#I hope the LIs never compare notes because this is rough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tiredmamaissy · 2 years ago

Text

Is That So?

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Main Characters: Lo’ak Sully (19) x fem Metkayina Reader y/n (19)

Supporting Characters: Ao’nung (20)

Warnings: NSFW, smut, fluff, smean dom Lo’ak, brat/sub reader, profanity, jealous/territorial behaviour, knotting, marking, oral sex, rough/make up sex, mild angst, overstimulation, minor degradation, soft ending

Word Count: 5.5k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hey anon! I hope this is okay. I kind of changed things up a bit because I did a similar piece but with Neteyam (Eyes For You). Enjoy <3

Synopsis: You and Lo’ak had a secret relationship. He ended things suddenly and painfully. You sought comfort with Ao’nung. Lo’ak witnesses this, intervenes and reclaims you as his.

Intro:

Lo’ak and his family sought uturu in your village a few months ago. Olo’eyktan, Tonowari, put the responsibility of teaching the sully family the ways of the Metkayina on you and his daughter, Tsireya and her brother, Ao’nung. Lo’ak proved to have a harder time adapting to the water than his siblings. As a result, you and him have spent a lot of time together, especially one on one breathing lessons. Ever since, you two have been sneaking around and spending ‘quality’ time together – keeping it a secret from everyone.

----

Lo’ak quickly repositions his loincloth and sheathes his hunting knife onto his hip. You watch him intently as you lean back onto the tree, trying to catch your breath. He’s always quick to leave after you and him finish the deed, grabbing his belongings and making an excuse before he goes. You knew it was coming soon.

“Uhm, y/n.” He looks down at your naked body. “I need to -”

“Go? Yeah. I know.” You say, turning your head away from him.

You can’t deny that it hurts you every time he does this.

“You didn’t even let me finish. My brother, he needs m-” he starts, only to be cut off by you again.

“He needs you to help him with something?” You look at up at him, raising your brows slightly. “Yeah. I know.” You repeat, feeling disappointed.

Lo’ak realizes that you’re upset – it was hard not to. He kneels, meeting you at your eye level.

“What is it? Are you upset with me?” he takes your hand in his.

Here we go again with the mixed signals. He says one thing and then does another. He says he can’t stay to cuddle but when you get upset about it he does this – grabbing your hands, acting like he cares about your happiness. You roll your eyes and shake your head, batting his hand off yours.

“Just, stop with the lies, Lo’ak. Just say that you want to leave... that you don’t want to stay, rather than you ‘can’t’.”

He looks at you dumbfounded, like you just told him you were with child.

“Yeah, and stop with the mixed signals, too. One minute you’re acting so loving and caring, and the next you act like you don’t want anything to do with me.” You spit, standing up to put on your loincloth.

“Y/n... I’m sorry. I - I should have been more honest with you. It’s – it’s not even what you think.” He drops his head, brushing his hands over his braids as he steps back. He looks back up at you, with big, glowing, golden saucers.

You look at him, searching his eyes for something – anything. To hear the words ‘its not what you think’ makes you feel that maybe – just maybe, there was a good reason behind all his actions. Something to pardon him of his assholish behavior. It brings hope to your heart, that maybe one day you can have what you want... him.

The truth is, he’s promised to another na’vi. No matter how badly he wants to be your mate – your one and only, he can’t. Not only would he be a huge disappointment to his father, but he would let down the Olo’eyktan, as he’s promised to his daughter – your best friend. Which is another reason why he never marked, knotted or made the bond with you.

Lo’ak found Tsireya beautiful – stunning, even. But her beauty compared no where near to yours. He wants nothing more than to stop sneaking around, to just be able to do something as simple as holding your hand around your friends. But the pressure from his father is immense, and the pressure from Tonowari is even worse.

He knew that inevitably this would have to come to an end. Neither of you or Tsireya know about the betrothment yet, seeing that Tonowari is waiting for him to become Metkayina first. Regardless, there were too many reasons why this wouldn’t work out.

Seeing the hope in your eyes, it dawns on him that the only way to do this would be the hard way – to hurt you. Hurt you to the point where you wouldn’t want to come back.

“I can’t be in anything serious with you.” he states. “I just don’t like you in that way.” He lies, gritting his teeth, not wanting to say the words.

He sees the hurt in your eyes, as they well with tears. He watches your brows pull closely together, and your bottom lip quiver. He hated seeing you upset – seeing you sad. It broke his heart, but it hurt even more knowing that he was the one making you feel this way.

He swiftly turns his head, focusing on the waterfall nearby, not being able to stand the sight of you hurting. He closes his eyes briefly, and exhales loudly through his nose. “You were a good fuck. But nothing more. We... we should see other na’vi.”

You’re speechless. Frozen in time. Trying your absolute hardest not to drop to your kneels and bawl your eyes out. All you can do is stare at the shell of a person who you thought you once knew – the person who took your virtue, as he walks away from you.

Lo’ak makes his way to his ikran, connecting his queue to it, before stopping in his tracks to look at his feet. “My heart has always been promised to Tsireya.” he mutters under his breath, mounting his banshee and flying away – not wanting to see the mess he left behind.

Now, that stung.

You were left behind in the jungle, alone with your thoughts. The words are like a blow to your back, strong enough to completely knock the wind out of you. You find yourself stumbling backwards, slumping against the tree before sliding down to your knees. Your heart hurt. It hurt so bad you could feel the pain in your chest. It burns, even. It’s as if he set fire to your heart and walked away to let you turn into ash. No number of tears that you shed could put it out.

You had to seek relief elsewhere – a distraction from the pain.

----

It’s been two weeks since Lo’ak left you in the jungle to sit in a puddle of your own tears. Since you've had to endure your heat in your marui pod alone, something he would usually help you with. You took that week off not only to endure it alone, but to give yourself some space away from Lo'ak and Tsireya.

Your feelings of despair have morphed into feelings of resentment. How could he do this to you? How could he just take what he wanted and leave you like that? Leave you alone in heat? It was unfair. You feel cheated. What hurt the most is that it’s your best friend of all people - driving a rift between the two of you.

It became awkward when the group finally came together, especially for hunting trips. Both you and Lo’ak pretended like nothing happened, because no one knew about your relationship to begin with. Tsireya didn’t quite understand why you were being so cold and distant, which pushed her even closer to Lo’ak.

Seeing their relationship strengthen over time drove you closer to Ao’nung. You knew he always had a thing for you from you were both kids. You also knew to never entertain it, the son of Olo’eyktan would never be allowed to mate with you. You were simply the daughter of a warrior and healer of the clan. But maybe, you could use him – just this once.

----

“Ao’nung!” you shout, trying to get his attention among the group.

He turns his head in your direction, seeing you signal him to come with your hand. He makes his way over to you on his ilu.

“Yes, sweets?” he smirks, having your ilus circle one another.

He’s always been flirty with you, calling you all sorts of nicknames – sweets, my lovely, cutie, pretty – the list is endless.

“Hi, you.” you mumble, not sure what to say.

“Need me for something?” he asks, peering at you through his brows.

You look behind him briefly, seeing that Lo’ak and your best friend are side by side, laughing with one another. It makes you... angry, more than sad. Sure, it still stings your heart, but as more time passes, vengeful feelings make their way to the forefront. You want to get back at him for doing this to you – for acting so normally.

“No. I – I mean yes.” You stutter, feeling nervous about what you’re about to do. “I... just wanted... to talk, I guess.” Your words are drawn out, lengthy and uncertain.

He gives you a puzzled look, not wanting to make any advances if you were unsure.

“Okay, my lovely. I’m here. What did you want to talk about?” he smiles, looking you up and down.

“Uhm...” you hum, looking around at the ocean, trying to find something else to focus on.

Your eyes pass by Lo’ak, who is now intently watching your interaction with Ao’nung with a straight face, patiently waiting for something to unfold. You decide to look back at Ao’nung, scanning his body up and down too. It’s undeniable – he’s handsome, well built, and muscular.

His ribs are wide, something that’s seen as desirable and admirable here. It means that he’s an experienced diver, able to hold his breath for long periods of time. Why would someone like Ao’nung, son of Olo’eyktan, like someone like you? Maybe you could let yourself dream a little; allow yourself to get lost in the man before you, even if it’s farfetched.

“Like what you see?” he asks jokingly, trying to hold back his smirk.

You drop your gaze and let loose a breathy chuckle, you didn’t realise that you were lingering.

“Actually...” you trace up his body with your eyes, meeting his gaze once more. “...I do.” You try to hide your smile as you feel your face heat up.

You watch him move even closer to you, with a huge grin on his face. He rests his hand on your thigh as his eyes search your body, stopping his gaze at your breasts.

“I like what I see, too.” he says huskily, shooting his gaze back up to yours.

His face becomes serious, as he moves his hand slowly up your thigh. Your heart starts thumping, hard. All from his simple touch.

Am I into this right now? you wonder, taking note of your racing heart.

The heat pooling in your chest confirms it for you, as it slowly makes it’s way down to your pelvis in waves. You glance down at his hand sliding up your thigh, gliding towards the flesh between your legs. Looking back up at him, you rest your hand over his, and guide it to your hip, hooking his fingers under your loincloth.

Yeah. I’m into this. You hype yourself up, trying to get rid of your anxiety.

The tension is off the charts. You can tell from the way he’s tugging at your loincloth that he would rip it off and take you right now, right here.

And you’d let him.

You slide your hand over his strake (fin like structure on the forearm), and squeeze his thick, veiny bicep. Unbeknownst to you, Lo’ak left Tsireya and Neteyam, and made his way over to you, breaking the tension with Ao’nung.

The sight makes him queasy, to see you touch another man in that way. Mostly, it infuriates him, making him see red. On top of his hot temperament, seeing this scene unfold in front of him sends him into a silent frenzy. Gritting his teeth, Lo’ak firmly grabs you by the arm.

“Y/n. A word.” He spits, pulling your hand off Ao’nung’s bicep as he rides away on his ilu.

You don’t follow him. Instead, you shoot him a puzzled look - confused as to why he’s even over here trying to talk to you.

Didn’t this man just tell me to see other na’vi?

Lo’ak looks back to see that you haven’t budged. “Y/n! Now.” He demands, shooting you that look.

You scoff loudly, shaking your head before apologizing to Ao’nung. You know what that look means, it means he’s not happy with you. It means, you’ve been a bad girl. It means…

You must be disciplined.

You begrudgingly pull away from Ao’nung’s sweet touch, becoming even angrier with Lo’ak for ruining this for you, too. You ride your ilu roughly, following him to what seems to be…

The cove of the ancestors?

You two had only ever gone there once - only because your spot in the jungle was taken by Neteyam and his mate. You chuckle at the memory. Both he and his mate were surprised to see you and Lo’ak walk towards them. You had to lie and tell them that you were teaching him a lesson in the lake nearby.

You shake your head, ridding yourself of the happy memories you and him once had. You will yourself to recall the horrible things he said to you two weeks ago. As you two approach the rocky coast of the cove of the ancestors, you dismount your ilus and stand face to face.

“What is it, Lo’ak?” You croak, already holding back your angry tears. “I thought you were done with me.”

“Why the fuck were Ao’nung’s fingers under your loincloth?” He shouts, turning his back on you.

“Really? This is what you brought me all the way out here for?” You hiss, turning around to mount your ilu.

You feel him grab your arm again, even rougher this time, and pull you into him. You see his face contorted with rage – his eyes green from envy. You’d never seen him this upset before, you could practically see his stream coming through his nostrils.

“I thought you told me to see other na’vi.” You mutter. “Go fuck Tsireya or something.” You shrug him off you, matching his rage.

“Fuck. Y/n.” He spits, clenching his jaw. “Agh. You - fuck. You really know how to piss me off.”

“Yeah? Likewise, asshole.” you mutter, rolling your eyes before turning away from him.

He pulls you back in, grabbing you by the jaw. “You’re mine.” He growls deeply, looking directly into your eyes. “Understood?”

“Is that so?” The words come out muffled as you try to rip away from the firm grip he has on your face.

“Let go, Lo’ak” you grimace, feeling his fingers dig into your skin.

Suddenly, his gaze softens, realizing that he’s hurting you. He lets go and takes a step back, dropping his head.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles, feeling terrible for handling you so roughly. “When I saw him touch you like that… when I saw you touch him like that…” he struggles to get his words out.

You can already feel yourself softening at his words. Your feelings for him were too strong to deny… to ignore. You stand there, in silence, allowing him the chance to speak – to redeem himself.

“I… I see you, y/n.” He says seriously, putting your hand against his chest.

Tears roll down your cheeks. Hearing him say these words brings too many emotions to you at once. You pull away, afraid of being hurt again. He grabs your hand, placing it back onto his chest, afraid that he’s really losing you.

“Please... just listen.” He pleads, furrowing his brows. “My father. Tonowari. They want me to be Tsireya's mate.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want this, I don’t want... her. But you know the pressure they put me under. I’m sorry I said those horrible things to you...” he drops his head again, allowing his tears to fall on the ground.

“I didn’t mean a single word.”

There you go, completely soft for the man that stands before you, all over again. Your feelings come crashing back into you like they never left. Because they didn’t. You can’t even figure out how you feel, as so many emotions and thoughts are coursing through you all at once.

“So, when I saw you and Ao’nung.” He mutters under his breath.

You witness a sudden change in his demeanour, as he embodies that of an akula. You watch as his amber eyes turn into a deep gold as they trace their way up your body, to look deeply into yours.

“… it makes me want to fuck the sense back into you” he growls.

A fire lights within your chest, just like the one he lit when he left you in the jungle alone. But this time, it burns brighter, bigger – hotter. You step towards him, maintaining eye contact. You come face to face with the akula and challenge him.

“So do it.” You taunt, brushing your chest against his. “Fuck me.” You whisper.

In an instant he has his hand wrapped tightly around your throat, backing you up against the rocky cove.

“Say that again, little one.” He snarls.

“I said. Fuck. Me.” You moan, staring up at him as you caress the arm that pins you against the cove.

He chuckles. “Let’s do it.” He drops his smile, turning you around and pushing you against the rough wall.

You let out breathy laugh, happy that you’re finally getting what you want. He holds your face firmly against the cove with one hand, and tugs your loincloth down your legs with the other.

“What? Don’t think I’ll make you mine? Hmm? Right here? Right now?” he pants into your ear as he kicks your legs apart.

His eager movements make the fire within your chest even hotter. “I don’t.” you tease.

“Watch me.” He growls, licking your ear, hurriedly untying his own loincloth.

He presses his thick cock against you whilst he kisses the nape of your neck. “We are in the most sacred place, are we not?” he mumbles into your neck, brushing his sharp fangs against your skin.

You can’t even form a coherent thought, you’re too overwhelmed by his insistent touches. All you can think about is how badly you want him to ram his cock inside of you, to fuck the sense back into you – to discipline you. The sensation of his teeth rubbing against you makes you pant, hard.

Without warning, he marks you. Sinking his teeth into your skin, sucking slightly as he draws blood. You whimper loudly, wriggling under his grasp, feeling the wetness between your thighs drip down your legs. He unlatches and licks the wound.

“Mine.” He whispers directly into your ear, pressing his bulge between your lips.

It makes your luminescence flicker, being tamed by his touch in this way. You’re panting heavily at this point, feeling your heart thump uncontrollably. If he didn’t fuck you soon, you’d lose it.

“Oh, please...” you breathe shakily, backing yourself up onto him. “...I’m still not yours.”

Teasing Lo’ak like this would only get you one thing – punished. You want the beast within him to come out and play, to obliterate you completely.

Just like that, the beast came out to play.

“Fuck, woman.” He presses your face even harder against the wall as he hurriedly rubs his cock against you cunt, coating it with your thick slick.

“Say that again.” He growls, lining up his tip with your aching hole.

He really growled this time, right into your ear. It frightens you, making you nervous to repeat yourself.

“I’m still... not you- Fuck!” you yelp, being cut off by him ramming his entire length into you in one, hard thrust.

“Not what?” he whispers breathily, pressing his cockhead firmly against your cervix.

“Ugh... f-fuck Lo’ak.” You moan loudly, melting into his rough touches.

He pulls his cock all the way out of you, leaving the tip in. “Not. What?” he repeats.

“No... please.” You beg him, feeling so empty.

“Say it, you little slut.” He growls, squeezing your hip with his free hand.

“Fuck. I’m yours. I’m yours!” you shout, trying to rock back into him.

“That’s right. You are mine.” He plants a sloppy kiss on your neck as he slams his entire length back into you.

You squeal loudly, trying to keep your noises to a minimum.

“No. Moan for me, so that boy toy of yours can hear you.” he slams his cock into you once more.

“Ughhh. Lo’ak!” you let loose a lengthy, high-pitched moan.

“Just like that” he smiles into your neck.

Lo’ak moves his hand from your hip to your cunt, using two fingers to rub circles onto your swollen clit. He’s pounding into you so roughly that your legs feel like they're about to give out. Swiftly moving his other hand from your head down to the thin cloth covering your breasts, he fiddles with it, untying the knot in a hurry. It falls off you, exposing your erect nipples.

“Every part of you. It’s all mine. All of it.” He grunts into your shoulder, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

You feel so dazed – so out of it. He’s giving you the pounding of your life, whilst massaging your clit and nipple at the same time. You couldn’t think straight, much less answer him. You close your eyes tightly, trying to focus on one sensation at a time, so not to cry from the extreme overstimulation. But it’s all too much.

“...mmn. Lo’ak... Please! It’s too fucking much! Stop!” You whine loudly, trying to pull his hand away from your clit.

“I tell you *slam* to go see *slam* other na’vi *slam* and you actually do it? You listen to me too well.” He pants, thrusting his hips even faster into you.

“Please! Lo’ak I can’t take anymore!” You cry out, moving your other hand behind you, pushing his pelvis away from you.

“Cum for me, then I’ll give you a break.” He breathes, pushing even harder against you.

Each thrust makes your lewd noises louder and louder. He sets a merciless rhythm, rutting his hips into you ruthlessly, insisting with his thrusts that you cum on his throbbing, veiny cock. He matches the speed of his fingers with his hips, fondling with your pearl even faster. You let loose little, whiney mewls as you can’t hold back anymore. Giving into the immense pleasure, you release your tensed muscles, allowing yourself to cum at last.

“Cumming! Cumming! Cumming!” you repeat loudly, hoping he’ll hear you and stop.

But he doesn’t.

Your legs are shaking uncontrollably, just like your pussy pulsing violently around his cock, releasing your essence all over it. He’s still pounding into you, feeling no pity for your trembling body.

“I came Lo’ak! Please!” you beg, clawing at Lo’ak’s arm.

“Shh, little one. It’s alright, you can take it.” He reassures you, planting hickeys along your shoulders, ramming his cock even deeper into you. “It’s what you deserve for being a little slut. For touching Ao’nung.” He growls, pressing even harder against your clit.

“No! No... please!” you cry out, begging him repeatedly for mercy.

Tears stream down your face as you sob from the overstimulation. It feels like your clit is on fire, like your bladder is going to burst – like you’re going to cum all over again.

“I feel you heating up again, my sweetheart. It’s okay, you can cum.” He groans in your ear.

You sob loudly, as your face reddens from the swelling of your sweet spot. He’s fucking right into it, trying to make you gush all over him again. You feel your body pushing him out of you, tensing up again as you reach your second climax.

“Here? Right?” he pants, bucking his hips even harder into your sweet spot.

“F-fuck! Yes! Yes! Yes!” You sob as your entire body convulses, pushing his cock out of you while you squirt your nectar all over your trembling legs.

He pulls his hands away from your sore nipple and clit, wrapping them tightly around your waist to keep your knees from buckling. You slump into him, breathing erratically as you come down from your high.

“Shh... Shh. You did well, baby.” He whispers, lowering you onto your knees. “Here is your little break...” he grabs a fist full of your hair, turning you around to face his huge cock. “...you earned it.”

He looks down at your watery, drunk eyes as he pushes his cock into your face. “Taste yourself.”

You take a deep breath, before taking his tip into your mouth. From all the sobbing and begging from earlier, you had enough spit for him to slide his entire length into your mouth easily. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag. His head dips back as he releases guttural groans into the air.

“Fuck.” he moans, pulling himself out of you. “Lie down and spread your legs for me.”

You know better by now not to disobey his orders. You were too fucked out to even talk back. You lay down on the mossy rock beneath you and open your weak legs. He sees your inebriated, weary eyes, and starts to pity you.

“Alright, my love. You’re okay.” He hums, gently wrapping your limp legs around his hips.

He crouches over you, looking deeply in your eyes, realizing how far he went. He wipes your tears away with the back of his hand and leans in to kiss you softly. He moves his wet kisses down to your shoulders, planting a kiss over every hickey he left behind.

“Do you want to stop?” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You look down to see his raging erection, jumping at the sight of your slit. “But you haven’t calmed down yet.” You mumble.

“So? It does not matter.” He mutters, unwrapping your legs from his hips.

“No, don’t.” you purr, tightening your legs around him, pulling him closer to you. “Keep going.”

He stops briefly, searching for your bluff in your eyes. You pull him his face closer to yours and kiss him feverishly. “I want you inside me, Lo’ak.”

You both watch as his cock disappears slowly into your body, inch by inch. Your gazes meet again now that you are forehead to forehead. He rocks into you languidly, as he caresses your thighs. Your breath hitches when his pelvis meets yours.

“You okay?” he asks, worried that you’re in pain.

“Mhm, feels good.” You breathe into his mouth.

“Y/n.” he states, thrusting lazily into you.

“Mmm?” you hum, closing your eyes to immerse yourself in pleasure.

“Will you be my mate?” he pants as his hips buck into you a little faster.

Your eyes fly open, surprised that he asked you that. He can see the shock in your face and kisses you gently.

“I mean it. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what happens if I go against my father. Or Tonowari.” He pants between kisses. “I want you to be mine. For life.”

