#I was so sure the last hours was gonna end up topping the dark artifices for me but that took a detour

[princecharmingtobe]

idk if any of y’all have been keeping up with my D&D game stuff, buuuuut Jack and Rowen finally hooked up!

It was not romantic, and is kind of actually, but we still celebrated cause it’s been almost a year coming at this point lol

So, in this session we went to confront an evil artificer, Professor Wiltmore who had shown an interest in Jack and wanted him to join him at his lab. Jack, also being an artificer, didn’t trust him for a second and with good reason: Dude had been lobotomizing people and turning them into obedient eldritch knights to sell as soldiers to both sides of the war, with the intention of flipping things at the last minute and taking over the country for himself. 

Everything went all kinds of wrong. We never came up with a solid plan, just figured we’d get into the lab, play nice for a bit until we could figure out what was going on and how to stop it, and at some point try to kill Wiltmore. However as we were being led in Terra and Rowen noticed they were being followed by an awful lot of guards, which Rowen used sign language to alert Jack to as he is forever oblivious to his surroundings. Believing Wiltmore knew what was up and that we’d lost any element of surprise, as soon as we got to the mysterious locked door Terra dropped a smoke bomb, instructed Roran to beak down the door, and then threw a pipe bomb Jack had helped her make at Wiltmore who was inside. 

Wiltmore was VERY upset with Jack for “betraying” him, shouting “I could’ve given you the world!” and then trying to murder him specifically. He also summoned forth a behir which due to some misunderstandings of the battlefield ended up being the main battle. It ate Terra, and killed Roran. Realizing we were going to win though, Wiltmore fled while his beast kept us busy. Jack got the killing blow, blasting the top of the creature off thus allowing Terra to crawl her way out, then when we were out of initiative Jack flew to Roran and cast Revivify.

Things got weird then. We’d been informed that resurrection would work a little differently in this campaign, and we figured it was just a homebrew rule to make it more difficult but the DM told Rowen that as he’d been around a while and seen some resurrections before, this was unusual, so we’re like uh, wat. We found ourselves in the... etheral? astral? some other plane? And we saw Roran, unconscious, being pulled into this creepy black sludge. Jack flew to him in a panic and started desperately trying to scrape the sludge off him. The way the ritual worked is three of us could try to say or do something to try to give him advantage as he rerolled his death saves. Jack, while trying to get the sludge off him, was like “No no no, come on, if you die before seeing your kid your wife is gonna kill me!” Terra tied a rope around him and tried to pull him out of the sludge. And Rowen actually used intimidate to tell him “If you die here I’ll make sure your wife and kid join you!” (oh Rowen...) That one resulted in a nat20 death save. We found ourselves suddenly back in the lab, Roran’s eyes shot open glowing white, and he sat up and punched Rowen clear across the room. They made up later when Rowen assured him he was just saying what he had to. 

The party healed up a bit, restored and freed the people they were able to, and looked outside to find that when Wiltmore fled he took with him the power source for the city, which included the power for the force field that separated the outer and inner city, so now there was almost a full on physical class war about to happen. It appeared that the crooked leader of the city had fled with him. The party determined that the heart of the behir we’d slain could be used as a new power source, and after Rowen removed it from the beast Jack was able to install it in the machine and now only did the power come back, but twofold, with the force field now covering the entire city, rather than separating the outer and inner cities. 

The party then traveled to the city hall to calm the people, explain the situation, and inform them that new, better leadership was coming. Got a good persuasion and a tentative peace was restored. The party then returned to the Fantasy Holiday Inn, and had some drinks because boy did we need them. Even Jack, who normally doesn’t drink.  For some context to what’s coming next: Jack had been in a bad place mentally and emotionally this whole session. He was terrified of Wiltmore, and for good reason. With Wiltmore having escaped he is now terrified of him coming back for revenge, and this time he’ll be the one with the element of surprise on his side. On top of that the battle itself had freaked him out, especially Roran dying and whatever it is we saw when bringing him back. Finally to top it all off, Roran offered Jack some “moon water”, a type of magical alcohol that causes one to briefly relive happy memories. We think the DM thought that sort of thing would cheer people up? But uh, all it really did was remind Jack of everything he’s lost, so he ended up crying at the bar and then going up to his and Rowen’s room early. 

