iamakiller

[iamakiller]

I received an email from Tumblr this morning informing me that today is the first anniversary of this blog

12 months of me? You're welcome. 😏

#still on hiatus #happy birthday to me

[iamakiller]

putting a pause on things (II)

There is much more still to come.  But ... not quite yet.

I’ll be stepping away from this blog for a little while to focus on my wellbeing, and perhaps work on some of my other writing.  When I feel ready, I’ll pick up the most recent thread precisely where we left off.

As always, thank you for your support, and your patience.

#OOC

[iamakiller]

A persons fanfic tells you a lot about them, i , a fanfic writer, realize in terror

#ooc #this could be interesting

[iamakiller]

Not today.

Not yet.

And -

Maybe not ever.

Perhaps this confirms once and for all how much of a hypocrite I truly am. After all, you have never denied any of my requests - orders - in the bedroom. There is even a part of me, some little devil sitting on my shoulder and whispering in my ear, that scorns my response and dares me to reconsider, because what right do I have to say no?

But just as it would make me sick to my stomach to know that I had ever breached your trust in this way, so I know it is exactly the same for you. You trust me, and I ... trust you. More than I have ever trusted anyone. More than I could ever have imagined myself being capable of.

"All right," you say softly, and that is that. The world didn't end. Nothing between us has changed. Your hand doesn't stutter in its action of stroking my arm so gently, and although the blindfold is doing its job well, I somehow know that your gaze in this moment is as tender as the kiss you bestowed upon me not so very long ago.

Life is just a series of seconds, minutes, hours. Most of them we do not even notice, because we are too caught up in living. But sometimes, like right now, some tiny glitch occurs, and we realize exactly where we are in time and space. And exactly who we are. I am not so much outside my body looking in as I am looking at the road behind me, and taking in how far I have progressed from my point of origin.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Okay? Yes. I am more than okay.

I nod, and smile, and raise my arms until the headboard is within reach. Then, I grasp onto it. "I won't let go until you ask me to," I tell you.

You hum your approval, and then fall silent. I can feel you watching me, your gaze as electric as the crackle in the air each time we fall silent. I can even feel you thinking, as though your thoughts have manifested themselves in the room around us.

Every atom of my being feels like it is vibrating with anticipation.

I hold my breath-

And-

I wait.

Progression

“Bye dad! Bye Britt!”

A car door slams and once again, we are left alone. Like every Sunday afternoon, we stay put, watching as Henry runs up the driveway and to the front door, turning to wave at us one last time before disappearing into Nicole’s house. Only once he’s safely inside does the car begin to roll backwards towards the street.

Keep reading

#B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy

[iamakiller]

The room is still, and so quiet, as if the whole world is holding its breath.

The kiss lingers.

Or - perhaps - it does not.

Time has always seemed to behave in such a peculiar way whenever our lips meet.  What feels like an all-too-brief moment can turn out to be hours in real time, as though I have stumbled my way through an enchanted circle before emerging, bewildered as to where I am and when I am.

You pull back, pressing your forehead against mine, and when I open my eyes it is still Sunday evening in LA, I think.  Your arms are still draped over my shoulders, the fingers of your left hand combing through my hair once more.  I have been wondering recently if I should cut it, another watershed between then and now.  But I would miss you playing with it, like I miss your lips on mine.

“May I kiss you again?” I ask.

“No,” you respond, with amusement in your voice, so that the bluntness of your response doesn’t take me aback so very much.  “Not yet.”

My hands are resting on your sides.  I dare not move them, just in case that is also not permitted.  “Then what shall I do?”

You move your head to the right, nose grazing against mine, before your lips trace the rest of the way along my cheekbone.  Intrigued, I lean into it, tilt my head just so, and now your mouth is hovering right by the shell of my ear, your warm breath sending a tiny shiver down my spine when you whisper, “Get undressed.”  Then, before I can react, you disentangle yourself from my loose hold, and sit down on the edge of the bed, in a reversal of our earlier roles, when you were trying on all those clothes, which are still strewn across the chair in the corner of the room.

“May I talk?” I ask, fiddling with the fastenings on my shirt.  I feel incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden.  My fingers have all become thumbs, and it is as if I have never once opened a button in my life.