Here we go, crying again. The words touched your heart in a way you’ve always wanted his words to. He pulls away and hushes you, wiping away your tears once more.

“Don’t cry, my sweetheart.” He whispers, leaning back in to kiss you once more. “You mean more to me than anything else.”

You feel like you can’t get the words out – you’re so choked up. Instead, you just tug at his queue, bringing it over his shoulder.

“Say the words, my love. I don’t want to do this if you’re not sure.” He stops his movements, sitting up slightly.

You nod quickly, still tugging at his queue. “Yes, Lo’ak. Yes.”

His eyes lit up as the corner of his lips curved upwards. Lifting your head with one hand, he uses the other to stroke the length of your queue, bringing it over your shoulder. Taking his queue in your hand, you bring them together, watching them intertwine with one another. You both take a sharp breath when the bond is made, feeling each other’s breath, the thump of your hearts... the love you have for one another.

“I see you, my mate.” Lo’ak croaks, holding back his tears.

“I see you, ma Lo’ak.” You cry, kissing him passionately.

His hips rock into you once more, picking up speed quickly now that he can feel your arousal – your desire for him. He’s so deep inside of you it feels like he’s about to pierce through your cervix, right into your womb. He’s never gone this deep before. You struggle to catch your breath, as you look up into the sky to see the eclipse occurring.

How long have we been at this?

The fire in your chest is overflowing, trickling down your spine right into your womb. You feel sensations you’ve never felt before. You’re synced with him, feeling his climax quickly approaching. Not only that, but you can feel something else – something bigger asking for permission to come inside of you. Worried, you search your mates’ eyes for answers.

“Feel that?” he grunts, pushing his knot against your entrance. “’tis my knot. You think you can take it?” he asks breathlessly, through pursed lips and furrowed brows.

He’s never knotted you before. He always made up some excuse before, about why knotting is off the table. All you can muster up the energy to do is nod, as you open your legs even more to accommodate him.

“Wait. Did you get your heat?” he pants, trying to figure out the chances of getting you pregnant if he knots you right now.

“I – I got it... the week you left me. Mmn... The week that I took off - Ugh!” You whimper, feeling his knot trying to burrow its way inside of you.

“Fuck. Y/n. You should have told me.” He grunts, pushing his pelvis into you even more.

“I didn’t know! I thought... you told me... Oh – oh shit. Lo’ak that’s too big!” you blabber as your head feels cloudy. “I can’t –”

“Only I can calm your heat, y/n.” he grits his teeth, gripping your hips and pulling them closer to his.

Images of Ao’nung calming you during your heat unwillingly flashes through your mind. You can feel the jealously bubbling in Lo’ak’s chest - his territorial urges taking charge. He’s going to knot you, whether you like it or not. You hold on tightly to your mate, bracing yourself for Lo'ak to claim you as his.

You feel your pussy stretch to incomprehensible lengths as he shoves your hips down onto his thick, purple, veiny knot. Your moans start as low, lengthy mewls, eventually morphing into loud, strained grunts as it pops inside of you. You bury your face into his neck, breathing in his natural scent.

His cock throbs, spurting thick ropes of warm, sticky seed deep inside your womb. You hear his guttural groans and grunts right next to your ear, as he rocks into you every so often, ensuring to fill you to the brim.

“Mine.” He growls, slumping onto you.

“Lo’ak.” You croak, barely being able to breathe. “You’re squishing me.”

“Mmm.” He groans, rolling onto his back, bringing you with him.

You’re on top of him now, laying stomach to stomach, whilst your face is nestled into his chest. You take a few deep breaths, before closing your heavy-lidded eyes.

----

After caring for one another, you both make your way back to the village. Arriving at the shore, you dismount your ilus and walk hand in hand to the mangroves where you meet the displeased gaze of the Olo’eyktan and Jake. Behind them stood the rest of the sully family, and Tonowari’s family.

Everyone is trying to get a glance at the two of you through the two big-bodied men that stand before you. You both bow, sweeping your fingers from your forehead towards them, acknowledging their presence. They look at each of you, and then down to your intertwined fingers. Jake is visibly resisting the urge to skin his son in front of everyone, and Tonowari is giving you a very disappointed look. Ronal steps forward, looking the two of you up and down as she circles you both.

“Tonowari. What is this?” she yells, causing both your ears to lay flat.

Lo’ak lets go of your hand and steps in front of you.

“We are mated...” he mumbles, looking at his feet. “...for life.”

“That’s enough.” Jake interrupts, hissing under his teeth.

Lo’ak shakes his head, stepping back to hold your hand once more. “It is done. Before Eywa.” he looks up at his father, and Olo’eyktan.

Ao’nung makes his appearance, walking swiftly from behind his father, eyes locked tightly onto Lo’ak holding your hand. Lo’ak strides forward, almost lunging at Ao’nung. You pull him back to you, and tug on his arm.

“Don’t. Were already in a lot of shit, Lo'ak.” You whisper, squeezing his hand tightly.

“I don’t care. You are my mate, now.” he whispers loudly, hoping Ao’nung and the rest can hear him.

“Is that so?” you mutter under your breath, dropping your head to hide your grin.

Tags:@jakexneytiri @sweethoneycn @deadgirl02 @keijis-wifey @pandorxx @swiftielivvie @teyamfangirl @bl-lover-yaoi @sooebear @vanillawhale @bxnnywriting @athenachu @trashboat-the-raccoon @avaixe @itssiaaax @qweq-6802 @rodeosayu @girlpostingsposts @jakesullysbabygirl @rinloversworld @agelsully @zetey @boooogieman @jiafeimagic @eywascall @yawneneteyam @weirdomcu @pandxrastars @eichenhouseproperty @camgod78 @kibiscribbles @bedofpearls @kurtsworld096 @audrinawf @otukirey @deexdeez @c78r @bby-bo @neteyamsmate4life @wheniseeyouigogonutz @sullymenrhot @jakescumdump

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lovecolibri · 2 years ago

Note

SaL anon here my friend after a very, very long week. This is actually my 3rd attempt at sending you an ask. First, I finally had time and was excited to type up something for the latest episode and then the Buck LI stuff came out and the mood for that was killed. Next I had mostly typed up my salty thoughts only to have my internet go down (yes, I whined at home "what i was going to read??!!" and pointedly ignored my very much filled bookcase because my ships aren't in them). So here let's see if this one works out.

So how is it KR and the promo dept always manage to kill any joy we have when we get fed any kind of Buddie content (the follow-up to the Eddie getting shot, and the 5b and premier come to mind here)?? Seriously Buck and Eddie more or less went on a date and had family night together and almost immediately they came back with "look Buck and Eddie are going to go on dates!!". Its exhausting cause it seems like any time they put out a story that might even be slightly suggestive of them being more than platonic bros they insist on following it up with stories to "prove" they are, no matter how recycled those plots are.

And okay let's take a second here to ask WTF is KR doing with these characters? In 6b alone we've had Buck dying, a coma dream, PTSD, super powers, and now he's getting a crush, and we STILL haven't finished the accursed sperm donor storyline??!! Bobby and Athena investigated had the death of a beloved friend 🙄 plot, HenRen had the nonsensical Denny secretly seeing his Dad which was never an issue before plot, and Madney and Eddie are just kinda there?? The other characters have had at best one storyline where the audience has to either invent or rewrite the backstory for. But for Buck he's had like 50 plotlines, none of which have really gone anywhere? I love Buck but I'd rather have him have 1 good arc and resolution than whatever this bullshit is. I'd easily take that screentime and give it to any of the other characters if it meant we got 1 well thought out and executed storyline. Instead we're just recycling and redressing old plots for everyone else while KR uses a magnetic poetry set to plan what Buck's doing from episode to episode. We have 5 episodes left in the season, 4-5 guest characters that are going to be incorporated (including 2 much beloathed ones 🙄🙄🙄), and nothing really setup for our mains to do (even Eddie dating isn't setup, it literally hasn't come up after Ana and you'd think they could have in 6a while he was watching his son mature).

Anyway, I'll stop the rant here though there's definitely more I could say. I'll close off saying I hope you're feeling better today since this week looks like its been rough on you. Sending you virtual tea, soup, and hugs!!

Long week is RIGHT my friend! I'm so sorry you were foiled in your previous attempts! I am right there with you on the Buck LI stuff just...sucking a lot of the joy out of things for me. Because of course we're doing this again 🙄🙄🙄 I was even writing up notes on a possible fic and you KNOW I haven't written anything since Malex and even that was before s4 started. But alas. That sucks about the power going out! I hate when that happens especially if I was in the middle of something! (Also I am SO with you. I keep buying books and then just...not reading them because my brain says "it's not our blorbos so no.)

I am just...so tired at this point. Like yes these people *may* not stick around, but even so, I don't want to loose out on Buddie scenes and Buckley-Diaz family scenes! I don't want Buck to have 90% of his time and discussions with some new character I do not know or care about instead of Eddie and the firefam! They already tried to do that with BT and it was the woooooorst! I want Eddie to have screentime and arcs but again, I don't want the little time we DO get to be wasted on some random side character! And lets be honest, there is no person they can introduce at this point that can compare with the relationship Buck and Eddie have already built and the ways in which they are the perfect partners for what each other needs. So the options are to a) cut down on seeing that relationship so their new het ones don't look so shitty and lame in comparison, b) have these women be mostly just Blurry Girlfriends in the background with no personality or depth just to have the boys paired off so they don't have to do Buddie while still centering their relationship so people can't call them out for not committing to Buddie because their "friendship" looks basically the same, or c) give them LIs that are basically the other's personalities transplanted into a female body in order to have the relationship be anything close to what Buck and Eddie need in a life partner. These are all terrible options, and I hate them, more than I hate the idea of them ending up single even though it undercuts their own narrative set up for the characters but that's a cop-out too.

ANYWAY

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 to everything about Buck's 700 shitty arcs this season while everyone else is mostly twiddling their thumbs. KR is literally the worst at pacing and planning, and constructing a season with any kind of flow. On the bright side, Ravi is coming back and Chim is going to get to do something! I'm so excited! I was really hoping for more of him and Bobby teaming up last week because the little crumbs we got were GOLD.

I did have a very emotionally rollercoaster-y week and the show being Like This absolutely Did Not Help, but I am making it work. Mostly with loooots of fic. Cheers friend, lets see if we can make it through the finale intact, if Buddie dreams can make it through the finale intact, and if the SHOW can make it through the finale intact with how these renewal negotiations are going.

#my sweet nonnie friends #sleeping at last anon #911 #911 spoilers #IDC how it turns out 5 episodes from now or next season this is literally a repeat of s2 AND s4 #with eddie getting with someone and buck going back to trying to date right after #i am TIRED #i am OVER them running things in circles and going nowhere #and i am sick of kr ruining everything about the show with her incompetence and her obsession with cheap drama #GOD and the sperm donor thing is STILL fucking going!#didn't she say how “fun” it could be to see buck trying to date in the middle of all that?!#GOD if i think too hard about that storyline or the next few episodes i just get filled with rage #so i'm gonna go read some fic and calm down #but it is past time for her to go for REAL #get that woman AWAY from buck and his arcs and the whole damn show actually #brb gotta go scream into the woods for an hour

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piratesfromspace · 4 years ago

Text

Training Day

Frank Castle (the Punisher) x Reader

Word count: 2k TW: knifeplay, mention of death and violence, gun, sexual tension, mention of alcohol

Female pronouns for reader

Note: Please keep in mind that in real life knifeplay should ALWAYS be discussed with your partner before anything, and that you should play with the safety of your partner being a priority. Stay safe.

“Again”

You scramble up on your feet, with a little bit less enthusiasm than at the beginning of your lesson. It was at least the 6th time you had fallen hard on the ground. You’re starting to seriously question what seemed like a very good idea at first. Who would pass the opportunity to be trained by such a competent fighter? By the Punisher himself? Definitely not you.

You, the little rich girl forced into the streets and into hiding after your estranged father - a shady politician - messed with the wrong mafia boss. Your privileged life had fallen apart in a matter of seconds a year ago, half your family killed in the process, and since then you had learned that any valuable lesson usually came the (very) hard way. So when the vigilante had run into you while investigating said mafia, alone and in dire need of some help, he had wordlessly offered his protection and you had gladly accepted. Despite his brutality in a fight and his very unique moral code, you understood very quickly it wasn’t really the first time he chose to protect a runaway.

And here you are, on the floor of his small modest apartment, trying to apply the self defense techniques he taught you. You’re not the best student and it’s beginning to be a little bit annoying, the feeling of failure gnawing at the edge of your already pretty low self-confidence.

“Come on, try to catch this gun, I know you can do it.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, you shake your head a little, and without any warning you throw yourself toward him with all the strength you’ve got left. He dodges your attack with a surprising speed considering his massive frame, grabs your shoulder and throws you forward. You fall on the floor - again - and before you can get up, he’s on you, both knees on either side of your lean figure, his hips straddling yours. Gun pointed at you. You try to squirm to the side despite his legs caging you and you literally punch into his hand holding the gun. There’s a grunt of surprised pain, and the gun clatters to the floor. A small victory. Although it is kind of a cheat, knowing very well the nasty bruises and cuts already covering his right hand (he earned them in a fight against some tenacious gangsters a couple days ago) gave you an unfair advantage. But you’re not done yet.

Your secret weapon - a small pocket knife - has been hidden in your jacket sleeve, and you finally have the opportunity to take it out. With a grin you press the blade over his jeans against the inside of his thigh, where the artery would be. At the same time there is a metallic sheen in your visual field, and you unexpectedly feel the cold of steel against your throat. Of course, Frank fucking Castle has a knife of his own. And you were too caught in what you thought was the idea of the century to be wary of him striking back.

The blade of his combat knife is resting on your neck, barely touching your skin, but raising goosebumps anyway. He holds the weapon with a steady hand, careful not to hurt you.

“Not fast enough.”

his voice is always so impossibly deep, the tone confident. No trace of effort in it, while you’re trying to catch your breath under him.

“But I like the spirit. Keep it up, little one.”

You expect the exercise to be done, but he doesn’t budge, still straddling your hips, keeping you pinned to the floor. His blade flush against your throat. To anyone else, it would be a deadly threat, but not to you. You find it almost comforting to surrender like this, even though you know it’s not him who has the upper hand in the entirely different kind of game you’re both entangled since you met.

His body so close to yours, the adrenaline of the training, the thrill of the sharp edge of steel against your skin: it’s too much and not enough at the same time. You’re still trying to calm your breath, but now it’s for another reason than earlier. There is a moment of hesitation, you can feel it in the way his jaw clenches while his eyes look for yours. But whatever Castle has in mind, you don’t want him to stop. You bit your lips, raising your chin higher, baring your neck even more, just like animals do when they submit to a stronger one. The primitive display of submission awakens something feral in him.

He grabs slowly your wrist, the one threatening his thigh with the blunt pocket knife, and squeezes, just hard enough to make you let go of your weapon. It falls in a muffled thud on the carpet next to you as Castle lifts your arm above your head until he’s able to pin your wrist against the floor. He’s closer to you now, leaning over you, and you suddenly feel so small under him. He’s taking all your space, filling all your senses with what makes him him .

The heady scent of after-shave and smoke and a faint tangy smell that’s probably gunpowder.

The roughness of his denim and the delicious pressure of his fingers around your wrist.

The way he’s the only thing in the room you’re able to focus on, authority and confidence radiating from him.

The scars adorning his body - they are everywhere, some you can’t see, but others pretty obvious, and your eyes are going from one scar on his face to another, before landing on his lips.

When you meet his gaze, he’s already intently looking at you, and you can feel the dilemma playing in his mind. You’ve known him only for a couple months, but it feels like it’s been your entire life.

Frank Castle is not a very complicated man. He’s been hurt and betrayed in ways you unfortunately can relate to. He’s not a good man, he has killed and tortured too many to deserve to be called “good” - he’s not even interested in doing good himself. But, buried deep under the violence, the misanthropy and the anger, lies a sliver of hopeful belief, almost naive, that some of humanity can still be good. That somehow some of us can shine some light in the darkness of this world, and that those people need to be protected at all costs. Because they’re too pure to do what’s really necessary to fight off evil, he will do it. He will sacrifice his soul if it means a few can be saved. His conscience will never be clear ever again, so the least he can do is put to work his own wicked mind to support the good ones.

And for some misguided reasons, he thinks you’re one of those.

Compared to the fury he unleashes when he fights, the patience and softness he never fails to show you makes your heart flutter. It’s like he’s afraid he could hurt you more than life already did, no matter how many times you assure him he won’t. You’re pretty sure he would do anything you ask him to - he did kiss you that one time you asked, a few nights ago, both of you drunk on cheap whisky. Plush lips finding yours, callused hands gently holding the side of your face, his breath hot on your skin. The memory is brought back at the front of your mind, heat settling low in your belly.

This time it’s different though, he’s the one initiating whatever this is.

He moves his hips ever so slightly, unwillingly bringing your attention to his crotch and you can see how tight the fabric of his jeans has become. He follows your gaze but before he gets embarrassed, your eyes dart to his and in a bold move you lift your free hand to touch his thigh. Your own way to say this is ok. His lips part, and he shifts a bit again, unconsciously, pressing against your pelvic bone, the feeble friction enough to send a pleasant tingle in your body. You admire his calm and his sense of self-control though, because despite the now very visible desire burning in him, the blade on your throat is steadier than ever. Your hand leaves his thigh and slowly but surely wraps around his fingers on the handle of the knife. The tension is thick, the silence is deafening, the only noises your shallow breaths and the sound of fabric each time Castle is grounding your hips harder with his own.

You guide his hand with your own, removing the blade from your throat and as his pupils go wide, you bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss against the smooth steel. The gesture is both obscene and pious at the same time, like you’re paying respect to some holy relic, worshipping his own ability to take lives, revering the dark God he is.

“Fuck, girl…” he lets out in a growl, voice laced with admiration and with something else, something very unholy .

You’re actually surprised he allowed you to move his own arm, letting you take some control. The realization emboldens you. Maybe this will work . Frank Castle is too busy processing the aching fire that consumes him to anticipate your sudden attack. A mean twist of his wrist brings the knife to his own throat. The surprise makes him let go of your other hand, and you’re able to push him hard in the middle of his chest, your upper body surging up, legs coming out from under him. He tumbles backward, he’s swearing and laughing at the same time, like he’s actually amazed you managed to unsettle him. I can do it. You crawl on the floor as fast as you can, quickly grabbing the previously discarded gun and you turn around, aiming at him. I’ve got you Frank Castle, I won . He chuckles and raises his hands, surrendering to you.

“Not fast enough” you taunt him “but I liked the spirit”. You get up on your feet, and lower your aim. “Maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two.” This time you’re pushing your luck and you know it.

Frank smiles, and he gets up as well. He’s not wearing his Punisher gear, just his civilian clothes, a simple black shirt with sleeves rolled up, the thin fabric taut over his firm chest. Even from across the room, even without the kevlar vest, it’s impossible to forget how tall and broad he is, how the muscles of his forearms flex when he rubs the palm of his hand, how the bulge in his jeans leaves nothing to the imagination. You’re not the only one to stare though. Dark eyes are roaming your body, making your cheeks go red under his searing gaze.

A few seconds ago, you thought your training session was over but now you’re afraid your little stunt has done nothing to make him want to stop. And truth be told, you don’t want it to stop. Don’t want him to stop.

“Never lower your gun.” he breaks the silence, husky voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You still have a lot to learn, little girl.” he adds darkly, a smirk on his handsome face.

“Show me, then.” you reply too quickly for your own sake.

In a heartbeat, he’s on you, prying the gun from your hand, crushing you against the wall. There’s a split second of hesitation before his lips are on yours. His strong body pressed flush against your trembling figure, the tight knot of repressed desire finally snapping. And it feels good, so good you’re pretty sure your legs will give up under you. But it doesn’t matter because he’ll catch you, he’ll get you, of that you’re sure.

You know you’ve lost this round. But defeat has never tasted more like victory than now.

#frank castle x reader #the punisher #punisher x reader #frank castle imagine #knifeplay

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soshesighs · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Need

Oh hey, I made a new tumblr, so I guess I should actually post this instead of just sharing the google doc link in discord?

Fandom: @speakergame Pairing: Li/Speaker/Seb poly

Notes: Based on this ask, mostly a writing experiment for me. I set out to write a fic without any specifics for Li or Speaker (so this is second person ‘you’ for Speaker and ‘they’ for Li, not specifying between Liam or Lily). I wanted to make this as general as possible! The biggest thank you to the folks in the Speaker discord for being genuinely the nicest, most supportive people. I hadn’t shared anything I’d written publicly in about seven years before sharing a couple of things with them, and I’m not sure I would’ve had the guts without the overwhelmingly kind response in there.

----------

You are flying.

Soaring, arms flung out wide, letting the currents in the air cradle you along, caressing your skin until you break out in goosebumps - a ghost of a touch that feels so familiar, like a lover’s embrace.

You tilt your head back and take a deep breath, as if you could bottle and capture this moment in time and keep it with you always: the sun warming your face, hair flying about wildly around you - full of tangles and as free and untamed as you.

You are flying.

You should land, some part of your mind nags, but freedom’s call surges even louder overtop, gale force winds compared to the mere breeze of responsibility trailing down your back.

So you don’t. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, exhale out every fear and painful thought, and flex your fingers, bidding the wind to keep you afloat, keep you from drowning.

Can you drown in the air?

A sudden fearful burst, a fist clenched tight around your heart, and you feel yourself freeze, your conviction falter. And suddenly, there is a headwind, turbulence where there once was none, nothing below.

You are falling.

And the wind, your friend, has suddenly turned so, so cold.

----------

You awake with a start, shivering, eyes darting about wildly as your heart pounds, trying to discover what flung you back into sudden consciousness. You move to sit up, reaching out blindly for the blankets that should be covering you, but instead find a hand sliding slowly onto your waist - a calming, familiar weight. It takes you a moment, clenching your eyes and taking in a ragged breath, to realize what it means.

