it hit the warm slickness.

“What a pretty cunt…” he murmured, eyes trained on your most sensitive spot.

You just whined in response, brain fogged with lust.

“Don’t worry baby, i’ll make you cream around my cock real soon…” with that, one of his hands moved away to grab the elastic of his boxers.

But right as he was about to yank it down, the doorbell rang.

The noise made you both freeze, but it was the knocking that made you both scramble.

“Fucking cockblocks,” he grumbled, making you shush him as you quickly stood up and fixed your clothes.

You just about tripped as the blood rushed to your head. You stood up straight way too fast, stumbling for a brief second before regaining your balance.

You turned to Mikey, about to tell him to answer the door when you were greeted by the sight of your large boyfriend with his wet fingers now in his mouth, and a giant tent sticking out from his boxers.

“Jesus Christ Mikey! Go fix yourself up!” you hissed, watching him laugh around his fingers.

“A good chef always has to taste his food!” he said, rushing off to the bathroom right as you grabbed a towel and chucked it at him.

You could barely fix the table and your clothes before the doorbell rang again, more urgently this time. You rushed to the door, tripping over the rug with a heaving chest.

Behind it, you could hear Richie and Natalie bicking about knocking on the door and being patient. You quickly yanked the door open, forcing a smile on your lips.

“Hiiiiiii!!!” your and Sugar’s voice melted together, both of you grinning anxiously at each other over what you were doing just moments before.

Sugar hoped you didn’t hear the steadily growing argument between her and Richie about patience, meanwhile you prayed to every god that existed that none of them could figure out what you were doing seconds prior.

“Oh my gosh your new place looks amazing!” Natalie gushed, moving to hug you and present the vase of gorgeous flowers she had in her arms.

You quickly cleared your throat, “I know, it’s a miracle we were able to secure it before someone else snatched it up.”

“Hi, hi… place is really nice…” Richie said, smiling softly as he hugged you before crossing the threshold to join Natalie.

Carmy was the last to go in, pausing to analyze your with those big blue eyes of his for a second before hugging you.

“Might wanna fix your hair…” he murmured softly, pulling away to go inside.

Dread hit you in an instant. You rushed inside to look in the mirror beside the door, grateful for your choice to place one there. Sure enough, there it stuck out in some places. How the hell it got like that, you didn’t know, but it was close enough to probably look like sex hair.

Mortified, you fixed it before slamming the door shut and turning to the three as they looked around, analyzing the place.

Before you could say anything, Richie rounded the corner with a shit eating grin, “Glad you could all make it to the new place!”

He stared at you as he hugged Sugar, making your eye twitch as you stared at him.

After saying his hellos, he clapped his hands, “Let’s have some dinner at the sturdy new table we got!”

That first family meal night you and Mikey had in your apartment, you had to change your outfit twice. Once because while you were opening the cans of San Marzano tomatoes, you splashed your shirt with the sauce and the second time because Mikey thought it would be cute to spoon feed you a bit of the tiramisu you made for desert, only to drop cocoa all down your front.

The entire a cherished memory, that night. And while before the thought would send you into a sobbing episode, today it actually made you smile.

Probably because while you opened the same cans you were familiar with, you were yanking out wads of cash while you did so.

But you liked to think it was also because you processed some of the grief too.

It was cathartic, gently opening the cans open with the can opener only to dig your fingers in to pull a wad of cellophane covered money out, eyes wide and lips parted as you took in sharp inhales of air.

Tomato sauce was splashed against you in the same way it did on the first family meal night, but this time you didn’t care. You wore that splash proudly as you laughed with everyone, making jokes as you all joined Carmy in opening cans.

Richie stood next to you, gently bringing up a cup of water to your lips and tilting it so you could get a drink as Marcus made a joke about him. You laughed into the cup of water, making it spill a bit as Richie grinned.

Sydney’s voice made you turn to look at her, eyes wide as she stared at you all.

But you couldn't help but stop and stare at the way her eyes locked with Carmy’s, the two of them exchanging a deep both verbal and silent conversation as everyone else got back to work.

A small smile spread across your lips, making your heart wrench as you watched them.

You were washing your hands, grinning with Tina before you moved to grab a paper towel. You had long since shed your messy apron and were going to change in the office. Lucky for you, the unconscious habit of packing an extra pair of clothes incase you dirtied your first pair never died, having been drilled into you by Mikey when he first started working at The Beef.

You swung the office door open, tote bag on your shoulder, as you were greeted by the sight of Carmy, hand raised and about to knock on the door. You jumped a bit, not expecting to see him, but calmed down once again.

“Chef,” he said, quietly.

Nodding you looked at him.

“I uhm… wanted you to do the honors.”

You could only tilt your head to the side as he gently guided you back into the office and to sit in the chair.

The wood of the desk was familiar, the location of many angry note writings, anxious calculations, even quickies. But today, it was the location of something different.

With the paper side of the foil up, your careful hand wrapped around a sharpie and wrote down the words Carmy wanted you to write.

You then watched from the doorway of the kitchen as Carmy marched up to the front windows, carefully sticking the food foil to the window, formally announcing the plan.

He turned to look at you, careful eyes watching you swallow and blink back the wateriness from your eyes. Carefully, his hands moved to your shoulders and guided you to the dining room, where everyone else was excitedly and eagerly serving themselves food.

You were sat next to him, watching as he made a plate, placing down the consciously served food in front of you. When you looked up, you were greeted by the sight of Natalie giving you a knowing look. All you could do was look back down, avoiding another wave of tears.

But you couldn’t.

Yet no one minded.

No one minded as you brought the fork of spaghetti to your mouth, tears rushing out the instant you savored the flavor you longed for. No one minded as you sobbed to yourself, eating faster and faster, the flavor that was uniquely associated with Mikey making your heart pound and your walls break down.

The scent of cigarettes, musky vanilla cologne, and sweat invaded your senses, despite it not being there. But for a split second you closed your eyes and let yourself pretend it was.

You placed your fork back onto your plate, squeezing your eyes shut as you wept. The sound of everyone laughing and talking drowned the fear out, quelling that fleeting feeling that would overwhelm you since the day you found out that Mikey was gone.

But it was the feel of Carmy’s warm, rough hand gently slipping into your own that made you finally open your eyes, to be greeted by the faces of Natalie across from you and Richie down the table with soft smiles.

After ages of fighting it, you let yourself feel it again.

You were home.

#the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #reader #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy the bear #mikey berzatto #mikey berzatto imagine #mikey the bear #natalie berzatto #richie berzatto imagine #richie the bear #richie jerimovich x reader #richie je #richie jerimovich #michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader

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asuyaka · 11 months

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Omg I loved ur dazai x male reader whose rich, could I request something similar but it's Ranp instead? Please ignore this if your requests aren't open or smth 😊😅

★ - 's okay !! 'm reqs are open s' you can req as much as you want!! :3

☆ - Edogawa Ranpo x GN! Reader — can be read as Male reader!!

You were busy working, making small talk with Atsushi from time to time if you were confused about something or you got tired of looking at a white screen and black letters for hours on end.

In truth, you were waiting for the small, very tiny present you got Ranpo for his birthday to arrive. You already did everything in the morning, wake him up with breakfast in bed— pancakes with chocolate chips and a shit ton of syrup— buy him every single thing he wanted at a candy store and take him on a small date to get mochi from a hand-made small business you enjoyed going to as a kid.

Ranpo is busy doing what he always does. Lazying around and eating candy. Though, Kunikida doesn't bother him because Ranpo has 'birthday privileges', whatever that means.

You glance at the time. It should've arrived an hour ago, but you didn't get a notification. Sighing dejectedly, you save the file you were working on and grab your coat.

"Heyyy! Are you going somewhere?" Ranpo yells from his seat. If the overflowing trash can full of snack wrappers says anything, it's that he's run out of food. Already.

"You only think of me as snack supply, don't you?" You roll your eyes in feigning annoyance, letting your boyfriend koala hug your back as you have goodbye to the remaining ADA members.

"Where are we going?" Ranpo asks, adjusting his position so his cheek is pressing against yours, his arms stretched out so his elbows are pressed against your shoulder.

You wave goodbye to Naomi, the soft breeze hitting your skin relaxes you in a way. "You followed me without knowing where I was going?"

Ranpo huffs. "Yeah! I'm not gonna spend my time in that boring office! The director is busy today so I can't annoy him."

Your phone buzzes and you look down at the notification. It's Atsushi, with a picture of a stuffed animal almost twice his size. You groan. Of course it arrived when you left— of course it did.

"Somethin' wrong?" Ranpo asks as he shifts up, pulling your body along with him.

"No, everything is great." You mutter as you stuff your phone back in your pocket.

"Don't you use super deduction on me either." You add, causing Ranpo to groan. "I wanna know what made you so mad! C'monnnn!!! Please?"

"No, Ranpo. It'll ruin it." You walk into the local convenience store and grab a trolley. Sure, you get weird stares but you're used to that. It isn't the regular convenience store you go to, the people who work there are used to you and Ranpo's antics but these people aren't. You two are less than bothered as Ranpo gets three of every snack in the entire store.

The total is pricey, 11,373 yen but it barely makes a dent in your bank account.

Ranpo peppers your cheek with kisses, occasionally asking you if you wanted some to eat. You politely declined. It was his birthday after all, and you wanted him to have anything he wanted.

He always said it was perks of having a rich partner, but you didn't mind. You know he loved you for you, not just your money.

Walking back to the ADA with bags upon bags of snacks in your hands, you hope the snacks are enough to keep Ranpo busy. With a soft smile, you walk past Naomi, ride the elevator up to the offices, and open the door.

"I don't wanna—" Ranpo stops himself when he sees the massive, fucking gigantic stuffed bear that replaces his chair. He jumps off your back, stuffing the last Oreo in his mouth as he examines it.

It's twice his size with a note on the side of it.

Dazai, who's beside you, whines dramatically about when he's going to get a partner who buys weird sappy shit like what you do for Ranpo.

"I love you sososososo much!!" Ranpo runs up and hugs you causing you to stumble a bit. He peppers your cheek with kisses and goes on and on about how he's going to tell his dad—he means the director, he always does when he mentions his father— and how he's going to marry you.

"Ewww, I hate happy couples." Dazai gags and Kunikida makes a fuss about you using Ranpo's birthday privilages to escape work.

You press a kiss on Ranpo's lips, putting his snacks by his stuffed toy with a warm smile.

You truly do love him, great infamous detective or not.

#writin' shit.#ANSWERED LETTERS — 005 #bsd x gn reader #bsd x male reader #edogawa ranpo #ranpo x reader #ranpo x gn reader #ranpo x you #ranpo x male reader #bsd fluff #gn reader #x gn reader #x male reader #male reader #005 #★: forgotten-blues !#bsd #bungou stray dogs

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nico-di-genova · 4 months

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To Be Known, To Be Loved

Summary: Alex is sick, Pato takes care of him. AKA: Palex sickfic

A/N: This originally started as a prompt fill, but then it went off the rails and became its own thing. So the prompt will get filled eventually, but now there is also this. The mortifying ordeal of having to be known to be loved. The horror of having to put your trust in someone in order to let yourself be cared for. Trigger Warning for Emetophobia!

There is vomit on Pato’s shoes, specks of it dotting the toe when he kicks them off at the doorway to his bus. They land on their side, next to Alex’s half-hazardly thrown pair, whose are vomit free because when he’d doubled over behind the truck, after their debrief, it had been Pato who was in the splash zone. He’d just barely managed to step back, and so most of the sick had ended up on the pavement, watery and thin, spreading in a puddle across the cracks in the surface where the weeds had managed to break through. A diet of liquids, that’s what Alex had been operating on apparently, all of it now emptied from his body and left soaking into the track that had delivered him another P4 finish.

How he’d managed to race at all was still beyond Pato. How his entire team had failed to notice the heat roiling off his body, and the glassy-eyed expression he’d worn during the entire debrief meeting was a bigger mystery. Pato had known from the moment he saw the sweat beading on Alex’s forehead, the wince when he tried to talk about the roll bar adjustments they’d made to the car, and his voice came out like it was scraping against rock, physically paining him to speak.

“I’m not sick,” he’d grumbled in annoyance when Pato pressed a hand to his forehead and was met with furnace levels of heat, and then he’d barely made it two steps away from the truck before he lost the little bit of water he’d managed to sip down during the debrief.

Pato had kept a hand on the small of his back, rubbing soothing circles as Alex retched, feeling his body tremble and shake. Thankfully they’d waited inside the truck long enough, Alex insisting he felt fine even though he hadn’t had the energy to pull himself out of where he’d slumped in his chair. There was no one to see him lose the battle with his upset stomach. Pato is sure Alex would have been ten times more mortified if there was anyone else there, he already can’t look at Pato now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, swaying on his feet and leaning against the dining table behind him for support, instead of Pato’s outstretched hand. “About your shoes.”

Pato waves dismissively at the footwear, “Eh, whatever. They weren’t my favorite pair.”

They were, but the vomit can be wiped away, and he doesn’t really care about the cost to replace them if it doesn’t right now. He’s more focused on how Alex is shaking again, all of his energy focused on keeping himself upright, despite the fact that he’s leaning heavily on the table. His skin is pale, other than the red flush on his cheeks, the same flush that had indicated to Pato there was a problem when he first sat down for their meeting. It could have been blamed on the race, the heat of the car, but even as they sat in the airconditioned truck it hadn’t faded. Now it’s impossible to miss.

“Alex-“ he tries, starts to reach out.

“I just- I just need sleep,” Alex waves him off, “’m tired.”

He takes one step away from the table, starting for the bedroom at the back of the bus, before his knees give out. Pato is anticipating it, the way he tips and loses his balance, and so he manages to dart forward quickly enough and steady Alex with one hand on his chest, the other on his hip. He stumbles under Alex’s weight, bangs into the kitchen counter hard enough that he’s sure he’ll be sporting a bruise along his side – he and Alex matching, since Alex took a hit from Ferrucci in turn 3 earlier and has his own budding collection of darkening skin to show for it.

“I got you,” he promises when Alex tries to take another step, finds his knees too weak to do so.

“Fuck.” Alex states in response.

It’s a process to get him stripped out of his clothes and to ease him into bed. Alex on a good day is unwilling to accept help, self-reliant to a fault, but a sick Rossi is a whole other beast. Pato thought the time he’d had to nurse a hungover Alex back to health was bad, when he was hiding under the covers in their hotel room in Mexico because the light hurt his eyes. He rethinks that now. At least then they’d had the crashing waves on the beach and room service to provide some modicum of comfort. And when Pato had traced the bare skin of Alex’s shoulder with his finger, kissing at the back of his sun warmed neck, Alex hadn’t minded the touch – had leaned into it even, because it was a welcome distraction from the pounding of his head.

Now, it’s dark and it’s cold because Alex keeps the bus at an inhuman temperature. When Pato tries to ease Alex out of his hoodie that’s got vomit crusted on the sleeve from where he’d wiped at his mouth, Alex whines and pulls away like the touch hurts him.

“We have to cool you down, babe,” Pato tries, “you’re really warm.”

An understatement, the heat roiling off his skin may as well be visible, coming off of him in waves.

“I’m already cold,” Alex argues, which is another sign everything is wrong. Alex has highjacked Pato’s thermostat, hacked it, so that it can be set to ungodly levels of cold, because he doesn’t like to be warm. He doesn’t like to feel his clothes stick to him with sweat, as the hoodie is so clearly doing, soaked through under the arms and on the back when Alex curls over where he’s sitting on the bed to put his head between his knees and Pato can see the darkened fabric.

Pato reaches for the hem of the hoodie at the small of his back, peels it upward so it’s pooled around his neck. Alex whines again as the cool air hits his skin, but doesn’t pull away, maybe because he’s lost the strength.

“Come on, Alex, work with me here,” Pato pleads.

He manages to work the hoodie over Alex’s head, and then down his arms. It ends up on a puddle at the foot of the bed, along with Alex’s socks and then his race suit. A normal Alex would be peeved by this, make an offhand comment about the laundry basket two feet away from them, nestled beneath the clothes hanging in the closet. A sick Alex doesn’t even seem to notice, just shivers when he’s stripped down to his underwear.

In the lamplight coming from the built-ins along the wall, Pato can see the bruising already forming along Alex’s left side. Splotches of purple along his ribs and down to his thigh. It’s not the worst Pato’s seen on him, minimal and not nearly as dark as it seems in the dim lighting, but it isn’t fun to look at. Not when Alex is breathing so heavily his chest expands with the effort, his ribs visible beneath the bruising.