After another hour or two Rowen also returned to the room and settled into his dark corner for the night, but before he could enter his trance Jack got up, climbed onto his lap, and kissed him. Fade to black.

To explain: Jack is deathly allergic to emotional vulnerability. After everything that happened that day topped off by the moon water bringing all his loss to the surface, what he really needed was just to be held. But he can’t ask for that or he’ll die or something lol So instead he seeks out what to him is the next best thing that he can reason to not be emotional: Sex. Cause he’s a guy, and guys always want sex without having emotions involved, right?? That’s how he justifies it to himself. And Rowen is, well... the only friend he’s ever really had. Up until now his only close relationships have been parents and vaguely parental figures. So of course he’s the one he seeks out for comfort. 

And idk what Rowen thought of the whole thing. He enjoyed it, went along with it, and apparently wants to do it again some time. Though when we went to the next day the DM asked how we were coming down to breakfast, if we were holding hands or anything and we were like “Oh fuck no, we are not acknowledging that anything happened”

[lupienne]

Days of his Wives (19)

Negan X Wives. Hopefully-not-forever WIP. Chronological reading not really required. (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18)

Chapter 19: Greater Good (in which Amber grins and bares it)

After Mark’s burning, Amber struggles to continue being a ‘wife’ to Negan. In a few scenes not posted/finished, Amber has several awkward moments with him intimately, and Negan asks if Amber really wanted to stay and wants an answer sooner than later. (Smut)

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'I want a fucking answer.'

It was best to answer Negan with action. Amber laid in her bed. The ceiling was a blur before her eyes. She laid there for an hour... or maybe several. The light was hitting one wall when she laid down, and it had shifted to another when she got up.

What's my action?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was bed-headed, but it looked good that way, like she'd just gotten laid hard and rough.

'You're fucking crying... you don't want me to touch you.'

Her form blurred before her eyes.

She could do this action: Go to the closet. Get a regular shirt and jeans and her coat, and walk out the door. Wave goodbye to the girls. Go back to Mark, and let the world have its way with him. And hope that Negan wasn't lying when he said she could leave, that she could go back to work, and earn her points as everyone else did.

She pictured Negan from last night. Looking at her with those earnest eyes, his hands clasped together. And the night earlier, when he'd stopped when she'd screamed, the way he had kept his touch off her.

'Why didn't you just fucking leave, instead of embarrassing us all?'

His hand, holding the Iron. His jaw clenched, the slight way he'd shaken his head at her. His eyes, disapproving, disappointed.

I think I could walk out. I think I always could.

She sniffed, wiping her hand over her face. There was no greater fear... than the fear of the unknown. And it still crawled in her belly, and haunted her mind.

'I want to be here.'

'You'd better start showing it.'

She moved. Action. Opening her night table, pulling out the red satin bra and panties. She pulled off her plain lingerie and put on her scarlet letter, the attire she'd worn when she'd created this entire mess with Mark, and...what she would wear to make it right.

Nothing can make this right. But... I have to try.

She walked through the sitting room, then into the bathroom with vacant, light steps, like she was not in her body, like she was not there at all.

She opened the top drawer, reaching past contraceptives and kink gear, closing her hand around the bottle of lube. Strawberry Heaven. The bottle was sticky, and she unscrewed it with a grimace. She hated the smell. She hated the artifice of it.

I've got to fake it long enough. I've got to act it out so convincingly that even I'll believe it.

Her fingers slid beneath her panties and created lust and longing. Wet heat that smelled like berries and sugar. But if he noticed, she doubted he'd care.

She leaned into the mirror, cheeks cherry red. He liked her blush; loved her hair tousled. She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. That was going overboard.

I hate myself.

Stop it. Don't say that. Don't even think-

don't think about anything.

She adjusted her lingerie set, making sure her cleavage was pushed up perfectly. She gave a final kissy-face to the mirror. Time to fulfill her mission - one battle in a never-ending war.

The girls were still involved in their cards, but Nova's eyes tracked her. Amber ignored her, opening Negan's door just wide enough to slip in, before shutting it quietly behind her.

Warmth flowed over her skin. He'd pulled a chair up to the fireplace. Plaid pajama pants stretched out, the soles of his feet getting roasted. He seemed perfectly still, book held up to his view. Bare arms, bare chest.