“You’re back,” you whisper, voice cracking towards the end. Maybe they’ll think it’s just from sleep-induced lack of use, you hope. But they’ve always been more observant than that.

They tug you back down from where you’ve pushed yourself into a half-sit, silently beckoning you to come back to bed.

As soon as you’re situated again, you feel the cool slide of their nose against the heated skin of your neck, lips pressing lightly to where your pulse still flutters wildly beneath your skin. “I am,” they say, quietly, so as not to wake your other partner somehow still sleeping softly beside you. “Breathe. It’s just me.”

A shaky exhale seems to hardly bring you any relief, but you feel their lips quirk up in a smile against you for having heard you try.

“We - we thought…” you trail off, swallowing hard around the words that seem lodged in your throat. Echoes of falling, crashing down, still fresh in your mind.

But they don’t push. They never do. They just hum softly in curious acknowledgement, waiting for you to continue. After the silence lingers a bit longer than normal, they seem to decide that perhaps distraction is their better course of action.

“How’d you get Bas to sleep?” they ask, hand sliding briefly off your waist to brush ever-so-gently against the other person at your side. Not enough to wake, but he still somehow arches into the touch, pushing back against the familiar touch even in slumber.

It brings the slightest of smiles to your lips, and you reach down to thread your fingers with theirs, settling both your hands against the other person’s hip. It’s only then that you notice - or perhaps you had before, but your own tidal wave of fear drowned it out - just how cold they feel, the slight tremor running as an undercurrent to their entire system.

You roll slightly, twisting onto your side until you’re facing them (but even still, your toes reach out beneath the covers to find Sebastian behind you - always touching them both when they’re around, as if you need to be sure they’re real and there and unharmed, your grounding forces). Sliding your hand from theirs, you reach up to gently brush their hair back from their face, letting the touch linger as you examine them fully.

“You’re hurt,” you whisper instead of answering their question, that fist squeezing your heart again until you feel as if it might burst.

“Not hurt,” they insist. As your fingers trail down the soft angles of their face, they pretend to nip playfully at them - it’s almost enough to earn a soft laugh from you, but even in the dark of the bedroom, you can see that the usual playful spark simply isn’t there in their eyes.

Brows furrowed, you pull back, settling your hand instead on their chest. “You're trembling.”

Their eyes close then, a quiet concession - the weariness clearly written on their features, and you know then that they’ve had a mask up all night, not letting anyone see how drained they were slowly getting. It only just now begins to crack, now that they’re safely home with you both.

“Li,” you begin, but a stirring behind you cuts your sentence short. Sebastian wakes and turns around behind you and, in an echo of Li’s earlier touch, reaches over your waist to settle on them - succeeding in both pulling you closer against his chest and beckoning them into the embrace as well.

His voice is sleep-rough and deep when he finally speaks. “You said you’d be back hours ago. Everything alright?”

You nestle the back of your head under Sebastian’s chin, shaking it slightly, but enough that you know he feels it. You don’t give Li a chance to respond, because you know them well enough by now (by heart, like a second self) to know that they won’t answer truthfully - at least not right away. "Overexertion," you mumble in their stead, eyes still locked with theirs as if daring them to contradict you.

They try, briefly. A scoff comes from in front of you, but it holds none of the usual power behind it. "I'm fine, mom and dad."

"Don't call us that," Sebastian says, a tired chuckle in his voice, "Or we'll kick you out of this bed."

"You wouldn't."

A brief pause, as if considering, and then, "No, we wouldn't. "

Reaching out, you rub your free hand up and down their arm, hoping to warm them up even slightly. "What do you need, Li?"

"I'm fi-..."

A small noise of frustration leaves you, cutting them off, and in one swift movement, you hoist yourself up and over Li until you're settled on their other side. Scooting in close behind them, nestling your knees into the backs of theirs, you gently push until you've maneuvered them more towards the center of the bed.

You sling an arm over their chest, hand once again finding its way to rest over their heart, and bury your face into their shoulder, pressed fully against them now as if your body could physically cage their exhausted, overworked form within your safety and embrace.

“I said, what do you need?” you repeat, not lifting your head, voice muffled by the soft fabric of their shirt. It’s what they left in this morning; they haven’t even changed before sliding into bed, you note.

The bed shifts, and you know that Sebastian has moved closer too. You don't have to look up to also know he runs his hand up into Li's hair, tangling his fingers in their soft locks, and pulls them forward for a kiss. Instead, you smile into their shoulder blade, pressing your own quiet kiss there, showering them with affection from all angles.

When the two of them separate (with a barely audible gasp, and you hope the three of you never adjust to this thing between you, never take it for granted), Sebastian clears his throat and speaks up again. "You didn't drive here like this, did you?"

The silence gives away their answer.

"You should've called," you manage to say around the yawn breaking out of you, your indignation lost somewhat around the sound.

"I already got an earful from Mama as I was leaving, I don't need more from you two."

You nuzzle your nose against their back, relishing in the unusual position you've found yourself in spooned up behind them. "Mm, too bad. We love you too."

Their whole demeanor softens at that, and if possible, they seem to relax even further into the bed. "I know."

"You scared us. When you didn't come home, we thought - that is, we were worried that…" You trail off, clenching the fabric of their shirt in your fist, unable to voice your worst fears.

They sigh and repeat, "I know. I'm sorry." Their hand clasps over yours, stilling your frantic worrying of the fabric and giving what is surely meant to be a reassuring squeeze. "Is that what you were dreaming about?"

Sebastian pushes up onto an elbow at this, looking at you over Li. "Dreaming about?"

Your gaze meets his, and now you can tell he's really worried, knowing that something is troubling both of his partners.

"Not precisely, not in so many words, but I think so, yes," you admit, voice small. "I think… I think I knew something was wrong? Everything was going fine in my dream - I was flying, and it was the most beautiful sunny day - and then suddenly it was as if someone flipped a switch. Dark, and cold, and I was falling, nothing below me to soften the fall but blackness."

The room falls quiet for a bit after that as the two of them let your words sink in, and you know they're picturing it: that stomach plummeting feeling of absolute terror.

"I almost passed out," Li finally concedes, voice low and tired, knowing that unfortunately they're giving your fears validation. "On the drive home. We had an emergency at the clinic, and I might've overdone it. Given too much."

Your heart stutters, a mismatched pattern of beats that takes your breath away at the mere thought of what could've happened. You tighten your grip on their hand to a point that you know has to be painful, but they don't mention it; they just cling to you as well, the slightest tremor still moving through them, the ongoing protest of their exhausted body that you know will remain until they have the chance to recover. All you can manage in reply is a small terrified, strangled noise.

"Might have? So we circle back to 'what do you need?' then," Sebastian says, no longer phrasing it as a question.

A long exhale, and then, "Rest. A lot of it."

"You must be out of it to admit you need sleep over coffee," Sebastian teases, a hint of a smile in his voice despite the heavy air to the conversation.

"Don't tempt me," they goad right back, but they make absolutely no move to get up. You briefly wonder if they even could in this state.

You push up just enough that you can press a kiss to the crook of their neck. "Sleep, love. You've earned it." And then, much softer, "Please."

They sigh once more, nestling further into the sheets and pillows cocooning them, and you can practically hear the pout in their voice. "'M fine."

"But I'm not," you whisper, mind still stuck on the fear of what could've been, that feeling of your insides jumbled up in freefall. "So for me?"

A sobering stillness falls over all three of you before Li finally breaks it with an exaggerated huff and a nod, though you know there’s no real annoyance or malice behind it. Their voice is temperate, full of unspoken love when they reply, "Always."

Only then do you feel like you can finally begin to relax again.

#speaker game #my fics #li/seb poly #man posting writing again borderline gives me a panic attack and I don't like it #I hate that something that was such as huge part of my life now feels so hard and awkward #but I'm so glad to have found a story that sparks creativity in me again #so thank you rhi if you see this again #thanks for letting me play in your amazing sandbox and for always being so supportive and kind about it!

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samiralula01 · 5 years ago

Text

Jason Todd is the Anti-Batman

* A pointless rambling of the relationship and parallels between Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd.

Picture this opening scene: There are two boys in a dark alley.

One is dressed in an expensive suit with a tie his dead father helped him with only earlier that evening. His hands are stained red with the same blood now puddled on the grimy cement. His face is in shock.

The second boy is dressed in tattered jeans and hoodie. His hands are stained with tires grease and are clutching a tire iron. His face is in shock.

Decades later, there are two more scenes to consider.

A seriously injured man sits slumped over in his father’s study. Without warning, a bat crashes through the window, and everything falls into place. He now knows what he needs to do.

Elsewhere, an emotionally distraught teenager is curled up into a fetal position on a hotel room floor. Heart wrenching cries can be heard from him. But it is only momentary. He now knows what he needs to do.

These two individuals are Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd. While they are both broken and determined men, Batman is a hero. The Red Hood is not. He is the anti-Batman and this is why.

Two Boys in an Alleyway

Despite similarities in their stories’ early themes and elements, Bruce and Jason came to walk down very different paths. One of justice, and the other vengeance. Batman is determined to protect the innocent and Jason more so on punishing the guilty. Both their ideologies have intrinsic flaws, of course, and will naturally clash often. But this wasn’t always the case.

Before they became a father and son perpetually in mourning for who they once were and what could have been, Bruce and Jason were remarkably similar. The two are cut from the same cloth and Bruce knows this better than anyone else.

In the Dumpster Slasher three-part story line, (Batman #414, #421, #422) Bruce becomes emotional. Violent. He sits in the batcave alone that night and contemplates his emotions.

“Nearly blew it. I let it get too personal. Lost my detachment...nearly lost control. Almost beat Cutter to death. Wouldn’t have been any big loss.”

Only one issue later, at the end of this story arc, Robin is out on the streets and becomes angry when he happens upon a pimp is threatening a prostitute with a knife. Now, I want you to compare his line here to Bruce’s and note what Jim Gordon said to him as well.

Batman: "I think he’s had enough, Robin. What were you trying to do, kill him?" Robin (Jason): “Would it’ve been that big of a loss if I had?”

It is important to note here that Batman is not worried or upset just because Jason roughs up a pimp. That would be hypocritical considering his own earlier actions. If anything, it’s because one of the main reasons Batman even takes in these kids, these ‘robins,’ is because he doesn’t want them to be like him.

And Jason was acting just like him.

Jason can and has screwed up and failed due to his own actions, but it was never the reason Batman became upset with him. His reactions in the comics when Jason does things like running ahead and ‘jumping the gun,’ are more like this:

He either makes a teaching moment out of it or is attempts to understand Jason’s reasons in doing any such thing. When Bruce does become harsh in his discipline, it’s either when he feels as though Jason has endangered his own life or as I said, he acts too much like him.

While there are quite a few more similarities between Bruce and Jason that makes them alike, such as both being introverted and interested in obtaining all sorts of knowledge that they might not even feel is relevant, they are both, at the core of their characters, deeply caring and compassionate people.

The differences only start to show with how they act on it.

The Not-So Dynamic Duo?

“What happened to you as a child, the terror, the pain, the horrors (...) you were broken, and I thought I could put the pieces back together. I thought I could do for you what could never be done for me. Make you whole.”

Hot take. Jason Todd is a villain and is best written as a villain.

Not in that campy way like he’s written during Dick and Damian’s Batman and Robin run while wearing that stupid pill-headed hood, (although, I grant he has a few lines that are enjoyable to read) but in all his serious, vengeful and downright brutal motives.

The Red Hood is the perfect Batman villain because he’s so different from what the widely perceived perfect foil to the controlled and disciplined Bat is...the Joker.

The Red Hood was vengeance at its purest. It is justice without being tempered by mercy. It is the rage of victims who were forgotten to become statistics. While other vigilantes wait for a cure, hope for rehabilitation, and pretend their system works, the Red Hood is a man of no such faith.

And this makes him a villain. And a damn good one.

During the Red Hood’s time as a crime lord in Gotham, he goes around blowing up buildings. He throws grenades into trucks. He mows down his competition with gunfire. Batman comes upon the bloodied hanged corpse of a man he was finished interrogating.

But what is so compelling about this all is that before all the murder, all the guns and explosions, Jason Todd was a very different little boy. And all the great and memorable villains start that way.

The Joker is not someone you’re meant to sympathize with or even understand. In fact, I find him more terrifying because he’s unknown. He has no backstory (unless you want to believe the one he gave in Killing Joke, but the clown has a new story for every face he meets) and seemingly does what he does for a laugh of all things.

Jason Todd is in pain. He’s traumatized. Betrayed. Buried. Replaced. He is no one’s son because his father abandoned him.

Once upon a time, Jason Todd was a boy who saved himself. One of the biggest lies that Batman himself perpetuates is that he saved Jason from a life of crime. He tells Alfred that Jason was always dangerous. Bruce simply took him off the streets before he could be any worse.

But I don’t believe that’s true.

Jason grew up surrounded by crime, poverty, substance abuse and yet this amazing kid saved himself everyday by making a conscious choice to be kind and care about school, care about keeping his mother alive for over a year when he was just a child himself. That amazing kid was magic.

Jason Todd as Robin was magic.

“Jason smiles. A bright smile. The kind Robin, the Boy Wonder should have.”

A good portion of his character’s assassination was in order to push the Tim is the perfect Robin idea. It was editorial decisions. The same ‘suits’ who insisted that Tim Drake be the Robin in the New Adventures cartoon despite having Jason’s backstory and personality. But I digress on that.

Jason Todd was an introverted, studious, and emphatic person. He wanted to make friends with other kids his age even though he was a loner at heart. He joined the school baseball team and was a class officer, even if his training kept him from most social interactions.

He was also very much in tune with non-verbal cues and small changes in the environment around him. He was a thoughtful person who could be found admiring the stars or passing by scenery. When he teams up with the New Teen Titans, we get to see these aspects of his personality:

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful before. We’re actually riding above the clouds.”

“Every so often, I notice you become awfully agitated...like something was going on you didn’t want to be part of. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

It didn’t take Bruce long to fall in love with this boy and ask to legally adopt him. He found him to be smart, thoughtful, quick at learning and funny as hell. Their first meeting opens with Batman laughing in the very same alley his heart was ripped out decades earlier.

Even in the Rebirth canon, (RHATO #48) we see that Bruce is already set on taking in Jason while he’s still with Ma Gunn’s school. He likes this kid. A lot.

“Butler, actually. You’ll meet him someday, I’m sure.”

Jason Todd was happy. Most of the time. Unfortunately, he still wrestled with depression and would sleep all day on occasion and could be found crying hidden away on his own, withdrawn from the concerned Bruce and Alfred.

In A Death in the Family, Alfred and Bruce sit down and discuss Jason’s worsening mental health, particularly after the Diplomat’s Son where Jason becomes witness to sexual assault, suicide and the failings of both Batman and the GCPD to protect innocent people. Barbara, his tutor, someone he cared about and got along with, is also shot a few months earlier.

Bruce thinks Jason has become suicidal. Alfred does not disagree with this theory and supplements it with things he’s observed himself about the ‘lad.’

“I’ve come upon him, several times, looking at that battered old photograph of his mother and father, crying. When he’s seen me, he’s hidden the picture and left the room, refusing to talk.”

It is then that Jason discovers the truth about his mother at the worst possible time, when he’s not even thinking straight, and thus leads way to the tragedy that will be his murder at the hand’s of the Joker.

The Curse of Jason Todd

“Do you have any idea what you have done?! Do you? You have no inkling of what you’ve created -- what you have unleashed! You have set free a curse upon this world!”

Red Hood: Lost Days, which depicts Jason’s dark post-resurrection origin, opens with Ra’s al Ghul bellowing this line, the steam from the Lazarus Pit still rising off of him.

I’m not going to analyze this line, I’m just using it to supplement a point of mine I hope I’m getting through well enough. The Red Hood is a compelling, tragic villain. He is similar to Batman in ways that Bruce always knew and may have even feared because of how intimately he knows his own deepest, darkest thoughts. Jason is the perfect foil as an antagonist for him because of what he represents to Bruce.

And it’s not his anger, or his rage, or even his brutality.

It’s his compassion. His caring. His emotions. And how they can open up the worst parts of themselves.

Both are motivated by preventing whatever trauma happened to them from ever happening to anyone else. They both trained for years with this motivation. And they’ve both acted out on the very person who inflicted their trauma onto them.

Here’s where their paths start to differ, however, and what separates them with a line of morality.

They both get angry. They both care so damn much. About Gotham, about innocents, about each other. They both get too emotionally invested and deal with consequences related to that. To manage with that, Bruce shuts down. He creates all these choices, rules and symbols. He uses every ounce of his self control to keep them.

Bruce Wayne is not a good person. He forces himself to be with discipline and will. He chooses to be a good man and constantly pushes himself to live up to that. Because it’d be too damn easy to be just like the Red Hood.

Jason doesn’t understand that. Because no matter what Bruce had done or will do, he doesn’t hate him. He can’t. Despite his denial of the fact to different people, he still thinks of Bruce as his father. This great figure that so many others revere and are even intimidated by.

He’s not the only bat-kid to think of Bruce in this light despite the fact that the man is not. It took Dick years to overcome that perception. Tim only just started to begin understanding this true nature after his own father was murdered.

But even if he did understand his (once)father, he still became the complete opposite of him despite so many early parallels. He doesn’t hold back his words and emotions, he doesn’t go into a state of controlled dissociation or emotional disengagement.

Jason Todd—the Red Hood—is Batman without all his rules and control. In a way, he’s what the darkest part of Batman himself wants to be. Jason does what Batman can’t do when it’s needed.

Because in Batman’s book, life beats out justice. Even if he could take down abusers and murderers, he won’t. He will choose saving and protecting lives over the apprehension of killers...he always does.

Batman is justice. Red Hood is vengeance.

Jason is a victim’s fantasy. He punishes and kills the guilty. Something Batman won’t do.

He is the anti-Batman for better or for worse.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #comic meta

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becasbelt · 5 years ago

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I know it’s not winter yet but have some winter fluff anyways

Notes: this is definitely based on that “Perks of Being a Wallfower” scene where Sam kisses Charlie for the first time, because of COURSE I watched that scene and could only think of bechloe.

* * *

“I’m so ready to not be going to class for the next couple of weeks,” Beca says, pulling her jacket tighter around her body as a cold breeze slips through the opening.

Chloe eyes her amusedly. “You know, you could maybe try zipping your coat up,” she teases, tugging lightly at her own zipper near the top of her jacket in demonstration. “That tends to help a lot when you’re cold.”

Beca shakes her head stubbornly. “This isn’t cold, this is Georgia cold. This is nothing compared to Seattle,” she insists, cursing herself the next moment when she shivers again.

“Mhmm,” Chloe hums, not sounding convinced. “Speaking of Seattle, are you going home for winter break?”

Beca nods. “Yeah, I figured I might as well. Free food and all that, you know?”

Chloe giggles. “Yes, that is the only good thing about going home. Definitely not because you miss your mom or anything.”

Beca laughs along with Chloe, figuring that it’s better not to mention that she can count the conversations she’s had with her mother on one hand since leaving for Barden. She bumps her shoulder into Chloe’s as they continue walking. “What about you? Going home for Christmas?”

“Yep!” Chloe chirps excitedly. “I’m actually leaving tomorrow morning. Tom’s dropping me off at the airport and then I’ll be-” Chloe makes a sweeping gesture with hand along with a rough airplane sound- “flying across the country.”

Chloe’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Beca feels herself start to grin as she watches her. “Tom’s not going with you?”

Chloe wrinkles her eyebrows together at the question. “Why would he?”

Beca shrugs. “I don’t know, isn’t that a thing that boyfriends do? Visit their girlfriend’s family on holidays?”

It takes a moment for Chloe to register Beca’s words, but once she does she starts laughing as if Beca just made a joke. Beca stares at her, feeling confused, until Chloe pulls herself together. “Tom isn’t my boyfriend, Beca. We’re just fuck buddies.”

Beca feels her cheeks heat up despite the chilly weather. “Oh,” is all she can think to say.

“We just help each other… relieve a little tension sometimes, you know?” Chloe continues, unaware of Beca’s embarrassment.

“That’s- okay, yep. Neat. Great.” Beca stumbles over her words, not sure what she should say to this new information.

Chloe gives Beca a curious look, seeming to notice Beca’s struggle. “I’m guessing you’ve never had someone like that before? Like when you’re in between relationships?”

Beca ducks head, kicking at the frost covered sidewalk as they continue on their way. “Uh, nope. Can’t say I have.”

“Wait,” Chloe says, and Beca looks back up. “Have you ever dated anyone before?”

Beca’s cheeks flare up even more. She considers lying for a split second – she really does, she’s lied about it before – but something about Chloe makes Beca feel… comfortable. Like somehow Beca knows that Chloe would never judge her for anything.

Still, Beca avoids eyes contact and huffs out an embarrassed breath. “I didn’t really talk to anyone in my high school,” she admits timidly. “The guys I did talk to were like annoying brothers to me, so I was never into any of them. And the girls-” Beca scoffs a little- “no chance in hell that I could get any of them to talk to me.”

Chloe remains quiet as they round the corner in front of Beca’s dorm, the gears in her head processing this new information. Beca waits anxiously for her response, debating whether or not she should start berating herself for giving out such private information now or later.

“Have you ever… kissed anyone?”

All previous thoughts fly from Beca’s brain at Chloe’s question. She looks up in surprise, not sure what she expected Chloe so say – perhaps a simple “oh” would have sufficed – but for some reason this response catches her off guard. “I mean, kind of the same issue with that,” she jokes weakly, shrugging a shoulder. “So no.”

Chloe is quiet again as they come to a stop just outside Beca’s dorm building. The lampposts cast a soft glow on Chloe’s face as a gentle snow starts falling around them, highlighting the slight wrinkle in her forehead as she considers her next words.

