#but this weekend has really reminded me that life is worth fighting for and that I do want to live | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jxtina-86 · 1 year

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Bound To You

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

Warning: Language/Smut incl. Bondage

Rating: MA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One day.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” I answer, breathlessly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's another pause. “I can be.”

“Seth!”

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

“So, you rang me. What's up?”

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

“Seth...”

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

“Se–”

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

“Go on,” he prompts.

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

“How so?”

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

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

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

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

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

My stomach flips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Giving up?” I frown at the ceiling.

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

“I...”

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Trust me, it will.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you too, sweet dreams.”

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

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

Sweet dreams indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What else?” Seth prompts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” I breathe back.

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

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

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

“Pin my legs to the bed.”

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nod. “I'm okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, you're perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too obvious.

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

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

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

“Patience,” I manage to squeak.

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

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

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

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

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

“Seth!”

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

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

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

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

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

“FUCK!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seth,” my voice cracks.

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

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

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.”

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

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

I nod.

“Where, Siobhan, tell me where?”

“My mouth.”

The silence is palpable.

“Shit...” he exhales.

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

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

The tip of his dick slips against my lips and my tongue darts out to tease his slit before he can jerk away.

“Fuck,” I hear him groan as I lean my head further forward and wrap my lips around the tip completely.

I hum in satisfaction as he slides further into my mouth and I let my saliva coat as much of him as possible before pulling back. I know what gets to him – he loves watching me suck hard on the tip, loves it even more if I trail my tongue from his balls to tip, goes fucking crazy if I take him all the way into my mouth in one go. But it's hard for me to do that when I'm bound and blinded.

“Help me out,” I murmur, hoping he gets the hint.

His grip on my head tightens as he angles my mouth just right and I shiver as I feel him guide himself into my mouth, my tongue pressing against the underside as he pushes more and more, making me groan as he hits the back of my throat.

“Holy fuck, Siobhan... Jesus... Oh fuck,” he grunts loudly as I start to bob on his dick, relishing in the way he feels in my mouth, how his fingers are digging into my scalp, how even though I've been at his mercy for the majority of this morning that I'm still able to bring him to his knees as well.

His hips buck forward and my throat tightens around him as I struggle to push back against his hand.

“Oh shit,” he gasps as I squeal around him and he's pulling back fast, his grip loosening as I gasp for breath. “Fuck, fuck, Siobhan. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. Shit!”

I can feel his hands on mine, fingers fumbling.

“Seth... Stop.”

“I am, I am. I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't. I'm sorry.”

“Seth,” I repeat, my voice calm. “Leave them.”

His fingers still. “Are... Are you sure?”

I smile into the darkness. “Of course.”

“I don't deserve you,” he mumbles and my heart threatens to crack.

“Come here, please...” I feel him settle beside me, his fingers stroking my cheek. “Kiss me, Seth.”

He's slow and gentle, silently begging me to forgive him. But I already have. I kiss him back, my teeth nipping at his bottom lip, encouraging him, pushing him to give me what I want.

“Now fuck me,” I breathe as he pulls back for a second. “Hard and slow, remember?”

His forehead presses against mine. “You're too good for me,” he whispers.

“Hard and slow,” I repeat. “Make me scream.”

I want him to take back the control. I want to push him back to when his voice was deep and raspy and he called me a 'good girl' and made me cry with want and need and pure deprivation.

“I'm all yours,” I whisper.

“All mine,” he growls and I grin in satisfaction as he moves beside me, in front of me, his hands sliding up my legs as he pushes them into the air and holds them wide, his fingers digging into my ankles.

His dick slides against my pussy as he rocks back and forth, the tip rubbing over my clit, making me hiss and curse.

“That's right,” he groans. “Slick my dick up, sweetheart. C'mon, move those hips for me.”

I do as he commands, rocking against him as his dick thrusts back and forth faster and faster.

I yelp as he pushes inside me, the intrusion a blissful surprise as I take him all in, my walls clinging to him as he breathes heavily above me.

“Damn,” I hear him mutter, his hands squeezing my ankles as he twitches inside me and I groan out of desperation to feel him move. “You're so... fucking tight... And so goddamn wet, sweetheart. Fuck...”

His hips rock against me, his dick pushing deeper inside me. He slowly moves them in a circle and I cry out as he brushes against my G-spot.

“Shi-it... Seth...”

“That's right, sweetheart. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

He rocks back and then thrusts forward with renewed strength, making my breasts jerk violently, my fingers tightening around the metal chain for leverage as I try to steel myself against his thrusts.

“You're... It's so fucking deep,” I choke out as he thrusts into me again and again. “Harder... Please...”

He grunts as he gives me what I want, pushing my legs further out, spreading me wide before him as he pounds my pussy and makes me choke on my words, my moans, my inevitable screams.

“You're so wet,” he tells me again. “My dick is covered in you, Siobhan. And you're dripping everywhere. Jesus...”

He lets go of one ankle, my leg dropping to the bed as his fingers once again brush over my lips.

“Suck.”

I wet them enthusiastically, moaning as they slip from my mouth and then hissing as I feel the tips of his fingers slide over my clit.

“Aww, shit... Seth...”

“Cum for me,” he grunts. “Now. Do it. Cum. For. Me.”

He rubs furiously, his other hand slipping from my ankle as well, reaching forward to grab my breast, squeezing it hard. My leg is caught between his arm and body, bending backwards as he leans forward over me, his fingers still working my clit over and over as I feel my orgasm hurtling towards me.

“Now,” he growls against my mouth, my scent still fresh on his breath.

He swallows my scream, his tongue plundering my mouth as I shudder and shake and rut against him, his fingers relentless as I spill over his dick and he slides in and out of me with renewed gusto. I'm broken beneath him, but he doesn't stop. Just like he promised.

“Again,” he mumbles against my lips. “I wanna feel that pussy tighten again. I wanna feel you cum on my dick again.”

“I... Fuck, Seth...”

I can feel a small after-tremor start to build inside me, my clit too sensitive for more, but I can't move away and he's not stopping and I'm crying out, pleading, begging, torn between wanting more and wanting it to end.

My orgasm washes over me once again, his fingers easing off, only tickling as I gasp for breath and curse him and his dick and his fingers. He chuckles into my mouth as he kisses me tenderly.

“Good girl,” he tells me again, his hand releasing my breast and coming up to cup my cheek and I have to bite my lip to stop myself moaning. Once again I wonder if he realises the effect those words are having on me this morning. And just like that... “You like it when I call you that.”

I nod, my cheeks burning.

Another chuckle. “Roll over.”

I whimper as his dick slides out of me and he slowly eases me onto my stomach, the chain scraping together as it twists and my arms are pulled tight. But he's quick to make me for comfortable, moving me higher up the bed, moving pillows to under my head and twisting me so that I can rest my head on one side.

He straddles one leg, his knee nudging the other wider. His hands fist my ass, squeezing with alternate hard and soft kneads. A palm shifts to my lower back, pressing down gently so that my hips rise up and I can feel his dick sliding between my ass cheeks. I raise my hips a little higher, desperate for him to be inside me once again.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans as I rock back wantonly and his dick slips inside me with ease. “That's it, sweetheart, fuck my dick like a good girl...”

I moan in response, his words sending endless shivers down my spine. His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me back and forth on his length. My arms are starting to ache, my wrists sore from the metal cuffs that despite their looseness are digging in thanks to this position, but I don't care. All I care about is how good he feels inside me, how his fingers are digging into my ass and willing me to rock back faster and faster, how his panting is driving me insane and how desperately I want to cum again.

His hand smacks my ass and I rear up, crying out as the restraints scrape against the headboard. He smacks me again, groaning as my pussy clenches around his dick. A hand slides up my spine, followed by his lips as he flattens his body against mine. The same hand curls in my hair, twisting thick strands around his wrist as he tugs my head up from the pillow, his mouth on my neck, my jawline, my cheek, my lips.

“Again?” he mumbles.

