#out of which 2 letters are repeated
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tell me you need me (1 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. (friends with benefits!carmen, smut, mndi!!!, unprotected p in v, smut! smut!, angst!! fluff, maybe some bad words, blood, unedited)
MASTER LISTS
TAGLIST
I need you tonight. Want to go?
You sighed at the message that Carmy sent you. “Want to go” was a code for “I want to have sex.” and it’s been working pretty well for these past few months. You both needed some sort of release for the pent-up stress that you both have. Carmy, with the Bear and you, with art. You were a full-time artist; creating art inspired by food using oil paint and other forms of media. You’ve been stressed with your upcoming gallery opening next month. Would they love it? It’s quite hard to meet the expectations after winning the Herb Alpert Award in the Arts last year. It was close to Carmy’s James Beard Foundation award, if not the same. In a way, at the end of the day, you were two people excelling in your jobs except for everything else. You sucked at relationships, friendships, connection…what wasn’t artistic; you sucked at. Carmy was the same. Without thinking, you typed your response, a four letter word. Maybe you’ll see him tonight.
-
Carmy enters your home like he lived in it. He had his own set of keys, it was easier that way. He’s been so stressed with the Bear and the only thing that he needs is to blow off some of that steam before he can be functional again. There was supposed to be a celebrity who was wishing for a whole fucking kitchen tour tomorrow and he had to stay behind to make sure that everything was perfect.
“Hey,” he greets you when he sees you perched on your couch. He liked your apartment much better; at least you had multiple rooms and your own space. It’s not like his; there was work everywhere while yours felt homey. Except your studio down the hall—damn, how much do artists earn today?
“Hey,” you replied. “Did you have dinner yet? I can heat up some of the Chinese food I ordered earlier.”
“No, no. It’s alright,” he says, removing his shoes in the doorway. You were always so tidy and meticulous. No outside clothes on the bed; he had to learn that the hard way. “Actually, um, can-can I take a shower first? I want to wash the day away and I-I smell like the kitchen.”
“And you took the L,”
“Ubered here, actually.”
“Surge rates?”
“I was in a rush.”
“Oh,” you gulped. “Well, you still have your clothes in my wardrobe and your toiletries in my bathroom.”
“Which one?” he asked. “Which-which bathroom?”
“The one in my bedroom,” you replied. “You know where the fresh towels are. So…”
“Uh, yeah-yeah,” he says. “Thanks.” You only smiled at him. Conversation before your engagements are usually awkward because you both knew what the two of you were there for. It’s more comfortable afterwards; when he talks about the Bear or asks you about your art.
You and Carmy met from a friend of a friend. You were looking for chefs that could serve you inspiration for your paintings when she mentioned Carmen Berzatto. You reached out to him and he replied three months later, telling you that he can show you some of the recipes that he’s been working on. He’s an artist himself—Sistine Chapel art kind of stuff. He explained the components of his dish over dinner in your hotel apartment in New York. You mentioned that you were from Chicago and he mentioned that he’s from Chicago too…you drank too much wine and the rest was history.
You both stopped communicating when he met Claire but he reached out again, asking if you wanted to meet. He told you all about her and how he fucked up. You drank too much wine again. History has the habit of repeating itself.
You swore to never fall in love with Carmen Berzatto and you didn’t…not until recently. He used to leave immediately once you’re both done. Lately, he’s been staying over. He talks to you about everything. He stays over and wakes you up with coffee and some Michelin Star quality pancakes or French toast. He watches you take your first bite before he takes his, likes to watch your reaction and likes hearing your praise.
You were too lost in your reviere to notice Carmen walking to you, all fresh and clean. He lays a hand on your shoulder and kisses your neck.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, voice deep and sultry.
“You,” you replied, reaching up to massage his curls.
“Good,” he says, removing himself from you and sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “Needed you today…but I want to talk first before…before…”
“That’s fine with me,” you replied, inching closer to him. “What’s wrong?” He puts his hand on your knee, squeezing it lightly. Since when was he so comfortable around you?
“I…I just… Mikey,” The name lingers heavy in the air. Anytime Carmen feels the crushing weight of the pressure, he says Mikey. Whenever he feels inadequate, not enough, never enough—he says Mikey.
“He’ll be proud of you, Carm,” you said, smiling at him. “Like everyone else is.”
“I’m sorry for not inviting you to the opening…Claire was-was there and…”
“I understand,” You put your hand over his to reassure him that everything’s okay. “I understand.”
“You wouldn’t have seen me,” he chuckled. “I was locked inside the walk-in the whole time and well, everything was great. What if I’m not needed?”
Is it too late for me to love you?
“Carm…” you trailed off, trying to find the words. “Of course, you’re needed. The Bear wouldn’t be The Bear without you, you know? Your family must be so proud of you because I know that-that I am. I’m so proud of you and I-I need you so much,” you told him. “I need you, Carmen. More than you could ever know.”
Is it too late for me to love you?
Maybe it was the words that you said, maybe it was the long forgotten show on the T.V., maybe it was because the T.V. screen illuminated your face in a way that was so, so beautiful. Maybe it was just him.
“Let’s go to bed,” he rasps, taking your hand and dragging you to the bedroom. Once he closes the door behind him, Carmy presses you against it, taking your chin and kissing you. It was slow and needy; this kiss was needy. You trail your hand underneath the white shirt that hugged his figure. You caress his sides up and down; softly; slowly and Carmen releases a whimper into your mouth. I need you. I need you. I need you.
“Baby,” he whispers, pulling away from you to remove his shirt. “Baby, baby, baby.”
“I need you, Carmen,” you muster the courage to kiss his neck now, sucking and nipping right under his collarbone. He lets you do it, he lets you mark him like you own him. He tugs on the roots of your hair lightly. You lick the purple bruise, nipping it again just so it could last one more week. Carmen was sighing above you, letting you take him like he wanted to be taken. His hands itch, slipping right under the waistband of your panties to cup your heated cunt. “Carmy,”
“I know, baby. Let’s get you to bed, hm?” he asks, pushing you slightly. “Lay down for me. I missed you so much. Let me show you,”
You obey his commands, opening your legs widely like he likes. He crawls until his face is right in front and removes your underwear, tossing it to the side. He’ll take care of that later.
“You’re so wet,” he groans, when he lets his index finger trail along your slit. You buckle in need; silently begging him to do more. “So, fucking wet,” he repeats, parting your folds until he sees your glistening cunt.
“Carm…” you whine. He spits on your clit and you whimper.
“Let me taste you, hm?” you heard him say, his wandering fingers rubbing all sorts of shapes on your folds. You could only nod and he takes that, licking a bold stripe. You press your cunt against his tongue and he just takes it. He licks a few more stripes before sucking your clit softly.
“Carmy,” you moan. Your hands trail down underneath your shirt, thumbs softly flicking your sensitive nipples. Carmy could just come at the sight of you playing with them but he holds back, sucking your clit harsher before plunging his thick middle finger inside you. “Oh, fuck,”
He pumps the finger slowly…in, out, in, out while he licks your sensitive bud.
“Fuck, Carmy,” you whimper. “Fuck me,”
“Later,” was his nonchalant reply; enjoying the sweet nectar that dripped from your sloppy pussy. It was better than any dessert he’s ever had before. If it was um to him, he’d have his head buried in between your legs, eating you out forever. You buckle again, pinching your nipples hard and tugging them.
“Carm…”
“I know, I know,” he says, sucking your clit harshly for one last time before crawling on top of you. “Taste,” he orders. You obliged, opening your mouth and putting on a show with the way you licked your juices off of his finger. “Fuck,” he groans. He palms himself through his boxers while you sucked on his finger. You released it with one last suck before putting your hand on top of Carmy’s to feel his hardening cock underneath. You push his hand away while you squeeze his member lightly. Just enough for him to rut his hips against your hand. Just enough for him to toss his boxers to the side.
You tried to sit up to see him pump a few strokes, moaning your name while he did. He gets off the bed, looking at the way your body moved while you breathed.
“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself before dragging your body to the end of the bed. He pries your legs open and puts one of them over his shoulder. He liked it like this, it fills you up in ways you cannot describe. “Need you to play with your tits while I fuck you, hm?”
He taps his cock against your pussy.
“Can you hear how wet you are?” he asked, sliding his cock in between your folds. You could feel the protruding vein run along your nub and you moan, massaging your breasts to show him your obedience. “Fuck,”
“Carmy…” you whimpered. “Please.”
He hums, grabbing his member and teasing your wet entrance with his pink tip. “You’re so…”
With no warning, Carmy plunges deep into you and you both groan. You were waiting for this. He’s been wanting this the whole day. He stays there for a few seconds before he thrusts in and out of you slowly.
“Fuck,”
The slopping noises inside your room reverberated in your walls and for a few moments, the sounds of your groans and skin slapping against skin heightens your arousal. Carmy thumbs your clit and he feels your walls clench around him.
“Don’t do that, petal,” he rasps, sweat dripping on his forehead. “I’ll cum fast if you do.”
“Sorry,” you choked out. He only grunts as he adjusts his pace. He was faster now and you could hear he ragged breathing. “Carmy, I need you.”
“Y-you need me,” he repeats to himself. “You need me.”
“I do,” you told him, moaning when he plunges his cock deep inside you. “Need you, need you,”
“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Tell me that you need me. Tell me,”
“I need you, Carmy,” you whine. “I need you to cum inside me,”
Carmy’s eyes widened. You’ve never let him do that before. He always had to pull out or use a condom.
“Want me to fill you up?” he asks, his voice strained. “I’ll fill you —oh, fuck,”
“Yes, please,” you sobbed, breath hitching at the feeling of his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck, Carmy.”
Sex has never felt this good.
You could feel the breaking point come nearer and he does too. His movements were sloppier, his breathing even more ragged that it was. Your walls were clenching around him but that seemed to arouse him even more.
“Fuck, fuck,” he grunted. “I’ll fill you up, hm?”
“Yes, please, Carmy,” you whine. He could only nod, doing his best to keep his orgasm at bay. He wanted to prolong this feeling; this emotion but he couldn’t. “Fuck, Carmy, I’m cumming, I’m cumming. Carm—oh!”
He follows soon after, moaning your name as he shoots ropes of cum inside your pussy. He could feel your walls clench around him and he thrusts in slowly, to ride both of your orgasms away.
“You-you liked that?” he asked. He doesn’t pull out. Instead he takes your other leg and hangs in on his shoulder. “We have to make sure that not a drop goes to waste.”
You nodded and felt his hands caress your legs slowly. He slowly lays your legs back down on the bed and crawls on top of you, kissing your torso, neck, and your chest while he did.
“Stay there,” he ordered and you nodded in assent. You just let him cum inside you. He walks over to the carafe on your bedside, filling the glass with water and then, taking a hand towel from your cabinet. He pours a little bit of the liquid onto the towel. You sit up when he wordlessly gives you the glass of water. He watches you finish it and kisses your head when you gave him the glass back. He sets it on the floor carefully before opening your legs so he could clean you up.
“No,” you shook your head and he stops, alert because you told him no. “I’m…I’m still sensitive,”
“Okay, petal,” he nods, taking the glass and the towel away. He picks up the tossed articles of clothing puts it in the laundry basket. He was quiet when he takes a fresh set of pyjamas and underwear from your wardrobe. “Raise your arms,” he says and you do. He puts a new shirt on you. “Lay down.” You followed him. He puts a new pair of panties on you. “Thank you,”
You were so tired now but you were still so aware of Carmy’s actions. He stands up from the bed to wear new clothes and sits down on the bed. He carefully places your head on his lap and plays with your hair.
“Thank you,” he says, bowing down to kiss your forehead. “Why don’t you sleep for me, hm?”
“Will you be here when I wake up?”
“Waffles or pancakes?”
“Waffles with whipped cream.”
-
Why won’t you let me love you?
There were times when you’d fight with Carmen. A disagreement over something so, so, so small. This time, it was big. It was the opening of your gallery and he promised to be there. It was a big night—multiple art collectors and mongers from all over America came to see your latest pieces. They were all inspired by the food you grew up eating in Chicago; a collection of how culture, identities, and personalities affect eating. Your paintings were in vibrant colors—cup ramen with cheese, cannoli, food that you grew up eating whenever your mom was away. There were small details on the significance of the new collection to your life and he wasn’t there. You were on the stage, telling everyone how grateful you were to the audience but you were preoccupied, looking for a familiar mop of curls in the crowd. He didn’t come. He didn’t go.
You smiled at them half-heartedly before leaving the stage, ready to be whisked away by some art dealer. You were whisked away by multiple guests, asking you for more details on the painting. You all told them everything they needed to know, what they should do if they’d like to make a purchase…
It would have been alright if he texted you…but he promised he’d be there. He promised he’d take you home. He promised.
-
Carmy was sitting alone in his apartment. He left The Bear earlier than usual and went straight home. He did it all, shower, put a nice suit, and fix his hair. He did it all, he even ran to the nearest florist to buy you flowers but he didn’t go.
Isn’t this what lovers do?
He wasn’t your lover. He couldn’t let himself be distracted again. He had to focus; he couldn’t fail the people that relied on him. He looked at the bag of groceries he got from the store; he was supposed to cook you something special tonight. Have you eaten yet? Fuck the suit that he paid for dry cleaning; fuck the flowers; fuck him. It must have hurt you—he knows that. Tonight was a big night and you were so excited to show him a painting that you’ve been working on.
“I won’t sell it,” you told him. “I’ll have it shipped to you first thing in the morning.”
Would you still send it to him?
-
By the end of the night, you were exhausted. Happy, but exhausted. It was normal; talking to everyone and being scintillating the whole night was work but it was worth it. Your paintings all had their new owners, except for the painting that you promised to Carmy. Would he still want it? You were alone in the studio, wrapping the 4 by 3 foot canvas with the best quality glassine. You were giving this to him tomorrow. If he doesn't want to have it, you’ll probably just donate it somewhere else.
You laid awake in your bed all night long, waiting for his text. It was funny, just last week he was begging you to tell him that you needed him but when you needed him most, he wasn’t there.
You arrive at The Bear just before it opens, the big canvas tucked under your arm. He was sure to be there and had always told you to use the back door if you weren’t dining. You always obliged, of course, opening the backdoor to reveal everyone. You’ve met Sydney and Richie before but you haven’t met the others yet. You were an alien in an unknown world; Carmy’s employees looking at you, as if wondering who this girl was.
“Hey,” Sydney greeted, looking at the glassine covered thing that you were carrying. “Didn’t know you were coming in today. Congratulations on your exhbit,”
“Yeah, Congrats. What’s that, sweetheart?” Richie asked.
“Oh,” you just nodded. Carmy couldn’t even look at you. “I just came here to give this to…uh, Carmy,” you cleared your throat. “Carm…?”
“Uh, yeah-yeah,” he stuttered. “Can we go to the office?”
“Sure.”
You followed him into the office while Richie tells everyone to go back to what they were doing. Your heart was hammering inside your chest, afraid that this was going to be another one of those petty fights that you’ve had with him.
You were wrong. So, so wrong.
“You didn’t come last night,” you told him, shielding yourself from him with the painting. “I…I waited.”
“Sorry,” was his laconic reply. You nodded, chuckling.
“That’s all?” you asked. “Just…sorry? No explanation, no nothing?” you asked. “I was looking for you the whole night, Carm. You promised you were coming,”
“I don’t know what-what you want me to say,” he says, looking everywhere but at you. “I-I-I’m sorry, okay? I had other plans.”
“You promised months ago that you were coming,” you repeated. “I called Sydney last night because you weren’t answering and she told me that you left early.”
“You’re spying on me now?” he asks, suddenly defensive. “I had things to do that night. I can’t-can’t just put everything on hold for-for you.” He spits his words like venom, voice getting louder with every word.
You frowned, not recognizing who the boy was in front of you. It’s not like you asked him to put his life on hold. Your heart was beating so fast in anger, ears ringing.
“I see. So you just need me around and you-you just I don’t know, call me because you need to get your dick wet?” you asked, matching his volume. “You just need me around when no one else is there to fuck you? Is that it?” you asked. “What the fuck?”
Carmy blinks, tries to think of the words he’s about to say but he couldn’t stop himself. He could never seem to stop himself.
“You’re the only one desperate enough to do so,” he shrugs. It breaks your heart in pieces, really. The nights Carmen spent nuzzling his head in your shoulder before you slept probably meant nothing to him. Your face falls, contorting in hurt at what he just said. Fuck Carmen Berzatto. Fuck him. “I’m not your fucking boyfriend. I don’t know why you expect me to just-just-just do something!”
“Maybe I wanted you there as my friend!” you shouted over. Your voices could be heard from outside but everyone else pretended like they weren’t listening to anything that you both were saying. You were shouting over each other now, the fuse just breaks. “If you didn’t have any fucking plans to actually go, then don’t give me your good for nothing fucking promises!”
“I don’t need a girl leeching on me when I’m opening a fucking restaurant. Do you want me to put everything on you just because you asked me to? I’m not your fucking boyfriend. You know that right? And maybe-maybe I don’t want to be your fucking friend either!”
“Why would I want you to be my boyfriend, Carmy? You’re-you’re fucking unreliable! You have issues that need fixing. You think Claire could fix that? You think I could fix that? You think the girls you get wrapped around your fucking finger can fix your fucked up fucking head? Huh? Is that what you think? You’re so fucking miserable you make everyone around you miserable! Grow up!” He’s hurt. That’s what you thought of him? That he was miserable? Did he make you miserable?
“I don’t need to go to your fucking art exhibition when they’re all fucking shit.”
You closed your mouth before you could protest. The pain of his words felt like a slap on the face. If he regretted it, he didn’t show it. You turned away, nodding.
“Fuck you, Carmen. Don’t fucking call me. Don’t fucking knock on my door. Don’t…don’t fucking think of me. I’m fucking done with you,”
“Yeah? You’re done with me, huh? Fuck you,” he spits back. He heard the waver in your voice; heard how you tried to steady everything. He wanted to say sorry but you were already leaving. Richie and Sydney couldn’t even ask you what happened because you were rushing out, throwing the painting you worked hard on for days at the back. Fuck Carmen Berzatto. Fuck him.
-
“Fuck!” his chefs could hear from outside the office. Everyone heard the vile things you both screamed at each other; everyone heard why you were so angry. Everyone fucking heard. Nobody dared to move, they didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Carmy’s anger; not when The Bear was about to open. Continuous loud bangs and sounds of some object being thrown were heard too. Sugar sighed.
“Carm?” she called from the door. “It’s almost opening,”
“I-I-I know, Sug.” he replied, blinking. “Uh, can-can you guys go ahead? I’ll be there, I just-just need to you know, calm down?”
“Okay, Bear,” she smiles, tapping the door frame before leaving Carmen in his own thoughts. He gets out of the restaurant through the back door, about to light a cigarette, when he sees the canvas wrapped with glassine.
“Fuck,” was the only thing he could mutter before taking it and sitting where the staff usually stayed at when they wanted a break. He lights up a stick and lets it hang loose on his lips while he opens your gift with shaky hands. He was so immersed in the experience, gently removing the tape and making sure that nothing was ruined that he didn’t notice Sydney.
The glassine reveals a painting of a plate of cannolis. He remembered that he told you the story about cannolis during Christmas and how he wanted to recreate that—take it for himself. He traces over the precise brushstrokes shakily.
“That’s a good painting,” Sydney spoke, her hands behind her back. “Would be a waste to just throw it out.”
“I know,” Carmy nods. “I’m sorry you had to uh, hear all of that.”
“It’s…something,” Sydney replied, making Carmy chuckle.
“I always…always seem to uh, fuck up everything,” he muttered. “I was on the way there, you know? Last night?”
“Yeah. You were so excited,”
“I was,” he coughed. “But I didn’t go because…” Words died down in his mouth. Why didn’t he go? “I’ve said some things and she-she doesn’t want me to call her anymore and I-I understand but like, I don’t know, Syd.”
Don’t know why I could never seem to just let myself enjoy things. I don’t belong anywhere else but in the fucking kitchen. It’s the only thing I was good at.
“I didn’t really want to to, uh, fuck this up.”
-
I want to talk to you.
Come to my apartment after your shift. Or whenever.
Carmen feels his palms sweat when he reads texts you sent him days ago. He decided to go today, finally—he was never good at confronting things; always so explosive, so defensive. He didn’t know what he’d feel like today. He knocks on your door and hears the shuffling from the other side. He just got out of The Bear; he was tired but he forced himself to go. He had to go.
“Hey,” you smiled tightly when you opened the door. “Come in.”
He nods, wordlessly entering your apartment like how henused to. Bag and shoes on the side. Somehow, this made him more nervous than usual. This was a prelude to something else entirely; he believed that.
“How are you? he asked, voice small and looking down.
“I’m…good,” you replied, looking away. “You?”
“Busy,” he replied. The air felt heavy and his palms were sweating. “I’m…I’m sorry for not being there when I promised you that I would,”
“Why weren’t you there, Carm?” you asked and he could hear the sadness in your voice. He knew that your exhibit meant a lot to you. “You…you told me you will and well, you were…the-the person I want to be there the most.”
“I didn’t know that. I’m- I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “But why? I mean, I-I don’t know art. I like my shit but I-I’m not cool or understand—“
“Because I like you, Carmy.” you told him, looking at him now and trying to go nearer. He stepped back and you stopped your tracks.
“You—what?” he asked, shaking his head furiously; like your confession offended him. “You…like me.”
“I do,” you nodded. “But…it doesn’t matter.”
“Fuck. How many times do we have to go back to this very same place for you to understand?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. He told you before that he didn’t want to date. You told him you understood. You told him he was being egotistic when he told you not to get attached. He wanted to leave. He didn’t expect this to happen—he didn’t want this to happen. “I don’t—I don’t—“
“Carmy,” you cautioned him, trying to ease your beating heart. “Can you listen to me? I-I-I like you, okay and I’ve been thinking about it too. I’m—you’re always staying behind after sex and well, I just maybe thought that you liked me too.” You replied, swallowing his rejection for now.
“I don’t,” he snaps, tone sharp. “We’ll both be miserable in a relationship. I’ll never make-make you happy. You’re right, you know? I’m unreliable and-and-and issues that I need to fix…and I’m not the one you’re looking for,”
“I’m sorry for saying that. It wasn’t my place to do so,” was your meek reply. How does he feel so far away when he feels so, so, so close?
“No, uh,” Carmen blinks, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I-I-I needed to hear those things, you know? I’m sorry too…for everything.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s it then?” he asked. He was distressed. How could he fuck this up after telling Sydney that he didn’t want to fuck things up with you? “I…I had fun,” You were the only one who kept me afloat when everything else turned to shit. I missed you when we stopped talking. I should have fought harder. What else could I have done?
“Fun,” you chuckled bitterly. “Fun…that’s the only thing you’re going to say to me?”
Carmy frowned.
“What else did you want me to say?”
“I don’t know, Carmy!” you exclaimed, pacing back and forth but never towards him. “God! Tell me that I’m important to you. Tell me that I’ll still be your friend…tell me that you—that you—that I mean more than a fuck!”
Silence. Carmy couldn’t find the words to tell you what you truly meant to him…that he wanted what you wanted too but he was too scared to fuck it all up again like he did with Claire.
You nodded, looking away. You breathed in deeply, as if trying to relieve yourself of the hurt. That’s all you’ve ever meant to him.
“You lead me along and it’s fine. I know that it’s my fault for wanting other things but at least…at least tell me that I’ll still be your friend; that I still matter to you even if I dug myself a hole by feeling things. Tell me that you still need me to put everything on hold for you because I’ve been waiting you to call me all day…”
“I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me,” he rasps. “I don’t…”
“But what if I wanted to?” you asked, face slightly contorted because you didn’t want to be so vulnerable in front of him. Not when he hasn’t told you what you wanted yet. Carmy was just looking at you, tapping his foot on the floor. It was a nervous habit that he developed. Fuck, he needed a cigarette.
“Can you, uh, leave?” you asked, voice low. “I…”
“No, no, no,” he begs, rushing towards you. He grabs a hold of your elbows to remind you that he was there. Would it mean anything? Would his touch convey all of the words he wanted to say?
“Carm…” your voice breaks. “Carm…”
“No, no. You’re not just that to me,” he reassures “But you have to understand that-that I can’t love you like that.”