“Do you want to?”

Beca’s breath catches in her throat. “What?” she asks, not completely convinced that she didn’t mishear the question.

“It sounds like the people you went to school with were assholes,” Chloe says, though Beca doesn’t know how that is at all related to your inquiry. “And I really don’t think they knew exactly what they were missing out on.”

Beca forces herself to release a slow breath out, but she quickly inhales it again as Chloe takes a step closer to her. “I mean, it’s not like there were that many great options,” Beca breathes out.

Chloe takes another step closer. “I just think that think that the first person who kisses you,” she says, taking another step. “Should be someone who sees you for who you really are.”

One more step and suddenly Chloe is standing right in front of Beca, so close that she can feel the warmth seeping off of her body, warming Beca in the process.

Beca swallows. Her mind spins in a hundred different directions as she tries to think of what to say until finally she speaks without thinking. “Okay.”

Her responses it quiet, so quiet that she’s not sure if Chloe heard her, but when warm hands come up to cradle Beca’s cold cheeks a moment later she knows she has. Chloe’s eyes flicker around Beca’s face for a moment, mostly shifting between her eyes a lips, before she slowly starts to lean in. Beca’s own eyes flutter shut instinctively as she waits in anticipation for Chloe to close the gap.

The feeling of soft lips again her own still catches Beca by surprise, but only because of how right it feels. One of Beca’s hands grips lightly onto Chloe’s arm, just so Beca has something to ground herself to as she kisses back. Chloe sighs a little and pulls herself even closer to Chloe, their shared body heat combined with the sensation making Beca forget about the brisk winter night altogether.

The kiss doesn’t last all that long, really, and soon Chloe is pulling away. Beca’s eyes slowly drift open again to see that Chloe is already looking at her, clear blue eyes sincere and familiar.

“I hope you have a good break, Beca,” Chloe whispers, and then she’s backing up and walking away, leaving Beca standing in a daze under that lamppost outside her dorm as the snow continues to fall around her.

When Beca arrives home to an empty house in Seattle a week later, she forces herself not to think about how kissing Chloe felt more like home than anything she’s felt in a long time.

#this isn't edited #and it's not on ao3 #maybe i'll edit and post later if i find motivation idk idk #bechloe #fanfic #pitch perfect

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wendimydarling · 5 years ago

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Worship

Title: Worship

Summary: August puts on a front, but he finally receives the care that he truly needs.

Pairing: August Walker, First Person Reader

Word Count: 1974

Warnings: Nudity, Oral sex

A/N: Okay so I know I’m the odd one out in that no one sees him capable of agreeing to this, but I just had to see this man get some sweet loving for once. Hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’d been watching him for months. August Walker, famed Hammer of the CIA, rough and rugged vigilante for justice. He was harsh, abrupt, blunt, and any other number of adjectives used to describe a determined man. But what everyone else saw as anger, I saw as a man who was starved for attention, though not in the way you might think. I sensed a poor relationship with his mother, a lack of touch as a child necessary to create the ability to bond with other creatures of this earth, to create empathy.

I intended to rectify this.

He and I built up a sort of relationship over the next few weeks during our latest assignment. Most of the time it would be just the two of us working late into the night, pouring over maps and classified documents to find what was needed. August had a mattress in his office where he slept instead of going home, because there were dozens of boxes of evidence to sift through and the brief wasn’t going to write itself.

I started testing August too, to see how well my theory applied. I brought him some coffee, brushing my fingertips lightly on his shoulder as I set it down. No initial reaction. Hmmm. I let my hand linger a moment, slid it off his shoulders instead of lifting it, and walked away, staring at his reflection in the large glass writing board behind him. A sizable jerk and rotation of his shoulders. There it is. He didn’t want me to see how much it affected him.

I grew bolder as the nights went on. I’d purposefully sit close to him while we worked, making sure my thigh was pressed against his. When it got really late, I would give his shoulders a quick massage. If he called me over to show me a document, I’d lean in behind him, a hand firmly planted on his shoulder as my breasts grazed his back; our cheeks almost but never quite touching. I never received any indication that it affected him while the transactions occurred, but I could hear the shaky exhalations of his breath when I left, I could see in the reflections of the windows the way he closed his eyes and trembled after my departure. I took mental notes, organizing them into sections to process later.

On the last night there, once August and I finished our work, we celebrated with a bottle of scotch. I wore a soft blouse and a pencil skirt; simple, but effective. Sitting on the same side of the table as usual, this time facing him, I eyed him analytically as we chatted, my ankle resting against his leg. Once again he was perfectly stoic, but I knew better by now. Inside, I knew his body was screaming. I threw back the rest of my drink and set it down on the table, liquid courage coursing through me.

“August,” I said, bending forward and setting my hand gently on top of his wrist. August’s eyes locked onto my hand, and I could see the minute changes in his chest as his breath exited his lungs at a quicker pace.

“August,” I repeated, “May I touch you?”

August looked up at me then, confused.

“You already are,” he said cautiously.

“Not like this,” I murmured, tracing circles on his skin. “I want to touch you. All of you. And I think you need it. Do you trust me?”

To emphasize what I meant, I picked his hand up and placed the pad of his forefinger on my tongue, licking a slow line up to his fingernail. A twitch of the eye; the first visible change in his countenance since I started this charade. Interesting.

I kept up my movements, planting soft, wet kisses on his fingers and palm. August just sat there, watching, his breath coming faster and faster. I could tell it bothered him, but that he also wanted more.

“Does this hurt?” I asked him, moving to his wrist.

“No,” he lied, the muscles tensing in his forearm giving him away. I knew the painful feeling of abandoned nerves being touched for the first time in years. Just the lightest touch could send blazing fire through your body. I stood up, brazenly straddling his lap as I sat on his thick thighs. As I ran my fingers through his hair, kissing him with a gentle, open mouth he moaned, his hands coming up to grab my neck so he could take charge. I pulled away and grasped his hands firmly, shaking my head.

“Let me touch you,” I whispered, adjusting his hands so they were resting on my thighs. He closed his eyes but held still as I went back to his hair, brushing those curls with my fingers, making sure my nails lightly scraped his scalp. Affectionate. Like a mother should do to their son.

“Why didn’t she touch you?” I asked him softly, running a hand along the side of his face, my touch ever so light. I pressed another wet kiss to his jaw, just below his ear, my fingers working to open the buttons of his shirt. August fingers dug into the flesh of my thighs, and he audibly gasped in my ear.

“She did,” he rasped as my lips found his neck, “It just wasn’t kind.”

There it was. The admission of what I had expected all along: August had been beaten by his mother. My heart broke at the thought of a lonely little boy, hiding in his closet for fear of retribution, for being punished for something he didn’t do. I vowed then and there to heal whatever damage that woman had done that I could, starting with this.

I worked slowly, savoring the taste of August’s skin, pressing a kiss to each new part of his body I could reach as I gradually undid his buttons. His eyes were open now, hooded, watching me as I worked. I was surprised he stayed so still; that wasn’t like the Hammer I knew. Once the final button was undone, I pushed the rough cotton aside, following the lines of his torso with my hands until I could slide the cloth off his broad shoulders. I drank in the sight of his body, charting a map of valleys and highways through his muscles and hair with my fingers, using the few freckles I found as a guide.

I removed my shirt and kissed him again, slow and soft, his lips tasting of scotch. With a gentle pressure, I draped my arms around his shoulders, sliding my bare skin against his. Reveling in how hard he felt. How sweet he tasted. His mouth melted around mine, and I could tell he wasn’t used to kissing a woman so tenderly. I’m going to change that.

“Come with me,” I whispered, planting a delicate kiss on his lips. I stood up and laced our fingers, urging him to follow. August complied, conflicting emotions on his face as we wove through the boxes toward his office. My destination was clear and he wanted the same thing, but I knew that he was thrown off because he preferred to be in charge. I had purposefully asked permission, willing to let him wreck my body if that was what he wanted, and August knew that. So I think the fact that he chose this option instead had stunned him slightly; he was surprised at himself.

Upon reaching his office I turned to August, licking a small line on his bicep that ended in a kiss on his shoulder. He kicked his shoes off, and I kept my mouth on his skin as I fiddled with his belt and his zipper. Squatting, I followed the line of his legs with my lips as I pulled down his pants, receiving my first groan as I kissed his hardened member lightly.

“Lie down, please,” I instructed him quietly, “On your belly.”

August did as he was asked, his hesitancy fading into eagerness. I removed the rest of my clothes as he got comfortable on the mattress, his arms under his head. I knelt between his legs, trailing my fingers up the backs of his thighs. He closed his eyes and shuddered at the touch. Stop. My brain told me something about that touch bothered August and I knew, I knew I needed to be careful there. I moved on.

Hovering over his body and avoiding his ass for now, I placed open-mouthed kisses up his spine, exploring his body with my tongue. August finally relaxed for the first time since I met him. He was more vocal now; he moaned and sighed, his breath hitched when I pressed my breasts into his shoulder blades, and a small cry of delight left his throat when my fingers dipped underneath him into the hollows of his hips. His eyes remained closed.

I snuck my fingers into the waistband of his briefs, nibbling on his ribs to distract him from my hands. Leaving little lovebites on his side in my wake I inched toward his ass, peeling the fabric of his underwear off his body as I did. I sat back on my knees, admiring his physique, but August grew quiet, side-eying me as he waited to see what I would do.

Lying between his legs, I walked my fingertips up his thighs once more, carefully observing the way August squirmed. It was a pleasant squirm this time, not one of fear, so I kept going, spidering over the curve of his ass. My eyes may have deceived me, but for a moment I thought I noticed the ghost of a smirk on his face. Hmmm. More wet kisses graced his backside before I gently squeezed each cheek. August pushed his ass into the air and I smiled, kneading soothing circles into his flesh and licking wet trails of saliva everywhere that I could reach.

August rotated onto his back of his own accord and I let him, knowing full well what he was after next. I kept my ministrations soft, still kissing, still worshiping the man that lay before me as I obliged him, hungrily lapping at the thick length that was between his legs.

If I thought he’d been vocal before, that was nothing compared to the sounds August was making now. Loud groans filled the room, gasps of pleasure echoed throughout the building as I took him in my mouth, giving way to his desperate cry for more. My hands continued to worship him; they ran over his abs, through the hair on his chest, down his biceps to grasp his hips.

August tangled his hands in my hair and gasped as I sucked him relentlessly, his eyes shut, his face scrunched in the concentrated focus of a man chasing his release. He was close, I could feel it. Come on, August. Come for me.

I swallowed him whole, constricting my throat around him and that was all he needed. With a guttural cry he came, spilling everything he had into my body. Licking off the last few drops, I kissed my way up his torso, gently nibbling on his earlobe as I lay on top of him. The rise and fall of his heaving chest was pushing me up and down like a roller coaster, and I enjoyed it.

“That was…” August shook his head, unable to come up with any words. There was finally peace on his face, a tranquil calm that I hadn’t seen before. I smiled, continuing to kiss his neck softly as I spoke to him.

“I’m not even close to being done, August. Do you trust me?”

August nodded, looking at me in wonder. I caressed his face, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Then let me touch you.”

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Tags: @littlefreya @sciapod @thiccgeralt @fucking-hell-cavill @brexrif @peakygroupie @viking-raider @constip8merm8 @daniig95 @elinalfrida @hell1129-blog @oddsnendsfanfics @agniavateira @dearlybelovedluke @sofiebstar @wanderinglunarnights

#august walker #August walker smut #august walker fluff #mission impossible fallout #MI6 #henry cavill #Henry Cavill Smut #henrycavill #henry cavill fluff #body worship #soft!august

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byorder-fanfic · 5 years ago

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A Ghost Walked Through the Door

Summary: Anna Gray has been looking for her brother for a very long time.

Word count: 2637

Warnings: Mention of foster care and children taken from parents, swearing, implies abuse from Church (nothing explicit) and implies homelessness/ rough childhood.

Author’s Note: In the show, Anna’s age is all over the place so I’ve decided that she is a year older than Michael (born in 1902) because I really like the older sister dynamic. Hope you enjoy xx

Anna stood outside the wooden gate, staring into the typical country garden: green grass (that surely would've been vivid in any other season but the grey winter) that stretched as far as she could see, and slap bang in the middle of it all was the little brick cottage. The fire was lit. Perhaps he was there, the person she had been searching for as long as she escaped the boat. Perhaps this was it- the day she found herself. Her shaking hands did not reach to open up the gate. Not yet. The rusted old car of Jack Low's had clunked its way down the dirt road many minutes ago, leaving behind a trail of smoke and her. She was lucky she had found someone to drive all the way to the front gate, and Jack was quite kinder than she'd expected when she saw the white-haired bloke. It was because of the fur lining her throat and wrists, the newly gained winter's coat showing off a majesty of wealth she did not have. If Jack had noticed the thick chunk of mud clinging to the bottom of her leather boots, or had he clued on to her makeup less face behind her slick bob and fringe, or even saw the dimness of the plastic beads as she rolled them between her calloused fingers, he hadn't asked. Thankfully. Maybe Michael would- he'd probably be impressed with her finery, especially if the farm life was all he knew, and then he'd probably be a bit disappointed with how she acquired each luxurious item. Finally, her hand (pale and shaking with more than nerves- why hadn't she taken Alberta's gloves that she'd had her eye on?) pried open the gate with a creak, as she walked into the garden. The sound of her quickening breath thrummed in her ears as she kept on going, heels clacking and tangling in the field. She made it to the door. Laughter boomed inside- could it be Michael's? Eagerness overcame her as she rapped on the door, politeness replaced with loud booming knocks that scraped her already bruised knuckles. The voices quieted, a quick "I'll get it!" from a woman. Michael's foster mother, perhaps, would she let Anna see him? The weight of a knife in her pocket proved that hypothetical pointless. Heels tapped closer. And closer. And- the door swung open, Anna's heart nearly burst. She was a portly woman, a warm smile on her face as she observed the girl with evident surprise. "Hello there, can I help you?" She asked kindly, hand still on the door frame. "Yes, please." Her eyes flickered behind her, where photos lined the walls, but she couldn't make out the one face she needed. "Are you Mrs James?" She nodded, yes she was. Another breath fell from her, a smile curling on her lips. The nun hadn't lied, then. "I'm looking for Mich- Henry, I mean. Henry Johnson. Your son, I believe." The other name still seemed so wrong on her tongue. Mrs Johnson's face fell, sadness and suspicion souring the woman's once kind expression. "It's Michael Gray now," she spat out. "Those Shelby bastards took him back to Birmingham with them." Anna breathed in deeply- her entire family was reconciled, all but her. Surely, if they found Michael, that meant they knew about the documents. Fuck. "When was this?" Her voice was meek. Maybe she could stop any real damage before it was done, stop Michael and her mother from mourning a girl still alive. "Two years ago," she said in a solemn voice, her eyes growing glassy. "Why?" "I'm Anna Gray," she stuck out her hand. Mrs Johnson hesitantly accepted it, eyes wide again in shock. "I'm looking for my brother." "Don't." She shook her head. "Those Shelbys are the devils, dragging my boy," she paused, "my Henry, into their Peaky Blinders nonsense. Your Michael...he isn't that boy any more." "He's my brother," she said, trying not to feel too offended at the disgust directed at her cousins. "He's all I have." "Very well," Mrs Johnson conceded, although obviously still disapproving from the look in her eyes. Motherly, Anna would call it, if she even remembered what having a mother was like. "They live in Watery Lane, Small Heath. Everyone there knows them, so just ask for directions." "Thank you!" Without entirely thinking it through, Anna pulled the older woman into a quick hug, pulling away when she felt her tense. "And thank you for looking after my brother all these years. It's good to know he had a good woman taking care of him." She couldn't call Mrs Johnson a mother, although she knew from the grief in her tone and photographs still hung up, that she was exactly that. But her mother was still alive- her loyalty was to Elizabeth Gray, first and foremost, even if she felt pity for this woman here. Just as Mrs Johnson had said, directions to the Shelby's betting shop (now Shelby Company Limited, she was impressed to hear) were easy to come by. Although she was getting odd looks from the men in uniform caps and coats, who were obviously comparing her clothes with that of most Small Heath citizens. Her years of searching were finally over and yet she couldn't find herself to knock on the bloody door. Or even walk down the bloody street. She loitered around the Church, not daring to go in, but not straying from its sight. The rosary in her pocket was wrapped loosely around her battered fist, as she uttered a silent prayer. The nuns and priests from the orphanage had jaded her to all things Christian, but this was a gift from Peggy. The good Catholic girl that took one look at the girl on the streets and decided to befriend her. Well, friend wasn't exactly the right word. She felt a burst of courage at the feeling of the wooden beads now, the crucifix hanging on the end of it no longer bringing vomit up her throat. "Oi, you there!" She jumped at the accent. It wasn't Brummie, sounding closer to Isabela's voice: another girl that friend wasn't the right word for. She looked at the boy, who was lighter skinned that Isabela, and wore the same cap and coat of many men in Small Heath. However, he himself couldn't have been older than Anna. "You coming in, or am I allowed to lock up?" "I'm just leaving," she said. Her voice wasn't from Burmingham either, immediately making the other boys eyebrow to shoot up in suspicion. She didn't really have an accent, just a blend of all the places she'd been and all the people she'd ran from. Despite her statement, her shoes stayed firmly on the path. Michael and mum were just a walk away, and she was stuck outside the Church as the boy faffed with the keys. "So," he came up behind her, tilting his head. "Just leaving anytime soon, or...?" He had a smirk on his face and a teasing glint in his eyes, that immediately took in her appearance with curiosity, stopping at the rosary. "Just getting courage," she held up the beads before putting them back in her pocket, tapping over it to make sure it was safely in. "Whatdya need courage for?" He asked as he lit up a cigarette, standing stationary besides her. "Need to get to the Shelby betting shop," she shrugged her shoulders, hoping that'd get Church boy to stop asking. She hadn't missed the almost fearful nature her family was spoken in. But not Michael, of course- her Michael wasn't a Shelby. "Oh, really?" The boy put the smoking cigarette in the corner of his smirk. "Cause I'm just going there." She groaned internally, knowing this meant she actually had to go. "Alright," she snapped. "Could you show me the way?" "Course," he held out his elbow like he was a gentleman. Anna didn't stop her self from rolling her eyes as she took it, with only a little smile. "I'm Isaiah Jesus, by the way." "I'm Sally." Only the nuns ever called her that, in an attempt to pacify the girl screaming for her mother. Everyone else called her Anna, and Sallyanna if she was in trouble. "No last name?" "You'll find that out soon enough." For someone who seemed so talkative, Isaiah sure knew when to shut up. "Alright, Ms No Last Name," Isaiah teased as he held open the door, gesturing for her to go inside. "Here we are: Shelby Company Limited's very own betting shop." She was slow as she walked in, head turning to the pale pink wallpaper and the floral sofa. A cross hung up on the wall, alongside a number of Biblical quotes. There was a double set of doors, painted green, that were thrown open. Inside, a crowd of men and woman sat as numbers were called out, typewriters clicking and Peaky Blinders smoking. Isaiah walked past the frozen Anna, welcoming into the shop with cheers of greetings. "Hey there Isaiah!" One boy yelled. He was round faced and freckled, taller than everyone else and skinny as Anna was behind her thick coat. "Who's that you got with you?" "Sally here wanted to come to the betting shop." Isaiah gave a shrug, revealing that was all he knew, as he sat on his desk. Three men looked up from the table: one looked a lot like the skinny boy that had noticed her, but older. Not Michael. The other was broad shouldered and intimidating, with a moustache. Not Michael. The third man had hair as dark as Anna's, with the bluest eyes. But Michael had brown hair, and hazel eyes. "And why do you want to be here?" The blue eyes man questioned, voice cold. She recognised the three vaguely, mind scanning for facts she once knew as well as the sky was blue. "Tommy?" She asked, eyes squinting, then she pointed to the other two. "And you must be Arthur and John, then." She didn't heed the curious glances as she stepped further in, head turning around to the people staring at her. "Finn, I'm gonna guess, although I never really knew you." The freckled boy had a shocked look on his face, as he turned to Isaiah in a "who the fuck is this" kind of look. "So, where's Michael?" Her voice was stern as she looked around again for the brown hair she only barely remembered. "And why the fuck do ya wanna know that?" John, Anna thinks, stood up, arms folded as he watched her scan the room. "I've been looking for him for fourteen bloody years," she cocked her head, seeing a light flicker in the blue eyes of her cousin. "Now tell me where the fuck Michael is." Suddenly, a door opened, two sets of shoes walking through as they muttered to one another. "Mum, there's abso-fucking-loutely no way I'm gonna do that," a voice said as he walked into the betting shop. The round face she remembered had sharpened out, his skin tanned (probably from the farm) in ways she knew her pale skin would've had she gotten onto that boat. His mousy brown hair was tidily gelled up, a smart suit on his broad build. He didn't walk in it like he stole it, she noticed proudly. His hazel eyes widened as he looked at her. The woman at his side was frozen too, watching the betting shop's sudden pause. "Who is this?" The woman snapped, dark eyes falling on Anna. She had the same dark hair, although hers was longer and in curls, and their eyes were just the same. No one could answer for her, and she seemed too absorbed in the two figures in front of her to bother with formalities. "Anna," Michael's voice was barely a whisper, but is shattered everyone. Next to him, Polly trembled, pale skin suddenly whitening as she started to draw the same comparisons to the baby she had held what felt like a life time ago. "Hiya Mikey," Anna said in the same soft voice she'd use when they were little. She opened up her arms. "You too old to hug your big sister or what?" In a second, her brother fell into her, arms wrapped so tightly around her torso that she thought she was going to suffocate. If the fur on her coat was itching his face, he didn't seem to mind as he pressed his face against her neck, tears spilling from both of them. "I missed you so fucking much," she croaked into his ear, not daring to look up to her mother's broken face, or her cousin's undoubtedly confused faces. "I thought you were dead." Michael sobbed a little, pulling her closer as if to check she was real and not just the ghost Polly used to have nightmares about. "They said you were dead, gone to fucking Australia so I couldn't even see you." "I didn't even get on the boat, Mike. Couldn't leave. Not with you in England." They finally broke away, as Anna allowed her rough hands to wipe away the tears on her little brother's face (not so little anymore) and giving the biggest smile she'd ever worn for the longest time. "Been looking for you for years, been from orphanage to orphanage trying to find Michael Gray. Turns out that wasn't even your fucking name." "You were looking for me?" Michael's voice was an echo, sadder and on the verge of more tears spilling. "Course. Wanted to find you so we could come back home together." She took a dramatic turn of her head, grinning. "Although you didn't seem to share that sentiment, huh?" He tried to chuckle a little, shyly wiping off tears and snot with the sleeve of his probably expensive suit. "Went all the way to the fucking countryside only to be told that I had to go all the way back to Small Heath. Honestly, couldn't have waited a few years for me?" Her teasing tone was second nature, a whisper of the what was. "Bus fare wasn't cheap, you know?" Not that she used the bus. Or paid, with her own money at least. Still, it got another smile on his face as he hugged her again, letting her breathe this time. "Anna?" The broken voice was enough to get Michael to back away, falling by his sister's side to allow Polly a proper view of the much longed for daughter. "No, it can't be, I thought- they said...but...you were alive this whole time?" She barely whispered, shaking the dark locks of curls with her head. She took a few strides forward, lifting her hand. Despite the great comfort she felt in the woman's presence, she flinched at the sight of the manicured nails being bared. Ever so gently, Polly placed her hand (too cold for comfort, but Anna had felt colder) against Anna's cheek. Bringing another hand slowly up to pull back the dark fringe that covered her forehead. Like this, she could see her wide eyes that had once looked so big on her bald head, the little pout that would tremble when John took her toys, the curves of her face that were so like Michael's, and her dark eyes that could only be Polly's. "My girl, my Sallyanna." "Mum," Anna smiled as she fell into her embrace, letting the woman hold her like she should've done for the last fifteen years. There was no tears this time, just soft smiles and tight arms clinging to each other like she had done when the coppers came knocking. Only she was grown now, and she wouldn't let them take her from her family ever again.

