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writers-hes · 9 months

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i need you (2 of 2) | c. berzatto x reader

It was good when you started but Carmen Berzatto had the ability to make anyone fall in love with him no matter how much you tried not to...maybe this time he feels the same? (friends with benefits!carmen, smut, mndi!!!, unprotected p in v, smut! smut!, angst!! fluff, maybe some bad words, canon typical themes, unedited)

PART ONE / navigation

Sorry for the things I said.

I appreciate you.

He erases the messages that he wanted to send. It was tempting…

The flowers he let die mocks him by the stove. It was a fire hazard he knew; but if this room burned down, would you come over to check if he was doing well?

His eyes look ahead, empty. Ever since that incident in the kitchen weeks ago, the Chefs have been on edge. Who wouldn’t be? He was cutting away those vegetables like he just didn’t cut his hand. He decided to forget about you…for now. But it was hard, considering the fact that your artwork hung in The Bear like a mantlepiece. A mantlepiece for others but he sees it like a crufix and he, a sinner with no redemption. It mocks him of his mistakes…of what he said. Everything seemd to mock him.

Ever since that bloody incident in the kitchen a few days ago, Carmy made sure to never commit a mistake again. Every second counts, every second counts…every second he counted was spent on you.

Were you alright? Were you in Chicago? Did you still need him? Or were you alright since he's finally out of your life?

You’re so fucking miserable.

It rang in his head because he knew that it was true. He was—is miserable. He made everyone around him just as miserable as he was. He could never grasp the intensity of his feelings; could never seem to grasp anything. He thinks to himself to just fuck it all and go to you and grovel…but he just couldn’t. He knew he wanted more. He was well aware of his feelings for you but to think that he made a mess of everything that he could ever have was hard to swallow.

Carmy has the habit of hiding from his allies. He can’t control his emotions but sometimes, he bides his time hoping to fix it. He tries to wait for the perfect time to fix what he burned but…it’s been too long since you last saw each other. It’s been too long since he sent you a message.

Would you still love me?

You weren’t doing any better. Carmen, despite his refusal to love, was warm. He’s the sun shining on a cold winter day; the warmth that spreads all over your body from the kiss that he leaves on your shoulder. You missed him dearly, but you couldn’t have it in you to reach out first when it was him who didn’t love you.

The realization of Carmen not loving you back was bearable at first but to see it right in front of your eyes…to be on the receiving end of his rejection was more than what you could comprehend.

In a span of those months without Carmen, you felt…like there was a gaping Carmen Berzatto-shaped hole inside your heart that only he could fix. You’ve been in and out of Chicago to forget about him, but you couldn’t. At the end of the day, you were just as miserable as when you first realized that you'd fallen for him. Was it asking for too much when you asked him to still be your friend? The more he pushed you away, the more you were convinced that you didn’t matter to him at all.

Is it too late for me to love you?

You’ve been surrounding yourself with work; painting in your studio for what felt like years until you were sure that your fingers were gonna fall off.

If walls could talk, they’d tell the world of Carmen Berzatto.

You’ve been purging yourself of anything Carmy and you found yourself painting every single food he’s ever made for you. It was all that you could do to relieve yourself of the sobs that choked you at night; when you didn’t want to acknowledge that the man you loved didn’t love you back. You should have been fine—you were expecting this. You were anticipating this but you still wondered what it would be like to be loved by him. You still wondered what it would feel like to hold his hand in the streets of Chicago. You wondered how his hand would feel on your knee while he drives back home. You wondered what it felt like to be loved by him.

You were meeting some art collector today—he seems to be keen on commissioning you for your work and you accepted. He was supposed to arrive in Chicago to meet you and to try a new restaurant that everyone’s been raving about. He said that he already had a reservation for three but he couldn’t go and told you to meet with his art consultant, Isaac on his stead.

You should’ve known from the context clues that you’ll be landing in a place you didn’t want to go to. You should’ve been smarter because maybe, if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting at The Bear, waiting for your frozen grapes and bone broth. Surprise was one word to describe Natalie’s face when she saw you.

“So, how did you realize you wanted to pursue art?”

“Oh,” you licked your lips. “I guess, I wanted to pursue it all my life. It was something that I was good at and…and I can’t really cook well. I liked how food was presented and how empty dinner plates look sometimes, you know. It didn’t take long for me to collaborate with chefs and restaurants and…”

“Is that your piece?” Isaac asked. “I’m sorry, I just—wow. Do you think the manager will let me come nearer to inspect it?”

You smiled at him.

“Um, yeah.” you nod. Richie comes by and stops by your table.

“Good evening, guys,” he greets. “Y/N, it’s been a while.”

“Hey, Rich,” you waved.

“We’ll get you started with frozen grapes in a minute,” he says. “How’s your night? Didn’t know I’d find you here.”

“Oh, this is Isaac. Isaac, Richie.”

Isaac stands up to shake Richie’s hand.

“Do you want to go see the painting? It’s even more detailed up close,” Richie said, ushering Isaac to the painting. He throws you a look as if to ask for your permission but you just smiled at him. Your knee was bouncing under the table, trying to calm yourself down. Richie walks back to your table.

“You know he’s not going to like that,”

“I’m in a business meeting,” you shrugged. “Isaac is an art consultant and his boss told us he couldn’t come. Do you need to see my text messages?”

“I know, I’m not fucking accusing you of anything. Don’t be defensive,” Richie says, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “But had I known that we were going here, I would’ve suggested another place. I don’t want to be here either.” Richie looks for the object of your focus, seeing your eyes zero in on the painting you gave to Carmen.

“We all love the painting. Carmy loves it. He looks at it every day before opening,” he offers but you only shrug. If he loved the painting so much, why didn’t he text you? “You should’ve thrown it at me instead of throwing it at the back. Could’ve earned thousands on that one,” you chuckled, telling him that it probably would. He sees Isaac come back to the table after marvelling at your painting. Richie smiles tightly and tells him that starters will be served shortly.

“Yo, Y/N’s outside. We have to bring our A game!” Richie shouts in the kitchen. “Make her first time here an experience. Fak, make sure that the lamp over Y/N and Isaac isn’t too hot and then, ask if you could serve them some drinks.”

“Okay,” Fak nods, fixing his hair to make sure that he was presentable. It takes a bit for Carmy to register what Richie was saying and he blinks.

“Wait, hold up. Cousin. Who’s here? Y/N…she’s here?” Carmy asked, taking the teapot of bone broth. “With…with who?”

“Isaac,” Richie replied, he was watching Carmy fix his hair and his uniform. What an asshole.

“Carmy! Don’t fucking—go,” Sydney whispers the last part, looking pointedly at Richie once Carmy leaves with the fucking teapot. “Really, Richie? Tonight? You want to play fucking games tonight?” she asked. “Need I remind you of the bloody chopping board? Sweeps hasn’t removed the stains out yet,”

“What?” he shrugs. “Everyone’s been on edge since they stopped talking. It’s nice to take a breather,” Richie saw the realization dawn on Sydney’s face and he smirks. “Right, chefs! It will take Carmy two minutes to go do his alpha whatever fucking bullshit outside. That’s two minutes of easy time. I’ll need focaccia for Y/N’s table after the fucking grapes. Make sure that the dishes are warm, chefs! Every second counts,”

“Good evening,” he greets, a tight smile on his face. He catches the way your smile falls slowly into a frown.

“Carmen,” you replied.

“Finally had the time to visit,” he says. “With a date?”

“Ah, no,” you replied. “Isaac is my customer’s art consultant and he’s uh,”

“Here to make a deal,” Isaac replied. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Berzatto.”

“Here’s your broth with the-the grapes,” he says, shakily pouring it over the frozen grapes. “Hope you, uh, enjoy the evening, Y/N. Isaac,”

He turns to leave but pauses.

“Um, sorry, Y/N can I have a word with you?” he asked. “Please,”

You swallowed. “Um—“

Isaac saw your apprehension. “It’s okay. You’re friends…right? I’ll stay here,”

“Sure. I’ll take two minutes. I’m so sorry,” you apologized before letting him lead you to the kitchen. “Hi, guys. Sorry for interrupting,”

“It’s fine,” Richie says, smiling at you sweetly.

“Carmy, we can talk later, okay? Your kitchen needs you,” you tried. You’ve been saying that to him even before your entrance to the kitchen, but he only shakes his head.

“Just…two minutes,” he says. “Please,”

“Carmen…”

“Please,” he tried. He didn’t really want his staff to see him grovel even though he knew that this was bringing them some sort of a sadistic joy.

“Sorry, everyone,” you forced out, but Sydney was actually thankful to get Carmen out of the kitchen for a few minutes. If it was possible, Carmy was even more unreasonable. His standards were tip top. A second too long was a second too much. He and Sydney have been screaming at each other every night; the volume of their voices louder by the second.

You followed him into the office, being reminded of the hurtful words you’ve said to each other. He locks the door, and runs a hand over his face.

“What…what are you doing here?” he scowls.

“I’m a paying customer. I can go wherever I want,”

“With him? What are you doing here with him?” he asked, hands on his waist to show his impatience. You decided to make him wait and he does, urging you to answer by raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t think it matters to you,” you replied. “I can go eat wherever I want. I can afford it,”

“I’m-I’m not saying that you can’t. Just-just tell me why here?”

“Why are you so bothered? You can’t question every guy you see me with, Carm,” you reasoned out. “You told me you didn’t love me. I don’t think it’s necessary for you to still know where I go and who I spend time with.” He flinches at your tone. You’ve never talked to him like that before. You were always so gentle. So, for you to disregard him and not even give a reason why, an icy glare thrown his way…was mean.

“I can kick you out,” he spits. You scowl at him; he’s never been the subject of your anger and right now, you were seething.

“So, kick me out,” you challenged him, meeting his eyes with the dort of ferocity that he never expected from you. He stays silent, looking at the floor. He didn’t want you to hate him more than you already do. “I thought so,”

Urgent and demanding raps on your door broke you from your reviere. You liked painting in silence; it soothes you from the loudness of the world outside. You sighed, knowing immediately who was on the other side. Your breath was shaky, and you tried to walk slowly towards the door. What would you even say to him?

Carmy was a jittering mess on the other side. He couldn’t get you out of his head ever since you visited The Bear a few days ago. He was watching from the other side after service, seeing you laugh at whatever Isaac said. He was making you laugh when that was reserved to Carmen alone…months ago before he ruined everything he ever wanted. He waits with bated breath as you open the door. He used to be able to just come inside your house whenever he wanted. You used to wait for him with a small smile on your face. It is all gone now. You looked tired; like you didn’t want him there at all.

“Can I come in?” he asked but he didn’t miss the way you shielded your body with the door. He didn’t miss the way your eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Sure.” Sure. Like you didn’t have any other choice but to deal with him right now. Sure.

“Thanks,” he licks his lips, putting his shoes on the side like he used to. Your home was clean but it was devoid of anything. The lights were barely on and the music that used to play from your vinyl was nowhere to be heard. Carmy used to tease you for being pretentious. It’s too quiet inside your house right now.

“Do you want anything? Water?”

“No, thanks,” he says, and you nod. “I’m…I just—I don’t know why I’m here,”

“I see,” you replied, looking anywhere but at him. “Can I help you?”

“Um—who-who were you with the other day?”

“You can’t just…question or decide to drop by when you see me with someone else, Carm,” you said, voice low and careful. “He was an art consultant,”

“Why?” he asked, his eyes inviting you to look at him but you wouldn’t budge. He knew why. He knew that he was an art consultant but something inside Carmy was telling him that the planning had been deliberate and that you went there with malice. To spite him…make him jealous…it was narcissistic but what if?

“Because…because you don’t love me,” you chuckled. There was something funny about not being loved back by a person who used to come to you at the smallest inconvenience. “You don’t love me but the first thing you do is to freak out. It was a work meeting and you freaked out. You don’t love me, Carmy,”

“How many times will-will you hold that over me?” he asked, frowning. “Why are you acting like-like I did something wrong? You can’t control how I feel, Y/N! Give it up!”

“Because I can and I want to, Carmen!” you exclaimed, chest heaving. Your throat constricted at his rejection. This was the second time. “I can and I want to hold that over you because I’m hurt. I am hurt. You hurt me. You toss me away to the side and-and you expect me to be forgiving. You expect me to just understand,”

“You have to accept that I…don’t—that I don’t love you that way,” he whispers, and it just breaks your heart because he still couldn’t get it.

“I’m not asking you to love me back,” you croak, your eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t want to tell you how to feel—or what to feel but you didn’t even text me. You didn’t ask me how I was doing…or -or said hi to me. You—you…I don’t know. You just stopped.”

“Why didn’t you text me first?”

“Because I told you how much you mattered to me. I told you that I love you. I thought that if I didn’t text you, you'd miss me and…God, Carmen. I would have been fine if you didn’t love me back. It would have been fucking dandy. It would have been great if you could have just…treated me like a—like a friend, you know? I still would’ve been there for you…but you shut me out! You showed me just how little I mattered to you, Carm. Did you know that…? You—you treat me like how you treat everyone else when you’re the one who needs me. ”

“You do—you matter to me…”

“Actions speak louder than words,” you spat, your arms crossed over your chest. “You only text me first when you want a quick fuck. I’m free tonight? Want to go? You can’t even say that you want to have sex with me,”

Carmen was at a loss for words. He was hurt that you’d think that way of him when he thought the world of you. Did you really think that you’d matter to Carmen just because he wanted to fuck you?

“Hey, don’t-don’t do that. That isn’t fair to me. You know that-that you mean more to me than that. You’re being unfair,”

“Unfair,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m being unfair when you’re the one inside my home after seeing me with a guy that I am working with.”

“It’s my fucking restaurant! It’s my goddamn restaurant,” he exclaimed, running his hand over his golden hair that you loved so much. “It’s my fucking goddamn restaurant!”

“And I’m fucking telling you that I can do whatever I want!” you retorted, matching the intensity of his voice. “Why do you care, Carmen?” you spit.

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what? Carm? Carmy? Bear? Carmen…Anthony…Berzatto?” you taunt, the same venom dripping from your voice. He just never heard it from you before and it was an unpleasant feeling. “I’m not…I’m not going to let you push me around just because I love you, Carmy,” you shook your head.

Carmy stares at you, his face pinched in frustration and in sadness. He looks away, swallowing. He presses his hand over his chest to ground him. He didn’t know if he should be mad at you for making him feel this way. Like he needs you all the time to be alright. He didn’t know if he should be angry at himself for letting you lure him into your trap and your promises of warmth and love and…contentment. All this time, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t need anyone much less you for that matter.

“Say something,” you urged, looking at him desperately but he just shakes his head. You could feel it—feel him detach himself from you. You could feel him cower, hide his feelings…the real reason why he was knocking on your door in the first place. “Fucking say something, Carm! Tell me why you’re here,”

He just stands there unmoving, blinking back any emotion. He wanted to store everything in his brain. He didn’t want to feel anymore…he didn’t…

“Fucking hell,” you whispered shakily. “I don’t know what you want from me…but I can’t go on like-like this! I can’t open the door for you every time you knock. I can’t answer every time you call…just…please, Carmy. Fucking say something.”

Still, he stays silent.

A sardonic chuckle escapes your lips.

“Leave when you want to, I don’t give a shit. Just…just don’t come inside my fucking studio, Carmen. I was expecting you to apologize to tell me that you still want to be friends…I guess I thought I mattered to you more than that,” you told him, walking away. He just watches you go to your studio, hearing the sounds of your materials being thrown in different directions. It doesn’t make him flinch; he just watches the fire burn.

It’s time to go.

Carmen has been living in autopilot since his last visit. It was probably jealousy that prompted him to act like a jagoff but he wasn’t ready to admit that. Instead, he was harder on himself, beating himself up over the smallest things—if a dice wasn’t precise, it wasn’t good enough. Food out for a second too long was cold. It was like reliving New York but he was the perpetrator. He was the one pushing his boundaries until he hated what he was doing and Carmy admits, it was not healthy.

But what else could he do? Cooking was the only thing he was good at and there was nothing else to do other than work.

That was a lie.

He sometimes spent hours rereading the messages you sent him. You’d always text him to have a good day…a funny photo that reminded you of him…

He smiles at some of them, but it’s quickly replaced by the frown that etches on his face because he will never receive these messages from you. Isaac probably fucking does though. He grips his phone tightly in his hands; he hates that thought. He looks at his phone blankly, the message from you illuminating his face blue.

parm4carm? carmyggiano reggiano? carmensan hahahahahaha i’m at a meeting and i want to laugh because i’m thinking of things to add to your name

He didn’t remember replying but he did remember the small satisfaction that the message brought him all day. You were thinking of him and you were trying to make him laugh; he tried his best to stop himself from smiling but Richie noticed it immediately.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” he asked him but Carmy only flipped him off, turning around to stop Richie from seeing him.

He sighs. It’s not like what you had wasn’t fun. In fact, he was quite sure that it was the somewhat-only healthy relationship that he has. You both gave wach other space, you talked things through. When he started dating Claire, he went to your apartment first to tell you about her. You shrugged it off, not really minding who Carmy dated back then. When he apologized for not inviting you to the opening despite multiple protests from Richie and Sydney, you understood. When he stopped responding for a week, you showed up to his door with a pack of his favorite cigarettes and a box of doughnuts.

Looking back, did he ever do anything for you?

“Carmy, you good?” Sugar asked. He was more standoffish; he smokes more, and he doesn’t speak much. It’s always only a grunt or a “yeah yeah.”

“Oh,” Carmy says, blinking. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Carmy…” Sugar tries. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he nods. “I…I’m just thinking, you know? Like-like, I fuck everything up and-and I’m aware of it,” he says. “I know that what I’m doing isn’t right but…you know, I-I always have this dream of a fire…and I just watch it burn…”

Sugar nods, trying to coax out the lump in Carmy’s throat.

“I wonder if I just don’t speak…will they understand me? I can’t fuck things up again just because I have no cell reception. What if that happens again?” he asked, frowning. “Fuck,”

“Do you think she’s distracting? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,”

“But I…I want to,” he says, his hand pressed on his chest. “I want to, Nat but I can’t,”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Carmy. Go talk to the girl,” she smiles and Carmy could only nod because maybe Nat was right. If he could just…talk to you without jumping on your throat and without blinking, there like a fucking idiot.

That’s an easy job, right?

“I’ve been thinking about-about us, and I just want to say that I’m sorry and that I…Fuck!”

He was walking like a madman inside his apartment, on the verge of texting you about how Isaac chewed with his mouth open. You told him you hated people who chewed with their mouths open—loud and wet. He saw your favorite cereal on sale the other day. He almost wanted to ask you if you were aware that it was marked down. Should he get you a few boxes? What about three? He just wanted to know. Would you…would you come over if he let his kitchen burn? Would you come over if you saw the dead flowers that dried up because he couldn’t find it in himself to throw them away. It was the last piece of evidence that he wanted to go. Would you even accept his dead flowers now that your name was on every art forum? You probably like cereal and milk with fucking gold leaves and fig.

He knows that you didn’t like it when he looked sad but when he visited you, did you notice the way his shoulders slumped? Because he noticed the shallowness of your breathing, the taps on the floor, the pause before you opened the door for him. He noticed the way you blinked back the tears that he threatened to spill because he was cruel. He knew…he knew that he was cruel but would you still forgive him if he ran up to you now?

The cereal you like is marked down at the store. Do you want some?

The vibration in your pocket stops you from talking to the guy who just offered to buy you your coffee.

“Sorry,” you smiled sheepishly. “Let me just…get this,”

Your hands slightly trembled when you saw the message that Carmy just sent. It was an odd olive branch but what if you were looking into things again? What if he was just trying to have sex again?

I’m sorry for the things that I said.

Can we talk?

“Hey, hey,” the guy says. You didn’t even know his name. “Are you alright?”

“Uh? Yeah, no-yeah, I am. Sorry,” you replied, locking your phone and putting it in the back pocket. “What was it?”

“Oh, I was wondering if-if you want coffee?”

“I…already ordered, though,” you replied. “Advanced order and I’m just waiting…”

The guy’s face falls, and you smile timidly.

“Sorry,” you offered.

“No, that's fine,” he shrugs. “I should’ve known or something,”

“No, thanks. Um, yeah…”

The barista calls for your name on the counter and you smile at him before leaving. You rushed out of the café without another word, coffee in your hand and Carmen’s message in your backpocket.

The Read label was putting Carmen in a spiral. You read the message twelve fucking minutes ago, why weren’t you replying? He was popping the joints on his knuckles, watching the phone closely until you replied.

what time do you close?

can we go to your apartment instead?

He lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He texts you to just enter the apartment since you still have the keys, completely forgetting about the flowers near his stove.

When you entered his apartment, you were greeted with the bareness of it all, save for the dried flowers on the stove. You frowned, walking towards it. Carmy didn’t need flowers… Besides, this was a fire hazard. Was he okay?