“You’re going to make yourself dizzy like that,” Pato says, eases him up with a gentle hand on his shoulder so his head isn’t between his knees anymore. Alex goes, lets himself be lifted and then eased back on the bed.

Before leaving this morning, Alex had insisted on making it. Pato, one shoe half-on, already preparing to dart out to the track, had been ready to leave it as it was. Pillows askew, sheets rumpled, and half balled up at the end of the bed. He wasn’t the sort to wake up in the morning and immediately begin to assemble his life, not before he’d gone for a run or had breakfast. Alex, he has learned in the short six month span of their relationship, is the opposite. He wakes up and gathers himself slowly, makes the bed because he hates coming home to an unmade one. If he’d moved slower that morning, tucking the duvet in between the mattress and the box spring with careful movements because his body was beginning to ache with the sickness that had now set in, he was better at hiding it then.

He gets a better look at the bruises once Alex is laying on his back. They’re really not bad, but he can’t help but wonder if Alex had felt like this when he was driving. Eyes watery and body shuddering, hands trembling when he pulls at the duvet he’s tucked in too tightly. He wonders if he’d been alert he maybe might have been able to avoided the contact altogether.

“Here,” he says instead of continuing to think about Alex sick and borderline delirious in his car going 200+ mph, “Let me do it.”

“I’m not useless,” Alex grumbles.

He stalls the man’s fruitless pulling of the duvet with a hand over his. “No. But you’re sick, so let me take care of you. Okay?”

It may be that Alex is foreign with the concept, because he continues to try to pull the blanket free so he can tuck himself under it. Or it may be that the fever has him acting with single minded purpose.

“Rossi.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

Alex stops. He pulls his hand back so Pato can take over, and shivers on the bed until Pato gets him under the blankets. Then he curls onto his side and shakes until Pato crawls under the covers beside him.

“Gonna get you sick,” he mumbles.

Pato shrugs, presses himself along Alex’s back and pulls the man closer to him, letting Alex leech away some of his warmth to maybe help with the chills. He’ll get another blanket for him later, press a cool towel to his forehead and hope it breaks the fever. Right now though he just wants to hold him. He wants to feel the way Alex grabs at his arm when he wraps his arm around him. His hand gripping at Pato’s wrist with a desperate need, like if Pato holds him close enough it will maybe help him feel better.

This morning the roles had been reversed, Pato tucked into Alex’s arms and waking up to find he wished he could stay there. It wasn’t the first time he’d yearned for a place to stay. There was Punta Mita, with the Airbnb he was fond of booking. Texas, where everything was familiar. Indiana even, in the small bits of time he and Alex got to spend there, appreciating the sprawling space of Alex’s house before they had to pack their lives back up into suitcases again. He wonders if maybe this is the travel catching up, the late nights and stress of the championship, all of it building on Alex and taking its toll physically. Or maybe it’s just that he’s caught whatever bug has been floating around the bus lot.

Whatever it is, Pato takes the gamble of catching it. He holds Alex tighter and kisses at the nape of his neck and thinks of Mexico. Sunkissed skin that smelled faintly of aloe-vera and waves crashing on the shore, how Alex had laughed when he was drunk. How his cheeks had flushed pink, not from fever, but from the alcohol. How they’d chased each other along the shoreline, knowing that when they did eventually collide they’d both end up toppling into the water.

How Alex had looked in the moonlight, eyes glinting, shirt soaked through by the waves he’d ended up in first.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay,” he’d warned, seconds before lurching forward and grabbing Pato to pull him into the ocean beside him.

When they’d kissed it had tasted like salt and the Coors Alex had imbibed in heavily at the bar. Pato chased the taste of it, tried to commit it to memory, alongside the feel of Alex’s hand in his hair when he pulled it to tip his head slightly. Their first kiss, messy and uncoordinated and then broken by the waves that crashed against them.

When morning had come Pato had woken to Alex in his arms and sunlight piercing at the headache he was nursing. Alex, who had drank more, had buried his head into the blankets with a groan. The same way he did now. Except now Pato knows the feeling of kissing him sober, knows the feel of Alex’s hand in his hair when he’s not pulling it. He knows Alex likes to make the bed in the morning and will do so even if he’s fighting his own body. Knows he would drive a car in oppressive heat, despite the fever spiking his own temperature.

He knows Alex doesn’t like to be taken care of, but that he’s letting Pato take care of him anyway.

Alex shudders in his arms, and Pato holds him, kisses the nape of his neck and tells him, “I’ve got you.” He finds he means it, fully, finds he can think of home now and it comes in the shape of Alex - familiar, safe, shaking in his arms with a fever he is trying to beat.

“I got you,” he repeats, as Alex presses closer - as he does not pull away.

#ramblings at 2 a.m. and such #meant to write this earlier when it could be cohesive but instead I am going with this #I just think Alex trusting himself to Pato would be a whole thing #(honestly more than this fic goes into)#(this is just the touching upon it)#but point is #Pato knows him intrinsically #scary thought for an introvert who does not wish to be percieved #palex #palex fic #my fic #alexander rossi #pato o'ward #also this is negative research ambiguous sickness #don't expect WebMD over here

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thesupreme316 · 1 year

Note

I’ll never be over with Jungle boy turn on hook

Therefore I’m in need for something, anything with either

- the reader being at ringside/ JB side when he turn ( in shock ex:when Seth turned on the shield and the reader having the same reaction as Dean/Jon did)

- Reader’s backstage reaction plus Anna Jay next to them ( reader could be angry and Anna having to hold them back;Confused( Reader and Anna are tag partners in this one); or no reaction as they felt that this was gonna happen

- Reader joining in on turning on Hook

- Reader taking it to Twitter like how Bowers and Danhausen did(love them for that😌)

- Reader being at the announcer table with Taz and him having to hold them down

- Or (personally my favourite) reader beating the ever loving shit out of Jungle Boy either the same night or the following Wednesday

The reader can be any gender, can be a champion

Much love ❤️

SHIT I DID ALL THE ABOVE AND YALL GONNA READ IT choose your adventure bitchesssss

You Reacting to Jungle Boy Turning on Hook:

Word Count: 1.5K

Supreme Speaks: hiii, i did all the above! I left Y/N gender-neutral and entirely up to the reader's design (i hope). Thank you to @hookerforhook for requesting this ❤️. I did both a heel and face reaction. Please know that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: things that are said about Jack Perry are not true and come from a very deep (AND HURT AND INSULTED) place within me, fake twitter pic, not proofread.

Taglist: @hookerforhook @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom

If you wanna be a heel:

You were backstage with your best friend, Anna Jay (who’s a part of JAS ew)

The two of you were watching Jack’s (Anna’s boyfriend and your other best friend) match against Sanada on the monitor

You were also watching Hook; a person you didn’t have any particular way of feeling towards

Nothing against him, just particularly didn’t care for him (imagine that) or this little partnership they have

At times you would help them out, evening the odds with JAS or other teams; but still no attachment to Hook (despite the media calling you the 3 Amigos)

Over the course of weeks, you knew something was gonna happen…you could just feel it

Jack was getting nastier and more aggressive over the past month

Maybe it was Christian getting under his skin, or the comparisons to Hook, or maybe even the doubtful opinions of the fans

But one thing is for sure, something was bound to happen this week

After Jack lost to Sanada, they were walking back up the ramp when Jack tackled Hook; resulting in the entire arena booing him and gasping

“Holy shit!” Anna exclaimed, not believing what she saw. She looked over at you for a reaction, but you didn’t have one.  Not a single emotion ran through your body.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m not surprised.” You said as Jack stood over Hook’s body. Then, an idea came into your head, making your eyes gleam with mischief. “But I’m gonna do something.” You started to walk away from Anna, towards the stage.

“Y/N! Be careful, and don’t be stupid!” Anna yelled as you went through the curtains.

And as if a switch went off in you, your emotionless face was replaced with a concerned one, making the crowd grow antsy yet sad. You looked at Jack with fear as you went over to “check” on Hook.

You got him up on his feet to the crowd cheering…but then the audience grew with anger as you delivered a roundhouse kick to Hook, knocking him back down again. Looking around the arena, you heard and saw all the negativity that was being thrown at you. You turned around to see Jack with a smile on his face, you two high-fived each other. Both you and Jack raised your hands in victory. As you two walked to the back, Taz was screaming at you and vowing that Hook would get his revenge.

You didn’t care.

It was just business….

nothing personal.

If you wanna be a face (this is much longer my bad):

You were in a tag team with Anna Jay (who was freed from the shackles from JAS)

The two of you held tag team championship gold (either a women’s tag team or a mixed tag team championship; whatever you choose)

On the other hand, you were really good friends with Hook and Jack Perry

Going to the point where JungleHook would team up with you and Anna to take on various teams

For Jack’s match at Forbidden Door against Sanada, Jack invited you and Anna to observe his match while Hook accompanied him

After your title defense earlier that night, you and Anna decided to take that offer

Instead of crowding the ring, you and Anna sat at the commentary table with Taz, Hook’s dad

After the match, you and Anna were gonna go up to Jack to comfort him

Until he attacked Hook, leaving everyone speechless and you with a beyond shocked look on your face (that also became a viral meme in the wrestling community)

Sidenote: like everyone and their momma referenced your picture like that one dude when Undertaker’s streak ended

Even though you were shocked and blindsided, you had to contain Taz, who was begging to punch Jack

“Nah! Nah! Lemme beat his ass! I’ll show him what’s up!” Taz said trying to get out of his seat. You took off your headphones and tried to hold him back. But as you turned around, you saw Jack gloating and making fun of Hook to the audience. Immediately, anger rose within you, making you jump out of your chair and almost over the table to get to Jack. But you were held back by Anna as Jack ran backstage.

Looking at her, something clicked in your mind, “Did you know?” You asked with betrayal and disbelief in your voice. The thought of one of your best friends would keep a secret this hurtful from you made you sick. Anna’s eyes widened as she shook her head.

“No! No! I didn’t know anything! I swear!” Anna said with her eyes pleading for you to believe her. You sighed as you and Taz walked over to Hook, who was making his way to his feet. The four of you went backstage as Hook put ice on his neck and Taz stared daggers into the floor. “Guys, I’m so sorry about that. I honestly didn’t know, and if I did I would have told you.”

You nodded your head, as you know that her words rang true. You just sighed before looking at Hook, who was fuming mad. “What do you wanna do now, Hook?

“I’m gonna kick the living shit out of him.” Hook said before turning to Anna. “I want to apologize to you in advance, cause after I’m done with him, you won’t be able to recognize your little boyfriend.”

Anna shrugged, “He has it coming. I just don’t want this to drive our friendship apart.” She looked at you for reassurance, but you were typing away on your phone. “Y/N?”

“Oh yeah, we’re good. I was tweeting something, but Anna, we’re okay.” You said putting your phone down. Immediately (just like your initial reaction) your tweet went viral as you told Hook that you have an idea. Hook turned to you, motioning for you to continue. You smirked as Taz and Anna both leaned in.

—Time Skip: Wednesday, AEW Dynamite—

Granted, seeing Jack like this was horrible (given the circumstances) but what is worst is this promo he was doing. He was dissing the audience and Hook all in one breath. To you and Anna (who was standing right beside you), it was unnatural, as if he was paid or brainwashed into doing this. Since Sunday, Anna hasn’t talked to Jack like they normally do. She’s still in love with him but is just confused and angry about the fact that she is placed in the center of the feud.

You on the other hand was mad as hell. If your face didn’t show it, your Twitter page sure did. You and Jack had a quick yet heated exchange on Twitter, with your tweets going viral just like your initial reaction.

It was safe to say as of right now it was you had 1 point and Jack also had 1 point.

“I’m still banging the hottest bitch in this place!” Jack said, making the crowd gasp and slightly cheer.

You shrugged your shoulders, quickly glancing at Anna. “I mean-he ain’t wrong.” You said making Anna giggle. “I don’t know why he had to refer to you as bitch.”

“Right! When I get to him, he’s gonna wish that Hook killed him.” Anna said through her teeth. As if it was right on cue, Hook’s theme song hit the arena and Hook quickly shuffled past you and Anna. “It’s go time,” Anna whispered.

Hook ran down the ramp and slid into the ring, right after Jack slipped out of the ring and started to run around the arena through the crowd. Hook was right on his tail, as he was a D1 athlete. They both made their way backstage where you quickly got into position. You told Anna to stay out of the plan as you didn’t want to complicate things for her.

Jack ran backstage and started to knock things down to trip Hook, he turned around to see if it worked (and to no one’s surprise, it did not). When he turned back around to start running again, he was met with your boot as you gave him a bicycle kick out of nowhere. The audience cheered very loudly for you as Jack laid across the concrete. Hook looked at you before he started to stomp his ribs. With no hesitation you joined him, hitting Jack with elbows, forearms, and eventually a steel chair.

You were separated by security briefly before Hook went around and duplexed Jack through the snack table. You delivered the final blow by performing a spinning back kick to Jack’s face before throwing him into the car he was gonna make his getaway in. You slammed the door and gave Hook a fist bomb. The crowd cheered even louder as you two walked out of the frame.

You and Hook started to trend as people really liked you teaming up against Jack. Now, one can only hope that this really doesn’t conflict with your friendship with Anna.

But until that moment comes, the score is…

You- 2

Jack- 1

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew imagine #all elite wrestling imagines #aew hook imagine #aew hook #jungle boy #junglehook #jack perry #hook aew #jungle boy imagine #hook imagine #aew headcanon #aew hook fic

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faerievampling · 6 months

Text

Killing Time

Chapter 8: Draconic Bindings

Word Count: 5k

Total word count: 38k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Spawn Tav

Warning: 18+. Please be mindful for this one and read tags: Dubious consent. Non-Consent (Not between Astarion and Tav). SA. Blood. Graphic Violence. Size difference. PiV. Mind control. Obsessive and Possessive behavior.

Link to Ao3

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

Next Chapter

M.List

All living beings have an intrinsic desire to survive, and this was nonetheless true for the undead, such as yourself. You haven’t a clue what’s happened, only that something with a wet nose and a beating heart is close to you.

You managed to open your eyes despite the heavy haze you had existed in for…well, you couldn’t be sure, but you were absolutely starving, and that alone told you it had been at least a day. You feel drained, heavy, fatigued in a way you hadn’t known since your creation: a feeling you imagined you would only recognize if you could only remember what it felt like to be alive.

The first thing you see is a pink nose, rather dull green eyes (you’re sure this is due to your injury rather than the animal’s beauty) and silky white fur, long and fluffy. A pang of sadness fills your heart and your head, but your survival instincts are much stronger, and you move to reach for the cat – if you can grab it, eat it, that would give you enough energy to move more, and possibly heal faster.

Rolling onto your side, you swing your arm towards the cat: but you’re too slow, and the movement causes a burning sensation to spread throughout your arm. The cat darts away. ‘Pitiful,’ you think before your arm goes slack in front of you: your hands are bare, you realize, and all but a simple silver band remains on your wrist. Looking at your other hand, your heart drops at its bareness: your wedding rings are gone, only an identical band on your wrist remains.

You look down to find your charmed anklet had been replaced, burning even when you wiggled your toes. You close your eyes, burying your face into a strange smelling pillow as you weep.

“Only obedient women get fed. You must learn.” A voice comes from behind you’re on your side, having curled into a fetal position in hopes that would help with the pain. You feel something heavy, cool and smooth, dancing across your body. You’re naked, you realize, and what’s grazing you is a large claw, it’s hand scaled red, talons long and black. His hand is huge, covering nearly half your torso.

You can’t really move, especially with him pinning you down, so you merely hiss at him; the man chuckles. His voice is deep, gravelly, fitting for a lord of his size and race.

“You have been like this for days. Thrashing about. Being a bad pet. Attacking anyone who comes near, even a cat. Fighting my fangs and cock away when I take you. Refusing to take my blood.” His face was pressed against yours now, his arms wrapped around you as he drew you in. His thin, reptilian tongue was cold and wet on your cheek, lapping at your tears. Your body burned from the movement, but the man seemed entirely unaffected: you take note that the outside of the silver could be touched without pain; only the inside had been conveniently left untreated.

You knew the Lord Geldon Moth had you, you needn’t be a scholar to figure that one out.

His tongue retreats, and you brace yourself for his devilish voice. “You know, I am a very big fan of yours, Tav Ancunín.” Moth brings his arms underneath you, bringing you into his lap, holding you like a babe. You close your eyes, willing yourself away. He just smelled wrong. “The True Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

”You are smaller than I imagined,” His voice was low, and you felt the flicker of his long tongue on your breast, teasing your nipple. Settling you on his lap, you can’t help but focus on that distant heartbeat, the one still thumping about somewhere in the room. You’re so hungry, and the pain is really getting to you. You open your eyes involuntarily, using all your might to try to squirm from this lord’s grasp.