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #anna gray #sallyanna gray #anna gray fanfiction #michael gray fanfiction #polly gray #polly gray fanfiction #Isaiah jesus #finn shelby #tommy shelby #john shelby #Arthur shelby #mrs johnson #peaky blinders fluff #michael gray

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diavolodigitale · 4 years ago

Text

Heart of Stone

Cullen + red lyrium = the Big Sad

One of the favourites of mine when it comes to my own works. I absolutely loved writing it so I do hope it will find its reader one day.

Genres: Angst, Drama, Dark, Deviates From Canon, Hurt, Mental Health Issues

Pairing: Male Inquisitor Lavellan & Cullen Rutherford, (optional) Male Inquisitor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford

Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Cassandra Pentaghast, Solas, Cole, Vivienne

Rating: M for Might be disturbing for some readers

Size: around 18 pages

THE PAIRING IS OPTIONAL! This work is not intended to contain the pairing male!Lavellan/Cullen, but I am also completely fine if somebody chooses to read it that way.

The numbers in the text stand for the songs in my playlist you have to listen to while reading to get a better experience.

Here's the list of songs: 1. Soap&Skin - The Sun 2. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Katabasis 3. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Noir-Etang 4. Soap&Skin - Deathmental 5. L'Enfant De La Forêt - ...For The Love Of God 6. Soap&Skin - Janitor of Lunacy 7. Soap&Skin - Sugarbread 8. Soap&Skin - Marche Funèbre

(01) “Why won’t you let me out, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I thought you came here to talk. You always do.”

“I said don’t talk to me!”

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here… Have you abandoned?” Cullen twitched forward; the chains holding him clinked loudly in dead silence of the prison cell. “Have you? Have you, Inquisitor?”

Inquisitor turned away, afraid to look at the face of somebody he once called a friend. Pale, worn-out, and distorted, it resembled a shadow of a person, a spirit who escaped the Fade and now lurked among others with nothing reminding him of what he used to be.

“I want to see your eyes, Inquisitor. You made me like this, you keep me here. It’s all your fault.”

“It isn’t. You are here because I have faith in you. You won’t make me hate you, no matter what you say.”

“Oh, you already hate me,”—Cullen laughed insincerely—“I know you do. I can sense it. But there is still a chance…”

Inquisitor raised his head. He gripped the bars tightly and leaned forward, so close that he could feel cold iron touching the skin on his cheeks and forehead.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Cullen closed his eyes. His body was relaxed, hands were loosely hanging. The veins visible under half-transparent skin were pulsating red.

“If you could let me share the song with you…” he muttered under his breath. “It’s so serene. You’ll see, you’ll understand then. You left me here on my own with it, and I accepted it, and so will you.”

Inquisitor’s hands exploded with a burst of magic as he clutched the bars with all the force he had left in his weakened body. His teeth were grit and his head hurt. He tried to say something, but no sound came out – his throat seemed swollen and a feeling of pressure in his chest made it difficult to breathe.

“You owe me this. I’m here because of you. Listen to me”—Cullen made a pause, waiting for the Inquisitor to react—“Listen to me!” he shouted, gripping his fists and rattling the chains that bound him.

Lavellan looked him in the eyes, ready to suffer through whatever he had to tell him.

“The song I used to hear is nothing compared to this one…” went on Cullen in a less agitated manner. “It embraces, caresses… I would hear it in my sleep, but now I don’t sleep anymore... First, the dreams left, and now I don’t need to sleep at all. I just listen.”

“I’ll find the cure,” said Inquisitor in an attempt to persuade Cullen, though, not sounding confident enough to believe it himself.

“I don’t need any cure, Inquisitor. I am not sick. I need to get out of here, I need to feel the wind, the heat of it is KILLING me!”

“You have to withstand it. The lyrium will devour you if you don’t resist, you know that!”

Cullen chuckled. His voice was crispy and low after spending so much time in a cold cell without any food and water. He wasn’t denied it, he just refused to take any.

“You’re not supposed to resist,” he made a special emphasis on the last word. “It makes you stronger, it lets you see so much more… You have no idea.”

Inquisitor let go of the bars frozen by a sudden outburst of his magic. He barely managed to keep it inside as it wanted to get out so eagerly and uncontrollably. This place smelled of despair and desolation and it took away all the energy he had. He wanted to leave, but could not force himself to do so.

Cullen slowly hummed a few notes while crossing his legs on the bare stone floor. He drew deep long breath and a hint of a smile touched his chapped lips as he spoke.

“I hated mages. You already know that, I recon. As any other reasonable templar would do. I was afraid of their power, but now… Now I am not. Your magic doesn’t scare me, Inquisitor, because soon even you won’t be able to stop me.”

“I don’t want to stop you. I just want to help.”

“Help yourself, Inquisitor. You look pathetic.”

Lavellan looked not much better than his former Commander. He barely got any sleep, always having to help others, being not himself, but the Inquisitor. Those few free moments he had he would spend in this dungeon of anguish, chiding himself for what had happened to Cullen and making himself suffer by looking at the sufferings of the templar.

Time was passing by mercilessly. He wished he could stay there without any movement forever, but the whole world was frantically spinning around him and without his intervention everything could fall apart any minute. He threw one last tired look at the templar and left the prison, foolishly hoping the next time he came everything would be different.

“I’ll be here, Inquisitor. In case you want to chat.”

Cullen didn’t stop smiling. His posture was stiff and eyes were blank, glowing crimson red.

(02-03) “Inquisitor.”

“Yes, Solas?” Lavellan stopped to greet the elf with an exhausted half-smile on his face. He knew he couldn’t fool him, but the habit of pretending had already become a part of him.

“You’ve been there again. Don’t deny it.” Solas’ eyes were piercing the Inquisitor. It was not a question because he did not really need the answer, he knew everything intuitively. This terrifying power of his never left Lavellan any chance of retrieval.

“Yes, I have. I am trying to understand…” Inquisitor looked down in a kind of shame, like a child who did what was not allowed. “There must be something I can do,” he added quietly.

“If you really want to help him, you must put him out of his misery. This is the only option. The longer you wait, the more his condition deteriorates,” said Solas in a tone that did not allow for any disagreement.

The throbbing pain in his temples made Lavellan feel as if he also heard the song. The one that outvoiced all his thoughts and common sense, forced him to say what he didn’t mean and let slowly crawling insanity possess his mind.

“I don’t care. I do not care what you think, Solas!” he yelled, not paying attention to all the other people in the castle yard who were startled by his outburst of anger. “I will not abandon him, even if it will be the death of me!”

Solas frowned. This was the only visible sign of his dissatisfaction. Even though he greatly disapproved of what the Inquisitor’s opinion was, he would never lose his temper.

“You don’t belong to yourself anymore. People rely on you, and you have to remember that. Sometimes thousand lives are more important than one,” he simply said.

Lavellan shook his head, now feeling ashamed for his behaviour. He did not mean it, merely didn’t know how to defend his position anymore.

“I know… I am sorry,” he replied. “I promise to think it over. I just need some rest; it’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has. I understand, my friend. Great responsibility lies on your shoulders.” Solas patted Lavellan on the back. “Don’t try to carry it on your own. We are all here to share it with you.”

Inquisitor nodded gratefully and hurried to leave the unpleasant conversation behind.

“Varric wanted to see you. He looked worried,” said Solas after him.

“Thank you. I will see him at once,” answered Inquisitor, disappointed that he couldn’t be left alone even for a moment.

The dwarf was right were Lavellan assumed he would be – near the fireplace in the great hall, working on his drafts. The mage approached a wooden table and took a seat on a chair near Varric.

“Your Inquisitorialness,” said Varric and took his gaze off the pages scattered all over the table. “You look… good enough.” The expression on his face suggested he was of a different opinion.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Varric. You’re the only person here allowed to criticize me so we’re friends no matter what you say.”

“Okay, well, a little rough around the edges, but I’ve seen worse.” The dwarf smiled in a friendly way, finally put aside his soaked in ink quill and diverted all of his attention to the conversation.

“I appreciate the honesty,” said Lavellan. His head still hurt, but the tender warmth of the fire in the fireplace and the calm air always present around Varric made it easier to endure.

“Chuckles probably made it sound like a big deal, but there wasn’t really any significant reason I needed to see you. Just wanted to tell you that Cassandra took over all of Commander’s plans and… Well, she’ll take care of everything. Things will continue as planned.”

“I appreciate that as well,” said Inquisitor, his voice gradually becoming quieter. He knew he should talk to Cassandra. After all, her role in the Inquisition was already great enough, and now she had even more responsibilities to deal with. Yet he did not know what to tell her. He could neither congratulate her not say that he was sorry. All seemed wrong.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but let me say something. I know how it feels.”

Varric also possessed the ability to know what people around him thought about and it made the Inquisitor consider the fact that he was the only one who couldn’t see past the pretension of others. He couldn’t even understand his own thoughts, let alone somebody else’s.

He didn’t answer, just looked blankly in front of himself, right into the void, at nothing in particular.

“I lost my brother to it…” continued Varric.

“I’ve never heard you had a brother. What was he like?”

“Stubborn would probably be the best word to describe him.”

“Seems like you two had quite a lot in common,” said Inquisitor jokingly.

“Not really. He was this “businessman” type of guy – always thinking about profits and dubious affairs. And, unlike me, he wasn’t a charismatic and talented hero-lover.”

“Obviously. It is hard to find another dwarf like you.”

“Impossible, I would say”—Varric heaved a deep sigh and his tone shifted to a more serious one—“It’s difficult to come in terms with at the beginning, but sooner or later you just do. It’s long and complicated, but we’re all here to support you. We knew what we signed up for.”

Inquisitor thought that it wasn’t true. He didn’t know. Cullen didn’t know. Nobody knew. Even so, he would probably be able to accept any consequences if they applied to him personally, but he was not ready to watch others degrade that easily.

“You should go and lie down. My talks make you sleepy, apparently.” Varric gave Lavellan an encouraging wink in an effort to end the conversation on a higher note.

“It’s good to hear at least one actually useful advice today,” said Lavellan. “Let me know if anything needs my attention.”

“Of course.”

Varric dipped his quill in ink and continued writing. Inquisitor headed to his quarters, trying not to pass out from fatigue on his way there.

(04) The next time Inquisitor entered the dreary prison, he barely managed to hold in a scream of terror. Cullen’s state was rapidly decaying. Red lyrium crystals were nesting on him, tearing the pale skin from the inside, feeding on his flesh. The whole cell was illuminated by appalling red light emitted by the crystals that were now part of his body. It was unbearably hot down there – apart from light, the lyrium also radiated heat. Cullen hardly moved since the last time Inquisitor saw him.

“I thought you’d never come,” he said with the same ominous smile he demonstrated previously. There was neither kindness nor hospitality in it.

“I was busy.” Inquisitor swallowed his horror before the intimidating creature dwelling in the basement of his castle and approached the cell. “Does it hurt?”

“It used to. It was more painful when I tried to oppose my addiction. Now, having given in, I see that there was no point in it. The most difficult path isn’t always the right one.”

“I refuse to believe that this is really what you think!”

Lavellan’s right hand flushed with green light. His constantly pressured and distraught state of mind depressed his control over magic abilities, especially those concerned with the Mark. Closing small tears grew more and more troublesome, as his power did not obey him and instead forced more demons to come out of the Fade.

“I gain power while you lose it. How ironic.” Cullen’s red eyes were staring right into Inquisitor’s soul, omitting what was on the outside. Lavellan’s appearance made it obvious that he was also experiencing drastic changes, but Cullen did not need to see how he looked to know that he was broken already. “The Anchor doesn’t belong to you, so soon it will turn against you, the way it should’ve done long ago. And then the Master will take it.”

“The Master? Now you serve him? Cullen, have you forgotten what he did to our people? Haven’t you seen how the Sanctuary was destroyed?”

“I remember everything perfectly, and that is why I understand how fast he will achieve dominance over everything else. You’re blind, Inquisitor, and I gained my sight here, in this dark basement, thanks to you. I pity you for how miserable your efforts to defy us are.”

“You have never talked to him, Cullen. He is insane, he blatantly uses everyone who supports him. They are disposable! Do you really want to be one of them?”

“I don’t need to talk to him, I have the song. It’s with me all the time. Unlike you were.” Cullen stopped smiling and grimaced. “If the song I heard from usual lyrium reminded the voice of the Maker, then this one sounds like the Old God. Something greater than all of us, something indescribable and immensely strong. There is no Maker in the Golden City, Inquisitor. Nobody cares about your soul, might as well sacrifice it in the grand battle for this world. But betting on the right side.”

“Cullen, you’re not yourself anymore…”

“Have you just noticed? What kind of leader are you if you don’t pay attention to what is going on with your advisors and trusted ones? To how Leliana bends down under the weight of the decision she makes for you, to how the Bull is torn between what is dear to him and what he must do, to how Cole suffers every minute he is present in this world affected by the vices and sins people commit… And all because of you.”

Lavellan tried not to yield, not to show that every word pierced him like a dagger. Every day he thought about all the lost opportunities, missed chances and mistakes made. Every night he lay sleepless because of the regrets and guilt haunting him whenever he closed his eyes. He did not see darkness under the lowered eyelids, only the faces of people he lost to the war nobody was ready for. However absurd templar’s words were, he would believe them because he himself was disappointed in what leader he turned out to be. He tried not to yield but did it quite poorly.

“Even though you don’t admit it, I know you’re crushed. You’re as lost as the day the Breach opened and you were the only one to survive the explosion. I could show you the way… or end you. You decide.”

“I don’t need any help from you. You are not the person you pretend to be anyway... We’ll talk everything over, but only when I bring back the Commander I know.”

“How persistent,” said Cullen, stretching every word as if he was savouring them. “It’s a shame you weren’t so determined previously. Perhaps it would have saved a lot of lives and your beloved Commander in his previous form. Although, I am quite upset that you prefer to disown me now that you don’t like the way I am anymore. You turned out to be so shallow…”

“We’ve all seen what lyrium does to the templars, Cullen… Your words will not influence me because I know that it’s the Blight talking in you. Once you get rid of that filth—”

“You’re not really so certain, are you?” asked Cullen mockingly and laughed. “You think you can just rip it out of me, but it runs through my veins now. You can try whatever you want, you can break the crystals, you can cut them out, you can use your wretched magic, your Mark, yet you will not make the song go away. It will grow louder and stronger, and so will I.”

“You haven’t eaten for days, Cullen. You don’t sleep, you don’t talk to people. Your life slips through your fingers. Nobody is allowed to go down here except for me, so I am the only one who can help you. Please, don’t make it worse for the both of us.”

“I’m not the one making it worse. You are.”

Cullen turned his head away from the Inquisitor, not willing to talk anymore. The crystals on his body glimmered with red lights. There were no other light sources in the basement so Cullen’s face was illuminated only by this sinister glow. His eyes as well as the veins visibly pulsating under the dead-white skin of his drained body were red. Everything about him was red. The fetters around his wrists were covered in rust, but the glow of the crystals made it seem like they were rotting.

Lavellan couldn’t help but notice that most of the crystals were growing on his left shoulder and the appropriate side of his neck, forming a cluster. A number of smaller ones was spread over his stomach and forearms. Although he had already spent days in the cell, his body wasn’t as weakened and feeble as it should have been, and it scared the elf. He really wasn’t going to die or surrender that easily.

Inquisitor did not know how long he stood there without saying anything, just examining the former Commander. At one moment, the realization that he hated being there just dawned on him. He slept for a few hours and even tried to eat before coming, but now felt as if he hadn’t had any rest for weeks. The heat produced by the lyrium crystals made him feel feverish. His vision became dizzy and he thought that he may lose consciousness if he stayed here.

The room that always felt so empty now seemed to be filled with presence. Cullen was the only prisoner, but to Inquisitor the basement seemed overcrowded: he couldn’t breathe freely, his whole body hurt as if he was pushed around with heavy shoves. Convincing himself that there was nothing he could say or do to help Cullen right here and right now, he decided to leave.

Cullen said nothing.

(05) “Oh, dear, you look hideous,” said Vivienne, catching Inquisitor on his way to the war table. Her voice suggested that she was both unsatisfied and a little bothered. “We need to do something about that immediately,” she added, looking him up and down.

“I am sorry, Vivienne, but there is no time for that. One of our scouts went missing and we need to decide where we should start searching. I promise I’ll get some sleep later.”

“No-no, beauty sleep will not help you anymore. I’m afraid, we need to eliminate the cause of your worries or else you’ll scare all our allies away.”

“I know what you want to tell me and no, I will not—”

“This is not a discussion, my dear,” said Vivienne, interrupting Lavellan who already raised his hand as a sign of protest. “It’s difficult for all of us, but you cannot show your weakness. You represent the Inquisition and appearing like that is almost the same as telling everybody we are just a group of worthless bandits. Look at those clothes, at that face… You look like you were the one who sat in that cell with no fresh air and good company. Please, I beg you, don’t make me feel ashamed of you.”

“I cannot promise you to deal with what bothers me, but I will pull myself together,” managed to utter Inquisitor after a few seconds of silence.

“And the clothing.” Vivienne looked skeptically at the old torn leather armor Inquisitor had been wearing for god knows how many days.

“Yes, I will surely change it.”

“That is what I wanted to hear. Don’t let others use your vulnerability against you. Don’t look like you have any in the first place.”

Inquisitor nodded to the Grand Enchanter to pay his respect. She gave him a polite nod as well before leaving him in the great hall. In reality, he rarely shared her point of view regarding pretty much anything, but he just could not resist her openly: she was too powerful and too valuable. Her knowledge of Orlesian court and magic powers were of great use to the Inquisition so sometimes he just needed to say what she wanted to hear in order to keep their temporary peace.

He hurried to open the heavy wooden door that led to the command centre. All of his advisors had already gathered at the war table. All, but one.

As days went by, Inquisitor slowly descended into madness. He frantically slaughtered all enemies he met on his way being as merciless as never before. His magic powers grew to be more effective on the battlefield, burning, freezing, and crushing, but, at the same time, almost uncontrollable. There was no middle ground for him, only lethal blows. Each red templar he spotted made him furious beyond all reason – he used every single spell on them to see what dealt the most damage. He couldn’t use his healing powers anymore, but instead gained the ability to bring the strongest pain to every red lyrium addict he saw. Blackwall, Dorian and Varric shared his hate for the enemies they fought, but certainly did not approve of his methods. They thought nobody deserved that much suffering, no matter what they did.

When time allowed it, Lavellan would stop to examine the bodies of the deceased templars. He paid special attention to how the crystals rooting in their bodies developed and grew, how the skin around the ruptures looked and behaved. He killed countless knights, guards and marksmen, observing how different were states of their corruption. He noticed how crystals pierced their armour, making it part of them. Some of them wore helmets overgrown by it, so he wondered how they could even see anything. A few shadows he eliminated had arms completely covered in lyrium which made them much more dangerous than the others, raw lyrium being extremely harmful in any state, but at the same time filling their existence with agony: contact that close made them lose their humanity faster and degraded their physical and mental state.

Once on the Emerald Graves, Inquisitor, accompanied by his loyal followers, met a Behemoth. An enormous lump of red lyrium barely provoked the thought that it used to be a person – not a single part of its body remained intact, everything was completely covered with crystals. The air around it was pulsating with heat, and the red glow it emitted blinded them. The fight was long and tedious – Blackwall was severely injured after receiving a massive blow in his leg and Dorian exhausted all his magic forces and couldn’t continue without a dose of lyrium to boost them. When the existence of the monstrosity was finally ended by Inquisitor’s ice spell, they managed to catch a glimpse of a silhouette resembling that of a human being inside the Behemoth before it collapsed to the ground. The atmosphere became heavy, as they were crudely reminded that the creatures they were forced to fight used to be people at some point. Some of them, perhaps, didn’t choose this fate and would rather continue living their ordinary lives.