“Carmen, please…” you beg, tears brimming in your eyes. “Please…just, just leave,”
You’ve never asked him to leave before but it seemed like it was what you really wanted—like it was what you really needed. He nods, kissing your head softly before detaching himself from you.
“I’m sorry,” Carmy said. “For-for not saying the right, uh, things.”
“Yeah,” you nod, hiding yourself from him. He hated that you had to do that when you’ve cried on his shoulders multiple times. He never liked seeing you cry; he just didn’t know that one day, he’ll be on the receiving end of your sadness. He watches you rub your forehead, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying. If you started crying, would he stay?
-
It’s been months since Carmy left. He’s been in his best form in the kitchen. He was making things easier for his staff; he was working twenty four hours a day. Going to The Bear early to help with prep; staying late to help them clean after a long shift of cooking and cooking and kitchen tours. He’s been getting acclaim—more acclaim, really. There was a waiting list on his restaurant and positive reviews from left and right flooded in. The Bear was dubbed as “The Restaurant of the Year” in Chicago despite being less than a year old.
He’s been doing good—perfect.
It was like he was a hamster in a fucking wheel with no other way to escape. He likes putting himself in gear, like driving fast because it makes him believe that nothing really hurts him. He didn’t like being at home; it reminded him too much of you. It reminded him of when you’d lean on the kitchen counter, a small smile on your lips while you watched him cook you something. He didn’t like sitting on the couch because it reminded him of when he slept with his head on your lap. He didn’t like it in his bedroom because he’s reminded of that night when you pulled him closer in your sleep. He didn’t like The Bear because the painting that you gave him hung so proudly by the dining area. It was marvellous—they said. How was he able to get a painting that you did when your art was so valuable and in demand?
He was moving so fast so you wouldn’t cross his mind but it seemed like no matter what he did, he'd end up thinking about you anyway.
It didn’t matter, how come a fall like that made him feel like flying? Maybe he’s waiting for it to hit him but he was feeling alright.
He was alright.
“Chef!” Sydney called, looking at Carmen who was chopping the vegetables like a madman. “Carmen!”
“Fuck, what, Sydney?!” he asked, slamming his knife on the counter.
“You’re bleeding,” Marcus told him and Carmen looked down, blood was all over the chopping board. “You’ve been bleeding for a few seconds now…we’ve all been calling your name, Chef.”
“Fuck, I-I-I’m…” Carmen was a blubbering mess, just watching his hand bleed like it didn’t matter. “I’m-I’m,”
“Take a break, Carm,” Sydney says but her partner just shakes his head. “Carm—“
“Sydney, don’t—don’t make me take a fucking break, please.”
“You’ll need to clean up and make sure there’s no more blood,” Sydney told him. “I’m not fucking around,”
“Yeah,” he nods, putting his fist over his heart and drawing circles. Sydney nods and Carmy fixes his station.
He couldn’t stop shaking, though. Even Tina saw how his hand trembled. What the fuck?
“Carmen,”
“Yeah…just…just give me a second, please.” he nods, picking his knife again and doing everything perfectly. Like clockwork. He’s back. He’s back. He’s fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m alright.
PART 2
AN: Thank you for the love! This is going to be a two-part fic because I love how everything is right now… Don’t forget to comment / reblog if you like it! I read every single little thing you guys type…even the hashtags.
TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt @morgthemagpie @hal3ynicol3 @1800-queen-trash
#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#smut#fluff#the bear#the bear fx#carmy berzatto smut
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Stamina (Say Less series) - LN
You all asked for it and I promise to deliver. Beware, depending on the person this may be more unhinged, it may not be. I like to let you guys decide.
Just a PSA this is finally the part 2 for Be Careful What You Wish For, the series is going to be called Say Less. So for anyone who read the first part, this is just for you all to know what to look out for when I'm uploading parts :D
Themes: Smut (anyone surprise?), overstimulation, honestly Lando is a bit feral in this part so you've have your warning, a bit of like "fucked out"-ness for the reader (she's ok y'all) but be prepared
As soon as the cars were out on track for FP1, y/n ran to the medical centre managing to get a nurse to agree to get hold of a morning after pill for her. She took it and moved to stand at the furthest corner of the AlphaTauri garage.
The weekend being a sprint weekend means it's the only practice the teams get. McLaren doesn't exactly look on best form, but she doesn't know what they're using practice for. They've certain been doing well in recent weekends. Which is probably where Lando's confidence with how he just treated her came from.
After the practice the teams all rush to the units to analyse data. Which leaves y/n wandering around just sort of waiting to see if Lando will find her like he said.
Eventually when she again finds almost a repeat of actions earlier with her being tugged and pulled towards the McLaren unit. Really she's surprised no one notices, but when she looks around there's no a set of eyes that she can see on her.
He pushes her ahead of him into the driver's room, then standing behind her close enough she can feel his body heat radiating from him. His breath is hitting her neck as he leans in, his hand reaching down under her skirt and feeling up her thigh where the sticky residue of him has spread and dried.
"Here I was certain you'd not do as you were told once you left." Lando chuckles making her try to repress a shudder.
His grating presence suddenly brings out a side to her which does sizzle with irritation but she's not quite so eager to put him in his place with a verbal lashing and brutally careless attitude.
"Let's clean you up." Lando states suddenly and it's the last thing she expected. "Get up on the bed, y/n and don't go acting up like a brat like you usually do."
Never mind, whatever effect he had is now gone.
"Hey, you were-"
His large hand clamps over her mouth as she spins around and the expression on his face stops her from slapping him for daring to interrupt her.
"What did I just say?" Lando questions makes her look at him for a moment, the fight to challenge him in her eyes eventually softens in defeat before he drops his hand. "On there. Now."
With visibly gritted teeth, she moves to the physio bed and sits on the smooth surface while Lando appears with a wet cloth from the bathroom.
"Never took you as one for aftercare. Even if it's belated." Y/n comments, not being able to completely bite her tongue.
Lando, on the other hand, seems to focus silently on his task in hand and he's thorough. Eventually tossing the cloth into what she assumes is a makeshift laundry basket. What almost makes her jump backwards off the bed is his thumb on her clit.
"Christ! Lando." Y/n gasps looking down at him feeling his finger tips very much teasing her further but not quite making the move to get inside her.
"You feel a bit puffy, y/n. Feeling a bit sore?" Lando smirks pushing his fingers into her, but maybe only to the first knuckle. "Want me to stop?"
The stubborn streak in her makes eyes narrow and her jaw clench as if she's refusing to let the two letter word that's fighting to get past her lips from escaping.
"I'll stop then." Lando hums giving a gently brush to her clit before beginning to pull his hand back.
"No-Fuck. Dammit, Lando." Y/n groans in frustration, her body and mind having created a tug of war. It's obvious which one won out. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Don't stop."
Oh I won't.
Now in Lando's opinion, y/n really owes him. She's the one who actively dodged him for races-months. But he's not a cruel man, he believes if you're going to receive you have to give as well.
As soon as his hand is back on her in it's previous position, she feels him locate her g-spot which was honestly something she isn't certain she'd ever found herself. At least if this is what it feels like for it to be touched, she's definitely never felt something like this.
"F-Fuck." Y/n whimpers so caught up in the moment that when Lando adds the pressure of his tongue on her clit, her body almost feels like it's trying to ground itself from the quickly building pleasure that's coursing through her every nerve.
Her hand finds it's way down to Lando's curls, too scared even in the moment to give it a tug but she definitely needed something to grab onto and the options are limited on a physio bed.
The orgasm hits like trying to use boiling water to put out someone on fire. She's hot and already feeling oversensitive being sore from sex earlier, she almost wants to tap out when she realises he's not stopping at one.
However, the build up to the next one feels almost as if he's pulling them from her too easily. When a second orgasm smashes it's way out of her, she feeling her body begin to tremble. It might be getting too much.
But when Lando seems to come up for air, she thinks that a break is finally there and he realises the limited time they have can't possibly be entirely used for him to just pull orgasm after orgasm from her.
She thought.
But he does seem to pull a condom from nowhere and slide it on, her mind is screaming for her to just say stop. But her body, despite it's shaky state, locks her throat to prevent any such words getting out.
"You ready, y/n?" Lando questions looking at her like he's starved.
His face is shining with her wetness, the sight being so hot that she's put in a daze just looking at him and she's almost certain the look in his eyes has her half-way to orgasm already.
"Yes."
Is she missing some super human strength that he is expecting her to have? Do other girls have the stamina for this? Maybe this is a test to see what her endurance is before she dies right there in his drivers' room?
That would be a fun headline. 'Lando Norris fucked Daniel Ricciardo's sister to death because she couldn't keep up'.
Lando thrusts into her no mercy and it turns out that the site of him looking so sexually possessed did push her half-way to orgasm. But she's sure it takes all of 7 thrusts (not that she could possibly attempt to count right now) for her back to arch and a moan that is cut off by Lando's hand landing over her mouth.
She's comes down from that orgasm with whimpers over his every thrust, in some sort of moment that she must've missed in her sex-induced haze. She is on the edge of the physio bed, his upper body over her as he pushes her top of and gains access to pulling a boob out of her bra to latch his lips on, teeth grazing the sensitive nub that is entirely too much.
The fourth orgasm takes more effort, more stimulation that he's all too happy to deliver before her body ceases. Limbs latch around him so tight and stiff you'd think she'd turned to stone as she pulls him against herself in the process.
It triggers his own, filling the condom to the point he's almost certain some spilled out from how tight she'd got around him.
His head still on her chest, he can not only hear but see her heart thudding in under her skin that is sparkling with drops of sweat. Her breath is heavy and uneven and she's babbling something under her breath but it's gibberish.
Almost feeling like he might've just fucked her to melting point for her brain, he manages to act quickly to get rid of the condom and clean them both up. Then somehow getting her to drink somewhat despite her being still what he'd describe as unresponsive.
"Alright, let's just lie you down." Lando sighs after finding some clothes of his that he quite literally dresses her in like a toddler, but he feels like joggers might be more comfortable for her. So once the skirt is off, her gets her in the joggers and since her top doesn't seem such an issue her sort of helps to get her boob properly back into the bra cup then recovers her by pulling top down.
She lies down and he places a towel over her as a makeshift blanket figuring that she just needs to sleep and rest then she will hopefully find her voice works with real words. He also makes sure there's water within arms reach for when she hopefully comes back around.
He does lock the door, just on the off chance a McLaren team member goes snooping for something they think he needs. It unlocks from the inside if she comes around before he's back.
Now Lando just has to make sure Daniel doesn't notice his sister's absence and begin searching around.
-
After a very successful qualifying taking P2 behind Charles, Lando debriefs and Jon wants to do some cool-down physio but the insistence from Lando that he doesn't need it. Definitely isn't usual behaviour.
"Look, there's someone in my driver's room who I don't think wants to be confronted by more people than me. So just head out. I'll catch up." Lando admits, knowing it's easier to get the man to comply if he just speaks honestly.
"Right...could just start with that." Jon laughs shaking his head. "You're not supposed to use that room as a means of-"
"I know, thanks." Lando cuts in disappearing down the hallway.
He unlocks the door and walks in to find y/n is still soundly asleep but he notes some of the water has been drank and she has shifted, so she didn't die.
"Y/n...you gotta wake up." Lando states in a soft voice that he is so unfamiliar with using on y/n. She groans shaking her head and squeaking her eyes closed harder.
"No. I don't want to move."
"Well I can carry you out of here, but if Daniel spots us I think he might catch onto what's happening." Lando sighs making her finally peak her eyes open.
That's when there's a new emotion introduced for Lando, or maybe more of a new thought. But she looks adorable.
Her eyes are clearly puffy with exhaustion (he'll proud take the credit for that), she's still got some tear stains on her cheeks from when her eyes watered during her second orgasm onwards and she has her face squished into the surface of the physio bed making her lips pout.
"Ok." Y/n murmurs slowly pushing herself up. She's got those nap creases on her face showing evidence of her depth and length of sleep. "You attempted murder."
"Death by sex is one of the better ways to go as far as I know." Lando smirks then sighing. "I can give you a ride to the hotel if you need."
"Definitely not-did you change me?"
"Oh wow, I knew you weren't really with me but you were really out of it. I figured joggers might be more comfortable than a skirt."
Y/n hums spotting her phone and picking it up and suddenly she breathes in relief.
"I could use that lift. Daniel left without me. He's gone for dinner with Christian." Y/n murmurs earning a nod.
Surely it wouldn't look odd for her to get a ride with her brother's old teammate. They're friends, Daniel would trust Lando with his sister. At least he would so long as what they've spent the day doing is kept from his knowledge.
"Let's go." Lando nods offering his hands to help her off down onto her feet and she looks at his hands. "I watched you speak gibberish like a toddler, if you think I have faith in you holding your own weight on those legs today, you must be mad."
"Fine. Carry me." Y/n instructs making him look at her almost tempted to repeat his exact actions as earlier just to remind her who is in charge out of the two of them.
But that might actually kill her, so he turns and squats allowing her to climb on his back before he hikes her up a bit further, hearing her hiss a breath that is clearly the pressure of her crotch against his back.
"Alright, let's go." Lando smirks while knowing that as soon as they step out there is going to be some stories and rumours that come of it, but with Daniel's help they'll almost definitely squash them easily.
#f1#fanfic#formula 1#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris x y/n#lando x reader#lando#norris#ln4#lando norris x you#lando norris smut#lando norris fic#lando norris fanfic#ln4 smut#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#mclaren f1#mclaren#ln4 x you#ln4 x y/n#smut#formula 1 smut#lando smut#f1 fic#mclaren formula 1#mclaren racing#formula one
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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]
Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit
Word Count: 4.6k
Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.
[PART 1] [PART 2]
The Siren wasn’t leaving.
Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.
But… But still.
Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?
The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.
He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.
Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.
‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’
A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.
‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.
.
.
On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.
You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick.
“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.
He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—
“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.
The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.
“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.
He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.
When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.
After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.
“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”
The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’
.
.
The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.
You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.
It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.
By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.
The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.
“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.
The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive.
.
.
The next morning, the Siren was singing again.
That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.
But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.
There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.
Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.
Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.
You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.
You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.
“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”
He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.
“Do you want food?” you tried.
The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.
“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.
He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.
You blinked, a bit thrown.
“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”
He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.
“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”
The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.
When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.
He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he���d devoured the entirety of it.
“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.
To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.
“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.
.
.
There was a ship wrecked off the coast.
Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.
The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.
Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.
You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.
Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.
‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’
‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’
‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’
Your captain would be so proud.
.
.
The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.
The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.
You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.
It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.
As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.
You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.
The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.
The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.
He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.
You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.
He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.
“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”
The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.
You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.
“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.
After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.
You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.
Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.
‘Not safe.’
That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.
“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.
‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.
There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.
You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”
He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.
“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.
He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.
“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”
His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.
‘Not safe.’
“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"
Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.
.
.
[TAG LIST - CLOSED]
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#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Vil Schoenheit x Reader#Vil x Reader#vil schoenheit#Mermay#Monster Mayhem#My Writing#vil shoenheit#Siren!Vil#Mermaid!Vil#Fantasy AU#Monster Mayhem Vil Part 2
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There's Other Kinds Of GM Advice: Theatricality versus Transparency
(This first appeared on the Indie RPG Newsletter)
I find that broadly there are at least two kinds of GM advice – and they have a very different philosophy underpinning them.
The first kind of advice aims at all costs to maintain verisimilitude. It’s a solution that you can implement without breaking the players’ immersion in their characters. This can just be stuff like Matt Colville explaining that if your players are taking too long discussing plans, guess what, orcs attack! We’ve all probably played a game where people were going in circles and not able to decide what to do. If it looks like we’re not able to decide, we’re probably going to be relieved if the GM makes something happen to break the deadlock and prompt us back into the action.
(Historically, this kind of thing was taken to egregious lengths like Gary Gygax saying if players start acting uppity, have a rock fall on their head. It’s mostly gone now but reddit tells me that Cyberpunk Red which came out relatively recently still says something similar.)
The second flavor of advice involves breaking character and talking to your players directly. I know “talk to your players” is a mantra repeated so often that autocorrect suggests it as soon as you type the letter t. At its worst, this advice is vague and unhelpful. We’ve all considered talking frankly to people in our lives, we just find it awkward and hard and annoying. But, but, but – at its best, just describing the problem as you see it and escalating it from a character discussion to a player discussion will make it go away instantly. Like magic. (If you’re not sure what that means: In a previous issue, I discussed Jason Tocci’s excellent advice on escalating conversation in this way.)
And since the theatrical flavour of advice has the weight of history on its side and transparent advice keeps getting boiled down to mantra form, I thought I’d write down some examples of situations and some alternative ways to handle them:
Situation 1: The players are marines discussing whether to dive into the alien lair and recover their stolen engine (their main goal) or go and see if another missing team of marines is okay. There is only 45 minutes left and this is a one shot.
Theatrical: The other marines suddenly come on the radio and say, “hey we’re okay, please complete the mission.”
Transparent: “Hey, folks. There’s 45 minutes left. If we don’t do the alien lair now, we won’t be able to do it at all. Is that fine?”
Situation 2: The players are low-level fantasy nobodies who have a famous wizard friend. They’re about to tangle with some medium-level bad guy and decide to call in their wizard friend.
Theatrical: When the players try to contact her via a telepathic phone call / spell, she sounds breathless and says she’s busy doing something way more important like fighting a dragon.
Transparent: “Hey, folks. If we get the wizard in, she’ll absolutely make this fight a cakewalk. We won’t even need to roll initiative really. Is that what you want? Or would we rather have a fun fight?”
Situation 3: The players were having fun exploring when they meet a cool NPC (an android! an elf! an android elf!) who has this interesting backstory with an urgent, earth-shattering hook. They go along with the android elf because it seems more important but immediately look like they’re having less fun.
Theatrical: Narrate how the android elf meets a group of other android elves and have the elf say, “Hey, now that I have these folks helping me, you can leave it you want!”
Transparent: “Hey, folks. Talking to you as players here, do we want to stick with this whole android elf plot here? It does mean that we won’t do any open-ended exploration. Which would you prefer?” If they want to ditch the elf plot, you could just retcon it entirely or do the theatrical solution.
All of these situations have happened at my table. They’re all relatively low stakes and I think whichever way you handle it, it’ll probably be fine. But that said, some situations absolutely work better when done transparently so if you’ve never tried the transparent way, give it a shot. If immersion matters a lot to you, try it at the end of the session.
/End
PS. The theatrical options often still require the players to willingly suspend their disbelief and go with it. If a player didn’t play along, they might just say “I thought their radios weren’t working, otherwise we could’ve just contacted them before. Why can they suddenly contact us now?” or “Oh, the wizard is fighting a dragon right now. We can totally wait. There’s no reason we need to fight the bad guy right now.” And sometimes I can’t shut off that part of my brain either so I won’t judge. But if there’s a way to sidestep that situation even coming up, I’m going to take it every time.
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I just found your blog today can you please explain or point out a post that explains the MASH timeloop thing? I love the show but I've never heard anyone talk abt it that way before
oh yay hurray ive been waiting for an excuse to talk about this lmao sorry this is long
ok so basically maeve (my gf) and i started watching mash for the first time about a month ago and we started joking about it being like the characters were stuck in a time loop mostly because the same basic episode format is repeated over and over, because it's a sitcom from the 70s and the episodes arent meant to be watched en masse where you can start noticing all the little repetitions and plot holes and inconsistencies that naturally occur in longform tv
but then i started to pay attention to the dates being mentioned in the show - famously the korean war never technically ended, but american troops were involved in active on the ground fighting between 1950 and 1953, so the entire 11 seasons of mash have to be squeezed into that three year period. with 251 episodes occurring within 1,129 days, that gives every episode about 4.5 days of real time. so it works right? no time loop right? well wait a sec
for the first 5 seasons or so of mash they give very consistent dates about when things are happening. for example, bj arrives in korea in september of 1952, at the start of season 4. colonel potter arrives about a week after him, and talks about how he has 18 months left before his retirement. that gives us about 7 months for the shows final 7 seasons to take place in, meaning that by the episode 'point of view' in season 7 we should be around december of 1952. in that episode the pov character starts writing a letter home and in the corner he writes the date:
september of 1951. ok, could be that this episode isn't meant to take place in the regular timeline of the season - maybe for some reason its just like, a random flashback episode. but bj, charles, and potter are all present, even though none of them got to korea until 1952. now i KNOW that this is not like, the True Hidden Secret Lore of MASH, this is the writers realizing they were running out of road and turning back the clock a bit to accommodate for how long the show was running on. but play in my time loop space with me please
more talking points:
consistent jokes about time zones and how difficult it is to call the states because "our today is their yesterday but if you call them now it might not reach them until our tomorrow and by that point our yesterday will be their today"
hawkeye's increasing mania over the seasons and his conviction that the war will never end, comparing the camp to dante's inferno multiple times. maeve once pointed out that the closer hawkeye comes to realizing that he's trapped in a time loop the closer he gets to being institutionalized - and what does the series finale cold open onto ? hawkeye in a mental institution. the only way out is to lose yourself etc. sidenote frank also escaped the time loop by going insane and getting institutionalized
in a war for all seasons bj potter and charles are all present at the 1951 new years party as well as the 1952 new years party
there are three christmas episodes, two of which bj is present for even though he should only have spent one christmas in korea
details of people's families and lives shift around - sometimes potter's got multiple grandchildren, sometimes he only has one, sometimes its a girl, sometimes its a boy, sometimes she's 5, sometimes he's 2
we're not the first people to talk about this either, here's a good video compilation posted a couple yrs ago of time loop moments
overall ive been using the time loop thesis to add another layer to my mash viewing experience. it increases the already present sense of constant dread, anger, frustration, and disgust with their situation that the characters feel, plus it feels like a very poignant take on the united states' constant warmongering and violent existence. it really never ends, it just goes on an on. the future's been canceled by the war department- we're just gonna replay the past.
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job offer (part 2) | steve raglan x reader
a/n: hi hi!! he's back.....! also, you literally do not have to have read part 1 for this, but that link is right here in case you decide to!
contains: degradation, bondage, breeding kink, power imbalance, afab!reader, age gap (however the reader is not a minor of course!) DUB!CON, very brief, reader says she doesn't like something when answering a question, but does, and clearly gives consent following.
word count: 2.1k
It had been two weeks since you’d seen Steve. You’d started your new job, as promised, but you couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t called you, and you couldn’t help your mind from racing. Did he bend every girl looking for a job over his desk like that? Is that why he has such a high success rate? Your typing grows more aggressive on the keyboard in front of you as your thoughts wander, finally sending your last e-mail of the day.
To be fair, your new job was good. Great, even. You’d made a great first impression on your boss without fucking him, and people seemed to like you well enough. You collect your belongings, heading out for the day with a sigh. Giving a small wave and grin to your coworkers on your departure, you finally exhale all of your stress as you leave the building. You check your phone, reading the time. 5:15. You knew that Steve’s hours of operation were at least until six, so what was the harm in dropping by?
When you arrive, it’s desolate. The last few employees are packing up their things, and suddenly you feel like a burden-not wanting to hassle anyone. You opt for a middle ground, walking up to the receptionist window with a warm grin. “Hi,” You say. The woman looks back at you, silent. Irritated. “I just, uh, I was wondering if Mr.Raglan was still here?” The woman looks..confused. “Sure is,” She says, assuming you're a late appointment. “You head on back, though. He’ll lock up.” You can tell she doesn’t want to be there a minute longer, so you nod gratefully. “Of course, thank you so much.” You grin at her, and she offers a small one back.
Making your way down the hall, you see the bold letters of his name embellished on his door, which is ajar. You knock lightly, sticking your head in first, cautiously. He looks up from the stack of papers he’s got piled on his desk, meeting your gaze. His expression goes from stressed to amused..perceptive. “Hey, you.” He says, sing-songy. His eyes return back to his papers, and your brows furrow at the reaction. You take the opportunity to walk to the chair in front of his desk, plopping yourself down as you fold your hands in your lap. You’d expected more of a reaction, and he can tell. He sighs, a smug grin adorning his features as he looks up at you, finally putting the papers down to settle.
“Job not what you were lookin’ for?” He asks.
“You didn’t call me.”
“Didn’t know you wanted me to.”
You sputter, scoffing at his words. “You didn’t-you didn’t know?” You repeat. He shakes his head, elbows on his desk as he holds up his hands with a defensive shrug.
He has to be joking.
