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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.
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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]
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Fill: The Last Hour, Hickey/Tozer, E, cw dubcon
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Tozer/Irving, body worship
(Anonymous) 2022-11-24 03:01 am (UTC)(link)Indifferent if canon era or AU setting.
+1 If John cries
++1 There's some light feminization peppered in, as a treat
beating like my tender heart, Tozer/Irving, M, body worship, fem fantasy, overwhelm
(Anonymous) 2023-01-04 03:47 am (UTC)(link)The first time Solomon called him beautiful, Irving wept.
John (because he is John in bed, and Lieutenant Irving outside of the bedsheets; it helps him separate from himself a little, get out of his own head, and Solomon likes the way he shudders when he whispers his Christian name) is a tender creature beneath all the fire and brimstone. Why he bothers, when it is more grief to him than relief, Solomon doesn’t know… but even in bed, John clings to his morals like oaths. He is deeply uncomfortable with foul talk. He doesn’t like to see himself or his partner, preferring to keep the lights off. He tries to keep quiet, to swallow all his sounds ‘til the very end.
Thankfully, Solomon doesn’t allow any of this, and John isn’t very good at resisting sin after all.
“Oh, fuck,” he moans, and the word sounds so sweet from his martyr’s lips. His eyes roll in his head — Solomon can see every detail, because he insisted on keeping the lanterns lit. He sees the way John’s pretty, plump lips tremble… the way his lashes shudder… the way his chest heaves with each gasp… the way his throat constricts to swallow moans which slip out anyway.
“Fucking… hell,” he grits out, then gasps. “Oh Lord, I’m sorry…”
“He ain’t here right now,” Solomon soothes, because sometimes John has to be reminded. “Just you and me. Remember?”
A tiny shudder runs through him… but John nods, all frantic and breathless. His eyes are very wide. His skin is pale as fresh cream, and he cannot hide his flush.
“Like a doll, you are,” Solomon can’t help murmuring, tracing John’s cheekbones with the rough pads of his fingers. “All pink and pretty for me.”
John makes a sound high in his throat, and Solomon knows he’s hooked him.
“So soft, you are. All this milky skin… these little freckles here, on your hips, between your thighs. I could count ‘em… trace ‘em like constellations.” And he does, allowing his fingers to run lightly from one freckle to the other, just to see John shiver. “That’s right. Look how lovely you are. Your face goes all rosy when you’re overwhelmed… I must say, John, you do wear a blush well.” Solomon contemplates it. “Would look lovely in makeup. Aye, you would. All painted up like a tavern wench, or one of them pretty doxies, with their lace and their cheap pearls, their corsets all tight when they drape themselves across a bed…”
John’s eyes flutter as he whimpers. Solomon smiles slow and sweet.
“Or would you be a fine lady, eh? Only the fanciest silks for you… mmm, skin this fine deserves to be swathed in velvet. You ought to be bathed in honey and milk, so you taste so sweet when my head’s between your thighs…”
“Oh, God. Oh, God.”
He sounds like he might cry. No, they don’t want that again. Solomon pauses, sitting up a little and waiting for John to meet his eyes; he raises his brows, a silent question, and waits for John to nod, breathless and earnest, before he’s willing to go on. “Please,” John whimpers, and Solomon silences him, running a broad hand up his thigh.
He stops at his arse, cupping a cheek in one hand and feeling the pert, whole of it. “A fine, plump arse you have too,” he murmurs in approval. “Just made to be admired, it is. Made to be spread open like a sinner in confession, to be kissed and petted, even as I’m driving deep into you.” He gives John’s read a squeeze. “You like that, hmm? You wanna be treasured?”
John gives a whimpery little gasp. Solomon soothes him. “There’s a lad. There’s my bonny lad…”
When he leans up to kiss the flush on John’s cheeks, he tastes salt. Solomon pauses for a moment before lapping it away with his mouth. He thoroughly cleans John’s face in a few searingly gentle kisses.
“Alright?” he murmurs in John’s ear.
John grips him like a lifeline, and somehow manages to nod. “Pl-e-ease…” his voice shudders.
“What d’you need, hmm? What d’you need?”
“Tell me… tell me…” Oh, but he can’t say it. It goes against everything in him. When Solomon pulls back, a challenge shining in his eyes, he finds John crimson-cheeked and hazy, unable to meet his eyes.
“A sinner can’t be beautiful,” the poor thing manages to rasp.
“Never read that in the good book,” Solomon answers honestly. He caresses John’s neck with aching tenderness. “Don’t think there are rules about it.” He pauses, thoughtful, before adding, “and there ain’t nothing sinful ‘bout appreciating God’s creation. An artist makes something beautiful, they put it in a museum. He doesn’t shut it away to be ashamed of, or make it feel wretched for simply being itself.” Solomon traces the delicate bones of John’s collar, the skin paper-thin and velvety beneath his rough thumb. “Nah. Beauty is made to be seen, and to be appreciated. It’s the Godly thing to do, really. I bet it makes him happy.”