While his companions stood gloomy and silent, mulling over what happened to the world they once knew, Lavellan approached a pile of dust left of the Behemoth. He couldn’t lose such an opportunity to study it because it was the first specimen that was so corrupt that it wasn’t able to say a single word and could only scream and produce inarticulate sounds. Lately Inquisitor became almost obsessed with researching how lyrium developed in the bodies of templars, so all he could think about was finding out how it influenced human organism and seeing if it could be prevented somehow. He approached the pile and was extremely disappointed to see that there was almost nothing left in it. Being in some kind of frenzy, with his bare hand he grabbed a small lyrium crystal – the only visible part of the templar that hadn’t disintegrated yet. A few moments passed before Varric noticed what Lavellan was doing and hurried to him to drag him away from the pile and throw away the crystal. Inquisitor’s hand and fingers were already influenced by the mineral and a few deep burns were left on the skin.

All the way back to Skyhold Lavellan listened to Dorian lecturing him about how irresponsible he was. Blackwall silently frowned and lagged behind, holding on to the handle of his sword hanging in a scabbard on his side. Varric occasionally sighed and said that he agreed with Dorian. Inquisitor’s hand throbbed with pain but he did not really care. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he didn’t make any progress in researching the influence of lyrium.

He stopped visiting the prison at Skyhold. He was afraid to descend there and see something more terrifying that he had already seen. He wanted to send somebody down to check on Cullen occasionally, and Leliana agreed to come herself, not wanting anybody else to become the witness of what happened to the Commander of the grand Inquisition. She feared they would lose their influence and authority if the details about Cullen’s corruption became public; the Inquisitor feared he would lose any hope left after seeing his friend one more time.

After one of the visits, Leliana reported that Cullen’s left arm is covered with red lyrium crystals up to his elbow already. Apart from that, she added that he also refused to talk to her. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

(06) “So… how are you doing here, Cole?” asked the Inquisitor his ghostly companion one gloomy evening. He couldn’t forget what Cullen said about him not caring about his friends. He was troubled to learn they were down, but recently just didn’t have the time to address that.

“This place is not a home. Too dark. Everybody’s hurt.” The spirit lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat.

“Are you hurt too?” carefully inquired Lavellan.

“I don’t know. They are. I absorb the pain, it stings like bees, but stronger. But it brings relief to the others.”

“You don’t have to help them if it is hard for you. It’s impossible to help everybody. I don’t want you to feel pain because of that, Cole,” said Inquisitor, concerned about the spirit. He knew that comforting others was the actual reason his friend existed, but didn’t want to tolerate such state of affairs nonetheless.

“I came here to help. Pain is temporary, death is not. I take the pain and put up with it for a short while, and they are free and calm. Better than listening to their screams.”

“I see…”

It was always difficult to communicate with Cole. He was there but also in hundreds other places at the same time. He responded to questions, but was talking about something only he saw and understood. He looked like a young boy, so everybody perceived him as such, but, in reality, he knew much more than any other person in the castle. He knew about misfortunes of every soldier in the Inquisition, about their worries and fears, but nobody really knew anything about him. Inquisitor was sorry that he didn’t take enough time and make enough effort to get to know this sad entity better.

“You are the only one I can’t help. I see your pain, it’s red and dense and floats like a haze. You are surrounded by people, but they are not there. You’re alone and lost in the fog and you suffocate. I want to help.”

Lavellan moved the hat from Cole’s eyes to see his face. Usually there was no expression on it, but it was important to see his eyes to establish at least some kind of contact.

“I know, Cole. I know. But it’s my burden, and I will carry it. Others here are also miserable, so just do what you can for them. Whatever you feel right.”

“I tried to take away your fear.” Cole looked Lavellan directly in the eyes. “I come when you sleep, I watch, try to lead the demons away. They are strong, bloody, proud, drag heads of their victims as trophies. You don’t let them in, yet the fear stays. You need to rest, but not sleep. Watch yourself.”

Cole suddenly disappeared as he sometimes did. Lavellan remembered him standing beside him a second ago, but now he wasn’t there anymore. Some of Inquisition’s soldiers and commanders were against Cole’s stay in Skyhold, but the Inquisitor remained unshaken in his decision. He saw what the boy did to help those who were in need, and it was more than he himself could have ever done. The spirit didn’t disappear out of a sheer wish, somebody needed him. He always answered the call.

(07) Lavellan was lying on the side of his bed, twisted and rolled up in a blanket. The bedsheet around him was crumpled and wet from sweat. He was in fever, as if instead of frosty mountains outside of Skyhold only sand dunes enveloped him with unbearable heat. He was delirious and mumbling something to himself. Before his eyes was the same prison cell he chose not to visit anymore. Crystals grew from every wall, from the ceiling and stone floor. They seemed to be alive, breathing and singing the song. Parts of mutilated human, elven, and dwarven bodies were stuck in the lyrium, feeding it with last drops of blood left in them, making its red colour more prominent and vivid. Inquisitor saw familiar faces captured eternally inside the crystals, lifeless, pale, and distorted. He gripped his staff tightly, ready to fight whoever would come to face him. His injured fingers hurt but he tried not to focus on the pain.

“I hoped to see you once again,” said the voice he knew all too well. He turned around and saw Cullen sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the wall. He wasn’t chained. “I was so upset you stopped visiting,” he continued.

“I couldn’t…” started Lavellan, but Cullen did not want to listen.

“I know what had really happened. You thought I was a burden and you had no wish to continue coddling me. But who will take the responsibility, Inquisitor Lavellan?”

“You should ask your new master about that!” yelled Lavellan angrily. He didn’t really know how much responsibility laid on him for all what had happened, but now he didn’t want to admit anything at all. Not before Cullen.

“He is doing what he must, and you are making things more complicated. Do you really believe you are a hero? A Herald of Andraste? You’re just a thief!”—Cullen spat on the floor in front of him—“All you know is stealing and deceiving. Who gave you the right to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Why do you think it was better for me before I changed? Tell me, I want to know.”

“I’ve seen what this “transformation” does to the others. They become inhumane, forget their language, families, friends. They live in constant pain and their life is deprived of meaning. You don’t need to be the Herald to understand that.”

“I am different. They are unworthy, nobody cares about them. Do you know the names of all your soldiers, Inquisitor? Do you mourn the death of every one of them? Then why do you worry about those templars so much? They have their own fate and will be rewarded for their diligence. Unlike all those people stuck in here with me,” said Cullen and smiled, waving his already corrupt hand in the direction of ghastly faces behind the glass surface of red crystals on the walls.

“Are you now tormenting people who worked with you and admired you?” Lavellan felt dizzy. He used his staff to help himself stand straight, but his energy was being drained by the red lyrium filling the room. “What kind of commander are you?”

“An improved one. You should’ve noticed how insecure I used to be. Afraid that people would judge me for what I say or do, afraid to confess to you about my decision to stop taking lyrium. Wasn’t it hilarious? Perhaps, you kept me close because I amused you.”

“No, I didn’t. You were one of the best people I have ever known. It’s a shame you turned into this.”

The mark on Inquisitor’s hand started glowing and he felt as if he would lose consciousness soon. His vision got blurry, making it difficult to concentrate on the templar.

“Oh, I know what you feel now…” Cullen laughed repulsively. “Fear, regret, disbelief, disappointment… A little bit of sorrow maybe? Don’t try to lie to me.” He stood up. No shackles held him, now he was free to do whatever he wanted. “Are you ready to face the truth?”

Lavellan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to escape the nightmare. He knew this couldn’t be real.

He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the bed in his quarters. Cole was sitting beside him, silently saying his mantra. He stopped when noticed that Inquisitor was already awake.

“I heard your scream. Nobody here screams that loudly, only whimpers. It was almost too late. The haze swallowed you, I didn’t see, couldn’t find. I am glad you believed me.”

“The thought that it’s just a dream… Did it come from you?” Lavellan removed the blanket and sat on the bed.

“Yes. I wanted to destroy the fear and regret, but could only take you out of the nightmare. You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Thank you, Cole… Could you stay with me?”

“That is what I implied.”

Lavellan didn’t feel like closing his eyes again.

(08) “This is impossible! We do not have time and resources to do it!” said Cassandra. Her voice sounded as agitated and decisive as always.

“I need it! I’m not asking you to bring me Coryphaeus himself, just a few red templars.”

“You have lost your mind! How can we capture them alive if even touching them may be lethal? It’s too dangerous. You know that they never surrender.”

“It can change everything. The lyrium in dead templars is most likely also dead, there is no use of it, but if we bring them here alive… I will be able to study it, I’ll examine how it responds to different treatments and…”

“They already suffer! Even if they look like monsters, they are under the influence of it. You want to torture them even more, doesn’t it bother you?”

“What bothers me is the absence of any results in my studies, Cassandra. I need at least a tiny bit of useful information.”

Inquisitor was uncompromising, but Cassandra did not want to agree to his proposal. After all, the Inquisition was still part of the Chantry and they simply couldn’t capture templars and experiment on them. She was one of the people who started the Inquisition and didn’t want to see it come crashing down.

She sighed.

“We will make a decision at the council meeting.”

“Then tell everybody to gather.”

As one of the advisors, Cassandra made it clear that she didn’t support this endeavour of the Inquisitor. Leliana, being more practical and open-minded, decided that they should take the risk in case there was at least one possibility to gain some intel in the process. Even if they didn’t learn how to cure the corruption, they would probably discover the templars’ weak spots. Josephine was inclined to support Cassandra out of her morals, but seeing Lavellan in such despair made her budge.

Two people were in favour, so they started the operation.

Cassandra feared that soon they would not be able to keep Inquisitor in line. He was becoming more and more radical in his methods and didn’t share his thoughts with them anymore. He was grim, slept only three hours a day and most of his time spent in the libraries or on the battlefields. From the latter he would often come injured without even noticing it, as if he couldn’t feel it or didn’t care enough to notice. Their cause was still a priority to him, but determination and hope vanished from his eyes. They became dull and cold.

When first templars were delivered to the castle, he locked himself in the forge with them and didn’t come out for a few hours. Nobody was allowed to enter. There were no screams, but the silence made it seem even worse. Everybody was on the edge, not knowing what to expect. It happened a few more times, but the Inquisitor never shared anything about what he did or what results his experiments showed. As time passed, he became even more withdrawn and solitary. Solas tried talking to Lavellan about the Commander and what his inertness did to him, but with no success. Inquisitor was deaf to all inquiries.

When the blizzard settled down and the sun managed to send a few rays through thick clouds, one of the Inquisition’s soldiers knocked on the door to Lavellan’s quarters.

“Come in,” said Inquisitor, not bothered to look away from the book he was reading.

“My lord, Sister Leliana went on her usual check and he wasn’t there…” The soldier started stammering as Lavellan abruptly pierced his gaze into him. “He escaped,” mumbled the soldier.

Inquisitor knew it would end like this. He awaited it and feared.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #Cullen #Inquisitor #Fanfiction #Fiction #Varric Tethras #cassandra pentaghast #Solas #Cole #Lavellan #Cullen Rutherford #Vivienne #Angst #red lyrium

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lipstickbisous · 5 years ago

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the lion and her sun. (7)

ALL WE WANTED WAS TO SEE YOU.

notes: ooofffffff i’m SO excited for this chapter yall i might be overreaction (probably am) but this is really a stepping point in the story whew.

i rEALLY REALLY REALLY HOPE U CAN GET THE HINT AT THE END TEHE.

when u realize dornish culture is more like indian culture instead of spanish culture but u just go with it.

pairing: oberyn x oc!reader, ellaria x oc!reader

summary: a trip to salt shore and one night spent on their stay, oberyn and aurane come to a relevation.

warnings: um..it’ll be a spoiler...so no...smut (thigh riding, but not much), lil make out session

word count: 5.7k

masterlist

“and what happens if he finds out?” aurane was not usually so paranoid and nervous when running around behind doran’s back. her and oberyn had done it before--in the first months of their marriage, they’d gone for walks in the middle of the night through the city even when he’d given them strict instructions to remain in the castle and gardens.

oberyn and aurane’s guards were currently carrying their packed cases onto a one large carriage drawn by several horses. the moon stood high in the night, perfectly angled so that, in the darkness with the dim lighting of oberyn’s lantern, he could see every detail on the princess. doran would hopefully still be sleeping his chambers, but the idea of him waking to his brother and sister-in-law, along with their paramour, escaping in the night was sort of terrifying to aurane.

the bustling of soldiers was quiet but acted as a white noise. “then he’ll be furious,” oberyn responded, dragging his fingers across aurane’s jaw. although they were family, and oberyn loved his brother very much, doran had the ability to punish them if he really wanted. “we’ll have to deal with it. but he won’t find out,” a kiss to her nose. “not until we’re in salt shore.” that smirk delivered a shudder down aurane’s spine but, due to the intensity of the situation, she ignored it.

ellaria poked her head out of the even larger carriage that would hold the three of them during their journey. “we must leave now,” she yelled in the distance; anyone in the castle would simply year a muffled sound. the last of the bags were loaded onto the luggage carriage and aurane sighed. “come, lion,” ellaria held her hand out. “let our prince deal with formalities.”

with a sigh and a comforting smile from her husband, aurane left oberyn’s embrace and let herself fall into the hold of her second lover. ellaria, who had bathed just before they packed for their trip, now smelled of cinnamon and baked goods. “we will all be together for the next week,” ellaria smiled, sitting aurane on top of her so that she straddled her lap. aurane’s hands mindlessly placed themselves on ellaria’s cheeks. the older woman had always lovingly rambled about aurane’s beauty and grace and how ‘a woman so young could look so mature’. but when they pressed themselves against each other like this, in such a position that it made aurane feel slightly feral, all aurane could appreciate in the moment was ellaria’s beauty. how the lines that shown over age made her look wise, how as time passed, her body had kept its neat posture and her skin didn’t loosen. how in that head of hers, ellaria held knowledge and advice that aurane couldn’t even muster.

“my two lovers,” oberyn whispered as he climbed into the carriage, a guard shutting the door behind him. the lock clicked and now, the three were in complete silence and privacy. to break the latter, oberyn held the back of aurane’s head, turned her towards him, and kissed her forehead, “we only have a week ahead of us.”

his first paramour smirked as aurane leaned into the prince’s touch, her hips still touching ellaria’s. “perhaps we can find something to occupy the time.”

a hand found itself on aurane’s thigh, but she couldn’t trace whose since her eyes had squeezed shut with a pinch to her ass. oberyn began to lift her skirt up so that it bunched at her stomach before unhooking it and throwing it to the other side of carriage. compared to the bedroom her and oberyn shared, this carriage seemed so small. a sigh emitted itself from her mouth once oberyn’s lips were latched onto the skin of her neck.

“what do you feel, lion?” he whispered, and the carriage began to move but it was nothing in the moment.

ellaria’s hands were firm on aurane’s hips as she centered aurane’s now open slit against her bare thigh. she pushed aurane forward back on her leg, and, as a reaction to the pleasurable feeling, the princess pushed her back onto oberyn’s shoulder. his fingers were sweeping over her spine, reaching lower and lower until he cupped her ass. as ellaria continued to grind aurane’s heat over her thigh, oberyn began to coo.

“all the distress you’re feeling,” he murmured, slightly deadened by his lips on her neck, now trailing to her collar bone. he sat on his knees before breaking his contact with aurane. his fingers held ellaria’s chin as he pulled her closer, pressing his lips on hers. ellaria’s movements began to quicken as aurane’s slick made it easy for her to buck her clit for pressure. in between kisses, he spoke, “you don’t deserve it.”

ellaria shook her head and broke her kiss with oberyn before placing a hand between her and aurane, gently pressing on the bead. aurane whimpered and practically became an oozing liquid in oberyn’s arms. “none of it,” ellaria spoke, tucking her head underneath aurane’s chin, flush against her chest.

with ellaria’s touch on her clit as an already overpowering feeling, oberyn added two more fingers and began to rub. “you’re always so good to us,” he whispered, sucking red marks into the skin on shoulder blade and he pushed her hair out of the way. “this pussy is always so wet, so slick, and gods,” he growled and broke his kisses on her and his fingers from her clit, and he placed his two digits in his mouth. “you always taste so sweet.”

“like heaven,” ellaria cooed.

the heat in aurane’s core felt stronger than ever as ellaria’s pace on her hips was even faster. her arms wound their way behind her as they unbuttoned oberyn’s pants and he discarded himself of the tunic he wore that night. she could feel his cock hardening in just her touch and it was enough to let herself flood over her paramour. “fuck,” she whispered, furrowing her eyebrows in frustration as she wanted nothing but her orgasm. she began to clench around nothing more than air and ellaria smiled.

“look at you,” she praised, soon feeling a hand reaching her own heat. oberyn only smirked while aurane began to stroke his length, running her thumb over the slit. “so needy, so perfect for us.”

oberyn thrusted into aurane’s hand. she would never tell him so, although because his mind knew almost everything he could probably guess it, but she loved the feeling of his cock in her hands. it was long and girthy and as it weighed down in her palm, her fingers rubbing over its head, she let her other hand cover her mouth once a scream threatened to leave. oberyn ripped her hand away, bucking into her hand again. “always so perfect for us,” he cooed directly into her ear. “don’t hide yourself, lion. cum for us.”

she turned to him as ellaria placed her lips underneath aurane’s ear. aurane’s eyes were shut, her jaw dropped open, and her senses were suddenly becoming weakened. the feeling of the silk sheets beneath her, how sticky the summer night air was, oberyn’s cock in her hold, her orgasm approaching, ellaria’s kiss becoming harsher, her husband’s gentle yet demanding curses and whispers--it was all overwhelming.

she let go.

―

traveling on road had not been as fun for aurane. she could admit that, sometimes, she would find the smell of saltwater somewhat sickening, but that didn’t mean she hated it. the paths their carriages traveled on were rough and bumpy, making it hard for the three to enjoy pleasant nights. they had stopped for camp three times during the week, and really, those had been the only nights where aurane, oberyn, and ellaria could truly enjoy themselves.

salt shore, a grand city right against the beach, lied only an hour away now. aurane sat impatiently her head resting against ellaria’s shoulder. nervous thoughts had kept her awake the night before, so currently, despite her excitement for the new city awaiting her arrival, she was beginning to fall asleep.

“my sun,” oberyn’s voice was light as he bent down to her eye level. she began to awake but her eyelids were heavy and her body felt loose. “we’re almost there. the scenery is beautiful.”

aurane hummed in response but tucked her head into ellaria’s arm. “i think she loves me more,” ellaria teased her lover and watched as he rolled his eyes and playfully shooed them.

with her eyes closed and her mind regaining its conscience, she curled into ellaria and slurred, “i love you both equally.”

“that’s what they all say, lion,” he whispers and lies himself on the bed. the blinds on their windows blocks at the harsh sun. the lower they traveled over westeros, the hotter the sun got. even oberyn began to sweat the tiniest bit. there was a reason aurane and ellaria were almost naked in their carriage.

the princess whined and squeezed her eyes before rubbing her cheeks. “gods, it’s too hot,” she complained, pushing herself off of ellaria. they both sighed in relief at the cold air touching the skin that had once connected them. their hands, the only source of a breeze, tried their best to fan themselves but to no avail. “was this is a mistake?” she joked, half delirious.

oberyn’s gaze softened as he handed a container of water to his lovers. they reached for it desperately, and if they had been animals, they would be starving tigers to the point where oberyn could see their ribs, and he would be the evil ringmaster who denied them any food--apart from the fact that as soon as he saw the desperation in their eyes, he sat himself in between them and let them share the water. “i hope not,” he laughed, and once the container was empty, it was thrown onto the ground. “i’m going to receive a lifetime of shit from my brother for this.”

“we’re going to receive a lifetime of shit for this,” aurane corrected him. it was as if she were drunk, ellaria too, but it had been ironic since they hadn’t obtained any sort of alcohol--the heat had gotten to the wine. “are we almost there?”

she was growing impatient and oberyn couldn’t blame her. he inhaled and parted his lips to speak, soon noticing that ellaria fell into a deep rest, her head gently falling against the pillows, beads of sweat trailing down her temple. the fabric of her light dress had turned so damp that aurane could now see her nipples just peeking through the material.

“soon, my sun,” he lied down next to his paramour and patted the spot of the bed next to him. aurane rested her back on the mattress and pulled the linens that were now turning sticky from sweat away from her skin. “we’re going to find as much as we can there.”

aurane turned to her side and watched as his eyes wandered down to her lips as she gently bit her bottom one. her vision was becoming hazy. “i hope so.”

when she awoke, it was because of ellaria’s gentle coos in her ear, her fingers grazing over her shoulders and winding through her hair. because of the heat, her perfume was stronger than ever, and for the first time during their trip, aurane could smell saltwater. “lion,” her voice was sweet and honey-like. “wake up, lion.” ellaria sounded more eager than usual. aurane, even in her tired state, could sense that the carriage had come to a stop.

her eyes opened and, just for a few seconds, her vision was blurry. the door to their carriage was open, letting in a slight breeze that reminded aurane of the shore.

the shore.

“we’re here, lion,” ellaria tucked a piece of hair behind aurane’s ear. during their nap, aurane’s braid had unraveled itself, so ellaria now aided the princess in sitting up. she took out the ribbon that had held the braid together and combed her fingers through aurane’s hair.

aurane rubbed her eyes and felt ellaria’s fingers on her scalp. “it’s not as hot,” she noticed. the air, while still heated and sticky, had a slightly cooler feeling to hit that felt good against her skin. “why is not as hot?”

the mindless yet sweet comments coming from the princess had ellaria chuckling. just as cersei had done all those years ago back in casterly rock, she separated aurane’s hair into three sections and began to fold them together. when she done, she tied the ribbon around the end of the braid and smiled, “look outside.”

aurane stepped foot out of the carriage and was instantly met with the seagulls squawking above them, the waves crashing against coarse sand--when compared to the softer sand of sunspear--and before her stood a great castle made from concrete and stone. below the castle was a small city, closer to the size of what aurane had been told winterfell was like. but unlike winterfell, the sun was shining gloriously on the city and it seemed to sparkle. aurane could hear footsteps drawing closer and closer to her, along with the guards unpacking their bags.