“You have all of my contact information, I mean-” Is your next line of defense. He raises his hand in a ‘stop’ motion to quiet you, easing you into silence. “And you..wanted me to..go through a private file of employee confidential information for..what, exactly?” You can’t tell if he’s testing you, but the way your clit is throbbing makes you want to ace it. “To fuck me.” You say, plainly. Clearly there’s no other way around this, and if he wants to hear it, so be it. He chortles, exhaling harshly through his nose.
“To fuck you.”
“Yes, but if there’s something funny about that to you, then I can just-” You start, aggressively, wondering why you even came here in the first place. “Shhh,” He hushes, raising his hand gently once more. He stands up, closing the door to his office. You swallow harshly. He walks slowly back to his desk, coolly, speaking softly to you. “Come here,” He says, gently. You’re confused at the sudden change of heart, but oblige anyway. You can’t ignore how badly your pussy needs him anymore. You walk around his desk, standing where his chair would normally be. It’s pushed back behind him, to grant you more room. He stands in front of you, towering over you as he cups your face in his hands. You take a step back, gazing up at him, doe-eyed as he studies your features. “Pretty thing like you came all the way back here for me?” He asks.
So it was a test.
“Yes.” You say, nodding.
“Good.” He says. He presses a kiss to the top of your head before lowering himself to his knees, guiding you up onto his desk as he sinks lower. When you’re finally adjusted, he’s knelt in front of you, large palms running up and down your nylon clad thighs. The skirt you’re wearing gets bunched up from the motions, hiking higher and higher up your legs. “See you couldn’t be as much of a slut today, considering your new job and all.” He says, referring to the nylon tights as he pinches a piece of the fabric between his fingers. He pulls it from your skin, letting it snap back against your flesh as he lets go. You nod, inhaling sharply through your nose. “Corporate job.” You say. “Yeah, I know.” He replies. He seems uninterested, but it’s far from the case. He just..knows. Knows what you’re going to say before you say it. Knows what you’re thinking, too, it seems.
Before you can say anything else, he roughly rips the tights off, and you gasp as the fabric tears. The sudden movement causes you to lean backwards, leaning on your palms for support. It’s as if you’ve fallen into a trap, but one that you want to be in. One that you shouldn’t want to be in, but you do. He spreads your legs for you, the torn fabric falling around your thighs as he tears the only thing left in his way; your panties. The actions leave him eye level with your exposed cunt, and you gasp harshly.
“Jesus, do you have to destroy everything I own?” You’re exasperated, trying to catch your breath just from that alone. “Watch your mouth.” He replies. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can only nod in response. He tugs you closer to him, leaving you on the edge of his desk. Your palms once again steady you, of which he takes note. “Good girl. Keep yourself steady-can you do that?”
You nod. “Yes-”
His mouth finally latches to your pussy, and you gasp loudly as you fall back onto your elbows. “Fuck!” You hiss, and you can hear him chuckle into your pussy, the vibrations against your clit making you dizzy. His mouth works on your clit, spitting on it just to lap it all back up. Moans spill tirelessly from your mouth, and you finally lay fully on your back. He uses the opportunity to tug you fully towards him, shelving your legs on his broad shoulders. You lay there, your hands lunging from your sides to tug at his hair, babbling his name over and over again. He’s quiet, which normally would irritate you, but you don’t want to risk making him talk right now; considering the way he’s feasting on your pussy. You feel yourself dripping, even more so when he slides two thick fingers inside of you. “Ah-!” You gasp, and he soothes you, pulling his mouth from you. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re alright, yeah?” He asks, feigning sympathy as he rubs his thumb against your clit, his fingers no longer pumping inside of you; only a standstill.
You nod rapidly, desperate for him to do anything. “Uh-huh, m’okay, please-” You beg, “Want more, m’sorry-”
“Bet you are.” He tsk’s, resuming the motion of his fingers pumping inside of you. You tilt your head upwards, chin to your chest as you look down at him. You whine, desperate for his mouth, but willing to take anything at the moment. He talks to you again, still on his knees. “Gave you that job, now you wanna come here and have me fuck you, again, after hours, nonetheless.” He scolds, and you whine. “Spoiled fucking rotten is what you are. Fucking whore.” You can’t help the way your pussy clenches at his words, sobbing from pleasure as he licks at your clit, sliding his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. You hear him moan from beneath you, chuckling softly afterwards. “Yeah, you like that, huh? Like when I call you a fuckin’ slut?” You writhe above him, your elbow knocking his mug off of his desk, hearing it clatter against the floor as it shatters. He’s unphased, still waiting for an answer to his question. “No,” You say, but your moans prove otherwise, as does you clenching around his fingers. “No?” He repeats. “I’d say you’re fuckin’ lying. And lying sluts get nothing.” You whine, tugging at his hair.
“Of course I fucking like it-is that what you wanna hear?” You pant.
“Only wanna hear it if it’s true.”
“It’s-!” You want to scream, wondering how someone so collected and calm can make you so frustrated. “It’s true! I swear, it’s true-” A thin layer of sweat graces your features, and you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching. “God, m’gonna fucking-” You babble, and he immediately pulls away.
Now you really want to scream.
“Are you kidding?!” You ask, your features flushed and cherried red with warmth. You regret your sentence as soon as you hear the jingle of his belt coming undone, tossing it harshly to the side as it hits the radiator with a clang!
“You’ve got some fuckin’ mouth on you, you know that?” He asks, and you immediately retreat back into submission. “I’m-I just don’t understand!” You snap, exasperated. He makes fleeting eye contact here and there, focusing on the surroundings as he lines you up at the edge of his desk. You can tell he’s frustrated, and it’s your fault. “And what don’t you understandl? Huh?” He asks, lining his cock with your entrance. The way the head of his cock brushes against your clit makes your eyes roll backwards, lips parted and jaw slack as it bumps into the bundle of nerves. “F’you even want me here or not-” He laughs, as if he’s never been asked something so ridiculous before. He slides his cock into you, pulling you closer by your hips to help you sink further onto it.
“If I even want you here.” He repeats, baffled. He holds you steady, and you’re hanging off of the desk just enough for him to fuck into you steadily. He wraps his arm around your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him. You breathe heavily, expelling moans as you stay chest to chest. He presses his lips to yours, and you feel your worries wash away. Why did you even have worries? This was disgusting-vile-to return to the workplace of a man older than you, just to have him fuck you.
“Do you-think-I don’t-want you here?” He grunts through thrusts, pounding into you deliciously. You shake your head rapidly, wondering why you would even care if he wanted you here in the first place. The way he’s fucking into you makes your brain go fuzzy, dumb with lust. It makes you anxious, fearing you’ll say something you shouldn’t under the guise of intimacy. “Do you want me to want you here?” He asks, the question buried into the flesh of your neck as he kisses it. Your head lulls back, feeling like putty in his hands. “Yes,” You answer, and he groans into your flesh. “Fuck,” He takes the confession as a cue to fuck you harder, which you’re not complaining about. Your arms drape over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer into you. You’re both flushed, features graced with rosiness. His thrusts grow more sloppy, inconsistent. You know he’s close and you nod rapidly. “Come in me.” You beg, plead. “He pulls his head from the crook of your neck, holding you by the back of it, free hand tight on your hip. “Of course you’d want that.” He scoffs, but who is he to deny you?
You feel his load shoot into you, warm and thick as you babble his name, cumming around his cock as you drain him. As he finishes, he still holds you close to him, both of you steadying your breathing. He finally pulls his cock from you, his load pooling onto the desk beneath you. You quickly avert your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek. It seems you’re both thinking the same thing, and he dresses himself in the silence.
“We shouldn't.” He says, gazing at the wall with folded arms. “But we are.” You reply.
#maple writes raglan!#this is insane i know#part 3??? mayhaps.#steve raglan fluff#steve raglan x reader smut#steve raglan smut#steve raglan x reader#steve raglan#william afton smut#william afton x reader#william afton#matthew lillard smut#matthew lillard#fnaf#fnaf smut#steve raglan imagine#steve raglan x reader imagine
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Following a Trail of Clues
Lots of plots have at least some aspect of figuring out a mystery or uncovering some hidden truth. While it may not be a traditional murder mystery, writing a plot that revolves around the gathering of information and uncovering of clues can be written using a lot of the same techniques.
1. You should probably plan it
If you’re strictly a pantser, give it a shot, but I have never been able to pants mysteries like this. I would recommend planning it from the beginning and saving yourself a lot of time and headaches trying to piece it together later.
2. Start with the beginning and end
When planning a mystery, I start with the beginning, and then skip to the point that they uncover the truth or figure it out and work backwards to fill out the middle. What is the last hint they need to uncover the full truth, then, what leads to that hint, rinse and repeat until we get back to that beginning you created.
For example, say the MC is trying to find their missing friend. The last point would be ‘they find their friend’, so that’s where we begin. Maybe right before that, they’re told the location, to get their location, they’ve kidnapped one of the bad guys who knows it, to get to him, they need to break into the evil lair, to find the lair, they need to spy on the organization, and so on.
3. Diversify the hints
I talk about this a bit in my post about written elements (here), but essentially, you’ll want to diversify how your characters get their hints. It will seem cheap if they find everything they need to know on conveniently spaced notes or journal entries (unless you can really justify that), or it’s all told to them by someone who happens to know it all (such as the ‘wise man’ trope).
Maybe they find the last clue written down, but the one before was told to them from a key character, and the one before was puzzled out through a riddle, etc. etc. Here are some places to find clues:
Someone else knows something
This could be either an ally or an enemy. Family members, friends they weren’t aware of, a hidden partner, seemingly a stranger who knows more than they’re letting on. If they are an ally, there should be a reason they haven’t come forward yet, or justification for why their testimony is where it is in a story. Maybe they are somewhat accidentally guilty in the mystery, maybe they are afraid to be involved, maybe they aren’t aware anything has happened at all.
If they’re an enemy, maybe your protagonists need to corner them, best them in a battle, talk to them away from their boss, kidnap them, etc. Consider why this person would betray their ‘side’ to provide a clue to the protagonists.
Journal entries, notes, letters, ledgers, or otherwise written down
Physical evidence—footprints, pieces of clothing left behind, an object, photos, drawings
Biological evidence--fingerprints, DNA, hair, etc. If your character already has access to the equipment for this, great! If not, consider how they could find this out.
A prophetic dream or vision (use in cases in which it would make sense for your character to have this, obviously)
A riddle, poem, or song, if you can justify it.
An educated guess (for small jumps)
Timing—if they can figure out a timeline, they may be able to figure out something else
Something is missing or off place. That’s odd, character always leaves their book on the bedside table, so why isn’t it there?
Any other ways to get hints or clues to your characters?
#writing#creative writing#writers#screenwriting#writing community#writing inspiration#books#filmmaking#writing advice#hints#clues#following a trail of clues#writing mystery#mystery#detective
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Carolina (Part 2)
Summary: The line between hatred and lust is now non existent. How will their bodies react? And does she already have Harry wrapped around her finger?
Trope: Cowboy!H
Wordcount: 13.7k
Warnings: FILTHY smut, bondage, rough dynamic, oral ( both receiving) , exhibitionism , spanking, you know how i write smut….
Part 1
Harry has never been this eager to work.
He had an affinity for being a Cowboy, it had its perks that include a well-known reputation which fuelled his ego, the long days spent working as he built his athletic body that puts other young men his age to shame. He loves being an early bird and feeling his hands clench from the hard labour, the sun that hugs his skin and the jobs he does from fixing houses or anything that’s built from wood, riding horses and checking up on the towns’ ranches.
So many endless jobs he has done before and never was he this enthusiastic.
When he arrived he caught a subtle glance of her, only to for her disappear immediately. He had no choice but to get to work. His task was to install a new fence in her family’s ranch and check on the bulls since he knows how to deal with them well.
He was halfway through his work when he felt her presence behind him, he was tempted to have a look but didn’t.
He felt like a teenager last night as he thought of her lips almost touching his, her lily scent consuming him and her little white dress that makes him want to go on his knees. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time, that giddy feeling you get when you don’t know what’s happening or why you are acting in a certain way.
He is a man after all, so he wiped his forehead, glanced behind him, and his legs slightly shook at her sight.
She was sunbathing in her family’s ranch, sitting in a white bikini with her knees bent and a book in her hands. She didn’t need sunglasses as long as she had her cowboy hat on. Her skin was covered in sunscreen making it shimmer against the sun rays and Harry was about to drool.
He dropped his kit to the ground with a thud and walked over to her, feeding the itch to be closer. He knows that she can see him, yet her eyes remain set on the book. He stands in front of her, covering the light as he takes in her gorgeous figure.
Perfect curves, glittery skin, a small amount of sweat trickling down her midsection, her hair braided backwards, and smile plastered proudly on her face.
“Came back for more sneaky kisses?” she lowered down her book and smirked at him.
“Are you offering Carolina?” He went down on his knees to her level and leaned in closer to her.
“Maybe you should try harder.” She whispered to him as he took in her face features for the millionth time.
He caught her braid in his hand and twirled it between his fingers while they both stared at each other, with the sexual tension so thick as they were half naked.
“What are you reading?” He took her book from her and observed it whilst still playing with her hair.
“The letters of Vincent Van Gogh.” She replied as he hummed knowing all about her interest in art.
His eyes caught a box near her, and he was curious to know its components, so he leaned forward only to find more books in it.
“What’s that for, you have a book in your hand.” He asked in confusion, as he double checked the number of existent books.
“There’s classics, fiction, love novels, thrillers, fantasy and some art books. I mean I must be equipped; I change moods quickly and I need a book for each one.” She retrieved her book from his palm and pretended to continue reading.
Her parents came out on the front porch which meant that he had to go back to work out of respect for them, so he had to make it quick.
“Tonight at my house, there’s a party and you better be there Carolina.” He whispered lowly in her ear as he gently nipped at her skin.
“And if I’m not there?” she replied with a shaky breath.
“Let’s just say I’m not a man who repeats himself.” He placed one last wet peck behind her ear, stood up and walked over to the fence to complete his work as she continued to gaze at him all afternoon.
Being organised was all she knew.
Recklessness was never on her agenda, even her decision to study in Washington was well calculated. There were many things that came close to breaking her straight path yet were never enough.
So she wonders how a cheesy cowboy was able to lurk around, rest in her brain, dominate it and control her acts and breathing sometimes.
As if on cue she found herself getting ready for his party without another thought, and maybe that was planned too. Tonight she’ll get to know his real intentions, what lies behind his staring and touches and if diverting off her path is worth it.
The party at his house stretched out to the ranch where the bonfire was held last night, there were many young faces specially girls as everyone danced around to the music with the Whiskey smell lingering in the air.
She took in the scenery and the amazing vibe of the party before an arm was wrapped around her waist and a voice whispered in her ear.
“Carolina girl knows how to listen; I like the sound of that.” He whispered in her ear as she felt his skin on hers.
“And you invite all girls in this charming way?”. She teased him arching her back slightly.
“Only the ones that are clumsy, stubborn and live rent free in my head.” His deep voice sent shivers through her body, and she couldn’t help but lean into him.
The more time passed, the more people arrived. They greeted Harry like they’ve known him for a long time and after they leave he’d whisper in her ear jokes about them as she laughed after each one.
He had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and he felt like his body was on fire around her. Soon enough everyone gathered around for a moment they always wait for.
“I’m going to need your assistance in something.” He led her to the center of the room and signalled for the man in charge of the music.
“It’s a dancing competition Carolina, I bet we’ll make a good duo.” He didn’t give her time to object before he had her against his chest and began swaying with her along with the music.
There was only one couple with them on the dance floor, but it was evident that everyone’s attention was fixed on Harry Styles and the girl that never left his side since the beginning of the party.
His hands roamed her body as they danced along to the beat in a way that shows their chemistry, they were not ashamed to be doing this in front of everyone. Maybe Harry liked it a bit too much.
She had to have him under any circumstances, she didn’t mind if he wants it to be a one time thing, she’s a mature girl. The way his body felt on hers, his pants and subtle moans as he guided her body on his and danced with her through the song did things to her hormones.
“Do you see that girl over there? How she’s mad and frowning? He whispered to her as he grinded on her from behind.
“Yeah?”
“She wants my attention Carolina”
“And she can’t have it?” She asked through heavy breaths.
“No. It’s all yours pretty Carolina.” He swayed with her body until the song ended, and he smirked as he felt the loud cheering fill up his ego.
He brought her a soft drink to freshen up making sure to keep her around him. He felt like he found a rare gem and was too cautious of anyone else getting it.
She can tell how everyone’s eyes were on her, whether it be men or women, they envied her. Harry was right about that girl and her jealousy but the way he told her all about it and confessed things feeling unashamed was her last tipping point.
“Hey Harry, is there a quiet place we can go to?” She asked with a grin on her face.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He placed his drink aside and laced his hand through hers as he led her to his bedroom.
The moment he closed the door behind him, he crashed his lips into hers. A moment he has been waiting for ever since he set his eyes upon her. Her lips tasted like honey on a Sunday afternoon, and he can’t understand why everything about her is sweet.
She kissed him back aggressively as their tongues touched and teeth clashed, the music from the party can be heard faintly as they both were too infatuated with each other.
Their hands wouldn’t stop exploring each other’s bodies, it was more than a want, it was a simple need. For her to touch on his godly physique, him to indulge in her gorgeous body. Once they began there was no going back.
Their lips refused to leave each other as she sucked on his bottom lip and held on to him. His lips were intoxicating, and she can kiss on them for a lifetime. His soft cupid shaped lips that perfectly fit into hers as he led the kiss with his tongue. His hand was wrapped around her waist, and she shamelessly placed hers on his ass.
“Clothes off now.” His voice was raspy and deep just like when he asked, ordered her to come to the party.
She quickly took off her shorts and crop top leaving her body in a lace set and him in briefs that can barely contain his hard on. He had her back against his chest as he moaned in her ear about her choice of clothes.
“So goddamn pretty, gonna let me enjoy your body? Worship it?” He massaged her tits above the bralette she had on as she grinded against his crotch.
“If you show me a good time maybe.” She reached her hand backwards to his crotch and touched on his rock-hard cock beneath his briefs making him hiss loudly.
“Oh you’re in for a show Carolina.” He nipped at her ear as she arched her back feeling his hot breath send vibrations through her body.
He effortlessly picked her up bridal style and placed her on his bed, then began kissing all over her skin starting from her neck to her collarbone, perky nipples (after he tore off her bralette), her tummy then her pelvis till he reached her pussy.
He hovered his mouth over the panties before planting a delicate teasing kiss against the fabric. Her chest was heaving with anticipation, his hands were everywhere, and it just felt too good.
“Oh it looks so pretty, I can smell your arousal baby, can I taste what I caused hmm? Do you want me to lick your cunt?” He cooed seeing how she’s getting lost in her pleasure bubble.
“Yes please.” She breathed out quickly as she laid back feeling her arousal become more obvious while he sucked on her inner thighs and kept pressing teasing kisses over her panties.
He tore the fabric immediately and she wishes she was able to see his veins appearing as his hands effortlessly tore the material. His nose nudged her clit catching her off guard, and now that she’s uncovered she felt so bare.
He cooed as he repeatedly told her how pretty her pussy is before blowing air against it. He took a broad lick all over her slit tasting her addictive arousal on his tongue.
His tongue was hot and hungry, and her cunt was clenching around nothing making him go feral. He knew that it was calling for him and he could stay up all night loving on it.
He massaged her labia gently and but with a slow rhythm, he wanted to see how far she can go, how much teasing she can take, go deep inside pleasure and enjoy whatever she gives him.
He only has two fingers in her wetness massaging in rotating motion, the tips are soaked and glistening under the light. He leans in forward and begins licking her drenched folds.
His mouth was doing wonders. He knew exactly where to place his tongue, the right amount of sucking and holding back, nibbling at certain areas then switching to different motions.
“Tastes like strawberries pretty.” He moaned without raising his head once, feeling the precum seep from his tip at her taste.
He plunged in one finger and continued to suck and massage her labia with his tongue only, his finger curled every now and then near her spongy spot making her let out load moans.
With one particular nibble, she involuntarily closed her thighs around his head feeling the blood rush to her clitoris. It was all very overwhelming for her poor cunt. He knew exactly what to do, where to place his tongue, for how long to suck , where to angle his finger and how.
“Are you going to let me enjoy this cunt or do I have to be mean Carolina?” He sent a smack to the back of her thigh and pinned her legs to the bed.
“Please your mouth… it’s..” She let out incoherent words as she tugged on his soft hair.
“My mouth is what?” He raised his head making eye contact with her and hovered his tongue over clit as he awaited her answer.
“It’s so so good Harry.” She moaned loudly tweaking her nipples and gripping the bedsheets before he hummed in approval and harshly sucked on her clitoris.
The blood was rushing to his cock, and he loved being a generous man, he’s an orgasm giver. He loved the way she’s withering beneath him.
Her hands holding on to the sheets, a slight back arch, tugging at his hair, the chanting of his name, the tightness of her cunt around his finger inviting him in, the sweet fruit of her wetness on his tongue, a dish he can have for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Her pussy was getting wetter with every lick he provided, he moved his attention to her engorged clit and thrusted two fingers going at a fast pace then slowing down when he feels her walls tighten.
“Harry I need to cum please.” She begged feeling the overstimulation from his mouth and fingers, he put her on the edge twice and now she felt like exploding.
“Because you’re a good girl or a whore.” He rasped in between licks, and she can faintly see wetness dripping down his chin as he continued to eat her out like a starved man.
“Both.” She purposely pulled harshly on his hair, making him look up at her as she was met with his famous grin, messy hair, hungry eyes and the sight of him licking the wetness from his swollen lips.
“Then you better give it to me real good.” He suddenly went on a fast and rough pace with his fingers, along with pinching her clit between his index and thumb. His entire focus was on her cunt and his hand, his forearm flexed from the intensity and speed of his thrusts, with every plunge some of her wetness splashed on the sheets making him chuckle lightly.
Wetness dripping down beneath him, on him and for him.
He pinched her clitoris one last time before he felt himself get covered in her wetness, she was shaking and moaning audibly, some of her hair strands were stuck to her forehead, and her cum was covering his clothed cock, abs, arms and face.
She has never experienced this before with anyone, or alone even. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud, high on ecstasy and pleasure, a mixture of numbness and overstimulation between her legs, she can still feel the aftermath of his tongue, how it lingered there and how good it was. She may be exaggerating but she could swear that she was seeing stars.
“You squirted baby, what a good girl that knows pleasure. It’s fresh juice that I don’t have to work for.” He leaned down and gently kissed over her pulsating cunt making her whine in pain, but not any type of pain.
“I’m just thanking your pretty pussy baby, I’m all covered in your arousal. Isn’t that amazing?” He took a deep breath inhaling her arousal resulting in an audible moan from him, he brought his hand to his briefs and removed them, freeing his swollen cock as he hissed at the feeling.
She could not feel her legs, she just had the best orgasm of her life and unlocked a new feeling, his hands were roaming her skin, pressing pecks to her feminine part, and massaging the swell of her breasts, the music from the party was fading and his voice took over her entire focus.
‘Such a pretty sight, you give me no choice but to worship this pussy.’
‘God look at this, it’s pulsating around nothing poor baby was it too good to handle’
‘ If I’m not the luckiest man on earth then I don’t know what I am’
‘ It smells just as good as it tastes. Gonna be stuck on my tongue forever.’
Praise after praise, he lulled her out of her state of numbness with kisses and touches. Harry was big on physical touch, he wanted to see every inch of her skin, devour it, worship it, cherish it like no one would, he wanted to leave his mark, a mark that no one else but her will see or feel.
He was offering her the bare minimum, providing comfort and reassurance for a partner during such intimate moments was his duty but when he felt her thigh nudge and poke at his neglected cock, he remembered what a minx she is.
“And here I was thinking I should shower you with care so you can get your energy back, looks like you can’t help your whore nature.” He hovered over her, his cross necklace dangling between them.
“Not when your cock is making me horny again.” She whispered as he took note of the thin layer of sweat on her forehead, her hair scattered all over his pillow, her puppy eyes begging for more.
“Yeah? Do you want it? Tell me what is it that you want of me?” He closed the gap between them and whispered to her as their noses and lips touched.