“Please,” I croak as his hand presses between me and the mattresses, his fingers starting to work me over once again, unrelenting as always.

His chest sticks to my back, slick with sweat. His fist is tight in my hair as he pulls my head back further, his mouth latching onto my neck, refusing to let go as his hips continue to snap back and forth against my own. I want to push back on him, but I can't move, my body completely his as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge.

His teeth scrape my throat, his fingers relentless on my clit and I cry out loudly, my skin on fire, my mind fighting to stay focused, but unable to decide on what to focus on thanks to the havoc that he continues to wreak on my entire body.

“Fuck, Siobhan,” he groans in my ear, his tongue curling around the sensitive shell. “Cum with me. Please... I wanna feel you grip me as I cum inside you.”

“I'm close,” I promise. And I am, my body slowly starting to shut down as all focus turns to between my legs, his dick still pounding my pussy, his fingers still rubbing my clit.

The first wave washes over me with a groan... The second crashes against me, sending me flying, screaming as he holds me close, his mouth seeking out mine, warm and comforting as his hips snap against me one last time and he freezes, his dick pulsing as he empties inside me with a grunt.

My mouth slips from his with a gasp. My lungs are on fire as I struggle to breathe, his weight too heavy, my arms screaming in pain as I try to shift beneath him.

“Seth–” I start to choke out, but he's already moving, scrambling above me, his hands on mine, the cuffs clicking open. I breathe deeply, my lungs still burning, my body aching as he rolls me onto my side, soothing fingers brushing along my cheeks, behind my head, the scarf loosening and slipping free.

Warm, brown eyes greet me and I blink back tears that threaten to fall again. I've missed him so much and even though I've felt him and tasted him and heard him, seeing him before me is something else.

“Hey,” he whispers, his hands running down my arms and pulling my hands up to his face where he slowly inspects my wrists. “Are you okay?”

I nod, watching as he kisses the red pinch marks that adorn my wrists. His eyes flicker up to mine once again.

“Hey,” he breathes again, fingers reaching out to brush against my cheeks. “Fuck, Siobhan... I... I didn't mean to push you like that.”

“You didn't,” I swallow thickly, my vision blurring. “That was fucking insane, Seth. In a good way, I promise.”

But it doesn't stop him from pulling me closer, as he fumbles with sheets and blankets and tugs them around us, over our heads so we're engulfed by warmth.

“You're incredible,” he whispers. “I was ready to stop at anytime. I would have stopped before we'd even started if you wanted me to.”

“I know. But I didn't want you to stop,” I smile shyly and then giggle. “How long have you been hiding those handcuffs?”

He grins. “A while... I was waiting for the right moment.”

“How long?” I push with a pinch to his bicep.

“A few months,” he admits. “I remembered you told me once that you wouldn't mind being tied up and teased. Figured it was the perfect way to get you back for teasing me on our anniversary.”

“And last night?”

“I wanted to make sure you were still open to the idea.” He pushes back my hair from my face. “But I still wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me well and truly surprised.”

“In more ways than one?” His eyes glint and I lower my gaze.

“Perhaps,” I admit, thinking back to the way he commanded me, how turned on I was by his choice of words. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the click of the camera, how much I want to see that photo so that we can relive this over and over again. And I wonder...

A finger slips under my chin, nudging my gaze up. “You know that's okay, right?”

“I know.”

“You just tell me,” he smiles reassuringly. “You want this again, you just tell me.”

“I know.” And then my emotions take over, all the pent up wants and desires of seeing him in front of me and not having to imagine any more. For now at least. My voice cracks. “I just want you, Seth.”

I watch as his face visibly softens. “You got me, Siobhan. Always.”

His fingers lace between mine and I watch as he pulls my hand up to his lips.

And I'm right back in the hotel room, watching him hold my gaze as he kisses my ring finger again and again. And I'm wondering why I was so hesitant. Because why the hell would I not want to live the rest of my life with a man who cares for me, who craves me, who wants to make me happy more than anything else in the world? Why would I give that up on a maybe?

And I want to give him everything I have as well. I want to be the person he calls when he has good news or bad. I want to be the person that he turns to in times of happiness and sadness. I want to be the constant in a life that is full of ups and downs. I just want to be his. And I want him to be mine.

All I want is for him to know that I am as serious about us as he is. I want him to know that moving in with him is just the beginning. I want him to know that sure, it might take some time, but I do want everything and more with him. I want to share a million other moments just like this. I want to explore my limits, my desires, my entire life with him by my side, pushing me to try new things, whether that's in bed or out of it.

All I want is to give him a sign, no matter how big or small, that I'm here for the long haul.

Because...

One day.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” he tells me, rocking me slowly onto my back, his mouth covering mine.

Always.

“Mine,” he mumbles against my mouth.

“Yours,” I breathe back.

One day.

My hand curls around the back of his head and I tug him up, staring into his eyes as he hovers above me.

“I...” I stammer, pausing as the rational side of my brain starts to scream. But I strive forward, ignoring the doubts and the worries that always seem to surround me. “I want it all, Seth.”

He stares at me, his eyes shining, his mouth curling upwards. “Siobhan...”

“I want it all,” I repeat, my voice steady and firm.

His eyes lower to his hand in mine. “I wasn't pushing.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure?”

Am I?

But I already know the answer. And so does he.

Fin x

#seth freakin rollins #seth rollins fanfiction #seth rollins imagine #seth rollins #sethrollins #seth rollins smut #wwe fic #wwe fanfiction

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babeczka415 · 1 year

Text

Eternal Love: Chapter 8

—- 3 years later—-

I wake up to the spot in bed empty. This has become normal. We have talked about moving in together but with the engagement, life, and work for both of us it has been two hectic to add that to both our plates.

You seen I've known him since Hannah was found. When i came out to see Jake that first time I also had a meeting with him. Did I think almost five years later him and I would be engaged? Hell no!!! I was crazy about one man, the hacker of our group. I hear a little giggle from myself as I think those words.

The saying really is true 'one small event can change your life years from now.'

I pull myself out of bed and decide to spend my day off cleaning and getting some wedding planning done. I have been thankful of everyone accepting this man into the group but I can't ask any of them for help when I don't even know what I want yet. Plus we all agreed later to go to the Aurora. It has been a while since we all got together so its much needed.

—---------

After all day cleaning and wedding planning. I hear my phone go off with a text from my fiancee. I look and it states he's stuck at work and wont be able to make it tonight. I sigh but its something I've gotten use to with him. As its a chill autumn night I grab a pair of skinny jeans, my favorite comfy boots, a lightweight button down shirt and my leather jacket.

I decide to leave the car and just take the five minute walk there. I figured I can call him or hang at the Aurora until I sober up enough to walk home.

The walk is pleasant with the cold air nipping at my face. This leather jacket was well worth the price, im almost a little too warm in it but I leave it on. As I walk up to the Aurora I see Jessy, Alex, Dan and Lily. I couldn't be more happy for Jessy. After the mine I never thought she would find love but she did with Alex when we went to Colville for a girls weekend and after a while he moved to Duskwood. Dan and Lilly finally made it official. Now I just have to find someone for Cleo. I giggle as I walk up and Dan is the first one to hug me.

You see him and I both thought it was going to be weird after we broke up but our friendship blossomed and I would not want to be someone that hurts me. He had proven it one night with Phil when we were all drinking and they got into a fight over me.

We head inside and grab drinks from the new bartender Phil has to help him out and grab our booth. We sit there laughing and joking around the five of us when I look up and I see him. He came with Hannah and Thomas but he's here and Lily didn't tell me.

My head snaps to her and she looks away. "You could have told me'' I raise my voice a little higher than I should.

"It shouldn't matter you are engaged" she states back holding her own.

Dan leans back and lets this unravel. I just glare at her. The three of them join us as we wait for Cleo who shows up just little bit later. I see her look at Jake but she doesnt know who is he.