“my sun,” oberyn whispered and held her wrist in his hand. he brought it to his lips and gently kissed. “welcome to salt shore.”

during her life, even if it hadn’t been a long one so far, aurane had never traveled much. she’d moved from casterly rock to king’s landing and had even visited highgarden once, but she had spent her days in the red keep. her only friends were her siblings and her maidens--she felt embarrassed to say that she also considered her pet cat a friend. but over the past year, she’d seen more places than she had in her twenty-six years of life.

she smiled and noticed two people dressed in white linens and sturdy fabrics. they were the gargalens, and doran had informed her of their hatred for lannisters. “are we staying in the castle?” aurane asked.

oberyn nodded gravely and noticed her discontent. “they respect you more than the common people,” he whispered hoarsely and ellaria pushed herself out of the carriage. “staying in the city would be dangerous.”

―

mallery airen had been born in sandstone but was raised in salt shore. when she was a child, all she wanted to do with her life was run around the beach and own a small house near the shore. she loved the harsh storms that would always make a mess of their city, even the lightning and thunder. her parents had never sent her away to be married or pressured her into love, and they believed it was partially their fault that she fell in love with a lannister.

for years, they’d hidden the truth simply from the fact that they felt tywin lannister stole their precious daughter away from them.

once the word of mallery’s death in king’s landing had been announced, the airen’s were infuriated. they went to their royals and spread the news, angering the cities.

tywin lannister had supposedly raped their daughter and forced her to casterly rock. only they knew the truth. and once war had threatened to break, the airen’s felt shame and embarrassment. now, there was a princess, the product of what had really happened between tywin and mallery. and that princess was currently strolling through the city of salt shore, her husband on her arm, her paramour on her other.

the beliefs of dorne were set--they were separated from the rest of westeros and were therefore more liberal than the other cities. but oberyn’s own people seemed to betray them as they quietly hissed as she walked by. the gargalens had promised the safety of aurane, which also meant that there were an estimated amount of twenty guards protecting her as she walked.

“they don’t seem too violent,” ellaria whispered, trying her best to stay optimistic in the situation. as they strolled deeper into the city, the derogatory hisses from the crowd grew louder and oberyn’s protective grip grew stronger. you could see through the armor of the soldiers that each crowd member was patiently waiting with various objects in their hands. there was the normal tomato or rotting fruit, while others held things like wooden blocks, shards of glass, and balls of hardened mud--but they didn’t dare to throw the items, not with aurane under the royal’s protection.

the airen’s house was closer to the great market of salt shore, and that couldn’t have been more than two minutes away. two more and final minutes of booing, hissing, shouting, and threatening stares.

it was this moment, when aurane was so close to the truth, to her mother’s story, she realized she had no idea what to say. she had countless questions yet she couldn’t muster up any of them. her entire life had been trailing up to this second, and now, she was lost. a wave of heat swept over aurane. the sun was scorching above them because, unlike in dorne, the city of salt shore had almost no trees. with her arm wrapped around oberyn’s, she did her best in this position to try and fan herself.

a loud huff caught oberyn’s attention. “my sun?” he asked, noticing how she was sweating more than before and her lips had turned into a dull color than her normal sweet pink.

“it’s hot,” she huffed again through tightened lips. she would not show she was losing composure in front of people who wanted to witness her pain.

ellaria seemed to notice her faltering demeanor as well. “sweet girl,” she asked. of course, salt shore had it effect on ellaria as well--she spent the entire night sweating instead of sleeping--but aurane had seemed perfectly fine with the climate. “should we turn back?” ellaria and oberyn assumed it was because her mother had been of salt shore descent but now, as aurane’s stomach felt queasy and her face went bland, they shared a look of hesitation.

“no,” aurane breathed loudly, capturing the attention of even a few guards. “i’m not just giving up.” her pace quickened again and they began to walk at their initial speed.

it seemed that the next few minutes, aurane had gained control of her body again. the crowd continued to jeer at the princess. ellaria even went as far as growling at someone who had gotten too close to them, holding a sharp rock in their hand. “don’t let it delay you,” oberyn whispered as they approached a tall house that blended in with the rest of the city.

outside hung a clay flower that had been painted pink and blue and orange and yellow with hundreds of small petals. a dahlia.

aurane wasn’t sure if it was irony or a coincidence. she brushed it off.

the crowd began to disperse when they stood in front of the doors to the airen’s house. aurane recognized it to be a certain wood from sunspear, but she soon realized she was only finding small things to take her mind off of the feeling that this would life-altering.

her mother. her beautiful mother, who she had only been told stories of--only cersei and her father could describe how gorgeous mallery really was. the mother who gave her life so aurane could be standing here now.

“are you ready, lion?” oberyn looked down to aurane as her eyes only focused on the door.

she smiled. she thought of her mother and how, when she was a child, she would run around these streets of the city. how this had once been her home. “always.”

a knock. a simple knock and just a few seconds of waiting before the door was opened, revealing a small woman with graying hair and slightly taller man behind her. their skin had aged over time but had kept its darker shade of color. the woman gulped loudly. the top of her head just touched the bottom of aurane’s chin. “hello, child.” she spoke sweetly, her eyes widening. aurane smiled and looked to the man. he nodded and repeated his wife.

quick to correct themselves with formalities with, “my lord, my lady.” the old woman curtsied and her husband bowed soon after. aurane just couldn’t break her eye contact with...her grandmother. someone who she had never seen before was so connected to her. she couldn’t even speak or make any sort of coherent noise. “come in...aurane.”

it was awkward, and aurane didn’t want that at all. the woman and her husband parted from each other to create a small gap so that the three could easily enter their home. the ceiling had been too low for oberyn, so after letting his two lovers in first, he bent down and closed the door behind him. “we could hear them outside,” the older man spoke with joyful tears in his eyes at the sight of his granddaughter.

“i suppose you don’t know our names,” the woman spoke, setting down two clay cups filled with water that looked uncomfortably warm. aurane pushed her shoulders back to fix her posture and smiled politely.

“no,” she whispered, holding in every ounce of excitement. “i don’t.”

the husband took his place next to his wife and pushed a cup of water to aurane. “we can tell that you’re nervous,” he spoke kindly and carefully. ellaria stood next to her lover in the kitchens, close to the entrance so that they could hear every word. “my name is jasim,” he smiled, sitting his elbows on his knees. “this is my wife, samaya.” the older woman waved gently.

it was silent for the next few seconds, before glances were exchanged and aurane laughed brokenly. “and i’m aurane,” she choked out, feeling hot tears beginning to pool in the bottom of her eyes. “your granddaughter.”

“you look just like her,” samaya offered, capturing the way aurane’s loose hairs framed her face, how her nose just slightly curved, her top lip in a bow-shape. her skin so pure and so far from becoming withered and gray. “how could you be a lannister?”

aurane couldn’t even find offense in this remark. she’d put her old family in the past and was now opening new revelations of this one. while she felt miserable for not replying to her sister’s letters, she also told herself that not once had her family even tried to meet with her mother’s side.

maybe that’s because they wanted to kill them. the other part of aurane thought.

she chuckled as a tear dropped into her lap. “i had so many questions for you,” both of the older ones in the room softened their gaze (if it were even possible) and leaned forward. samaya placed her hand on aurane’s knee. while shrugging and dictating the first words she thought of, aurane questioned, “what was she like?”

the mere mention of her daughter left samaya with a broken sob. her and her husband thought of mallery everyday, but with their granddaughter--their beautiful granddaughter who was a spitting image of mallery--sitting in front of them, they broke. “she was lovely,” jasim whispered and looked to the gods above them. “by the seven, she was wild, as well.”

“always getting into trouble,” samaya motioned outside, where the flow of the crowd had diluted and the yelling had stopped. “you won’t believe how many times she would run away. off to the market, off to the beach.”

more sad laughter filled the room and bounced off of the concrete walls. aurane was sure that oberyn and ellaria was listening as much as possible--after all, she had dragged them all the way here. “the fish market,” jasim sniffled and wiped away the itch under his nose. “the owner always had to walk her back home because she would get lost.”

samaya nodded and her lit up. “when she was your age, she wanted to see the world,” it was like the memories were physically playing out directly in front of her. “we could never stop her. she traveled everywhere through dorne, even once to highgarden. but mallery said it was too cold.”

“yes,” aurane agreed, nodding her head and leaning on her right side. she rubbed her eyes to wipe the tears away but they replaced by several new ones. “looking back now, king’s landing and casterly rock is freezing compared the dorne.”

then, it was silent. back in the kitchen, ellaria and oberyn shared unsure glances. while the truth had yet to be shared, samaya and jasim truly believed that tywin lannister had stolen their daughter from them. of course they knew that their lies would soon catch up to them. they also knew that aurane deserved the truth because here she was, twenty-six years later in their home, dozens of questions whizzing about in her head but not one could settle down her to ask.

“we assume,” jasim started and pursed his lips. this would be harder than they thought. “you want to know about- um,”

samaya sighed and gulped loudly. “your parents.” she finished for her husband and he nodded.

aurane’s chest rose with one large inhale. her fingertips were picking at her nails, her hair was tickling the back of her neck, and for a second, it had been so quiet that she could hear even oberyn and ellaria’s breaths. she felt an eyelash fall into her eye, but she didn’t bother to wipe it out as she breathed out, “yes.”

in the kitchen, oberyn and ellaria closed their eyes and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. as much as she wanted to whisper something, anything, to her lover, she was silent. “your mother had been so excited the day they came marching in with their golden and red flags. she was...happy to meet new people, she always was,” samaya sniffled and a tear dropped directly onto the floor.

“she had friends that were flirting with the soldiers, and looking back now,” jasim laughed and let his eyelids fall. he sighed with a broken laugh, “it was hilarious to watch grown woman so shamelessly flirt with those young men.”

samaya placed a hand on her husband’s back and looked to their granddaughter for any sort of response. aurane’s eyes were fixated on the concrete floor, staring at the small patches of dust that had collected over time. “but your mother,” she spoke. “she didn’t want anything to do with the soldiers. a certain man had his eyes on her. gods, she spent the entire week smiling.” her hand linked with jasim and they simultaneously felt a clenched hand twisted around their hearts. “one day, she told us she would be leaving salt shore. and at first, we were fine, she’d traveled before,” samaya broke with one sob.

“but then, she told us of...your father,” jasim, to that day, could not bring himself to say that man’s name. “we tried to stop her from leaving. the lannisters had been cruel before and we didn’t want anything to happen to her.”

aurane’s heart cracked in two. her throat began to tighten and it felt impossible to breathe. sweat began to drip down her cheek but it was difficult to tell whether it was a tear or not. there was a punch to her chest as samaya continued to speak. “and the news began to spread. she was holding you inside of her,” aurane closed her eyes to find some kind of composure. “we didn’t know how to feel.”

jasim’s voice stuttered, quick to correct his wife. “we were happy to hear of you, we’d always wanted grandchildren,” he spoke surely, regaining his mental strength. “but, for a while, we wanted nothing to do with you. not the product of tywin lannister and our daughter. she sent us countless letters and we only responded to one,” aurane’s hand clenched the edge of her chair, her nails digging into the wood sure to leave moon-shaped indents. “but then she passed.”

“all we wanted was to see you,” they whispered together. aurane nodded and pursed her lips close together. her people had hated her for a rumor that had never, not once, been true--half of dorne hated her for the same reason. “but we had already started the rumors. we told everyone your father raped our girl and hurt her.”

it was silent again. oberyn pressed a firm kiss to ellaria’s head and craved to do the same for wife, feeling the uncertainty and confusion she felt. “there’s nothing we regret more,” his heart broke for his princess.

suddenly, it had gotten hot again. aurane’s chest ached, sending waves of pounding pain to her head. her skull was splitting open, her eyes were watering, and her entire body became sticky with sweat. “my child, what is wrong?” samaya felt stupid for asking, but she did not expect such a reaction.

aurane choked on her words and could barely even blink. “so they did love each other,” she whispered almost indistinctly. oberyn took this as a silent omen to wander his way into the room, setting his hands on her shoulder and placing his lips on the top of her head. “so my sister and brothers had been right.”

both jasim and samaya nodded gravely. aurane felt ellaria’s fingers wrapping around her own as she sat herself down on the floor. “we’re sorry, aurane,” jasim said shamefully.

oberyn’s lips trailed down to her ears where he whispered, “do you want to go, lion?” the mention of their granddaughter leaving after they had just finally met widened samaya and jasim’s eyes, and their jaws dropped open samaya shook her head with a whispered, ‘no’. aurane found comfort in the way the wood had been woven in the chair she sat on and how with every small movement she made, it would make the lightest creaking noise. aurane looked up at her husband with a crooked smile and nodded.

“you can’t leave,” samaya stood as she watched oberyn place his hand just above the curve of aurane’s ass. she rose from her chair and ellaria wrapped her arm around her shoulders, glaring at the old woman. how dare they lie? ellaria could never find respect for the lannisters, not after elia, but not ever did her lion deserve such pain. “no, you can’t. we just met you.”

a hand grabbed aurane’s wrist as they began to exit the small home that only a few minutes ago aurane had admired. “please,” jasim begged loosening his grip. “we just found you. you’re all we have, please.”

they lied. they lied.

“i’ll visit again some other time,” was all aurane said before turning on her heel. oberyn pushed open the front door her, closing it behind them just as he had when they entered. the guards still stood outside, clad in their shiny armor and weapons in their hands.

―

you will come home immediately.

- doran.

“you will come home immediately,” oberyn mocked with a curled lip as he tossed in his brother’s letter into the trash bin. the gargalens had given the three from sunspear a gorgeous room near the shore, and until this moment at the end of the week, oberyn, aurane, and ellaria had used it to their advantage. ellaria sat next to her princess, caressing the cheek of the random dark-haired maiden they invited to their bed. aurane had a boy clinging onto her torso, littering the skin of her stomach with dozens of kisses and another girl combed her fingers through her hair. “my fucking brother. can’t even let us have any fun.”

ellaria chuckled and pressed a kiss on her maiden’s forehead. “don’t worry about him, lover,” she slurred, drunk off of the fact that their last day in salt shore was spent on pleasure. “we have each other right now.” she looked to aurane who was just barely leaning into the gentle touch of the girl’s fingers in her hair. with her hands pressed against her maiden’s stomach, ellaria placed her on the bed and crawled over to the princess. “what distresses you, lion?”

she could just barely breathe. aurane began to sweat again, causing the maiden brushing her hair to immediately let go and look to ellaria with worried eyes. ellaria shooed the girl and boy away, focused on whatever was causing aurane pain. oberyn observed how aurane’s eyes became hazy and her lips were discolored. “my sun?” he furrowed his eyebrows and rushed to the edge of the bed where sat wearing nothing more than a silk robe.

aurane sighed and squeezed her temples for relief of her headache. there was a sickening pain in her lower stomach and her hand flew to clutch the skin. she leaned her head back onto ellaria’s shoulder, but before she could say anything at all, ellaria looked to her lover. his eyes were bright and his lips parted. “fuck,” aurane breathed out before standing from the bed.

a simple look and a nod exchanged and ellaria exited the room. “i need a fucking drink,” aurane whispered and stepped to their table. she started to pour herself a cup of wine before oberyn stood behind her and set the goblet down.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea, my sun,” he whispered, his lips just barely curling into a smile to hide his complete excitement.

“what?” she turned to him with a distressed look. she felt dizzy again as she exhaled through tight lips. the room began to look blurry and even the man in front of her was fuzzy. “where’d ellaria go?”

with his hands on her shoulders, oberyn walked aurane over to the mirror. “this is something you and i should talk about,” he grinned, looking at their reflection and cupping his just above her mound. at first, aurane was confused and laughed sarcastically before looking to where he touched her. her eyes softened and her mouth parted before she bit her bottom lip.

“how do you know?” she asked.

closing his eyes, he nuzzled his nose into her neck and kissed her shoulder. “ellaria went through it three times, lion,” he whispered and looked at their reflection again. “i have eight daughters.”

aurane placed her hand on top of his and gulped rather loudly. she felt her heartbeat quicken, her arms began to shake gently, and her head felt even dizzier then before, but she knew right where she was--in her lover’s arms looking down at her lower belly. her lips turned into a smile, “oh.”

tags: @pascalisthepunkest @gummiishark @ohpedromypedro @zeldasayer @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @pedropascalonline @pedropascalito @pedropascalitofics @honeychicanawrites @otherthingsinhead @wakalas @pedropascalispapi @heavenbarnes @qveenbvtch @foreverlostindreams @forever-rogue @arianawills @liadamerondjarin @absurdthirst @eternallyvenus @thewaythisis @blushingwueen @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @pedropasscals @menacingmandalorian

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degenerate-yandere · 5 years ago

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Damon & Ray Headcanons

Woo boy this took awhile to get through, but here it is! Some general Headcanons for my boys to lay some groundwork, I plan on doing some fics for them very soon.

Ray has some double-ups from a previous post, simply because I wanted this to be the comprehensive post with all their information in one spot, if that makes sense.

Anyway I hope y’all enjoy! This was partly for the beautiful @ramwrites who wanted some Damon content, and who am I to deny the Queen’s request.

Picrews used: Damon, Ray.

TW: Abuse, kidnapping, yandere, violence, implied murder, drugging, non-consensual touching, stalking, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour

Damon:

Attraction + Pursuit

Disgust - an ample word to describe Damon’s initial reaction to these newfound emotions that threaten the fortitude of his petrified heart. Every time you cause his breath to hitch in his throat, he’s reminded of just how damn vulnerable you make him; a highly unwelcomed source of insecurity. If Damon hates one thing, it’s being undermined.

As a result of his mounting insecurity, it can be expected that his infatuation, at first, manifests as resentment. Damon will be especially cruel to you - intimidation, bullying, and public degradation are all outlets of his internal frustration. You’ll think he hates you, and maybe a part of him does. He doesn’t feel guilty, no; this is all your fault, you’re the one who makes him feel this way - It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

This torment is short-lived however. It’ll come as an epiphany as he towers over you, looking down at your comparatively fragile form. You are pathetic, but more importantly, he isn’t. Damon’s bigger and stronger than you, so what’s stopping him from simply making you his? He’s quick to surmise that he’s entitled to you. All this stems from Damon’s immense ego; an inflated sense of superiority, and a fragile one at that.

As far Damon’s concerned, you need him as much as he needs you. First-hand experience has shown him just how weak and defenseless you are. You need him to keep you safe. He’ll protect you, he likes to keep what’s his intact - unknowing to the fact he’s the exact thing you need to be protected from.

It’ll give you whiplash how fast Damon’s demeanor seems to change. You’ll be lucky to receive a grumbled apology for his past actions. He’ll loom above you nigh constantly, glaring daggers at any who’d approach you. His intimidating presence is enough on its own to isolate you.

It’s important to note Damon’s utter lack of experience. Sure, he’s had numerous flings in the past, but this - this is different. Romance is an alien concept, and courtship is an incomprehensible endeavor. But he tries - he makes an effort to lower his gravelly voice, relaxing his body language and resisting the urge to belittle you. He’ll bring you odd gifts and trinkets, shoving them into your hands with no explanation other than a grunt. You doubt they were acquired through wholesome means. Damon will grumble compliments, ones that, when accompanied with his threatening voice and vulgar verbiage, are often perceived as thinly-veiled threats. He tries, he really does - but his patience is easily waned.

Any inquiries you raise about his insistence on shadowing you are met with a scoff and a disingenuous insult;

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

No matter how many times you ask him, his answer will always be the same - nonchalant and unsatisfactory.

He’ll grow tired if you continue to fear him or try to avoid him. You should be grateful. Damon will resort to threats and manipulation to force you to accept his advances.

Anyone he deems a threat, whether that be individuals he believes might harm you, partners, exes, or even people who simply stare at you too long, will all meet a similar fate - broken, bloodied, and barely recognizable. He likes to take pictures of his hard work, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride as he looks through them. Maybe he’d show you one day, to let you know just how grateful you should be that he’s keeping you safe. There’s a wicked glee he derives from pummeling people for your sake.

Kidnapping is an inevitability; the urge to protect you from those who’d dare to take you away from him, and his selfish desire to own you, will make that decision a definite one.

It’ll be easy - cornering you in some isolated spot late at night, caging you against his built body as he tells you just how long he’s been waiting for this. He’ll overpower you with his abundant brute strength, remarking that the more you struggle, the rougher he’ll be - a promise he makes well on. It’s hard to deny his joy of having you struggle against him, completely at his mercy. It serves as an omen of the life that awaits you.

Post-kidnapping + Punishment

Damon’s captivity is stern and demanding. There is no ’grace period’, no time allocated to allow you to grow somewhat accustomed with the nightmare you’ve been thrust into.

His expectations, as demeaning as they are, are made evident from the beginning. You are to accept his affections, no matter how forceful or rough. You will show him ample appreciation for protecting you, an act which he considers merciful.

Damon is quick to ‘correct your mistakes’, and ensures you never make them again. There’s no restraint, no mercy - but he likes it when you beg anyway.

Punishments are cruel and severe; Taunting you as he holds the cindering end of his cigarette inches above your skin, allowing you to feel the heat emanating from it as you beg and plead - cut short as he presses it against your flesh. Isolation, food deprivation, impassioned beatings - all serving as painful reprimands.

Behind his anger and frustration lies an undeniable sadistic enthusiasm as he punishes you. Damon loves putting you in your place, he adores holding immense power over you.