“I want your cock inside of me, so deep that you rearrange my insides, I want to feel every stroke, the heat, your hardness and my tight walls. I want that fucking stamina you keep bragging about Styles.” Her whispers were so low yet so seductive, every word went straight to his cock that’s resting against her thighs. His pupils were dilated and she’s shocked he didn’t pin her to the bed right there and then.
His entire expression shifted, and he suddenly stepped off the bed and shuffled in his room before she felt the bed dip and his hands pick up her body and lift her upwards.
“Do you want this? I’m anything but gentle Blue Star, I will make you scream, and I promise you’ll never forget this.” His hand tightened around her waist with his cheek laid against hers as they were both on their knees.
“Yes give it to me.” She caught him off guard by stroking his gently making him lean towards her.
“Say Red if you want to stop and yellow to slow down.” Without another word he flipped her around, placing her back to his chest. He fixed some of her hair behind her ears and pressed kisses to her back.
She heard the unwrapping of a condom as he covered his leaking cock with it, she was a bit disappointed having missed the opportunity to see his length, he guided her around and manhandled her not allowing her to take in his body.
He brought her hands together behind her back and the next thing she felt was a rope tightening around her wrists. He was nipping at her ear lobe and the knot he made felt too good.
“You wanted my Stamina? I’ll show you what ‘cowboys stay on longer’ mean.” His voice was dark and low sending shivers through her body.
He ran his tip through her entrance up and down to tease her making her whine and tip her head backwards against his shoulder, her tied hands were trying to reach for his cock, but she could only stretch them so far.
The wetness of her cunt followed by the aftermath of her orgasm and his swollen cock made the experience overwhelming for both of them. Teasing was his favourite game and his key secret to pleasure, he wasn’t a stranger to the confessions of partners on the ‘best sex they’ve had’ and little do they know, it’s all about the edging.
Her pleas and whines were only fueling his ego more but also his need for her, he was holding back himself as well, he loved the rush he gets from his swollen cock that gets edged throughout the whole experience, how it leaks as a plead and becomes painful. But that’s the whole fun isn’t it?
“Need a cowboy to relieve your ache yeah? It would all be gone as soon as I stick it in. I bet you’re in pain.” He cooed brushing his tip against her swollen clitoris and he can see the tears welling in her eyes.
He thrusted in with one motion smoothly, her cunt was so slick from the wetness, and her heat? She felt too warm for him, he had barely entered yet she sucked him in immediately. His hips were stilled feeling too overwhelmed from the feeling. The same feeling that he desires and aims for from all the teasing. That sweet relief of his ache, his ache for her through and through.
He was still trying to comprehend the pleasing feeling as he laid his head against her shoulder and she the same, ecstasy and euphoria surrounded their bodies as he caught her lips in a passionate kiss.
Her engorged pearl, the intense heat forming between them, her uncontrollable clenching around his veiny cock, the wetness that’s making him slip out, his toned biceps holding her frame to his chest as they frantically share a kiss.
“You feel so good, so so good, I think I’m in heaven, and I didn’t even fuck you yet.” His eyes were shut and his breath was laboured as he slowly began moving his hips.
“You’re filling me up so well, it fits perfectly.” She groaned as his cock stretched her out in the most pleasing ways.
“Sucking me inside , your cunt knows what it needs.” After a few slow yet deep thrusts, he picked up his speed and plunged rapidly inside her velvety pussy.
He pushed her face down on the mattress and held her tied wrists with one hand as he watched his cock go in and out of her slick and puffy pussy. He also had a perfect view of her plump ass that he kept swooning over in her shorts.
His eyes were rolled back as his thrusts were vigorous and needy, the pleasure she was feeling from him was unmatched, he was too deep, reaching places she never knew of and massaging her g-spot with his tip, as well as the prominent veins along his shaft that found her itch.
Her whines and moans were to die for, he didn’t know what was making him more and more horny by the second. How she feels around his cock or her sweet whimpers, he’s getting them recorded in his mind so he can later come back to them, how can someone’s moans be so attractive?
He couldn’t take the sight of her ass bouncing against his length anymore, so he spread her cheeks and abruptly slowed down his hip movement before spitting on her tight hole, pressing her cheek roughly against each other and spanking her hard with his ring clad hand.
Her shriek from the slap was even prettier than the moans and that only fuelled him to continue furthermore.
“Tsk tsk dirty whore, do you love it when I slap this ass? You know how much I’m crazy about your body and you like it don’t you?” He rubbed the skin above his handprint as his pupils dilated upon seeing his initial engraved on her ass. She was too stuck in a pleasure daze to even respond to him.
“Say it or I won’t spank you again.” He manhandled her upwards to his chest by gripping her throat and whispering in her ear.
“Yes I love it when you spank me.” Her pleas were like music to his ears and his cock felt strained from her clenching.
“Say that you love how i’m obsessed with you.” His grip on her throat got tighter and her daze increased.
“I love how you’re obsessed with me, please.”
He picked his speed again and let out an animalistic groan, her cunt was too much for him, gripping him so goddamn tight. Luring him deeper and deeper, he wouldn’t be surprised if he bruised her cervix with how hard he’s going. But the harder he goes the harder she sucks him and clenches.
“No wonder you love it here, perhaps your cunt knows only cowboy cock can do it for you.” He left love bites against her neck and sucked harder when he found her sensitive spot.
He was trying to hold back as much as he can, but the way she’s tightening around him has him panting and holding on to her glorious body. It felt too surreal, and he lost it when she removed his hand from her throat and brought it to her lower abdomen placing it over what appeared to be a stomach bulge from his thick girth.
A primal instinct took over him and he pushed her down on the bed and laid his body against hers from behind as all of his weight was pressed on her back with her face buried in the mattress.
“Do you see how deep I can go? Properly arranging your insides, it’s my duty .” She only responded with a whine adoring the way he’s pressed on her and reaching even farther inside of her.
“Where can you feel me now?” He slowed down resulting in her pout and groan before bringing his hand backwards to pinch and massage her cheeks.
“Everywhere Harry, I can feel you everywhere.” She cried out and pushed her ass back on his shaft with all her strength.
“That’s what I fucking want.”
Harry keeps forgetting what a little minx she is, so whatever she does he’ll never be prepared.
“Red.” His thrusts halted the moment her safe word rolled out of her lips. He shifted his body and quickly untied her wrists as he flipped her around gently to check her state only to find her smirking.
“I want to change positions.” She said nonchalantly as his heartbeat slowly went back to average after getting worried on her.
“Not a nice card Carolina.” He hovered over her kissing her neck and rubbing at her thighs.
“And if I want to ride you? A proper northern tradition?” His eyes lit up at her words and he stopped sucking on her skin as he felt his swollen cock that still didn’t get a release become more and more painful.
In terms of pleasure, she was worse than Harry but he didn’t know that yet. She didn’t chase after orgasms during sex, she wanted lust, sweat, skin on skin, heat, a good time and wetness of her partner.
Yes orgasms are amazing but what about edging?
Allowing herself to reach the high then cut it off only to try new positions, new angles, new kinks, new everything. It is not the orgasm that feels good to her, it is rather the experience of it, tiring each other out and push the sexual limits. Her little secret was that one mind blowing orgasm after a good period of time of edging and teasing (her personal limit is up to hours) will always outpower many orgasms in a short period of time.
It is a sensual feeling that holds her high in the clouds, drunk on ecstasy and pleasure, nothing and nothing at all can compare to edging.
“Then show me what you got.” He gently slapped her inner thigh and moved upwards as she lifted herself on her knees. He relaxed his body against the headboard and was able to spot the soaked part of the sheets, near the edge of the bed from her squirting.
She hovered over his thigh and traced one of the tattoos she’s never seen before, it was a tiger and she smirked as she swiped some of her wetness off it.
Harry was a sight as he laid back. Toned chest going up and down to catch his breath, legs spread with his erect cock as if he wasn’t inside of her moments ago. His hands red and veiny, proud of leaving marks on her skin. His hair was sweaty, and curls dangled on his forehead.
The condom around his shaft was killing him, and the amount of precum that leaked was embarrassing so he removed it and leaned over to his bedtable to get a new one before her hand wrapped around his wrist.
“I would really like to feel you, if you don’t mind.” She swiped some of the precum that traced down his shaft and brought it to her mouth as she sucked on it while making eye contact with him.
He crossed his arms behind his head and motioned with his eyes toward his cock. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy Carolina.”
She placed her hands on his chest and teased him by grinding her wet cunt over his bare cock. The sound of wetness was too erotic and when he looked down he could see how she was sharing her arousal with his cock and feel how much in heat she is.
She shifted her weight on his throat purposefully as she stroked him and swiped her finger over the tip making his brain fuzzy. She lubed it up with some of her wetness before locking her eyes with him, lowering herself on his length and biting her lip.
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Her bare walls hugged him perfectly, he can properly feel her cunt as his tip massaged its way inside of her.
She didn’t move for a good minute, only clenching herself around him, as he got dizzy from feeling her on him, she was like a drug, and addiction is exactly what he wanted.
“Roll your hips and do what you were born to do, ride my cock like the cowgirl you are.” He slapped her cheeks and placed his hands on her hips as he got impatient.
“Fuck you’re so much deeper this way.” She began bouncing on his cock and the sight in front of Harry was too much to handle.
Her breasts were jiggling in front of him, so he brought his head forward and buried it between them, the curve between her hips and ass was marvellous as she rode him like there’s no tomorrow.
The sound of skin slapping, and wetness filled the room, along with their loud shameless moans. Harry licked all over her breasts and bit her nipples, as his cock twitched the more she pushed his head onto her breasts.
“That’s it baby, choke me with your tits. Wish I can milk these beauties.” He lapped and sucked at her skin, groaning loudly when she tugs on his hair roots.
He straightened his posture again and looked down to where they’re connected, beads of precum were coating his shaft and her pussy, a string of shared arousal soaked their parts as he can see some of his cum on her clit, and the moment he caught a glimpse he went feral.
He suddenly uses all of his weight and effortlessly pushes her on her back, away from his cock, as they both wince at the sudden separation. She doesn’t have time to question him before he sucks hard at her clit making her let out screams. She moves his head away feeling overwhelmed as her bundle of nerves is way too swollen, making him frown in grumpiness at her move.
“Sorry pretty but I swear it was calling for me. Asking me to suck, so swollen and red it needed care. I had to taste.” He rasped before burying his face against the wetness to lather his face with it considering it his facial as he moaned loudly from having her cum all over his face.
She had to physically pry him away as his primal instinct took over and refused to leave her poor cunt alone. He was a starving man as he returned to his previous position, cock erect more than ever as he tugged on it. He motioned for her with his index and middle finger making her crawl to him.
“You’re such a slut.” Her hand wrapped around his veiny length as she brought it to her entrance yet again.
“It takes one to know one baby.” He didn’t wait for her and thrusted inside her in one swift motion making her gasp out loud and hold on to him.
“Exactly baby, there’s a reason my name is always being screamed.” They were a dynamic that represented pleasure in its best form, the lust that radiated off their bodies was primal and needy. His cock diving into her walls, creating a perfect pattern of hitting her g-spot as her clitoris bumps with his short hairs.
“Tell me Harry, how’s a Carolina girl for you.” Her hand wrapped around his throat , pressing on the sides as she bounced quickly up and down on his length.
Harry was floating on a cloud that he never wishes to leave. Her cock being gripped by her puffy cunt, and his throat by her artist hands. Fuck, was he in heaven?
“So good, tight, soft, wet. You’re everything baby.” He rolled his eyes before closing them shut, allowing himself to indulge in the pleasure she’s giving him.
“Is this why you came back? You know your roots well and how to use your hips.” He winked at her before dropping his gaze down to take in the view.
Her bounces were hitting the right spot for him and her, especially when she stills herself and does nothing but roll her hips left and right slowly but with hard rapid clenches of her walls that have a death grip on him.
He doesn’t even know where to touch, her perky nipples or her plump ass, maybe lick on her neck, tug on her hair, bury his fingers in her hips, so many worshipping methods and so little time.
He would be lying if he said that he doesn’t like the way she chokes him or that it’s his first time. Just for a minute he felt himself dose off as her grip made his brain go fuzzy, his legs numb and cock even more hungry.
But he immediately removed her hand off his throat, slapped her clit harshly and cupped her cheeks with one hand before bringing her face closer to him and kissing her swollen lips.
His mouth drifted off to her jawline and collarbone before digging his teeth into her shoulders, then nipping gently at her skin.
“I know I know, just do what you have to do. I’m only marking you.” He cooed at her hiss of pain as he rubbed her back and continued to bite all over her skin.
His touches made her swoon and lose her energy, whether it be his grip, or his kisses and bites, slapping her ass and choking her. She just couldn’t focus on riding him, and he could see it. But he knew of his teasing and how good she was for him, no one ever rode him for that long and if not for his stimulation she would’ve continued.
“I have no shame in making everyone hear your screams till dawn. Would you take it? His hands stilled her hips as she looked at him with pleading eyes, begging for a release.
“Yes, give me your cock.” She nudged her nose against his, wrapping her lips around him as she breathed in his scent along with the smell of their arousal hanging in the air.
“Oh i’ll give you everything pretty.” He wrapped a protective hand around her and leaned his body sideways to grab something as she let out a shriek at the change of positions.
Looks like he found a way to go deeper.
He smirked proudly as he placed his cowboy hat on her head, making her laugh and push at his chest. Although it was a silly move of him, but he can’t help but moan once he sees her naked body in all its glory, sweaty from the amazing sex, and his cock tucked deep inside of her as his hat with ‘Styles’ embroidered on it lays on her head.
“Hold on to me baby, I’m rougher than bulls.” He pinned his toned legs to the bed, and began plunging into her at a fast pace, it was if he was penetrating her with all that he has, he was reaching into her stomach, and the sight of her helpless above him was engraved in his mind till his death day.
“That’s fucking right, keep screaming for me. Tightest fucking pussy.” He gritted his teeth as her moans filled the room along with the sound of their skin slapping, he nearly bucked his knees when he saw how he was penetrating her wet cunt fast and rough and how good she was taking it.
“Oh I bet you’d take this cock all day after I come from work maybe follow me to the field eh?” He tweaked her nipples, and she could barely form coherent words, not when he’s everywhere.
“Yeah? A-and y-you wouldn’t leave work for me?” She managed to form a sentence sending him a devilish smirk before biting her lip and arching her back.
“Damn right, I’m never leaving this bed, you wanted cowboy cock so take it.” He manhandled her on his cock, with his arms on her waist as he lifted her up and down on his thick shaft that’s letting out sounds from their creamy arousal.
“See? I’m not letting you do any work. So spoiled and I don’t mind one bit.” She could do nothing but moan and whimper, it was as if her brain was empty of thoughts, nothing but the feeling of his cock plunging into her, with his hands roughly picking her up then bringing her down, his fingers digging deep into her skin, and his cowboy hat on her head.
It was exactly what she’s been craving.
Raw, dirty, lustful and erotic.
The heat that was between them was unbearable as if their bodies were on fire, the amount of wetness her cunt was producing made him hold on to her deeper in order to avoid slipping out.
“Oh poor baby, your cunt is getting wetter, begging for me to go deeper.” He caressed her cheek before she caught him off guard and brought her mouth around his finger, as she sucked on it inside her mouth.
“One hole isn’t good enough for you?” He tsked at her, plunging in his finger deeper down her throat as he manhandled her with his one hand only.
“Can’t wait to have your pretty mouth wrapped my cock, should’ve done that from the beginning to shut you up.” Plunge after the other and they both felt the heat in their lower abdomen, but of course more intensely than normal orgasms. That is the perk of edging.
She was on the verge of tears, the feeling in her stomach became merciless as she thought she was going to explode. It was too good, just really really good.
“Give me one reason to make you come.” He deadpanned as he slowed down his thrusts and hit deeper near her g-spot.
“I already orgasmed, you’re the one who needs a release.” She tried to act nonchalant as if she won’t pass out if he deprives her of cumming.
“Yeah? Then why is your cunt tightening around me? You came and your little pussy is still so hungry. I’m not the one begging baby.” His words made her remember the gravity of her situation and how giving her a release is now a need.
“Please I need it, so bad.” She cried out as her hands roamed his body savouring whatever she could touch.
“Cmon show me what a good girl you are, my good girl.” He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he slowed down into deep thrusts and she couldn’t resist looking at his hips rolling where the ferns are drawn.
His ring clad hands caressed her clit as he flicked it with his finger the same way a musician would with his guitar. He made sure to keep eye contact with her as he did it, all his acts have tired her and induced her ache for a release, so she dropped her forehead against his as they helped each other reach their high.
“I’m cumming fuckkkk.” She mewled scratching his back with her nails as he hissed at the feeling. He caught her lips in a sloppy kiss while they gripped each other tightly, allowing their high to pass.
He didn’t have any words to describe sex with her, let alone orgasming. He wanted to stay buried deep inside her cunt, breathe it in, lick it, devour it and worship it. How can he not be obsessed when he has never felt this way before?
They moaned into each other mouths’ as he released inside of her while she pulsated feverishly around him.
“Take my fucking cum, take what belongs to you.” He pinned her hips with his hands as ropes of cum filled her cunt to the brim. Above the amazing feeling of another orgasm, the way he released his hot arousal into her made her even more sensitive.
“Fuck Harry that’s a big load.” She whispered against his skin as he continued to let out his arousal and paint her walls white.
“Can’t help myself, you’re milking me so bad, it’s what your cunt wants not me.” Some of his cum began pooling out from where they’re connected and she felt so wet, slick and dirty.
After his flow finally stopped, he kissed her softly as they sat in a lotus position, her hands between his soft curls while his delicate fingers rubbed over the places where he caused her bruises.
“Fuck it’s like your cum is inside my stomach.” Her words made his cock twitch as he smirked during the kiss.
“I’m going to pull out and it’ll hurt a bit, but I want you to be a good girl for me and immediately sit on my face m’kay?” He planted a kiss on her cheek and looked at her face for approval which he received through a nod.
“What will you be?” He used his deep voice that makes her want to ride his cock all over again.
“Your good girl.” She whimpered feeling his cum go deep inside her pussy.
“Atta girl.”
He pulled out gently noting her wince before dropping his gaze to see a pool of cum between their thighs, as more dripped down when he moved her off his cock. He quickly laid down and pushed her pussy on his face catching their joined cum before it falls into his mouth.
She leaned her head against the headboard as tears welled inside her eyes from the amount of overstimulation she went through in one night. His hot tongue felt heavenly as he gathered the sticky cum between her thighs and labia.
But even that wasn’t enough as he flicked his tongue inside to her vulva collecting all of the cum before spitting it on her clit and sucking at it with his teeth.
“Pretty pretty pearl, engorged from my cock, so good and swollen for me.” He placed a kiss on her clitoris tenderly before she moved herself away.
“Please it’s too much.” She whimpered as she hovered over him since any contact with her pulsating cunt will make her shudder.
“You’ve been such a good girl for me tonight, best pussy I’ll ever have.” He prepped her face with kisses, before moving down to her body parts making sure to not go close to her poor cunt, but he couldn’t help but get a whiff of her arousal.
If only he can make a perfume of it and lather it on his skin.
No one has ever treated her this way during sex and all she can think about is how no one will compare. His mouth explored her body and touched places she didn’t.
Lustful, filthy and pleasing.
She couldn’t tell the time nor care about the party that’s still ongoing, only the frustration when his lips parted from her body as he carried her to his bathroom placing her on the toilet seat.
“I’ll go change the sheets and you clean up.” He kissed her temple and left the bathroom as she heard the sound of a new duvet being pulled out.
She followed him a few minutes later after peeing and cleaning up, she leaned against the door frame with wobbly legs watching him arrange the bed for her.
The moment he saw her standing he grinned at the sight of her shaky legs, but also frowned as to why she didn’t call for him.
“First of all glad to see I did that but for next time it’s my job to carry you.” He reached her with long strides before picking her up effortlessly bridal style and placing her on the fresh sheets as she giggled against his chest.
Her mind was going left and right, she didn’t know whether to focus on the way he said “next time” nonchalantly or how he picked her up to tuck her in bed whilst being in his briefs.
She melted into the soft linen, breathing in the scent of the laundry soap, and the bed dipped beneath her as he brought his body closer to her.
“Let me go down and kick everyone out so we can sleep peacefully. It’ll take a while.” He gave her one last kiss before putting on some clean jeans and shirt as she admired his body in the moonlight that’s pooling in from the window.
He gently closed the door behind him leaving a dim lamp on, she noticed how the music faded away along with loud upset groans and the voice of Harry ordering everyone out.
She doesn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t even look at the clock but she suddenly opened her eyes feeling a presence near her and arms wrapped around her body.
“It’s just me Blue Star.” He whispered in her ear as he hugged her body closer into his.
He smelled of pine and aftershave indicating that he must’ve taken a quick shower before bed as if he didn’t tire her out a while ago.
She hummed at him before closing her eyes again feeling drowsy and sleepy, the last thing she felt was his hands rubbing lotion on her wrists that were tied up as he massaged them gently and lulled her to a blissful sleep.
The moonlight that pulled her body in an embrace last night was now replaced with warm golden rays, that poked at her skin gently to wake her up from her blissful state of sleep.
The toned biceps that held her through the night are no longer there and she can quickly notice their absence, before her eyes open and before she regains consciousness.
His presence is too consuming to not notice.
She shifts to the other side stretching her hand as she roams the sheets looking for a sign of him, she finally gives up and opens her eyes to see the wrinkled sheet he left behind with his scent lingering in the air.
She can’t tell the hour but now she knows for sure that he isn’t around for she can feel his presence deep in her bones. She buries her face in his pillow breathing in what he left behind, as his duvet hugs her naked skin perfectly.
She loves rising at an early hour to relish in the peace of the morning, twisted between the bedsheets with a welcome gift from the sun as the bluebirds outside chirp and sing for her.
She can’t help but think how this morning would’ve been if he was here, would he have taken her in his bed again or stroked her hair telling her to sleep in?
She moved the duvet off her and stretched her limbs before her smile turned into a painful wince. She lifted her body with a struggle and balanced herself on her elbows while looking down at her body.
He was everywhere.
Purple bruises that stretched along her inner and outer thighs, pelvis, breasts and a bit that she was able to catch from her collarbone.
But most importantly she couldn’t move an inch without feeling him inside of her in the form of soreness, but good god it never felt this good.
She bit her bottom lip at the thought of him leaving his trace behind.
“Here I fucked her and made her scream”
“Here I gave her these bruises to remember me by”
“Here I kissed and worshipped every inch.”
Call her crazy but she can still feel his mouth on her pussy, as if he was licking her right this moment. How he penetrated her and how deep he went, looking straight into her soul as he loved on her body.
She balanced herself on her feet with a bit of pain, as she walked over to the bathroom. The soreness and pain was nothing but a gift to her that she’ll hold on to. She loved it, loved how he claimed her body, leaving himself everywhere.
The better surprise was when she looked into the mirror and got a proper look at her body, her entire chest, neck and collarbone was purple and pink. Her fingers traced over the painful love bites as she stared back into the mirror at a woman claimed by Harry Styles, the golden boy of the North.
Her eyes drifted to the edge of the mirror where a yellow sticky note was hung. She picked it up to read it as her fingers traced over the love bruises.
“Good morning pretty, I had to leave this morning for an important job, otherwise I would’ve gladly stayed in bed with you all day fucking you over and over again. Trust me when I opened my eyes and saw you laying against my chest with those perfect bruises reflecting the sun I almost quit right there and then. Did you feel my kiss to your forehead baby? I’ll see you in the evening Carolina, and you better wear these bruises proudly.”
- H
Her giggle filled the room as she reread the note repeatedly like a young girl with a school crush. She hid it somewhere safe as she plans to keep it in her memory box. She walked around the room a bit and gazed at the bruises before finally stepping into the bath, feeling a bit sad about washing him away from her body but also grinning while his pine shower gel sticks all over her skin.
Confusion was a feeling that she rarely encountered. She was a girl that organised her every move and thought, she dislikes not having a plan and the thing she despises more than messy areas is messy situations.
She has only one day left in heaven before she leaves for Washington, where she has a new semester to begin. Yes she longs for home every single day, for her family, for Carolina, the bonds with everyone, the food, the people, the serenity. But these five days were not planned.
She didn’t plan to grow attached to a hot cowboy that teases her whenever he can, shows her a good time, is a good man and isn’t afraid of expressing his fondness of her.
Where can she fit a last-minute plan?