You turned over the card attached and took a sharp breath.

Let it rip. I’m so proud of you.

Love, Carm

Was this deliberate? Did he plan this all out to get you to forgive him? You turned away, trying to forget the note that he was meant to give you. You sat on his couch instead, settling on the corner and flipping through the channels on his cable. You wanted something to fill the silence so that when he comes, you wouldn’t have to try to make up for it by saying something stupid like the weather in Chicago.

You settled on some reality show, looking at the screen with your eyes glazed over when you heard someone mess with the lock. You looked over, watching Carmy in his grey sweater. He tossed the backpack to the side and his shoes were laying somewhere. You saw this scene before—multiple times but the undertone was different.

“Hi,”

“Hey,”

“Um—“

“I hope you…you don’t mind me watching—“

Carmy’s eyes flicks to the stove and realization dawns on his face.

“Fuck, fuck. Sorry—you, ah, weren’t supposed to…” he puts the flowers in the cupboard hastily, some leaves falling. “See that,”

“Yeah—“

“Um, I’ll just…”

“Yeah,”

He nods, blinking, before stalking to his bedroom. He locks the door behind him and heaves. Fuck. He shakes his head entering the bathroom to wash the day away.

You couldn't focus anymore. Why was he so ashamed of the flowers he got you? You swallow the thickness down your throat. Were you intruding if you got yourself a glass of water? Carmy goes out of the bedroom a few minutes later, fresh and clean. He looks at you and heads to the kitchen. You don’t move.

He comes back with a glass of water for you, laying it down on the coffee table and then sitting beside you—as far as he could because he didn’t know where you stood right now. What boundaries can he cross?

“Thanks,” you smiled at him, taking a huge gulp of the cold water. “Um…”

“Shit—I don't know what to say,” he says, folding his hands on his lap.

“We can…we can start with what we said,” you replied slowly. “I…”

“I’m sorry,”

“Carm—“

“I’m sorry. I didn’t take-I didn’t take your feelings into consideration and I…I hurt you,” he says, looking down. You were both sitting straight ahead, the TV illuminating your faces. It felt like a thick wall was between you two and that it was up to you to break it. “I just…I don’t know. I can’t keep on doing shitty things and then-then, feeling bad about myself but I…I spent my life trying to-to understand mom and Mi—key,” he chokes. “I guess I don’t want to understand anyone else anymore because I wouldn’t be able to but I—but you’re not anyone else.”

“I fucked up,” he says. “When I was with Claire…I was locked in the fucking freezer because I had no cell reception. I don’t want that…but I don’t—“

“What do you want, Carm?” you asked.

“I want to—I want…I,”

“I’m sorry for calling you miserable and unreliable,” you told him. “I was hurt and I’m sorry for uh, holding things over you. It’s not your fault that I caught feelings. It wasn’t fair to just…expect you to…love me, you know? Wasn’t fair,”

“No, I was a shitty friend. I shouldn’t have let you go like that,”

“Yeah,” you nod. You heard him shift in his seat, legs crossed over each other and facing you. You glanced and did the same.

“I got you your cereal,” A small smile.

“Yeah?” A beat.

“Like four boxes.”

“I’ll be sick of them,” you teased.

“I know but maybe you’d hate that instead,” A confession.

“I don’t hate you…”

“You don’t?” he asked. “Why…I’m really sorry. I don’t want to…I’m really fucking sorry,”

“What do you want, Carm?” you asked, a brave hand on his knee. “Tell me what you want,”

“Please,”

“And we’ll make it work,”

“I want everything. But I…I don’t…It’s funny. A fridge started Claire and I’s relationship. A fridge ended it too. I’m sorry for bringing her up…but I never felt like I was deserving of…of happiness and I,” he blinks, eyes pinching at the bitterness of every word that rolled off his tongue. “Who the fuck said I could be in a relationship? I am the best because I was focused and I…I had cell reception and I didn’t have the bullshit of understanding feelings. I don’t need amusement or enjoyment…I…no amount of good was worth it, you know? I thought-thought that it was a complete waste of my fucking time but I crave for it,”

“And…I don’t know. I failed them and I…I don’t—“ he heaves. He has to let it all out if he wanted to make things right. “I’m scared that if I…jump in, you know? I fuck everything up again. My staff hates me, I hate me, and you…you hate me too. I don’t want to lose cell reception and I…I don’t need enjoyment but I need you. I need you with me all the time but what if you get—sick of me and push me away like Mikey did? What if…what if you learn to hate me? I need you and I don’t know if I can handle it if we—if we just stopped talking and I did. I stopped talking to you because it would have hurt me more if you decided to end things like that…I’m sorry,”

“I’m just…I fuck up everything that I touch, and I know that I’m miserable and I’m so fucking sorry that I hurt you. I’ll take that with me to the grave. I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, a hand pressed on his chest, like he was protecting it. The barrier that you had to strike down. A gentle hand takes his, interlacing your fingers with his calloused ones. It makes him flinch, but he accepts the gesture.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” you smiled and Carmy could just cry because it was the same thing that Claire had told him. What was the guarantee that it was different this time? “But Carmy, you have to understand that I…I don’t want to hurt you or-or distract you from being the best. I want you to be the best…”

“Is the best…enough?” he asks. “If I lose you?”

“That’s a question you have to answer for yourself, Carm,” you offered. “I’m selfish. I can’t—I don’t want to be the reason why you learn to hate me just because I told you to choose me and I don’t want you to choose. I want you to…be the best and be—be…”

“I need you,”

“I know but I…” I want you to love me.

“I touch everything and I burn everything…Richie and I…I feel so bad about the things I said to him and I fucking hate that I can’t control anything. My life is so fucked up and I—“ he stops, looking at you for the first time that night. “I just wish to just let the everything burn and then it will all go away but I need you to watch it burn with me,”

He still hasn’t said what you wanted to hear from him. He still hasn’t said anything.

“I love you,”

You stop your breathing.

“Carm—don’t say that just for the sake of saying it,” you begged, pulling him away from him and standing up. “Don’t say that if you don’t-don’t mean it…you're just being mean,”

“I do,”

“Carmy,” you whispered. “You didn’t love me months ago. What made you love me now?” you asked. “I’m not invalidating your feelings or-or whatever but I need you to understand that I’ve been loving you for months. I loved you after you broke up with Claire and we drank wine many months ago, but you didn’t…do you love me because you need me?”

“No!” he says. “I love you and I need you. I’ve been—harboring these feelings but I can’t…I can’t say anything and I’m so, so scared that if I don’t say anything now, then everything will just be a big fucking shit show and then, I’ll lose you forever. I’m so scared because what if we don’t work and-and you decide that I do make you miserable? What then?”

“What if we work out?”

“That’s worse because then I’d know that I’ve been holding myself back for nothing,”

“I’m confused, Carm. What do you want?” you asked, shaking your head.

“You and I…together,” he replied. “Only if you want to. I don’t want to make you feel like-like I’m,”

“Can you say that again?”

“What?”

“What do you feel for me,” you begged. “I’ve been…I’ve been waiting months for you to tell me those words and I just have to make sure that I—that I’m hearing you correctly,”

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats the same words over and over again and you feel your eyes brim with tears because this is what you wanted—this is what you’ve always wanted to hear. He stands up and walks over to you, covering his arms around your frame. “I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t,”

“Carmy…” you trailed off. “I’m sorry for the things that I said,”

“I’m sorry too,” he says. “But it’s okay…consider everything forgotten,” he kisses your temple and checks on you. “We’re okay, baby. We’re okay,”

“I missed you,”

“I missed you too,” he says, ducking his head so his lips could meet yours. “I miss you,” he mumbles, cradling your head with his two hands. He kisses you fervently, like he was thirsty and you were the fountain of life. “Mm,”

“Carm…” you whine when he lets you go. You push him to the couch, his legs open wide as he watches you. “I want to show you how much I missed you,”

“Yeah?” he rasps, tapping his lap. “Come here, baby,”

You nod, watching his chest rise and fall in anticipation. You settle yourself on his lap, legs on either side. His hands immediately find your waist, clutching your body through the soft material of your shirt. You tug on his shirt to bring him closer to you, kissing him slowly. Your hands find themselves tugging on his hair, your hips rocking softly against his clothed crotch.

“Fuck,” he grunts, hips meeting your subconsciously and you giggle at his anticipation.

“Carm!” you chuckled, lips trailing down to his jaw. He likes that you never fail to leave love bites where everyone can see. He sighs deeply when you suck on the spot he liked so much. You could feel him harden under his joggers, itching for release. When you are done, you smile at him, pecking him on the lips before removing his shirt completely. He sucks in a breath when your soft hands run over his chest. “I missed you,”

“I missed you too,” he rasps, tugging on your shirt. You oblige, removing the piece of clothing entirely. His mouth waters at the sight of your naked torso. You rub your heat against his cock, the both of you moaning because of the pleasurable friction. It was slow and deliberate at first but you were soon mewling, his mouth on yours. His tongue pushes past against your lips, swirling with one another. “Remove everything, please—“

You nod, standing in front of him to strip yourselves of what remained between the two of you. Carmy, runs his hand on your waist, looking up at you with need. You run your hands through his hair while you let him kiss every part of your body that he could kiss. You sigh at the contact of his warm lips against your body, settling yourself back on his lap but this time, with less restraint. His hand immediately finds your cunt, fingers working to flick your clit. You whimpered when you felt his fingers prod your entrance.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Fuck yourself with my hand,”

“Carm,” you whine, bouncing slightly. Your hand finds the tip of his cock and his hips jerks, at the contact.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, looking up at you with his eyes half-lidded. He removes his fingers inside you and sucks on them. “You always taste so sweet,”

You couldn’t choke out any reply. So instead, you put your hands on either of his shoulders, slowly sinking on his cock.

“Fuuuuck,” he says, his head falling on the sofa. “Fuck,”

“Carmy,” you said, rolling your hips against his own slowly. “You’re so—“

“Good,” he says, watching his member disappear inside you completely. He could feel your wetness on his thighs, and it kills him. “I’m gonna make you mine,” he says, pinching your nipple.

“Carmy!”

“You like it?” he asked, his head inching closer. He flicks his tongue over the sensitive bud while you ride him. He bites on it and you flinch. He feels your walls clench around him when he does that, so he tries it on your other nipple.

“Carm,” you whined, “Fuck—“

The moans that emitted from his mouth vibrated on your chest. He was continuously sucking and licking your nipple, pinching and twisting it with his rough hands while you gyrated against him. His cock fills you up differently and you let his hips thrust upwards, hitting a certain soot inside of you.

He gives up the need to control, letting you part away from him. You stand up, repositioning yourself to finally—

“Fuck!” he groans, not expecting the sudden feeling of your tight, wet walls wrapping his girth. The tip was just teasing your wntrance a few second ago. His head falls back, arms wrapped around your waist while you bounce on his cock. “Fuck, fuck,”

“Carmy…” you moan. “Kiss me,”

He does what was told, capturing your lips with his. His tongue parts your already open mouth, his arms snaking around gour waist to keep you closer. You whimper, hands holding either side of his neck and you grip slightly.

“Mm,” he groans, breaking away from you. Your pace was speeding up, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling his apartment. “Fuck,”

You smiled at him, constricting his airways a little tighter.

“I’m so—fuck—oh,” he chokes out. His hips stutter against you, cock filling you up completely and he feels your walls clench around him. “close.”

“Baby, baby, baby…” he sighs, the pressure too much for him. “I’ll make you mine. I’ll make you mine,”

“I love you,” you mewled, head falling when he plays with your sensitive buds again. “I want to be yours, Carm,”

He meets your wet pussy with his cock in sloppy thrusts. Your bodies were moving in motion, desperate for that release—that closeness after months of being away from each other. Carmy was holding you so close, grunting and groaning under you.

“Fuck, I fucking love—oh,” his voice breaks and he comes undone. Your walls clench around his gushing member, thrusting inside to chase your high. Your movements slow down, his head on your shoulder. A beat passes with heavy breathing. He peeks. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, removing yourself from him. “Are you?”

He nods, pushing your hair away from your face.

“I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah,”

“Let’s get you cleaned up. What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?”

“I think cereal’s good.”

A/N: First and foremost, I’d like to thank you guys for the overwhelming love and support that you showed in chapter one. Your comments and reblogs all motivated me to write chapter 2 the best that I can and I hope that you love this chapter as much as the previous one. As always, don’t forget to comment or reblog your thoughts! I’d love to know what you thought about this one.

TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt@morgthemagpie@hal3ynicol3@1800-queen-trash @ummvengers @thottywizard

TELL ME YOU NEED ME TAGLIST: @hanula18 @globetrotter28 @trashcanfullofdork @carmens-berzattos @se0kie @saturnheart @akila-twt @mashadanki @ayoedibiris-letterboxd @quicksilversg1rl @docmerlock @notalxx

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto #angst #fluff #the bear #the bear fc #carmy berzatto smut

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 11 months

Text

[21:32]

Heads up: Lee Seokmin x Fem! Reader, dirty talk, unprotected piv sex, hair pulling (f. receiving), me pushing my big dick! Seokmin agenda, petnames, voice kink if you squint, manhandling of sorts and spanking (f. receiving).

I will block you if you are a minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

Seokmin has always had pretty solid self-control. Whether it exists from his want to ensure you're always taken care of first before he indulges in his own pleasure or, some deep-seated, albeit misplaced, desire not to hurt you should he lose said self-control.

It's sweet, really it is. How careful he still is when sinks into you or kneads your breasts so that it's not too harsh for you or how he slowly pushes his pretty, long fingers into you when he laps at your clit.

However, it's just too much fun to push that ironclad self-control of his to its limits.

"I- baby wait," Seokmin heaves behind you. His enormous hands grip your hips tightly, not tight enough to bruise, of course, but still with enough pressure that they still you.

You're well-aware of what you're doing when you look at him over your shoulder with a pout, "Seokmin," you whine, your eyes fluttering shut briefly when his girthy cock twitches inside of your slick walls, "Why? You feel so good. I want you to move."

The way his jaw clenches prompts your pussy to do the same. More of your wetness coating him and, leaking onto your inner thighs. The man who's behind you right now with his inky hair that sticks to his sweaty forehead and, barely restrained stormy eyes is a far cry from your typically adorable Seokmin. Anticipation prods at your gut, white hot and instantaneous.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry, I'm just-" his words are left completely swallowed by the choked moans that leave his pretty mouth when you push back onto him. Your ass kissing his hips when his cock is fully sheathed inside of you again. This time, your eyes flutter shut fully. Your fingernails clawing at your sheets from him deeply he's nestled inside of you. The stretch causes your thighs to quiver violently, and your answering whimpers join his pitchy moans.

A sharp gasp flies from your lips when one of his hands comes down hard and fast on your ass. The sting brings tears to your eyes, and your walls grip him like a vice. Seeming determined to never let him leave.

"You always go too fucking far" he grits out, dragging his cock along your walls until his fat tip is all that's inside of you before slamming back into in time with another heavy spank to your ass. This time, the tears roll down your heated face freely. Your mewls echo throughout your bedroom along with the lewd squelching of him thrusting into your poor, poor pussy.

"Never fucking know when to stop," he continues, his typically soft voice having dropped significantly in octaves and that just worsens the heat coiling in your core. You're already too far gone to think of responding to him. "Always trying to get a rise out of me," he mutters, weaving his hand into your hair and tugging you up until his breath hits the shell of your ear.

"This is what you wanted, right?" He groans into your ear as he thrusts into you particularly harshly, "For me to fuck this pretty pussy of yours until you feel me for days, right?"

"Seok- Minnie," is all your hazy mind can supply in response. Everything feels so overwhelming but, oh so good that you can't think of anything but, his massive cock shaping you around him and his stinging grasp in your hair.

His laugh is nothing like the sunshiney one that always brings a smile to your face, "Don't worry, baby. I've got you. Gonna fuck you until you're full of my cum."

You're not sure whether that's a promise or a threat but, you're not complaining in the slightest.

You sometimes forget how strong Seokmin is because of how gentle he is with you all the time. You're reminded of that fact when he shoves your face into one of your pillows at breakneck speed, his heavy hand pressed between your shoulders.

"You should see how your pussy looks swallowing my cock," he moans out, his other hand kneading the flesh of one of your ass cheeks as he presumably becomes enamoured with the sight of himself splitting you open, glistening with your wetness.

"It'll look even better with my cum dribbling out of it."

AN: Me? Writing more dominant DK? Who am I? Anyways, tagging my favourite kwiyeomdongmoim @onlyseokmins because it's the law and also *evil laughter.* Thank you for all the inspiration, Elv <3

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

#lee seokmin smut #seokmin smut #dk smut #dk seventeen smut #seventeen dk smut #seventeen smut

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meaningofaeons · 11 months

Note

i absolutely love the way you write jing yuan! can you do some general domestic hcs for him? like him coming home after a long day at work and what'd you'd do together?

or on the weekend, where he doesn't have work, some cute sleeping in shenanigans before reader has to drag him out of bed

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ mundanities

⊹ character(s) - jing yuan ⊹ word count - 803 ⊹ notes - gn!reader

hi anon!! ty for the req!! I'm so sorry it took so long for me to get around to it </3 hope you enjoy !!! (=♡ ᆺ ♡=)

Now, Jing Yuan is a man of dignity.

He's the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, for Aeons' sake. Though he may nap on the job occasionally, nobody would ever question his status and majesty.

Well, nobody except for you.

It's difficult to take him seriously when he's composed one minute on screen, delivering a speech to the masses with poise and honor, and the next thing you know he's practically flopping into your arms once he gets home, completely deadweight.

Even if you wanted to scold him for throwing himself at you, it's impossible.

The General looks like a puppy when he gazes up at you, sleep-ridden expression doing nothing to get rid of the shine in his eyes upon seeing you.

"I'm home, my dear."

And his honey-like voice soothes your senses the moment he greets you.

He sounds so unbelievably happy and relieved, it's adorable.

Jing Yuan doesn't really enjoy doing anything too excitable or bothersome after a long day at work.

Really, if he had his way, he'd spend every day (working or no) in your arms, snuggled up in bed. Maybe with Mimi cuddling you two as well.

He's not opposed to some activities, though.

If you offer a game of chess or a walk around the gardens of Central Starskiff Haven, it's unlikely he'd deny you no matter how tired he is

But sometimes he will have to gently let you down—especially so if he's already made his way to bed and can't bring himself to rise from the plushness of the mattress.

(If you do end up going out, halfway through the walk or chess game he's probably going to hang off your shoulder and start snoozing lightly)

Jing Yuan can nap and doze just about anywhere and everywhere, but when he's in bed, there's not a chance in Hell of waking him.

Let him hold onto you, though.

Even if he'd rather not do anything at all once he's off work, he's still quite clingy to you.

Will groan and grumble like a child if you need to go on an errand or some such

Tries very hard to convince you to just stay with him.

Please bend to his will!! He works so hard, just let him enjoy the time he has to snuggle up to you

Stroke his hair, run a gentle caress over his face, he'll melt into your touch

Odds are he either gets home very very late and it's time for bed anyhow, or he gets home midday/afternoon and sleeps enough to ruin his bedtime

If it's the latter, he might be the one to ask you to take a walk and admire the stars together, surprisingly.

Jing Yuan is like a cat in that he can kind of sleep as much as he wants to, but sometimes he appreciates going out with you more than cooping up inside!

Now onto the weekends... You can't tell me this man is the worst on days off.

No need to get up for work? To him, that's as good as 'no need to get up at all.'

Obviously, there's stuff to be done around the house, or he made a promise to train with Yanqing that he may have forgotten about once he felt your hand stroking his white locks in the morning...

Not to mention, not only does he not get out of bed himself, but he has a vice grip on you making it so you can't get out of bed.

"Jing Yuan, darling. I need the restroom."

"Mmm... five more minutes..."

"I'll come right back."

"Ugh..."

I swear, if you thought he was petulant about you leaving during his afternoon naps, he's a whole new breed of childish in the morning if you so much as scoot away from him a bit

Forget about getting him up to do any chores or run any errands.

It'd be a miracle if you yourself managed to get out and finish them.

Once you manage to escape his grasp and run the errands you need to take care of outside of the comforts of your home, you will in most cases return to a somewhat guilty Jing Yuan who has taken care of the household chores in your absence.

You had scolded him to get up and get ready to go ten times before giving up, so the guilty conscience it put on him was very deserved, but...

He may be a bit lazy, but he's far from a slob, and he's certainly not ungrateful enough to you to let the household work go unfinished in your absence.

Besides... once your warmth had vanished from beside him, he found it a bit easier to drag himself up.

He's quick to latch right back onto you when you get home, though.