Bite marks litter your body, purple patches coat your neck - Damon’s constant, little ‘reminders’ to show you who you belong to. His affection is equally barbaric; his touches leave bruises, his kisses result in bloodied, swollen lips.

Don’t squirm when he forces you onto his lap to place kisses along your shoulder, don’t cry when he tightly embraces you in bed, and maybe he’ll be gentle.

His ego is a possible source of exploitation - worship him, tell him how big and strong he is, confess your adoration, and he may just let his guard down.

If you ever consider escape, pray he never finds you. Damon will yank you by the hair as he tells you just how much you’ve fucked up. A series of harsh punishments follow, to ingrain the fact that you belong to him, that you can never escape him. There’s no painkillers, no warning or care as he begins applying painful pressure to your legs. He’ll ensure you can’t run from him again.

Non-Yandere Headcanons

Damon found work as a bouncer for a few years, until he was abruptly fired for hospitalizing a rowdy client. As a result, he’s resorted to… less than ethical means of income.

Damon’s birthday is on March 27th, though he isn’t one to celebrate it.

You bet this dude has a motorcycle, and he treats it like his child.

Damon is built like an absolute tank - a brick wall of raw, hard power. He’s proud of his stature.

He tastes, and often smells, like booze and cigarettes - indicative of his poor habits.

Ray:

Attraction + Pursuit

Ray’s infatuation, a product of a seemingly inconsequential interaction, is quick to fester into enraptured obsession. He’ll form an emotional dependency, a suffocating need, toward the poor soul he’s latched onto.

He’ll find a desire to satiate his growing obsession, to satisfy the numerous questions about you that weigh constantly on his mind. He can’t approach you directly, the very thought makes his heart threaten to leap from his chest. Instead, he’ll opt to stalk you, just so he can learn everything about you. He’ll become acquainted with your place of residence, rifling through your belongings - perhaps even taking some to keep for himself. You could’ve sworn you had more pairs of underwear.

The more he finds out about you, the more ultimately enamoured he becomes. Ray can’t stop thinking about you. That’s when the drawings begin. They start as idle sketches, cute doodles accompanied by scribbled love-hearts. It isn’t long before Ray is struck with grander inspiration, your likeness becoming a mainstake in his manga. He draws panels upon panels of his love-sick longing; taking you on the romantic dates you deserve, heartfelt confessions of love which reek of shoujo cliche, tender kisses and gentle touches. They line the walls of his room, accompanied by the various photographs he’s taken of you - for reference, of course.

That isn’t the extent of his collection, however. Ray keeps a private stash; the outlet for his more salacious desires. He feels somewhat bad about drawing your perfect form in such disgusting, compromising scenarios, but his filthy needs overpower his consideration.

Ray’s rationality, as middling as it is, only erodes as his obsession grows more unrestrained. He’ll be increasingly emboldened, sending you love letters and anonymous text messages with such detail that they establish…. troubling implications.

His gnawing need for you only grows further. It keeps him up at night, his fingers shakely caressing your clothes desperately hoping it’ll bring him comfort. He wants to rip his hair out sometimes - he just wants to touch you, he wants to love you, he needs you more than anything.

Ray isn’t a violent man, but if anyone threatens his one-sided relationship with you, well - he can’t let that happen. A baseball bat, and the lovestruck conviction to swing it, work wonders at remeding his problems. He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, he frantically tells himself as he washes the blood from his hands.

He eventually reaches the conclusion that he has to take you. The very thought of you being swept away, abandoning him, is enough to make his decision a certainty. Ray assures himself that it’s what’s best for you - he can take care of you, keep you safe and secure.

Unlike Damon, Ray goes about his kidnapping with significantly more finesse. He can’t stand the thought of hurting you - he’ll instead opt to slip something in your drink, or ambush you with a strong-smelling rag against your nose.

Post-kidnapping + Punishment

You’ll wake up, gagged and handcuffed to his bedpost; This marks the beginning of your ‘relationship’. He’ll try desperately to tell you he won't hurt you, to convince you that he just wants to help you. His fingers seem magnetised to you, itching and yearning to feel you beneath them. The blazing blush across his face, the bashful grin adorning his lips, and the utterly deranged adoration that speckle his eyes betray just how content he is.

He’ll be quick to show you just how much he loves you; flicking through all his artwork of you, reaffirming that it’s all been for you.

Ray is patient, understanding, but completely overbearing. When he sees how terrified you are he can’t help but coil himself around you and mutter reassurances against your skin - even if he’s the very source of your fear

“It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay. I-I have you now, you d-don’t have to be afraid anymore”.

It won’t take long to realize just how needy he is - his touch-starved skin rarely leaving yours. He relishes in your sweet touch, nuzzling against you as his arms wrap around you, his fingers exploring every inch of your flesh. Whines and groans escape him whenever he’s deprived of your addictive touch.

Ray’s insists on feeding you, sitting you on his lap as he plays video games or draws, pulling you close and burying his nose in your hair as he drifts to sleep. His kisses, as rare as they are without your consent, are sloppy and inexperienced - but laced with such a raw, unrestrained need.

Lives for your praise and validation, outright begging for it. His heart swells at any crumbs he can extrapolate. You stared at his artwork? You must love it! You didn’t flinch away when he kissed you? You must want him just as much as he wants you.

Ray isn’t one for punishments, he couldn’t bring himself to willingly hurt his precious darling. If you grow violent or reckless, he’ll simply pin you down and wait out your little outburst.

But if he ever fears you may leave him, or if you ever manage to escape and he catches you - he has no quarrels about doing anything if it means you can’t escape. The thought of you abandoning him makes him completely unhinged. Ray’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means hurting you. He’ll cry and scream, begging you to tell him why ‘you’re making him do this’.

“Y-You can’t leave me! Don’t you get it?! I-I can’t live without you!”

Non-yandere Headcanons

Ray’s birthday is on October 10th, although he never usually has anyone to celebrate with...

Despite his shut-in nature, Ray likes to remain fit. He frequents the gym at his apartment complex (at night of course; less people). He did martial arts during his teenage years, and reluctantly joined his school’s volleyball team. This results in a lean physique comprised of sinewy, surprisingly strong muscles - all the better to restrain protect his darling.

He makes money from his web manga and commissions, as well as working part time at a videogame store. Has a surprisingly good work ethic.

Survives off the college diet of caffeine and ramen - but he’ll try his damndest to change it if his darling is less than receptive of his refined cuisine.

His hygiene… isn’t the best. He’s a firm believer that a shower can be replaced with spraying oneself with copious amounts of cheap, intoxicatingly strong body spray.

#yandere #yandere x reader #tw abuse #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #oc #ocs #my writing #my ocs #ray #damon #ray x reader #damon x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines

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myhockeyworld87 · 5 years ago

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Choices - Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn - Part 30

Word Count: 3,375

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language

Notes: So we’re at the second last chapter. This will be the last time that you guys get to vote. I’m like super sad about that, but I’ll save my sappy note for the last chapter. Voting is open until Sunday at 9am this time. I’m giving you guys a bit longer. PLEASE PLEASE only vote once, if you’re voting on anon, so that this is fair. I mean honestly, I know it happens. I can see what times the votes come in...hahaha I don’t care if only 3 of you vote...haha I’ll be fine with that. At any rate here you go! Happy Reading!

Choices Masterlist

You kept reading the words in the email from the testing center over and over again. It couldn’t be true. They sent you the wrong results and didn’t know where yours were. What the hell had happened? And then it hit you, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. If Tyler wasn’t the father of the twins, and it was Jamie; all your problems would be solved. There wouldn’t be a need for a lawsuit, which meant not sharing custody or having to worry about Tyler taking your children away from you. The only thought in your mind was that you had to tell Jamie.

Tyler’s words stopped you short though. Was he right? Would telling Jamie only get his hopes up to be let down, if the test came back still saying Tyler was the dad? For all his rough exterior, Jamie was a softy at heart. It would be devastating for him to learn that he wasn’t the babies' father, but he had been your rock through this. He’d already loved these children, and as far as he knew they weren’t his. He’d proven his self tenfold compared to Tyler. You would not; no, you could not, keep this from him.

“I’m sorry Tyler, but you’re wrong. Jamie needs to know. Whatever the outcome; he can handle it. I’m not going to lie to him.”

Tyler just hung his head, shielding his thoughts from you. “Fine, but I’m going with you.” You went to argue, but he held up his hand. “It’s time we all start working together.” The statement was something that you couldn’t disagree with, so you nodded your agreement.

Tyler followed you back to yours and Jamie’s place, however when you pulled into the drive there was a familiar car parked there. One that had your mind swirling with questions, as to why the owner was there. You’d told Jamie you’d be gone a couple hours when you’d texted earlier, but it was still odd that this person was in your home. As you approached the door you could hear raised voices, and Tyler moved to shield you, not knowing what you were walking in to.

“I can’t help it if he’s still in love with her.” You heard Jamie’s shouting. “I did everything I can to help you out.”

“It wasn’t enough. You promised me that if we did this Tyler would come running back to me.” It was Kathleen’s voice, but what was coming out of it had you questioning what the two had done together. “It’s been months and nothing. Instead of him running back to me, your little slut is knocked up with his kid.”

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that.” Jamie returned. Tyler had stopped dead in his tracks as the two of you listened to the exchange. From the expression on his face, he was just as curious as you were as to what exactly was going on. You made a move to step into the room, but he held out his arm halting your progress.

An evil laugh escaped Kathleen’s lip. “That’s what she is you know. Jumping from your bed to his. She probably got knocked up on purpose.” You let out a silent gasp. It was never your intention to get pregnant, though you considered it a blessing.

“She would never do something like that.”

“Don’t be so naïve Jamie. Women do it all the time. That is if she even is pregnant.”

“How dare you compare (Y/N) to Tara!” Wait, what? Did Jamie know that Tara faked her pregnancy with Christopher? “She’s nothing like her.”

You had enough of eavesdropping. It was time to get everything out in the open. “What the hell is going on here?” You asked as you entered the kitchen, Tyler hot on your heels.

“(Y/N)…um…a…I can explain,” Jamie stuttered through his response.

“You damn well better, and you can start by telling me what this woman is doing is our home?”

“Well…a…Kathleen just stopped by to uh…” the more Jamie struggled with telling you the truth, the angrier you got. You folded your arms across your chest and were just shy of tapping your foot impatiently when he raked his hands through his hair and said. “Fuck it. There’s no good reason she’s here, other than she wants him back.” He motioned over to Tyler.

Just then you saw, Kathleen try and sneak out the back door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? You’re not leaving until I’m satisfied that I’ve heard the truth…from both of you.” Kathleen turned back around heading back into the kitchen to join the rest of you. “I think you need to start from the beginning.” When no one responded you added. “Like maybe why she thinks you of all people could help her win him back.”

“Fuck that,” Tyler piped in, having heard everything you did while eavesdropping. “I want to know if you knew that my son never existed.” Kathleen’s eyes widened in shock, you assumed because Tyler actually knew the truth. When no one said anything, Tyler took a quick step towards Jamie, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Tell me the fucking truth.” You moved between the two men, nothing was going to get settled if they started throwing punches at each other.

“Enough!” You yelled pulling Tyler back from Jamie. “This isn’t going to solve anything.” He backed off then, though you doubted it was the words you spoke, and more from your being there. “Now let’s sit down and get this straightened out.” You crossed over the kitchen and sat at the table and chairs. When no one followed, you glared at them until they all moved to sit. “Now one of you two better start talking, or I swear to god….” You let the threat trail off, not quite sure what you would actually do, but you needed the truth and would get it one way or another.

“I don’t even know where to start.” Jamie breathed out, placing his head in his hands. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, then looked up and over at Tyler. “I only recently found out that Christopher wasn’t real. Hell, you never even told me you had a kid, man.”

“So, what does that have to do with anything?” The anger radiating off Tyler was palpable and made an even tense situation worse.

“Fuck, I don’t know.” Jamie ran his hands through his hair, completely frustrated.

“How did you find out?” It was Tyler’s question, but one you needed answered as well, especially considering the lengths you’d gone to get your information.

“It’s complicated.”

“This whole fucking thing is complicated Jame.” You told him, yet he still didn’t seem to find the words to explain any of it. You looked over at Kathleen, maybe she could provide the answers you so desperately needed. “Why don’t you start then? I know you’re the one who hit Jamie’s car. Why didn’t you own up to it?”

“It wasn’t part of the plan.” She answered feebly.

“What plan?”

She looked as if she was going to burst into tears at any second. “I…we…”

Jamie interrupted her. “When you needed time to choose between me and Tyler; you remember way back when I found out you were the love of Tyler's life. I knew then you were going to chose him. I could feel it in my gut.” You winced remembering how awful you had felt. “I called Kathleen and we planned out the whole accident.”

“But Kathleen had been at Tyler’s house when I got there.”

“That was planned as well.” You gave him a questioning look. “We decided to give it one last shot, hoping that her being at Tyler’s house would have you running back to me, only using the accident as a backup plan when that didn’t work.” You shook your head in disgust at him. “I found out about Christopher when we came up with the plan. I needed to know what Kathleen had on you.” He said this to Tyler, but it all started to make sense. “She told me about Christopher then, though her story didn’t add up.”

“I ended up telling him the truth. I knew he wouldn’t say anything; he wanted you just as bad as I wanted Tyler.” Kathleen blurted out.

“I’m ashamed to say it, but I kept my mouth shut. I knew if Tyler found out his son didn’t exist nothing would stop him from winning you back, (Y/N).”

“That’s fucked up, Jame.” You couldn’t even look at him right now.

“I know, I’m so fucking sorry.” He went to grab your hand but you pulled yours away.

“Don’t,” you whisper yelled at him. “It’s not me you need to apologize to at the moment. It’s Tyler.”

You didn’t see the glare that Jamie sent Tyler, though he remained silent; causing you to just shake your head. You still had more questions, so you decided it was best to move on, for you thought you’d have to wait for hell to freeze over before that apology came. “So back to the accident. You already admitted you lied about the amnesia, what about the knee Jamie, was that a lie as well?” He swallowed hard and you didn’t need to hear him say the words to know that it was. “Holy Fuck.” You got up out of the chair then and started to pace around the kitchen. It seemed like the last few months of your life were all based on a lie. You took a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. “You can go,” you finally told Kathleen after much consideration. “But don’t think you’re getting away with this.”

She quickly got up and left the house. “I think you need to call Tara.” You told Tyler. “I have a feeling she’ll be skipping town once she talks to that one.”

“She’s already being dealt with. I called the lawyer on the way over here.”

“But you didn’t even know if it was true?”

Tyler just simply shrugged. “Even if he was real, I knew it was time I started to be in my son’s life.” You nodded in agreement, for what else could you say.

You looked at both Jamie and Tyler, not knowing what to say or do. Here you were pregnant, with twins, not knowing who the father was, but knowing that neither one was good enough. On one hand, you had Tyler who never acknowledged his son, and then other you had Jamie who’d lied his way back into your life. You had nowhere to go, no job, and two kids on the way. To say you were royally screwed was an understatement.

Jamie's voice disrupted your mental pity party. “What are you two doing together anyhow?”

There was no point in hiding the truth anymore, for it didn’t matter. “While you were gone, I did some snooping on my own. I found out about Christopher and had to tell Tyler. I knew you wouldn’t approve, so I went to tell him what I’d found out before you came home.”

“So you lied as well?”

“Don’t try and fucking compare what I did, to the shit you just pulled.” You were angry and you could feel your blood pressure start to rise. The room started to spin and you grabbed a hold of the counter to steady yourself. Both men were at your side before you could fall. Though it was Jamie who scooped you up and carried you over to the couch.

“Just breath sweetheart.” He whispered as stars swam in your vision. “Grab a bottle of water.” Jamie’s voice sounded distant even though you knew he was kneeling beside you. You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down.

“Here babe, take a sip of this.” Tyler offered the water while looming over the back of the couch. You took a few small sips and started to feel your body return to normal. “What can we do (Y/N)?”

It was a simple question, but you had no idea how to answer it as tears started to fall down your face. It was all too much and you clutched your belly, holding on to the only constant you had at the moment; your babies. Jamie made a move to comfort you, but you brushed him off. You did the same to Tyler as well. “I need a moment alone.” Both men disappeared out of the living room then and you were grateful for this moment of peace. You curled up on the couch, grabbing the blanket on the back to snuggle under. “Don’t worry little ones, I’ll figure this mess out.” You closed your eyes, willing your mind to stop racing, and thankfully it did. Sleep came easy, as you were both mentally and physically exhausted.

You weren’t sure how long you’d slept, but the sun had set and the room was covered in darkness. When you woke up, you had no more answers then when you fell asleep, but you felt a bit better. Gently, you got up off the couch as you no longer felt dizzy. You could hear hushed tones coming from the kitchen, where you found Jamie and Tyler in deep conversation.

“You're awake,” Tyler said as he was the first to see you.

“How do you feel?” Jamie asked.

“A little better. Is that from around the corner?” You asked pointing to the pizza box which was laying on the table.

“Yeah, I got extra cheese just how you like,” Jamie answered.

“I’ll grab you a water,” Tyler stated, getting up and going over to the refrigerator. Was it just your imagination or were these two actually being nice to each other? You sat down and Jamie placed a slice of pizza in front of you, which you immediately started to eat. “So look (Y/N), I filled Jamie in on the paternity test.” You actually forgot that that was your original intent when you came home. “We called the testing center and have an appointment tomorrow morning.”

“They said they'd put a rush on the results, but we probably still wouldn’t have them for about three or four days,” Jamie added. Before you could think too much about that, he continued. “Tyler and I decided it would be best if we all work together during that time.” You weren’t exactly opposed to the concept; you just didn’t know what he meant by that either.

“What Jamie is trying to say, is that we don’t think that you should be alone right now. We know that you’re not happy with either of us and that given the choice, you’d rather be by yourself but that’s just not an option. So, I already brought a bag over and I’ll be staying in one of the guest rooms.”

“As will I.” Jamie chimed in. “I moved some of my stuff upstairs, so you can have the master all to yourself. It will give you some time to think.” Part of you thought that you must be dreaming or that you were in some alternate reality. It seemed as though they were actually putting your needs first. “We also talked, and no matter what happens with the paternity test…”

“And whoever you choose,” Tyler added.

“We’re going to respect your decision. You know I’ll love these babies no matter who the father is.” Jamie stated as he grabbed your hand.

Tyler grabbed the other before saying, “I will too (Y/N). The only thing that matters, is yours and their happiness.”

You blinked back tears, as this was a step in the right direction. “Wow…I don’t know what to say.”

“Just say you’re ok with this decision?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah, I’m ok with it.” It didn’t make your choice between the two any easier, for even after everything they’d both done; you still loved them both, but at least you could start to move forward.

The following morning both Jamie and Tyler had blood drawn, while you watch the doctor label both samples so that they wouldn’t be confused. Now that you knew you were having twins, the doctor asked if he could draw amniotic fluid from each sac since the babies weren’t sharing one. It would be the most effective and reliable way to find out who the father was. There was a slight risk to the babies, though very minimal he assured you. Both Jamie and Tyler held your hands through the procedure. The doctor had you rest a bit before dismissing you and telling you that they would call you with the results as soon as they had them in.

Over the next three days, the boys were complete angels. Waiting on you hand and foot, while actually being nice to each other. They even rode together to practice and to the game, almost as if they were friends again. You still caught some underlying tension between the two, but then that was to be expected. It was late in the afternoon on day three when your phone rang, the paternity testing center’s number coming up. You put the phone on speaker so that both men could hear.

“We have the results in Ms. (Y/L/N), and quite frankly I don’t believe it.” A curious look passed between the three of you. “I can say without a doubt that Mr. Seguin is the father of baby A.” You could see the elation on Tyler’s face, though he did try to contain it. “And I’m just as certain that Mr. Benn is the father of baby B.” You could hear the disbelief in the doctor’s voice.

“But…how?” Was this even possible?

“It’s extremely rare, but it has happened on occasion. Well honestly, I’ve only ever seen it once, but having drawn the samples from each sac we can state with 99% accuracy that these results are correct.” You were floored. Over the last three days, you’d made the decision that whoever was the father, you were going to try and work things out with them, but this; this had you not knowing what to do again. “I’ll send the results over so that you have a hard copy, and if you have any questions, please feel free to call.”

You thanked the doctor before hanging up and looking at both Jamie and Tyler. The smile that was on Tyler’s face before was now gone, replaced with one of shock that mirrored Jamie’s face and your own. “I…I don’t know what to say.” You kept blinking rapidly as if that would somehow make things better. The last three days you had all gotten along, there was no fighting, neither man was overly vying for your attention; it was just peace. You knew it would eventually end with someone being hurt, but this test was to show you a clear path, but instead, there was just more confusion.

Jamie was the first to speak. “I’m stunned.” He placed a hand on your belly. “So one of these guys is mine?” You found yourself nodding.

“And the other is mine.” There was a hint of hardness to Tyler’s voice as he too placed his hand on your abdomen as if he was staking his claim, when he obviously didn’t need to.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” You got up and ran to the bathroom, hurling the contents of your stomach into the toilet. This couldn’t be happening. The more you thought about it, the more you heaved. You hadn’t realized both men followed you until someone was holding back your hair while the other was pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Finally, after what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, you collapsed onto the floor. Tyler scooped you up and carried you into bed, where they both stood over you with worried expressions. “I don’t think I can do this.” You weren’t sure what the statement meant. All you knew is that you didn’t know how to choose between the two of them anymore, but at the same time, you knew you had to.

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This is your final Choice! Who do you want to be with?

A) Tyler

B) Jamie

Voting is open until 9am Sunday EST

Make good choices kids!

Sidenote - I forgot to put what the choice count was for the last chapter A -18 and B - 11

#Choices series Tyler Seguin Jamie Benn #tyler seguin #tyler seguin imagine #tyler seguin imagines #jamie benn #jamie benn imagine #jamie benn imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction

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