She has had hook-ups before despite not being a one-night stand girl, but again she only slept with people who matched her plan that helped her stay on the right lane.
Sleep with people you know you won’t get attached to / people that won’t make it awkward.
She is still in Montana and her brain is with Harry, in which category does this messed up plan fall?
Mentioning it to Harry or even talking about it is out of the question. She may have an inkling about moving forward and liking him, but she can’t exactly ask him where do they see themselves standing when she’s known him for what a couple of days?
Even these few days were able to tell her that Harry is not the commitment type, showing her a good time during sex and being a gentleman does not necessarily indicate that he likes her, it’s simply him being Harry.
It would be a bit clingy of her to tell him she likes him, she thinks. Besides sexual attraction isn’t enough. Surely she can survive without him right?
After all staying away is the best option to keep her heart safe, this way she’ll avoid embarrassment and trouble. She highly doubts that Harry feels the same way.
It’s barely ten in the morning and her train of thoughts is already on the move, she sighs as she shuts the front door to her house, wondering how she mustered up the courage to leave Harry’s house, his warm bed that has his scent and return home.
Her family’s house is oddly quiet, there’s no loud talking, laughter, bickering or the sound of the oven and smell of food. She checks every room only to end up with the conclusion that she is in fact alone.
A little note was placed on her bed obviously written by her mother. “What’s up with everyone leaving notes?” She mumbled under her breath before picking up the paper.
“Darling, we left town to run errands. Enjoy your day but please free yourself at night, The Miller’s invited us to their bar and the whole town will be there.”
Xoxo, your mama.
She isn’t sure how the night arrived.
She tried so hard to pass the day, allow the darkness to take over but it just wouldn’t. She managed to draw two sketches of bunnies and lambs before her heart took over and began drawing green eyes.
It wasn’t until the light disappeared from the sky that she noticed how her hand worked nonstop, as two sketches of Harry lay before her.
The first one has traces of last night, Harry’s naked body on the sheets, his legs tightly entwined with hers, his curls are messy and lips sightly parted. The moonlight from the window casts a light that makes him appear like a fallen angel. It seems that the sun envies him, and the moon adores him.
He looks so blissful and pretty in the sketch, the more she stares at it the more she recalls his touch and how it felt.
The second sketch is him working in their ranch, she really outdid herself with this one as it makes her squirm around in her seat.
He’s shirtless and adorned with sweat, a hammer in his hand with his head dropped down, nothing appearing from his face but the cowboy hat. She managed to draw some of his tattoos, especially the ferns that peek from his hips and the butterfly on his toned abs.
These two sketches are deeply engraved in her mind, as she brought to life two of her favourite memories surrounding Harry, she looks at them in awe feeling selfish for the first time in her life.
There’s no way in hell she’s sharing it with anyone.
So she hides them somewhere safe in her room and decides on taking them to university with her to recall the good times, even if it’s a risky move.
She stretched her muscles feeling a bit sore from her position all day long (and last night), before noticing that it’s nearly 8:30 in the evening.
“Fuck, the bar!” She cursed under her breath as she quickly ran across the room to dress up.
The Miller’s bar has never been this crowded.
People were pooling from other towns, as they filled the area with laughter and dancing. It was hard to locate her parents amidst the sea of cowboy hats, but once she did she stuck next to them.
She didn’t have to apologise for being late since it took her a total of twenty minutes to get dressed up in a short beige dress and drive to the bar.
Maggy surprised her from behind before hugging her and greeting her parents, the music was loud and random strangers from other towns kept coming in to greet her parents and her despite not knowing them.
The whiskey was harsh on her tongue as it kept reminding her of someone else who likes it until her thoughts travelled to the taste of something else.
Random men and women bumped into her then apologised due to the crowded space, she’d hate such events usually but the whole vibe was amazing.
Northern people were gathered around together, the young are getting to know each other and making plans while the elders are catching up. As she looked around, she knew that this feeling is what she lives for. This is home.
Maggy was whispering jokes in her ear about people attending making her let out a loud laugh as they try and hold it still by drinking more. They balanced each other as the laughter was hard to control but eventually they refilled their drinks and decided to separate to avoid further embarrassment.
It suddenly clicked to her that Maggy unintentionally distracted her from thinking about Harry. During the ride here, all she could think about was him, will he like her dress? What will he say to her? Is he going to be there even?
Her parents were occupied with someone, and everyone around her was either drinking and chatting or dancing to the beat of the loud music. She took a sip of her drink as she looked around for a trace of him.
Even though some men had their backs turned to her, she knew none were him. She’d recognize him in a sea of cowboys.
She began to get anxious at the thought of him not being here. That means she’ll only see him tomorrow since she can’t leave, not when her parents have asked of her to attend, not when she’s having too much fun.
She was about to give up as she sipped her last drink before catching a glimpse of someone from her peripheral vision, she averted her gaze properly only to find him leaning against a wall, with a beer bottle in his hand while he stares at her intently.
He must’ve been doing that ever since she arrived because his figure was covered with people who chatted with him, but she was able to feel a pair of eyes staring through her back.
Her lips twitched when she locked eyes with him and his grin grew bigger, as if they were the only people in the room, the music faded, and he refused to remove his eyes off her. Not even when a girl came and flirted with him, he didn’t bat an eye or turn to her, nor speak.
His brain was consumed her, if you looked inside all you’d hear is Carolina,Carolina,Carolina…
He winked at her and puckered his lips, sending her a flying kiss as she blushed at his gesture before looking around to make sure no one saw him, not that they’d be in trouble. But it was for her and her only.
When she turned her gaze back, she didn’t find him standing there. So she looked at every corner only to find it occupied by a couple. She even expected him to surprise her from behind, but he had completely vanished into thin air.
An echo of a microphone grabbed everyone’s attention as they shuffled near the stage, while she followed behind.
“Good evening Montana! Hope you’re all having fun.” Tim Miller spoke to the crowd that responded with cheering.
“I got a really good treat for you tonight. You’re all going to be blessed with the music of Harry Styles.” Tim shouted excitedly as the cheering grew larger upon hearing Harry’s name.
So he disappeared because he wants to perform? Touché .
She thought about their road trip together and how she’d want to hear his voice one day. She just didn’t expect it to be so soon, but she can also feel her heart thumping at the thought of him singing and performing.
She felt the nudge and presence of someone near her who turned out to be Maggy. “Oh he’s going to sing, and you got us front seats.” Her parents stood next to Maggy as they all waited for Harry to begin singing.
Once he set foot on stage, the chanting of his name began. She had already done that yesterday in bed, but now her new panties began to gather wetness that her cunt cannot seem to hold.
He was a sight for sore eyes.
Tight Levi’s, brown leather jacket with nothing under it, a guitar strapped around his waist and the same cowboy hat he placed on her head last night.
He smirked and sent flying kisses to the crowd before looking down at her and giving his charming grin.
“I won’t say the name of this song, but the muse knows themselves.” He whispered with his lips against the microphone as his remark made everyone let out an ‘Oooh’ as the girls giggled.
A nice beat began to form as Harry dropped his gaze to her and moved his hands on the guitar. Her body was on fire as she thought about the possibilities behind the ‘muse’. How would she feel if it was someone else or even if it was her with the presence of her parents and Maggy?
He screamed ‘Oh Yeah’ into the microphone as he swayed around to the tune that sounds a bit Northern before he began singing.
‘She’s got a family in Carolina
So far away, but she says I remind her of home.
Feeling oh so far from home’
She felt the colour drain from her face as Maggy gave her a side eye. Not only was she the ‘muse’ but he had the audacity to use lyrics that are obviously pointing towards her.
‘She never saw herself as a westcoaster
Moved all the way cause her grandma told her
“Better swim before you drown”
He was singing it with a proud smile plastered across his face, the crowd was dancing and cheering as some girls pretended that it’s about them. His eyes locked with hers as a curl fell on his forehead before he continued singing.
‘She’s a good girl
She’s such a good girl
She’s a good girl
She feels so good’
He moaned loudly into the microphone while keeping eye contact with her as the lyrics brought back memories of his touch. At this point her face was tomato red and she tried not to appear flustered while Maggy laughed and her parents looked around, as if they’re trying to catch a hint.
‘She’s got a book for every situation
Gets into parties without invitation
How could you ever turn her down?”
His voice was perfect with a subtle obsession appearing the more he sang, his body was glued to the microphone stand, if he didn’t have his eyes shut he’d look at her and only her. She wondered if he’s closing his eyes to recall the events, how she crashed the bonfire, had a box full of books and how he almost ran to the bedroom at his party.
‘There’s not a drink that I think could sink her
How would I tell her that she’s all I think about
Well I guess she just found it’
He danced along swaying his body left and right, smiling like an idiot at his confessions in front of everyone. It seemed that they were enjoying the song, she couldn’t blame them. He had an angelic voice, and the tune was mesmerizing.
‘She’s a good girl
She’s such a good girl
She’s a good girl
She feels so good
She feels so good’
More shameless moans left his lips as she finally figured that he’s imitating her own moans. He grinded his body against the mic with every time he said ‘good girl’. She’s surprised a whimper didn’t leave his lips. Maggy knew what was going on and pretended to be clueless.
‘I met her once and wrote a song about her
I wanna scream ,yeah
I wanna shout it out
And I hope she hears me now’
He raised his hands on both sides just like when he was riding the bull and prompted the crowd to cheer more. He dropped his hand on purpose making his finger point at her before diverting it and smirking when her eyes widened.
He was simply an unserious man.
His moans and grinding only seemed to increased, and his attire was not helping. The way he was shameless about everything, singing about her encounters with him, subtle details that she doesn’t even remember saying.
‘ La la la la, la la la la la la la ‘
He kept repeating it as the audience went crazy including a girl who convinced her friends that it’s about her. He looked so joyful and above the clouds as he sang.
‘She’s a good girl
She’s such a good girl
She’s a good girl
She feels so good
She feels so good
She feels so good
She feels so good
Oh, she’s a good girl”
He bit his bottom lip at the last sentence, gripping tightly to the stand as he grinded his crotch repeatedly. She stood watching him knowing damn well that she is probably dripping down her thighs.
She is not sure what’s hotter. Him singing about her in front of a big crowd, or how he looked like he was recalling yesterday’s sex. She was still flustered nonetheless, her cheeks were painted red, and she kept biting on her nails and clenching her thighs.
‘She feels so good
Oh yeah
Oh yeah’
He ended the song with sensuality, as he if looked into the crowd with pleading eyes that say ‘ I swear she’s good’. She almost fell on her knees right there and then when he did that .
“In case you didn’t guess, the song is called Carolina.” He chuckled lightly and stepped off the stage making all the girls swoon and follow after him.
“The song seems so familiar , I just can’t pinpoint it!” She heard her mother talking to her father as he agreed with her, in awe of Harry’s talent. She had totally forgotten that her parents were standing right next to her, she has never been this troubled and flustered in her entire life.
She looked like she was about to pass out from how red her face was ,her chest was heaving and ears ringing as Maggy poked at her skin and teased her.
Harry Styles just performed a song about her in front of the whole town and her parents, while being explicit in his lyrics making sure to let everyone know how good her pussy is.
The way he grinded against the mic, imitated her moans, locked eyes with her and was just so proud about it made her want to fight and fuck him at the same time.
She left Maggy hanging in the middle of the room as she stormed inside to where Harry headed. She rarely went there so she isn’t even sure where she’s going or if she’ll find him.
She passed by closed storage rooms, employees only rooms and random bathrooms till she was met with a room that she has never seen before. The sign on the door said ‘Miller Family Only’. It wouldn’t hurt to try.
Her hand wrapped around the door knob as the door creaked open, the light was on and the room was basically turned into a home. Yellow light bulbs, cozy sofa in the middle, a mini refrigerator and a closet.
“Took you long enough Carolina.” He popped out from behind the door making her jolt back and raise a hand to her chest.
“Fuck you! What is up with you?” She shouted in anger before she closed the door and locked it.
“I’m not the one creeping around baby-“
“I meant the fucking song Harry.” She gritted her teeth as their faces were inches apart.
“You said you wanted to hear my voice.” He whispered using his low deep voice while placing his hands on her waist.
All of her questions and plans to argue flew out of the window when his body got close to her, and his eyes darkened. Suddenly the wetness in between her legs was getting more and more noticeable.
“You performed it in front of everyone including my parents! When did you even write that?” She tried to maintain her sanity to not get distracted by his wandering hands.
“I’m just telling everyone how good you are for me. Wrote it today in under an hour, couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He nibbled at her earlobe as he groaned and pressed her body closer to him.
“You’re unbelievable , and fucking crazy.” She dug her nails into his back right where she scratched last night making him hiss.
“You’re so hot when you’re angry, I just got a boner.” She can feel his bulge against her dress while she placed her hands on his toned abs.
“Tell me one thing baby, is it still sore here?” He cooed bringing down his hand to her pussy before cupping it with ring clad hand making her shudder.
“Yes it’s so sore.” His grip on her cunt had her holding on to him as she felt herself pulsate rapidly.
“Not only is it achy from my cock, but my singing too? Was gonna hide this from me?” He tsked rubbing slow circles above the fabric.
She was withering under his touch, as her brain kept rewinding to his performance. Him singing ‘good girl’ was all she could think about.
“I’m not sure i’m happy about you hiding these bruises. You ruined my art.” He put on a frustrated tone while he traced her neck, wondering if he should wipe all that makeup.
“You really want to embarrass me in front of everyone don’t you?” She brought her hand slowly down to his pants and toyed with his button.
“No i’m just proud of what I did baby.” He pinned her against the wall and caught her lips in a sloppy kiss.
Their bodies were unbelievably responsive to each other. Like a primal instinct that comes out whenever they’re close to one another. He was grinding onto her as she began getting flashbacks from their sex.
She abruptly pushed his head away by cupping his cheeks catching him off guard.
“Apparently I’m a good girl. What about you? Should we see if you’re a good boy.” His pupils dilated at her words and she’s surprised that he didn’t drool.
“W-what?” He muttered under his breath as he swallowed down his throat.
“I want to suck your cock and I want you to moan loudly to let everyone know that you’re a good boy.” Her switch made him twitch in his pants, as he looked into her doe eyes that will be the death of him.
“Want to put those lips on my cock?” He traced his finger over her bottom lip, thinking about all the ways he can fuck her throat.
“Hmm I really want a taste, it’s not fair that you got one and I didn’t.” She pouted pretending to be quite upset about it.
Harry’s head was spinning 180°. He was holding himself back from cumming in his pants and fuck was it hard.
“Good girls help good boys to cum don’t they.” He took her hand after unbuttoning his Levi’s and guided it inside his briefs.
His lips hovered over hers as his raspy voice went straight to her cunt where her clitoris was throbbing. He stared at her with hungry eyes, as if he’s promising to ruin her.
“It’s so hard. What’s causing you this pain hmm?” It seemed that he should give up and allow her to take over as he nearly whimpers every time she opens her mouth.
“You. You in this fucking dress, my good girl. Your warm cunt, your body. Fuck!” He cursed loudly as she swiped her finger over his leaking tip.
She didn’t pay much attention to Harry’s whines, instead she brought her finger to her mouth, shoved it all the way in tasting his cum while rolling her eyes and moaning.
“Good taste from a good boy.” Harry’s brain simply wasn’t working. He stared at her with puppy eyes and parted lips.
It wasn’t until he felt her hot tongue on his abs that he returned to reality and saw her kissing all over his midsection while gradually kneeling the lower she went. Her hands roamed his body as she left kisses everywhere.
“Fucks sake” He muttered under his breath, gripping on to the door handle as she kissed his clothed cock beneath his briefs.
She palmed him through the fabric while looking up at him with innocent eyes as if she doesn’t want to drain him from cum. She massaged him gently and pressed kisses, while he tried not to buckle his knees.
“I wonder how you’ll feel around my mouth, maybe if I push it deep enough it’ll make my throat sore just like my pussy.” She spoke every word with confidence as she freed his cock from the briefs, it stood up hard and proud against his stomach. Now that she sees it up close, she can tell how thick and big he is. Maybe because he’s swollen and erect but nonetheless she now has a justification for her cunt’s ache.
“Oh poor baby you’re twitching.” She enjoyed watching him lose his restraint and sanity at the same time. His cock was uncontrollably twitching as it leaked precum from the tip.
“Put me in your mouth baby.” He panted between words feeling dizzy just from seeing her on her knees. He wants them bruised just like the rest of her body.
She resumed her work as if he didn’t just speak and brought her hand down to her panties fingering her cunt and gathering wetness on it before spitting and wrapping her hand on his cock.
He tipped his head backwards and rolled his eyes at her action, her wetness was on his cock. She used her cum as lube.
She stroked his cock slowly and pressed pecks to his length, before twirling her tongue on his tip as if it’s a lollipop. She palmed his balls between her hand making him groan and look down at her while she licked a long strip from the base to the tip gathering all the precum that leaked. Then, she opened her mouth showing him her tongue that’s painted with her cum.
“Was that what you wanted? A good girl’s tongue on your big cock?” she teased him more by bringing the tip to her mouth only to leave a kiss.
“What I want is for you to suck my cock, gag on it, and swallow my cum like the good girl you are.” He took matters into his own hands and wrapped his hand around her hair before guiding his length to her lips.
She took him inside her mouth with a mischievous look glowing in her eyes, she allowed him to use her mouth, but Harry barely felt her hot tongue for a few moments and almost collapsed on the ground.
She bobbed her head around him, with one hand massaging his balls and brought half of his cock inside before pulling out and spitting the joined saliva and precum over it.
“Doing so good for me, do what you were born to do.” He let out audible moans at the feeling of her tongue lapping and sucking on his cock. His salty precum flooded her mouth, and she was confused whether to spit or swallow.
He hissed at her tight grip to the base, she was squeezing him harshly while bobbing her head fast on his shaft, her cheeks were hollowed, and her lips became swollen and rosy pink just like his cock.
“Squeezing me so bad aren’t you? So desperate for my cum down that pretty throat.” She dug her nails in his thighs that were tensing and pushed him all the way in.
The sound of gagging and moaning filled the room as her nose nudged some of the hairs at his base, she looked at him with ‘fuck me eyes’ making him push her head against his cock as it fills up her mouth, without letting her breathe, simply having him deep down her throat.
He felt her reaching for his other hand, guiding him to her neck where she let him trace the bulge from his cock down her throat making him let out an animalistic groan and pull out.
She gasped for air as a trail of saliva fell from the corners from her mouth, Harry’s breath was laboured and his chest was heaving as his cock twitched and leaked precum on the ground beneath them. Her mouth was merciless.
He swiped some of the saliva from her lips and brought it inside with his thumb as she sucked on it passionately.
“Love my cock in any way don’t you? Inside your cunt or throat you’ll take it and allow me to rearrange your insides.” He chuckled stroking her hair before motioning for her to continue sucking.
“Use my mouth for your cock.” She begged with a needy scratchy voice and that was all it took him before he tugged harshly on her hair and shoved his cock inside of her mouth.
His hips rolled forward as he thrusted in and out just like she wanted, she was gagging and holding on to his thighs as he fucked her throat roughly.
Some of her saliva and his precum pooled from her mouth as she choked repeatedly on his thick cock.
“Looks like my good girl is a whore after all, take all of it no complaints.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as her hot tongue licked on his protruding veins.
She was just so good.
He can hear her subtle moaning and how she’s squirming around and humping against the air. He slowed down allowing her breath to avoid passing out and took in her messy face. His cum leaking from her mouth, her hair stuck to her forehead and drool leaving her lips as she gasps for air while focusing on his cock.
“Did sucking me off make you horny?” He tilted her chin up to him fawning over her nod since he fucked her so good she can’t speak.
“Cmon milk me baby.” She continued bobbing her head against him and licking not caring that he can hear her moans and how much she’s enjoying it.
She took control adjusting her knees before she swirled her tongue the tip and sucked harshly while she fondled with his balls. The sight of her on her knees before him, with a messy face, raspy voice and amazing tongue was enough to tip him off the edge.
“Take all of my cum, fucking take it.” He groaned audibly as he released ropes of warm white cum into her mouth. His moans were angelic as she gracefully had her mouth wide open while he dumped his load inside.
His knees buckled and his breathing was staggered while he watched her accept all of his arousal greedily and swallow it down her throat as if she’s taking juice.
He couldn’t handle it anymore, so he lifted her off the ground and crashed his lips onto hers, tasting his salty cum and her saliva while she wrapped her arms around him and rutted her hips against his bare cock.
“Fuck I’m not sure which is better, my cum leaking from your cunt or mouth.”
“Tastes so good Harry.”
He pinned her against the door as he made out with her for what felt like forever, her lips were already swollen from sucking him and his cock was now erect again from her soft moans and rutting.
“We- should go back.” She mumbled in between kisses making him whine like a little kid.
He looked at the clock indicating that they’ve been gone for thirty minutes and must head back. He began tucking himself inside his briefs before she grabbed his wrists and gave him a devilish smirk.
Her hand trailed down to his shaft that was still leaking a small amount of cum that she swiped on her finger and smeared all over her lips.
“I forgot my lip balm at home.” Harry inhaled a sharp breath at her act and slapped her ass cheeks roughly.
“My fucking minx.”
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A/n: Soooo the weather??🥵
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this with hawks or katsuki 😭🗣https://youtube.com/shorts/nAARZhCZydk?feature=share
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a/n. OKAY first of all, i apologize for taking so long to respond to this ask! second of all, i modified the prompt from it being a childhood friends to lovers trope to an au where reader is bakugou's long-term sidekick of two years, just so that we won't diverge too much from canon! (part 2)
word count. 1.4k
"hey, dumbass."
you look up from the mission report you've been sticking your nose in for the past half hour. "i thought i told you to stop calling me that."
at that, he smirks. "you'd rather i call you 'extra'?"
"i'd prefer it if you called me by my hero name, Mr. Dynamight."
his eyebrow twitches at the sound of his moniker. "i thought i told you to stop calling me 'mister'."
you shrug. if he's playing the game, you will too.
"well," you cock your head to the side, "tough luck, huh?"
you drop your gaze back to the document before you can catch the infamous scowl that is indubitably directed at you. not that you're actually comprehending anything, though.
lately, being around the pro-hero has made it almost impossible to focus on your work.
which is stupid, because he's your boss and your his sidekick. focused, flawless teamwork is supposed to be the point.
what's more, the physical sensations are getting dangerously near the what-you-would-exprience-if-you-were-smitten area: sweaty palms, racing heartbeat, and your eyes darting towards wherever he is in a room.
or...you could just be scared of him, right? if there's anyone who can trigger your fight-or-flight mode, it's bakugou katsuki.
"you're lucky your my sidekick," he sneers.
you dare not look at him. you can almost feel him sporting that boyish smirk, and you know your heart can't take that.
what the fuck.
"hey, extra."
you look over your shoulder only to see bakugou decked in his hero gear, covered in dirt and grime from the day's work—eyebrows furrowed. you ignore him, directing your attention back to the front, where you're walking towards.
but he pipes up with: "i'm talking to you!"
you scoff. spinning on your feet to face him, you shoot him a glare. "would it really kill you to just call me by my hero name? heck, i'd even let you call me by my first name!"
at that, bakugou's eyebrows shoot up so minutely. "you serious?"
"does it look like i'm joking?" you ask, exasperated.
a few seconds pass before he responds.
"well, then," he shifts on his feet like he usually does. "i guess i'll call you Y/N."
your stomach flips at the sound of your name tumbling from his lips. you mentally chastise yourself before saying: "okay."
"great."
you're staring at your ceiling; the clock reads 2:34 AM.
with a huff, you turn to your side, feeling awake now more than ever.
the past week has been grueling—on top of the back-to-back missions that you had to work on with bakugou as his sole sidekick (he refuses to add another one, says the candidates are all just extras), you had to deal with these confusing feelings, which, no matter how much you try to extinguish them, will not go away.
it's affecting your performance now, too. one particular stealth mission forced proximity between the two of you, and you almost blew it with how you freaked out at having bakugou only a few inches away.
luckily, bakugou didn't say anything about it.
but a part of you—the part that's struggling so much because of him—wishes he did.
you're in his office when you decide to drop the bomb.
"the fuck is this?" he gestures to the document in front of him.
you steel yourself. it's now or never.
"it's my resignation letter," you say as calmly as you can.
a whirlwind of emotions dances across his features, before it turns into an all-too-familiar scowl. "what?"