“You may.”  You shift slightly on the bed, putting one hand slightly behind you on the mattress to better support your back.  Your legs are slightly open, your other hand resting on the swell of your belly, and even though your positioning should look somewhat awkward, to me you appear every bit as graceful and composed as a queen upon her throne.  A hint of a smile plays around the corners of your lips as you watch me.

Somehow, I manage to persuade my idiot fingers to do what they are supposed to.  With each button I unfasten, I somehow feel your gaze more, even though you have not moved, or changed your expression at all, until I shrug the shirt off, and let it fall to the floor.  At this, your gaze travels down my torso, then back up again, until you meet my eyes.  “I thought you were going to talk, Charlie.  You usually have so much to say.”

There is a glint in your eye, a spark.  It travels through the air between us, and when it reaches me, it catches.  I reach for my belt, unfastening it quickly, and sliding it out of the belt loops of my jeans in one quick, fluid motion.  “I’ve bound your wrists with this belt,” my mouth says, before my brain has caught up with it.  “I’ve left marks on you with this belt.”

“You have,” you say agreeably, as though we are talking about the weather.

I unfasten my jeans, and work the zipper down slowly.  “I’ve sat on the edge of the bed and watched you strip for me.  I’ve made you bleed for me.”

“You have,” you say again, your eyes slightly narrowed now, as though you are not sure where I am going with this.  Unfortunately, I am not sure where I am going with this either, but now that I have begun talking, I find that I cannot stop.

My jeans slide down my thighs with less resistance than they would have done a few months ago.  I lost some weight during my period of self-isolation, and have yet to gain it back again.  This may in fact be the best shape you have ever seen me in, and at some point I will appreciate that, but not right now.  “You did everything I asked of you,” I say, extracting one foot and then the other from the jeans, which I leave in a heap on the floor.  “Everything.”

“I did,” you affirm.  “Come here,” you add.  It is a command, and it is an invitation, and my feet begin propelling me towards you as though I have been caught in your gravitational field.  

Once I am within arms reach, you shuffle forwards on the edge of the bed, and settle your hands on my hips, your fingers toying with the waistband of my underwear.  

“Did I ever make you do something you didn’t want to?” I blurt out, as if now is the time for my guilty conscience to try to assuage itself.  Ah, I think, foolishly.  That’s what I was getting at.

You tilt your head far, far back to look up at me.  “No, never,” you say softly, as solemnly as if you are uttering a prayer, and I can sense nothing but truth in your voice and in your eyes.  “Never, ever.  I trust you, Charlie.”

You’ve always trusted me, haven’t you?  Even when I did not deserve it.  

I smile at you, rest my hands atop yours, and together we slide my briefs down, down, down, until they hit the floor.  Your gaze traverses me again, up and down.  At these close quarters, it feels as tangible as a physical touch, and I feel myself begin to respond with interest, which makes you smile too.  That gleam in your eye is back once more, and yet again it travels the short distance between us, adding more fuel to the fire that has burned low of late, but will never fully go out.

“Do you trust me?” you ask, as if it is in any doubt.

“I do,” I say, because it reminds me of our wedding day, and the vows we wrote because we didn’t like the conventional ones, and how happy we were that day, and how happy we are now, and because I trust you.

Some of what I’m thinking and feeling must be showing on my face, because you huff out a laugh.  “You ridiculous man,” you say.  “Lay down on the bed.  Get comfortable.  And if you’re very lucky, you might get that kiss you were asking for.”

I nod, and immediately do as you have asked of me.  

And then.

And then ...

The room is still, and so quiet once more.

The world is holding its breath, and so am I.

Progression

“Bye dad! Bye Britt!”

A car door slams and once again, we are left alone. Like every Sunday afternoon, we stay put, watching as Henry runs up the driveway and to the front door, turning to wave at us one last time before disappearing into Nicole’s house. Only once he’s safely inside does the car begin to roll backwards towards the street.

Keep reading

#B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy

[iamakiller]

For nearly the entirety of our relationship I have been nothing more than a tyrant.  I have imposed my will on you at every turn and you have yielded to me with very little remonstration.  But those days are past now.