I stand up and down my drink. I get another one and head to the pool table. I'm frustrated, someone could of told me he was back. Why is he not covering his face? I shouldn't care though. I look at my left hand and remind myself I have a fiancee. One that never walked away from me in the middle of the night but dang it hurts seeing him.

I feel someone lean against the pool table. I look up expecting Dan or Jessy but no I'm met with his blue eyes. I notice he looks down at my left hand and I see the sadness in his eyes.

"Congratulations, MC. Who is the lucky man? I know its not Dan and you haven't spoken a word to Phil I hear." His voice soft only loud enough for me and him.

I take a sip of my drink. I had wanted that ring by him but no. He choice to leave me. "Alan Bloomgate" I start trying to fake a smile.

"I wasn't expecting that. I do want to say I'm sorry" he looks me in the eyes.

"Jake you're the one that walked away and told me to move on." I feel the tears in my eyes.

"I had asked you to come that night because the FBI reached out to offer me a deal. I started taking it but then something told me it was a trap. I didn't know what to do but run, its what I was good at until YOU came into my life. I spent the next year and a half on the run. Trying to run from the demons in my head that involved leaving you and running from them." He grabs my hand.

"No, Jake" I pull away.

"I had hoped you wouldn't have moved on but you did but if you will let me I still wanf to be in your life. I'm free now. I have been for three months."

My jaw drops, three months ago Alan and I weren't engaged. "Did Hannah and Lily know?' Ask glaring over at the table.

"Yes but they also knew he was going to propose to you." He states but I storm over to the table.

"How dare you two!" I yell. "Three months! Three damn months! Someone could of told me!" I feel like I can't breathe and storm outside.

I see a wooden bench and go and sit on it. My heart is racing, I feel my blood pressure rising. All these years, those two knew how I felt about Jake. I would of left anyone for that man. However now I feel stuck. Alan proposed to me three weeks ago and I so happily said yes.

Would I still have if I knew he was free?

I can't answer as the chance was taken away from me. I fold my head into my hands, I feel the tears coming. I feel someone sit down and put their hand on my back. I don't move, I know who it is.

"MC, they thought they were giving you a happy life." Dans voice is soft.

"They could of told me. You know it yourself, my heart is always drawn to that man. Even now, how am I supposed to walk away from him?"

"Boo, your not the same MC when you joined us." He's trying to reason with me.

I look up and I notice Hannah standing near by. "How am I suppose to call Alan to pick me up, when I don't even know if I can still marry him?"

"MC, I should have told you. It was my choice not to tell you he was free. He asked us too since he didn't know your number anymore. I made that choice because I know how Alan feels about you. I have know that man for a while wven before everything. Even with his exwife he wasn't as happy—"

I cut her off "you have no right to decide who i want in my life! You were barely there for me when my heart was broken into a million pieces. You only cared about updates from Jake because his spare time he told me not you how he was. The moment Jake and I broke up you only dealt with me because of the rest of the group. I didn't have to help them or him find you! So keep your thoughts to yourself about who should and shouldn't be in my life!"

"Hannah go back inside" Dan states as I turn around and he feels my anger showing.

She walks back inside the Aurora without arguing. "Calm down boo,okay? You wont be able to figure this out angry at everyone."

"How can she act like she has my best interest at heart when she never took the time to get to know me?" I shiver as I left my jacket inside.

Dan notices my shiver and gives me his jacket. "I think she's more trying to do whats best for him. After you stormed out Lily said ' we should have told her like he asked' and I agree. They shouldn't have let Alan propose."

"Did you know Dan?"

"I found out a week ago. But they didn't tell me you didn't know. I thought you knew and made the choice to be with Alan."

" ugh I need some shots right now" I state, standing up.

We walk inside and head straight to the bar. This time Phil is there and I don't see Hannah or Thomas. We order a bunch of shots and Dan and I line them up. I of course manage to outdrink this man which makes Phil laugh.

"I need to stop letting you outdrink me" Dan says as he finishes his last one and I get myself another round. Phil tries to stop me but when he notices my glare he lets go.

I look back at the table and I see Jake sitting there talking to everyone. I pull out my phone and look at the photos and text from Alan. My smile fades as Dan grabs my phone.

"I will call him when your ready to go home but tonight you are having fun." I sigh as my round of shots come and I down them again.

I've been leaning against the bar and now Im dizzy. I notice my song playing and I grabs Dans hand and pulls him on the dance floor.

Everyone else joins us and all of a sudden i feel different hands behind me but i don't stop to look or think. Dan is right I need some fun tonight.

#duskwood #duskwood fandom #duskwood jake #duskwoodlover #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood mc #jake x mc #mc x jake #fanfics #i love jake #eternal love

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bots-and-cons · 2 years

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I would just like to make it clear that I’m not actually feeling too bad at the moment, I’ve just been thinking about these things. This is a bit of a stream of consciousness kind of thing so it’s a bit all over the place, and I’m just looking to vent so no need to read, especially if any of the things mentioned below upset you.

Trigger warnings for talk about depression, suicide, self harm and similar topics.

Even though I didn’t slip back into depression like I thought I would over a month ago, things are not amazing. I don’t think things have ever really been amazing for me in the first place but still, I’ve been going downhill slowly but steadily.

I’ve been doing things to try and combat that though. I joined a workshop thingy that’s supposed to help me get a job or help me while I try to get back into school stuff. I’ve been walking again, and been trying to see my psych nurse more often to talk and stuff.

Depression makes people suffer so much. It has made me suffer so much and it will in the future too, I don’t doubt that. It's not like I want it either, but as someone who has been depressed for the last decade, there's still something familiar about it that comforts me.

Maybe it’s more that I miss myself. How I used to be, the person who was able to get through that decade of misery and pain. I know that person is still inside of me, but I don't know where to dig to find her. I don’t know when I’ll need her again to survive, and even though I don’t want to need her, I will, that’s just a fact.

The last two years have been better. I haven’t had one visit to the ER or a psych ward stay. It makes me feel weak when I don’t have to try so hard to survive all the time, because a lot of my self worth used to come from the fact that I was able to just bear things. That I was able to always put other people before myself and take care of everyone but myself and still somehow come out on the other side, even though it fucked me up so much I had a psychotic break or tried to off myself. I put so much of my self worth to the fact that I was helpful, that people needed me, even though I was just getting used by some of them.

To be honest, about two years ago I put things on pause with a friend and funnily enough, I started to feel better. He came back into my life a couple of months ago and I don’t know if it’s because he reminds me of how bad things used to be or if he is genuinely causing me to feel worse, but things haven’t really been as good as they were before he came back. There are of course other factors too, so I’m not really blaming him alone. He wanted to see me this weekend, and I’ve been barely able to deal with the phone calls every other week, so I said no. I find him to be super draining and I don’t really get as much as I give.

I’ve never really admitted to myself that what I did were attempts to end myself, because it would’ve felt like I was even more of a failure than what I felt like back then. I knew I wanted to die, but even though I took the pills that one time, or cut myself bad enough to need like 6 stitches, I never thought of it like I was trying to kill myself. I don’t really know what I thought of it as but it wasn’t that.

Back to the whole self worth thing though. I still struggle with it a lot, I don’t know if I can be worth anything, if I don’t have worth to other people. I know that’s not how it’s supposed to be, but I’ve still gotta learn more about myself to feel like I have worth to myself. Growing up in an abusive household, where the only time I got praised was when I was being useful to others, really messed me up. When you’re given worth only from other people, and otherwise you’re stomped down and basically kicked in the teeth, it will fuck you up.

I don’t really know if it’s called chronic depression or what, but I’ve been told by multiple professionals I’m probably going to be fighting this for the rest of my life to varying degrees of severity. I might have good years, maybe even many in a row, but it won’t all be only good. I will probably always have this cloud, even if it isn’t raining or thundering all the time, even if I get a lot of sun shine, the cloud will be there.