John coughs out a breathless laugh. “You don’t know that.”
“No,” Solomon agrees easily, and is quiet for a moment, before asking, “but does it make you happy?”
John meets his eyes. He looks absolutely wrecked.
Solomon runs his hands slowly along John’s shoulders, massaging them. His touch trails down his chest, a gentle caress. He can feel John’s heart, thrumming like a hummingbird in his chest, caged up and dying to burst out.
“Come on,” Solomon presses again. “That’s all that matters. You know this.” They’ve gone over it before, when he felt brave enough to try tackling John’s rat’s nest of conflicting feelings around sex. “So long as you enjoy it? If you’re safe, you feel good? If the other person feels the same? That’s what matters. Nothing else.” Solomon tries again, meeting John’s eyes directly. “Are you enjoying it, love?”
And it’s the last word that breaks him. The tears begin to roll down John’s face in earnest. His chest heaves, and he just manages to nod — an earnest, desperate thing — before turning his head away, burying it in the pillow.
Solomon doesn’t mind. Whatever he needs right now to be comfortable. He traces his hands along John’s body before stopping at the shallow dip of his hips, just below his soft little belly.
“Now, this…” Solomon mutters, cupping John’s plush stomach with both hands. There’s not much there; it’s almost like baby fat, the way it clings to his thighs and tummy and cheeks. Proves he’s a gentleman, Solomon supposes, not a workhorse like the rest of them. For all John is hard with himself, in some places he is deliciously, delightfully soft.
“This is just a pleasure,” Solomon whispers. “Like sugar in tea, or frosting on a lovely cake. Just makes you even sweeter. Polishes the sculpture, I think, or finishes the painting.”
“Please…” John’s voice is so shaky. “Stop talking in art metaphors. I’m going to start laughing.”
Ah, Christ, they can’t have that. Last time he got the giggles, he wasn’t able to stop for twenty minutes — and cried for an hour afterwards. Still, laughter’s better than tears any day.
“I mean it, though,” Solomon murmurs, and leans down to plant a kiss to John’s soft belly. John’s entire body shivers. He swallows a moan. “I can’t get enough of you. All of you. Y’just drive me wild.”
John is shaking in earnest now, his body wracked with silent, tiny sobs. A low purr of pleasure rumbles through Solomon’s chest.
“And we haven’t even gotten to the main course yet.”
There’s no question: of all the admirable qualities of John’s physique, his cock is in a league of its own. It’s a thing of bloody wonder: the kind of trophy a hunter would mount on his wall and display for party guests. (In this hypothetical scenario, John is probably a moose — and, looking at him from down below, you’d never guess different.)
Solomon caresses the beast like a precious thing, and John spasms.
He clicks his tongue. “So sensitive…”
The poor lad’s babbling now, prayers and pleas pouring out of him like a rushing stream. It’s all sweet nonsense to Solomon’s ears, a melody to match his rhythm. He strokes and he caresses, taking John’s tip into his mouth a few times… but he’s too big to even get halfway down his throat, so the best Solomon can do is lavish it with kisses. This makes John cry out — great, desperate wails, torn from the depths of his chest. He quakes beneath him, shuddering wherever Solomon tenses, and he’s so wound up, it’s clear he just needs to get it out…
“So lovely when you come,” Solomon mutters. “Got a face that’s made for it… and, oh, I like to see you.”
There he goes. Over the edge, in a great spasm, a mini-explosion which leaves him boneless on the pillows.
He looks especially pretty like this: a fucked out doll, gaping up at Solomon with flushed cheeks and teary eyes, going all soft and hazy at the edges when Solomon caresses him. His swollen lips flutter like he wants to say something, but can’t find the words. He settles for a sound low in his throat, caught between a whimper and a groan. His lips curl up… so timid, so sweet.
“There you are,” Solomon mutters, carding his fingers gently through John’s hair. “There you are. That’s right.” John leans into him, so fuck-drunk he can only nuzzle and make sweet, earnest sounds. Solomon continues to pet him until he drops off into a shallow sleep.
“Lovely little thing,” he murmurs, and makes sure it’s the last thing John hears that night.
Re: beating like my tender heart, Tozer/Irving, M, body worship, fem fantasy, overwhelm
(Anonymous) 2023-01-04 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)Re: beating like my tender heart, Tozer/Irving, M, body worship, fem fantasy, overwhelm
(Anonymous) 2023-01-05 06:15 am (UTC)(link)Re: beating like my tender heart, Tozer/Irving, M, body worship, fem fantasy, overwhelm
(Anonymous) 2023-01-07 05:26 am (UTC)(link)