My interest was already piqued even before you tell me you wish to try something unconventional by our standards.  And once you have declared it, I find that my mind has become like one of the sprinters I have barely been paying attention to on the television.  It is on the starting blocks, ready to explode into action with a thousand different thoughts and ideas all racing towards the finish line.  

But ... this is usual for me.  You have said that you have something in mind which is out of the ordinary.  And so, with some difficulty, I try to disengage my imagination, and instead focus on that which is important in the here and now: you.

You are looking particularly lovely this evening.  All the time we have been spending in the garden has been paying off: a light dusting of cute freckles has appeared across the bridge of your nose, and I will kiss each one of them when the opportunity presents itself.  And there is a glow about you, as if you have been lit from within.  When I asked you about it the other day, you laughed and told me it was some product or other made by Becca, whoever she is.  But I don’t think that’s it, and I don’t think it’s “pregnancy glow” either, although I’m sure that is certainly a contributing factor in how well you look.  No, I think it may be due to the newfound confidence you now possess - in yourself, in me, in us.

Oh, how you have flourished now you have the space to do so.

The urge to reach for you is almost unbearable, and my fingers betray me, twitching uselessly against the sofa cushion, as if it is any kind of replacement for your soft skin.  Your expression is inscrutable, though you are obviously thinking about something.  When you exclaim that you need me, my first instinct is to touch you, but I hesitate, and in doing so I realize that there is more to this than that.  If I had reacted instantly, I would never have noticed.

I am calm, and I am gentle when I ask you what you need.  Your gaze, carefully averted for the past few moments, now returns to mine.  You swallow, and it is clear that you are having some difficulty getting your words out.  Again, my instinct is to say or do something to comfort you, but to do so would be to interrupt you, so I simply wait and hope that my silent presence is reassuring enough.

What you tell me next is somehow both surprising, and not.  It is certainly unconventional by our standards.  But we need this, don’t we?  You need to discover how it feels to be in control.  And I need to learn how to cede it.

It seems that we’ll both be out of our comfort zones tonight, my love.  But you are my safe place, and I hope that I am yours.  We’ll figure this out.  Together.

“All right,” I say, softly.  “You’re in control tonight.”

Wherever you lead, I will follow.

Progression

“Bye dad! Bye Britt!”

A car door slams and once again, we are left alone. Like every Sunday afternoon, we stay put, watching as Henry runs up the driveway and to the front door, turning to wave at us one last time before disappearing into Nicole’s house. Only once he’s safely inside does the car begin to roll backwards towards the street.

Keep reading

#B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy

[iamakiller]

I’ve been thinking too ...

Charlie Barber sits on the edge of the bed, and watches as his lovely wife tries on almost an entire runway show’s worth of maternity clothes.  Items that have already been tried on have been discarded in a heap upon the floor, much to his dismay, and he knows that every single one of them will be returned tomorrow morning.  He knows this because this is becoming an all-too common occurrence in the New York apartment they share.

It is the late spring of 2011.  Charlie and Nicole have been married for three months.  Henry is just a name, as distant and unknowable as a far-off city Charlie never intends to visit, like Timbuktu.  And as Charlie sits there, the phone in his back pocket buzzes to announce the arrival of yet another message from someone he knows he shouldn’t reply to.

“How do I look?”

Charlie glances up from the one clear spot on the floor he has been desperately fixating on, to see Nicole leaning dramatically against the dresser.  “You look beautiful,” he responds.  Too quickly, perhaps, or too slowly.  Too effusive, or perhaps not enthusiastic enough.  Who knows these days?

“Liar.”  There isn’t a hint of humor in her expression as she stares him down.

She isn’t wrong, either.

Charlie is a shallow, vapid man who was deeply attracted to his wife’s pregnant body until he suddenly wasn’t, and now even just looking at her for too long feels as strange and uncomfortable as trying to stare directly at the sun.  “Okay then, you look terrible,” he tells her, sarcasm dripping from his voice like syrup from a pancake.