#jingyuan #jingyuan x reader #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai #honkai x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #anon

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whalesforhands · 6 months

Note

hear me out: dyf!mc touching gojo AND geto too, but not only their muscles. what if she traced her fingers along where she remembers there being scars or injuries? what if she were to ask them what happened after she “died?” i feel like that would make for some rlly heart wrenching hurt/comfort and closure to the failed mission for the trio? :((

-omori anon

warnings: suggestive, but only in the first few paragraphs

“Does it ever… Hurt?” It’s a vulnerable moment, pillowtalk after a session of copulating that leaves you all sweaty, lying in between the both of them as you’re on your side, facing Satoru as you trace the scar on his chest.

You weren’t aware he had one too, not when you had just noticed the one on Suguru.

It catches your eyes, the mark on his chest as your hands trail down the skin as he’s on top of you, your passion no where near interrupted as your hands subconsciously move to trail over the ‘X’.

He’s so close, so warm… A shy tilt of your head upwards towards him has his hips coming to a slow, his neck craning down to meet you halfway— Only for your lips to map across the scarred skin, shyly leaving kisses before your twinkling eyes look back up to meet his widened gaze.

A breath sucked in, a hand grasping both of your wrists, before Suguru’s mouth is desperately slotting over yours, a muffled yelp is all that is able to escape you.

“…fuck, that was cute.”

“Not when you’re here.” Satoru’s voice is full of steady adoration as he watches the arm Suguru has draped over you, your waist cuddled into the black-haired man’s arm as Gojo himself settles a hand on your cheek.

“Shoko said that you both were the only ones to be able to fully heal anything.” So… Why didn’t they? Why keep this painful reminder?

There’s a beat of silence that passes; and the air changes, tenser, hesitatant and a swallow of doubt.

Did you say something wrong? You’re starting to upset yourself as your hands still on his chest. “You don’t have to answer if—“

“I suppose I lacked confidence.” His eyes close as he brings your hand up to his face, lightly kissing your fingers. It’s unusual; seeing the Gojo Satoru lying next to you quiet, shaken, with a trembling hand that goes to desperately clutch at yours.

“I didn’t believe in myself enough to remember.” It’s a bane, his existence. Something he’s realized at the mercy of time. There’s nothing fulfilling about being ‘the strongest’ if there’s no one beside you. Though, he will be able to handle it, to power through it all, through anything.

But at what cost? If he already lost you; if he lost Geto Suguru… What will become of him? Why does he keep this lowly mark on him that will only flay his mind with torture and distress?

Because it has you. It has you— Inscribed into the affliction, lived on through the searing burn it gives him sometimes.

He’s only human, even if born with power to rival the gods. Age will catch up to him, jamming his thoughts and evaporating the swirling blue of his youth away.

So even if his precious blue memories were broken beyond recognition with time, this unsightly scar that scalded his skin— As long as it was proof that you existed, he wouldn’t forget about it.

A novelty that had yet to wear off. It almost brings a tear to his eye how poetic he thinks he is; he wonders what Suguru thinks. It was never discussed between them; more like a silent contract they’ve subjected themselves to every night as they indulged in each other’s presence in the days without you.

A chuckle leaves his lips as he breathes out the next few words. It’s kind of funny, humorous to him that he gets to say them now, the words he had been trying to formulate for the nights that lost you.

“I love you.” And he’d say it for as many times as you want— As many lives as you and Suguru can continue to exist.

I love you I love you I love you I love you—

It’s in these moments that Gojo Satoru realizes how much weaker he is than he thinks, how the warmth of your blood sparks against your skin, how the distance of your pigments are finally gone. How the shine of your eyes still persist even after all this time.

So don’t leave again. Don’t.

“For me— I guess I didn’t want to change.” Suguru’s soothing voice is breathed into your ears as the soft whisper is audible enough for all three to hear. He finds it comparable to a brand, a morbid reminder of their failure, and at the same time— Of you. Would you call it selfish or nonsensical if he said this was only one such proof of their love?

Geto Suguru likes to think he took you for granted. To wallow in what he lost, what he failed to save, what he couldn’t do, even when struck with grief and anguish and terrible anger.

Is it an easy thing to say? Or is it a difficult thing to do? He can’t decide; Not when the act is to accept the fact that you had gone without them. The undefined and unknown seeped into him, a lack of words that only left him holding onto smoldering feelings.

He was lost, listless and blank, steeped in days that bloomed him into despair if it wasn’t for the glowing hope that allowed him to hang on in the form of Gojo Satoru.

“But it shouldn’t matter now, right?” His nose buries itself deeper into the crook of your neck as he feels you here. It almost scares him to get used to this.

In the time you were gone, it is painful how much things had been subject to change, how they all couldn’t stay the same as it was back in those nostalgic summers.

“I’m…” Speechless. You don’t know what to say as these two men nuzzle further into you, their holds getting tighter, wanting— Almost protectively. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be.”

“Whaddya apologizing for?”

You nearly want to cry at the way they’re so dismissive of their own past. “For making you think back to those times.”

“It’s really nothing,” Suguru closes his eyes as he breathes in the scent of your hair, the loveliness of your skin against his. “You’re here now.”

He answers for the both of them when he says that line.

There is no use for yesterday, no point of crying for what that was lost. So, let them love you and each other until the end of this time, and let them do it again in the next life all over again.

Because it’s odd, an enigma— With how your hands have always been warmer than theirs.

masterlist

#omori anon #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #dyf au

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graceloveswolves · 2 years

Text

The Storm

Daryl Dixon x female reader : Season 9 Episode 16; just a sweet moment between Daryl & Y/N

🚨 spoilers!! You’ve been warned! 🚨

——————————————————————————-

I looked out across the frozen grass, feeling the cold wind blow across my face from the angle my head was tilted. My cheeks were undoubtedly glossed with a rosy tint from the harsh winter breeze. On edge, I kept looking around at the scenery around me, starting to grow bored of the endless walking. The group was certainly at its lowest point, having to abandon the Kingdom was heart wrenching and tore a big hole in our pride.

But at least we still had each other. Of course some were still mad and separated themselves with rage from the incident with the Whispers and what happened to some of our best people, but nonetheless we were all still walking together. I looked up in front of me, Carol and Ezekiel were trudging along on their horses mournfully. Throughout this entire time there still hasn’t been a word spoken between the pair. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like for them, to loose a child and their kingdom… must’ve been an unimaginable pain that I couldn’t even begin to fantom.

Then I looked up at girl who unintentionally started it all, Lydia. She was walking solemnly by herself, her bubble coat making it harder for her to move, but she did. I felt myself frown, she didn’t deserve all the blame and hate she gotten. It wasn’t any of her fault, she was just a girl who was being abused. No doubt conflicted and troubled with her feelings and thoughts, to leave your mom and join a bunch of people that hate you for the greater good has to be a very hard but mature decision to make.

“Henry wanted her here…when no one else did.”

I heard Daryl speak softly, making me flinch on the inside. I had forgotten for a moment that he had been walking by my side. I looked up at him, feeling the rush of cold air reach my warm neck that had been exposed from my head tilt. He had looked down at me, while holding his strap to his crossbow, he studied me quietly, waiting for me to respond. It made me wonder how long he had been staring at me, he always was the quiet one who observed from afar. He had been walking by my side since we first left the kingdom, never leaving my side. We did make some sort of small talk along the way, but sometimes he’s so quiet you forget he is there, a talent he has mastered.

I glance up once again at the “her” he was referring too. Lydia, the beautiful raven haired girl who was walking far enough ahead of us that she was out of ear shot. Then I glanced back up at Carol and Ezekiel, who haven’t taken a single look at her since we left the kingdom.

“I never minded her here, she’s just a little girl.”

I replied back, looking up at Daryl, he had been looking at her too, before his eyes came back over to me. Looking down at his hands which still occupied his strap, I took one of my own and grasped his clothed arm, regaining warmth and feeling into my frosty fingers.

“She’s a good kid.” He replied, taking one hand off his crossbow and slipping in into mine.

I nodded back to him, agreeing. He was right, she was a good kid, even after all she has been through and the abuse from her… mother. She still had a pure heart.

“She is, Henry would’ve been proud of her. Every time I look at her I see a little bit of him.”

There was a moment of silence between us, the blue eyed man beside me looked conflicted for a moment. He raised his head looking out in front of him, still clutching onto his crossbow and my hand before he spoke.

“Who do you see when you look at me?”

Glancing up at him, I recalled the first time I met the stubborn redneck. All the way back at the quarry when the world first fell. Believe it or not, but I always knew I loved him from when I first met him. Even when no one else considered him to be anyone special or worth saving, I saw behind his tough act and he eventually let me in after a long time of pestering him.

We had fought through hell together, from Hershel’s farm, to the Prison, to Terminus, to Alexandria, to the Hilltop, from the Saviors, and all the less lonely nights in between. Through thick and thin we stuck together, even when we didn’t see eye to eye we still had each other’s back and fought for what the other believed in.

It didn’t matter where I was, as long as I was with him I was home.

I looked back up at him, seeing him patiently wait for my response. I knew no matter what that I loved him and he loved me and that was just how it was always going to be.

“I see you, my home.”

#daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon x reader fluff #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon x reader #twd daryl #Daryl Dixon #TWD Daryl Dixon #twd imagines #twd preferences #twd #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead one shots #the walking dead imagines #daryl dixon oneshot #carol petelier #lydia twd #henry twd

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

North To The Future [Chapter 11: I Will Buy You A New Life]

The year is now 2000. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, sexual content, violence, this chapter has something you’ve been waiting for. 😏💚 (And some things you have definitely not been waiting for.)

Word count: 5.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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No one knows what to say to you: not Heather when you return to the Jeep with Sunfyre in tow, not your parents when you walk into the hushed house littered with glass bottles and wayward appetizer crumbs. Sunfyre immediately begins assisting with the cleanup effort, sniffing around the couch and under the dining room table, licking up the delicacies he finds there. Your parents look at the golden retriever, look at you, look at each other.

“Um…I’ll drive Heather home,” your mom offers. She finishes the Earl Grey tea she’d been sipping, sets the cup in the kitchen sink, and grabs her keys. They depart into the night together, Heather giving you one last long, sympathetic glance. But still, she doesn’t know what to say. You haven’t told her what you found in Aegon’s apartment, but all the same she can read the horror of it on your face. And perhaps that is more truthful than mere words anyway, unbound by the restrictions of jagged consonants and the curves of vowels, lexicons, syntax, ink.

In the silence, in the sunless dawn of the new millennium, your dad studies you, red dress and mascara-stained face and shoulders limp. He asks tentatively, like stepping through a minefield: “How long will Sunfyre be staying with us?”

“Forever.”

“Okay.” He nods, understanding. He doesn’t need to know the details. Addiction wears many faces—masks it peels off and discards until it finds the flavor you like best, the one that can knot itself around your throat—but its soul is always the same, grave-cold and grasping. “I’m sorry about Aegon. I’m sorry that you had to find out what this feels like.”

“He’s leaving. It’s over.”

Your dad smiles, profoundly sad, dreadfully patient. “I’ve heard that before.”

You’re so heartbroken and ashamed that you can’t meet his eyes. Jessie died twenty years ago, and now it’s all come back around again. He must feel like he’s seeing ghosts.

Your dad sits down at the dining room table, sighing deeply, rubbing his forehead with his thumbs. And he’s not talking about Aegon anymore. “I’ll never stop living in that man’s shadow. I know it. Your mother knows it. It’s not something we’ve ever discussed, but it’s there. And I can’t even resent her for it, because she would forget him if she could. I fully believe that. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me and the life we’ve built together. But it does mean there’s a part of her that will always be somewhere else. In another room, in another time. And I wonder sometimes…if there is an afterlife, if there is a cosmic Round Two where we all meet up someplace with harps and angels and cities made of clouds…who she will be standing with.”

The terror is overwhelming. Does it never end? This pain, this longing, this irrational hope? You wonder if there’s any cure for what you’re feeling. You wonder if your dad was ever some tedious, try-hard jock that your mom avoided at bars and parties.

“I know it hurts,” your dad says. “I know it hurts like hell. But I think it’s better if you can end things sooner rather than later. Because I imagine that once you start loving someone like that”—someone brilliant, someone broken—“it’s very difficult to stop.”

It’s too late, you know. You smooth the bloodlike satin of your dress, trying not to start sobbing again. It’s too fucking late.

“Jesse used to do things like that.” Remarkably, there is still anger in your dad’s voice: rusty, treacherous, decades-old anger. “He would make plans and make promises, and then your mother would be sitting there waiting with a suitcase and he’d act like it never happened. I don’t know if he really forgot or if he had to pretend he did because he’d blown all the money. And then of course he’d apologize and promise to make it up to her, buy her flowers, pour her tea. He was always saying they’d go to London together. They never did. They never got out of Alaska.”

The tea, you think, dismayed. The Earl Grey tea. Just like Aegon’s hot chocolate. It’s like looking at yourself in a mirror. It’s enough to drive someone insane. “I need to go to bed now,” you say, your words weak and splintering.

“Okay. Okay, ladybug.” He looks sorry, like he knows he’s said too much. He gets up to hug you goodnight. He’s immense and warm and strong, yet careful, yet benign, yet so palpably ordinary.

Why can’t I fall in love with someone like you, Dad? Why can’t I be happy here?

He helps you put out food and water for Sunfyre, and when you volunteer to gather up some of the trash in the living room he adamantly refuses. You climb the staircase in the high heels you hardly ever wear, your skull flooded with unwelcome reminders. Aegon was supposed to be here with me. In my house, in my room, in my bed. Now he’s nowhere. And he’ll never touch me again.

In your bedroom mirror, you stare at your reflection. You can’t explain it, but you don’t look like yourself. The red woman in the silvery glass is not self-possessed or pragmatic or wise. She is a frayed thread, and she is desperately, irrevocably sad. You step out of your heels. You unzip the back of your dress. And before you take it all the way off—Aegon was supposed to do that part—you tear the magazine cutout of the Mustang convertible flying down the Pacific Coast Highway off the mirror. You rip it in half over and over again until it is a flurry of unidentifiable scraps on the floor. You think of how you have never acted selfishly, never acted irresponsibly. You think of how far that dedication has gotten you. Not far enough. Nowhere near far enough.

You are trembling with exhaustion and fury. Your eyes hurt, your ankles hurt, you hurt in places so deep you can’t name them. You think of all the things about Aegon you were willing to overlook and how vanishingly little he could give you in return. You want him here, and because he’s made that impossible you want revenge; you want him to feel as viciously, nauseatingly betrayed as you do. You want to do something he could never forgive. You want to knock his memory out of you like the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade.

You see it in a sudden, scarlet vision: how enraged Aegon was when he thought you had slept with Trent, how he tensed up every time Trent touched you, how he didn’t want you to be alone with him. You see how Trent has been throwing himself at you—like a skydiver out of an airplane—in a way that is somehow both frightening and shamelessly pitiful. You had once told Aegon that Trent didn’t want you dead. I know, Aegon had replied. He wants you to be his wife.

You pick up the phone on your nightstand, and then you pause. Can I do this? Can I really?

You couldn’t yesterday, and you probably won’t be able to tomorrow. But right now…

You dial the number for Trent’s apartment across town. He answers on the second ring. “Sup?”

“Hi, it’s me. Are you busy?”

“Hey!” There’s a boisterous grin in his voice. “Nah, not at all. You need something? Are your parents rearranging the living room furniture again?”

“I don’t need anything, but I’d like something.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“What you’ve been waiting for.”

Stilted, silent seconds tick by as he puzzles it out. “For real?” He’s ecstatic, yet circumspect.

“For real.”

“Why? I mean, I’m not complaining, maybe I shouldn’t be asking questions, maybe I should just be sprinting for my truck, but I’m…uh…you changed your mind?”

“It’s not a marriage proposal, Trent,” you tell him. “It’s not a date. I just want to start out 2000 the right way.” Without Aegon. Without any threads still connecting me to him.

“Hell, I’ll take that,” he says, chuckling.

“You have to come here though. It has to be at my house.” Where your parents are just a few rooms away. Where Trent will have to be the best possible version of himself.

If he was really the Ice Fisher, why would he have saved Aegon from the channel? Why would he have been so unabashed about his anger, his strength, his size 12 boots? This killer is quiet, strategic, invisible. That’s the only way he’s managed to murder five people without getting caught. Perhaps Trent really does lack the requisite subtlety…the requisite intellect, to be perfectly blunt about it. But then who else could it be? Who the fuck could it be?

“Totally. On my way now.” Trent hangs up.

When he arrives, your parents are still downstairs cleaning up after the New Year’s Eve party. They greet him warmly and (seemingly) without much surprise. He flips his hair and offers to lift the couch so they can get the bottles that have rolled underneath. They gratefully accept. Small talk and festive merriment are exchanged, and you marvel at how seamlessly Trent blends into this family, into this house, into Juneau; he was made for Alaska. It’s in his strapping muscles and lumbering bones. It’s in his claustrophobically small mind. And then you lead him upstairs.

You don’t waste any time talking. Already you’re losing your nerve, already you have a voice surfacing in the choppy waves of your mind like a drowning man: You don’t want to do this, you don’t want to do this, you know you don’t want to do this. You tug off Trent’s blazer, button-up shirt, and khakis and shoo him onto the bed. Then you take off everything that you’d put on for Aegon, back when the Alaska Standard Time Zone was still living in the dark dwindling hours of 1999.

You’re in control the whole time because you don’t trust Trent to be. You don’t want him to be. You don’t even want to think about him. It feels like nothing. There’s no moment to get lost in, because it’s not a moment at all. It’s just logistical adjustments and premeditated reactions and flesh, heavy, crushing, bumping, artless flesh. Your thoughts are far from this room, drastically far. You hope Aegon drives by in the morning and spots Trent’s truck in the driveway, or he hears about it, or he reads it in the straightforward, chiseled lines of Trent’s face next time he sees him. You hope it digs its razored claws into him and never lets go. You hope it fucking destroys him.

As soon as it’s over you get into the shower and scrub off every remnant of what you’ve done. You regret it immediately. Aegon shattered any chance the two of you had and you ended it, so you don’t know why this feels so much like infidelity; perhaps because the reality of it is less like betraying Aegon and more like betraying yourself. In the foggy bathroom mirror, you notice that Trent left a darkening violet bruise on the side of your neck. You don’t even remember him doing it. You were so far away from him: miles away, years away, in the ambiguous future, in the lurking past. You can’t stand the thought of sleeping next to Trent. You suggest he claims the living room couch instead, complete with fresh sheets and several spare pillows. He gamely agrees.

You are optimistic that Trent will be long gone by the time you wake up. But when you venture downstairs at just before noon on New Year’s Day, you find him in the kitchen making breakfast with your parents, flipping pancakes and turning bacon and whistling along to the Red Hot Chili Peppers song that spills from your dad’s record player: not Scar Tissue this time, but Otherside.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, January 10th when the green Nova skates into the vet clinic parking lot and slides to a slippery rest across three different spaces. As the engine dies, the song that was blaring is cut short: I Will Buy You A New Life by Everclear. Aegon steps out under the fading midday sun, almost falls on the ice, traverses slowly and cautiously towards the entrance.

“Oh no, not him!” Jennifer laments. You rush back into the exam room and slam the door.

You haven’t seen Aegon since New Year’s Eve, but you knew he hadn’t left Juneau. You’ve spied the Nova parked outside his apartment building, and Heather has run into him around town: the Foodland, the Gas ‘N Go, Ursa Minor. And then there are the phone calls. He left fifteen messages before your dad picked up and politely asked him to stop calling. Then he started putting notes in the moose-shaped mailbox.

You can hear Jennifer telling Aegon to leave. She must not be very persuasive. He bursts through the exam room door and closes it behind him. He’s wearing all black—parka, turtleneck sweater, jeans, combat boots—and his white-blond hair slicked back from his face. It gives the impression that he has no distractions, no secrets. You are suddenly acutely aware of your own, your skin crawling everywhere Trent touched you. The bruise on your neck has vanished, but the memory of it is still trapped there, heavy and scorching like shame.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say coldly.

“Then you should have picked up the phone.” Aegon throws it down on the metal exam table: not a thick, neatly-sealed envelope but a lump of mismatched crumpled cash—ones, fives, tens, twenties—knotted together with several rubber bands.

“What is that?”

“It’s your half of the money for the San Diego trip.”

“How—?”

“I picked up every shift I could and I sold the necklace.”

“You sold it? Permanently? It’s gone?”

“It’s gone,” he agrees. He looks good. He looks more than good: the shadows under his eyes are almost nonexistent, his skin is bright and healthy, he’s even standing taller. He moves so he’s not blocking the door, so you have an escape if you want it. You don’t leave. You wish you wanted to, but you don’t. You just don’t. “It doesn’t matter. It was the last thing I had from home, it was time for me to let go of it anyway. That was my insurance policy for anytime I needed quick cash…I’ve probably pawned it fifty times in the past six years. But this was important.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say. “I told you I wanted you to leave Juneau and I meant it.”