#ony speaks #rant post #depression #suicide tw #selfharm tw

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fereldanwench · 2 years

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so husbando and i checked out of our dragoncon hotel a couple of hours ago and are getting settled back in at home.

this was the first time since our weekend getaway to quebec in 2019 that we had taken a trip together. not like we went far--we were still in the atlanta area, but we left our home and kitties for about 4 days, which was a little nerve-wracking at first. i even bought a camera to check in on the cats, which i never thought i'd do, lmao. (and they were fine.) ((said camera was immediately unplugged and going into my closet now bc these things honestly kind of freak me out.))

we've attended every dragoncon since 2012--we even took the weekend off in 2020 to make the most of the virtual event and try to recapture some of the magic at home, which was surprisingly fun. the 2021 con was weird and a little depressing in hindsight. i probably wouldn't have even gone if i hadn't let my 2020 tickets roll over, but it was very limited (with good reason, of course) and we didn't have a hotel so ubering sucked. (i also got royally screwed on our trip back that saturday when they overcharged me $50 which still makes me rage.)

i wasn't sure if we'd be able to do it this year on account of the job situation (or lack thereof), but i found a room in one of the overflow hotels that wasn't too bad, and we were a little more frugal with the food and drink spending this year. the hotel was a little dingy and kind of far from the main action, but it was better than ubering. it did prevent me from cosplaying because i didn't want to deal with that hike (or the shuttle bus with an erratic schedule) in the atlanta humidity while fighting with a costume, but in recent years i had started to prioritize comfort over cosplay anyway.

i did drink, and the dull, persistent headache i woke up with this morning was a reminder why i quit for over a year, lmao. letting loose was fun, though. finding perches to people-watch and listen to the live performers and banter with strangers while having a beverage was always one of my favorite things to do at the convention.

i didn't really take any pictures other than a few shots of the buildings--not using social media outside of fandom really has pulled me away from the impulse to document every single event in my life and just exist in the moment. i know it sounds like a cliche, but it is really nice. (although i am glad that i have almost a decade's worth of pics from previous dragoncons. something something balance or whatever.)

it was a good weekend all in all and i love having dragoncon as a sort of farewell to summer, but this is probably gonna be the last dragoncon for us, at least for a few years. i remember towards the end of the weekend in 2019 i had started to feel like maybe it was time to take a break, but then 2020 happened and i was grasping to any sense of normality and comfort i could find. i think that kind of pulled me back to seeking a familiar experience.

but it's expensive, it's claimed every labor day weekend for the past decade, and even though it is a very unique convention experience, i feel like i've gotten all i can get from it. my priorities have shifted a lot in the past few years, and i'd rather start putting this money and time to new adventures and experiences that better reflect and nurture that growth.

i'm really grateful that i got to do this for 10 straight years, and i've had some absolutely incredible moments at dragoncon, but yeah. it's just time for something new. 💙

#t: wench.txt #also still on my psuedo hiatus thingy #will be back in full force next monday

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electrivolt · 2 years

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@rockheadcd asked : He doesn't quite remember how many hours he's dedicated to visiting Volkner since he'd come back, eventually recovered physically enough to bring his life back to what it had been before—ah, no, it didn't come back to what it was before. But.. at least their pillow talk had still been as comforting as ever, the irrefutable comfort of home so snugly around them as much as Roark circled his arms around his storm.

It's safe, and he feels he's so free to simply think aloud, recalling past conversations from the comfort of blankets and the occasional tuft of a tail tapping against his legs no different than the rhythm of a steady, but pleasant monsoon overhead. A soft sighs eases it's way out, lips pressing into blond in a fit of content affection. "Love?" His voice is muted, but it's nothing that Volkner can't hear when they opt for no personal space when it comes to falling asleep ( or the arduous process of getting there ).

"..When are we going on that road trip we talked about awhile ago? Catching the sun after a storm would be.. kinda pretty—a fox's wedding, almost. You said you wanted to show me something up there in the mountains," Roark hums, "Gonna keep that a secret?"

Home. This is home. He’s home.

It’s something that, sometimes, still doesn’t quite feel real, like Volkner still needs more time to let it all sink in, to fully realize that he’s no longer stranded so far away from his one home and love, waiting and waiting and hoping so weakly over and over, day after day, that there would be an end to the wilderness shattered by space and time falling apart. That he’d be allowed to return where he still tried to feel like he belonged.

It’s these little moments that finally remind him of what he’s looked for for so long. That tell him that maybe, all that pain and struggling and fighting was worth it. And then he looks at Roark again, feels the arms around him and grounding him with touch and love alone, the lips so gently pressed into hair and the loving, tender touches— and at least for a little while, everything feels alright. It’s safety, it’s home. Roark is his home, and he won’t stop reminding him of it. It’s what Volkner needs the most.

He lets out a litle hum when he hears Roark speaking up again, taking that moment to get more comfortable in his arms and listen. Right— they did talk about that, more than once. Just the two of them and their teams, going wherever they felt like going without pressure or any more anxieties.

And there’s still that little surprise he’s decided to keep a secret ot himself. He already double checked almost obsessively each and every known exhibit of related fossils just to make sure of this.

“... What about this weekend? Or... sooner than that, if you have the time. Whenever you would like.” He doesn’t give it much thought, really— even with all that Hisui has changed, somewhere in there, Volkner is still the same reckless and impulsive idiot that would drop anything for Roark’s sake, only a little ( a lot ) more aware of his own stupid, raging feelings now. A hand reaches up to run his fingers so carefully through his love’s hair, as far as he can reach without having to keep moving. And there it is, that stupid, sleepy and side looped smile on his lips as he looks up at him. “You’ll see... I know you’re going to like it, love.” Perhaps an understatement, knowing Roark as well as he does.

“... I think we have earned this, by now.” And he wouldn’t let this be taken from him anymore. He couldn’t.

#〔 ask . 〕 ϟ i will not fall ; i will not fade ; i will take your breath away .#〔 ic . 〕 ϟ i will shut the world away .#rockheadcd

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grunge-mermaid · 5 months

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grunge rewatches The OC pt 1

I haven't watched this show since it aired. when I was in high school. I'm assuming it hasn't aged well, but who knows

1x01 The Pilot

"modern medicine is advancing to the point where the average human life span will be 100. But I read this article which said Social Security will run out by the year 2025, which means people are gonna have to stay in their jobs until they're 80"

20 years later, Ryan seems like an optimist

this is the show that taught me that there is a world where people have pool houses

ooh smoking so edgy

baby!Dr Link

he grew up good

naming a boat after a girl you've never talked to? that's not a red flag at all

early 2000s teen girl fashion was a travesty

"open collar, it's a good look" Ryan is correct

no one is carding the 15-year-old at the bar? he's only 2/3 the legal drinking age in California come on

is he 15? 16? idk. how many seasons are they in high school for?

I will operate on the assumption that they're 15 until proven otherwise since Luke is the only one who drives (that we know of so far)

gay slur count: 1

ok Summer's dress in the fashion show is kinda cute but that hair & makeup are a travesty

All American Rejects oh man

the music in this show is pretty amazing ngl

"I should really learn to knock in case there's a threesome going on in the bathroom"

gotta have the requisite gaggle of girls on cell phones to show they're rich

how did 14-year-old me not realize I was queer when faced with Summer Roberts in a bikini and low-rise skirt? I'm so sorry, 14yo grunge, you really missed out on fully appreciating

(psst, present day grunge: Rachel Bilson was 22 in season 1. you're good)

ableist slur count: 1

what teenagers actually speak like this have the writers ever spoken to actual teenagers before?

ok a 15yo who cooks breakfast bc his parents are shitty and abusive & he needs to cook or else he doesn't eat & neither will his parents? absolutely believable. also absolutely believable he would do it out of habit + as a thank you for taking him in for the weekend

a 15yo who cooks bacon and pancakes and sets the fucking table for breakfast? who is this child

ok maybe it hasn't aged as badly as I thought. the hair and clothes have, but otherwise it's holding up ok

1x02 The Model Home

ohhh I remember this episode

I think

there's a fire, right?

Luke and Ryan fight and they start a fire in the model home?

wait Marissa drives maybe they are 16?