Nicole’s expression falls, and Charlie feels like a piece of shit every bit as much as he feels a sense of petty satisfaction at a point scored.  He forgets, sometimes, that he’s married to someone just as shallow and vapid as he is.  Nicole wants to be some kind of earth mother, and she wants to be a sex object, and she wants him to want to fuck her, but she doesn’t want him to touch her, and she wants him to say she looks beautiful but then she doesn’t believe him when he does ...

It’s exhausting.

Nicole storms off to the bathroom to fume.  Once he hears the door slam, Charlie pulls out his phone and stares at it for a long time, before taking a shaky breath and turning it off.  At least he did one thing right today.

Meanwhile, 2,789 miles and a decade away, I use every ounce of concentration I possess to keep my hands steady on the steering wheel and my eyes on the road.  I remove myself from our bedroom before I tear that gorgeous dress off your body where you stand.  Funnily enough, my mind is not at all focused on some Olympic sport I’ve never even heard of ... and it’s certainly a miracle that my heart hasn’t yet burst through my ribcage in response to your touch.

I need you.

I long for you.

I cannot imagine not being completely in love with every single part of you.

I am not that Charlie anymore.  And you are not a reflection of who I am at my worst, but instead who I hope to be at my very best.

It’s time, I think, to make some new memories.  Ones I can look back on in ten years with fondness instead of reproach.  Ones we can both look back on, together.  

Do you remember that night, my love?  I was so nervous, for so many different reasons.  But I forgot all about my worries as soon as I looked at you and realized that you were not uncertain at all.  

I stretch out my arm along the sofa cushions, my hand almost but not quite touching yours, and return your hint of a smile with one of my own.  “What have you been thinking about, my love?”

Progression

“Bye dad! Bye Britt!”

A car door slams and once again, we are left alone. Like every Sunday afternoon, we stay put, watching as Henry runs up the driveway and to the front door, turning to wave at us one last time before disappearing into Nicole’s house. Only once he’s safely inside does the car begin to roll backwards towards the street.

You are quiet when I reach for you, placing my hand atop your thigh and gently trailing my fingers along the seam. It isn’t long until your hand covers my own, lifting it up to bring my fingers to your mouth, gifting each one with a kiss. You smile against them prior to releasing them entirely, allowing me to pull my hand back into my own lap as your eyes remain fixed firmly on the road ahead.

Like the street we currently drive down, the proverbial road we find ourselves on is one I have come to know all too well; this is a scenario that has played out weekly for longer than I’d care to count, after all. My advances, albeit perhaps ill timed considering you are driving, are dismissed entirely, never to be picked up at a later time. But then…

Hours later you are seated on the edge of bed at my insistence, now having become an unwitting spectator in the show that I am putting on for you. Piece after piece I show off the new maternity clothes that I have purchased as of late, paying careful attention to the slightest change in your typically inscrutable demeanor. It is when I step out of our shared walk-in closet in the final piece—a floor-length maxi dress—that your stoic expression cracks and a smile forms. Pleased with this development, I step closer.

“I like this one,” you admit aloud as I come to step between your legs, hands lifting to rest atop your shoulders.

“Yeah?” You hum in reply, head nodding in the affirmative. Satisfied, I lean down and graze my lips along your own. “Good. I think it’s my favorite.”

Before you can utter another word or—god forbid—give me grief about the day’s purchases, I press my lips to yours and hum happily at the contact. My love, we have never been closer. After all this time we know one another better than I am certain either of us could have ever hoped for; we have always favored physical intimacy over the emotional and now it feels as if those roles have reversed. I have never been happier. We have never been happier.

Yet when your hands slip away from where they’d come to rest against my hips, I can’t help but mourn the loss with a displeased whine. You placate me, albeit temporarily, with one final chaste kiss, muttering some nonsense about needing to take care of something or other before rising up from your spot on the bed and disappearing from the room. It is true that we no longer depend on physical intimacy for the success of our relationship, but I do still have needs…

And I need you.

I long for you.

It has been far too long since I have felt your touch and I am restless...