He searches your face, his eyes blue and clear and wide. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did,” you insist, lying.

“Look, I’m…” He presses a palm to his chest. He glances down at your right arm, then comes back to your face. “I am so, so sorry that you had to see me that way. I’m sorry for what happened. But it’s not going to happen again.”

“I don’t believe you. And I’m not interested in making plans and sacrificing so they can be a reality and then waiting around to see if you ever show up.”

“I’ll show up,” he swears. His gaze flicks down to your arm again.

“What are you looking at?”

He doesn’t reach for your forearm. Instead, he points to his own. “I remember grabbing your arm, but I don’t know how rough I was.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. I don’t think it even left a mark.”

He exhales, relieved. “Good.”

There is a lull that is quiet and still but not awkward. You can hear the clock ticking on the wall, miserably prophetic. The way I feel about him hasn’t changed, you realize with disbelief. I still want him in a way that is helpless, all-consuming. I still love him.

“What happened was a mistake,” Aegon says, slowly and with great effort. “But it wasn’t random.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This isn’t going to make any sense to you, it’s going to sound insane. But I don’t like New Year’s Eve.”

“Well I don’t like having a heroin addict boyfriend.”

“I’m not a heroin addict.” His voice is sharp and forceful, but not cruel. “It was a momentary relapse, I detoxed on my couch, I’m fine now.”

“Why don’t you like New Year’s Eve?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

You scoff bitterly. “More lies?”

“Not lies,” Aegon says. “Secrets. I haven’t lied to you.”

“Yes, you have. You said you’d be there.”

He shows you the palms of his hands, empty. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I want this,” Aegon says determinedly. “I’m not ready to give up on this. I want you back.”

“Why can’t you leave me alone? Why can’t you just jet off to some new city and resume sleeping your way through the eligible bachelorettes of the world and then maybe I could try to move on, maybe I could—”

“Because you ruined me!” he shouts. “Because I used to be that guy who didn’t care, I used to be able to be content with meaningless replaceable flings and now I’m this idiot who doesn’t even see other women. I tried to replace you. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t even invite a girl to come home with me, it was all too goddamn sad. I’ve been with one other person since I met you, and that’s Kimmie, and it’s been over for weeks, and you knew about it the entire time, and that was nothing like it is with you. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve forgotten how to want anyone else. I don’t know how you managed that. I don’t understand what kind of black magic you have swimming around in your blood, but whatever it is worked on me. I’m hooked, baby. I’m fucking hooked. I’ll do whatever you want to make this work, just name it. Please just name it. I’m giving you the money back to show you that I’m sorry and that I know I messed up. But I still want to go to San Diego with you. Hell, I’d go anywhere with you. I’d go to Omaha fucking Nebraska if that was the place you’d dreamed of, the place you hung pictures of on your bedroom mirror. I want you back.”

You don’t have to say that you want him too. Aegon can read it on your face, can see the fight bleeding out of you like the sea at low tide. He’s going to find out about Trent, you think with ice-cold dread. Sooner or later, he’s going to find out and he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. Since he left your house on New Year’s Day, you’ve avoided Trent. What Heather said must have made quite the impression, because he hasn’t tried to pressure you into inviting him over again; he has given you a wide berth of space, passing waves and smiles but no demands. Still, he has this glow. He thinks that night was a stepping stone to something more. He thinks he’s got a real shot now, and he’s basking in the gilded potential of it. I made such a mistake. It feels like everything I do now is a mistake.

“And besides, even if I was willing to go, I can’t leave yet,” Aegon says. In explanation, he looks to the flier on the wall, the one with the shadowy red-eyed specter in a trench coat. Report suspicious activity immediately! Beware of strangers! Help keep Juneau safe! The sixth and seventh victims were pulled out of Crystal Lake three days ago: a couple this time, newly engaged, mid-thirties, snatched while they were hiking in the Tongass National Forest. No one died while Aegon was in the hospital, you think randomly, vaguely. Is that a coincidence? Or is that a clue?

“Aegon, how could you possibly protect me from the Ice Fisher when you’re passed out drunk at night? Or when you’re working on a boat out in the channel, or when you’re singing rock songs at Ursa Minor? You can’t follow me around all the time. And honestly, I think if the killer really wanted me, he could probably get rid of you too.”

“If I leave and I find out later that something happened to you…that maybe, somehow, things might not have gone that way if I’d stayed, that the dominoes could have fallen in a different pattern…I’ll feel responsible. And I’d never recover from that.”

His tattoo flashes in your mind like high-beams: I’m a killer. It’s a strange thing to get inked just above your heart, even if it is a Johnny Cash lyric. It’s a little too dark. It’s a little too real. “Okay,” you hear yourself tell Aegon. “You can stay, I guess.”

“Great. Also, I need my dog back.”

“He’s happy where he is.”

“I don’t doubt that. But he’s mine, and I need him.” And when you hesitate, he adds: “If you’re so worried about Sunfyre, I would encourage you to stop by any time you’d like to check on him. And me too, obviously.” He takes his keyring out of his pocket and slips off the spare key for his apartment. Then he holds it out to you, a sliver of gold in his palm. You consider the key for a long time before you take it.

“Fine. I’ll bring him over in a few days if you’re still sober. Well…your version of sober.”

“Deal,” Aegon says. “You haven’t been at Ursa Minor recently.”

“Yes. Because I didn’t want to see you.”

Aegon shrugs, his hands in the pockets of the black parka you gave him. “Maybe you’ve changed your mind about that. Maybe you’ll show up tonight. I hope you will.”

You can’t decide how to reply. Aegon leaves while you’re still mulling it over, a vast silence stretching out between you like the void between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents don’t want you driving alone at night. They convince you to carpool with Heather, a prospect which elates her. “You’re finally leaving the house?!” she exclaims when you call, the vibrations of her voice shrill in the phone receiver. “You’re finally going to be kind of fun again?! Hold on, hold on. I’m just sending a quick mental thank you to sweet baby Jesus. And Buddha, and Allah, and Brahma, and Thor.”

“Odin’s the king of the Norse gods.”

“Bitch,” Heather says gleefully, and hangs up.

When her Chevy Suburban rolls into Ursa Minor’s parking lot—the night indigo and starless, the ochre streetlights dim—Heather kills the engine and opens the driver-side door. Frigid wind gusts into the cabin. She glances back, realizes you haven’t even unbuckled your seatbelt, and pulls her door shut again.

“What?” she asks.

You look at her, miserable and mortified. “I made a mistake.”

“Yeah, you wore that ugly fucking grandma sweater instead of something hot.”

“No, Heather,” you whisper, tears brimming in your eyes. “I really made a mistake.”

She is concerned, mystified. “What did you do?”

“I slept with Trent.”

“You what?” She blinks. “You what?!”

“I called him after the New Year’s Eve party.” You speak quickly, like tearing a bandage from a weeping, still-inflamed wound. “I was upset and I wasn’t thinking clearly and I asked him to come over. It was horrible. He doesn’t seem to know it was horrible, but it was for me. I mean, he wasn’t aggressive or anything, he didn’t do anything wrong, he just…he wasn’t who I really wanted.”

“He wasn’t Aegon,” Heather says quietly.

“Right.” You swipe away the tears that escape down your cheeks. “And now Aegon’s going to find out. I know he is. At first I wanted him to because I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to hurt him as badly as possible. But I don’t feel that way anymore. And I can’t take it back. Trent thinks I like him and Aegon is going to hate me and I’m…I’m just…” You break down sobbing, covering your face with your hands. “I’m just so fucking stupid. My entire life I had meticulous plans and I checked every box and now I’m this fragile, illogical, aimless, stupid loser who can’t manage to hold on to anything she wants. I can’t fix myself and I can’t fix anyone else either.”

“So you fucked up,” Heather says casually. She’s not really casual, but she’s doing a good job of making it seem like she is. “So you slept with the wrong person or said the wrong thing or made a wrong choice, or two wrong choices, or ten, or a hundred, or a thousand. Who hasn’t fucked up? I have, Joyce has, Kimmie definitely has. So what? It’s not like you killed somebody. You learned from it. You’ll be a better person in the future. Regret is a useless, poisonous emotion. It’s something evolution should have bred out of us eons ago. You don’t have to carry this weight around forever. You can let yourself bury it.”

Under the dim, yellowish streetlight luminescence like a sepia photograph, you give her a weak smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I love you.” And then you add, so she knows you’re okay: “Bitch.”

Heather laughs. “Let’s go get you drunk. Bitch.”

You hurry together to the front door, braced in hats and parkas against the wind. Inside, it is odd to see Ursa Minor stripped of all its Christmas decorations. The multicolored lights have been taken down, the ornaments removed from the taxidermy deer heads. From Dale’s stereo soars Shania Twain’s You’re Still The One. You hear Heather’s boots squeal on the hardwood floor as she stops dead, and then you see him too: jet black suit, spidery limbs, long silvery hair that is not unruly or tangled but pin-straight. He’s sitting at the bar with his back to you. The fingers of his right hand—elegant, willowy, uncalloused—are closed around a frosty Caipirinha.

“Oh my god,” Heather breathes. “There’s two of them. The Greek boys.”

If Aegon knows he’s been found, he’ll leave. And only now can you feel the true, unmitigated devastation of it. Had you really told him to leave Juneau just ten days ago? Had that really been you? No no no no no no. He can’t leave. He can’t leave.

“Don’t talk to him,” you order Heather in a whisper, then bolt to the usual booth. Kimmie, Brad, Joyce, and Rob are already there, eyes startled and darting from you to the stranger at the bar. “Kimmie, do you still remember Aegon’s phone number?”

“Huh? Yeah, um, I think so.”

“Here.” You root around in your purse for loose change and press several quarters into her palm. “Take this. Find a payphone outside. Call him and tell him not to come to Ursa Minor tonight.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t understand, but she’s obedient. Brad goes with her. When they open the front door, the stranger at the bar glances over to make sure no one new has arrived. That Aegon hasn’t. Because this is exactly where he’d be.

Another wave of horror crashes through you. He knows Aegon so well. We’re in such fucking trouble here.

As Dale finishes serving locals at the other end of the bar and returns to his section, the stranger begins asking him something. You have to shut it down; you have to stop Dale from telling the stranger that Aegon lives in an apartment building just down the street. You can see it from Ursa Minor’s parking lot. It’s a distance that could be closed in ten minutes.

You go to the bar and sit immediately beside the stranger. Dale—seemingly relieved—excuses himself, but not before raising his eyebrows at you. Crazy world, right ladybug? that look says. He sets an apple Bacardi Breezer on the counter and is gone. The stranger turns to you, and your jaw falls open before you can stop yourself; the gasp hisses free.

The stranger smiles, like he’s caught you in a lie. The right side of his face is pristine: angular, regal, beautiful in a way that is gem-rare. The left is bisected by a scar, gnarled and old. His left eye is gone. The scraps of his lids are ragged. In the useless, gutted socket is a gleaming sapphire stone, like what the ocean looks like in the pictures you’ve seen of California. “You must know my brother.”

I have to distract him. I have to get rid of him. “Oh yeah. Totally. He talked about you and Helaena all the time.”

The stranger’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Even he forgets about Daeron.”

Aegon, Helaena, Daeron…and at least one more sibling. This one. The determined one, the capable one. You don’t know what to say; you give him a vague smirk in return. The bells on the door jingle as Kimmie and Brad scurry back inside, cold wind chasing them and clawing at their hair. Kimmie shakes her head at you. No luck, she means. Aegon didn’t answer. Probably because he’s already on his way here. The stranger notices this exchange. He notices just about everything. And there’s no way for you to tell Kimmie or Heather what you need from them without him knowing. To stop Aegon from coming here. To stop him from being caught.

The stranger offers you his hand. “Aemond Targaryen,” he introduces himself. “Targaryen Enterprises.” His voice is unlike anything you’ve ever heard: low but soft, effortlessly dignified, beckoning you to lean in closer. Aside from the shade of his hair, he is very little like Aegon. He is tall and precise, every movement purposeful. Aegon slouches and flops and makes dramatic, unrestrained gestures; this man is a sculpture of marble and blue. This man is a work of art.

You shake his hand—cool and smooth—and tell him your name. “But Aegon always called me Appletini.”

“Appletini? Like the drink?”

“Exactly.”

“Yes, that sounds like him.” His eye sweeps over you. What he asks next doesn’t sound like a question at all. It sounds like a command. “Where is he.”

“Gone,” you say, perhaps too quickly. “He left last week. He’s in Chicago now. You’re a little too late.”

Again, Aemond smiles. He sips his Caipirinha. “Hm.”

The front door opens. You and Aemond both whirl towards the clanging metal bells. Aegon shuffles inside; he’s beaming, he’s humming brightly. He drags his boots on the doormat, kicking off most of the snow. And then he looks up. His face goes entirely blank; his eyes are mindless and panicked like a trapped animal’s, iron jaws snapping shut with such force they crack bone. A second passes, two, three. Then Aegon spins around and sprints out of the bar.

“Aegon!” you shout.

Aemond knocks his Caipirinha off the counter as he leaps to his feet and races after him; glass and lime slices spew across the floor. You follow Aemond as closely as you can, running out into the frigid darkness, your boots slipping on ice and crunching through mounds of snow. Aegon makes it a hundred yards up the street before his brother catches him. Aemond grabs the hood of Aegon’s parka, yanks him backwards, slams him face-first into a green Dodge Ram that is parked on the shoulder. Blood gushes from Aegon’s nose and splatters against the truck’s icy window. His lower lip is split; his eyes will blacken. He struggles futilely.

“Let me go—!”

“Six years!” Aemond seethes, pinning Aegon to the truck by his throat. “Six Christmases, six birthdays, six Januarys since you left and not a single phone call, no letters, no postcards, no emails, nothing, and who had to be there to comfort our mother? Who had to be there trying to convince her that you weren’t an unclaimed body on a slab in a morgue somewhere?!”

“You’re all better off without me,” Aegon moans, his skin stained red. Aemond smashes his face against the truck again.

“Stop it!” you shriek.

“You don’t get to leave,” Aemond growls at his brother. “You don’t get to abandon your responsibilities.”

“I won’t go back,” Aegon wheezes. “You can break every bone I’ve got, but I won’t go back. If you kill me, you can take me home in a box, I guess. But that’s the only way I’m going.”

Aemond shoves him away, disgusted. His brother sinks down into the snow, groaning, feeling his face with trembling hands to assess the damage. “I saved you,” Aemond says with cold, black fury. “I saved your life and you’re just throwing it away.”

“She doesn’t know,” Aegon rasps, his voice choked with blood. “Let me tell her. It should be me. Please don’t say anything. Please let me be the one to tell her.”

Now Aemond turns to you, as if suddenly remembering you’re there. His remaining eye narrows. He is deeply, genuinely perplexed; you’re a brand new species, you’re a comet that hasn’t clipped by Earth in a millennium. He says to Aegon, still looking at you: “Your type must have changed.”

“No, my type is still groupies and strippers,” Aegon replies, and spits a mouthful of blood into the snow. “I just fell in love with this girl.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader

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popponn · 8 months

Text

hair and lovers. [aryu jyubei x f!reader]

notes: this is intended to be read with 0 braincell on kind of crack fic. nonetheless, i tried to make them disgustingly sweet. the only thing that ever came close to mortal danger is aryu's hair.

“I love you, but I’m sick of this,” you said, grimness lacing both your face and tone. A pair of grass scissors rest in your hand like a murder weapon-to-be.

Aryu Jyubei—who had been and shall be forever called Aryu so the bitch wouldn’t pull a hissy fit—your boyfriend, your roommate, and unfortunately probably your soulmate for life too, stared at you in horror. “My beloved?! What—”

You didn’t let him finish. “Shut up. Or I will kill you.”

Dramatically, in return, Aryu gasped, “Was it Itoshi Rin?!”

At that, somehow, your temper immediately went down. You blinked owlishly, confused at what did that statement mean and how it came to be. You gaped, “What? Huh? How come?”

In front of you, Aryu—still in pigtails, eye cover still on his forehead all while wearing the bright ‘#1 OSHA!!!!!’ magenta custom pajama Bachira Meguru once gave him as a birthday gift—dropped his ass to the ground and waxed a poetry about style, Itoshi Rin, betrayal, also something akin to hoes before bros. With the last part, whatever desire you had to listen to him immediately evaporate to the thin air.

“Forget it,” you began. “I will really end you.”

Aryu turned his face to you, flipping his hair like some shampoo brand ambassador in the process. Dramatically, again, he proclaimed, “My darling! What has come into you?!”

“Your hair and our ruined date photo that’s what,” you replied, approaching him in a casual and lax manner—that actually translated into a walk that was as menacing as Barou Shouhei when he entered the field in Aryu’s point of view.

At your answer, your boyfriend’s eyes widened. A flash of memories flooded his mind—your sour face after every outdoor date in the last three months, your bitter smile every time you stare into the photo album. Stylishly, he understood everything. The scissors in your hand was without a doubt a weapon to part him with his hair.

“Beloved!” Aryu shouted at you, both of his hands raising up as if it could stop you. Within his hearts, he steeled himself shall it came to no choice and he should use his athletic capabilities to defend his hair—

“Oh, it seems you get it!” you stopped at your tracks, three steps away from him. You smiled sweetly, as you continued, “Then, let’s get to the point. Either I cut it or we can just break up.”

Aryu didn’t steel himself for that.

“What?!” he exclaimed. Immediately, Aryu stood back to his full height. You, who had been living under the same roof with him for quite a while, didn’t flinch even for a second. But, then again, it was you who had a sharp tool in hand.

“What do you mean what,” you deadpanned, every trace of smile vanishing away from your face. A small part of Aryu’s heart shed a tear at such loss—however, it shall be a story for another time.

“My stylish hair is part of this stylish me!” Aryu cried out as his hands clasped itself on your shoulder. He brought his face closer to you, begging, “How could you even thought of such thing?!”

Almost instantly, your face turned into an expression that was both adorable and painful for Aryu’s heart—your eyes sparkled as tears welled up in them and your lips grew into a quivering line. “I want a nice photo with you!” you cried back at him, your gaze thrown away from his. “And I’m your girlfriend! Is that so much to ask for?!”

A part of Aryu wilted at your question. To think he had become a man who made such thoughts exist within you. “Oh, my Dear…” he trailed off.

You ignored Aryu, expressing everything you had withheld within your heart for months. “I know you like your hair—but, it keeps hitting me! Sometimes it get in my mouth! Also, aren’t you a footballer?! It isn’t normal to have hair that long! And also, you spent so much time—”

“My beloved,” Aryu cut you off. Smoothly, his hands grasped both of yours as he dropped down to the floor, this time propping himself up with one knee. Gently, he took away the big scissors in your hand and put it as far as his hands would allow.

Feeling the tender stroke on the back of your palm, you finally let yourself meet his eyes again. Aryu looked at you with a determination as he once again opened his mouth, “Forgive me for making you feel in such unstylish way. However, I cannot let you, who I love, part this stylish me away from my stylish strands.”

At those words, you looked like you were about to cry. Without wasting a beat, Aryu continued quickly, unwilling to let even a drop of tear away from your eyes, “That’s why—let me propose to you a deal.”

You blinked at that, confused. Aryu silently cooed at that action, but nonetheless he had an important thing to do. Aryu slowly grabbed a part of his long hair and put it in your hand, entrapping them in between your fingers and his and Aryu knew he had made the right call.

“My beloved, from this day onwards,” he began, eyes never leaving yours. “Would you do me the honor of styling my hair to your heart contents, for every day, every time I will walk away from this house, whether it will be with your hand in mine or not?”

As Aryu finished his proposal, never once did the confusion leave your face. From the outside, as the daylight seeps from the window, Aryu could hear three series of chirping before suddenly the sound of your laugh broke out.

“Seriously?!” you tried to say in between your chortle. Aryu tried not to melt at the sight. It was both stylish and beautiful. Then, as you looked down at him and tightened your fingers around Aryu’s hair and fingers, you smiled—this time brightly and stylishly, “Sure, why not?”

Indeed, Aryu was a very happy man who did not made any wrong choice at that time.

#bllk #bllk imagines #blue lock #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock x reader #aryu jyubei #aryu x reader #bllk aryu #blue lock aryu #blue lock imagines #bllk fluff #I POSTED THIS ON THE WRONG BLOG #but here it is anyway here u go 5 aryu stans and my friend #also why dog ate my phone #real no fake

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dirty-bosmer · 9 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

It's that time of the week. I'm going out later tonight, so I'll queue this up, but thank you to my very kind and lovely friends who tagged me earlier in the day @skyrim-forever @ladytanithia @kookaburra1701 you're all so motivating <3

Tagging: @thequeenofthewinter @tamrielesque @gilgamish @thana-topsy @elavoria @tallmatcha @nuwanders @paraparadigm @throughtrialbyfire @sylvienerevarine @rainpebble3 @mareenavee @expended-sleeper @lucien-lachance @miraakulous-cloud-district

Looking forward to reading whatever you decide to post :)

Meanwhile, I blew some dust off my long neglected chapter of The Illusionist.