Moth grabs your chin, thrusting your head to him. For the first time, you make eye contact with him, studying the image of his face with such ferocity that you knew you’d never forget it: he was handsome, that much was true. He was angled in the right places, his red scales glittering in the candlelight. His iris was red, as all vampires and many Dragonborn have; but the space around his eyes was black, reminding you of the empty void inside of you.

His pale, long digits slip the large diamond ring onto your finger. It paired beautifully with the wedding band and the two other gem-embedded rings, all of which had been among the wedding gifts Astarion got you. You look up at him, meeting his gaze –

“Do not fight. You are far too weak. Obey and I will relieve you of your pain, my dove,” The two of you held eye contact until you ceased your thrashing. You were too exhausted, hungry…mostly hungry. You try to avoid the thoughts of your husband’s face flashing in your mind.

Moth’s hand moved from your jaw down to your breasts, his large hand swallowing them as he touched you: it was somewhere between a caress and a grope, a strange movement for a man so large.

“All you must do is bite me. I know how hungry you are, little one,” Moth cooed, his words making you feel dirty. “You will not heal correctly if you continue to refuse to feed, because the silver will remain until you do.”

You have a distinct feeling that you shouldn’t bite him. He smelled wrong, the blood in his veins dead, incomparable to that of your living darling. You were also quite unsure what would happen if you did: you had squared yourself with the fact that Astarion was gone, but you didn’t know what it meant. Was he still your Master? If he wasn’t, then what kind of vampire did that make you? If you bite Lord Moth, a vampire that should be equal or lesser to you, would you be enthralled by him?

Two thousand years and you never quite understood your condition. It simply hadn’t mattered to you before. But now, these thoughts frantically swim about your mind, interrupted and nearly discarded by your hunger pains.

But…you hiss at him, turning your head away, refusing the man with all the defiance you could muster.

Moth scowls at you before slinging you over his shoulder, teleporting the two of you to somewhere dark, wet, and deep in the earth. Despite your dampened senses, you immediately sense the life around you, hearing their heartbeats, their little chatters and the scattering of nails on stone.

Moth slings you down, your skull violently bouncing on the floor at his discard. Your ears ring as blood slowly drips down your forehead, filling your vision with red. Moth bends over to quickly grab a squirming vermin by the tail, dangling it over you.

“If you refuse to obey, Tav, and be mine, then you shall rule the cellars as the Rat-Catcher Queen. A title befitting for one so distinguished as yourself. Think of it as an ode to your old Master.” With that, Moth disappears, and you are alone.

ratcatcherturnedlord.ratcatcherturnedlord.ratcatcherrurnedlord. The words feel like a brand inside your skull, burning and tearing and eating at your mind. You lap up your own blood from your body after all life in the cellar had been extinguished.

You come back to yourself after a while. Your night vision is impeccable, and you can easily find your way around: you can even see your pained reflection in the pools of blood on the floor, your pride preventing you from consuming the spilled crimson. The rat blood had been sufficient enough to clear your mind, but it couldn’t fix your heart – you curl up, putting your head between your knees as you wrap your arms around yourself, wishing for the warm embrace of your husband.

Your husband. Your Master. You loved Astarion with your entire being, and you had since your creation: Astarion held your heart carefully in his palm, and he had ever since he made you his. You felt safe here, comfortable, your affection being met nearly at every point. Astarion generally knew how to keep you happy.

You have to get back to him: you’re a married woman, a day-walking vampire, a fighter, a Sarth, a friend, a leader – you wouldn't let yourself become a slave to one such as Moth. But you knew fighting him would prove fruitless in your condition: your head injury had yet to heal, the silver proving far more detrimental to you than your hunger.

“You’re just going to have to forgive me, Astarion. Because I won’t break my promise to you. I will come back to you. But I will have to break rules to get there.” Your message merely bounces around your vast mind.

You have to get these fucking bands off of you. Silver is out of season, anyway.

****

You don’t know how long you’re in the cellar, your best guess being a few days before Moth comes to fetch you.

“I’ll do it,” Is all you say upon his return. Flashing a shark-like grin at you, Moth gently picks you up, carrying you back to the comforts of the boudoir. You can’t deny the soft sheets and plush mattress that was being provided to you, but there was something about the Moth estate (the little of it you had seen, being a single bedroom and the cellar) that felt unclean. There was a constant stench of blood and death, one you and Astarion worked very hard to absolve in your own home.

The room was kept very dark, often only lit by a few candles: the blood-red drapes were enchanted to prevent any light coming in the room, and the door to the balcony was entirely foreign to you, large and black and menacing. Moth’s tastes were gaudy and ill-fitting. But this had meant that you wouldn’t be seeing the daylight until you were saved, which was starting to feel like a more distant prospect with each growing hour.

No. You wouldn’t allow yourself such negative thoughts.

The Dragonborn bathes you, an action that reminds you far too much of Astarion, and you flinch away at Moth’s every touch. He isn’t gentle, seemingly unsure of how to handle you.

You tentatively look over to him, avoiding eye contact. “I can do this myself…” Your voice nearly wavers. Nearly.

“I want to bathe you. But you slip through my fingers.” His hand, wet and soapy, moved between your legs, between your folds. You gasp, closing your eyes as you feel your core heat up. “So soft. Like velvet.”

You have to steel yourself as your fangs slip beneath cool, scaled skin, tasting the thick, metallic crimson of another undead on your tongue. There were so many things wrong with this: biting another vampire wasn’t particularly appetizing to you, them being dead and all, and you weren’t accustomed to actually biting your prey. And, of course, you weren't sure what would happen after this – only that this felt like the only option.

Once he’s satisfied with your meal, he grabs the back of your hair, breaking you from your sanguine embrace, bringing you into a powerful kiss before removing the bands on both your wrists. It was a spell, one spoken in Draconic, which made the silver disappear into thin air. The skin beneath was burned and torn, and Moth had servants wash and bandage you with care before bringing in a trembling elven male. The bands on your ankles still remained, but you already felt substantially better.

“I discovered many things about you, Tav. Your preferences, your eating habits,” His large hand grabs you by the back of your neck, bringing you to face the man.

“I want you to bite him and drain him until only a sliver of life remains,” Moth drawls on, the bass in his voice making your ears prickle.

“Why? Astarion, why is he doing this? Why aren’t you here? Why haven’t you fucking saved me yet?” You can hear the blood pumping through the veins of the man. His smell – his type, his blood, well, you just need it.

Moth orders you to drink, and you do so, draining the elf of all life, leaving his limp body at your feet without any care for its regard. This was the easy part – you are a predator, and living beings are prey. It was only instinctual for you to enjoy this.

“Is it not lovely, drinking straight from your meal? A delight your old Master deprived you of, little vampire,” Moth mocks as he lays you on your back, his eyes never leaving you as he removes his clothing, exposing his exquisite form, making you swallow. “Your old Master was no good for you. Not good enough for the Hero.”

Moth’s shoulders are wide, his chest and abdomen strong, and the rest of his body was to match. His cock was long, thick, far bigger than any lover you’ve known before; it was fully hard, the color a lighter red than the rest of his body, veiny and intimidating, the tip of it already leaking pre-cum. His eyes were cold, and they bore into you so sharply it made you tremble.

His head moves between your thighs; his tongue is practiced, and you squirm at his touch. You continue to look at him when you take his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, but your mind is elsewhere.

“You are eager,” Moth whispers. “Does the blood of men excite you?”

You strangely find yourself thinking about the last time you had held a masquerade: it had been to promote conservation in Toril, and for that reason, the masks were animal inspired. Astarion had chosen a mask that resembled something of a sleek peacock, even though you hadn’t thought that ever possible, but he pulled it off. You had chosen something more simple: a black wolf (you insisted on it being black, because you had a gorgeous dress to pair it with).

“…a living legend. A wonder of the world. All mine.” The man says, and you realize he must be doing his best to make you orgasm, because the build-up in your lower belly was becoming unbearable. You whimper, causing Moth to chuckle before you release around him, your juices flowing down his shaft.

“It drives me mad to think of all the parts of you I have yet to explore.” To think he would ever have true access to you, to your depths, your mind – you decided you would rather die, and Astarion would just have to come find your soul himself.

“I will make it so you have nowhere else to go, but my arms. You will not belong anywhere but by my side,” He spoke into your ear. You knew where you belonged, and it wasn’t in the arms of a Dragonborn. “I will be your reason to live. And I will make it so that you will never want to live without me. So that it will bring you agony to be without me.”

Don’t think. Don’t feel.

“You know, you clench around me everytime I thrust deeply into you, woman.”

****

You awake from a light slumber with a start as your mind rumbles with energy. A thread, one so singular, connecting you to a man. Immediately, you sense everything you need to know about this new addition: he is a half-elf, only thirty years old, and incredibly scared. His mind is yours, you know, and so is his body – he is awaiting your command, begging you to save him. You can almost feel the sensation of the dirt under his nails as he crawls his way to the surface.

‘Why the hells had he risen so early?’ You think to yourself before you’re interrupted by a sharp pain in your chest. You imagine silver curls covered in dirt, the only part of his body clean being the lines on his face from his trail of tears. You shake the image away.

“Come.” You will your spawn to you, to test the connection in your brain: it was far different than what you and Astarion had, but it was enough to give you hope. And when he meets the sun, and he begins to slowly burn, his senses overwhelm him. He panics, becoming incapacitated in some way, but he’s too frightened to communicate anything with you except: HELP.

You dart out of bed, overcome with a sense of worry for your spawn. You wanted to save him – you had to try. He was yours, and if he could help you, then you were going to use him. But something stops you before you can try: a cold hand on your wrist, pulling you back into bed, back into his large, frigid arms. The fledgling screams for a long time. You listen until it fades to nothing.

The body of your spawn was still on fire, blazing right outside your window, as Moth finally began to stir. You could sense the heat and smell the burning flesh. You were surprised at how long it took for a fresh body to be reduced to ash. You felt a strange sadness at the loss of your spawn, but you knew something that you hadn’t been sure of before: you certainly could create offspring, and the only thing in your way was a little bit of freedom.

Moth opens the balcony door, the key (presumably) being his command. He takes your hand, bringing you outside for the first time since you arrived. The two of you stare at the ash in the courtyard. It was clear Moth had simply dumped your vampire into a shallow grave, clearly an experiment to test the blessings Astarion had bestowed on you.

“He survived far longer than most spawn would,” Moth grumbles.

“He screamed for hours,” Your voice came out hollow; it hardly even sounded like you. Moth leads you back into the boudoir, locking the doors behind him.

“You could have compelled him to stop.” Moth’s face is still as stone. You missed Astarion’s lively reactions, the way he would express himself, the way he would talk with his hands…

You felt Moth’s tongue in your mouth before you could prepare yourself, his teeth hitting your own, fangs cutting into your lip. You opened your mouth further, inviting him in, causing him to moan into your mouth. The Dragonborn liked it when you kissed him back; he liked it even more when your nails dug into his chest as you rode him, drawing blood from his muscular form. He picks you up, lifting you by the thighs as he drills into you before placing you on your knees.

Afterwards, Moth held you in his arms.“Now, tell me about Baldur's Gate. What was the ancient city like? I never did get to visit before it was reduced to rubble.”

You pause, your mind flitting back to the burning spawn, thinking about how horrific it felt to be afraid of something so vital to life as the sun. “I hardly remember.”

“Humor me, woman.” His claws trailed along your arm, making you shiver. You fight the urge to run.

You try to think back, but all you see is Astarion’s pretty face. You feel you’ve willingly disrespected your marriage at every turn, and this starts to well up inside you, starting at your belly, rising to your chest and throat. Everything feels tight, and you feel disgusted in your own body.

“Tav,” His hand reaches the base of your throat, his fingertips slightly squeezing into you, the tip of his nails breaking skin. “You are expected to conversate after I have conquered your body. You will obey.”

You feel his cold tongue on the shell of your ear. You mindfully flush your system of that dread and disgust, because now wasn’t the time to think about that. It would be easy to humor him, if you can get yourself together. You take only a few moments to dial yourself back. “Baldur’s Gate was lively. There were once many people who lived there. I remember…large mechanical beings. Created by children, oddly enough.”

“You speak of Lord Enver Gortash’s Steel Watch. Built not by children, but by a race of small people, a kind that has not been seen in Toril for centuries.”

You didn’t know what the hell he was on about and you didn’t care. “Mm,” you hum in reply as you fall back to that numb state that was far more comfortable than any other.

Moth raises an eyebrow at you. “Your own history does not amuse you, my concubine?”

“I suppose not.”

“I likely have the biggest collection of the history of Baldur’s Gate, specifically on the occurrence of the Netherbrain.”

“A maid once told me I had the largest shoe collection in Toril.” Even Moth’s stone face couldn't conceal his distaste for your retort.

“You are immature. Uncultured,” Bringing your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, he squeezes you, causing you to yelp. “Poorly trained. Unsurprising of Cazador’s brood. But I expected more from a hero.”

You brush his hand off, but he only clutches you further, the meat of your bottom stinging from claws pressed to flesh. You push him away again, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m not the person I once was. It was so long ago I don’t remember the details. When I read the history, or hear a song, or a poem about my own legendary actions, I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. Only my –“ Your voice chokes at the thought, tears pricking your eyes as your mask slips again.

“Continue your words.”

“Only my husband remembers such things.” When the words come out, you know you’ve angered him, and he means to grab you, but you move out of his grasp just as he swings his arm at you. His middle finger, the tip a black pointed claw, catches your cheekbone, drawing across your nose to the other side of your face, creating a thin, red line that fills your vision. You yell, attempting to turn into a bat but only managing to flutter away before returning to your body, harshly dropping to the floor as your hands fly to your face.

You hold back further cries, refusing to make a sound as Moth comes at you again, picking you up by your neck before throwing you back on the bed. He was already between your legs, having grabbed both your wrists with his hand. You were entirely restrained, bleeding, afraid, and you already feared the scar from the incident in the cellar – was this Lord truly so keen on damaging his property?

“You have no husband. You are mine. You shall refer to Astarion Ancunín as your old Master, or I will punish you further.”

“Yes,” Your voice is merely a whisper. It was good enough for Moth, who rubs your slit with the pads of his fingers, which he comments is quite generous of him, before entering you again.

****

You spent your days alone, desperately trying to sleep. But with the Dragonborn next to you, it was impossible. During the nights, Moth would take you at various times, whenever his need arose. You were far stronger now that you hadn’t so much silver and you were fed, but you weren’t nearly in any shape to take him on directly. You had to be smart: at this point, you were biding your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

“You know, I can smell the daylight on your skin. You are warmer to the touch than my other pets,” Moth brought his nose behind your ear, breathing in at the spot behind your earlobe at the base of your skull: you shiver, trying your best not to think about the way your body was reacting.

Now that you were back of sound mind, you knew you had been with Moth for nearly a month, maybe two. The wounds on your body began to heal, earning you a legion of new scars.

“You have been so good to me. So good for me,” Moth says to you as you smooth the dress on your form: he had granted you an allowance of clothing for your presentation to the other concubines. This had been the first time getting a good look at yourself since your capture, and the sight of your newly scarred body made you burst into tears.

The scar that cut across your cheekbones and nose was thin, luckily, but the scar tissue thicker on the bridge of your nose. The skin was shiny, sensitive to the touch, but it was none so bad as the one on your forehead, which required stitches. You couldn’t bear to look too long at the ones on your breasts or your thighs. You could only imagine how ugly Astarion would find you, once you finally got out of here…what if he didn’t want you anymore? Looking at yourself, you couldn’t blame him if he didn’t. You hardly looked like yourself.

You bring your hands to your face, crying in your palms to shield yourself away from this reality. Moth watches you for a beat, his face entirely emotionless, before bringing you into his arms. He takes your wrists with one hand, retching them away from your face as his other hand grabs your jaw, squeezing so hard you think your bones will crack. His cold tongue slithers on your cheeks, his breath smelling

of death, the trail of his saliva cooling on your flesh.

“Being marked by me, my greatest lover, only makes you far more beautiful. Had I known you when I was alive, I would have chosen you to hold and birth my seed,” He grumbles before bringing you into a deep, tongue entangling kiss. Giving in, the lord wipes your tears away as he licks the pad of your lips.

‘What an odd thing for a vampire to say,’ You think before bracing yourself. Meeting the other concubines was a very good sign, a semblance that more freedom was coming your way.

Just hold on.