"i'm resigning," you repeat.
"i heard you," he spits, "i just couldn't believe such ludicrousness can come from your mouth."
at that, you can't help but scoff. "even until my last day here you're still trying to pick a fight with me?"
"who said i'm trying to pick a fight?" he counters.
"i am!" you exclaim.
you contemplate whether or not to tell him he's been doing so ever since your first mission together, ultimately deciding against it. the last thing you need is to add anger to the long list of emotions you feel around your boss.
adoration and longing are already a huge pain in the ass.
"look," you lower your voice in an attempt to be civil. "i signed a contract which says i have the right to terminate my employment anytime, provided that i give you a heads up and a proper resignation letter."
you point to the document in front of you, "well, here it is."
before bakugou can even get a word in, you spin on your heel and march towards his office's exit.
your phone is ringing.
you hit pause on the Netflix show that you're currently binging before lifting your phone to your ear. "hello?"
"hey, Y/N?"
"that's me."
"oh hey!" the man on the other side of the line says again. "this is kirishima."
kirishima as in red riot kirishima? "hi," you parrot back lamely. "what's up?"
"i know this is a tall order," he starts, "but would it be possible for you to pick bakugou up? he's super drunk and asking for you."
your breath hitches. you must be hearing things yet you can't refrain yourself from prodding. "asking for me?"
"yeah. we have denki as our designated driver but bakugou refuses to go with him. he just keeps mumbling your name."
"you can drive, right?" he asks when you don't say anything.
"um, yes." you say, unsure if admitting it is the right decision.
"then please pick your ex-boss up," kirishima pleads, "he's refusing to go with anyone but you."
kaminari and kirishima are the ones that haul bakugou up to the passenger seat when you arrive nine minutes later. sure enough, bakugou, who's dressed to the 9s that it's fucking ridiculous how good he still looks, reeks of alcohol.
once they got him situated and secured in his seat belt, they circle the front of your car and knock on your window, which you promptly open.
kirishima's sheepish when he says, "we owe you one, bro."
"yeah," kaminari adds, "sorry for calling you up this late."
you smile at their genuineness, "it's no problem. i guess i can do him one favor after resigning so abruptly."
"why did you resign?" kaminari asks almost immediately.
"dude," kirishima chastises the man. bakugou remains passed out beside you.
"sorry," kaminari rubs the back of neck. "it's just that you guys were such a good team together."
"yeah," kirishima joins in. "we used to say you were the key to him becoming number one. you guys were that good together."
despite yourself, your face flames at his words. "yeah, well..."
"we understand if you don't want to talk about it, though," kirishima says.
"we're just a bit bummed out that you parted ways," kaminari adds. "he liked you a lot."
that earns him a slap on the arm and a pointed look from kirishima.
your heart is now thrumming at a ridiculously fast pace.
"well, we better go," you change the topic.
"of course! sorry for keeping you," kirishima says before proceeding. "oh, and here's his address."
turns out bakugou is heaver than he looks.
you're standing outside the car thinking about how to haul him up to his unit alone—with the passenger door wide open—when he stirs awake.
almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace.
"bakugou?" you try, voice small.
his eyes dart open when he realizes he doesn't know where he is. he looks panicked as he looks around, until he spots you and visibly stills.
"Y/N."
your stomach flips—again—the second he utters your name. "i'm here."
"where am i?" he asks groggily.
you glance toward the building behind you. "we're at your place."
it takes him a moment to register what you just said, brain probably still foggy from the alcohol.
"can you stand?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.
he shakes his head. "i don't want to go yet."
"but you're drunk," you reason. "you have to sleep it off."
bakugou doesn't say anything in response. he merely studies your face—or is trying his best while drunk—and you find yourself hoping he can't feel the warmth emanating from your face.
but when he does say something, it knocks you off your feet and pulls all the air out of you.
"i want to kiss you right now."
tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik
as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated! ˖⁺‧₊
#“real sweet but i wish you were sober”!!!!!!!#sorry was this take on the tiktok okay#lmao it was fun to write tho!!#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou imagines#bnha imagines#mha imagines#bnha scenarios#mha x reader#bnha x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou imagine#bakugou fluff#bakugou angst
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yandere childhood friend ♡ !!
gender neutral!reader. 1.7k words. warnings for irrational obsession for the reader. i'm not sure what it is but the guy is very, very delusional. i'm not sure what to think of this piece, but this one goes out for 🤏🍷anon, i loved the yandere drummer you drew so much so i hope you like this :) !!
“here,” you bring the flower to his face but he’s still annoyed. lately, he’s annoyed by almost everything, was teenage so bad? you wouldn’t know yet. your best friend is almost 2 years older than you and only holds the position because you've been practically be forced to get along with each other, courtesy of your family being great friends.
he scrunches up his face. “i'm allergic, you should know that.” he responds, not even looking up from his homework. “make me a paper bouquet, then we’ll see.”
the first time you realized that you liked your bestfriend was the first time that he realized that romance was not his cup of tea and with you? no way in hell. he hated the idea of cheesy romcoms and pop songs, it disgusted him and he made a point of making it obvious.
but you were young, just about 12 or something, and he was the only one close enough to fantasise about, so you did - doodled hearts around his initials and yours, “2gether 4ever ♡” and made it so obvious to the adults around you that they often teased you about it, much to your friend’s dismay.
and the crush was so strong that the moment you went home, you were on youtube, looking for ways to make a paper flower, and then piecing it all together.
“bed time, now,” your mother calls out and you proudly show off your paper bouquet to her, “is that for him?” she asks, amused at your efforts to be seen by your crush. you nod.
“aw, baby, as much as i love his mother as my bestfriend, that kid doesn’t deserve you,” she kisses your forehead.
yes, there were times when it felt like your heart was breaking into pieces or however those songs called it, when you saw him around school hanging out with other girls and not even acknowledging your presence. but when you went home and he excitedly told you about the new game he was playing, you fell all over again. besides, this is what happened in the music videos, right? there will be a day when he sees you like that too, when he’ll be long over this phase of shouting “ew, ew, ew,” when his parents kiss and be a more mature guy.
you did think that. but it was always in such a future tense that it never seemed realistic enough, it seemed far, far away. and when you actually reached that time period, your family had to move away, dad got a job somewhere else.
so you left that paper bouquet, (which quite frankly you didn’t have the courage to give it to him in fear that he might mock you that he told you to make it for him and you did? what a fool…) and a letter detailing your feelings for him.
but obviously it didn’t hold much depth, as you can imagine, a preteen detailing their infatuation.
but long after you were gone, your friend started to do something which he never thought he would do, ever. he was missing you.
he missed you when he came home from school and there was no one to talk to, or no one to taunt about how much he hated a particular thing and not have you judge him. it was just so awesome on how you had never judged him for anything, because he was sure if he kept on repeating on how much he hated taylor swift to some other girl in his grade, she'd probably have flipped him off, even if she, herself hated her. that was the level of repetitive he could get.
but he missed you, making those random cakes with your mother and you ran down to him to make him taste it first and he acted disgusted. “this is the worst, did you put in salt instead of sugar?” and you still had a smile on your face when you answered. “no, i just tasted it.”
he fiddled with the paper bouquet you left him for a long while after that, thinking about that afternoon and many others like that again and again. he could just… call you but his ego wouldn’t let him. and he was so disappointed over the fact that you were talking to his mother almost every other day, but you never asked for him?
it was hurtful.
but he couldn’t just ignore it. even when it was the only thing he wanted to do, ignore you, keep you out of his mind. but even when in high school he began going on dates and dances, he kept coming back to the paper flowers you left him.
he didn’t have any allergies. he was just messing with you. he never knew you'd actually do it. just like he never thought you'd actually leave, or that he'd ever miss you like this.
when he was out of the local college, he was sure that he was going to come to you, he knew the city where you lived through his parents' daily conversation at the dinner table. you were still in college, about an year or two remaining and he looked for jobs in your area.
when he found one, he was absolutely relieved. he told his parents it was one of the best opportunities in his career and it was, just not in his career, but it helped that the city you were in was quite famous and the job wasn’t bad either.
so when he finally takes your number from his mother and calls you.
he’s so delighted to hear your voice, even though it has changed a lot. and you’re happy too! you sound really happy when you say that you're excited to meet him.
and oh, you’re right, he never considered your angle on it, you must have missed him so much! oh, poor thing, the move must have been so harsh to you. maybe the reason you didn’t ask his mom to give him the call was because it'd simply hurt too much to talk to him without being near him. right? this had to be the only explanation.
so when he moves in and settles into his apwrtment, he calls you in the morning, and you give him a recommendation for a cafè nearby, “it’s a good one, i think you'll like it,”
see! you know him so well!
he arrives there a few minutes late, but you’re already there. oh, you still love him so well.
but midway through drinking overexpensive coffees and reminiscing the old times, he chokes on his drink.
he honestly thinks you’re kidding.
“what?” he wants you to repeat it again.
“i said, i’m not in love with you, my friend, i’ve moved on,”
the friend stings more than applying sanitizer on a cut, he swears. but it was just unbelievable, you were just running after him (not quite literally, pardon him, he’s a little delusional) begging for him (again, he’s delusional) to make him go on a date with you, with the last part being true. you did want him to go on a date with you, but you respected his decisions.
yes, you did have the worst and incredibly humiliating crush on your childhood friend, but it was just all that was in your opinion, a crush that started when you were 12 because he was the only one you hung out with and spent all your time with and so you were convinced, from ages 12 to 16 almost that this was the guy you’d marry and start a family with, you’d already picked out the names for them. but the problem was? he didn’t like you back.
your childhood friend had better things to do, like all teenage guys do, ofcourse, but he was always stuck with the feeling that he didn’t want you, he physically cringed when at joint dinner sometimes both of your parents would joke about you both dating, it was just something that was unimaginable for him at that point. only at that point though.
he was too busy going out on dates with random people, unbeknownst to how much he was hurting you (because in his defense, he was just a kid and he wasn’t quite sure how deep your feelings ran).
but now? why not now?
he had finally realized that it was you he liked, genuinely. And now you say this? It was absolutely heartless, did you not even stop to consider his feelings, even for once? Did the fact that you loved him before mean nothing to you?
“why don’t you love me anymore? or are you lying? to avenge your hopeless pining and me turning you away, is that it? please, talk to me. please.”
“it was a childhood crush, they eventually go away,” you don’t know what more he wants to say to you.
“but i… but you,”
“there are no but's here, if you came here looking for me because you’re realizing your feelings almost 8-9 years later then it's absurd because did you really think i would wait for you that long? i have a life now, i have a boyfriend and.. just grow up, you have a job here you should focus on that.”
you mentally made a note to stay the fuck away from this guy, because he was spewing some crazy, crazy shit. never in your wildest dreams did you ever think he would come back and be insistent on his feelings, it was all like a fever dream.
“am i that bad..?” he whispers softly, you look up at him, he has both of his hands on the table and his head hanging down. great, he's crying now. “i'm sorry i was so rude to you before.”
“look, it's fine, okay? we were both kids and i don't even hold it against you, i didn’t back then and i still don't. so go live your life and move on,”
you didn’t think you could bear to stay sitting there for a minute more, so you got up and went to the counter to pay and without a second glance, you left the cafè.
all the while, your childhood friend is still sitting there, not looking up.
“i.. i can’t do that,” and he looks up and wipes his tears, he didn’t come all the way here just to get disheartened so easily, did he?
#kimsmuse’s yanderes#yandere x reader#soft yandere#yandere x y/n#male yandere#yandere blog#yandere blurb#yandere fic#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere oc x y/n#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc x you#yandere childhood friend#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere fluff#yandere drabble#yancore#lovecore#yandere writing#yandere x female reader#yandere x gender neutral reader#yandere oc#yandere#yandere kpop#yandere kpop x reader#obsessive love#obsessive thoughts
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Project Moon Discourse Part Whatever: Statement 2
Project Moon's company twitter has released a statement on their perspective.
In summary, the Youth Union who has been rallying a lot of people has been protesting about Vellmori's "unfair dismissal" (firing over previous statements). Project Moon points out that they have not fired her yet, and the YU do not have concrete proof of what happened (AKA why you have to say "alleged" when commenting on crimes yet to be tried). Youth Union discusses the private circumstances and apologizes for repeating accusations as fact.
Kim Jihoon posits here that this was a political conspiracy by the Youth Union to boost their position (they were a very very small group before all this), which the Project Moon User Association must a part of. He posts the draft the Youth Union drew up if PM complied, without the union rep's permission as evidence. OK man.
...By the way, he also sent an official legal notice to the Project Moon User Association with that same info.
The PMUA says hey man! We do talk to the Youth Union, but we're actually a completely different group who has not declared jackshit as fact and have been conscientious in our speech. Fuck you! And posted the letter (legal threat) PM sent publicly along with their reply. (Jihoon references this in the statement above).
Read here. The letter is the pdf at the top of the doc.
It's through this response that we learn that the reason the Youth Union was cowed was because Vellmori resigned.
The PMUA notes: hey, isn't it extremely fucking suspicious that you publicly stated that due to breaking company rules with years old tweets (this isn't legal btw) and Vellmori's most recent statement was that you told her that she's getting her papers in a week (legal but asshole shit btw)? And yet when you're catching heat about the ludicrously illegal unjust firing, you reveal you've been hiding her resignation? Unrelated, why did you post an unfinished draft statement predicated on a round table that never occurred? Why are you threatening us for libel we never posted?
AKA they fucking ate him for dinner.
Kim Jihoon is being cooked alive over his notes app malding & pointed translated repost of his original statement. Everyone and their dog can see his sole deflection only really applies to the Youth Union, who fucked up publicly a while ago, while the PMUA is spotless in their conduct. The fact they have not done anything but ask the Youth Union for info - which they used responsibly thus far - renders literally every complaint Kim Jihoon is making totally worthless. And they made sure he fucking knew it. Meanwhile, the folks who originally kicked off harassment and boycotts (DCInside) remains uncommented on, enraging people even further.
By the way, you may be wondering why Kim Jihoon is suddenly so frenzied in his attacks. The thing is, PMUA just successfully met their fundraising goal! And wouldn't you know it, the money they raised is for applying to file a class action lawsuit over PM's mismanagement.
Stay tuned for more on Crossy News Network. I am too nosy to possibly stop reporting on this
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EVER RED: THE THEORY (MASTERPOST)
This is a post compiling all the theories surrounding Ever Red from the Fragaria discord server
Last updated: Dec 2 2023
AMNESIA THEORY, THE TIMELINES
Fragaria's story is confirmed to be separated into two: The MVs and the voice dramas. This could imply two separate timelines. The 1st timeline is “ruined”, and the 2nd timeline (possibly the one for the MVs) acts as the present. In the Ever Red MV, there are lyrics highlighted in red, most of them pointing to them forgetting something.
This theory is unrelated from Ever Red, but the main point of the amnesia theory is that the knights don't remember their "original" selves, their current names and forms being a show of their connections to their lords (hence why Hangyon's name is only 2 letters off from Hangyodon for example).
These lyrics also point to something being forgotten (strawberry/fruit representing memories. Sweet and sour memories, a memory that ripens/develos as it is repressed)
But forgetting their old identities also means forgetting past events.
RIBBONS
The ribbons represent the pains of the past. In this part, Hallritt sings "Once the ribbon is tied, the knot marks are still there." Once pain is inflicted, the wounds and memories are still there.
The ribbon now ties everyone close to each other. The Red Bouquet will be there for Hallritt to help process his past, and make things right again (see next header).
I just want you to laugh, that's all I wish for
Even if our memories are mismatched
Hallritt is now being covered by the ribbon, except for his eyes. He must face the truth of what he did.
HIDDEN AUDIO, "ELDRITCH HALLRITT"
Refer to this post to listen to the hidden audio.
"Move. That dream… It was my fault."
It was Hallritt's fault for the destruction of the 1st timeline. Around 3 minutes into the MV, there is a quick frame of this shadow version of Hallritt which me and the discord have named Eldritch Hallritt/Eldritt.
(isn't he so silly <3)
He was the "original" Hallritt from the 1st timeline, and a manifestation of the current Hallritt’s true feelings and repressed memories. He knows everything. He was the one who destroyed the 1st timeline, and is here to make sure the Hallritt of the current timeline doesn’t mess up.
But what was Hallritt's mistake in the first place?
SEEDS
SEEDS are the antagonists of Fragaria's story. They could be the original knights, as seeds come first before flowers/bouquets. One day, they took things too far, leading them to be banished and replaced by the Fragarians.
They might have once tricked Eldritt/The "original Hallritt" into joining them, which led to him ruining his contract with Hello Kitty, destroying the 1st timeline. Eldritt then reset the timeline into the current one, and is watching over the current Hallritt to not make the same mistake he did.
BONUS/MINI THEORIES
My friend Angel pointed out that "Fragaria Memories" sounds similar to "Fragmented Memories"
System Hallritt - Eldritt is an alter for Hallritt (+ is a protector or a gatekeeper) who wanted to prevent him from finding out the truth, but they can't run from it forever.
Bouquet leader doomed yaoi (I don't have a better name for this) - If Cielomort and Badobarm find out about Hallritt's secret, they could get angry and not trust him anymore. If this happens, the conflict could grow, repeating what happened in the 1st timeline that led to its destruction.
Hangyon and Chaco know - These two are suspicious. For Chaco, his title is "The detour dog with a hidden motive." The hidden motive could maybe have something to do with SEEDs. For Hangyon, if he knows what happened in the 1st timeline, that could be why he's close with Badobarm specifically. He watches him for any signs of the past repeating itself.
In a world that continues to change
Only time will never come back
Yet no one can take away our memories
(EVER RED)
I'll never forget them for eternity
Living in memory
No one can see it, but it'll never disappear
Ever certain, ever red
#but thats just a theory. A FRAGRIA THEORY#this took so many of my braincells i swear if blue's song doesn't follow the amnesia pattern#fragaria memories#fragmem#red bouquet#ever red mv#fragaria memories theory#hallritt#merold#puruth#romarriche#rimicha#sanah
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darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 7: Gone
terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!
Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)
Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your sister prepares for her wedding to Laenor Velaryon.
Hello! this one took a while, so am sorry, lol! My cat got attacked, which I hope is at least SOME excuse. This is another 8000+ word chapter, so yay! This covers the Episode 5 stuff, which is fairly self-explanatory. Thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for coming back to me and beta-ing this thingo!
TRIGGERS: Episode 5 shenanigans. Nothing much else, really.
These are the things you have learned—
One: Uncle took ’Nyra somewhere at night.
Two: that ‘somewhere’ was terribly improper, a place that not even a maid would go if she wanted to be seen as respectable.
Three: he was caught kissing her and doing things with her, even when there were lots of people in the room at the same time.
Four: he left her there, and it was only because of Ser Harwin that your sister made it home safely.
Five: Uncle asked Papa if ’Nyra could be his wife, and Papa said ‘no’.
These are not things you tell others that you know. Septa will likely strike you with her switch if she hears you repeating any of it. If anyone finds out what you have managed to find out, they will start minding their words more carefully around you. That is not what you want.
Because you are small and quiet, it is very simple for you to collect secrets. For example, Lord Bar Emmon’s lady wife has been dallying with a knight from House Massey. Lord Rosby is in debt to bankers in Essos for borrowing large sums for gambling. Lord Darklyn has a bastard son that no one knows about. You overhear little things here and there, spot details that others might miss, and you learn, tucking information away inside your mind just in case. You make sure that these secrets are proper ones, too—from the hands and mouths of those they are about.
After the accident that gave you a small scar on your arm, Papa made it a rule that you must come visit him each day so that he can keep an eye on you. This is how you had heard ’Nyra and Papa talking in his chambers.
“…have exposed yourself. Now, we must both suffer the consequences.”
“Were I born a man, I could bed whomever I wanted. I could father a dozen bastards, and no one in your court would blink an eye…”
“…an end. You will wed Ser Laenor Velaryon, and you will do so without protest… You are my political headache!”
“… my duty as heir… you must first do yours as King.”
You had waited for a beat, then knocked, hoping that the look on your face was innocent enough that they did not think you had heard. It worked—you had been let in and conversation had turned away from things-you-are-not-allowed-to-know to things-you-are-allowed-to-know. After that, it was not so difficult to piece together what must have happened from the rumours flying around the court.
Now, you understand why ’Nyra and Uncle were sharing all those long looks. Why they would stand so close to each other. Why they would jump apart whenever you came. They are in love, or maybe they just want each other in the way grown-ups sometimes do, the way that means they wish to put their parts together and make babies. Whatever the reason, whatever they feel, it had been enough for Uncle to ask Papa directly; enough to be exiled for.
You keep Uncle Daemon’s letter—‘I will be back soon’—to yourself. If you tell Papa, he will just make it impossible for Uncle to return.
If Uncle marries ’Nyra, will they go to live on Dragonstone? you wonder. Will they have many babies together? Will they bring me if I ask very, very nicely? You would like it best with them, you are sure of it.
Thoughts of what life might be like with Uncle and ’Nyra entertain you on the days you are made to wait for ’Nyra and Papa to return from Driftmark, which is where Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys and Laenor live. Even though your sister wants Uncle, she has agreed to marry Laenor. You don’t know what to think. You hardly remember Laenor. It doesn’t matter, you decide. Uncle will stop it from happening.
Lord Lyonel has gone with them as the new Hand of the King. It was not hard to find out that Lord Otto had his spies follow your sister out of the Keep and report back to him, or that he had then gone straight to Papa to tell of what Uncle and ’Nyra did. Your sister often says that Alicent seduced Papa to become Queen and give him half-Hightower children so that they would inherit what rightfully belonged to her, and that Lord Otto made her do it. She has been telling Papa that for a while now. It seems he has finally listened, for Lord Otto has been made to go back to his family seat even though his daughter is Queen and he has princes and a princess for grandchildren. He has gone too far in spying on ’Nyra.
This all means that, even though Uncle is no longer here, Alicent still wishes to keep an eye on you. She does not have many friends in the Keep now that her father has left, and it has made her nervous. You are only seven summers old, but you understand the way of things well enough—you understand that she wants to be your friend now that she’s realised she is alone.
I’ve been alone this whole time, other than for ’Nyra, you think. It is an unkind thought, so you push it down and tell yourself that it really isn’t Alicent’s fault that she forgot all about you with three babies to take care of.
Septa Marlow takes you to the nursery each morning as always so that you can see the Queen and your brothers and sister. In truth, you quite like this arrangement—because they are so little, it gives you the chance to play with them, to pretend not to be so grown-up for a while. Or, rather, you play with Helaena. Aegon is at a stage where he likes to throw things, so you mostly avoid him. Helaena is a quiet companion, so playing with her mostly means passing her toys and watching her arrange them in neat little piles that make no sense to you but seem to give her a great deal of joy.
“Here, ’El,” you say, passing her the next item. She stops her normal routine when she sees what you have for her. “This is Marya, and this”—you take the other doll out from the makeshift wrappings you devised when still within your own chambers—“is Hana.”
Helaena babbles to herself as her pudgy fingers twist through the brown hairs sprouting atop the wooden doll’s head, surprisingly gentle for one as young as she is. She beams, a gummy spreading of lips that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle, and pats Marya’s wooden face.
“Dolly,” she whispers. “Marya?”
You nod. “Yes, it’s a dolly. Her name is Marya.”
Sometimes, you find that you need to repeat things to her. She often poses questions like this, as though she is unsure if she has heard you right, as though she wants approval. You wonder if you did that at her age.
“That is very kind of you, darling.”
You look up. From her seat by the window, Alicent surveys you and your sister with a small smile. Aemond sleeps on in her arms, seeming to care little for playtime. Is he not too old for that? you think. She can barely fit him in the cradle of her arm, but you suppose that Alicent has always been quite small-bodied.
You smile at her words. She has taken to calling you ‘darling’ as of late. You know not why. Still, it brings a flush of warmth tingling through your blood. “I thought she might like them,” you say.
It makes sense; your dolls were only laying there, doing nothing at all, and Aegon keeps breaking your little sister’s toys. Because she is so quiet, you sometimes wonder if her nurses just don’t realise that she is there and that she needs just as much to play with as her older brother. Your dolls are rather sturdy. They were made for you when you were three summers, so they ought to withstand anything he can subject them to.
It is as though your thoughts summon his attention to you.