The door croaked open to reveal the main hall, fortunately vacant. Familiar stale air rushed to greet her, only the dull thwacks from the distant training room to give it weight while she stared down its gullet past the broken teeth of so many memories. Nim could still see them in glimpses, quick ghostly wisps darting through her periphery like silverfish. Now in the sanctuary’s jaws, the only way forward was through, but each breath only served to pull her a little deeper into her grief, and with each step she felt a little more of her spirit flee her, a little more of herself letting go.

“Elianna is right this way.” Arquen surged forward, dress swishing at her heels. Her words came clipped. She kept her eyes fixed forward, eager to get this over with, and Nim didn’t know if she should be too when the sudden grasp of her sorrow felt more welcoming than sleep. It was true what One-Ear had told her sprawled out on the plush cushions lining his den, eyes closed or maybe open, merely clouded in the smoke, Careful, friend. Misery’s grip is even stronger than the moon-sugar's—

“Follow.”

At the stern sound of Arquen’s voice, Nim stepped back into her body and quickened her pace to keep up. When she realized they were heading down to Vicente’s old quarters, that Arquen was pulling a key from the pouch belted at her waist, her heart skipped a strange clumsy rhythm. “You keep her locked up?”

“On the Listener's orders.”

“He would, wouldn't he? Well, you’ve made it clear you don’t do everything he says.”

Arquen glanced at her over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “I’m not barbaric, Nimileth. Don’t look so dour. She has plenty of enrichment, and let’s not forget that when we found her, she’d been left in the gutters alone. I still wonder exactly how she wound up there. Whose orders were those now, hmm?”

Nim shut her mouth. When she swallowed, the guilt tasted sour, metallic. Of blood.

Arquen continued on, leading her to Vicente’s room or the room that had once been Vicente’s. Nim couldn’t imagine it containing anything but him, and did his presence still fill those empty spaces, a whisper of him calling from whatever liminal length away? Or was it merely her own memory willing his shadow back into existence that made long silhouettes dance in the corner of her eye? Whatever it was, she hoped he was there, that with every step closer those memories might crystallize, that his ghost might leap out from the walls, come back to haunt her, and even if it was only a gelid, spectral touch, it would be better than feeling nothing of him ever again.

Man wouldn't I just love to finish this chapter sometime 😅

#queue :)#wip wednesday #the dark brotherhood #tes fic #oblivion fic #The Illusionist #sonny writes

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angellayercake · 1 year

Text

Last Bow

NSFW

Sister Imperator x Reader

AO3

Some Sister Angst/Smut for you @onedaughterofman

She was still covered in traces of blood when she exited the room, closing the door softly behind her before leaning against it and meeting your eyes where you stood waiting. Like a fool. Probably. You had lost track of time a while ago, it could have been five minutes or five hours since you had discreetly followed her as she dragged him off. To seal the deal as she had been instructed. He was needed, valuable to the cause, Lucifer’s chosen and she was to do whatever it took to secure his loyalty, including fucking him senseless apparently.

A smirk pulled at her lips but the expression didn’t meet her eyes. She played her part well, you thought. Too well sometimes. She swore to you that you were the only one who knew her, truly knew her but you weren’t sure. Since you were young she had had a lust for power, an often underestimated willpower and an unwavering loyalty to the Old One.

It didn’t stop you from loving her though. You would question her sometimes even disapprove but if she asked then you would do anything for her in spite of your reservations. Which was how you ended up here you supposed, watching her seduce that idiot man across the party and lurking in corridors as she cried out in performed pleasure.

‘Good was he?’ You had aimed for a joke but the bitterness inside you sours it, makes it fall flat and her eyes go blank even as the smirk stays fixed on her lips.

‘Why are you jealous?’ It digs in under your ribs like a knife and suddenly you are pressing her against the door aggressively kissing the look off of her face as her nails dig into the skin of your shoulders.

‘I should make you come right here. So he knows what you sound like when some one fucks you properly.’ You are gripping her waist too hard as you trail your lips down her neck determined to leave your own mark over the top of the one he had left. She just laughs weaving her fingers through your hair keeping you in place.

‘Come on,’ she whispers as her grip tightens, pulling you up to meet her eyes. There is still a hard edge, there always is, but some of her spark has started to return. The spark that makes you incapable of denying her anything. ‘Make me forget about him?’ You can only nod in response as she slides her fingers out of your hair and takes your hand leading you away from that room to the only place the two of you are free to be your true selves.

As soon as the door closes you are back on her but your intention now is to worship rather than mark her as your own. You kiss her like you are trying to communicate all those things you can never quite bring yourself to say. The sweet things, the sad things, the desperate things, the angry things. Anything that could disrupt the tightrope of feelings the two of you have been walking for as long as you can remember. She sighs into your mouth as you work to free her from the tight dress she had been wearing and in turn freeing her from the last sign of her obligations for the night. She had done her duty, this was your time now.

You peel the dress down her body following your progress as her marked skin is revealed to you. You can’t suppress the possessive growl that escapes when you see the black marks he had left across her breasts. You rub your thumb over them smudging until they lose the distinct shape of his mouth. You sense her watching you but you can’t face her so you pinch her nipples between your fingers instead and listen for her tell-tale gasp before soothing them with your tongue, first one then the other until they are pebbled and over sensitive.

You finally meet her wide dark eyes as you sink down to your knees in front of her. You work the dress down her legs and she rests her hand on your shoulder as she steps out of it leaving her bare but for her shoes and stockings and a pulse of heat burns through you as you trail your fingers over her. You grasp her hips, your fingertips not quite able to line up with the faint bruises blooming on her skin and ease her to lean against the door behind her. You place a kiss on the jut of her hip bones doing your best to ignore the growing reminder of his touch before smoothing your hands down her thighs and encouraging her legs apart so you can get exactly where you want, no need to be.

You would usually spend more time on her kissing up her thighs, lavishing her in attention. The ticklish spot inside her knee, the place on her inner thigh that makes her shake and her mound that if you grazed with your teeth made her tighten her thighs, trapping you against her. But not this time. You licked from her entrance to her clit, a hard broad stroke of your tongue and she groans above you. You can taste him on her, it should sicken you, you think. Instead you take a perverse pleasure in it. He may have had her but he would never please her as you do.

Her fingers weave through your hair guiding your movements as she grinds down against your face. When she directs you to her clit you suck and lap at it dutifully. Perfectly attuned to her sounds and movements you let them guide you to exactly how she needs you to pleasure her until her legs start to give out and you have to press her hips into the door to help her stay upright. You slide two fingers into her and shiver as she clenches around you and hope he didn’t make her do that. Curving your fingers up you hone in on her sensitive spot stimulating her with every thrust as you simultaneously continue sucking and stroking her clit with your tongue.

She is close you know as her fingers tighten in your hair, preventing you from pulling away, as if you would. Her breathing is quick and shallow, from your position you can see the muscles in her stomach jumping as you bring her closer and closer but the only sounds from her are choked off moans and whimpers. She never begs to come. Never implores you not to stop. Always certain that you will do exactly as she wants. And you do, not stopping until she has finished clenching and grinding against you, until she loosens her death grip on your hair, until her muscles unclench and she is able to stand without you pressing her against the door.

‘Make yourself come for me.’ It comes out a whisper but you feel the order down to your core. You are so close already as you slide your fingers, still wet from her orgasm into your soaked slit. There is no resistance as you push at your entrance and grind your clit against your palm. Her fingers tighten in your hair once again forcing you to look up at her as you frantically grind against your own hand. ‘Come for me.’ Her voice is stronger now and brokers no argument and with two more rolls of your hips your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you a shuddering panting mess at her feet.

You rest your head against her thigh as you both fight to catch your breath. As the urgency fades in the afterglow reality sets back in. The floor is hard and unforgiving on your knees but you can’t bring yourself to move just yet. Tonight had just been the start of what the Clergy had planned for their new Papa. And what you knew of what was to come held Sister Imperator at the centre. The whispers of Prime Mover and the intention to summon the Antichrist had even reached your ears. You choke down a sob as the implications begin to crash around you. She slides down the door until she is sat there with you and able to envelope you in her arms. You let the tears fall while accepting the comfort she offers trying not to acknowledge that this may be the last time.

#sister imperator #sister imperator x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing #horrible writers block happening right now for everything else i'm working on #but this just happened so here we are

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silkythewriter · 2 days

Note

Hi! I just stumbled upon your blog because of Death Note and that you were accepting requests for it! Can we get a gender neutral reader trying to convince L to put cat ears on? For science? Pretty please? :3 (They might need to bribe him with something sweet for him to do it)

✧Reader putting Cat ears on L!✧

Warnings!: Non!

Fandom!: Death Note!

Author note!: RAHHH TYSM FOR THIS REQUEST IT WAS SO FUN AND SILLY TO WRITE GENUINELY, PLEASE REQUEST WITH MORE IDEAS LIKE THIS!!💞💞💞＼(⁀▽⁀ )／

Summary!: Reader putting cat ears on L! ( ˘ω˘ )

ღ✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬ღ

“Go kitty, go kitty

Go kitty, go, and just

Ride kitty, ride kitty

Ride kitty, roll!”

ღ✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬ღ

At first questioned you motives behind it, were you trying to use this as black mail after?, Maybe embarrass him?

It’s just the natural detective in him coming out, but if he finds out it’s purely for fun he’d mello out! (See what I did there? ( =ω= ) )

Bribing him with sweet treats is a must!, brownies, pudding, or cake would do the trick! I feel like his personal favorite is strawberry short cake though so do with that as you will!

Honestly…at first he’d be against it, but just to please you and get back to his work he’ll plop them on and stare at you with his beady eyes for a second

He actually doesn’t mind it, the minute your smile starts beaming at him like sun rays he genuinely forgets about it even being on him, as he just takes in your features and naturally as he does, study it aswell very single small detail.

Sometimes puts it on himself to surprise you just to see your smile, only when alone and in private though which lets be honest with ourselves is most of the time.

As stand off-ish as he is, I feel like depending on how long you two have been together, he would enjoy physically affection, but a bit watered down. As he himself hasn’t had much love in his life let alone romantic affection so at some points in time it’s a bit overwhelming for him.

But trust me when I say this man LOVES when you softly rub your fingers through his scalp like an actual cat. A bit embarrassing on his end? Yea, but I mean… anything for you affection he supposed

He likes running his fingers along the fake cat ear material. The soft fur is very nice quality!, and maybe if they added a bell to the end of the ears he’ll probably fiddle with them while thinking.

He of course takes them off after awhile, much to your dismay, but he does keep them! As a Memory sake and also just to play around with it.

He does get flustered! Hard to tell sometimes but you can always see the small tint of pink on his cheek and the subtle way his body tenses up before becoming jelly in your grasp.

He definitely gets you a matching pair!, he’ll get yours either the color of your hair or alternatively your favorite color!, maybe some accessories to go with it too!

Maybe to go with the ears some oversized hoodies that color match it. Or some sweat pants lord knows this man is obsessed with sweat pants.

He does admittedly like seeing you in matching ears, he can’t put his finger on it but something About just makes his heart thump.

He naps like a cat (on the rare occasions he actually sleeps…if you can even call it that (¬_¬)) he does that thing if you two are sleeping in the same bed, where he just kinda puts his full weight on you and decides to just die for a few hours on you 😭

Put your hands on both sides of his face and pepper his faces with kisses, he might as-well be your own cat cause he’ll protest then question when you go to king without giving him any.

Likes your smell, you can feel the faint sniffing he does when he gently lays his head on your collar bone and has his joes against your neck.

Misa and light once walked in on it and immediately turned around, at least light, Misa tried speaking but light dragged her out. It was awkward for a while after…(ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

He does that thing cat do when you try touching them, like batting your hand away, yea, he does that but when you try taking the ears back 😭

Overall, he loves them… his static face makes it hard to tell but when you match and see the faint smile on his face you know his true feelings!, he loves you and your unique way of showing it (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃

ღ✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬✬ღ

IM SO SO SO SORRY FOR DYING (again…) I’m working on a way to post regularly without being burnt out so fast (╥_╥)… if you have any tips please do share!, anyway, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! PLEASE REQUEST AGAIN! :3

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starry-hughes · 8 months

Note

quinn is such a mixture

he’s gifts in the way that gets the presents he knows you’ll like.

walking through the mall and you take a second glance at the sweater on a rack? he goes back and buys it, saving it for the next occasion in which gifts are exchanged.

he’s words of affirmation, not in the way that’s a constant chatter of “you did so well,” or “just remember i love you” but rather he makes the words meaningful.

you finally finished that one essay you had been pushing back as far as possible? “i’m proud of you for finally reaching that goal baby”

and his “i love yous”? he makes em count like jamie. whether it be when you’re getting ready for the canucks charity event (i can’t think of what it’s called for the life of me), and you come out in your sparkling dress, and he’s just so unbelievably overwhelmed by the love that he has for you, that he has to tell you. or like when you’re interacting with his brothers, and he can’t stop thinking about how perfectly you slot into the family.

he’s physical touch in the way that he does it unconsciously- although sometimes a bit protectively.

after a canucks win, you’re all gathered around a few booths at a local bar, and he just unconsciously slides his arm around you, tucking you into his side.

or when you forget your jacket at the apartment, and he opens his up to let you huddle next to him for warmth, tucked right where you belong, under his arm.

but then there’s always occasionally a time where he’s grasping your hand, pulling you close to him in a protective sense- a “this is my girl nd if you don’t stop flirting with her i’ll sock you in face” sense

he’s acts of service in away that he does the little things, the things he thinks go unnoticed, but does anyway because he loves you things.

he always orders you breakfast on the way back from afternoon practice, because he knows you usually crave breakfast foods as afternoon snacks- and if you don’t eat it then, you’ll eat it tommorow morning when you wake up.

he’ll get up extra early when he leaves for roadies, putting away all the things he normally uses, because he knows when you have to look at one of his pairs of shoes too long, or the “special” blender he insisted he needed, you get a little sad.

and finally quality time.

quinn is quality time in the way that he needs it like he needs air to breath.

whether it be cuddling with you in the darkness of the bedroom, tucked so close together you can’t tell where one body stops and the other begins.

or it may be simply doing menial chores together, like washing dishes- and he’s just soaking up the time he has in your presence, regardless of the dirty dishes he’s supposed to be drying.

man’s that concludes my take on quinnithan<3

this was so beautiful???

im literally in love with quinn

he’s just this blend of love languages and him coming into his personality more and being more comfortable with being romantic in public and in front of his friends has made you fall even more in love with him.

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1296-very-good-year · 6 months

Text

Just for fun, here are some excerpts from the last wow novel that explored Anduin's mental state (Shadow's Rising) immediately PRIOR to his kidnapping, torture, mind control, and however many years wandering around alone with crippling ptsd:

1) They had reached the fences. Anduin grasped one of the crossbeams and squeezed, the old, battered wood creaking. He wanted to break it. He wanted it to snap. A surge of anger made him close his eyes, as if he were afraid of what Alleria might see there.

The hunt would continue, and he, as king, would find a way to keep faith in their odds of victory. That was his duty. A man had to know his limits, but he could not reach that limit, not yet; too many depended on him now.

The fence beam snapped. Just another thing to fix.

Another in a long, long line of things to mend.

2) He strangely wanted to stay in the crypt, to sit there among the dead and know their pain, their stories. It seemed easier than facing another day of frustration and failure.

3) Jaina: “Alleria and Turalyon tortured that smuggler in front of me. She used the Void to infiltrate his mind while he held him prisoner with chains made from the Light. It looked unspeakably painful.” She rounded the table, searching his face. “My king…I worry that their tactics represent you poorly. Every one of us, every soldier, is in service to your crown. We stand under your banner, and if their actions are sanctioned by your rule, what does that say about us?”

Anduin did not speak for a long while, though his smile diminished. He shook his head, turning away from her, pacing back and forth across the lush green carpet beneath their feet. Finally, he crossed to a large brazier in the corner belching healthy flames. Flattening his hand, he passed it back and forth just above the reach of the fire.

“What does it say?” he echoed. He sounded almost offended that she had to ask. “It says we will do whatever we must to bring murderers to justice. It says we will not forget those lost in war. It says we will not forget Teldrassil, or Lordaeron. It says we will not forget the mak’gora. It says that we will not forget the flames blazing over the Veiled Sea, or the fires reflected in the eyes of a thousand mourning children.”

4) His skin looked worn and blue around the eyes, exhausted smudges painted beneath.

Thrall knew that look well, had experienced it himself many times —the sleepless, sallow ravages of leadership. It had been mere months since he had last clapped eyes on the king of Stormwind, yet he seemed to have aged a full year.

5) Anduin found himself before the great carved fireplace in his bedroom on the floor, legs tucked up to chest, catatonic, eyes unable to close, mind unable to clear, the flames just inches before him searing into his vision until tears poured down his cheeks.

6) Anduin after meeting some young alliance soldiers in a bar while in disguise: They lapsed into song, forgetting all about their new “friend.” But Anduin wouldn’t soon forget them. He looked at each of their faces in turn, memorizing them, wondering how long it would take until they too turned up on a freezing slab beneath the Cathedral of Light, innocent lambs before the slaughter.

7) Anduin to Jaina: "Sometimes I need to be a boy again. I think about all the soldiers giving their life to serve the Alliance, and I think: How? How can they be so young? Those three brave souls inside, they think they’re ready to die. Ready to die for me. It isn’t fair. It…it should make everything stop. The whole world should stop and point at that, but it doesn’t. Everything just rolls on, the world forgets, and I have to pretend like their sacrifice isn’t a cruel, heartbreaking joke.”

8) Anduin made a soft sound of disgust and stood, hovering over her, considering her for a long and tense spell. A wisp of purple energy traveled down his arm, gathering in his palm. It happened in a blink, coming and going, dissipating before Mathias could see for certain what the king had done.

It startled Anduin enough to make him stumble backward. Shaw felt Jaina’s eyes upon him, and he glanced her way. If he was rattled before, the fear etched upon Jaina’s brow shook him to the core. Anduin winced, breathing hard, shaking out his hand before leaning back against the wall. Shaw knew better than to be staring when the king’s eyes began to roam their faces for a reaction.

So.. you know... He hasn't been great for a while.

Also, just considering it now, when Anduin winces and shakes out his hand after calling on the void, is that implying that the Light/Divine Bell hurt him for it? Cuz that's what it reads like to me 🤔

And if the Light has left him, does the Bell still bother him? Or is that gone too? Questions questions.

#anduin wrynn #shadow's rising #warcraft #jaina proudmoore #seriously tho every single time we go in Anduin's head in that book he is drowninggg #i could have added so many more excerpts #like theres one time anduin is thinking about some random kid he met once #and hes like yea hes probably dead and he probably died horrifically as ppl do #maybe being king again would be very bad actually #mine

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juletheghoul · 2 years

Text

Vignette

AN: I decided to test myself by creating a writing challenge for myself, and it turned into this. It also helped that House of the Dragon has put me into an Oberyn mood. Quick thank you to my girl @wheresarizona for the amazing moodboard and for her general awesomeness as well as my wifey @foli-vora for letting me bombard her with this. Hope you enjoy xox.

Pairing; coded as Oberyn Martell x f!reader - (no use of his name, this could be read as a choose your own character)

Warnings; piv sex (wrap it up), fingering, dirty talk, implied heartbreak, Creampie, pornographic photography, let me know if I missed anything

Word count; 3.8k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist

----

He was intense, but not in an intentional way-it seemed to go way beyond that.

Maybe it was his gaze, the way you knew instinctively that he saw everything, saw your sad smile and your nervously fidgeting hands. He saw the spectre of heartbreak that curled around you like smoke, the invisible weight that on a bad day- affected your very posture.

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable, nothing will happen for now, I’d like to start by talking about what will happen today.” He gestured to the middle of his almost decadent space, the soft lilt in his voice reassuring. It was small, and filled with treasures, endless framed pictures and artworks hung in no discernible pattern on the emerald green wall. There was a massive rattan basket chair filled with cushions and plush blankets in a corner, the fading sunlight streaming in through the window would make the pictures taken there gorgeous.

“Sure, just anywhere?” You set down your bag and stood beside the chair, pausing to admire the lush plants in the space.

“In the chair would be wonderful, we’ll most likely begin there.” He had a table set up opposite the chair, on that table were a few cameras and lenses, what you imagined were boxes of film along with a stool he now moved to sit across from you. He paused before taking his seat- “Can I offer you something to drink? I have bottled water as well as a few different kinds of tea, I could make coffee?” He stood, head tilted.