****

Astarion had to stop this, this utter abuse of his own body: several times a day, he would steal away from wherever he was to lose himself in a memory of his wife while he fists his cock, rubbing himself until he feels any sort of bliss, losing himself to you.

The longer you are gone, the more this continues. Astarion can’t even conceive of doing anything different: he didn’t want anyone to touch his body except for you. But you weren’t here, and the delicate skin of his cock felt nearly raw, but he healed so quickly it didn’t matter. He hardly rested anymore, his schedule being so wild that he often found himself up all day and all night.

Lae’zel saw Astarion losing it. Despite her frustrations and her anger with him, she tried to comfort her old friend, but he couldn’t take it; rather, he was inconsolable.

“I can’t stop imagining what she’s doing, Lae’zel. Sometimes I think I feel her, her pain, her…pleasure,” The word came out of Astarion’s mouth like a curse, vile and rude. “I don’t even know if I’m imagining it or not.”

“I have no doubts she’s making her way back to you. I don’t think she would so easily forget about you for a stranger who kidnapped her.”

Astarion feels his barriers coming down, and it pisses him off. He felt weak, the very walls he had built up for so long with the outside world, everyone except you, were beginning to falter. That old guilt – that one he felt from the very beginning, about all the seduction, the sacrifice, you, everything wrong he had ever done to his one beloved…

“It makes me want to...die.” Astarion almost meant this. But he would find a way to bring you back to him before that ever happened – Lae’zel knew this too, thinking Astarion dramatic.

“Astarion,” Lae’zel says, tentatively reaching out to touch the shoulder of the man you loved so much. He didn’t move away, and Lae’zel made no further motions: she knew this was as close as she would ever get (as she would ever want to get, because to be honest, Astarion had given her the creeps ever since he had performed the Black Mass) to the Ascendant.

“I haven’t always been a good husband. I’ve taken from her, time and time again, to feed my own desires.”

Lae’zel didn’t really need Astarion to tell her this. She figured this would be the case, long ago. But he’s already said too much, his aura changing entirely in just a split second. Lae’zel takes her hand off of Astarion’s shoulder, taking several steps back. “I need to be alone,” He mutters, and Lae’zel doesn’t hesitate in leaving Astarion’s office.

In the span of a few weeks, Astarion had grown his spawn army to nearly fifty. His three remaining spawn bring him a victim each night if they can, and Astarion simply bites them after putting them under a sleep spell. Then, the spawn bury the victim. The next evening, they rise as a vampire, and would be immediately compelled to do the bidding of their new Master.

****

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7.

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evenhisfacewasanalias · 14 days

Text

Because the Night (Part 5)

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

Guildford recognizes at once that his bride-to-be isn’t suffering from any kind of Affliction, other than that of an arranged marriage. If the sickeningly sweet smell of the fake blood doesn’t give it away, the quick peek at her audience after she’s supposedly fainted is obvious enough. He shakes his head where she can see it. Neither one of them is getting out of this. He supposes it’s easier for him to stomach, however - what’s one more curse on his existence?

A My Lady Jane vampire AU inspired by Edward Bluemel being an absolute darling in A Discovery of Witches.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Chapter 5. Because the night belongs to lovers

Jane wakes at first light to a warm throbbing in her arm. She peels back the bandages, but her wounds don’t look much worse than they had the night before - a little bruised and tender, perhaps a bit swollen, but no troubling signs of necrosis or infection. She’ll want to replace her bandages and add a bit more salve to cover the wounds, and probably take something for the pain. But she can’t bring herself to get out of bed just yet. This is in part due to the fatigue she still feels from last night’s events and the subsequent need for her body to heal.

But the other factor is Guildford, pressed as he is along the entire length of her back with his arm a band of steel around her midsection. He’s not quite asleep, but he’s not entirely awake either - she can feel his slow, shallow breath against her neck. He’s apparently been in the same position for quite a while, because he’s almost warm against her - as a heavy blanket would be, if not another living being. It actually feels quite nice, and she’s reluctant to interrupt both his rest and her enjoyment just so her arm can feel a tiny bit better. It’s not so pressing that she can’t wait a few more hours, until the sun is well and truly risen. She allows herself to fall back into a half-slumber, snuggling deeper into Guildford’s embrace.

****

It’s several hours before she wakes for good, to the feel of Guildford practically nuzzling her neck. His nose is bumping into her nape, and trailing along the side of her throat, and she can feel the deep inhales he’s taking.

“Can you still smell something wrong with my blood?”

“No,” he whispers against her neck, lips brushing against her nape and sending little shivers down her spine.

“Would I taste better, now?”

Jane can feel him tensing around her. “Please don’t ask me that.”

She turns to face him, only to find him looking a little dazed, and very pale. The strange luminescence of his eyes now seems dimmer than she recalls.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” She asks, trying to remember herself when he had even last left her side. “Was it before we came to Hampton Court?”

He doesn’t contradict her. “I’ve gone much longer without than a few days.”

“Yes, but not when you’re staying up all day and night looking after me,” she reminds him.

“I can’t exactly go hunting here without leaving us both exposed.”

Her ascension to the throne has put them in danger in more ways than one, and she can’t quite meet his eyes at the reminder that it’s her fault they are thus imperiled.

“-And unfortunately everything that makes it to the kitchens is already dead,” he continues, heading off her next suggestion before she can even make it. He has already told her of the dangers of drinking the blood of the dead.

Which really just leaves one obvious solution. “Maybe I could…”

“No.” His voice is quiet, but firm.

“You didn’t even hear my idea!”

“No.”

She feels like a petulant child as she argues with him. “What if I wanted to?”

“You don’t.”

His tone brooks no argument, and yet she still opens her lips to try. Seeing this, he thrusts off the covers and tries to exit the bed. Jane sees the effort it takes him to get himself up and forces him back down, ceasing their discussion and getting out of the bed herself.

He refuses to stay put and rest unless she promises to stay within the room. She agrees to work as much as she can from the nearby desk, if he’ll allow her to draw the curtains around him and get some actual sleep. He’s apparently more tired than even she realizes, because he barely puts up a fight.

****

Jane manages to keep her promise - for a little while, at least. She sets back to work deciphering more of the hidden code within the prison ledger, hoping to find out more about whatever Seymour - and Mary, by association - are up to. She’s fairly certain the adder was Mary’s doing, so she needs all the leverage she can get.

Her suspicions about last night’s attempt on her life are quickly confirmed when Lord Seymour just happens to drop by to check on her. She barely manages to have time to hide her notes before he’s barging in, asking some inane question about the coronation that surely could have been passed on to one of her attendants. Even Charles watches the exchange with bewilderment at its complete insignificance. Until Seymour arrives at the real point of this visit.

“If I may say - you’re looking quite pale, Your Highness.”

How had neither her cousin nor her uncle ever noticed what a sniveling little weasel Seymour was? Though she supposed the entirety of the Court was cut from the exact same cloth - even her father-in-law was certainly not exempted from this judgment.

She’s glad her bandaged arm is fully covered by her robe.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself about, Lord Seymour. It’s merely women’s troubles.”

She has always found a reference to menstruation to be the quickest way to shut down any unwanted conversation with a man.

Seymour, however, just looks puzzled.

“You mean like how women can’t do maths?”

“Like my menses, you imbecile.”

She can hear Charles’ snort of laughter from the doorway, and quickly dismisses her Lord Chancellor, already more than a little fed up with this conversation.

She makes a mental note to promote Charles - possibly to Lord Chancellor himself - when he asks Lord Seymour if he can do maths on his way out. The question is met with a grunt in response, which answers the question quite to her satisfaction. Jane shares a conspiratorial smile with her valet de chambre as he shuts her doors once more.

Jane continues to be on her best behavior for several such hours of decryption, remaining ever watchful over Guildford’s sleeping form still tucked behind the velvet curtains of their bed.

The arrow that whizzes through her window disrupts any chance for a quiet afternoon of rest and recovery. Jane moves quickly out of sight of the window, but no more arrows follow. The single arrow that came through had missed her by a long shot, and pierced neatly into the side of a cabinet of the far wall. It takes only a moment to spot the scroll tied to its shaft with a red string.

It’s a message from Susannah - her friend had said she could find a way to get a note to her. But she hadn’t expected her attempts to bring her so close to the castle. Jane feels a tinge of guilt that she hadn’t given much thought to her best friend these past couple days since coming to Hampton Court - or how they might continue their communication. At least Susannah seems to have been clever enough to work out the means of it.

The note asks Jane to meet her at the edge of the gardens - a safe enough spot normally, for all her familiarity with her and Edward’s former play grounds. She looks back over at the bed, considering whether it would be better to let Guildford continue sleeping - he had apparently been sleeping deeply enough that he had missed Seymour’s visit, and the arrow - or to wake him so they could go to meet Susannah together. The decision is made when she recalls just how pale Guildford had looked that morning, how very tired he had seemed for days now. If she lets him sleep now, it would be all the better to ensure both of their continued safety. And the gardens are not so far, nor so perilous a journey. She’ll be back soon enough.

Jane spots Susannah easily, tucked away in the spot that she and Edward would occasionally use to hide from their dancing tutor - dance being neither of their favorite subjects. She nearly runs to embrace her friend until she sees the expression on her face.

“What is the meaning of this, Jane? The Kingsland guards have burned our camps - they did in the name of Queen Jane.”

Jane can’t imagine a worse way for her friend to find out about her change in status, but she is stuck on the fact that she made no such order.

“Susannah, I never…”

“Demelde was almost killed!”

Jane has no idea who Demelde is, but she thinks back to the woman she saw with Susannah in the forest.

“Demelde is your…?”

Susannah collects herself a bit at the question, answering in a softer tone, “she’s my everything.”

“Susannah, I’m so sorry about Demelde - about everything,” she takes her friends hands in her own. “That was not under my orders, you have to know that I would never.”

“I do know,” he friend admits. “But Janey, what are you going to do about this? The Guard has never been this bold, this cruel before - even with Henry on the throne. There’s several in our Court wanting to seek revenge on the palace.”

“There’s a vampire court?”

Susannah nearly rolls her eyes. “Of course there is - did you think we were just out there living like wild beasts? We have our leaders, and those who mete out justice, same as you do. It’s the only reason I didn’t immediately kill Garrick and his comrades for going after you.”

It’s a lot for Jane to take in - she hadn’t really considered the organization of vampires as a whole. The idea that they have their own courts, their own justice system, parallel to their human counterparts. Something was beginning to take shape in her mind, but right now, her primary focus was on ensuring her friend’s continued safety - as well as that of her…lover? Wife? She was Susannah’s, and that was all that mattered to Jane. The others too - she had no reason to believe they deserved this.

“I’m going to fix this, Susannah. I need to talk to my own court first, and take back control of the guard - but then how will I get word back to you?”

“Here is fine, if you’re sending word out today. There’s a small hollow on the outer western wall in the future that’s easy enough to reach. But what do you plan to do?”

“What I should have done when they named me Queen.”

****

Several dozen eyes are staring back at her.

“I’m recalling the Kingsland guard to the castle, and I’m ending the trial by fire for all those suspected of or charged with vampirism,” she states plainly to the gathered Council, and more directly to Lord Seymour.

“Your Highness, I must humbly request that you rethink this rather rash - “

“My mind is made up. You will have the entirety of your men stationed back at the castle by this evening, or they will be dismissed from their service. And from now on, all persons suspected of criminal doings will receive a fair trial.”

Jane sweeps away from the room in the full satisfaction of finally having done something right with her new authority. She’s certain her orders have actually reached their intended targets when within the hour Mary rushes towards her in a fit of rage.

“How dare you recall the Guard! The vampire scourge must be swept from the land in a cleansing fire!”

Thankfully she is not alone this time, surrounded as she is by Lord Dudley and several other of her councilors - all of them hashing out the specifics of what might constitute a ‘fair trial’. But still she can see where Mary’s hands are itching to wring her throat, though her words fall short of the definition of treason, and Lord Seymour is quick to aid her in softening them.

It gives her an idea though - a very dangerous, and likely very stupid idea. But this might be the best way to kill two birds with one stone.

She turns to Lord Dudley at Mary’s exit. “Her weakness is her hatred for them.”

****

Jane returns to the gardens with a note to Susannah, and to Archer himself, with the details of the start of her plan, not quite wanting to risk leaving the castle gates without Guildford at her side. She hopes that Susannah isn’t taking any additional risks herself.

But the woman herself is still right where she had left her, apparently more anxious for news than Jane had expected. She allows her friend to read both letters.

“This invitation is just the beginning, I promise you. And I want both you and Demelde there, so I can meet her properly.”

This time, her friend is the one to embrace her, with a happy promise to formally introduce them. It’s then that Jane remembers another promise she’s been neglecting.

“Susannah, I need to ask you something,” she hesitates for a moment, before remembering Guildford’s bloodless face and burned skin. “Is there any cure for it?”

“For being a vampire? Or for being a…”

“The vampire thing!” Jane hastens to clarify, though her friend doesn’t look particularly happy at either question.

“You want to cure me?”

“Not you.”

Understanding dawns on Susannah’s face. She shakes her head solemnly.

“We’ve been around for a very long time, Jane. Your husband isn’t the first one to hate what he is. But in all my years - and Demelde’s been around much longer than I have, Archer won’t even tell us his age, but he’s old, perhaps even older than England herself - I’ve never heard of anyone surviving the promise of a cure. There’s only this, or a second death.”

Jane’s heart drops at her friend’s words.

Guildford had nearly killed himself in the search for a cure, what would happen if he lost all hope?

****

Jane promised herself she would tell Guildford what she had learned as soon as he is strong enough to bear the news. Even though she isn’t entirely sure when that might be.

It certainly won’t be this day, when she’s seen him nearly half dead already with the way he’s been burning the candle at both ends. She hopes he’s still in their bedchamber, getting some much needed sleep. No small amount of guilt fills her at leaving him alone for so long, and she hastens back to their room. She highly doubts he would approve of her solitary perambulations, or her half-cocked schemes. But she was doing this to protect her husband as well.

She finds her mother, of all people, waiting for her outside her door - face pale, but her expression stony. It was the face her mother made when she was prepared to deliver bad news - it was the same face she had worn when she told Jane of her father’s passing. Her heart nearly stops.

“Guildford - is he…?”

But Jane doesn’t even stop to hear her mother speak, pushing past her into the bedchamber, racing to their bed. She nearly tears off the curtains in her haste, but Guildford is still there - just as she had left him. No sign of injury or any hint his rest has even been disrupted. Just the unnatural stillness of his sleeping form.

Jane realizes what her mother has seen.

Lady Frances Grey stands behind her now, lips parted as if to deliver what to her mind are words of comfort - but her mother has never been the nurturing kind. Jane considers lying to her mother, or trying to convince her she hasn’t seen what she clearly has. But it wasn’t from her father that she had inherited her wits. No, the only option was to make sure this revelation is contained. She quickly closes the drapes around the bed, and drags her mother to the furthest side of the room.

“Mother - have you told anyone else what has happened?”

“Of course not, I only just found him. And I wanted to make sure that - “

The rest is left unsaid.

“That I hadn’t killed him myself? You really think I’m capable of that?”

Her mother’s answer is true to form. “I think you will recall that not too long ago you were willing to steal from your own mother, run away from all you hold near and dear, and fake an Affliction, just to avoid marrying this man. Is it such a crime for me to want to try and protect you from the poisoned tongues of the court?”

It was of course typical for Frances to turn this situation towards herself.

She crosses her arms. “Well you needn’t have bothered, Guildford is perfectly fine.”

“I may not be a doctor, Jane, but your husband doesn’t have a pulse. He’s quite clearly…”

Jane winces as she sees the gears turning in her mother’s mind.

Her response is immediate and sharp. “Right then - we will be sending Lord Dudley back to the dungeons where he belongs, and I will find a way to get you out of this marriage. I did not go through all of the trouble of making you Queen just for some scheming, son of a traitor -”

She cuts off her mother’s tirade, “I will not be ending the marriage, and Lord Dudley will stay out of the dungeons, as he is my only ally on the Council.”

“Surely you must be joking, Jane. You can’t stay married to that…thing! I forbid it!”

“That thing is my husband, and he has done more to protect me than you ever have!”

“Is that what you think? Jane, I did this all for you.”

“No, you did it for you. I had no wish to be Queen, or to be rich, or married, or any of it. But it’s what I am now, and you have no power to make me do anything. You will do nothing to hurt him - I am your Queen, and I forbid it.”

Her mother seems almost cowed by the sudden authority in Jane’s voice, but just as quickly it is gone. Lady Frances looks almost as if she is about to laugh.

“Gods, Jane - do you love him?”

