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The Terror - Prompt Post 1
This is for prompts for all things AMC's The Terror (2018). Go nuts!
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
Cast RPF also goes here, shine on you crazy diamonds.
If you've filled (or started filling) a prompt, please make sure to link it in the comments of the Fills Post. And if you would like to cross-post your fills on AO3, here is the collection!
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Just to reiterate from the Mod Post, here are the RULES:
1. Be fucking nice. YKINMATO/KINKTOMATO at all times.
2. This meme is CNTW (Choose Not To Warn) but warnings are highly encouraged.
3. Prompts should use this format in the subject line: [SHIP], [DESCRIPTION]
e.g.
Hickey/Crozier, CNC knifeplay
Solo gen can be prompted as well alongside (a) character name and description
e.g.
Gen, Edward Little, having a nice day
4. Fills should use this format in the subject line: FILL: [TITLE], [PAIRING], [RATING], [ANY WARNINGS]
e.g.
Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon
5. One prompt per comment please.
6. Multiple fills for each prompt are welcome!
7. You don't have to be anon for your prompts or your fills but we do encourage it because of the vibe. You're also welcome to deanon your stuff by posting on AO3/Tumblr as you please!
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FILL: Conceit, Little/Le Vesconte, E, cw under-negotiated kink, power dynamics, minor gender feels
(Anonymous) 2022-10-10 05:53 am (UTC)(link)Henry corners him in the kitchen before supper, smelling rank with arousal and high temper. The house is empty, Henry having dismissed most of the servants entirely, and banished anyone else from living here. There is no one to witness their depravity.
Edward half-wishes he were also dismissed, for it is a wretched pleasure he knows he is about to partake in, and maybe it would be best to not be tempted. It doesn’t help that Henry sometimes acts like he wishes Edward weren’t here, that he’d never joined Henry in this too-big falling-apart family home. But neither of them seem to know how to live without each other, and given what they’ve lived through together, that’s part of the problem.
At least, after what they’ve seen each other do, there’s no shame in this.
There’s no shame in Henry, teeth bared, backing Edward into a corner, counter biting into his lower back. He looms over Edward, nearly eight inches taller, and broader (handsome, too, the ideal of an alpha where Edward is skinny and small, with his pretty doe-eyes). Edward glances to the side as if he could escape, but then he’s bracketed with long arms, white shirt rolled up at the sleeves to expose broad, hairy forearms.
He tries to stand up straighter, square his shoulders, puff out his chest, and ignore his yard firming in his trousers. It puts his face a little too close to Henry’s since he’s leaning over Edward. Nevertheless, he snarls, baring his own teeth, and Henry scoffs.
“Come now, we both know that’s not what you want,” he says coolly, arching one eyebrow in a display of superiority that makes Edward’s prick twitch.
“Maybe it is,” Edward snaps pettishly, savoring the clack of his own teeth, wishing for something to bite down on.
“Alright,” Henry replies easily, standing up straight to let him go if he wishes. His eyes, simmering between anger and desire, stay on Edward, however, and their feet are still tangled.
Edward stares up at him, fists clenched. He’s aware that he’s trembling, red-faced, and panting, whereas the other alpha surveys him calmly, as one might an ox at market. As much as this attitude, this superiority, irritates him, it also arouses him more than any demurring omega or beta ever has. And he desperately wants Henry’s touch, the affirmation that he’s wanted, needed, that they’re both alive and that Henry will stay with him, that they will both stay alive.
Edward lets his eyes drop, and the fight go out of his body, head tipping to the side to expose his neck. Henry lifts a hand to caress it, running a nail down the unblemished skin, then abruptly turns around, jerking his head for Edward to follow.
Edward nearly whines at the loss of contact, but trails Henry meekly. He always gives in too easily, but it is so good, and there is so little left that is good.
---
They fuck on the bed. They’ve spent enough time sleeping and fucking on cots and shale and bunks (it had been one of desperate few comforts offered on that long march, and Edward wonders if he would have survived without it, if it would have better if it never began).