"Have you figured that book out yet? 'The Art of War'?"

"All warfare is based on deception," he said. "I think that's a point to remember."

She couldn't agree more. Thighs sticky with deceit. Meeting his fire-flickered gaze. These bedroom eyes always lied.

Negan tilted his head, watching her curiously. The firelight diffuse, softening him, casting his muscles into stunning, shadowy relief. Like the sculptures of Michelangelo, masculine beauty chiseled from hard stone, made soft, made flesh.

Hot. He looks super hot.

That, at least, wasn't a lie. She could take that and run with it.

See. Don't think. Feel. Don't feel.

Her hand slid slowly up her stomach. She turned her back to him, fingers expertly unhooking her bra, languidly extending her arm to let it fall. Turning back to him, arms crossed over the soft flesh.

Her neck tilted lazily to the side, blond strands tickling her shoulder.

He watched her. The wolf and the deer. The doe stretching her arms up lazily, body curved to the side in an elegant arc. Her skin stroked by shadows, darkness under the swell of her naked breasts.

The wolf had gold and blood eyes, the wolf had gleaming fangs. He smiled as she approached with swaying hips. "Are you deceiving me?"

She pressed against his knees, looking down with hooded eyes. Mouth slightly open, her tongue licking upon her lower lip. A wet pout. "Why do you ask? Are we at war?"

She lit her fingers on the book, gently pulling. He relented, letting her take it away. She bent her knees, lithe and graceful. Setting the book onto the floor, straightening up with her eyes on his.

"I don't know, Amber..." His voice was a low rumble. "You certainly seem to be fighting me."

"Not anymore..." She whispered, casting her eyes down. She reached out to grasp his shoulder, holding on so she could climb into his lap.

She stroked his chest, moving her hands slowly up to his cheek. Kissing his slightly scratchy chin; she ran a finger along the stubble-sharp length of his jaw. "You need to shave," she whispered.

"Yeah..." His hands settled onto her waist. Her hour-glass waist, so slender and lovely, those big hands nearly able to touch fingers when they encircled her. His breath hitched slightly.

She kissed up his jaw and to his ear, gently tugging the lobe in her teeth. Laying her cheek against his warm, soft hair. His hands were sliding upwards, cupping a breast in each palm.

He smells good... he's warm...

She desperately grasped for the positive.

I have to see him as a lover...If I'm gonna make it through this...I have to... love him...

Those fucking fingers, softly pinching her nipples, rubbing them, they had curled around the Iron, they had-

How can I love him – how can I even -

She blinked hard, and took his face in her gentle hands. Staring into his eyes, she saw no protest, so she dropped her lips to his, slid in her tongue, moaned into the depths of him...

Like screaming down the trapdoor to Hell, what the fuck is going to echo back up to me...?

Lucifer had originally been an angel. He'd been beautiful. He was something you could've loved – maybe you still could. If you could see past all his transgressions -

She shifted in his lap, grinding her pelvis against him, feeling the hardening lump underneath her. The sticky lube getting pleasantly warm...her own wetness beginning to flow now.

He turned his head away from her kiss to regain his breath. His profile was beautiful in its refinement; the elegant sweep of nose, his fine brow, hair dark as storm clouds, eyes like copper... Be shallow. Just see him. The outside. Don't look deeper, don't think deeper, don't remember what he's done, don't even remember what you've done, just...

shut everything down, just-

Her lips to the beating pulse in his neck. Sliding wetly to his ear, her breathy words traveling the pathways of his nerves. "Fuck me," she whispered, "I want you to fuck me..."

That's all I have to do.

His hands slid up her thighs, tightened on her ass. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, and she kissed him again – Just shut up, Negan.

She rocked on his trapped member, sliding wet cloth up and down...he wouldn't be able to stand this teasing much longer. His breath was heavy when she took her mouth away. Her hand slid down, fingers slithered beneath his pants. Just a light brush of her fingers on his hot flesh, then she withdrew them.

"Ok..." he breathed. "...Yeah." Whether or not he had misgivings over her change in behavior... that was a moot point. He was on her battlefield now, and she held the higher ground.

She slipped off of him, just long enough to strip off her underwear, and then she was back on his lap again, reaching both hands into his pants.

It's not him I have to deceive... it's me.