Jane needs her mother to be as far away as possible before she actually does commit a murder. She calls for one of her attendants to escort her back to her own room, unsurprised when her mother tells her this isn’t the end of their conversation, even though it very clearly is. At least she can count on her mother not to breathe a word of what she has seen to anyone - it would spell her own doom, as well as Jane’s and Guildford’s.

She lets out a long breath as soon as the doors close behind her mother, leaving her alone in the room once more - the only other occupant seemingly dead to the world. She presses her hand across her breast, assuring herself that her heart is still beating as normal after the shock of earlier. When she had thought that something had happened to him…

Jane returns to their bed unthinkingly, slipping past the drapes and sinking into the bed beside her husband. It’s nearly pitch black as the thick curtains close behind her, but she can still sense his presence there. She’s overwhelmed by the urge to be close when he awakens.

She considers her mother’s words. Frances had offered Jane a way out of this marriage, as if it were something so simple. Perhaps to Lady Frances, it was. She had always been well-connected, and was even more so now. She was likely not without favors owed by some Archbishop or another. Jane had earlier been somewhat fearful that her mother could block any attempt by herself and Guildford to obtain a writ of divorce - and now she was worried that she could just as easily be granted the same with a well-placed word from Lady Frances. But why did this trouble her so much? Wasn’t this what she had wanted?

Jane knew right away that it wasn’t. That much was made perfectly clear when she refused to even entertain the idea of it. And it wasn’t just that she needed Guildford at her side, to protect one another through all of Mary’s scheming - for all that he had saved her, he equally put her in danger. No - Jane was forced to admit that it was Guildford she needed, just himself. Not anything he could do for her or protect her from, just this. Him lying next to her, understanding her, caring about her when everyone else seemed to want something from her. And yes, he had originally only wanted her to cure him, but how quickly he had put that aside the minute she was the one in need.

She thinks about waking up in his arms this morning, how they could have every morning just like that. And she thinks about that night in the forest, how they had almost…

The memories merge within her thoughts. Waking up within his arms, his lips brushing against the nape of her neck, the hard length of him nestled against her backside. His hands might drift up to her breasts, tease at her nipples through her chemise. And his lips might trail to the side of her throat, blunted human teeth morphing into sharper points. Jane feels her thighs grow damp at the thoughts racing through her mind.

She hears his sharp inhale.

Jane presses her thighs together, suddenly mortified she’s been caught out by her bed partner. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” She can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Your mother’s shouting would have woken the dead.”

“So you heard…”

“Everything, yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think my presence would help any argument with your mother.” An undeniably logical conclusion. “And I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire of your righteous fury.”

Jane reaches out to smack whatever part of Guildford is nearest, which turns out to be his upper arm. It’s like smacking a marble statue.

“I think I’ve made my point.”

She can’t even argue with him without making it further.

The humor fades from his voice. “What are you planning to do?”

“About my mother? She won’t betray your secret, I promise you that.”

“No - about her offer to end our marriage.”

“I thought you heard everything?”

“I heard you fighting with your mother, it doesn’t mean you won’t take her up on it after you’ve had a chance to think about things. It’s what you’ve been wanting this whole time, isn’t it?”

Jane knows this is the moment to tell him how she feels - that she wants to stay in this marriage. That she lo…

But he presses on. “Jane, you won’t be safe from Mary on your own - neither of us will be. I will honor my promise to grant your divorce once this is all over, but we both agreed to look out for one another until then.”

The desperation in his voice is a harsh reminder of her promise to try to help Guildford find a cure - a cure that doesn’t exist. The truth of it weighs heavily in her chest, almost threatening to choke her.

“I’m not leaving,” is all she manages to say.

****

Guildford finds out about Jane’s plans for the coronation sooner than she’d perhaps hoped, but not soon enough to stop her.

He hasn’t let her out of sight since discovering that she had left him sleeping while she met with Susannah and recalled the Kingsland guard - for which she still feels guilty, and this allows him to escort her to the designated spot to receive any new word from Susannah or Archer. He grabs the letter before she can think to stop him.

“You invited vampires to your coronation banquet?” He looks nearly dumbfounded at the idea of it. “What were you thinking? The nobility will be furious.”

As if that wasn’t the entire point. “Mary most of all - I’m almost certain she will attack me again. And this time there will be witnesses.”

Guildford looks pained at her explanation.

“Jane, you know that I normally think you’re brilliant, but I can’t even begin to list the ways in which this plan is a terrible idea. What if she actually kills you?”

It’s something Jane actually has considered, though she’d wager on herself if it came to an actual fight with Mary. The greater difficulty will be getting Guildford on board with this.

“Well it’s too late to stop it now, so I guess you’ll just have to be there to protect me.”

She knows he won’t be able to resist the request.

His sigh of exasperation proves her right. “Will you actually let me?”

She smiles, knowing she’s already won.

“Perhaps, just this once.”

****

Her dress for the coronation is more ornate than even her wedding gown. The fabric of the overdress is golden in hue, woven through with crisscrossing golden threads of even deeper color, and dotted with tiny beads of gold, every aspect of it shimmering in the warm candlelight. An intricate lace collar fans out from the back of her dress, framing her face and upswept hair, which is topped with a heavy tiara of filigreed gold and large pearls, a single droplet pearl dangling down along the line of her part. She waves off her maids’ offer of further jewels to wear at her throat and wrists, the presence of so much opulence already overwhelming her. Jane watches in the mirror as another of her maids slips in to scent her with a perfume of lavender and rose, touching it to the pulsepoint below her ear and between the rise of her breasts peeking above the neckline of the dress. She nearly jumps when the girl dips below her hem to dab the scent at the back of her knees, and, even more boldly, at the insides of her thighs.

Guildford slips into the room just as they are finishing, cueing a silent exit by her attending maids. He is himself clad in rich dark velvet, woven through with golden leaves, his ever present necklaces tucked beneath a high, stiff collar. The ink-dark color of his suit leaves him looking near bloodless but for the warmth of the candlelight.

She turns from observing him in her mirror, her shimmering collar nearly hiding him from view as he approaches. He comes to face her, eyes trailing over her face, the wide expanse of her bared decollete.

“I have something for you.”

He holds up his hands before her, both empty. And then with a quick little flick of his wrist that’s faster than any human’s, two delicately pearled earrings are held within his broad palms.

“They’re lovely.”

“They belonged to my mother.”

“Guildford, I couldn’t…”

He silences her with a cool finger at her lips.

“Before I met you, I may as well have been truly dead.” He threads one of the earrings - with its three small pearl drops - through the lobe of one ear, allowing no room for argument. “I wasn’t even living a half life - there was nothing but darkness, and grief. It was no life at all.” He threads through the other, his fingers trailing along her jawline and pulsepoint, and she leans into the cool touch of his hand. “And now there is you, and once again there is light. There’s…hope.”

Jane’s heart swells at his words, even as her stomach sinks. She knows he’s still hoping for a cure - one that can never be found. But how can she tell him now, when he’s telling her was nearly dead before? And right as he’s expected to appear before the gathered nobility, hiding in plain sight? She turns back towards her vanity, just for a moment to collect herself.

She spots the jeweled box there, and it gives her an idea. It can’t match what Guildford has given to her tonight - in gesture, or in meaning - and it certainly won’t solve her dilemma, but it’s something. She tips back the lid, her fingers quickly finding what she is looking for.

“I have something for you as well. It’s not quite…it’s only one of my own. But it matches your vesture, and it matches…well, me.”

Jane holds up a single pearl earring, with a curved golden leaf connecting the milky pearl on either side to the post and latch. She had noticed the small divot in Guildford’s left earlobe before - clearly pierced at some point, though she had never seen him wear anything there as his father and brother did. But tonight was significant. And she wanted the gathered crowd to see Guildford’s worth, to respect them as a united front.

Guildford takes the earring from her proffered hand, and presses it through his ear with a soft smile. One that is at odds with the small droplet of blood that wells up where the slender post threads through his lobe.

Jane hastens to press her handkerchief to the small wound.

“I had thought your ear was already pierced, I wouldn’t have…”

Guildford silences her again. “It was, when I was alive. It is again now.”

There’s still a faint smile on his face, which is the only thing that keeps Jane from feeling terrible about her choice of gift. Still, she lifts herself to her toes to check the state of his ear, and wipe away the drop of blood that already threatens to stain the pearl a pinkish hue. Guildford bends obediently to this inspection, head dipping to the crook of her neck to inhale there. She knows it’s not her perfume he’s scenting. Her pulse jumps.

“I think we should really talk about…”

He pulls away from her worrying hands.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She huffs at the petulance of his tone. “You can’t just starve yourself for my entire reign—“

“I don’t intend to be like this forever,” he reminds her. “We’ll start working on a cure again as soon as this thing with Mary is settled.”

That heavy weight in her stomach again.

“Guildford, I think I should tell you -” there is no cure. You will always be as you are now. And you will not be unloved.

She doesn’t get a chance to tell him any of these things, as her attendants have returned to lead them to the coronation.

****

The throne room, too, has been transformed into something out of a fairytale. Archways of golden leaves and draped silks fill the space, all taking on a dreamlike glow in the flickering candlelight. The scent of gardenias and savory delights fills the room. A rain of white rose petals falls on her as she and Guildford step through the doors, where they are met with the almost choreographed bows of all the gathered nobility. She signals for them to rise with the gentle lift of her fingers. Though she has done little else in the preceding days than prepare for this moment, she still finds herself overwhelmed by it.

“When do your guests arrive?” Guildford whispers to her as he scans the room.

“Charles will bring them in after I make my address,” she quietly answers.

It is their last moment to speak privately before Jane is swept into conversation with others. It is most of it small talk, giving thanks for her guests’ attendance, complimenting their frocks, pointing out some delicacy they might enjoy. Only with her sisters is she truly delighted by their presence, swept up into giggles and dancing by their own happiness at being here. But she cannot spend the entire evening gossiping with them as she normally would at such events. She won’t even get to observe how Katherine’s flirtation with one of the visiting young nobles turns out. Especially not under the watchful eye of her mother, who shows Jane an even greater disapproval in her demeanor than she has until now. She refuses to speak with Guildford or any of the Dudleys - even Stan, who continues to throw pitiful looks her mother’s way. Jane pretends not to notice the new tension among their family.

Instead, she allows Lord Dudley to introduce her to all of the ‘right’ people - both those that might be sympathetic to her reign, and those that might be more persuadable, whether through promotion or outright bribery. Guildford remains ever supportive at her side, though she doesn’t miss the way he is downing goblets of wine as though they might actually intoxicate him.

Lord Dudley doesn’t seem to notice this however, and introduces them to Lords Norfolk and Scrope. The conversation between them seems to be going well, if stiltedly. Jane is unsurprised when Mary seizes the chance to jump in, derailing talk of the people’s literacy with snide remarks and hints at Jane’s unpopularity with the Kingdom’s subjects - blaming her for the ingoing riots in cheapside, even though they began long before her own reign.

But Jane at least feels she understands her subjects - far better than the hypocritical peacocks she is now surrounded with.

“Perhaps if the Kingsland guard were to provide the people of this Kingdom with actual safety, instead of the threat of the pyre for the simple mistake of appearing too pale, or being out too late at night, they might be troubled by my recalling them to the palace. Consider if we used the taxes that we spend quelling riots to actually benefit the people of this kingdom - providing an education, cleaner streets, the latest in medicine…”

Even the men she had thought might be sympathetic to her only incrementally progressive causes seem to laugh at this, but Mary and Seymour loudest of all. It is no matter. The nobility are here for the week, which is plenty of time to convince them of the worthiness of these causes once Mary is out of her way. Lord Scrope believes in astrology, of all things - how hard can he be to persuade?

Charles provides her with the first bit of good news when he quietly indicates the arrival of her guests. She signals to Lord Dudley to announce her as she ascends the raised dais at the front of the room to stand by her throne.

“Pray silence, for an announcement from your Queen.”

The room actually falls silent for once, as Jane stands stiffly to look out over the many friendly and unfriendly faces crowded there. She can spot Guildford, looking even more nervous than she is, poised as he is to step in if anything goes wrong with this plan. But he’s the one she wishes to protect above all else. She knows why she’s here, in this moment, standing before this throne.

“My loving people, tonight I invite you to reject the fear and hatred of generations past, to usher in a new world of justice and peace. I stand before you to declare an end to all forms of trial by ordeal - whether by flame or by sword - and declare all subjects of our Kingdom innocent until proven otherwise before a court of justice.” A murmur rises among the crowd. “Even the French have done away with such barbaric practices, and are we not more civilized than they?” A small scattering of laughter among those gathered. Jane relaxes infinitesimally. “I ask for your help in bringing about this new era in England’s history, where dignity is afforded to all within the Kingdom, and we work together towards peace within our great nation.” Now for the part she is sure will win her no new fans. “To that end, I have invited some of the vampiric court to join us, so that we may learn to judge one another by our hearts and actions, and not by our differences.”

A hush falls over the crowd as they look back to the open doors of the hall. Charles guides the daunting procession led by Archer, with Susannah at this side, and a small retinue that Jane does not yet know well. She needn’t have bothered announcing the vampiric condition of their guests as the age and power that radiates from them, dressed as they are as visiting nobility in their own rights, and with that unnatural stillness of bearing and stoniness of expression that she now realizes that Guildford daily fights against. She can understand why, as she glimpses the mix of terror and disgust on the faces of those surrounding them. Those faces turn to her as well as her guests come to stand at her side.

She had planned to invite Mary to make a speech, to goad her into further anger. As it turns out, she will not have to - the murderous rage is clear across her cousin’s face. She’s already stalking towards the dais, and Jane signals to Guildford to hold still, willing him not to intervene until Mary makes an actual attempt on her life.

She anticipates Mary’s fingers around her throat, a dagger drawn and pointed at her breast. What she does not expect is for Mary to lift an entire candelabra and rush shrieking towards where Archer is standing, as if to end him herself.

“How dare you pollute my father’s court!”

Archer, thankfully, steps aside easily, and Jane hastens to capture the lit stand before Mary sets the silk draping on fire and engulfs the entire room in flames. Mary is left screaming uselessly at Jane and the empty space where Archer once stood. No one else dares to make a move - not even her own attendant guards, or those she thinks might be Archer’s.

The rest of the crowd can’t even bear to look upon the scene, once the danger has passed. Such an outburst of either stupidity or bravery might have been acceptable from one of their young men, but not their princess. That she had failed to do any harm to the vampires present there made the scene all the more embarrassing. The resulting hush of whispers sends Mary racing from the throne room in a fit of impotent rage and shame.After that, there are no more signs of outward hostility to her guests, though their displeasure radiates clearly.

Jane is formally introduced to Archer, who appears completely unperturbed at this attempt on her life, and gallantly brushes a kiss across her proffered hand. Jane can see why Susannah believed him to be older than England itself, his untamed hair and dark, perceptive features pointing to a time unknown to her, far more than even the mixed heritage of her other guests. There is a wearied humor in his expression, and she wonders if all of that has happened here has played out more than once before. There is nothing new under the sun.

A tiny bit of Susannah’s stoic mask slips as she introduces Jane to Demelde, a tall woman with rich olive skin and glossy black hair braided in a halo around her sharp features. She appears as fierce and warrior-like as she remembers from that night in the forest, but her gaze softens whenever she looks over at Susannah.

“I am delighted to meet you again, Lady Demelde.” Jane nearly gushes, earning her a smile from her oldest friend.

“And I am happy to see you again as well,” she nods regally. “I can see why you walk so cavalierly through our forests when you daily tread among such vipers within your own court.”

Jane is not entirely sure if she’s been given a compliment or not, but as best she can tell Demelde seems to at least somewhat approve of her. It’s more than she’s getting from her own nobility, at least.

The others are introduced in turn. A dark-skinned woman named Moremi, who appears nearly as old as Archer, is introduced as part of Archer’s own Council. The red-haired man she remembers from the tavern is named Owen, and Archer calls him judge. The other two men, Elijah and Idir, are introduced as lieutenants. She can tell they’re using terms Jane and the other humans will understand, though she imagines this is not how they refer to themselves.

Jane introduces them in the same manner to the rest of the party, though it is difficult to get any of her fellow humans to speak with any of them without her presence to guide the conversation. The room segregates faster than she can manage it, and she’s left with assuring the nobility that they are in no danger from their guests, wincing at the knowledge that her visitors can certainly overhear these conversations even from where they’re standing apart.

Halfway through a heated debate with the Duke of Norfolk, Guildford spontaneously asks her to dance. Jane doesn’t feel like dancing right now, but Guildford’s inhumanly strong arms drag her from the debate to where a few others are positioned near the musicians.