“Um - water would be great, thank you.” You sank into the chair, slightly surprised at how comfortable it was.

I suppose it would have to be for this sort of thing.

“I uh- I’ve never done anything like this before.” You tried to laugh a bit, but it sounded disingenuous, instead resorting to a small smile when he handed you the water bottle.

“That’s okay- it’s a little unorthodox but my clients have been very happy with the results.” He sits finally, his body language conveying how comfortable he is. “I’ve booked you as my only appointment today so there’s no time limit, I pulled out quite a bit of film so don’t worry about running out or having to get the perfect shot, your only job today is to be yourself and forget about the camera.” He grabs a mug from a small table, it steams and the smell of jasmine fills the air. “For obvious reasons, I don’t use digital cameras. The pictures I take are only hard copy, any and all negatives you either take with you, or I keep in my private collection and you have my guarantee that they don’t end up anywhere but my portfolio. Now-” He smiles, his lively brown eyes bore into yours in a way that makes your heart race slightly. “-any questions for me?” He sips at his tea again, his attention solely focused on you.

“Oh-” You’d had a few questions on the way over but sitting there, in the plush chair opposite this handsome, comforting man they were hard to get a grasp of. You took a sip of the water to stall while you gathered your thoughts. “How long do these sessions usually take?”

“It varies, really depends on the person or people-” Your eyes widened and he smiled warmly. “You’d be surprised to know a lot of my clients are married or long term couples, people who want to document their intimacy, in a tasteful way. Professional more like, it’s hard to take nudes sometimes.” He laughs and you join. It made sense, an ex of yours had convinced you to record once and the whole experience had ended in laughter. “I also do regular portraits, I do regular boudoir shoots, intimacy shots, tasteful nudity and even some not so tasteful stuff. I capture whatever the client wants to capture and sometimes - I even join in. It’s all a matter of comfort.”

Your eyebrows rose into your hairline and all at once you imagined how he’d kiss, how his facial hair would feel on your face, on your breasts and on your thighs. You took a deep, steadying breath.

“Have you or one of your clients ever stopped a session?” You fiddled with the fringed edge of the cushion beside you.

“Yes, I’ve had a client say they wanted to stop because their heart wasn’t in it - they came back a few days later and the second shoot turned out noticeably better. I have had to stop a session with a couple because I wasn’t comfortable with what they wanted me to document. It happens, we’re only humans and I try not to judge anyone too harshly. I will check in with you constantly.” You nodded along, curious as to what could have made him cancel mid-appointment. “I feel like there is something you aren’t saying.”

“Am I that transparent?” His eyes had a way of holding your gaze, of drawing you in despite the heat crawling up your neck.

“I pride myself in my ability to read people, it makes me good at my job.” He smiled as he sat there, cross-legged and completely at ease.

“Well, you aren’t what I imagined, I mean to say- you aren’t what I pictured when we spoke over the phone.” And he wasn’t, he looked like some lost emperor, his face regal, his movements elegant. This was a man who was in total control of his body.

“Am I an improvement? Or a disappointment?” His voice was neutral, a twinkle in his eye- an understanding that he could read the answer in your fidgeting.

“I think you know.” A nervous laugh fills the room from both of you and suddenly you understand why clients would ask him to join.

“I think I do as well, but words are paramount- I need you to communicate with me if this will work.” He set his cup down and stood, reaching over for the first camera as he smiled. “Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen- but if there is something you want, you must open that pretty mouth and say it out loud.” He slid some film into his camera before moving the stool away, his eyes back on you. “Shall we begin?” His eyes shine with mischief and you find yourself excited to start.

Here goes nothing.

“Yes I’m ready.” You do your best to make sure you’re presentable, your hands briefly fussing at your hair before they straighten out the simple dress you’d chosen while he goes about moving your bag out of the frame.

“Lovely. First I’m going to just have you get comfortable in that chair, your first instinct will be to pose and I want you to try to fight that, just make the space your own and I will find what I’m looking for.” He fluffs a few floor pillows as he speaks, moves some things around while you do your best to follow his instructions.

It was hard to ignore the camera though, hard not to think of how you’ll show up in the picture, what parts of your body will be highlighted and whether it’ll be flattering or not.

“Pretend you've come here at the end of the day. To this space to unwind. There is no rush, the hard part of the day is through.” His voice is so rich, so calming and you close your eyes to picture it. “Time to relax, to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine.” Your legs draw up close to your body, making yourself as small as you can. “Perfect, move blankets, move pillows, make yourself at home and I’ll adjust things. Keep your eyes closed and don’t mind my hands.” You feel them then, warm and soft on your thigh when he straightens the fabric of your dress.

The camera's shutter isn’t as loud as you’d imagined it would be - not as jarring as you’d thought it would be, instead you imagine yourself at home; imagine yourself in bed.

The soft pad of his thumb smooths your eyebrow slowly, smooths the worry out of your face silently before the soft shutter sounds again, closer now but it doesn’t matter. The camera isn’t there, instead you focus on your breathing, deep breaths in as well as out.

Soft fingertips trace the line of your jaw, tipping your face towards the window and it feels like his fingers are charged with something. A sparkling path burned into the places he brushes that bloom and spread throughout your person. He hums in approval, more shutters and it's so much easier than you would have thought.

One hand slides under your neck like silk for a moment before a pillow is placed underneath, shifting you half onto your back now and it raises your chest, opens you up to the light streaming in around you, calls to mind the classic paintings of the female form and if you hadn’t been so at ease with him you might have laughed.

“Lovely, let’s hold here a moment.” His voice has dropped into something smoky, something simmering under the skin; nothing in the world could let you disobey a voice like that.

More soft shutters.

“Beautiful.”

He’s moving, the sounds come from behind the chair and you try to imagine what it would look like for him, is he taking a picture through the rattan? Does the chair's shadow look like netting?

He’s in front of you again, your ears prickle and track his movements and your heart leaps to feel his hands slide up the soft skin of your thighs.

“May I see more of your skin?” His hands rest on your knees, you nod and a soft breath escapes when he pulls the fabric up to show more of your legs, when his fingers undo a button at your cleavage. “You’re doing wonderfully.” You take another deep, steadying breath and within a moment soft music fills the space, further alleviating the nerves keeping you stiff.

“Much better.” He says it almost to himself but you know he sees your body become more pliant, sees the stiffness in your limbs bleed out into the comfortable nest he's created, all of it infused with the scent of Jasmine and oud and bergamot -the smell of him.

Your lip slips between your teeth at the thought of his mouth tracing the same paths as his fingers-

“Wait, bite your lip for me once more.” His thumb presses at the plush of it, coaxing it slowly back into your mouth- your nipples harden to feel his thumb there, the soft shutters sounding before he’s moved his thumb away and the thought of it being captured makes your cunt ache. “Such a lovely sight my sweet.” There is a smile in his voice, you know he sees through you- sees your visceral reaction when he slides his fingers softly down the curve of your throat, down past your collarbones to rest where another button keeps you hidden.

He sees, and he waits, waits for the words he warned must come all the while the shutters continue to sound and he patiently documents your slow, curated descent into a lustful madness.

“Out loud.” His finger traces soft patterns at the base of your throat, waiting until you open your eyes and breathe out a yes.

He smiles and undoes a few more buttons, his focus now on the skin on display for him, the rise and fall of your chest, the goosebumps that raise in his wake and he moves again. Makes himself comfortable at your feet and your heart races in anticipation.

The camera dangles from his neck as his hands move slowly, tracing up your thighs until the fabric bunches and pools at your waist, until he sees the no-doubt noticeable damp spot between your legs. Your heartbeat races, thumping loudly in your ears as he pulls your legs apart, thrums steadily in your cunt the longer he stares and then he leaves you there - open to his gaze while the shutters sound and he takes pictures of your ruined underwear.

It’s hard not to tense up, hard not to scream from the tension thick enough to slice through permeating every inch of space between you.

“Very lovely - I could photograph you all day like this.” He fiddles with the lens before placing his hand onto the meat of your thigh, the sheer size of it makes you almost pant but you don’t, instead you take another deep breath, take a moment to yourself to calm down. But you can’t calm down, his proximity, his smell, his warm breath ghosting across your heated skin makes it impossible to do anything but melt and burn for him.

“What-” Your voice almost cracks but you steady yourself. “What do your clients usually say, when they ask you to join?” You feel the heat crawling up your neck when his gaze returns to your face, a knowing smile.

“They tell me exactly what they want me to do my sweet. If they want me to kiss them-” He dips his head and presses his lips to your knee and your mouth drops open. “If they want me to touch them-” His palm slides across your inner thigh and then he presses it against the whole of your cunt. “Is that what you want? You want me to touch you?” He doesn’t move, doesn’t alter his pressure and it feels like your body is vibrating with want.

“I can feel the heat coming off you.” He takes another picture and for a moment you can do nothing but swallow thickly. Your body is a live wire and it takes everything in you not to shake, all of it made harder still with your hands pressed into your thighs, the flesh of which spills through your fingers in your will to keep them open.

“Yes.” It comes out as almost a whisper and he doesn't react for a moment, instead he searches your face for something while your heart races and races. Finally he moves and pushes the damp fabric away to reveal your glistening heat.

Its his turn to bite his lip now, his focus solely on the slightly parted lips of your sex before moving the camera up to take another picture. His thumb breaches the seam of you to swipe through the arousal flowing freely, collecting it before moving it up to the ripe little berry of your clit.

It’s wanton the way he looks at you, deeply erotic and you’d be hard pressed to ever remember feeling this aroused- this desired. With every delicious swirl of his thumb your slick flows, the fire of arousal burning bright within every fibre of your being.

Shutters sound as he keeps up his assault, swirling swirling swirling until he dips into your heat again, wetting his thumb in you and all you can do is pant, hold your legs open and pray that he doesn’t stop.

“Look at you, ripe as a peach.” He pulls away and you almost cry, a whimper leaves your mouth as you watch him lick his thumb clean with an almost disrespectful gleam in his eye. “Bursting with honey for me.” A pained sigh escapes you now as he dips his thumb again and this time, he strokes with a purpose - tight circles until the coil snaps and you come with a cry. Again the shutters sound but he gives you no respite, two thick fingers spear into the fluttering clutch of your cunt, thick and scissoring you open for his eyes and his lense and it's so much you can barely think straight.

The orgasm only served to skyrocket your need for him, making you feel almost unhinged.

“I want you.” You reach out your hand and press your fingers to your clit, he smiles and focuses on where your hands almost touch. His splitting you open, your smaller one sweeping over your clit.

“I like this- show me how you like to touch yourself my sweet.” He crooks his fingers inside and touches something white hot while you obey. Your other hand pulls the last few buttons of your neckline open to pinch at a nipple and it’s so good you can barely hear anything over your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“That's it, you’re doing so well, so wet.” The sounds coming from between your legs are obscene, the wet plunge of his fingers, the shutter of his camera and all too soon you're clenching around his fingers, pushing at them slightly when he doesn’t stop.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” He pressed another kiss to your thigh before licking you off his fingers.

He stands and turns from you, replacing the used film - a dreamy smile creeps onto your face to see him adjusting the sizeable bulge at his crotch. In that moment, as your skin tingles and your arousal flows you almost laugh at the thought of any and all trepidation you’d had over this appointment.

“How do you want me?” You sit up to rest on your elbows while he removes his soft linen shirt, grateful at the golden skin on display now. “Will there be a tripod or something?” You look around momentarily, wondering about the logistics.

“I don’t use them, the pictures are never the same but I would love to have you on your knees- if you’d like that.” He comes to stand before you - letting you decide how you want this to go.

“So you won’t be in the pictures?” You pout slightly before pulling the dress off completely.

“Parts of me will be, my hands, my cock, I want you to be the focus.” He brings his thumb up to swipe at your bottom lip, pressing into it softly, he smiles when you take it into your mouth and you hope your expression is sexy when he takes more pictures.

“So we won’t kiss?” You ask after letting go of his thumb with a pop.

“You want me to kiss you?” He pulls you up to stand in front of him so he can run his free hand up and down your arm, stopping briefly to undo your bra.

“Yes.” You stare at his mouth, his lower lip plump and begging to be bitten.

He brushes his nose against yours for a moment before pressing his mouth to yours, his kiss is chaste at first but it quickly turns. His tongue swiping at the seam of your lips begging for entrance which you gladly grant him. He licks into your mouth with purpose, pressing himself as close as he can with the camera hanging by his side. You sigh into his mouth when you feel his huge hand cup the back of your neck and all of a sudden his tongue is almost obscene in your mouth. It’s aggressive and it makes you drip, a frenzy coming through as he licks into your mouth before he's pulling away, leaving you almost drunk.

He places one last kiss on your neck before he guides you to the pillows and blankets set up on the floor.

The rustling of his clothes reaches your ears as he kneels behind you, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours and before he touches you the shutters sound, they sound as his palm presses down on your back. They sound as he grabs a handful of your ass, as he pulls your panties down and off. Sounds still as the weeping head of his cock presses against the curve of your ass.

It’s a heady feeling, to feel him pressed up so close with your pussy dripping in anticipation while he takes his time framing his shots, capturing your desperation for him before you finally feel him coating his thick length in your liquid heat.

He groans as he splits you open on his dick in one smooth stroke, holding himself still as you both catch your breath. Your skin is burning up, arousal coursing through your veins like electricity, everything heightened ten times over as the shutters sound behind you.

He rocks slowly, gliding into your soaked cunt over and over, your slick drips out around him as he pulls you apart. You lift your head to stare back at him over your shoulder, seeing him photograph himself entering you and it pulls a throaty moan out of you. He points the camera at you, capturing the no doubt cockdumb expression on your face before he puts it down beside him.

His pace speeds up and it feels like he's battering against your womb, his hands slips around and he pulls you up close. Your back meets the solid wall of his chest and now he holds your breasts with both hands, nipples pinched gloriously between his fingers.

“I wish I could photograph you like this.” He spits the words out into your ear, his panting breath pushing you closer towards the release you're desperate for, the pressure of it blooming in your core.

“Make me come-“ Your fingers reach for him, threading through his fine black waves. “Please, please make me come.” He growls at your words and then his fingers are gliding against your clit. “Yes, right there-“ A truly filthy moan fills the air as you clench around his length.

“There you go sweetling, that’s good, gonna fill you to the brim-“ he grunts with the effort of his fucking into you, his pace growing eratic and after a handful more he seizes- pressing you both forward, he replaces his heavy thrusts with a deep grinding against the plush swell of your ass.

There is sweat beading in your hairline, heat radiating from your face where it's pressed against the crushed velvet of his pillow. He presses a few kisses to your spine before pulling out with a hiss and suddenly he's turning you over to lay on your back. He moves the pillows and blankets before opening your legs and raising your knees to inspect your still-fluttering pussy.

“Stay just like that my sweet, just like that, I want a picture of that gorgeous little cunt full of my come.” He moves pausing to press kisses to your neck on his journey south, again to lick at one stiffened nipple, then the second. He stares at you briefly, his gaze glued to where you can feel him slowly leaking out. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He grabs the camera and takes his pictures, some up close, others with his hand on your thigh and finally- with his fingers pushing into the wet clutch of your puffy, filled pussy.

“You'll have to come back for another session. So many other pictures I’d like to take.” He spreads his fingers inside, somehow making you ache for him again.

“I think we should take more right now.” You pull his fingers from between your legs, and stick them in your mouth - relishing the pained look on his face.

“Oh yes, we’re nowhere near done.”

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jxtina-86 · 1 year

Text

Bound To You

You always know exactly what I want, even if I don't know it myself. Seth/Siobhan See here for the rest of the series/order to read.

Warning: Language/Smut incl. Bondage

Rating: MA

The apartment door closes behind me and I lean against it with a sigh. Home.

My purse slides down my arm and I catch the handle at the last second, slinging my keys inside before I dump it on the floor. My blazer is next as I move away from the door towards the bedroom, stripping as I go, desperate to get in the shower and clean off the travel stink that clings to me. By the time I reach the bathroom, I'm down to my bra and panties, my fingers tugging at my hairband. Minutes later, my eyes closed as the water beats down on my face, soaking my hair.

The only thing missing is Seth. I could really do with his arms curling around me right now, his chin on my shoulder as he whispers in my ear. His days off are few and far between at the moment. And when we get them, we strangle the life out of them, clinging to each other as the hours race past and I'm struggling to keep it together as I watch him pack his bag for another stretch on the road. It doesn't matter how long we've been together, it never gets any easier.

I sometimes wonder what I would do without friends like Lex and Becca. Even though we're displaced all over the country, there's something comforting in knowing that I'm not alone. All three of us know what it's like to devote time and effort to a man that's hardly ever in the same city, let alone the same apartment as us. We know what it's like to sustain a relationship using any means possible, whether that's phone calls, texts or just our imaginations. I never realised how much I'd need that support network – I thought I was as independent as they come, but even the most independent of us need a little help along the way.

I watched Lex do this for a long time before Seth and I gave it a go. Her resilience is admirable and I constantly questioned if I had the same determination to see this through. I couldn't imagine getting into a relationship with someone I would hardly see.

Somehow Seth changed my mind. And I don't regret it for one second. Even when the going gets tough, something pushes me to fight for what we have. I've realised why Lex was so hell bent on making it work with Roman. Because I want the same thing to happen with Seth. Life without him just isn't an option anymore. The thought makes my heart pound nervously, my throat tightening as I imagine what that would be like.

I blink away the stream of water, pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind. But it won't stop them from creeping up on me again. I'm still scared. Scared that I'm going to fuck this up again. I came so close before and even though it was months ago, it still hangs over me, constantly taunting me. It's an ever present reminder of not only how much of a bitch I can be, but how forgiving Seth is. If the roles were reversed, I wonder if I could forgive as easily as he did. I was astounded by the way he brushed the whole incident aside. He never once let it come back to bite me in the ass, though I'm sure I gave him enough reason to at the time.

But I guess that's what love is. Knowing when to forgive and forget. And to be fair, the whole incident has made us stronger, made us more determined to make this work. Without it, maybe we wouldn't be here today. Maybe I wouldn't be in the process of moving the last boxes from my apartment. Maybe I wouldn't be spending my weekends unpacking and fitting my own possessions amongst his.

I took the plunge and gave notice on my old apartment two weeks ago. Just like he'd done all those months ago, Seth managed to convince me that this worth a shot, despite of my fears. I don't know if I will ever rid myself of those fears, but with him, anything seems possible. But now, I have no safety net. Now I'm clinging to him, grasping at the promises he made to me in that hotel room and praying that I don't fall. Or at least, I don't fall without him.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I pause as my fingers brush against my lips. I can't help the small smile that graces my face as I pull back my hands and stare at one finger in particular. The feeling of his lips pressed against the base still remains with me. The sincerity in his eyes and voice sent a shiver down my spine and even the memory still causes my skin to tingle today. His words hung in the air as I struggled to think what to say in response. His fingers slid between mine, tugging my arm up and over his shoulder as he moved closer, his forehead resting against mine as he repeated his words.

“One day.”

Despite the path of our conversation, I never once thought it would end in him promising me that. Scrap that – it's more like, in spite of our conversation, he still promised me that. After all, I had essentially told him that I didn't know if I wanted marriage or children. Yet there he as, still offering me that if I wanted it.

And I meant what I said. I wasn't saying no. I just needed time to think it through.

I'm barely getting my head around Lex and Roman's news. Whilst I'm beyond pleased for them both, there is a tiny tremor of uncertainty. I barely see Lex as it is. Add a baby into the mix and that leaves very little time for other things and Roman has to come first. I get that. I really do. But I don't want to lose my friend.

I feel sick with selfishness, frowning at myself for even thinking these thoughts. But that's what happens. I've seen it before with colleagues – a baby comes into their lives and those without cease to exist in their world. Things they once had in common are irrelevant and the conversation dries up. It can happen so easily, even for those friends who live in the same city. Lex and I barely scrape enough time for a text or phone call and we only seem to see each other when our paths cross at shows.

Yet when I see her, I forget that it's been weeks or months. We slip back into the same old routine, the familiar back and forth. Only last time, when I was back to sort out my apartment and she was visiting her mom, there was a visible bump on display, her hand caressing it tenderly as she joked and laughed. She glowed too. It was the same old Lex, just with an extra kick. It gave me hope that nothing will change.

Although maybe it will, but in a good way. Maybe it'll make me realise that I want that with Seth too. It astounded me that he thought about our future. Call me naïve but I didn't think guys thought that way. Rightly or wrongly, I thought that if anyone would be starting to have those thoughts, it would be me. But no, we swap roles and I'm the one who freaks out at the mention of getting serious.

We haven't spoken about it since. It was like we both made a conscious effort to not let things get too serious the next day. He snuck in a workout before I woke up and then we didn't leave the hotel room until absolutely necessary. I barely made it to the airport in time for my flight back to Iowa. It felt good to just have a day of nothing. Well, nothing mixed into never-ending kisses and slow, teasing touches that escalated more than once.