He only cared about consent. Love meant nothing. Any connection beyond physical was too much for him.

This should be so easy then. I can make him anything I want. He's a blank slate. All I have to do is paint my picture on him.

Her hands clenched around his dick, pulling it free. Pushing it onto his belly, writhing her wet folds up and down its length, just teasing...oh feel that slick wetness, those strawberry fields, all the way up to the tip, all the way down to the balls.

His hips jerked at the apex of her grinding, trying to penetrate, but she slid down again. "Not so fast," she whispered. "I want to go slow... I want to really feel you." Her lips on his neck again, suckling a reddening love mark.

Love Mark... Mark... can that be my picture... can I pretend he's Mark? She closed her eyes and rocked on him, one hand stroking his hair.

Mark had long hair of blond, textured like a horse's mane. No! Now his hair is fine and silken and short, the pelt of a rottweiler. Mark had the smell of cloves and cheap laundry detergent. No, now he's a wood fire and a leather coat! Mark's body, so slender and soft and reedy? No, he's hardened muscles and long, tall bones, his hands sliding up my back, big and rough, no...Mark's hands aren't like that, Mark is not-

Deceit! This is a war! Deceive yourself, now.

It was getting hot between them; she felt the sweat rising. "Oh..." he groaned, and tried to still her movements, his hands holding her hips in place. She pressed her forehead to his, eyes on his, Christ, there was no deceit to be had there. She couldn't pretend those depths- all rich chocolate and cinnamon- were anything like Mark's -

Can you feel it? The thick shaft pushing into her, her walls clenching so snug and wet around it, every inch enveloped in her warmth. Can you feel me... feeling you...?

She had to close her eyes now, pressing her face into the junction of his shoulder. His hands settling on her waist, moving her hips in slow circles. She shuddered, moaned into his skin, damp from her fluttering breaths.

It feels good...

She wanted to whisper his name. Mark. It almost slipped past her lips and she had to tighten them closed, changing it to a whimper.

"Isn't this better...?" he rasped against her neck, his tongue trailing her salty skin. "When you're not fighting me?"

Please don't talk.. Mark's voice wasn't that low, earth-moving rumble. How could she pretend when he wouldn't shut his mouth?

He moved her faster upon him, and she angled her hips so his length hit lovely spots inside. Another name bitten back. She kept her eyes closed, moaning as he kissed and sucked her neck.

How can I pretend anyway? Her hands on his shoulders, muscles hard as rock, chiseled from granite.

Even at his gentlest, Negan was not Mark. She could close her eyes. Close her ears. But the feel.. he was too hot, too fierce, too big... She shuddered. A dire wolf to a cocker spaniel, a nuclear bomb to a grenade.

His hands slid up her back and he was being sweet, he was kissing the soft spot on the underside of her jaw, purring, telling her how good she felt.

And that was good, because it meant he would keep her, it meant she could be of use. I failed you, Mark, I hurt you, but I'm not going to let it be in vain. She clamped her hands down on his shoulders, pulling her face out of his neck. Time to give this asshole his money's worth. She writhed and rocked and rode him until they were both groaning from the slick glorious friction.

"Amber..." he was breathless. "Yeah...that's so fucking good... fuck..."

Yes, good. That's what you are...my good deed.

Those eyes, predator eyes, those hands, the hands of a killer.

You're my necessary evil.

She ground down on him, driving him in deep. Sweat glittering from the exertion and the roaring fire behind her.

Good...good! ..you're my greater good.

She gave him her answer, her final decision as her traitorous body writhed on this man. As her walls clenched and pulsed around him, as he released inside her. She cried his name to the ceiling, the stars, and all within earshot. The name of her savior, the only name that mattered. The only one that could save Mark.

"Negan!"

-------

"Ok. Way too fucking hot." Negan scooped her spent body from where it draped onto his chest. He tottered over to the bed. "Damn, babe, you made my knees fuckin' weak." He laughed and set her on the mattress.

She curled up, distinctly aware of the air moving in the room, cool across her sweaty skin.

"I guess you're staying then?"

She wished he didn't have to be so dense about everything. I just rode you like a show horse, you idiot. I put on your favorite red lingerie. What the hell do you think?

"Yeah, Negan," she pressed her face to his black blanket. "I'm staying."