Henry is good enough about preparing him -- for all the snarling and posturing this is when he is most tender with Edward, now. Edward opens easily enough these days, but still Henry licks at him first, and he melts into the bed. He’s fully, painfully hard now, but is shamefully content to rut aimlessly against the sheets, waste himself for someone licking at his hole.
When Henry withdraws, he bites into the meat of Edward’s arse, making him cry out and arch his back. Henry takes the opportunity to grasp one of Edward’s breasts, fondle it with a hum of appreciation.
“Not such a skinny thing anymore,” he says, the sort of detached praise you give to an animal that can’t understand you. Edward gasps for it anyway, knowing what comes next. Henry stretches out, pantherine, to cover his back, mouth at his ear with the promise of a bite, a mark, and whisper, “Maybe this time it’ll take.”
The conceit has truly begun now, and Edward whines, high and needy, thrusting back into Henry to feel his arousal. He needs it, needs to be filled, to stay filled, to be used, to be a vessel for Henry, to be something besides his own wretched self. He needs to know Henry wants him, needs him, will keep him.
Breath hot on his ear, Henry murmurs, “What a delightful whore. So desperate for it.” He shushes Edward, stroking along his side. “It’s alright, darling. I’ll take care of you.” He nips Edward’s neck, then sits back up, fitting his big hands easily around Edward’s hips, and helping him tuck his thighs up under himself. Thus presented, Edward turns his head to the side, panting, and looks up through mussed hair and long lashes at Henry. He’s flushed, fringe in his eyes, which are black with desire and his prick, long and thick over heavy stones (at the sight of those, Edward’s own prick twitches), is rigid and leaking. He smells pungent with arousal, musky and sharp.
Edward whines again, pleased that he has brought Henry to this state. He’s too far gone to despair that he’s whining at another alpha, offering submission and debasement with pleasure.
Henry, cool detachment all but gone, growls in reply, and it sends a shiver down Edward’s spine as he finally thrusts in. Immediately he’s back over Edward, gripping his hair to move his head and expose his neck, kissing and nibbling at it. His pace is instantly relentless, his thrusts deep, leaving no doubt as to his need and purpose. Edward, wanton, presses back against him, and attempts fruitlessly to twist his head to kiss Henry’s mouth or neck.
He feels feral, the way he might in his rut, but this is so much better than knotting someone. He can buck and writhe against Henry, and be restrained, owned. It feels safer, and there is an aching satisfaction in being fucked.
As though Henry knows he needs to be quieted, controlled, he presses Edward into the mattress, stilling his desperate movements with his bulk. As he quiets, his world narrows only to Henry’s prick driving into him, hot and hard, his sharp teeth against his neck, and the press of his body, forcing submission.
“You always were a bit of a sorry excuse for an alpha, weren't you?” He murmurs near Edward’s ear. One hand slips down to his chest, to roll a nipple in his fingers. Edward gasps, and shakes his head. “Shh, it’s alright.” His place slows, just a bit, and now the hand is stroking over Edward’s chest, cupping it softly, as if it’s plumper than it is. “You tried, though, sweet thing. And you mustn't anymore.” He lays a kiss on Edward’s neck, licks at it. Edward squirms his hand underneath himself to clutch at Henry’s wrist, trying to focus even as Henry strikes the spot inside him that makes his pleasure peak.
He continues. “Now you can do what you’re good for: take my cock,” he pauses to suck in a breath, “and take my pups, yeah?”
“Yes!” Edward cries out. He can feel Henry’s knot swelling, his own prick leaking on the sheets.
“Get fat with them, be my little alpha-wife. You’d have as many pups as I wanted, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he gasps. He’s so close, teetering on the edge. Henry’s knot is stretching him, and in this mindless state he can imagine it: body soft and plump and heavy with pups, with the proof of this shared pleasure, of Henry’s desire, of his own fertility and desirability. He’d be Henry’s, his placid, sweet wife, Henry’s to fuck as he pleased, as pleased Edward, Henry’s to care for in all ways, an extension of him as he has been since the shale.