Ryan and Marissa are prime Siblings Or Dating content

flip

phones

gay slur count: 2

$100,000 seems pretty low-stakes for Jimmy to be so worried about given the presumed scale of the investments he was managing

like, that's a lot of money for sure but if he's

the show that introduced me to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah

girl you met him literally 2 days ago why are you so intense about this?

you're not romeo and juliet calm down

oh there's the fire

Luke "I'm an asshole bully not a murderer" Ward

Julie was pregnant in 1986 so Marissa at least is almost-17?

but if season 3 is their senior year, then in season 1 they're all going into grade 10, so shouldn't they be 15? I'm overthinking this, I'm aware

1x03 The Gamble

Julie Cooper reminds me of Bertha Russell but without any of the charm or warmth or manners or fashion sense

I should take that back. Bertha doesn't deserve to be compared to Julie Cooper, she's too beguiling and clever. Julie is just shallow and manipulative.

"no two black tie events in the same month" I would love to live a life where this is my biggest concern

of course these women watch Dr Phil

god they'd be on the front lines of Moms For Liberty wouldn't they

"we welcome everyone here. I'm from the Bronx and you're from Riverside" what a fascinating definition of diversity (Newport, not Sandy. Sandy knows what's up)

"he called me white trash"

honey, you may be rich but you are pretty trashy

being trash has nothing to do with net worth and everything to do with attitude

"Ryan's gonna stay with us now" 😭

ok that's it for tonight but I was wrong. besides some atrocious fashion and period-typical homophobia, it's holding up pretty well

#grunge rewatches the oc #the oc #you can tell i started knitting during episode 2

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loveurn · 1 year

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love it.

sheesh. click for jacuzzi link. )

jay doesn’t get vacations often. minus the fact that he manages to treat each and every day like it’s his world and everyone is living in it - minus the fact that he basically does what he wants and lives each day like he makes his own rules. it is his world and everyone is just living in it. so his days are - vacations in the sense that he doesn’t like to be too stressed if he can help it. he likes that laid back characteristic of himself, and the fans eat up how he switches to perfectly placed perfectionism for his shows. it’s really only worth stressing if it’s to make them happy.

just don’t tell them that.

either way. he doesn’t get the real days off, where his phone isn’t ringing about impromptu sessions or sessions coming up or yadda yadda yadaa. he’s usually busy, he’s always busy really. if it’s not practice it’s a studio session, if it’s not a studio session it’s an interview, a company meeting, a photoshoot. he chose this life, he relished this life truly - but he doesn’t get a lot of time for vacations with new songs and albums and expectations.

nowadays though, with how well his last album did, with the records and the charting, the company has decided to grace him with the idea. a weekend away, as away as he can get being a star. jay had gobbled it up but he knew there was a catch to it - there always was one. do a couple shoots, intimate interviews and record some of it for fan content. he’d agreed, on one condition.

see if jay was anything, he was shameless. utterly shameless. he’d personally requested time off for another staff member - opting to pay for the work they’d miss. no one had batted an eye when he’d mentioned it either, because they all knew, half of them were glad to let jay ‘blow off steam’ as they’d mentioned. because the truth was among all the promotions and the preparations, there’s only one person he wanted to whisk off to an island where no one could bother them.

the apple of his eye, the beat to his heart, his forever muse.

“hey beautiful, come here often?”

sohee is a dream. she hadn’t made much of a fuss when he’d given her the terms of their time away, adding that he didn’t need to pay for time off or anything. seeing as he had to strike a deal that she’d help dress him for content - and that part of it included work, he didn’t let her fight him on it too much. he was set, because he’d use this time for them - time he’s been trying to sneak between absent touches and quick kisses. they hadn’t had time together and he’s sure everyone in the waiting room is tired of a grumpy jay who can’t spend time with his girlfriend how he wants.

and that’s sohee, hair pulled up, face bare and rosy save for some lipstick she keeps teasing him with. sohee who’d sent him a myriad of emojis when he’d said to meet him down by the jacuzzi. she’d been shy about some things but jay had picked a vacation spot too far out to be bothered, nation star or not, he had his ways. and his manager was - thorough when he needed to be. sohee - whose swimsuit is hidden by the t-shirt she’s thrown over it. sohee who looks more like she’s come to lure him into the water and make him a fool for her ten times over.

jay whistles like the menace he is as she gets closer to him.

“vacations look good on you babe.”

she’s settled by the edge of the hot tub, toes peeking over the edge as she crouches by him. jay grins up at her, arms resting right where he can tip his head onto them and watch, admire. he’s grinning like a fool and he knows it. she’s not helping, smiling, blushing like he’s not like this all the time. flicking him with water each time his eyes wander.

‘you mean your t-shirt?’ “my t-shirt. the swimsuit. me. pick one.”

he’s almost positive they’d sent him here to let off more than just steam. because jay has never really known how to keep thoughts, words, impulses to himself. and it’s taken quite the few scolds and smacks from staff to remind him, he’s an idol and he has fans and ‘god you can’t just stare at her every time she comes around’ and ‘jesus jay just kiss her why don’t you - no we were kidding wait!’, things like that.

he takes a moment, to admire, nothing too different from usual. but he does anyway because he can, because this woman. this woman - despite all the confidence and damn swagger she carries when she steps in the room, this woman has the nerve to let her cheeks turn that little rosy color and flick him again when his fingers play with them bottom of his shirt.

‘jay.’ “it’s gonna get wet anyway.”

he’s smug, he’s so smug, and it’s because he’s antsy. the water’s perfect, it’s hot and it’s perfect because his blood’s burning, his fingers itch to move, to hold every part of her, in a way he’s been aching to. so he scoots back into the water and when he comes closer, it’s right before her, hands propped up onto the pavement so he can really see, really admire.

and place a few kisses where it’s worth. on the tops of her knees, over he thighs and then to her chest, her chin, her lips.

“you gonna come in or do I need to drag you?” ‘you wouldn’t if you don’t want me strangling you.’ “damn. promise?” ‘jay.’

he grins, and he can’t stop grinning because sohee is just - so easily everything and the only thing he wants to think about. all the time, everytime. she’s all he wants to smell, to feel, to be beside and he didn’t think he could ever feel this consumed. and if she’s got him like this, it’s only fair he do the same, return the favor. he lets his gaze fall until he’s found his footing inside the water on a ledge. then he takes to coercing her, which is - pretty easy.

it starts with the kiss first, as all good things with her do. the kiss is gentle, playful because she’s giving him a glare and he’s gotta get past that first. so he kisses her, keeps his hands to himself, right until the moment he’s doing what gets a gasp and gets her melting. it’s a little nipping and a little fighting but he’s there, and when she gasps it deepens and he’s sure she’s starting to feel as hot as the water. because as their mouths move, as he inches closer, his hand slips up the knee and over to her thighs. it smooths over the skin because jay is going to appreciate it first, going to grab and knead at it the way he’s missed. but that’s what gets her to lean back, him leaning forward and her legs extending out over the water.

with one down the other follow suit. his hand hovers at the hip, thumbing right over her hipbone, where the shirt’s rode up and his thumb is on a waistband - jay can’t help but grin into the kiss.

he’s almost sure what color she’s wearing under his shirt, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t see it. as one hand grips her hip, playing with the fabric there in a way that has her panting - jay slips his other arm around to pull her in the water. sohee - and the woman that she is, holds onto him for life - and jay not risking curses thrown his way, doesn’t drag her or throw her in, he just pulls her in. he doesn’t stop the kiss, he doesn’t loosen the hold, he just tugs her close, and wades back into the water.

she lets it happen because she’s occupied and duh - that was the point. with his hold on her, he feels the shirt become heavier and he feels it bunch up to the surface before it starts to stick to her. he watches the white start to turn the red of the swimsuit underneath and he can hear the sound he makes in the kiss. for that reason only he stops to really take her in and let her get used to the water on her, get her footing and maybe catch her breath.