Guildford ignores the traditional steps of the dance in favor of keeping Jane close to himself, taking her hand and not letting it go as they circle the floor in time with the music.

“I thought you might need a brief respite.”

His thoughtfulness is almost enough to lift her out of her rapidly souring mood. Almost.

“What I need is a new class of nobles.”

When the song ends, they attempt to divide and conquer. Guildford ends up in conversation with Owen and Moremi on his own, as they remain most decidedly separate from the crowd of humans. Jane can’t tell what they are speaking of, but she can see Moremi looks unhappy with the topic. She can’t see Owen’s response.

Her attention, however, is held by her quiet conversation with Archer at the edge of the room. The human lords she had earlier tried to engage in discussion with Archer as well have already made their excuses to drift away. Jane takes this as an opportunity to ask some of the questions that have been weighing on her mind all evening.

“Susannah has told me a little of your own court, but what role does a judge perform?” She asks, indicating with a nod of her head towards Owen.

Archer has shown an endless patience for her questions so far - she finds herself wishing they had met under less tense circumstances, but at least they will have several days with this visit with which to become acquainted. His low voice rumbles into something resembling a laugh.

“We find it better to mete out justice ourselves when one of our own is killing humans and attracting too much attention.”

Jane is quick to notice the obvious caveat. “And if it doesn’t attract attention?”

A pointed look from Archer, and what amounts to a shrug.

She frowns. “We’ll need to discuss that later, certainly. And then there’s the issue of turning humans…”

His tone turns sharp, “you would ask that our numbers ever decrease? That’s simply extermination by another name.”

“I speak of turning humans against their will.”

Archer returns to something of his former ease at this clarification.“It is not an easy thing to turn someone without the willingness of both parties.”

“But it does happen,” she contends.

She doesn’t mean to glance over at Guildford, but Archer is quick to follow her gaze. His expression turns knowing, though surely Susannah has already informed him of her husband’s condition?

But he’s no longer looking over at Guildford, he’s staring at her neck where it is bared by her gown and lack of jewels.

“Your husband - he shows great restraint with you.”

“What?” The question erupts from her flustered lips at the abrupt change in topic before she can even consider the many possible meanings of his words.

“I can’t spot a single mark on you, unless they’re somewhere else?”

His dark gaze travels the length of her body, as if he were able to look right through her gown. She cannot possibly misread the meaning of this gesture.

“There are no marks!” She hisses, not at all liking what this man seems to be implying about her husband - no matter that she has often thought about it herself. It was none of his business!

“I take it back, then - your husband is a fool.” His eyes have returned to her face but she feels no less naked under his gaze.

“My husband is a gentleman,” she insists. “He would never do anything to hurt me.”

That had always been Guildford’s reasoning, at least.

Archer laughs at this. “Surely you don’t think relations between vampires and humans are forbidden because it hurts to be bitten by us?”

Jane can’t stop the heat that rises to her cheeks. Of course she had wondered at this.

“As much as I am trying to change things, I know that humanity’s fears are not completely unfounded.”

Jane wasn’t naive enough to think that vampires were harmless, just as men were not themselves harmless. She merely wanted to manage those harms, and bring about something like justice for both of their people.

“Yes, your Church names all manners of pleasure as sin.”

Archer’s grin and his unwavering gaze are almost hypnotic in the way they seem to travel uninvited into her thoughts and push them in whatever direction he intends. But it’s not Archer she imagines with his teeth at her throat, pleasure coursing outward from the site of the wound.

She looks over to where Guildford is watching their conversation with great interest, and more than a little annoyance. He downs another cup of wine as Owen whispers something in his ear.

“Wine alone cannot slake our thirst, but it’s never stopped either man or vampire from trying.” Archer leans down to indicate, far too close to her ear. Her mind, however, is only on Guildford.

****

“You need to drink something. You can’t go on like this,” she demands, as soon as they are alone in their bedchamber.

Guildford once again tries to wave away her anxieties. “I have it well under control. You needn’t feel concerned. In fact -”

“Concerned about -” she frowns. Is he telling her not to worry about his obvious hunger, or does he think she’s worried she’ll be his next meal? “Guildford, I’m not worried you’re going to attack me, you ninny. I’m offering.”

He looks rather taken aback by her words, and a little offended by the ‘ninny’ comment. It takes him longer than it should to fully process what she’s saying to him. His expression turns dark.

“You don’t know what you’re offering.”

“I think I very much do. Archer assures me it wouldn’t even hurt.” He assured her of a lot more than that, but Jane decides that discretion is the better part of valor at this moment.

“Archer,” he sneers, “wishes to sink his teeth into you himself.”

Jane doesn’t miss the muttered “as well as other parts.”

“Perhaps I should let him? Find out for myself what it’s like? Then perhaps you might actually believe that I know my own mind.”

Jane knows she’s playing with fire here - Guildford hadn’t been particularly subtle in his jealousy over Archer’s attentiveness towards her, no matter that their conversation was barely more than friendly. But she’s still not entirely prepared for the sound of his inhuman growl, the forcefulness of his “No!”.

She half expects him to grab her, or try to block her exit, but for all that he’s practically baring his teeth - still blunted, still human - he’s looking at her with more fear than he could possibly make her feel. Her next words are calmer.

“Then tell me the truth - is it really so painful?”

His expression falls, as he lets out a frustrated sigh. But clearly he recognizes she’s not going to back down on this line of questioning.

“The bite - it can be painful, if the vampire isn’t careful. But it’s more…intimate - for both of us - than you realize. And I know you don’t want that.”

Jane is sick and tired of being told what she should want. “Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t want?”

“Because you are the one who told me you wanted a divorce after all of this,” he reminds her, bitterness dripping from every word. He can scarcely bring himself to look at her as he says it.

This stops her indignant fury in its tracks. Was this why he had held himself back this entire time? Had been pushing her away from the very beginning of their marriage, and yet… Occasionally she had felt them growing closer - when she had rescued him from his trial with the silvering, when he had come after her in the forest. Guildford certainly hadn’t been opposed to the growing intimacy between them that night, not until she had reminded him of the promised divorce. Had he been keeping her at arm’s length not because he thought she couldn’t handle it, but because he couldn’t? Because he still thought she planned to eventually leave him? But surely he realized…

“What if I didn’t?” She offers quietly.

He turns to look back at her, confusion written across his features.

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t…want a divorce.”

It takes a moment for the words to truly sink in. And then the smile that spreads over Guildford’s face shines brighter than any that came before it. He doesn’t hesitate to take her face into his hands, and press his mouth against her own, capturing her lips in a beatific kiss.

It is entirely different from any other kiss they’ve shared thus far - there is no grief in it, no fear, no relief at escaping death. It is a kiss that feels like the first of many, instead of the last they might ever have. It’s many long moments before he pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers so their lips remain just a hairsbreadth apart.

“Jane, we should talk about…”

“Will you shut up and kiss me?”

He grins at her command, and readily obeys her urging. His hands cup at her jaw as she pulls herself closer to him, deeping their kiss. She runs her tongue along blunted teeth, trying to let Guildford know without words that this too she wishes to share in. When he merely nibbles gently at her lower lip she reaches up to draw his lips downward, catching at her chin and the spot below her jaw. She arches into him, tugging him ever closer to her pulse point. She hears him take a steadying breath, but then he simply places closed-mouth kisses down the line of her neck. She tugs at his hair, willing him to put his teeth around her throat with a frustrated whine. It doesn’t take much more of her less-than subtle hinting for Guildford to understand her message.

“Jane, I'm not a beast. I’m not just going to bite down because you're offering me your throat.”

She huffs out a frustrated breath and even as she allows him to pull back from her neck. “How about because I've been begging you to all day?”

Guildford raises a brow. “I think I might use a different word for what you’ve been doing-”

“Please.” He shivers in her arms at the plea, and Jane revels in the power held by that single word. “I need to know what it feels like for myself.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh - as if it were such a chore to give his wife this. “I should have known your curiosity would one day get the better of us both.”

“Then you should also know it's pointless to argue with me once I've made up my mind.”

She can tell by the look of resignation on his face that he knows this to be true. Still, her husband is nearly as stubborn as she is.

“Jane, I’m still not sure about this. You've already lost some of your blood just a few short nights ago.” His eyes glance over at the arm where the puncture marks still linger, bruised but healing.

“I saw what I lost - it was no more than a few spoonfuls.” She laughs, “I'm a woman, I've dealt with far worse.”

Guildford snorts at the reminder. That had been a rather fraught week in learning to share their space. His expression turns serious once more.

“It’s been a very long time since…I might still hurt you. I might take too much.”

Jane just smiles at his concern for her. “I can always pinch you if I start to feel dizzy.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than that to get me to stop if I lose control.”

Jane is far more certain of Guildford’s control than he seems to be, and he’s not so much stronger than her that she doesn’t think she could hold her own if it came to it. But that’s not what she wants this to be - a tense battle of wills between them. She wants him to take what he needs without fear.

“What if I were to tie you up again?”

He had allowed her to once, to stop himself fighting back against his ill-advised ‘cure’. And this would be far more enjoyable - for both of them, she hoped.

She sees him actually contemplating this, brows knitted together as he looks into her eyes for any sign that this isn’t really what she wants. She doesn’t give him one. She slips away to tug loose the silken ropes that hold back the bed curtains, not wanting to give him any room to doubt her plan.

Guildford doesn’t say anything, but he walks silently over towards their bed, unfastening his doublet. He slips it from his shoulders, leaving him only in the white shirt she finds so much more familiar. And then he stops.

“You don’t wish to…?” She blushes to ask whether he wishes to remove more of his clothing. Guildford had indicated this would be rather intimate. She assumed that meant it would lead to…

“It will be safer if I don’t. You might wish to wear a little less, however.”

Jane is reminded that she is still wearing her elaborate coronation gown. She had early dismissed her maids before they could assist her, all of her focus trained on Guildford. She realizes she won’t be able to get herself out of it now.

Guildford slips amusedly behind her, cool fingers unhooking the lace collar that frames her head and neck, and her shoulders sag in relief once she’s free of it. He sets it aside on the nearest table, placing a delicate kiss to her nape before setting to work on the heavy tiara at her crown. It is an even greater feeling to be free of its weight.

Guildford traces along the shell of her ear, and Jane smiles at the touch. But when fingers pluck at her earring, she halts him.

“Could I…will they get in the way?” She finds she’s hesitant to part with his gift so soon.

Guildford simply leans in to nose away the dangling pearls and place another small kiss to the space right below her ear. Not in the way, it seems.

One by one he removes the pins in her hair, combing it loose with soft fingertips until it hangs free around her shoulders, only to be brushed to one side to expose her neck and the back of her dress.

He makes quick work of her laces - the first hint of impatience she’s observed in him thus far. He parts the dress more slowly, however, careful to help free her from the tight sleeve that masks her wound. She’s practically lifted from the wide spread of her skirts, leaving her slippered shoes behind with them, and pulled even closer to Guildford’s front. She turns in his arms, clad only in her stays and silk smallclothes and stockings. Her small breasts are pressed upwards by the shortened bodice of her stays, and a deep inward breath draws his gaze down to them. Jane draws his hand back to the lacing there, expecting to be freed of this too, but he merely spreads a broad palm across the blades of her shoulders, pulling her towards him. He leans into her and she wonders if he’s decided to forgo the ropes.

“Do you still have your silver dagger?” He breathes against her ear.

“What?” It takes her several moments to make sense of the question. “Yes?”

“Good, I want you to keep it on you.”

Jane narrowly avoids rolling her eyes at this overabundance of caution, but she doesn’t want to give him any reason to change his mind and does as she’s bid. She imagines she looks completely ridiculous, wearing naught but her stays and her underclothes with the sheathed dagger belted around her waist, but Guildford nods in satisfaction at the placement.

“We’ll need something sturdy to tie me to…” he looks around the room, as if he weren’t standing right next to the obvious choice.

Jane quickly reminds him of this. “I had thought I might make use of those bedposts there - they are oak, after all, and ideally shaped.”

He looks as if he’s about to argue her choice of location, but then he merely shakes his head before sitting with his back against the headboard, spreading his arms along the pillows there out towards the posts. Jane thinks to fuss at him for putting his boots on the coverlet, but they both of them must pick and choose their battles.

She grabs the silk cords she had earlier set aside and half kneels on the mattress beside her husband. She tests a quick halter hitch below the knob of the bedpost, before again making a figure eight loop around Guildford’s wrist, leaving the gold tassels to hang just below his wrists. He tests its hold, clearly worried that the soft cord won’t work half so well as hempen rope, but the silk holds strongly enough. He nods and she crawls over him to repeat the knots on his other side, testing their hold and making sure the cords will not dig in too painfully. She even adjusts the pillows beneath to make sure his arms stay comfortable where they are splayed out.

All that’s left is to position herself. Jane considers all of the ways she had previously imagined this taking place. Sometimes, in her fantasies, he approached her from behind, sweeping her hair from neck and biting down hungrily. In others, she was the bold one, pressing herself to him and arching her throat against his teeth. Each image has its own appeal, but Guildford’s hesitant glance makes the choice for her. She would be the bold one tonight.

Jane straddles his lap, tucking her dagger to the side to settle herself down across the soft velvet of his breeches. She smiles at his groaning response. He looks gorgeous like this, trussed up by her own hands and at her mercy. He was still too pale for her liking, but his lips were slick and faintly parted from where his tongue had run over them. His dark curls were mussed from her earlier tugging, and she gently brushed them back from his forehead, sitting back at the taut muscles of his thighs beneath her. His white shirt gaped open at the front, revealing a strong chest framed by the two delicate necklaces he always wore - they matched her earring still in his ear, the gold leaves glimmering in the candlelight of their bedchamber. He looked like a beautiful wild animal she had tied up and tamed. In every aspect of his mien she could only think that he looked like hers.

Jane held his chin in her hands, running her fingers along his lower lip and brushing along the slightly crooked line of his teeth. He nipped carefully at the tip of one small finger, and she laughed at the teasing expression on his face. She couldn’t resist leaning down to kiss him, using her own teeth to bite with a little less gentleness at his chin and lower lip. He kissed her back with endless care despite his professed lack of control. Jane hoped that might change when presented with her throat.

With her hands threaded through his curls she draws him down to where she wants him, only to be met with several deep inhales at her pulse. She arches her neck further and manages only the soft brush of his lips along the side of her neck. His breath is a little shaky, but he seemed otherwise entirely too composed.

Jane tugs him back none too gently, frowning a little when she notices his still blunt teeth. "I was promised a ravenous, blood-thirsty vampire.”

"That was meant as a warning - not an enticement."

"Therein lies your mistake.”

Because she had seen him lose a little of his hard won control before, and she wants it again. She pushes him back against the headboard and kisses him with new intent, sliding herself up over his lap until her hips are pressed right against his. He groans into their kiss and she realizes he can probably feel how warm she has already become between her thighs - even though the fabric of his breeches and her silks. She presses down more firmly, smiling against his teeth when he automatically jerks up a little beneath her.

Jane wants even more. She tightens her hold and bites firmly at his lower lip, just enough that it might hurt a little, and feels his shaking exhale in response. With one hand, she slips inside the v of his shirt, dragging her short nails along his chest and shoulder. His kiss takes on a slight edge when her nails dig into his trapezius. She breaks away from his lips only to trail down along his jaw and neck, biting across cool skin. Guildford arches into it, body coiled tensely beneath hers. She opens her teeth against the straining tendon of his throat, scraping them against the skin there and then biting down, hard. She feels the rumbling, almost inhuman sound he makes as it rattles his chest and comes out as a deep groan, and sinks her teeth even further into the firm flesh of his neck. It’s not until the sharp metallic tang of his blood reaches her tongue, faint though it is, that she finally pulls back.

And grins at what she sees. Guildford’s lips are parted and nearly panting, and between them she can glimpse the twin sharp points of his fangs. At his throat shines the slick, reddened imprints of her own teeth, with the two small dots of blood where her incisors have just barely broken the skin.

Hoping she’s finally unwound at least a little of that tightly wrought control, she tugs his head back into place at her own neck, moaning when his tongue drags along the thrumming of her pulse, leaving a cooling path in its wake. She mewls as he scrapes the sharp prick of his fangs along the skin there, baring his teeth around the matching spot at her own throat. But he doesn’t bite down just yet, sucking against the skin there and drawing more blood to the surface, sending another thrill of anticipation through her. She can feel her heart hammering against her chest, wonders if he can feel her pulse racing against his lips and tongue.

"Please," she tries, hoping it will affect him now as it did before.