I feel like we need more of that. More of the slow. More of the gentle. Everything is always so rushed and heated. We're too frantic for our own good, racing to push each other to climax so we can start over again and again until there is no more time left. I love when we leave the apartment. It reminds me what it was like at the beginning, when everything was still fresh and new, that part of a relationship where you're always discovering something new about the other person. I like sitting in bars with him, watching him out of the corner my eye and wondering how I ended up so fucking lucky. I like the way his hand will always find mine without even looking, how his fingers will always brush against my thigh at least once under the table if we're at dinner. I love how when I get up to go to the bathroom or go to the bar for more drinks, I can feel his eyes watching me go. I love how on the way back to the car, he'll always try to steal kisses from me, pressing me up against the car itself, too eager for his own good.

I shut off the shower, a warm glow spreading through me as I remember that tomorrow I will have all of that in real life, not just in my head. And due to his recent hectic schedule, I'm fortunate enough to get him for longer than usual – extra vacation days a reward for his hard work and my patience. He suggested going away, escaping for a few days but I'd rather just be here. I like waking up in our bed together, I like wandering around the apartment and hearing his voice and seeing his bare back as he brews coffee and then sneaks his arms around me for a morning kiss. And sure, we can do that anywhere, but it always feels more luxurious here than elsewhere. Because whilst for some, that would be a regular, everyday occurrence, for me it isn't. And I savour the moments that we get to be normal.

My phone rings as I exit the bathroom and I have to run back to the lounge to extract it from my purse. I can't help the wide grin as I see his name flash up on the screen.

“Hey,” I answer, breathlessly.

“Sounds like I caught you at a bad time,” he chuckles.

“Is your mind always in the gutter, Rollins?”

“Don't act like you don't love it,” he shoots back as I head back to the bedroom.

“Fine, you got me,” I laugh. “Hate to spoil your fun, but you rang just as I got out of the shower.”

“That ain't spoiling my fun, sweetheart,” he drawls with another chuckle. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

I sit on the bed, lying back on the soft sheets as I chew my lip for a second, toying with whether to provoke or tease him. “Showering is only fun when you're with me.”

“Damn straight.” He pauses and I distinctly hear him lick his lips. My thighs instantly tighten, a cool shiver floating down my spine as he takes a shallow breath. “I just can't keep my hands to myself when you're all naked and wet.”

“I really hope you're alone right now.”

There's another pause. “I can be.”

“Seth!”

“What?” I can almost hear the cocky grin spreading across his face. “I'm messing with you.”

“So, you rang me. What's up?”

“Just checking in. So, are you really naked and wet?”

“Seth...”

“See, I got this image of you in my head now and I can't seem to shift it.”

“Se–”

“And you answering the phone all breathless and saying my name over and over again... Well, that ain't helping either, sweetheart,” he continues, his voice gaining an all too familiar rasp. The sound that creeps into his tone when he's crawling over me or scooping me back into his lap from behind. “Fuck, I've missed you.”

“Missed you too,” I whisper. “I was thinking of you earlier.”

“Yeah?”

“In the shower,” I admit. All thoughts of why he was originally calling have gone. I don't know if this was his intention or a happy coincidence but that voice of his is fucking with my mind and body.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“Like you say, it's more fun when you're with me.”

“How so?”

I close my eyes and think back to the last time he joined me in there. I swallow thickly as I realise it was probably one of the last times we saw each other before this stretch apart. The morning that he left in fact. We both had early starts that day, both heading to the airport but on flights to opposite sides of the country. He'd reached past me for the shower gel and I had pulled his arm around me before I could stop myself.

“Siobhan,” he prompts softly and I wonder if he's realised why I've gone quiet.

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yes,” I say, the single word forced from my mouth before my real emotions can betray me.

He chuckles quietly. “You tasted so damn sweet that morning.”

My stomach flips.

“You think I haven't been replaying that morning over and over again?” he continues. “Fuck, sweetheart, it's what's been keeping me going for the last few weeks. The thought of coming home, crawling over you... Down you... Eating you...”

I bite back the moan that's threatening to break loose, only to let out a wanton whimper instead as I remember twisting in his arms, pulling his mouth to mine. My fingers tangled in his wet hair as he backed me up against the shower wall, his hands skimming over my sides to squeeze my hips, my ass. His dick was already hard against my stomach as I curled one leg around his thigh and brazenly humped, silently willing him to fuck me hard and fast.

But he took his sweet time. A cocky grin gracing his face as he pulled back and pushed my arms above my head, holding them in place with one hand as his other slipped between my legs. He made a big show of licking his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he moaned at the taste.

My mind is starting to fuzz, Seth's voice distant as I remember his mouth on my breasts, my stomach, my thigh. His hand gripping my leg as he pushed it over his shoulder, his breath hot against my clit. Every lick, suck, nip was slow and controlled. It was torture, my grip on his head tightening with every teasing stroke he made with his tongue.

“... Not this time though...” Seth's voice cuts into my thoughts.

“Not this time?” I question hesitantly, not willing to give away the fact that I've been day-dreaming about that morning rather than listen to him tell me what his plans are for us tomorrow.

This time there's a slight edge to his chuckle, an edge that makes my thighs clamp together as heat starts to pool in my stomach. “This time I'm not giving up so easily.”

“Giving up?” I frown at the ceiling.

“I'm not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not matter how much you want me to.”

“I...”

“I'm gonna pin those fucking legs to the bed and eat you out until you scream yourself hoarse.”

Fuck.

“Pin down those hands of yours too,” he adds, the sly grin that's blatantly gracing his face obvious in his tone. “No way are you gonna be able to stop me, sweetheart.”

“Seth...” I manage to exhale, squirming on the bed, desperately trying to keep my nerve as the thought of my thighs on his shoulders clouds my mind, his hands gripping mine as his hair tickles my skin whilst his tongue slowly laps at my entrance.

“That sound good?” He whispers breathlessly and I wonder what he's doing. The thought of him fisting his dick as he talks to me causes that previously held back moan to finally break free. He laughs darkly in response. “I take that as a yes, sweetheart.”

My tongue darts across my dry lips as I stammer out my agreement.

“We ain't leaving that bed for a long time,” he whispers, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone than before. But not for long. A deep chuckle rumbles through the phone. “Well, at least I'm gonna make damn sure you can't.”

My mind, which has until this point been working at breakneck speed, suddenly screeches to a halt. “What do you mean?”

“That would be telling, sweetheart. You really want me to spoil the surprise?”

I pout at the ceiling, my stubbornness fighting to the surface. “You don't play fair, Rollins.”

“There was a time where you didn't play fair either.”

I frown for a second, before realisation dawns on me. “I gave you what you wanted in the end. And don't deny that you didn't enjoy every second of the build up.”

“I told you I'd get my revenge one day,” he reminds me. “And you know revenge is best served cold.”

“Ice cold in your case,” I shoot back. “That happened almost a year ago.”

“And I've never forgotten it. You sliding all over me, your fucking ass bouncing in my face... On my dick...” He lets out a soft groan at the memory and I'm right there with him.

He makes me feel like a fucking goddess at the best of the times, but that was probably the one time I felt like one even before he saw me. I remember standing in the bathroom, staring at my reflection, watching my hand shaking as I took a long sip of wine. I remember wondering why the hell was I doing this, why couldn't I just think of a regular anniversary gift rather than doing something so stupid. And then I took the plunge, opened the door and my nerves vanished with one look from Seth. The entire time he was shifting in his chair, his hands scraping along his thighs, swallowing thickly as I taunted him with my movements. Heat radiated from his skin as I touched him and his kiss was searing at the end, his words rough, his touch determined as he showed me exactly what effect I had on him.

“And I've never forgotten that I was due some payback for that as well.”

“Well, you've had enough time to think about it,” I tease with a grin. “This better be worth the wait.”

“Trust me, it will.”

There's a brief pause. Down the line, there's a loud knock at a door, a muffled voice calling through, followed by a muttered 'shit' from Seth.

“I gotta go,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Some people have impeccable timing.”

“Go,” I tell him. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

I can practically hear the grin that spreads across his face. “Can't wait, sweetheart.”

“I love you,” I whisper as I hear him stand, a chair scraping across the floor.

“Love you too, sweet dreams.”

Silence. I stare at the phone in my hand, his singular image replaced by one of the two of us taken down in Tampa whilst stopping over at Lex and Roman's. I'm perched on Seth's lap as we sit in the backyard, my face scrunched up with laughter, my nose pressed against his cheek as he pulls a face at the camera. He has one hand around my waist, his fingers disappearing under the hem of my shirt, the other casually caressing my bare leg. I shiver at the thought of his calloused fingers dragging across my skin tomorrow.

I close my eyes and I'm right there in the hallway, pinned against the wall in a never-ending kiss, his hands pushing under my shirt as I claw at his arms, his hair, his neck, anchoring him to me in anyway possible. I bite my lip in anticipation.

Sweet dreams indeed.

The sheets and blankets hug me close as I twist beneath them, my eyes remaining forcibly shut as I fight the urge to wake up. I snuggle deeper into the bed, my head burying between the pillows as I breathe in deeply and catch a faint whiff of Seth's aftershave. A small smile tugs at my lips, my mind starting to slip back into slumber. My leg automatically shifts as I'm pulled into a world where he's already lying beside me and said leg is curling over his, waiting for his hand to brush against my knee and rock me slowly onto my side where he can claim my mouth in a lazy, breathless kiss.

A soft click disturbs my dream and I frown into the pillow as the image of Seth disappears and is replaced by the harsh reality that I'm waking up alone. I curse early rising neighbours as I open one eye and cast a bleary look towards the curtains which are slowly turning lighter from the rising sun.

A rustle beyond the bedroom door makes me freeze. I hold my breath as the rustling sounds moves closer, the door creaking quietly. My heart is pounding, my brain fighting with my nerves as I somersault from one thought to another as I sense someone behind me, next to the bed, staring down at me as I hide beneath the sheets.

Cool air slides across my neck as the sheets are slowly tugged from my grasp. A familiar scent invades my senses and my fear immediately subsides.

“Seth! What the fuck?!” I twist furiously to face him, but I only catch a glimpse of his arm, tanned and muscular, before his large hand slides over my eyes. “What the–”

His chuckles sends a shiver down my spine. “Good morning to you too.”

My hand scrambles against his, tugging at his fingers, but he refuses to let them slip from my face. “What's with the creeping?” I scowl into the darkness.

“I wasn't creeping. I didn't realise you were awake.” His warm breath tickles my cheek. “I was planning to wake you up in a very different way...”

His lips brush against mine, slow and purposeful. The hand still remains over my eyes, shielding my view as I feel the sheets being pushed away, the cool air hitting my bare breasts. I try to help him, desperate to feel him, all of him, pressed against me. But my assistance is refused, my hands knocked softly back onto the mattress.

I feel him shift above me, his jean-clad thigh brushing against my side, the roughness making me twitch, my body involuntarily twisting away. But rather than a sighed frown, my response makes him snicker and his fingers rub soothingly against my temple as he continues to block my vision with his palm.

“What did I tell you last night?” His voice has that same rasp from our late night conversation and my body reacts in the same way it did then, my thighs pressing together as he continues to drag the sheets down my legs, my nipples tightening slightly and not from the cool air alone. “Sweetheart...”

I swallow hard, trying to remember, but it's so damn hard with his other hand trailing from my ankle to my knee. “You're... You're not going to stop...”

“That's right,” he praises. “And what else?”

Something cool brushes across my stomach. The tip of it teases around my bellybutton and I gasp as it dips inside, my hips pressing into the mattress as I try and fail to squirm out of reach.

“What else?” Seth prompts.

It's silk – the softness gives it away as a large strip of the material flutters across my ribcage, heading north for a second before casually changing direction and curling under my breasts and back down to my stomach.

“I... I won't be able to stop you,” I stammer as the silk trails over my hip, my thigh, between my legs... A quiet curse leaves my lips. There's a pause and then the silk repeats its path. Again. And again.

“Anything else?” He murmurs as the silk drags back up my stomach, between my breasts, tickling my throat.

“You...” I start, but the rest of my sentence is lost in surprise as his hand slips from my eyes. I catch a brief sight of him as I blink in the light, only managing to note that he's shirtless and the top button of his jeans is undone, the dark trail of hair winking at me before my sight is cut off for good.

He leans over me, cupping my head as he ties the scarf, his touch gentle as he lowers me back onto the pillows.

“You okay?” he murmurs in my ear, fingers pushing my hair away from my neck.

“Yes,” I breathe back.

“Not too tight?” he questions as he traces my cheeks with his fingertips. I shake my head, my own hands coming up to adjust the scarf ever so slightly before he engulfs them in his larger ones.

A soft whimper escapes me as he presses his lips to my fingertips, his thumbs running over my palms and across my wrists as he does.

“So what else did I tell you?” he prompts once again.

“Pin my legs to the bed.”

“And?”

“My... my hands,” I groan as his lips brush against my wrists.

“Right.” My hands are pushed back, his grip firm as he pushes them above my head, unfurling my fingers and then wrapping them around the vertical slats of the headboard. “Stay there.”

I feel him move from the bed, feet padding across the bedroom. A drawer sliding open and closed. There's a pause and then the sound of a zipper being undone and I fail to hold back the soft whine. A quiet laugh drifts through the air and I scowl in response.

The foot of the bed dips and my legs naturally shift wider to accommodate him. A hand presses just above my knee, widening them still. The other hand... Fuck.

The cold metal makes me jump. My hands grip the headboard tighter and I hiss loudly as he slides the handcuffs up my leg. The chain clinks together as he adjusts his hold and lets the two cuffs drift over my hip. He straddles my thighs, his bare legs tight against mine, restricting my movements as lays the cuffs on my stomach for a second. His finger circles the restraints, tickling my skin at the same time before I feel his arms rest either side of my head and the warmth from his chest as he hovers above me.

“We can stop anytime,” he reassures as he nuzzles my neck. “Just tell me, okay?”

I nod. “I'm okay.”

His lips pucker into a smile against my skin as he reaches between us and tugs the handcuffs further up my body. The chain clips my nipple and my back arches, another hiss slipping from my lips as I hear one cuff click open. My wrist is captured a second later, the long chain winding through the headboard as he reaches for my other hand and snaps the second cuff into place.

“Much better,” he says and I can almost picture the smirk on his face, his head titled to one side as he surveys me, bound and blinded and completely at his mercy. My fingers feel along the chain, noting its slack and how, as my wrists slide inside the cuffs, I could probably pull my hands free if I wanted. I wonder if its a deliberate move on his part or a happy coincidence in his choice of restraints.

The tips of his fingers stroke my wrists, slowly working their way down my extended arms. They pause half way down, barely-there circles around the inside of my elbows which makes me shiver yet crave more of his gentle touch. I wonder how long the slow will last. Judging by his promises yesterday, I'm in for the long haul. But I have no place I'd rather be than right here, waiting for his next move as his fingers dance down the remaining length of my arms to my shoulders.

A small whimper slips from me as his lips make contact with my neck. He lingers on the edges of spots that he knows drive me wild. No matter how much I twist and turn my head, he refuses to give in, nudging me back to my original position where he can torture me easily.

“Seth...” I groan as the tip of his tongue traces along my collarbone, avoiding the sensitive skin just above it that he usually loves to suck and bite.

“All in good time,” he murmurs in response. “I'll get you there, I promise.”

His words, no matter how well intended, do little to satisfy my cravings. I let go of a frustrated whine, frowning as he pulls back completely.

“Patience,” he reminds me, a hand coming to cup my chin and I can feel his warm breath on my lips as he finally closes the gap between us and his mouth claims my own. He tastes of coffee and chocolate, presumably from his early morning breakfast and I desperately wish there was enough give in the chain so that I could at least run my fingers through his hair as he teases my mouth. His lips slip from mine and he starts to press open-mouthed kisses to my neck.

I hold my breath in anticipation as he makes his way around to the sweet spot just below my right ear. Once again, he pauses, latching onto the less sensitive skin for a second before...

“Yes,” I hiss, a grin tugging at my lips as he suckles, his lips tight. My back arches, my breasts hitting his bare chest as my fingers curl around the chain once again for leverage. “Please, don't stop.”

He sucks harder, his teeth scraping much to my delight as I curse happily at the never-ending sensation, praying that he won't stop until he leaves a mark. I've got no meetings for at least a week, enough time for marks of our adventures this weekend to fade without trace. But he's soon pulling back, a finger tracing the spot and I know there must at least be a faint bruise.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, his lips brushing across the spot once again before he slides down to my collar bone, nipping at the taut skin.

Fingers edge their way under my breast, running along my ribcage, making me flinch as they hit the ticklish spots that are fully exposed thanks to my position. Back and forth they move, inching higher every so often and then back down, until my breathing is ragged from anticipation and pleas consistently fill the air.

“Seth... Please... I can't... I can't stand... You... Teasing...”

“Don't say things you don't mean,” he responds, his mouth still at my collarbone and I can feel his lips slide up into a small grin. His legs, which until now have been pushing mine further apart, move so that he is straddling my right leg and his thigh slowly pushing against my panty-clad core. “Aw, sweetheart... Seems like you're enjoying this more than you think...”

I feel my cheeks redden as my arousal is completely exposed to him. He's right though. Despite the teasing, the touches that don't quite reach where I want, he still manages to make my skin tingle and my insides clench in expectation.

His lips flutter across my heated cheeks. “Nothing to be ashamed about,” he reassures. “I've always loved how you know what you want. I love how you grab my hand and place it where you want. It's fucking sexy, Siobhan... But you know, sometimes you need to explore a little... You might find that there's something else you like. But you gotta let me show you for once. Let me show you that I know exactly what you want.” His hand gradually engulfs my breast, squeezing softly before pulling back, his fingers pulling at the flesh, until only the tips of his fingers cling to my nipple and he tugs gently before releasing.

I'm gasping for air, straining against the cuffs as my back arches, desperately trying to find his hand once again.

“See?” he whispers as I wantonly grind against his thigh. I can feel him against my hip, his boxers doing little to hide his own arousal. If only I could touch him right now. I want to feel him in my hand, I want to pump my fist around him slowly and see his eyes close as he groans.

“Again,” I beg, moaning loudly as he obliges me with another drawn out grope of my breast. This time his fingers pinch a little harder, making me yelp and then mewl as his tongue carves a path from my neck down between my breasts.

His warm breath makes me shiver as it ghosts over my hard nipple and I grind fervently down on his thigh again as I hear him lick his lips. The tip of his tongue makes never-ending circles, slowly closing in on its prize and I hold my breath as his mouth closes over my nipple, only releasing it with a sigh as he tugs softly.

“Fuck...”

His other hand is teasing my previously neglected breast, his fingers mimicking the pattern of his tongue and mouth. My head feels like its about to explode from sensory overload as he hums around my breast, sending ripples of pleasure through my body. His teeth scrape against the hard tip as he pulls back for a second and I gasp loudly, the handcuffs rattling against the headboard as I strain to push my breast back into his mouth. But all I can feel is cool air hitting the wet tip as he shifts above me and his focus turns to my other breast.

“Just how I like 'em,” he grunts as he finishes teasing with me with his sinful mouth. “Hard... Wet...” He pinches each nipple for emphasis, making me cry out, both my legs wrapping around his thick thigh as I try and push myself closer to the edge.

But he's having none of that. A strong hand grips my left leg and pushes it back onto the bed. “No fucking way,” he murmurs. “You're not gonna get off that easily, sweetheart. I'm gonna take my time, remember? There ain't gonna be any shortcuts, understand?”

A finger curls under my chin, his lips brushing against mine. “Understood?” he repeats and I nod with a whimper. “Good girl.”

I've never felt so vulnerable. I've never felt so charged. It's a weird combination and I'm struggling to understand how it makes me feel. There are many times where he's pinned me to the bed and teased me until I'm on the verge of crying, but this feels different. His words, his actions, whilst they still carry a tenderness that I recognise, there's a hint of something else. It makes me feel dizzy. I have a sudden urge to be praised again, a desperation to show him good I can really be. It's like he's tapping into something I never knew existed within me. It's as if he knows already that his behaviour is having a deeper effect on me than I could even begin to fathom.

Fuck, I love him. I love how he can read me, how he can play with me and push me to places I never thought imaginable, but that I end up craving more of. He has me on the edge already and I can't even begin to imagine where else this is heading. I'm almost at breaking point, my breathing ragged and heavy as his hands fist my breasts again, harder this time, his fingers unforgiving as they pinch and twist, yanking breathless moan after moan from my throat.

His mouth is warm and wet as he sucks on one nipple again and then the other, his fingers spreading the wetness he leaves across my chest before they climb up my neck and slip into my own mouth. I suck fervently, listening to him groan as I scrape my teeth along his fingertips. I inwardly grin at how so small an action can have an effect on him and I'm reminded that this is a two-way street – that despite my predicament, I still have a power over him too.