“told you it’d get wet anyway.” ‘you’re the worst.’ “how’s the water?”

she’s standing full height now, and tying the loose parts of the shirt around her torso. jay swallows and lowers himself in the water, wading around and getting the full view of her. because sohee in an already hot jacuzzi, water still dripping from her hair as she ties it up, pretty scowl on her lips that are traces of red and traces of how much he’d smeared around, well i don’t think anyone could blame him.

‘it’s nice.’ “still wanna strangle me?”

he expected the splash of water that comes his way.

“this is not the place for a water fight.” ‘yeah? then what’s the place for?’

and that punctuates with another splash of water right into his face. jay’s competitive - and sohee always challenging him is what gives him the motive to never drop that side of him. because there’s always a glint in her eye, always that playful challenge that implies she always knows what she’s doing and she knows the outcome she wants. god he loves that about her the most. or maybe it’s the way his shirt hugs the sides of her hips when it’s tight like that. or damn - maybe it’s how her lips look after he’s focused on them for minutes on end.

whatever.

the next time she moves to splash him - he moves to stop her. and when he moves to stop her, she flies out the way. there’s not a crazy amount of room for her to escape him, so as he advances she circles around. she’s laughing and she’s looking as free and happy as he hoped she’d would when he suggested the vacation. jay’s struck for a moment - with how much he knows he loves her and wants only her - it’s the moment she uses to hold the hands grabbing for her and move him back to the wall of the jacuzzi.

dumbfounded, he pauses to center himself and look, really look at her.

‘i win.’ “yeah? do what you want.”

his chest heaves a bit, his skin burns from the changes in temperature each time he moved in and out. but it’s nothing dramatic, it’s even less about the jacuzzi and the heat in the room, than it is about just how he feels whenever he’s with her. on fire? electric. sohee stares at him, her smile just as wide but she’s the same, eyes wide and playful, chest heaving from all the movement. jay gives her a look as he leans back. maybe it’s how he feels his lids get heavy, feels his tongue swipe over his lips and his finger beckon her, he barely feels himself moving he’s so lost in her and he’s not sure what it is, but she’s moving forward to kiss him.

that much was obvious, that she was going for a kiss. but all of that - all of it leads to no surprise when his hand sneaks behind her waist. no surprise in her motions when she leans forward, moves her arms to allow him to untie the knot she’d made in the shirt to secure it. no whines or protests when his hands run up everything he’s been aching to touch, to feel, before the shirt is slipped off of her and she’s slotted over his knee as the hairtie comes off as well.

now she’s over him, hair falling over her face as she kisses him, as he holds her hips, as his hands travel around and to places that have her throwing her head back and holding onto him wherever she can. her hands stay on his face, on his chest, his shoulders, wherever she can keep herself up, where he can practically see the electricity course through her. but jay’s got her, he’s holding her steady, in place, however to keep her making the sounds she is as his lips find other places to draw them from that aren’t her lips. her neck, under her jaw, her shoulder, the little dip where the top of her swimsuit drives him crazy. he nips around tasting salt and bits of whatever lotion always makes her smell so good.

he can’t be bothered to care.

‘jay...’ he almost doesn’t make out the call over the sound of the jacuzzi and the two of them, locked in each other.

“hm?” he’s paused, his fingers aching to keep going, pads pressing into her sides. he’s still on fire, in ways the jacuzzi can’t come close to, in ways that still have him pressing close, lips hovering over her ear, ready to give her anything.

‘i’ve decided - which one i like on me.’ her words are panted, they’re heavy and they’re slurred and they sound so sexy against his skin. “....what....” jay’s own head is fuzzy, consumed with thoughts of what he wants to do, what he needs to do and all he’s been waiting for. he can’t really process what she’s talking about, just the fact that she always feels so perfect when she’s pressed against him, when she sounds as out of breath as she makes him feel. he can feel her form the words as the seconds go by. ‘you said your t-shirt....the swimsuit or you.’ “babe, you’re killing me...”

‘you.’

oh.

that one. that one word, with sohee’s own hands gripping, traveling lower and jay’s out of the jacuzzi, her in his arms faster than she can make a clarification. she’s giggling before he can even get them to the room.

say less.

#sojay

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myaimistrue · 3 years

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Dean sets his fishing rod down at the bottom of the boat. There’s not really anything biting today, and it’s about lunchtime, anyway. He opens up the small cooler they brought along and pulls out the two sandwiches he made early this morning, along with a couple cans of Coke. Cas doesn’t seem to notice—he’s completely off in his own world, his head tilted up toward the clouds with a small smile tugging at his lips. Dean’s whole chest goes warm.

“Lunchtime.” Dean nudges Cas’s knee with the can to get his attention, and smiles at the way he blinks in surprise. “What are you thinking about?”

“Babylon,” Cas says casually, like that’s something everyone thinks about in their daily lives. He takes his Coke and the sandwich—Dean made sure not to put tomato on it because of Cas’s whole thing with textures—and adds, “The Hanging Gardens, specifically.”

“Yeah?” Dean instinctively wants to freak out whenever Cas shares something like this, something that reminds them both that he’s almost incomprehensibly old and infinitely powerful; but he also knows that it makes Cas happy to share his past with Dean, and the desire to see Cas smile wins out over any kind of stupid, human inferiority complex. “Was it pretty?”

“Well, I only visited once, but it was lovely. Beautiful beyond description.” Cas frowns. “I wish you could see it.”

“What made you think about it?” Dean takes a big bite of his sandwich and fights the urge to pat himself on the back—he’s really outdone himself this time.

Cas opens his Coke up and takes a sip. The lake glitters all around them, and not for the first time, Dean marvels at how good his life has gotten. How perfect.

“I don’t know. It’s peaceful, here. Quiet.” Cas smiles. “The Gardens were like that, too.”

Dean smiles back at him. “Hope the company is better here.”

“Undoubtedly,” Cas says like it really does go without saying, like Dean obviously offers more than a Wonder of the Ancient World ever could. And then he takes the first bite of his sandwich, and his eyes light up. “This is delicious, Dean.”

“Thanks.” He tries not to seem too smug, but really, these sandwiches are some of his best work. “I used the bread we got at the farmer’s market. Which reminds me, when we go this weekend, will you remind me to buy a loaf of the pumpernickel? I know it’s not your favorite, but I found a recipe for some paninis that call for it and I think you’ll like them.”

Dean realizes, then, that Cas is looking at him with one of his very best expressions: all sweet and gorgeous and absolutely adoring, a kind of unadulterated love there in his face that still makes Dean feel like his chest is a bottle of champagne with the cork about to pop.

“What?” He half-smiles. “Something on my face?”

“No,” Cas says simply. “No, I just love you.”

And hey, it’s been a long time since that was something Dean only dreamed of hearing Cas say, but a year and some change later, the novelty still hasn’t worn off. Inside Dean’s chest, the cork pops, and champagne spills over, sweet and bubbly.

Dean leans precariously over toward Cas, the boat rocking all the way, but the kiss he plants on his husband makes it well worth the risk of overturning them both into the lake. When he pulls back, Cas’s eyes are a more beautiful color than the water could ever hope to be.

“Love you too,” Dean says, a little breathlessly. “And I’m glad you’re here and not in ancient Babylon.”

Cas runs his thumb across Dean’s cheek, and Dean has to wonder if this is how he looked at those gardens, awe and affection in equal measure, like just seeing them was a miracle. “I am too.”

#rambleoncas #gardenercas #offbeattraxx #seffersonjtarship #userzaddy #deancas #destiel #spn #dean #cas #drabble #del's writing #here have some husbands in love <3 #this was my palate cleanser after this past week's insanity

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closetedbumblebee · 3 years

Text

White Wedding (Addison Montgomery x Female Reader)

Weddings are supposed to be full of love, happiness and gratitude. A wonderful celebration of two souls coming together as one. Today was one of those days. Callie and Arizona were finally and officially tying the knot.