Jane feels the threatening edge of his fangs as they press more firmly against her skin. She’s braced herself nearly enough for that first hot sting of her flesh parting beneath the sharp teeth, though she can still feel the tears pressing hot against the clench of her eyelids. But she’s wholly unprepared for the pleasure of it as he finally sinks into her. Vibrant sensation spreads down from his bite, sizzling down along her nerves. Her fingers flex against his hair, her toes curl within her stockings, and her core clenches hotly around the ache building within. Jane understands now what Guildford meant when he said it would feel intimate. She can feel him pressed deeply inside her everywhere, as if he’s entered her directly through her veins.

At the first slow draught of her blood, she can feel herself simultaneously entering into him, as though she’s clawed her way into his body as he has into hers. His panicked draws of her poisoned blood are nothing compared to the endless pull of her blood directly from her veins and down his throat, as he savors each mouthful with a deep groan that vibrates through her. She doesn’t dare move too much, but she can’t help but press down against his lap, sighing in delight as she meets with the hard line of his cock through the soft velvet of his breeches. She chances a small roll of her hips only for Guildford to pull away from her throat with a shattered gasp.

“Fuck!”

Jane whines at the loss of his fangs and he’s quick to sink them back into her, not daring to break the skin again so all she feels is the slow, hot slide of his teeth back into her - no pain this time, only bliss. Her fingers clench at his hair to hold him in place as she rocks down against him again, desperately wishing there were fewer layers between them. She tries to match the small movements of her hips to the slow, steady drag of her blood into his waiting mouth, but it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

He’s still being so careful with her, never taking more than she can handle. He sips slowly at her, savoring her taste. She’s left feeling a little lightheaded from the sensation but not from the loss of too much blood. Jane can still feel the steadiness of her pulse, the ever increasing heat of her body pressed against his. She wonders if he keeps this up long enough, if she could…

She suddenly finds herself desperate to have his hands back on her.

“I’m going to untie you now,” she warns.

“Jane…” he pulls away from her throat to caution her, but it’s too late.

The soft tassels are in her hand and she’s tugging him free. His hands immediately grasp at her hips, pulling her more roughly down onto him than she expects. She lets out a soft cry as the hard ridge of his cock presses almost harshly against the seam of her cunt. The silk of her drawers is almost entirely drenched by now, and she’s left gasping as she slides slickly against the mirroring thrust of his hips up into her.

Guildford flips their positions almost too quickly for her to realize, pressing her down into the mattress with hands and hips. He’s staring down at her face looking a little less tame now than he had a few minutes ago, and she can feel her neck throbbing and slightly aching where his teeth had been pulled from her skin. But she glances up at him fearlessly, daring him to sink back into her once again.

He does so, with all the same slowness of his previous bites. But the change in position means his sharp fangs tear into her anew. She whines a little at the firmer ache, hands twisting into the sheets as she anxiously awaits the bliss that follows.

Only it doesn’t. Guildford pulls back far too quickly at the sound of her discomfort. “Are you hurt? Was it too much?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him, but he keeps scanning her for any sign of further pain. “Just a little sore,” she amends.

“I shouldn’t have bitten the same spot so soon,” he frowns, dipping down to her neck to lap at the spot gently with his tongue.

She feels the slow drip of her blood from the punctures stopping entirely, as her adder bite had. Jane’s mind tries to consider the benefits that might come from a vampire’s saliva promoting clotting and wound healing, but her mind is still a little too fuzzy for scientific reasoning at the moment.

“It’s alright, I wanted you to,” she assures again. “I still want you to.”

His cock is still pressed firmly against the damp silk at her center, desire coursing hotly through her veins, and she’s not nearly ready for this to end.

But he shakes his head as he pulls back, “it’ll only hurt more now.”

“Then bite me somewhere else,” she challenges.

His eyes darken, and the corners of his lips twitch into what might be a smile.

His kisses down to the swell of her breast above her stays, teeth scraping gently across the delicate flesh there. Her bodice suddenly feels far too tight, as she tries to draw more air into her lungs at the sharp tease of it.

“And just where do you wish me to bite you?” He smiles as his tongue dips between where her breasts are pressed together, before moving lower to nip at the soft skin of her belly where it is exposed above her silky drawers.

“Anywhere!”

She’s long past the point of caring where he picks, so long as he chooses soon.

“As you wish.”

He grins before slipping down further, pressing her thighs apart with his shoulders. Jane gasps when he pauses to inhale deeply at the damp silk covering her sex.

“Gods, you smell delicious.”

He spreads her further, and the scent of her own desire reaches her now - tangy and sharp. Her cheeks heat at his words and her own need, and she automatically tries to press her thighs back together. She’s stopped, however, by the broadness of his shoulders and the unyielding press of his hands. He licks across the damp fabric and she nearly jolts upright, hands reaching up to grasp at his hair. But he only moves down further, tongue laving across her inner thigh before biting down again.

There’s almost no pain this time, only the hot rush of fullness as his fangs press into the soft skin so near to her sex. Another maddeningly slow pull of her blood into his mouth and she’s left wondering if she tastes different here. The soft rumble of his moan tells her he’s enjoying this almost as much as she is. Almost, because she can also see as the dark curls at the top of his bob between her thighs with each draw, and the visual of it has her cunt clenching around the imagined sensation of him filling her here too.

She knows he can tell exactly what this is doing to her, and a shaky laugh erupts from her at the idea that they’ve been avoiding this for so long. She wishes she could go back and spend her entire honeymoon doing just this and nothing else.

Jane can’t tell if it’s real or imagined, but she can almost feel her own blood thrumming through his veins, as the feeling of it winds her even tighter, thighs already trembling with it. Her hands tighten in his hair. She’s so close now, it won’t take much to send her over the precipice.

“Guildford…”

In the end it’s the sight of him pressing his own arousal against the bed, his hands clutching at her thighs, the shared sensation of her blood entering him, that pushes her over the edge. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her, body jolting uselessly against the steely grip of Guildford’s hands across her thighs. Every time she thinks it’s ended, he draws another small pull of her blood and it sends a new bolt of lightning through her veins, bursting brightly behind her eyelids and settling warmly in her stomach.

She can feel herself becoming a little faint with it, vision darkening as he draws out their shared pleasure. Jane realizes he’s taking too much, but she can’t remember how she was supposed to let him know.

Thankfully, Guildford seems to catch himself before he goes too far, pulling back to lave again over the broken skin of her thigh. Jane drifts in and out a little, both at the faintness of blood loss and the bone weariness that settles over her as her limbs finally stop shaking.

By the time she finally opens her eyes, Guildford is watching her intently from where his head rests at her unbitten thigh. His thumb traces over her pulse, clearly checking to make sure she’s alright. It’s soothing in a way that she’s almost tempted to let sleep take her entirely. But he’s looking up at her with a heavy expression of guilt that forces her to stay conscious.

“Mmmm,” she manages, which to her seems a rather compelling argument in favor of what just happened.

“I’m sorry I lost control at the end there. I…”

She tries to cover his mouth with her hand, but nearly smacks him with her lack of coordination. All of her muscles feel like warm jelly.

“Don’t apologize - I wanted you to,” she murmurs sleepily, cupping the curve of his jaw in her hand and petting at his hair.

He leans into the touch, even as he frowns up at her.

“Only because you don’t seem to realize how dangerous I can be.”

“Oh, I am now very aware of how dangerous your mouth can be” she teases back, hoping to lighten his mood. “How soon do you think we can do that again?”

“You'll need at least a few days to recover - I can’t risk taking any more blood from you any time soon,” he rattles off automatically, then pauses. “Though perhaps by then I may have my cure.”

The floating feeling that lingered in her afterglow suddenly vanishes. Guildford must feel her heart rate suddenly spiking, but he infers the wrong meaning from it. He pulls himself up to face her

“I know that things didn’t work out this evening with your plans to expose Mary’s treasonous intent, we’ll find some other evidence of her treachery. For now, our guests might still be able to help us with this, and you’ll be far safer if I’m not…”

Jane knew that this was possibly the worst moment that she could choose to tell him the truth, but neither could she outright lie to him.

“Guildford, I’m so sorry. I tried to tell you earlier, but I didn’t know how to.” She looks up into his eyes. “There is no cure.”

Jane feels him tense above her. “You don’t know that.”

She presses on. “I do. I asked Susannah - no cure exists.”

“Susannah is barely older than I am, how would she know anything?” He argues, clearly not believing it to be true.

“Archer -”

He nearly growls. “I do not wish to hear what Archer has to say on the topic.”

“Guildford, you don’t need a cure - there’s nothing wrong with you. It is the kingdom that needs to change, not you!”

“I don’t care about the Kingdom!” He spits out. “And you’re entirely wrong - there is a cure.”

“Guildford, what…?”

He moves to stand, faster than she can try and keep him with her. “You weren’t the only one who made inquiries of our visitors. I’m going to find out what I need, with or without your help.”

#save my lady jane #my lady jane #fanfiction #janeford #vampire #AU #supernatural #lady jane grey #guildford dudley #banter #my fics #my writing #because the night

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pinkmoondoll9shihtzu · 2 months

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How do I stop being so afraid of dying

I'm either the best or worst person to ask this question , i'm not sure which but i know my answer could feel abrasive so bear with me here

Before i get into any of my feelings on the matter, Just remember, you are here now. Present-ness is all there is. Present-ness is the antidote to fear. Anything you can do or touch or observe to evoke your senses and remind yourself to be present , start with that <3

now, For context, i have spent majority of my life completely enamored and obsessed with death, desperately seeking it out , as well as answers tothe questions of ~what happens to us~ because when my dad duering my childhood i felt i could no longer exist in the physical world without him, nor could i handle the mundane-ness of life, i could not be normal , i could not think about anything other than dying, it felt like the answer to every problem, in a way i was jealous of him, i craved that escape -

this persisted throughout my whole life until maybe like, 4 or 5 months ago lol, i finally like, Found some peace within myself, and now i don't actively want to die anymore :) But i do still feel deeply accepting of it and not afraid at all, because i believe you never really die, the energy of your soul just moves on to a different plane of existence where U actually have much more freedom & safety. ok I'll put the rest under readmore for length's sake

Like it just felt very safe to me, to die. And i believe that was maybe a psychic link between me & my dad, i could feel him around me all the time, and i felt he was in true comfort and safety,, But i also wondered if that was just my imagination trying to help me cope. As a kid our family had no religion so i never believed in the heaven/hell dichotomy and had no established preconceived notion of what happens when U die, only my intuition. But that was not enough for me, I needed real tangible answers, So you could say my dad's death lead me on the lifelong spirit-knowledge-quest which is pretty much the foundation of my entire personality at this point lol.

And ok here's the part where i can actually try to answer your question - Like i mentioned previously, you do not die. You really truly just leave your body & move on. You go to the astral plane, you rest, you heal. your family, ancestors, friends, anyone waiting for you on the other side will be there to guide you through your transition. All the burdens of your life will be instantly released and so your soul can only feel it's truest most loving essence. The eventual goal is to return to "source", however, you will probably not want to do that yet. Anything left unfinished in the physical plane you will want to deal with. Often our souls linger around in the astral to watch over & help our loved ones still living in the material. If there's still karmic attachments we will generally wait for them to pass too, so we can eventually reincarnate together and try again.

This is the general gist of info i've gathered over years and years of seeking the answers. Pretty much everything comes back to this. And as i've become more open to communicating with the other side, I am more sure of it than ever. That's actually why I don't feel so eager to die anymore, because I want to be a bridge for them, so they can have more direct influence in the material world. Because they really want to help us T-T they really want us to live without fear. Fear stops us from living this life to the fullest, they want us to replace fear with love.

Btw, death does not hurt. if you're afraid of it hurting, please just know, it does not hurt. idk how to explain this but there is no pain. I think many people are afraid of death because it sounds painful so i just wanted to add that in.

Life continues on the other side. It's different, but you're still you, your soul is still your soul, there is no hell. You'll still have your essence and your memories. You will be powerful in ways you can't even really imagine here. Time and space will bend for you in the astral. You will be burden-free. You will protect the ones you love and even sometimes be able to come to them in dreams. You can come back here too. One day you will even be able to return to ~Godsource~ when you feel you are ready. it's all love on the other side.

So please don't fear <3 death is natural death is nature. death is mysterious but there are many resources out there to learn about the afterlife. Even just like, watching/reading people talk about their near death experiences i find to be immensely comforting, as they mostly all describe the same beautiful weightless sensations and sense of total peace/acceptance.

Even though i finally found reasons to live, I still dont rly fear death, and feel kind of excited to have the full spectrum of my ~powers~ back lol. So maybe that's another way u could think of it, like, think of all the ways u can protect ur loved ones and send them little hints of your continued existence ..

also Sorry if this answer made you feel worse in any way, it's always hard for me to gauge how my opinions of death will go over with others, as i've had such a uniquely obsessive experience with it and it's so fully ingrained into my conscious thought patterns that maybe i could seem really intense/psycho without realizing ^_^; This message seeks only to bring comfort so i hope that translates accurately

The cure to all fear is mastering the technique of being Present in The Moment. When u feel the fear creeping in, try to ground down, recenter yourself, slow down & focus on your breath, in out in out, touch things in front of you, go for a walk, look at some trees, you're still here. You're still here right now and that's all that matters. The future is irrelevant, NOW is all there is, and you are here <3

Stay strong anon, try to replace fear with love whenever u can. Easier said than done, but it is possible to gain control over the sensation of fear, with practice and dedication, i promise. Much love to you <3 PMD9

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fangirlstorycreator · 1 year

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Can you do when kk3 and ck terry is being really clingy and just wants to Staty in bed all day and takes care of us

Of course I can do that for you 🤗 I hope you enjoy 💚

KK3 Terry Silver:

You woke up that morning when the autumn air had finaly come. With the heat being so difficult these last few weeks, the crisp cold air was a wonderful replacement. You sat up in bed and you could feel the cold on your arms, your skin felt a wonderful coolness that you had wanted to feel for so long after this heatwave. As your hand smooths over your arm, Terry's eyes open as he smiles, watching you smiling sat up in bed. "You look beautiful in the morning baby girl" "I think you need your eyes tested babe. Have you seen my hair? It's like a nest for birds" He sits up and kisses your cheek "Well, that may have been my fault. I did kind of throw you around the bedroom last night" "Don't you dare apologise for what we did last night babe! I'm actually suprised I can feel my legs today" You both chuckle at your comment, then he holds your chin and gives you a sweet kiss. "What time is it?" "Uhh? It says...8.30" "8.30! Uuggh and it's Monday" Terry says like a frustrated teenager as he flops back into the bed. "It's not the end of the world Terry, you bought that dojo because you wanted too, noone forced you" "I know I know, I just cant be bothered today...let's just stay hear!" "What?" "Yeh! Let's just stay in bed today! I can call John to take over and I can make up some story as to why we can't come in" "We? Terry you may not want to work at the dojo today, but I have lots of paperwork in the dojo office I need to sort out" "No no baby girl! Stay with me today, please?" "My god Terry your acting like a teenager. You don't need me to stay in bed with you " "But who am I going to cuddle with?" "Cuddle?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. "Alright, but we do cuddle afterwards don't we? Come on baby girl....don't you want to stay in bed with me?....I could spend the day holding you....kissing you....fu-" "Alright I get it! (Giggle) Look, are you seriously wanting to waist an entire day just to stay home?" "Hell yeh! It's MY dojo, I can do what I want" "And you wouldn't mind me missing a day and not doing all that paperwork?" "The paperwork isn't going anywhere, it will still be there tomorow so there isn't a rush...come on baby..." he says stroking your thigh. "Stay in bed with me....you know you want to..." He gives you a cheeky smile, you knew you couldn't say no to him. You didn't answer him, you just smiled and picked up your phone, calling John. "Hey Y/N, everything alright?" "Hey John, I'm afraid me and Terry aren't able to come I'm today. We both ate something bad last night and have food poisoning. It's out of our system but were still feeling the pain and poorly feeling from being sick. Will you be ok holding down the dojo today?" "Of course I will, there's only 3 classes today and they are all in the morning. You and Terry just rest up and I'll catch up with you guys tomorow" "Thanks John, we'll see you tomorow" Once you put your phone down, Terry gives you a proud look. "Well....I wasn't expecting my baby girl to lie like that...I liked it" "You liked that I lied about us?" "Yeh...it shows your naughty side..." "Terry, before you start anything, do we have any condoms left?" He reaches over, opens his bedside drawer, to 2 full packets of large condoms. "Look at you planning ahead babe" "You know I can't get enough of you...now get that cute little body over hear!"