“So desperate for it,” pants Henry, vaguely awed. “So perfect for it. I’ll give it to you.” He drives himself home one last time, and sinks his teeth into the meat of Edward’s shoulder as he comes. He always knows what Edward needs, and Edward follows him, keening. He’s barely aware of his own orgasm, he’s so focused on the feeling of Henry filling him, hot and generous.
As Edward comes back to himself, he hears them both panting, feels Henry rubbing his cheek against Edward’s shoulder, and the just-painful, perfect stretch of his knot, shifting minutely with Henry’s hips. Then, very suddenly, Edward’s trembling as he comes down, clenching weakly. Henry rolls them over to their sides, stroking his chest and belly to soothe him. Edward’s crying, but Henry doesn’t mention it, and Edward doesn't want to break the silence.
It’s more painful to stay like this, with Henry inside, than it would be for an omega, but Edward savors it regardless, savors their closeness. For a little while, he can live in this moment. He can imagine Henry loves him, hopes for a child as he strokes Edward’s belly. That when they disentangle they’ll do nothing but smile at each other and laugh, instead of avoiding eye contact for the rest of the evening, then settling on opposite sides of the bed (too nervous to sleep apart but too resentful, too proud to hold each other, at least when awake).
But that is all impossible.
Eventually, Henry softens and slips from him, and Edward sighs, feeling numb misery set in. He starts to sit up, sore muscles protesting and come starting to drip from him, but Henry puts a strong hand on his shoulder, presses him down. Edward goes easily, happy to be cowed by Henry’s strength, size, and confidence. He’s then rolled over onto his stomach, and Henry strokes over his back, down to his rear.
“Stay like this a bit?” Edward nods, letting himself be doe-eyed and sleepy and easy. They’ve never extended the conceit this far, but he’s not opposed. Especially not when Henry stretches out next to him, warm and smelling mostly of satisfaction (pleasant and slightly sweet, like baking bread) and pulls a blanket over them. He idly traces fingers on Edward’s back and in his hair until Edward dozes.
When Edward wakes, his mind is clearer. He quickly registers that he is warm and clean, and that his head is pillowed on Henry’s chest, one arm curled around him, and one of Henry’s arms around his own shoulders. At first, he thinks Henry must be asleep -- they almost never hold each other awake (except when Henry knots him) -- but then he hears a page turn.
Thinking quickly, Edward tries to steady his breathing -- perhaps Henry hasn’t noticed he’s awake. Taking deep breaths, and willing himself to relax (it’s easier than it should be), he notices something else surprising: he can smell himself on Henry’s chest, not the musk of his arousal from where they’d pressed together as they fucked, but a mild, relaxed smell, as if he’d marked him right before falling asleep. Edward doesn’t remember doing such a thing, but the thought jogs a different memory: Henry had scent-marked him when Edward was still recovering from his crisis, when he’d been too overwhelmed to register it.
It seems Henry has done the same for himself, probably using Edward’s wrist. The realization sends a thrill down Edward’s spine, first at the possessiveness, then at the possibility that it means something -- wearing Edward’s scent is not necessary for their conceit, especially after it’s done.
Perhaps, it never was, or is no longer, a conceit, then. Maybe in some small way it can be real.
Re: FILL: Conceit, Little/Le Vesconte, E, cw under-negotiated kink, power dynamics, minor gender fee
(Anonymous) 2022-10-10 12:48 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Conceit, Little/Le Vesconte, E, cw under-negotiated kink, power dynamics, minor gender fee
(Anonymous) 2022-10-10 03:45 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Conceit, Little/Le Vesconte, E, cw under-negotiated kink, power dynamics, minor gender fee
(Anonymous) 2022-10-12 01:35 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Conceit, Little/Le Vesconte, E, cw under-negotiated kink, power dynamics, minor gender fee
(Anonymous) 2023-01-02 05:52 pm (UTC)(link)