It was supposed to be a happy celebration all round; all the happy couples loved up, attending the wedding together. Meredith and Derek, Christina and Teddy, Owen and Amelia, Richard and Catherine, among others showed their support for the sweetest couple who were currently reciting their vows.

You sat alone in the third row from the front, extremely proud of your friends. You were smiling from ear to ear as they each walked down the aisle. You knew their story like the back of your hand, and couldn’t contain the happiness you felt when Callie and Arizona finally came through for the other, especially after the accident. They had come so far.

You felt a pang of sadness, taking a look around the room at all the couples. You wished your girlfriend, Addison was here with you, but she had to fly back to LA after Sofia’s delivery. You barely spent enough time together as it is, both of you living in separate cities, leading separate lives. You did, however have a relatively strong and healthy relationship, taking the time to have long phone calls, FaceTime, and send as many text messages as you could. You tried to sneak weekends away to LA, also.

But, things felt strained for the last few months, and you both felt the need to remedy that.

The last time you and Addison saw each other was during her stay, which was 4 days long. You hadn’t seen each other for five weeks, and you could tell the strain was getting to you. But, you both pushed those feelings down to focus on your friends. After all, you were both doctors.

When you did catch up, you and Addison had a slight argument the night before she was set to jet out of Seattle. You sort of made up, but you hadn’t really spoken since, just the odd text and call here and there.

You reminisced…

“Honey, I really want to stay longer, but I can’t. I’ve got patients to get back to and-“, Addison said sadly.

“We’ve barely seen each other for weeks on end, and when we do, you suddenly have to rush off again. I get that you have a new life now and I respect that. Of course I do, but where the fuck do we fit in?! When you took the job in LA, we promised we’d make each other a priority regardless of whatever happened. You only fly back to Seattle when Richard needs you. I’m busting my butt every other week, rearranging schedules, going out of my way to see you. Because guess what, Addison? I love you! Clearly you don’t love me enough, otherwise you’d be making some sacrifices” you snapped.

Addison was taken aback. You had never seen her look so sad and upset. You just missed her so much, and wanted to be with her. You instantly felt guilty for snapping because you didn’t mean to go that far and before she could say anything, you jumped in again.

“Shit. Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just miss you so much. You know that. I’m so so sorry”, you said, equally sad as you reached for her hand.

“We’ll, I’m not going to say that didn’t hurt, because it did. But I understand. I guess it was deserved. I’m sorry too, sweetheart. I’m gonna do better, I promise”, she said.

You held each other tight, “I love you”, you said in unison.

Addison was about to say something else when -

Her watch beeped, reminding of her flight and you drove her back to the airport where you shared one last kiss.

It wasn’t the way you wanted to make up, but it was a start.

Upon arriving back in LA, she texted immediately.

‘I’m back. I won’t say back home, because it isn’t home. Never has, never will be. My home is with you. FaceTime with me tomorrow? I love you baby xxxxx’, she texted

“Me too, my love. I most certainly will. I’m so sorry again. I love you too xxxx”, you replied.

Things improved between the two of you over the next four weeks, before she told you she couldn’t attend the wedding…

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really wanted to be there, but I just can’t get away”, she said, evidentially disappointed.

“Oh…okay. It’s fine. I can try and film it for you. It’s not going to be the same without you. I love you”. You were sad, but you didn’t want to push her.

……………..

Drawing you from your thoughts, you noticed the last of the guests arriving before the brides made their voyage down the aisle.

“Excuse me, beautiful, is this seat taken?”, you heard a voice say.

You thought you were dreaming. It couldn’t be. You looked up, to see a familiar, beautiful face smiling sweetly at you.

“Addison?!”, you shrieked

You both started crying as she pulled you up into her arms, holding you tightly.

“Surprise”, she whispered huskily into your ear.

“What are you doing here?! I thought you couldn’t come”, you cried.

“I couldn’t bear being away from you anymore”, she said, smiling through tears.

You kissed her with everything you had, before she pulled back.

“I mean it. I’m miserable in LA. I can’t stand it there. So, I’m coming home - for good”, she said.

You didn’t exactly comprehend what she said at first, but then gasped in delight, wrapping her up in your arms. Looking around, your friends were watching you both, all clearly happy for you.

You and Addison still had a lot to talk about, but right now, you put it to the side when Callie and Arizona appeared….

Everyone cried during the vow exchange, and you and Addison shared sweet, knowing looks, never letting go of each other’s hands.

…………..

At the reception, everyone gathered around Arizona and Callie as they had their first dance as a married couple.

Addison wrapped her arms around you from behind and rested her chin on your shoulder as you watched the happy couple. You hugged her arms, and she reached around to peck you on the lips. You two couldn’t get enough of each other.

When it came time for other couples to join the dance floor, you and Addison wasted no time walking hand in hand to the floor. At this point, everyone was in their own worlds, all content and happy, buzzing from the day’s events, while you and Addison were completely wrapped up in your own little bubble.

“So….”, she said, arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as you swayed to Shania Twain’s ‘You’ve Got a Way’.

“So…”, you repeated.

She jumped right into it.

“I’ve missed you, my love. I really have. You are everything to me. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise. I shouldn’t have been neglecting us”, she said softly, her eyes not leaving yours.

“Addie, hey… No, please. I’m sorry - I had no right to go off at you. I should’ve been more understanding. You uprooted your life and that’s a huge deal; because you’re a big deal, babe. I thought about what I said to you that night, and it was completely unfair, way out of line, in fact.. I was just projecting my feelings onto you. I was so scared that by you moving would have jeopardised our relationship without thinking about anything else. It was me, I was selfish”, you said, sheepishly.

“In other words, you thought I’d cheat on you. That’s it, isn’t it?”, she asked.

You felt tears in your eyes. Blinking them back, you smiled sadly and nodded.

“Come on now, you know I would never, ever, do that to you”, she said.

“I know. I…know. I just should've been more supportive of you. I know what this opportunity meant to you”, you said, your tone apologetic.

“It’s not all on you, okay. I realised I was working longer hours, and I turned my back on us because I was so overwhelmed with all of it, and avoided you, because I think deep down, I was scared too. I was afraid of hurting you, and was terrified the long distance wouldn't work at first. So, I can see how you must’ve felt that way”, Addison said, gently touching your face.

You looked into her eyes, to see the tears shimmering like white diamonds.

“Baby…”, you said.

“Being away from you, not being able to see you, or hold you, or kiss you, made me realise that you, that what we have, is worth more to me than any job. So I told Naomi I quit, called Richard, and he offered me a new job”, Addison smiled.

“Oh, Addie, that’s great!”, you said gleefully.

“Yes, yes it is. But, the best part is that I am now Grey Sloan’s Chief of Neo-Natal Surgery. I’m officially the boss now, baby. You know what that means. This is going to be so good for us!”, Addie said.

You were crying softly and gently touched her face. You knew what this meant; Addison being in charge of her own specialty, back on home soil meant everything to her. She was determined to fight for her relationship with you, so being the boss meant she could make her own rules and schedule. But, not only that, she deserved that title; worked hard for it her whole life; and you were determined to fight to the ends of the earth for her.

It hit you then that she was really back.

“You’re home?!”, you asked, almost in shock.

“Mm-hmm. I’m home, baby”, she beamed.

“No more messing around, no more arguments. This is it - you and me. No more turning back. I want to fight for us”, she continued.

“I want to fight for us too”, you said back.

You smiled brightly at each other, feeling more connected and more in love than ever.

She was just about to kiss you when you heard the clinking of champagne glasses, as Callie’s father, Mr Torres called for a toast.

“Thank you everyone for coming to celebrate my beautiful daughter, Calliope and her wonderful new wife, Arizona on their special day today. These two have gone through hell and back to be together. I have never felt prouder of my little girl, than I do today. I look around the room, and see it filled with such love. It’s a really beautiful thing. Real, true love is a once in a lifetime feeling, so if you’ve found it, hold onto it with both hands and never let it go, because it’s one crazy ride. Ladies, I congratulate you both on overcoming your obstacles and finding your way to each other. I love you both so much, my dear daughters. To Callie and Arizona!”, Mr Torres exclaimed, full of pride.