CK Terry Silver:

You woke up this morning feeling quite refreshed and comfortable, which wasn't like you. You never woke up before your alarm, and as you were working today, you wondered why you felt good and didn't hear your alarm. You sat up in bed and notice that Terry isn't beside you, that was usual for a work morning, he liked to shower before work to help wake him up. So you rubbed your eyes and grabbed your phone off charge from your bedside drawer, its then that you realise that your alarm was suposed to go off at 8....it was now 9.30! "Oh sh#t! I'm late! I'm late!" Your about to run out of the bed when Terry came in wondering why you were panicking. "Woh woh sweetheart, what's wrong?" "What's wrong? I-wait? Why are you still hear at 9.30? Why aren't you at work?" "Ah...about that..." He says as he takes a seat next to you on the bed. "I called in to Kim this morning, I told her were not going to be in today" "What? Why would you do that? Did...did you turn my alarm off?" "Ok yeh I did, but for good reason. Sweetheart, when was the last time we spent quality time together that was longer than 2 hours?" "Oh gosh, I think before the refurbishment of cobra kai. Yeh, I remember because Kim had just started" "Exactly, we haven't had quality time together for nearly 2 months now. And I miss you. Yes we see eachother every day at home and at work, but we haven't really been together have we?" "You make a good point Terry, I've missed you too. Your right, we haven't been together recently" "That's why I called Kim, she and her other sensei's are happy to take over for today. Which means I can do what I've wanted to for a while" "And what's that?" "Staying in bed with you pretty much all day...holding you and feeling you close to me" "Oh Terry that sounds wonderful. But I'm suprised you'd want to stay in bed all day, wouldn't you feel bored?" He chuckles and his hand strokes over the part of the quilt covering your legs. "I'm sure we can find something to do while in bed all day...if you know what I mean?..." You just giggle and put your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss. "The question is...are you going to be able to handle me....all day?...." "You have no idea the stamina I have sweetheart..."

#thomas ian griffith #sensei targaryen #terry silver #cobra kai #kk3 #terry silver x reader

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lolsonic-idk-man · 11 months

Text

Talk to Me: part 1

Part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

(Chapter????) anyway enjoy my roughly 3000-word-long thing that is complete suffering for Dream :')

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The villagers, where were they? Some of the women and kids are still here, but where is everyone else? Why won't they tell him where everyone is? Did something happen last night without Dream's knowledge?

The sky. Why is it getting darker? It's still early morning! Why is it red? Why does it feel so dark? So corrupting, like every ounce of joy is being sucked out of the very land and being replaced with the sadness and anger that would drive anyone insane.

But that shouldn't be! The Tree of Feelings was there to make sure positivity and negativity were balanced! Dream had made sure the villages were never too far tilled to the negative side, and nothing like this could happen unless they were all feeling some sort of negative emotion at once or…

The Tree of Feelings! Something had to have happened to the tree. But Nightmare was there, wasn't he guardianing the tree?

Dream's feet took him to the Tree of Feelings as fast as they would allow him.

It wasn't too far away from the village, maybe a three-minute run for Dream, which was faster than most, one of the perks of being the guardian of positivity he supposed.

There was a crowd at the base of the tree. Why were the villagers gathered at the tree? Why were they angry and fearful?

Nightmare.

He was on his knees screaming as his once smooth white bones cracked and a black substance with a teal glaze oozed out covering his entire body.

The apples of the tree falling to the ground. All of them rotting with a pure black muck growing over them.

Some of the villagers fell to the ground muttering to themselves, some ran back to the village, and some thrashed with anger, and others just stared.

Nightmare had fallen silent and collapsed on the ground, the substance still leaking from him.

The world felt quiet, even with the howls and whispers of the monsters and humans around Dream. The only thing that was in his world right now was the pile of goo that once resembled his brother.

Was he dead?

No, he hadn't dusted.

Dream pushed through the small number of villages that were still around and made his way over to where his brother had fallen only to stop when he started to get up once more.

His brother's form climbed back to a stand with a hand on the now-weak Tree of Feelings, knocking a few more golden and black apples from the tree. Corrupting mere seconds after they hit the ground.

" Nighy? " Dream whispered.

Nightmare stared at Dream with one now indigo eye-light and a white glow that drew a jagged smile. The same goop that covered the rest of him oozed over his left eye socket.

There was no time to mull over what had happened before tentacles shot out of Nightmare's back, impaling four nearby monsters before returning just to launch at another group of monsters and humans.

Fear. All Dream could feel was fear when looking at the being he once looked at with brotherly love.

Nightmare began to chuckle. It was deeper than the Nighty Dream was used to. " Is something wrong Dream? " It reverberated like multiple people were talking at once. " It's just me " His head tilled and his tentacles started slashing the Tree of Feelings, scatering the few remaining apples.

One of the golden apples hit Dream's chest as the Tree fell, and rotted. Dream grabbed the apple before it could hit the ground, holding it close to his chest.

All the monsters and humans that were once watching had become dust in the wind or blood stains in the grass by the time Nightmare moved. He had started towards Dream, his tentacles wiping behind his back. " Is it truly that hard to look at me? Your dear brother? "

Why was Dream just standing there? He should do something. Anything.

He has the last golden apple, he could eat it. He could save the rest of the villagers and maybe get that goop off Nightmare, maybe he could heal him.

Crunch.

It was sickeningly sweet. Dream liked sweet things but this was so much it was hard to swallow it. But he had to.

There was so much magic flowing in his ribcage that it felt like it was going to burst open. The feeling calmed and in its sted, it felt like a rock was floating in his chest. And he was suddenly very aware of the fear of the rest of the villagers.

Nightmare had done nothing but watch. The white light that once made his mouth gone, was replaced with the same slime that covered the rest of him. He stared with an observant eye as Dream gathered himself.

Dream didn't know what his next move would be, attack? Talk? Something else he had failed to think of? It didn't matter though. In what felt like a blink, Nightmare was gone and so was the rest of the village.

How could that be? It couldn't have been a second. All of the humans were now nothing but skeletons like him.

What was he supposed to do? Everything was gone.

The only thing he could do.

He limped over to the stump that was once the Tree of Feelings, let himself fall on the damaged stump, and wept.

His crying was short-lived.

A new presence had appeared behind Dream, It felt oppressing, like it was telling him every problem that he had and everything that would go wrong, yet it felt so familiar.

Maybe it wasn't new.

" Awwww someone crying over their lost brother? " Clearly fake sympathy openly drowned the words.

Dream's head turned just enough that his eye-lights could do the rest.

Nightmare stood behind him, grinning with that sharp white glow that made up his mouth. " I thought you would be happy to see me Brother~ It has been 500 years has it not? "

" 500? " Dream whispered unable to look away from Nightmare's singulare teal eye-light. But there was no way it could have been 500 years! Dream just blinked right? He just blinked…

It was 500 years, wasn't it? How else could everyone disappear? Rot.

" H- how? " Dream asked fully turned toward Nightmare, " I- it f-fe-felt like I-I blinked. "

Nightmare's expression morphed into disappointment, as he raised his hand to tap his jaw, " Oh, poor Dream, trapped in stone for 500 years! " acid melting his every word. " What will we ever do. He can't even remember it! " He stepped forward, tentacles thrashing.

Why was he so mad? What did Dream do?

Who was he kidding, he did nothing. He did nothing to help Nightmare. He did nothing for his brother when he needed him most. He was useless, wasn't he? He failed to protect his brother, he failed to satisfy the villagers, he failed to protect his brother, he couldn't even do his job and protect the tree! Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he was actually happy, and he's the guardian of positivity! It's amazing how much of a failure he is, he was meant to be the perfect golden child, but he wasn't.

He wasn't.

He's useless.

Falling.

He was falling.

Why was he falling? He was just on the ground a few seconds ago.

The scratching of tree branches stopped his thoughts.

It hurt, it hurt so much.

He stopped falling and landed on something soft, and… White? It's cold too. He didn't know what exactly he fell in but who was he to complain, it probably saved him some injuries.

He couldn't say it saved his clothes though, His dearly beloved golden cape had been ripped in half, his cyan tonic had tires all over it, and his baby blue pants ripped. Some parts of his attire were stained with blood and bone marrow from where the tree had cut him he had no doubt.

But where was he?

Well in a forest, that much is obvious. He could hear a river nearby, and he could definitely sense other people close.

Should he go to them? It's probably a village by the amount of people there, but the people from his village never liked it when he came to them with problems.

He made his way through the white powder to the river to mull over his options and what had happened.

~~~~✴️~~~~

It wasn't too long before a distraction came by to break Dream's thoughts. An insect had landed on Dream's knee as he was slipping into numbness.

It had beautiful wings that looked like they would crumble to his touch. They were mainly a dark brown that got darker as it got closer to the edge of its wings, only to turn into a gentle yellow suddenly, baby blue dots lined up right before it turned to the outline of yellow.

Dream had never seen anything like it before, sure, the birds were pretty but this was something new and was even more colors than any bird or bug he'd seen.

" Hi there " Dream whispered, " What are doing here? "

The creature gave a simple slow flap of it's wings before deciding it wanted to fly once more.

Dream giggled as it danced above his head. " I'm gonna call you… BURT! Yeah! BURT. what a silly name "

Dream ran alongside BURT as it flew over the river. Jumping over rocks as they came in his way, running through the shallow bits of the river, and sitting with BURT when it chose to rest.

" Thanks, BURT, I needed a brake. I don't know what you are exactly but I know one thing! You're an amazing friend! " A warm grin spread on Dream's face.

BURT Flapped it's wings and took off over the river once more, only to have it's image replaced by a fish falling back into the water.

" B-BURT? " Had he really just lost his new friend to a fish? Was this the universe's way of telling Dream to not get his hopes up?

Tears leaked from his eyes sockets.

First, his brother gets attacked and he couldn't do anything, his brother got covered in some weird goop, the entire village is dead, his brother hates him, he's been trapped in stone for 500 years apparently, and he watched BURT get eaten by a fish!

The universe just had it out for him, didn't it? What was going to happen next? His ho-

" HELLO? "

Someone's coming, straighten up Dream. Get those stupid fucking tears out of your sockects. Dream wiped his tears on his torn sleeve and plastered a smile on his skull.

A skeleton that whore a blue bandana and armor - of some sort Dream asomed - with blue eye-lights shaped like stars, (and sickenly similar stature to him and his brother,) stood behind Dream when he turned around.

" Ah, uh, hello? " Dream waved at the new skeleton.

" AH HA! I FINALLY FOUND YOU! " Boomed the skeleton before bouncing to Dream and placing a hand on his chest, " I'M THE MAGNIFICET BLUE! AND I'VE COME TO HELP! "

" help? "

" BUT OF COURSE! I SAW THAT TUMBLE OF YOURS, IT WOULD BE RUDE OF ME TO NOT HELP SOMEONE IN NEED! "

" O- oh, I'm fine- "

" NONE SENSE! YOU'RE COVERED IN SCRATCHES! AND YOUR CLOTHING IS TORN TO BITS! " It was an over-exaggeration, but he wasn't completely wrong. " I KNOW A GREAT HEALER AND I'M SURE HE WILL HAVE SOME EXTRA CLOTHING FOR YOU. "

Without much other warning, Blue grabbed Dream's wrist and pulled him through the forest, and some sort of old structure that was built in the middle of it.

Inside it, he met a goat monster that healed him and fed him, even offering to buy some new clothes for him, Dream had to quickly decline and insist that he could fix them himself — He had never been so glad the village woman were set on teaching him to sew —, this man had already done so much for Dream then he could have asked for.

Blue tugged him along saying that they were going to his house, and gladly explaining anything to Dream if he asked.

Upon seeing a sign saying " Welcome to Snowdin " Blue picked Dream up bridle style and bolted to his place, setting a very startled Dream on his feet before opening the door,

" WELCOME TO THE MAGNIFICENT SANS' HOME! " boomed Blue. " PAPPY! WE HAVE A GUEST! "

Another skeleton made their presence known from the couch by waving at Dream and removing a small stick from his jaw. " Hey "

" I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO QUIT IT WITH THE SMOKING! " Blue stomped his foot.

The other skeleton chuckled, " I'm working on it bro, Don't go worrying yourself about it. " He disappeared and reappeared on the couch now without his smoking stick. " Who'd you find? "

" OH! RIGHT! I FOUND HIM WONDERING IN THE FOREST AFTER FALLING THROUGH HIS PORTAL! " Blue said, shoving Dream in front of him.

The other's mood started to sour, " Right, well name's Stretch. You got one? "

" OH! RIGHT! I NEVER GOT YOUR NAME. Sorry about that. " Blue's tone quieted as he scratched the back of his skull.

" It's quite fine, I'm Dream, Guardian of Positivity. "

Blue made a dash up some stairs in the left corner of the room stomping loudly as he made his way to the room farthest from them. His return seemed to be even faster as he didn't even run back down and just dumped a bottle of a black liquid onto the ground and started shouting " Ink " franticly.

It only took two or three seconds before the ink started to rise and build a swirling dome. It fell mere moments after revealing an even smaller skeleton with a black splach on his skull.

" Blue I can't try your new taco recipe right now I- " the newcomer tried to speak.

" THE GUARDIAN OF FUCKING POSITIVITY FELL OUT OF THE SKY AND IS IN MY HOUSE! "

…

" what? "

Blue just stared at the stranger and pointed at a severely confused Dream.

The skeleton turned to see Dream standing by the now-empty couch, his eye-lights changed every time he blinked as he looked at Dream, trying to register what had just happened.

After a few awkward seconds, his eye-lights decided a star and green target was the correct answer before the gremlin of a skeleton jumped onto Dream and looked him dead in the eyeskockets with a massive grin.

" I FOUND YOU! Well, I didn't find you Blue did, but who cares I've finally found you! Now These next few moments are going to be a lot, so take a seat, we might want to grab a snack, BLUUUUUE! " He shouted as he pushed Dream onto the couch, " We're going to need lots of snacks! Okay, where do I start, Well guess we going to start with WELCOME TO THE MULTIVERSE! Yes, it is real, and you're a part of it! I'm Ink, Protector, and/or creator of AUs! Or alternate universes. I don't really create them anymore though, I sort of made a truce with the destroyer so yeah can't make 'em anymore. What were we talking about again? I think I went off track, Oh yeah the multiverse! What have I explained already? "

" YOU'RE TERRIBLE AT EXPLAINING INK. " Blue finally butt in, walking out of a room that was opposite the stairs with a tray of some kind of food stuffed with vegetables.

The hectic protector was about to retort only to have one of the veggie-stuffed things stuffed into his mouth.

" I APOLOGISE FOR INK, BUT HE IS RIGHT ABOUT THIS BEING BIG NEWS. SO! HAVE A TACO MY FRIEND AND SIT TIET. " His brand new cheery friend happily placed a white flimsy plate with a taco on it into Dream's lap and took a place by him. " ALRIGHT, SO DID YOU GET ANY OF THE GIBBERISH INK TOLD YOU? "

" There's something called the multiverse? And we are in it. He's the protector of it, and there's someone destroying it? " Blue nodded at Dream's response.

" SO YOU CAN UNDERSTAND INK BETTER THAN MOST! THAT MAKES THIS A LITTLE EASYER, " He relaxed a little at the concept. " I'LL START WITH THE WHOLE MULTIVERSE THING, THE- "

" Could you quiet down a little? " Normally Dream wouldn't have said anything, but the urge to cover where his ears should be was getting stronger with every word out of Blue's mouth.

Blue stopped and seemed to realize how high his volume was, and scratched the back of his skull, " Sorry About That, Is This Better? " Dream nodded, It was still loud but it wasn't going to give him a headache. " If I Get To Loud Again Just Tap My Shoulder! I've Been Working On The Habit Anyways. "

Blue continued to explain how the multiverse was the name and/or space for all of the AUs, and that AUs are different versions of a universe called Undertale, with Ink jumping in to fill in smaller details. They told him about important figures in the multiverse and what they did such, as Core Frisk who took care of a place called the Omega Timeline, Error who destroyed AUs, Ink who protected the AUs, and Nightmare, who… spread negativity.

The thought that Nightmare could do such a thing didn't sit right with Dream, Nightmare was his brother, his kind, strong twin. Nightmare would always be sitting by the Tree of Feelings reading, only stopping when the villagers came to bother him. Bother was probably an understatement, but Dream didn't want to think about it too hard. He would much rather remember running in the fields with him or when Nightmare would read to him.

He doubted he would ever get to experience it again though, the Nightmare of today seemed to hate Dream more than anything else.

#dreamtale nightmare #Dreamtale dream #Dream #Nightmare #Dreamtale #sans au #undertale au #trauma #A lot of self loathing I guess #anyway have some nice dream trauma :D

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