Hands brush against my sides, fingers curling under my arched back as he bites at my breast. They slip inside the waistband of my panties, causing my hips to buck up as well, my weight balanced between my shoulders and feet. But I smirk as I feel him rub against my hip, a soft curse floating through the air as he grips my ass harder and grinds his length against me.

“I need you,” I tell him. “I need you inside me.”

“Patience,” he groans, but I can tell his resolve is starting to slip, those deliciously sinful hips of his bucking against me as he fights to maintain control over his body. I twist my head in attempt to loosen the blindfold, desperate to see his face, to watch him struggle with his own urges. Watching him come undone is fascinating. I love when I'm on top, staring down at his beautiful face as he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut as I clench my pussy around his dick and ride him hard and slow. I like to bat his hands away as he clamours to hold me down on him so he can thrust up into me instead and reach his climax his own way. Sometimes I let him, but most of the time, I giggle at his frustration, knowing full well it's worth it in the end to see him fist the pillow instead as he jerks beneath me, feeling him pulse inside me as he lets out a long moan, my name punctuating the air.

But not today. Today it's my turn to give myself over to him and let him control what happens to me from here on in. He eases away from my leg, pushing it and the other wider as he settles between them and my breath catches in my throat as his mouth moves away from my breast and his beard starts to tickle my stomach.

He's as slow as ever, open-mouthed kisses pressed to my heated skin as he sinks south, fingers tugging me panties along with him. His tongue swirls around my bellybutton, his hands quick to press me firmly into the mattress as I try to squirm. I'm forced to surrender to the torture, a soft cry tearing from my mouth and my head threatens to burst from the overwhelming frustration.

Sheets rustle as he rises, my legs sliding over his as he pulls me down the bed, the chain tightening, the cuffs digging into my wrists.

“Fuck, you're perfect.”

Tears prick my blinded eyes as I struggle not to break. His hand is running up and down my thigh, a tender stroke that matches the tone of his voice.

“I mean, I always knew I was a lucky fucker to have you in my life, but Christ, Siobhan... You are perfection.” His hand squeezes my hip. “I wish you could see what you look like right now.”

My throat is dry as words escape me before I can stop them. “Take a photo then.”

Seth's hand freezes on my hip. “Are... Are you serious?”

Am I? I don't know. All I can think about is how I want his hand to keep squeezing, how I want him to keep talking. How I want him to describe to me what I look like right now, but better yet, I want to hear the click of a photo being taken when there is nothing I can do to stop it. I want to see, in all its technicolour glory, exactly how I look blindfolded, handcuffed and completely exposed to him.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Please, Seth. I wanna see.”

His hand leaves me and the bed moves beneath me as he steps away. I can hear him scrambling on the floor and then his weight dips the bed again. His hand makes me jump as he cups my face, his thumb brushing against my lip.

“I love you,” I hear him say, but my response catches in my throat. “It's okay,” he breathes against my cheek. “Tell me afterwards.”

He moves back, his hand squeezing my hip again as he presses my legs further apart with his thighs.

Click.

The phone bounces on the floor and I feel his hand curl around my ankle, tugging my leg up so he can rest it on his shoulder. His lips brush against my calf and I whine in frustration as he presses his still confined dick against my aching pussy. He rubs steadily, deliberately, hissing at the wetness that is obviously soaking the material between us.

“You're dripping, sweetheart... Just how I like it. I'm gonna clean you up good and proper,” he groans. “And then make you wet all over again... And again... And again...” He thrusts against me a little harder with every word, his grip on my ankle tightening as my leg threatens to slip from his shoulder.

His tongue blazes a path from my ankle to my knee, his hand slipping to grip my thigh instead, bending my leg back towards me and I can feel his length press against my entrance.

“I'm gonna fuck you hard and slow,” he tells me with authority. “Until you scream for me. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” I hiss as his lips reach the back of my thigh.

“Good girl,” he mumbles against my skin and I have to bite my lip hard to stop myself from... From what, I don't know, but the pain in my lip, the softness of his lips and the grit in his voice is becoming too much to bear. My hips buck against him, my frustration obvious.

Too obvious.

A hand cracks against my ass, squeezing hard. “What did I tell you before?”

Fuck. I can't cope with that bass in his voice. It's too much. I can feel my own juices slipping between my ass cheeks as his hand squeezes again and my head is spinning and I can't find the word I need right now.

“Tell me,” he commands, his fingers digging into my ass roughly.

“Patience,” I manage to squeak.

His fingers sooth my aching flesh, his mouth soft once again on my thigh as he eases my leg wider, pressing it down onto the bed. He shifts above me and I jump as I feel his breath on my stomach once again, his tongue trailing a path south. His beard brushes against my lower abdomen and I fight the urge to raise my hips.

His nose settles against the small triangle of hair, his mouth so close to where I need it the most, warm breath tickling me insane as he inhales deeply.

“You smell divine,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through me as I whimper and whine and mewl in order to let him know how fucking torturous this is.

His hands grip my inner thighs, slowly pushing them wider. My feet scramble on the bed sheets until I give in and let him manoeuvre my legs any which way he wants. My feet leave the bed as he eases my legs up, still bent at the knee, all the while his breath is still hot on my clit, his nose still nuzzling against me and I know that the second his lips touch me, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.

Something cool hits my entrance and I realise with a lurch of my body that he's spat on my pussy. I can feel it sliding over my exposed lips and then I cry out as his tongue slowly starts to lap. A muffled moan makes my back arch and I groan as his forearm slides over my hips and presses me back onto the bed. His hand twists over my pubic bone, his fingers tracing the edges of my entrance as he pulls back the skin and licks from the bottom up, stopping short of my clit.

“Seth!”

He chuckles and I can picture the cocky grin on his face as his fingers spread me wide and he repeats his motion again and again, his tongue eating up my juices just as he promised. I'm a mess already, my body completely restrained now, my sensitive core at his mercy as he swipes that devilish tongue up and down, still avoiding my clit. He pulls back for a second and I can hear him lick his lips, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.

“Delicious,” he mumbles, fingers replacing his tongue as he catches his breath. One finger dips inside me, twisting slightly before retreating.

And then I can smell my scent, his finger brushing against my open mouth, slipping inside and I can taste myself. I suck his finger clean, much to his delightful groan and I whine softly when it falls from my lips and trails back down my body.

Two fingers push inside me now and he lazily thrusts them back and forth as his arm moves from my waist to push against the back of my legs, pressing them back further and further until I'm almost bent in half.

Hot breath just where I need it the most and I find myself holding my own breath as I silently pray for that mouth to cover my clit. I need it. I want it. I...

“FUCK!”

My voice is a strangled shout as Seth's lips finally close around me and tug slowly. He releases me a second latter and I'm panting, begging him for more, cursing him as he chuckles and refuses me. His fingers slip from me, the sound of my wetness filling the room as his mouth covers my entrance instead and his fingers find their way up to my mouth once again.

He kisses me as I suck them dry, his tongue pushing inside me, my resulting moan muffled by his digits. His forearm flexes against the back of my legs as he pushes his tongue deeper inside me, humming as he does and making me twitch and jerk against my restraints.

I'm so fucking close already. I've never cum this quick in all the time we've been together. He might be working me over slowly, but I'm unravelling at breakneck speed and I know the second his lips find their way back to my clit I'm going to–

My mouth twists away from his fingers, a howl ripping through me as he sucks hard on my clit, the sensitive flesh pulsing in his grasp as my whole body starts to spasm. I can feel tears breaking free, my lungs working painfully fast to gasp for as much air as possible as I writhe in his grasp, my body shutting down with every second that passes and that mouth of his still works my clit with no sign of stopping.

My body goes rigid, my mind blacking out and then nothing.

A cool hand strokes my cheek. A soft, warm tongue laps between my legs, which are now resting on his shoulders. Fingers dance across my stomach and up to my breasts, teasing my nipples as I let out a groggy moan.

“Sweetheart...” Seth mumbles, his lips moving to my inner thigh. “You okay?”

“Seth,” my voice cracks.

“What? Tell me.” His voice has lost that earlier grit, as if he knows exactly what I need right now.

“Please,” I whimper and I feel him smile against my skin. He presses another kiss to my burning flesh, another slow, long lick of my pussy before he shifts.

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.”

His boxers are long gone it seems and I can now feel him, all of him pressed firmly against my thigh. He's rock hard and my tongue automatically slips out to lick my lips, a gesture that earns a rumbling groan from Seth.

“You want this dick, huh?” The rasp, the grit is back hard and strong.

I nod.

“Where, Siobhan, tell me where?”

“My mouth.”

The silence is palpable.

“Shit...” he exhales.

“Please...” I'm fucking begging. My mind is screaming, my body still trembling from aftershocks of what he's just done to me, but I need him. I want to taste him. I want to feel as much of him as I can.

The bed moves beneath me, his legs brushing against mine as he climbs over me, beside me. His scent drifts over me and my mouth starts to water. His hand tentatively cups my cheek, slipping to the back of my head, easing me up from my pillows.

The tip of his dick slips against my lips and my tongue darts out to tease his slit before he can jerk away.

“Fuck,” I hear him groan as I lean my head further forward and wrap my lips around the tip completely.

I hum in satisfaction as he slides further into my mouth and I let my saliva coat as much of him as possible before pulling back. I know what gets to him – he loves watching me suck hard on the tip, loves it even more if I trail my tongue from his balls to tip, goes fucking crazy if I take him all the way into my mouth in one go. But it's hard for me to do that when I'm bound and blinded.

“Help me out,” I murmur, hoping he gets the hint.

His grip on my head tightens as he angles my mouth just right and I shiver as I feel him guide himself into my mouth, my tongue pressing against the underside as he pushes more and more, making me groan as he hits the back of my throat.

“Holy fuck, Siobhan... Jesus... Oh fuck,” he grunts loudly as I start to bob on his dick, relishing in the way he feels in my mouth, how his fingers are digging into my scalp, how even though I've been at his mercy for the majority of this morning that I'm still able to bring him to his knees as well.

His hips buck forward and my throat tightens around him as I struggle to push back against his hand.

“Oh shit,” he gasps as I squeal around him and he's pulling back fast, his grip loosening as I gasp for breath. “Fuck, fuck, Siobhan. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Shit!”

I can feel his hands on mine, fingers fumbling.

“Seth... Stop.”

“I am, I am. I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't. I'm sorry.”

“Seth,” I repeat, my voice calm. “Leave them.”

His fingers still. “Are... Are you sure?”

I smile into the darkness. “Of course.”

“I don't deserve you,” he mumbles and my heart threatens to crack.

“Come here, please...” I feel him settle beside me, his fingers stroking my cheek. “Kiss me, Seth.”

He's slow and gentle, silently begging me to forgive him. But I already have. I kiss him back, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip, encouraging him, pushing him to give me what I want.

“Now fuck me,” I breathe as he pulls back for a second. “Hard and slow, remember?”

His forehead presses against mine. “You're too good for me,” he whispers.

“Hard and slow,” I repeat. “Make me scream.”

I want him to take back the control. I want to push him back to when his voice was deep and raspy and he called me a 'good girl' and made me cry with want and need and pure deprivation.

“I'm all yours,” I whisper.

“All mine,” he growls and I grin in satisfaction as he moves beside me, in front of me, his hands sliding up my legs as he pushes them into the air and holds them wide, his fingers digging into my ankles.

His dick slides against my pussy as he rocks back and forth, the tip rubbing over my clit, making me hiss and curse.

“That's right,” he groans. “Slick my dick up, sweetheart. C'mon, move those hips for me.”

I do as he commands, rocking against him as his dick thrusts back and forth faster and faster.

I yelp as he pushes inside me, the intrusion a blissful surprise as I take him all in, my walls clinging to him as he breathes heavily above me.

“Damn,” I hear him mutter, his hands squeezing my ankles as he twitches inside me and I groan out of desperation to feel him move. “You're so... fucking tight... And so goddamn wet, sweetheart. Fuck...”

His hips rock against me, his dick pushing deeper inside me. He slowly moves them in a circle and I cry out as he brushes against my G-spot.

“Shi-it... Seth...”

“That's right, sweetheart. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He rocks back and then thrusts forward with renewed strength, making my breasts jerk violently, my fingers tightening around the metal chain for leverage as I try to steel myself against his thrusts.

“You're... It's so fucking deep,” I choke out as he thrusts into me again and again. “Harder... Please...”

He grunts as he gives me what I want, pushing my legs further out, spreading me wide before him as he pounds my pussy and makes me choke on my words, my moans, my inevitable screams.

“You're so wet,” he tells me again. “My dick is covered in you, Siobhan. And you're dripping everywhere. Jesus...”

He lets go of one ankle, my leg dropping to the bed as his fingers once again brush over my lips.

“Suck.”

I wet them enthusiastically, moaning as they slip from my mouth and then hissing as I feel the tips of his fingers slide over my clit.

“Aww, shit... Seth...”

“Cum for me,” he grunts. “Now. Do it. Cum. For. Me.”

He rubs furiously, his other hand slipping from my ankle as well, reaching forward to grab my breast, squeezing it hard. My leg is caught between his arm and body, bending backwards as he leans forward over me, his fingers still working my clit over and over as I feel my orgasm hurtling towards me.

“Now,” he growls against my mouth, my scent still fresh on his breath.

He swallows my scream, his tongue plundering my mouth as I shudder and shake and rut against him, his fingers relentless as I spill over his dick and he slides in and out of me with renewed gusto. I'm broken beneath him, but he doesn't stop. Just like he promised.

“Again,” he mumbles against my lips. “I wanna feel that pussy tighten again. I wanna feel you cum on my dick again.”

“I... Fuck, Seth...”

I can feel a small after-tremor start to build inside me, my clit too sensitive for more, but I can't move away and he's not stopping and I'm crying out, pleading, begging, torn between wanting more and wanting it to end.

My orgasm washes over me once again, his fingers easing off, only tickling as I gasp for breath and curse him and his dick and his fingers. He chuckles into my mouth as he kisses me tenderly.

“Good girl,” he tells me again, his hand releasing my breast and coming up to cup my cheek and I have to bite my lip to stop myself moaning. Once again I wonder if he realises the effect those words are having on me this morning. And just like that... “You like it when I call you that.”

I nod, my cheeks burning.

Another chuckle. “Roll over.”

I whimper as his dick slides out of me and he slowly eases me onto my stomach, the chain scraping together as it twists and my arms are pulled tight. But he's quick to make me for comfortable, moving me higher up the bed, moving pillows to under my head and twisting me so that I can rest my head on one side.

He straddles one leg, his knee nudging the other wider. His hands fist my ass, squeezing with alternate hard and soft kneads. A palm shifts to my lower back, pressing down gently so that my hips rise up and I can feel his dick sliding between my ass cheeks. I raise my hips a little higher, desperate for him to be inside me once again.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans as I rock back wantonly and his dick slips inside me with ease. “That's it, sweetheart, fuck my dick like a good girl...”

I moan in response, his words sending endless shivers down my spine. His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me back and forth on his length. My arms are starting to ache, my wrists sore from the metal cuffs that despite their looseness are digging in thanks to this position, but I don't care. All I care about is how good he feels inside me, how his fingers are digging into my ass and willing me to rock back faster and faster, how his panting is driving me insane and how desperately I want to cum again.

His hand smacks my ass and I rear up, crying out as the restraints scrape against the headboard. He smacks me again, groaning as my pussy clenches around his dick. A hand slides up my spine, followed by his lips as he flattens his body against mine. The same hand curls in my hair, twisting thick strands around his wrist as he tugs my head up from the pillow, his mouth on my neck, my jawline, my cheek, my lips.

“Again?” he mumbles.

“Please,” I croak as his hand presses between me and the mattresses, his fingers starting to work me over once again, unrelenting as always.

His chest sticks to my back, slick with sweat. His fist is tight in my hair as he pulls my head back further, his mouth latching onto my neck, refusing to let go as his hips continue to snap back and forth against my own. I want to push back on him, but I can't move, my body completely his as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge.

His teeth scrape my throat, his fingers relentless on my clit and I cry out loudly, my skin on fire, my mind fighting to stay focused, but unable to decide on what to focus on thanks to the havoc that he continues to wreak on my entire body.

“Fuck, Siobhan,” he groans in my ear, his tongue curling around the sensitive shell. “Cum with me. Please... I wanna feel you grip me as I cum inside you.”

“I'm close,” I promise. And I am, my body slowly starting to shut down as all focus turns to between my legs, his dick still pounding my pussy, his fingers still rubbing my clit.

The first wave washes over me with a groan... The second crashes against me, sending me flying, screaming as he holds me close, his mouth seeking out mine, warm and comforting as his hips snap against me one last time and he freezes, his dick pulsing as he empties inside me with a grunt.

My mouth slips from his with a gasp. My lungs are on fire as I struggle to breathe, his weight too heavy, my arms screaming in pain as I try to shift beneath him.

“Seth–” I start to choke out, but he's already moving, scrambling above me, his hands on mine, the cuffs clicking open. I breathe deeply, my lungs still burning, my body aching as he rolls me onto my side, soothing fingers brushing along my cheeks, behind my head, the scarf loosening and slipping free.

Warm, brown eyes greet me and I blink back tears that threaten to fall again. I've missed him so much and even though I've felt him and tasted him and heard him, seeing him before me is something else.

“Hey,” he whispers, his hands running down my arms and pulling my hands up to his face where he slowly inspects my wrists. “Are you okay?”

I nod, watching as he kisses the red pinch marks that adorn my wrists. His eyes flicker up to mine once again.

“Hey,” he breathes again, fingers reaching out to brush against my cheeks. “Fuck, Siobhan... I... I didn't mean to push you like that.”

“You didn't,” I swallow thickly, my vision blurring. “That was fucking insane, Seth. In a good way, I promise.”

But it doesn't stop him from pulling me closer, as he fumbles with sheets and blankets and tugs them around us, over our heads so we're engulfed by warmth.

“You're incredible,” he whispers. “I was ready to stop at anytime. I would have stopped before we'd even started if you wanted me to.”

“I know. But I didn't want you to stop,” I smile shyly and then giggle. “How long have you been hiding those handcuffs?”

He grins. “A while... I was waiting for the right moment.”

“How long?” I push with a pinch to his bicep.

“A few months,” he admits. “I remembered you told me once that you wouldn't mind being tied up and teased. Figured it was the perfect way to get you back for teasing me on our anniversary.”

“And last night?”

“I wanted to make sure you were still open to the idea.” He pushes back my hair from my face. “But I still wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me well and truly surprised.”

“In more ways than one?” His eyes glint and I lower my gaze.

“Perhaps,” I admit, thinking back to the way he commanded me, how turned on I was by his choice of words. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the click of the camera, how much I want to see that photo so that we can relive this over and over again. And I wonder...

A finger slips under my chin, nudging my gaze up. “You know that's okay, right?”

“I know.”

“You just tell me,” he smiles reassuringly. “You want this again, you just tell me.”

“I know.” And then my emotions take over, all the pent up wants and desires of seeing him in front of me and not having to imagine any more. For now at least. My voice cracks. “I just want you, Seth.”

I watch as his face visibly softens. “You got me, Siobhan. Always.”

His fingers lace between mine and I watch as he pulls my hand up to his lips.

And I'm right back in the hotel room, watching him hold my gaze as he kisses my ring finger again and again. And I'm wondering why I was so hesitant. Because why the hell would I not want to live the rest of my life with a man who cares for me, who craves me, who wants to make me happy more than anything else in the world? Why would I give that up on a maybe?

And I want to give him everything I have as well. I want to be the person he calls when he has good news or bad. I want to be the person that he turns to in times of happiness and sadness. I want to be the constant in a life that is full of ups and downs. I just want to be his. And I want him to be mine.

All I want is for him to know that I am as serious about us as he is. I want him to know that moving in with him is just the beginning. I want him to know that sure, it might take some time, but I do want everything and more with him. I want to share a million other moments just like this. I want to explore my limits, my desires, my entire life with him by my side, pushing me to try new things, whether that's in bed or out of it.

All I want is to give him a sign, no matter how big or small, that I'm here for the long haul.

Because...

One day.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” he tells me, rocking me slowly onto my back, his mouth covering mine.

Always.

“Mine,” he mumbles against my mouth.

“Yours,” I breathe back.

One day.

My hand curls around the back of his head and I tug him up, staring into his eyes as he hovers above me.

“I...” I stammer, pausing as the rational side of my brain starts to scream. But I strive forward, ignoring the doubts and the worries that always seem to surround me. “I want it all, Seth.”

He stares at me, his eyes shining, his mouth curling upwards. “Siobhan...”

“I want it all,” I repeat, my voice steady and firm.

His eyes lower to his hand in mine. “I wasn't pushing.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

Am I?

But I already know the answer. And so does he.

Fin x

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