In the evening when we find ourselves cozied up together on the couch. The house has once again descended into silence since Henry’s departure, save for the low volume of the television that plays nearby. Your arm is caught between my back and the couch cushions, but you do not seem to be in any discomfort as you rest your hand against my hip. Mine, on the other hand, trails fingertips along your chest in the familiar up and down trajectory that I so often favor when we find ourselves in such a position. Though our eyes may be trained on the Olympic display plastered on the screen in front of us, my mind is occupied by far more interesting thoughts.

In a move that has become far too familiar as of late, you take hold of my hand to effectively halt the motion of it and lift it up to your lips. This time, however, I do not allow you to do what you intend. Instead, I pull my hand from yours and sit upright on the couch, much to your confusion I am sure if the look that passes across your face is any indication.

“Charlie,” I start, inhaling a breath to steel myself. Talking to you has become so easy as of late, but we have focused so much on matters of the heart as of late that I fear I’ve allowed the rest to fall by the wayside. I turn, pulling my feet up onto the couch in order to better face you. “I’ve been doing some thinking…”

“Thinking…” You mirror the word with a hint of hesitation.

I nod and allow the beginnings of a smile to show in hopes that it will assuage any negative thoughts that may have crept into that mind of yours. “Nothing terrible. In fact, quite the opposite…”

[@iamakiller]

#B+C #direnightshade #tw: pregnancy #flashback #tw: unhappy marriage #nicole should be a trigger warning

[iamakiller]

🌺Send this to ten bloggers you think are wonderful. Keep the game going.🌺

I just want you to know how much I appreciate you, Charlie, and the contribution that you have made to the community and it has been wonderful getting to know you! Send Britt and Little B my love. 💖

Thank you. That's very kind of you to say.

I shan't be forwarding this on, since I can barely think of anyone I would class as tolerable let alone wonderful on this godforsaken hellsite. But rest assured, you definitely fall into the latter group, and you are very much appreciated.

#ask #leatherboundriot

[iamakiller]

https://twitter.com/michaelbuble/status/1415398803562131457?s=21

Can you compete with these skills?

I have begrudgingly watched the video several times now, and I'm still rather unsure as to exactly what "skills" you seem to think are on display here.

Can I also throw a ball against a wall?

Yes, Anon. I can.

#ask #anon #also #orange really isn't his color #just saying

[iamakiller]

Aren't you tired, my love? You've been running through my mind all day ...

Do yourself a favor and stop talking so I can kiss you.

#direnightshade #B+C #🤐

[iamakiller]

Hah.

I'm sure the real Michael "Crimes Against Music" Bublé has far better things to do than hanging around on Tumblr.

You're probably just some thirty to forty year-old woman impersonating him!

Isn't there a hapless cashier somewhere that you should be harassing, Karen?

Are you cake? Cause I want a piece of that.

Are you sure you didn't mean to send this to @mikeybuble? 🤔 Your YouTube search history doesn't lie ...

#a likely story

[iamakiller]

#👀

[iamakiller]

Are you cake? Cause I want a piece of that.

Are you sure you didn't mean to send this to @mikeybuble? 🤔 Your YouTube search history doesn't lie ...

#direnightshade #B+C #have fun my love #supportive husband

[iamakiller]

Are you cake? Cause I want a piece of that.

Are you sure you didn't mean to send this to @mikeybuble? 🤔 Your YouTube search history doesn't lie ...

#ask #direnightshade #B+C #new number #who's this?

[iamakiller]

Hmph. I'd like to see him try.

Charlie Barber never sleeps. He waits.

Good afternoon, my love. For the made up fic title, how about: The Tragic Demise of Michael Bublé? 🤔

Plot twist: it's actually a story about the tragic demise of one (1) Charlie Barber at the hands of Mr. Michael Bublé. The only demise Michael suffers is that of his career when he's carted off to prison. One can only take so much torment before they snap!

#direnightshade #B+C #that man should already be locked up #for crimes against music

[iamakiller]

Gravity

Keep reading

#direnightshade #B+C #tw: pregnancy #❤🦉

[iamakiller]

Hello, Charlie! I know you have asked for anonymous opinions, but I think you’ll find my name important. I’ve heard you and your wife are big fans and I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you. I’ve included a signed poster of myself, as well as my entire Christmas collection on vinyl. Do be sure to give your wife my best for me, will you?

#😡