“I want them, Mama!” Aegon cries, pointing in your direction. It takes you a moment to realise that he is not pointing at you, but at the dolls in yours and Helaena’s laps. “I want!”
“They are for Helaena, Aegon,” Alicent says, but it is no use. Aegon takes a deep breath, and you brace yourself as the scream pierces through the quiet of the room, quickly followed by the squawk and sobbing of Aemond.
Gwenys stands from her place beside Aegon and lifts him into her arms, trying her best to hush him. There is little point—now that he has it in his mind that he is being denied something he wants, there will be no dissuading him until he is spent from crying too much. As usual, she heads for the door, taking with her the low sounds of her soothing voice drowned out by the wails of your brother.
Alicent has not moved at all, aside from swaying Aemond gently and patting his back. She rarely ever tends to Aegon. There are times when she looks at him as though he is a complete stranger, as though she did not make him and carry him and birth him. You sometimes catch yourself feeling sorry for him, for the fact that his mama so clearly loves his younger brother more than she loves him. In some ways, you and Aegon are very alike—Papa loves ’Nyra more than he loves you. He loves ’Nyra more than he loves any of his other children, but that is because she is the heir and that means she is the most important. It is one of those facts that belongs in the drawer in your mind labelled ‘the way things are’.
Still, Aegon does not do any of the right actions that would get Alicent or Papa to love him more. He throws things and breaks things and yells and runs, and sometimes he will say the nastiest words like ‘I hate you’ to everyone when he is in one of his moods. At least you try. You use your manners and follow instructions and keep quiet and calm, which Septa says is what makes a lady respectable. Perhaps that is why Alicent is calling you ‘darling’ now.
“Dolly?” Helaena whispers again.
She is staring at Hana, so you prop the doll in her lap beside Marya. Your sister clutches them to her, burying her face in their hair so gently that it makes your chest feel tight and a lump grow in your throat.
You watch Helaena hug the dolls that used to be yours but now are hers, ignoring the little voice in your head that reminds you of the one you didn’t bring, the one you have kept all to yourself even though you’ve no need for it now. Of Alysanne, the doll with silver hair and purple eyes, no longer tucked away in a chest but resting beneath your pillow, hidden from the sight of all but you.
It seems like barely any time passes between the return of Papa and ’Nyra and the beginning of the wedding celebrations. Of course, that is not true, for there are days upon days of preparations—ravens to send out and replies to be received, journeys to be made to the capital and rooms to be cleared of dust to house the visitors, banners to be erected and decorations to be installed—that sweep seemingly all of King’s Landing into a frenzy. Not even you are free of it. Thankfully, your only role is to stand up straight with your arms out as the seamstresses pin and hem your dress for the event.
“What do you think, Princess?” Lina, the head seamstress, asks. You don’t know if she is speaking to you or to ’Nyra, who looks on with a smile.
“Lovely,” ’Nyra says, answering your unspoken question. She steps forward to brush light fingers against the neckline of the gown. It tickles. “Silver ribbons for the hair, I think. Could a belt be fashioned in the same colour?”
“Of course, Princess,” the seamstress is saying, but your attention has drifted to the guard that stands watch at the door.
Ser Criston has been strange as of late. Though he is usually always more quiet than not, there is something very unhappy about the way he surveys those in the room now. He is ’Nyra’s sworn shield, and yet his eyes seem to slide right past her, almost like he wants to pretend that she doesn’t exist. What surprises you the most is that ’Nyra notices—she gives him fleeting looks every so often, especially when he is fixed and still—but does nothing about it. She is not one to let an insult lie.
You have always liked Ser Criston. Before, when you were allowed to go about more freely, he would let you sit by him and talk while ’Nyra was busy pestering the minstrels to play more songs about Nymeria.
Your sister claps as the final note rings. “Again,” she demands.
Samwell sighs, flexes his fingers, and readies himself to play once more. As he plucks the strings of his mandolin, he lets his voice carry the melody forth.
“She fled with her ships and her people,
Her heart broken for those who had died.
But if they remained, they would perish
Under the dragon’s eye,
Under the dragon’s eye.
A hundred fell to the sea’s cruel sweep,
A hundred more to the Summer Isles’s tide.
The Queen lost many souls fleeing from
Under the dragon’s eye,
Under the dragon’s eye…”
You turn away from your sister and glance to the side, to where Ser Criston is sitting next to you on the bench. “You’re Dornish, Ser Criston. Are you not?”
It is what all the ladies at court say—even Ser Harrold has said so. It certainly makes sense, for the knight’s colouring looks the same as Nymeria’s in all the illustrations of her you have seen.
Ser Criston smiles at your question. “Not exactly. I… my father is Lord Dondarrion’s steward.”
“Oh.” You frown, thinking hard. “He’s from… the Stormlands?”
“Yes, Princess. Well done,” he says. You beam at the praise. Ser Criston turns to listen to Samwell’s song for a moment, the tale of Nymeria floating faintly through the air and carrying a great sadness with it.
You wait for him to continue. When nothing comes forth, you try again. “Why does everyone say that you are Dornish, Ser? You should tell them they are wrong.”
He laughs, a quiet sound. “They aren’t. My mother—she was Dornish.”
You have learned much about the difference between ‘was’ and ‘is’. ‘Is’ is for people who are living, who breathe and think and talk and laugh, like you; but ‘was’ is for those who are no longer here. Who have died and left the living to mourn them.
“What House was she from?” You keep your voice gentle. You don’t wish to make him sad.
Ser Criston shakes his head. “She was lowborn. A member of the commonfolk. My father encountered her on an incursion into Dornish territory. He fell in love with her at first sight, or so he’s always said.”
“That sounds nice.” You have never seen or heard him be so free with telling someone about himself before. Even now, after serving in the Kingsguard for as long as you can think of, this is the first you have learned of who he is beyond his ability to use a sword. “What was she like? Your Mama?”
At that, he says nothing. You sit and listen to the music, to the tale of a queen who is forced to begin again in an unknown land. You wonder if Ser Criston sometimes feels as strange in King’s Landing as Nymeria did in Dorne all those hundreds of years ago.
“I cannot recall my mother well, Princess,” he finally says. You just barely stop yourself from startling at the sound of him. He stares out at the grass, at nothing, appearing for all the world like he is unspeakably lonely. “She passed on when I was… very young. I know she was beautiful; I remember dark eyes”—like his, you think—“and the shape of her smile. At least, I think I do.”
He looks angry, or perhaps upset. It is hard to tell. You are not surprised, though, for men are often angry when they are made to think of sad things. There is little you can do to change his mood, but you still let your palm come to rest on his arm, patting it softly. He peers over at you. His face softens. You and he take shelter from the sun in silence, looking out as the final refrain of the minstrel’s song flows through the Godswood.
“… Th’ Dornish have yet to bow or to break
Under the dragon’s eye,
Under the dragon’s eye.”
You know what it is like to long for someone you cannot recall. You understand. In brief moments, Ser Criston has been a creature with a spirit much like yours. But he always disappears within himself and the Kingsguard returns, ready to do his duty no matter what. He is another of those that your sister sometimes strays a little too close to, so perhaps he is upset that she is in love with Uncle Daemon and not him. That would be very scandalous, you think, suddenly feeling rather sorry for him.
“… Well? Do you like it?”
You startle. Everyone is staring in your direction, so you shake such thoughts from your mind and glance over at yourself in the mirror. The dress itself is a shade of pale purple that gleams from the silver threads woven into the fabric; the collar is beaded with pearls and tiny diamonds; the bodice decorated with flowers and vines in dark purple and grey thread the colour of steel. It is far more elegant than anything you have worn before. You look like a real grown-up lady in it.
All you can do is nod, your eyes shining bright with excitement. Even though you will be wearing it to the feast for ’Nyra’s wedding to Laenor—to someone who is not Uncle—you are filled with a sudden impatience for the eve to come sooner.
The screech and roar of unfamiliar dragons drifts in from the distance, their dark shadows in the sky a balance with those of the Velaryon ships upon the water. The banners have been raised; the Great Hall prepared; the food made ready. Those who live within the Keep’s walls, including you, linger around the room in wait of the guests that come from all corners of the Realm.
You kick your feet beneath your chair as lords and ladies file into the hall, the booming voice of Ser Harrold announcing them each in turn.
“House Redwyne with their lord, Oren Redwyne!”
“House Hayford with their lord, Mathis Hayford!”
The arrivals become of greater importance the longer the festivities continue. Soon, the incoming nobles are declared with all sorts of titles after their House and name. “House Lannister with their lord, Jason Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West, and Master of Casterly Rock!” Ser Harrold calls out.
You do your best to avoid notice as Lord Jason walks down the steps, surrounded by people in different shades of red and gold to match his House. He makes his way forward, up, up, up the dais to stand before Papa and ’Nyra. Neither look very pleased by his presence, though he doesn’t seem to realise this.
“Congratulations, Your Grace,” he says, smiling as though he is an old friend of them both. “You have made a fine match for the Princess.”
Papa does not reply, just stares with his mouth frozen in an upturn. It forces ’Nyra to speak. “Thank you, Lord Jason. I could think of no better man than Ser Laenor.”
Uncle. Uncle. What about Uncle? you think, but you do not say it aloud.
Lord Jason makes a soft noise. You cannot tell if he agrees or if he is still upset that she refused him. “Well. If this is only the welcome feast, I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding.”
“My daughter is the future queen.” Papa looks at your sister with a great deal of love. She turns toward him, a glow of happiness on her cheeks. “I wanted this to be a wedding for the histories.” You wonder if your own wedding will be one for the histories someday, or if Papa only intends for his heir to have such treatment.
“Where is the Queen?” Lord Jason asks, glancing around. “I had hoped to pay my respects.”
It is a question you yourself had been thinking of. Alicent is not one to be late to important gatherings. It is very unseemly for a lady to do so. If she were still under Septa’s care, she would probably be scolded most terribly for it.
Papa pauses for a moment. “I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations.”
“This is why men wage war,” Lord Jason says with his chin tilted high. “Because women would never be ready for the battle in time.”
He laughs at his own words, though he is the only one. It is not a very good jest, for you can think of at least three ladies from history—Visenya, Rhaenys, Nymeria—who had waged war and done well at it. Papa and ’Nyra do not seem to find it funny either, for they merely look at him like he is stupid.
“Your presence is always such a pleasure, Lord Jason.” Your sister tries to be polite, but you can hear the bother in her tone.
The smile disappears from Lord Jason’s face. He bends at the waist in a short bow. “Princess. Your Grace.”
As he rises, his eyes flick to you. It is like he has only just spotted you here, two seats down from the King. He looks you up and down as though you are a prize horse. The curve of his lips as he does so is very off-putting. “Good evening, Princess,” he says to you.
Papa clears his throat loudly before you can respond. His hand is clenched tight around his cup, causing one of the scabs to crack slightly. A thin film of blood spreads slowly across the knuckle. It all serves to startle Lord Jason, who quickly averts his gaze and slinks back down the steps to where his brother sits.
The next group to greet Papa and ’Nyra begins their approach, only to be interrupted by another man. He cuts in front of them all. You do not recognise him. “Your Grace. Princess Rhaenyra. Congratulations are in order.” After he says this, he turns to you. “And my greetings to you, Princess.”
It is the first time someone has addressed you so far without making you uncomfortable, so you cannot help the warmth that spreads through you. “Hello, Ser.” It is as good a guess as any. You hope you have not erred.
Papa’s smile is much more real. “We are very honoured to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold.” His expression changes, dims, his brow twitching. “I must say,” he adds, wiping the back of his hand on the kerchief resting by his plate, “I was most distressed to hear of the Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Rhea? Uncle has a wife named Rhea, you think with a frown. You notice Papa’s kerchief is streaked with red.
“Lady Rhea was a unique character,” Ser Gerold says. “Her kind… is not soon to be seen again.”
’Nyra surveys him with kind eyes. “If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce…”
It is Uncle’s wife who has died is the thought that crosses your mind as the drums begin to beat, signalling the arrival of someone very important. The guests that were lining up to pay respects separate to either side of the hall as the doors open and Ser Harrold cries, “Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, Master of Driftmark.” At that, the Velaryons make their way into the hall in a sea of glittering black and gold. There are more of them than you ever thought possible—far more than your own House has. “And his lady wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen; and their son and heir, Ser Laenor Velaryon, the future king consort.”
Everyone claps as they walk toward the dais. Papa and ’Nyra stand and you follow—those who had been sitting do the same, rising to their feet in welcome of your Valyrian kinsmen. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys bow and curtsey before you, Laenor stepping forward to do the same. ’Nyra leaves her seat to move around the table, and you are surprised to see her grinning at Laenor as he comes to meet her. She takes his hands; he kisses hers, and the applause begins anew.
As Laenor takes his seat beside ’Nyra—as Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys take theirs beside him, and the audience moves to find their own seats—someone comes in unannounced.
Uncle.
The room goes very quiet, and then the murmuring starts. Papa’s face is like thunder as Uncle Daemon strolls down the walkway with a smile and comes to a halt before him, as though daring him to make a fuss of his return. For a moment, you wonder if he will have the guards throw Uncle from the Keep.
Papa gestures to an attendant, who brings another chair to the end of the table. He will let him stay, then, you think. But Uncle does not sit in it. Instead, he looks at Lord Lyonel next to you, his brow raised.
“Well?” he asks. Lord Lyonel says nothing. Uncle scoffs. “Move. I would sit by my niece, Lord Hand.”
“My Prince—” The Hand of the King stops at the sight of Uncle’s barely concealed glare, a threat all on its own. He clears his throat and rises, the chair skidding back with a squeak as he steps aside. Uncle settles in the empty seat, shoulders hunching in that way he gets when he is trying to show everyone how carefree he is. He glances down at you and winks.
Papa turns from his brother to those gathered in the hall. “Be welcome, as we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning…”
“Āmāzī,” you whisper, only just loud enough for Uncle Daemon to hear. You have come back.
He leans into your space to whisper his reply. “Kīvio sētetan, gōnton daor?” I made a promise, did I not?
You nod, thrilled. He remembered. He kept his promise. Your hand finds his below the table, hidden from view. He is warm as he always is, like fire, and he squeezes tight even as his expression shows a picture of boredom. Though he lets go quickly, the warmth remains.
“With House Targaryen and…” Papa suddenly falls quiet, staring out at the end of the hall. Everyone’s eyes, including yours, turns to follow his line of sight.
Alicent stands alone in the entry. That is not the strange part, of course—but what she is wearing is unlike anything you have seen her in before. Her gown is a shade of emerald, off the shoulder, a deep cut in the neckline exposing an indecent amount of flesh for a respectable noblewoman. It is beautiful, but alarming, for the oddity of it is matched by the almost angry look she wears as she silently approaches, people rising in turn when she passes.
She stops to greet ’Nyra. “Congratulations, stepdaughter. What a blessing this is for you.”
It is cold, completely different from the way she normally speaks to your sister. It seems ’Nyra notices, for she cannot come up with a response before Alicent is kissing Papa on his cheek, taking her place like nothing is out of the ordinary.
“Please be seated,” Papa says with a cough. The hall echoes with the sound of shuffling. “Where was I? Oh, yes.”
He grunts. This time, he lets his voice carry to fill the room. “With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dragons in Westeros.” The guests applaud. “And after tonight’s small affair”—everyone laughs—“seven days of tournament and feasting.”
More clapping. “At the end of it all…” He is starting to sound out of breath, which is worrying. He has been unwell as of late. “At the end of it all, a royal wedding… between my daughter, my heir… your future Queen… and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the heir to Driftmark.”
Papa sinks to his chair like he has just run up and down every step in the Keep, and you can see his chest rising and falling like he is trying to find air. The sound of it is drowned out by the music that begins to play. ’Nyra and Laenor leave their seats to perform the first dance, impossibly graceful in their movements. They look rather lovely together, you cannot help but think. Still, it is not he she should be dancing with. Glancing over at Uncle, you see he appears to be thinking much the same thing. You are unsure if it is a petty sort of amusement playing along the corner of his mouth or a snarl threatening to reveal itself as he watches your sister with a man who is not him.
The dance comes to a close and everyone claps, followed by a rush of lords and ladies rising to join ’Nyra and Laenor on the floor. Alicent stands. You observe her making her way to the Hightowers at one of the lower tables. You stay in your seat.
“Pōnte imazumbilā?” Uncle asks, jerking his chin toward those dancing in the middle of the room. Will you join them?
“Mirtys drējī rhēdiō daor,” you say with a twist to your mouth. I don’t really know anyone. In truth, you would like to go and dance, but you dislike the idea of doing so with a stranger. Or worse, with someone who looks at you like Lord Jason did.
Uncle grunts. “Konir drives qubys issa.” That’s a poor reason.
You feel your cheeks heat with your embarrassment. It is not very brave of you, you know. “Usōven, kepus,” you say with a small voice. I am sorry, Uncle. A sting prickles behind your eyes.
“Aōma lilinna.” He gazes down with a softness he uses only for you. I will dance with you.
“Really?”
Uncle Daemon shrugs. “Lo jaelā, darilaros.” If you like, Princess. His head turns to face the gathering dancers again. You know, though, that he is really looking at ’Nyra, smiling and beautiful in her white gown. “Yn ēlī, mirros gaomagon ajorrāelan.” But first, I have something to do.
You wonder what he intends. Will he take Laenor to the side, ask him to run away and leave ’Nyra a woman without a betrothed once more? Will he grab hold of her and force her to the High Septon’s rooms, make him wed them before anyone can stop him? Will he declare his love for all to hear, give Papa no choice but to do away with the Velaryon match? Each thought, wilder and wilder, circles through your mind. Whatever he means to do, it will surely be worthy of a great deal of court gossip.
But then, a voice interrupts. “In the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes. Even Targaryens.” Ser Gerold takes one step, then two up the dais.
Uncle remains unimpressed. “Who are you?”
“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone.”
“And?”
You can see the clench of the man’s jaw. Uncle is being horribly rude. “I am cousin to your late lady wife.”
“Ah, yes,” Uncle says. “Terrible thing. I'm positively bereft. Such a tragic accident.” You want to sink to the ground, to hide away from this conversation. It goes against everything Septa has taught you about courtesy.
“You know better than anyone,” Ser Gerold says, “it was no accident.”
You glance between Uncle and Ser Gerold, worry churning your belly to sickness. The salted flavour of roasted boar turns sour in your mouth. What does he mean? you think.
Then, there is a faint brush of fingertips against your arm. You startle, peering to your left. Papa is leaning across Alicent’s seat. Though he has just touched you, he is staring across at Uncle and Ser Gerold. His eyes slide to you, and he nods to the dancers.
Go, he mouths. Your lips part with your rising protest, but he frowns hard at you. Now, he mouths again.
Scurrying from your chair, you crane your neck to find someone to take company with. There are not many options—’Nyra is busy dancing, though now with Ser Harwin, Lord Lyonel’s son, and Alicent is still speaking with her kin. Everyone else is a stranger to you. For a moment, you wonder if anyone would notice should you sneak to the doors and make your way back to your own chambers.
“Hello.”
Laenor Velaryon has broken away from the throng. Standing beside you, he looks every bit as lavish as a man about to be wed ought to be. His coat is richly embroidered in black and gold; the pendants upon his gold chain glimmer. There is so much detail to his attire that you do not know where to look. He is smiling down at you, his face gentle.
“Hello,” you say, wary.
“It has been quite a while since last we met, hasn’t it?” There is a way about him that makes me feel as though he’s an old friend, you muse. His expression is open, his arms relaxed at his sides. “You were rather a great deal smaller.”
“I am seven summers now.”
“And I am eighteen. Strange, how time changes us.” He folds his hands before him. “Would you care to dance?” he asks.
You shake your head, though a part of you wants to accept. He is very easy to be around, you are finding. Perhaps he is not so bad a choice after all. “I am waiting for my uncle.”
“Ah.” Silence reigns briefly. Then, he bends closer to your height, his pointed finger directed out to the crowd. “However… I do believe he’s occupied, Princess.”
You stare out onto the floor and watch as Uncle makes his way from Laena Velaryon, shifting between bodies like a snake slithers in grass, straight toward your sister. You watch him murmur something indistinct to Ser Harwin—he takes the man’s place—he swarms up against her, and the pair seem intensely concentrated on their conversation. They are barely dancing, swaying together in a vague rhythm to the music.
“Wonder what that’s about,” Laenor says.
You think you might know, but you say nothing. It is hard enough to keep the threat of jealousy from rising like poison at the sight of Uncle with ’Nyra—with her and not you. He promised you a dance.
Laenor sighs. “Look,” he says. You glance up. “I get the feeling you are not exactly pleased by this match. No”—he waves off your protest with a laugh—“it’s alright. I cannot say I was very happy, either. At first. But your sister… she’s quite the woman. I’ll be… content with her, I think. I just hope I can offer her the same.” He lightly places his hand on your shoulder, firmer when he realises you do not plan to shake him off. “I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves.”
He is painfully earnest as he looks at you, like he truly does intend to seek your guidance. You cannot say that of many people. At the very least, he is good at pretending you are important enough to need a high opinion from. It is more than you expected.
“I will,” you say.
It is too quiet, and you think he probably hasn’t heard you over the noise. But he smiles, pats your arm, and disappears back into the mass of people. You feel oddly thrilled by his kindness.
Now that you are alone once more, your eyes drift back to where you had seen Uncle and ’Nyra, near to the middle of the dancers. You spy two shocks of silver, bright against all the darker heads of hair—you see Uncle take ’Nyra’s face in his hand—he leans in—
He pulls away.
What is he doing? you think, frowning. Uncle is stepping back—’Nyra reaches out, though for nothing—he’s stalking off—
You don’t even realise you have followed him, that you have sidled along the edge of the wall to the door and slipped behind the guards, out of notice, until you are facing the looming dimness of the passages outside the Great Hall.
Behind you, someone screams. Then another. Another. More yelling. The door closes and the noise disappears, as if it never was.
You did not realise just how many guards had not been in attendance at the feast until now. They jog seemingly in pace, the crash of armour too loud, echoing as they rush toward the room you have just left behind. Perhaps they have been drawn by the sounds that had taken your attention also.
It forces you to seek a hiding place. You dart into the nearest alcove, and though it is not covered, you pray that it is too dark for anyone to take notice. Thankfully, it works. Your Papa’s men thunder rumble past with nary a look your way.
A creak from the door. A faint thudding, and whispers, and a gruff voice sounds out, clearer than the rest. “Something to cover it with… for the body… and fetch the High Septon to… wedding will take place when he arrives…”
“Now?”
“Yes, now! So, go and…” A wail, and then it is quiet again.
A manservant hurries his pace, footfalls ringing in the near-silence as he takes the steps up and up and up. You watch him disappear from view, surely having gone to carry out the order given to him. To fetch the High Septon, withdrawn into his own rooms somewhere far, far from your own, awaiting the day he is called to perform the ceremony. Tonight’s ceremony.
Tonight? The wedding is tonight? There was to be seven days before ’Nyra was married to Laenor! That is what Papa said earlier… is it not?
It takes a moment for you to remember how you have come to be here, so caught up are you in your whirling thoughts. A part of you wishes to return, to make sure that Papa and ’Nyra and Alicent are safe. ’Nyra is a Princess, you remind yourself. Alicent is the Queen, and Papa is King. Everybody will want to keep them protected. Besides, there is little you could do that the guards could not. You are only a little girl.
Then, it strikes you. Your purpose. Uncle. Where has Uncle gone?
You peer out, and immediately snap back into shadow. The hall is not empty as you had assumed, though it was perhaps silly of you to think otherwise. It is always full of life and activity. There are guards stationed by the stairs, by each archway projecting a further passageway, branching out from the main corridor; two or three messengers await, milling nervously opposite the doors you had just exited from; maids and servants walk by, uncaring of the chaos within, busying about with their duties as normal. Any one of these people could see you and know in an instant who you are. Your hair—your dress—it is all too easy to identify. And if they see you, know you, they will pass you off to a waiting guard, who will ensure you are returned to your rooms, to Septa Marlow.
How will you discover where Uncle is then?
You wait, hoping that the bevy of bodies will thin with each passing minute. As you wait, you listen to passing snippets of conversation from those who walk by. Then, you hear it. Uncle’s name is like a clanging bell out of the mouth of a nearby maid. Your ears strain to catch the rest. “… for Prince Daemon’s belongings to be… King’s Landing tonight… waiting in the courtya…”
“Yes, ma’am…”
Footsteps. Your mind races. No, no, no… Not again. Not now. Not so soon.
Belongings. Tonight. Waiting in the courtyard. You may be young, but you are no fool. Those words, in that order—it can really, truly only mean one thing.
It means that Uncle is leaving.
You wait. You wait through the fractured exchanges drifting to your shoddy hiding place, the morsels of what life must be like for those who live and work in the Keep. You wait through the spilling of people into the hall, the nobles who had witnessed whatever it is that had been hidden from you. You wait through their bewildered conversation—“a Kingsguard!” and “such a terrible omen!” and “what a ghastly sight!” being some of the choice fragments you can hear—and through their slow scattering back to whichever lodgings they had managed to secure themselves. You wait through the barking orders of the Kingsguard to “find the Princess!”—it seems all have finally realised you are no longer in the room—the thud of their boots easy to detects as they grow fainter, fainter, fainter.
Finally… quiet.
Well, not entirely. The doors are open once more, and you can just barely hear voices within, the sound of something heavy being dragged out. Grunting, as with some great effort. None of these are important. What is important is that finally, finally, the way is clear enough to steal out of the alcove and just across to the staircase, to sidle out of the hall and down the corridor. You thank whatever gods had favoured you that something shocking or maybe even horrid had occurred and given you a free path to the courtyard.
Your mind immediately rebels. What a terribly wicked thing to be glad for. If you had spoken it aloud—if Septa had heard you—you know you would pay the price for such sin.
When you arrive, the sight that awaits you is one you had hoped against hope you would not be greeted by. Even though you had heard the proof, the crushing weight of disappointment still feels heavy in your chest.
“Where are you going?” you ask, standing on the steps that lead to sand, to dust. To Uncle.
There he is—tightening the bridle on Varlet’s muzzle, reins in hand. Dark Sister is at his hip again. He must have fetched it from his rooms before commanding the servants to pack up his things, to send them along who knows where.
“Fu—” He cuts himself off, spinning to face you. A bad word, you presume. You see his face relax as his eyes scan you, recognising you even in dim torchlight. “Go back inside, sweetling,” Uncle says.
You cannot help the rush of tears that prickle behind your eyes. “You—Uncle Daemon, you cannot leave now!” You cast around for some reason, any reason you can find that might persuade him. “The—’Nyra is going to be married in the Great Hall soon. You have to be there. You said you would dance with me.”
This makes him release the reins, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, his eyes like slits beneath the steel shelf of his brow. The horse nickers cautiously behind him, toeing at the ground. After a moment where he does nothing but stand, silent and still, he moves, taking large strides toward you. Up, up, up the steps he goes, and then he is crouching before you.
“Talītsos”—little niece, he says, and as he speaks, his fingers reach out to swipe loose hair back behind your ear—“the King has asked me to leave. I must do as he says, correct?”
When have you ever cared what Papa says? you want to tell him. What about ‘Nyra? You are leaving her behind.
What about me?
Instead, what comes from your mouth is this: “When—when will you be back?” Your lower lip begins to shake. One of the tears falls, even though you tried so hard to keep them from doing so.
His thumb brushes it away. You can still feel the sting of it in the cool night air, though his skin leaves a trail of heat over your cheek. “I’m afraid… I’m not coming back.”
His face is unbearably soft as he says this, but it does not banish the shock, the dread that rises. You feel ill. You feel ill. Bile burns in the back of your throat.
“But… you promised,” you say. You wonder if you look as lost as you sound.
Uncle smiles, though it is weak. “I know. If I had a choice, you know I’d stay.”
You cannot count the number of people who might hear such a thing and take it for a falsehood. He is a rake; a villain; a rogue. He lies, steals, cheats. He is mad, he is cruel, he is the very worst thing that has happened to House Targaryen since your great-great-great-uncle.
But you know he means it. You know.
“Will I ever see you again?” you ask, close to a whisper. Any louder and you’ll burst into sobs, and that will surely bring the guards—you can hear them faintly calling your name—right to you.
Uncle takes your hand. His eyes are bright, sad. “Kostilus,” he says slowly—perhaps—using the language of Old Valyria the way he does whenever he wants to voice something fond, something gentle and warm. “Kostilus daor. Jēda ivestrilus.” Perhaps not. Time will tell.
That is not good enough. That is not nearly good enough—but what can you or he do? If Papa has decreed that Uncle must leave, then he must, for he is the King. There is nothing to be done. Nothing at all.
Before you even realise it, you’ve thrown your arms around him, burrowing as close as you can get. He smells the same—of salt and smoke and love love love. “Aōma ozmijīnna, kepus.” I will miss you, Uncle.
Instead of replying, he just hugs you tight, so tight that your ribs ache and you think you can feel his pulse against your skin, even through so many layers of fabric and leather. You can barely breathe from the force of it. It doesn’t matter. You try to carve out a space in your mind for the memory of this moment, this single point in time where he is here and you are loved and the rest is trivial.
But, like all good things, it comes to an end. He pulls away. He stares at you, almost as though he means to say something. He doesn’t. He cups your cheek, and then he stands. He walks back to Varlet. He mounts his horse.
The grief of it bursts from you like an almighty cannon, wrenching with heaving, painful gulps. It surges with loud, ringing sobs, your nose stoppered up so wholly that you cannot breathe, so much so that it blocks out all sound, all feeling. You do not hear any last words. You do not hear the gate open. You do not hear the striking of hooves on the ground as Uncle Daemon rides away, getting smaller, past the gate, out of reach, going, going…
Gone.
It will not be long before the guards are drawn to you by the sound of your tears. It will not be long before they march you back inside. It will not be long before you must sidestep a crumpled Targaryen banner in the entry of the Great Hall, before you are brought into the grasp of Papa and ’Nyra, before you are made to listen to their panicked reproaching.
“Don’t ever run off like that again!” Papa will cry out, grabbing you by the shoulders with unsteady, shaking hands. He will loom over you, an expression battling between relief and anger playing out over his grey face. “We thought… we thought…”
“It does not matter what we thought, Father,” ’Nyra will say, lips tipped up in a smile despite her wet eyes and dishevelled hair. “All that matters is that she’s safe.”You will wonder why she appears so untidy, but there will be no time to ask.
As the High Septon performs the ceremony, as ’Nyra and Laenor repeat their vows in stunned, shaking voices, you will stand beside Alicent, in front of Papa. And, after your sister kisses her new husband on the cheek, Papa will collapse to the ground, knocking you lightly on the way. Alicent and ’Nyra and Lord Lyonel and Lord Corlys will crouch to his aid, booming voices clamouring for the guards to fetch help. Papa will be taken out of the hall on a pallet, speedily dispatched to his chambers for tending to by the maesters. Everyone will rush about, fretful beyond measure for the King’s health, while you are overlooked once more.
You will find yourself staring at the discarded banner of your House, the red of the dragon darker, deeper, like blood. You will feel a twisting in your belly at the sight. You will return to your rooms where it is dark, where you are alone, and you will ready yourself for sleep with no joy for the day that is to greet you when next you wake.
All of this will happen.But right now—here, on the steps leading to the courtyard which leads to the city which leads to a world far, far out of reach—you will watch the gate, wondering if Uncle will change his mind, waiting for him to come back.
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abhi na jao chhod kar...ke dil abhi bhara nahi...
(for @oneawkwardcookie hehe)
[Image ID: seven gifs, colored in various tones of dark green, black and white, of Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz from 911. Overlaid in cursive text are lyrics from "Abhi Na Jao Chhod Kar". The translation is in smaller block letters at the bottom-center of the gif.
GIF 1: Eddie wiping a tear from his face in 6.11, overlaid with Buck and Christopher from 3.10 as they decorate gingerbread houses. The text reads, "abhi na jao chhod kar" and the translation reads, "please don't leave me and go."
GIF 2: Buck dipping his head as he lets out a sob in 4.14, blended with Eddie kissing Christopher's cheek while Buck looks on in 3.10. The text reads, "ke dil abhi bhara nahi" and the translation reads, "my heart hasn't had its fill of you yet."
GIF 3: a black and white gif of Eddie and Buck facing each other after Eddie's shot in 4.14, accented by slightly displaced green. The text reads, "jo khatam ho kisi jagah" and the translation, outlined by a green box, reads, "that which comes to an end somewhere."
GIF 4: a green gif of Buck and Eddie hugging in 2.18, Buck grinning widely as he congratulates Eddie. The text reads, "yeh aisa silsila nahi" and the translation reads, "this isn't that story."
GIF 5: a black and white gif of Buck tearing at the ground in 3.15, frantically looking around himself for something to help dig Eddie out of the mud. In big block letters, the lyric reads, "Abhi nahi". In smaller block letters reads the translation, "not yet." The translation is repeated twice more in increasingly smaller, more transparent increments.
GIF 6: a black and white gif of Eddie trying to pull Buck up towards himself in 6.10, his face straining with the effort. In big block letters, the lyric reads, "Abhi nahi". In smaller block letters reads the translation, "not yet." The translation is repeated twice more in increasingly smaller, more transparent increments.
GIF 7: Four gifs in alternating grayscale and green color; Buck realizing Eddie cut his line in 3.15, Buck's cheek pressed to the concrete as he watches Eddie bleed out in 4.14, Eddie grasping the line to help Buck lift the tank off of Sal in 4.05, Eddie's expression falling slack as he realizes where Buck is hanging in 6.10. The word "nahi" repeats at four various places on each gif, with a line connecting each word to the translation, which reads, "Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet."
/end ID]
#zee edits#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buddie#911edit#buddieedit#buck x eddie#911 abc#911 fox#911 on fox#alielook#userisha#userdahlias#usersonny#usernymika#userabs#usernicolo#userrin#userriel#usermadita#tuserambs#tuserella#singinprincess#userkarolina
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You Show Up While He’s Traveling Part 3
Masterlist
Part 1 Part 2
Part three will include Time, Warrior and Wild.
Content under the cut!
Time
Time was going over what they had to work with and what they would be able to do with it. It would take a while until they would be able to restock and there wasn’t a lot of things in the environment where they could forage their own materials.
He rubs his temples and sighs. This would frankly be a lot easier if he was by himself. Not that he minds the company of the boys too much, but they don’t seem to realize how many resources they seem to sap out of what they have.
“Hey Old Man!” He hears them call, making his head hurt more than he’d ever tell them. “We found someone that says they know you!”
Time frowns and looks away from his logical puzzle. That claim should be impossible. This isn’t his home and he’s far from any acquaintances. Who would say such a thing?
“And who are they?” He calls back, putting the supplies away. He’ll come back to it.
“Someone. How should we know?” Time can hear the way Legend rolls his eyes. “They asked if we’ve seen Link. Bulky. Heavy armor. Scar over his eye with red and blue facial markings. We figured they must be legit if they could name specifics.”
Time stands and makes his way over to check it out. He stalls. Time can feel the way his jaw goes slack and how he nearly trips over his own two feet. Your name tumbles from behind his lips. He can’t believe this.
You seem to sag with relief and throw yourself towards him. “I was so worried. Thank Hylia, you’re alright.”
Time bites his tongue, more focused on catching you and holding you within his arms once more. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you were going to stay home.”
You huff. “I did. And yet here I am. I promise I wasn’t trying.”
You kiss his cheek and pull back, looking him over and smiling at what you see. “I forgot how you looked in your finery.”
Time shakes his head, a smile blooming on his otherwise serious face. “I promise you, it hasn’t changed. You, however, have.”
You blink and step back entirely, looking down your front and your sides, hoping to see what he sees. “What do you mean?”
“You’re even more beautiful then when I left you.”
You smack his shoulder and push him.
“Jerk. You scared me for a moment.”
Time laughs and pulls you back to him. “I’m not sorry. I see you’ve already met the Veteran.”
“He’s fun.”
“I told you do.” He smirks and turns to the rest of the group. They’ve all stopped what they were doing to see his reactions and interactions with this mystery person. It widens when they all scramble to make it seem as if they were not openly staring. “These are the others boys I mentioned in my letters.”
You perk up and beam, looking around the group. With a wave, you introduce yourself and cling onto Time’s arm. You turn back to him with a smile that spells trouble. “You mentioned a descendent. Which one is he?”
“You have to guess.” Time snorts.
“What?!” You cry. “That’s not fair! I’ve waited this whole time to meet your group and you won’t even tell me this!”
“Nope.”
“You’re the worst.” You pout.
“You love me.”
“I do.”
“Is anyone else confused about what’s happening right now?” Wind raises his hand.
“This is-” Time repeats your name. “And they are the love of my life.”
Warrior
Warrior was busy trying to count the rupees in his pouch so he could plan ahead on their purchases. Granted, he was starting to run low. It left him with two options. Either start selling or start cutting the grass.
Would that even work in this Hyrule? Is that something that he can count on of the time being? Four mentioned small being that live in the grass. Would they mind if he came in and cut it all down?
He sighs and stashes the pouch away. There’s very little he can do about it on his own regardless. It’s easier to pool their money together.
“Tough luck, Captain?” Sky comes up next to him and leans on the railing. “I’ve never seen you so annoyed.”
“It’s hardly anything new.” He tries to wipe the look off of his face. It’s not going to do him any good. He has to make sure the group has its needs met. No reason to worry the troops about their supply line.
“Lady troubles?” Sky ventures.
“Not this time.” He shakes his head. Ok, maybe he can laugh about it. It’s not exactly the picture he wanted to paint himself as but as long as you don’t take any of it to heart, then perhaps he can learn to mitigate it.
If not, he’s in trouble when he gets home.
“Well then maybe I can help with the problem.” Sky offers.
“I appreciate it but I’m afraid that it’ll take more than just the two of us-”
“Link?” A voice calls out.
Both men look up in the direction of the voice without thinking. Warrior freezes. His heart gets lodged in his throat. He recognizes that voice. Is it really-?
“Link?” You call again and he sees you walk out of the crowd around you. “What are you doing here?”
Sky tilts his head, unsure of what to make of this new person until he looks over to Warrior’s bright, start struck eyes. “Ah- you know them.”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” Warrior grins, shouting without meaning to. He runs. You meet him halfway.
The two of your collide with enough force to shock the people around you. The chain comes around the corner, having heard their name called.
Warrior starts peppering your face with kisses. “I can’t believe you’re here. Are you ok? Are you safe? Were you sent by Lana?”
You giggle, trying to pull his hands away from your face so you can properly answer him. “No, no, no, nothing like that. I just walked around and found you here. I thought you’d be home later.”
He stops his barrage. His thumbs come up to rub little circles on your cheeks. “Darling, we’re not home right now. The farthest from it. That’s why I’m asking.”
“Oh.” You blink, finally looking around you. “Well Zelda mentioned that they were trying to rebuild some settlements so I thought I had just wandered into one of them.”
Warrior shakes his head. He might cry at the sight of you.
“Hey, Captain!” Hyrule calls out. “Are you going to keep making goo goo eyes or can we meet them?”
“What?” You try to look around Warrior, focusing on the voice. “Link? Do you know them?”
“More than I’d admit at the moment.” He mutters, turning to wave the group away. It doesn’t work. If anything they’re more intrigued.
You snort and step away from him. “Let me go say hi.”
“No-” Warrior holds your hand. You stop and raise an eyebrow. He’s nervous. “Um...They might say some stuff.... Don’t pay too much attention to it.”
“Like what?”
“Uhhhh....”
“The pretty boy didn’t run away this time!” Legend laughs. “They must be the one!”
“Like that.” Warrior sighs, hanging his head in defeat. You bite your lip and pat his shoulder in consolation. “Are they always like this?”
“Unfortunately...”
“...I think we’ll get along just fine then.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Wild
Wild was separated from the group again. But not because he saw something shiny and decided to investigate.
He had to look for more food to cook for the group. Since it had more or less become his job to make sure the heroes besides him were fed, he had to make sure he had enough supplies to meet the demand.
It wasn’t looking to good. At least not in this particular area.
The bushes that he was sure to have berries were empty. Either something else came before him and plucked them all off, they were out of season or he was simply incorrect on the type of bushes these were.
That wasn’t going to stop him though.
Actually, there was one thing that interested him as he continued his search for edible food. There was a bit of cloth on the bush. Nothing that seems worthy of noting. It was beige and clearly torn.
Perhaps someone did come to take the berries before he did.
Wild moved on.
On his way to the next bush, he saw a few berries that were ripe for the picking. He didn’t hesitate to grab them. But besides the bush was a strange foot print on the ground. It wasn’t churred up by an animal. that was a human boot. It was slanted and elongated. Like the person slipped. It seemed fresh.
He began to follow that instead of the food trail.
Multiple bushes and branches were torn as he got closer to whatever it was.
He looks up to see that there were multiple claw marks against one of the tree. Those certainly didn’t belong to any human.
He kept walking, albeit with his hand on his bow just in case.
There was a groan. A very human groan.
Wild rushes forward and his brain stops working.
In front of him lays a very familiar human. You were face down on the ground, a large cut to your mid-section with multiple tears to your clothes. You seemed to just be waking up from whatever had knocked you out to begin with. Slowly, you push your arm from under you and lift your face up.
Wild runs to you. “What...what...what....”
Wild swallows hard and move to roll you over. It’s easier to pick you up that way.
“Link?” You lull your head to the side. “...You found me...”
“I did.” Wild breathes out, lifting you. “I did, I did, I did...”
He says it on repeat like a broken record. the food has been forgotten, his main goal is to get you back to camp to tend to your injuries. If he’s lucky, Hyrule would be kind enough to heal you.
“I missed you.” You say as if you hadn’t just been attacked.
“I missed you too.” It breaks Wild out of his repetition.
His return to the camp spokes even the more seasons of heroes. Legend jumps to his feet while Warrior and Sky unhesitatingly begin to get the medical supplies without being asked.
“Wait- who are they?” Wind asks over the commotion. “Do you know them?”
“Yes.” Wild fights over the way his throat wants to close up. He places you down and begins to clean your wounds. Twilight gets a spare change of clothes and hands them over as Warrior hands over the gauze. Wild thanks them both.
“Ok, but who are they?” Four asks kindly.
“My partner.” Wild says. It shuts the group up. They watch as he tends to you.
Hyrule sneaks in the spell from behind Wild’s back to heal you.
They’ll save their questions for when you’re feeling better.
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To love You in an Old Way
Jasper Hale x human mate reader
Summary: Reader is a fan of old school love
Warnings: None, just pure fluff
A/N: This one-shot was inspired by this song I been listening on repeat lately, its called "Amarte a la Antigua" or "To Love You in an Old Way" by Eslabon Armado. I added lyrics from the song onto this (Spanish is my first language so translating was easy) From just that song theres another song I listen from this group and another one shot idea came to idea. There will be another A/N in the end. Enjoy :)
(You can never forget your first love for a Vampire)
“Today we no longer write letters to fall in love
Today the flowers are no longer seen”
I have never been serenaded by gifts or even experienced all those old school love gestures. I always said I had no interest in being serenaded but secretly I wished that everything you see in the movies could happen to me. The endless romance books I have drowned myself in so that I could try to picture myself in those romantic scenes leaves me with an unsaid desire. But it is an unrequired thing, guys at school just don't work like that anymore
“Where has that romance gone?
There are no longer poems to conquer each other
Now only emails are sent”
That is until a certain cowboy came into my life, Jasper Hale. I always admired him from a distance and didn't really approach him in any way until he awkwardly but oh so adorable came up to me one day and said “Hello y/n would you like to go out with me to a bookstore in Port Angeles”. The way he had a hint of anxiety in his eyes and how he flexed his arms behind his back left me curious as to why he was so nervous to talk to me. From that moment 2 years ago today, we have been together ever since, and yes I do know about him and his family being vampires and his past even. There are days where he has to be away from me to control his thirst but I never feel disappointed or hurt. I do always praise him for how far he has come to being able to be around me without the feeling of wanting to drain my blood in a second.
But the thing I absolutely love about Jasper is he is an old school lover, makes sense since he is old but he does everything you would see in the movies. At first it started with just short poem phrases left inside my locker or in the books I would read,
“Loving you the old way, stealing your smiles
Hold your hand, open the door for you, write you poems
love like before”
And from that he started to write full on poems, one of them being called “To love you in old way”, which just hits my heart in every way. He then started to give me little gifts, nothing fancy yet unless you count chocolates but he would give me little drawings he's done throughout the day or once he gave me a bracelet he made that had a small heart and rose charm. I still wear that bracelet to this day.
“Fill you with roses, sing you songs, paint you caresses”
When he writes me poems, he leaves them in my bedroom with a bouquet of my favorite flowers each time. The way he loves me is something I never knew could exist, he's so suave with his southern charm and the way he can sit for hours listening to me talk just makes my heart swell. Many would assume just because he's the reserve type he lacks being a romantic type, but when me and him are alone he says some of the most dazzling and mesmerizing things that can put any poet to shame
Like just a minute ago he said this line
“In you, I have found the love that fills my soul”
And with his Texan accent, it made it more personal.
“Was that an Edgar Allan Poe quote?”
“It was, I figured you would like it for the reason being you love his works”
“Oh you know me so well cowboy”
He smirked slightly and pulled me into his embrace so my back was against his chest while he was leaning against a tree.
“I like how you learned quotes from his works to woe me, even if he focuses more on the dark and terror of life”
“Well one thing I have grown to know about you is books are a key to your heart”
“Yes true, and food, don't forget food”
The way he laughs makes me melt into him more, his laugh is quiet like the sounds of small bells ringing, so angelic yet at the same time so bewitching.
“I could never forget that about you darlin”
I thought about our first date, I was internally panicking and was overthinking constantly of what to say to him, I was debating to just be myself or my quiet self. What made me loosen up with him was he gave me this aura of calm, at the time I didn't understand how but with that feeling I relaxed and was able to finally be myself. Since our first date was at a bookstore, he held all the books I wanted and he didn't protest or anything, actually he would recommend books or I would catch him sneaking books into my growing pile. After that date, we just knew we fit like a puzzle, it was then confirmed later that Jasper and I are mates which confused me since I am human.
We would spend hours either in his room or mine reading and then talking about it afterwards. He really is my missing piece to my soul. My parents even approved of Jasper and would be happy to have him over or even letting him stay the night or vice versa. They knew Jasper was the perfect gentleman and wouldn't do anything to hurt me, which is true in every way, even if he does have his days where he struggles with his thirst control.
“Penny for thoughts?”
At hearing his voice through my mist of memories I answered “I was just thinking about our first date”
“What about it?”
“Just thinking how we fit like two puzzle pieces”
He kissed the top of my head and mumbled quietly
“You have no idea how true that is”
I grabbed his hand and traced his visible veins. I would often do that to make him relax more and in a way it comforted me. As for him I noticed he would bury his face into my hair, he says my hair smells like flowers and I could feel him melt everytime he did that.
“Can I ask you something”
His sudden voice in our quiet bliss startled me
“Yea? What's up?”
“Well I have a supplication for you”
I raised an eyebrow at that word but pulled away from him so I could face him.
“Supplication? You never fail to amuse me with your formal words but continue with your supplication”
His radiantly affectionate smirk spread onto his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled a small box out, seeing that box my eyes widened slightly, is it what i think it is? With opening the box I can already see the twinkling diamond shining through
“Darlin’ the moment I meet you I felt I could finally breathe again, I felt somewhat human once again and my dark past did not cloud my mind as much, I don't know what I would do if I were to ever lose you or let you do, that might sound selfish but damn dang it I love you doll, Will you do me the honor and marry me?”
My tears were already building up when he barely said his first words. The man of my dreams is asking for my hand in marriage and the way the sunlight was hitting him made him look so surreal, it felt like we were in a dream at that moment.
“YES Jas, YES!!”
His smile widened and he placed the ring on my finger in an instant and pulled me into a deep kiss. This kiss didn't feel like any other kiss we had in the past, it felt like all our past deception vanished and it was just me and him in this whole world. And to think this all started with me craving for that old antique love gestures.
“Love you the old way, love you like before”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: I love Jasper, as I said in one of my past post, he was my first Vampire love until well I discovered Felix but I still love him never less. I have another idea for a one shot with another song but this time it will be about Caius, hence to why I have one of his quotes in my bio.
#jasper hale#jasper hale x reader#jasper whitlock#the cullens#jasper hale imagine#twilight renaissance#twilight fanfiction#twilight imagine#jasper whitlock x reader
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