“To Callie and Arizona!”, everyone said.

The newlyweds kissed, before turning their attention to the wedding cake.

You and Addison watched the whole exchange, extremely proud of your friends, grateful to be a part of their special, historic day; however, deep down, you both pictured this day of your own, in your not so distant future.

Addison and you shared a look, and you both just knew. This was the path you wanted to take.

“Forever and always, Addie”, you said, winking at her.

“Forever and always, Y/N”, she repeated, clutching your hand, bringing it to her lips.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Slumbering Hearts (Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None Summary: In a wicked twist of fate, you find out your soulmate is none other than your employer, Lady Dimitrescu. To your misery, she (at first) seems equally displeased, her heart already belonging to another. But in time, the two of you find yourselves wondering… could the universe be right, after all? Soulmate AU in which every person has a unique “soul mark”, which they share with their soulmate. Notes: Reader gets a bit of a backstory here, with just enough concrete details to serve the plot in future chapters. Hopefully enough is kept vague for people to enjoy it. Now... Time to meet your new kids-in-law/the gremlins :) Previous Chapters: 1: In The Shadow Of Giants

2: Uncertain Destinations

“You already know my name, as well as my fate, and I have neither threats nor demands to make of you. I am at your mercy, regrettably, with nothing more to say. Shall we consider ourselves ‘introduced’? Or is there more you wish to ask of me?” You wonder, eying ‘Alcina’ with a bored expression. It felt odd to refer to her that way, even within the confines of your mind. She had been ‘Lady Dimitrescu’ for as long as you could remember; starting with your years in the village, and continuing through your months here at the castle. One day, perhaps, you would grow used to calling her by her first name. For now, you simply hoped to focus on other matters.

“Tell me of yourself, your past. Who were you before you came here?” Alcina asks, surprising you. What did it matter, now that you were stuck here? At first you shrug, avoiding eye contact, not wanting to open yourself up to her. But before long she’s placed a hand on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure to encourage you to speak. You win this round, you think.

“Somehow I doubt you’ll find it terribly interesting. I was born in the outskirts of the village, on a small farm, just like any other. I had a pet dog, went to ‘school’ with my neighbors, and spent my weekends volunteering with the church. The only thing you might not expect is that I lived outside the village for about a decade. Traveled for a while, never really staying anywhere for terribly long. Eventually, I got tired, and so I came back to help my parents with what little property they had left,” you explain, quietly. Being vague had been intentional, considering the nature of a few details. Did she need to know why you had left? Or that you had once revered Mother Miranda?... No, because if she learned that, it would not be long before she learned that you had changed your mind years ago. Something told you that she wouldn’t appreciate your lack of faith in her mistress. “That was six months ago, roughly. Barely got to spend time with my parents before I was ‘donated’ to the staff here.”

“Not many ever leave the village. Those that do rarely, if ever, return. How particular,” Alcina replies, giving a soft hum. There’s something in her expression that tells you she’ll eventually ask you to elaborate. For now, however, she seems content to move on. Internally you sigh in relief. “I suppose this is sufficient to sate my curiosity, for the time being. Now come with me, I’d like to introduce you to my daughters, to ensure that they understand you are… off limits.” With that said she stands, once more reminding you just how small and fragile you are in comparison, before heading towards the exit. You’re nearly forced to jog in order to keep up with her long strides. As she leads you through hallways, down a flight of stairs, and past several nervous looking maidens, she slows down the slightest bit, having eventually noticed your struggle. Admittedly, that’s more kindness than you would have anticipated. Perhaps she was used to adjusting her pace for her daughters?

Whatever the reason, you do appreciate it. Still, by the time you arrive at your destination, the castle’s library, your legs are feeling the smallest bit sore. Brushing off the ache, you follow Alcina inside. Then you’re taking in the sights, having not been here before, admiring the impressive collection. Glad I’m not responsible for cleaning this place, you think as you pass by dozens of filled shelves. Before long you encounter the three daughters. They’re sitting in a semi-circle, each with their own book, though they’re quick to sit up once they spy their mother. One by one they’re smiling up at her, not even sparing you a moment’s glance. Admittedly you’re glad for that. What good could come from their attention, especially when they don’t yet know who you ‘truly’ are?

“I’m glad to see you’re all in one place, my darlings. There has been a… development, of sorts,” Alcina says, speaking in the same tone one might use to address a faculty meeting. In a less intimidating household, it would have been much harder to hold in a laugh. Was this always how she spoke to her children? For their sake, you hoped not (though the concept was amusing). Regardless, it is at this point that the daughters notice you, with one of them looking intrigued enough to send a shiver down your spine. You’re pretty sure her name is Daniela, being the only one you haven’t met before today. A toothy grin spreads on her lips, and once you make eye contact you swear that she winks at you. This literally could not be any worse, you think, unable to stop yourself from frowning.

“Does it have to do with this little thing?” Daniela purrs, taking a step towards you. Instantly both Alcina and yourself are tensing up. While your soulmate shifts in front of you, an incredibly faint rosy tint to her cheeks, all you can do is pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers.

“This ‘little thing’ is not your newest playtoy, Daniela. Rather, they are my-” she hesitates, disliking the way the word feels in her mouth- “soulmate. I expect the three of you to behave, understood? At the very most, you are allowed to prevent them from leaving the premises, but even then I expect you to remain gentle. Have I made myself clear?” Alcina asks. Now she’s not the only one blushing, as Daniela looks so embarrassed that you wonder if she’ll pass out. Maybe now you’ll think twice about flirting with everyone you meet, you think, remembering the various rumors you’ve heard about her. For a moment, part of you imagines what your relationship with her would look like, were you to continue ‘courting’ her mother. Could this be a moment you could torment her with for life? Get some cheeky revenge for all the maidens who couldn’t risk it? A lovely thought, though one soon interrupted.

“Of course, mother. We will not lay a single finger on them, unless we have no other choice. Right, sisters?” Bela replies, turning to her siblings with an expectant look. Neither of them seem terribly pleased, but they nod, each giving their own verbal affirmations. All three spend a few moments glancing you over, reevaluating you now that they know who you are, appraising your worth. It’s not hard to imagine that they all find you lacking- at least in comparison to their mother. “Are introductions in order? We’ve met before, but I hardly know anything about them. It would be… nice to properly meet the newest edition to our family.” The way Bela says the words makes you nervous, and the way Cassandra grins only worsens the feeling.

“If you desire such, I see no reason to forgo such a thing. Perhaps the three of you could give them a tour? I must return to my duties, and I doubt they have seen much of the castle, given their… former occupation,” Alcina admits, softly. Was this a confirmation that you’d no longer have to spend every day working yourself to the bone? On one hand you were somewhat relieved, but you also regretted the possible loss of your preferred coping method. Worse, were you really going to spend who knows how long with the dreaded Dimitrescu daughters? They were going to rip you to shreds, at least verbally, you were sure of it. How could you ever meet their expectations? If they were anything like their mother, you would never be enough to satisfy them. Or at least that is what you assumed.

“I’ve seen a fair bit,” you interject, awkwardly, hating the way it brings everyone’s gaze back to you. Alcina’s lips twitch, as she fights back a frown. Evidently she didn’t appreciate you countering her suggestion.

“Please, we insist,” Bela fires back, a pleasant tone covering her thinly-veiled animosity. “I’m sure we’ll have a wonderful time getting to know each other. You do want to learn more about your soulmate’s children, don’t you?” Something about the way she speaks makes you want to laugh. When you smile back at her, it’s without a hint of any placating intentions, rather a dewdrop of mischief. Bold of her to assume that you wanted to make her mother happy. After all, it was clear from her phrasing that this was a ‘test’, a ruse to ‘reveal your true colors’ to Alcina. But you were as uneasy about your part in this as Bela was, neither of you finding yourself a suitable match for Alcina. Despite the way she narrows her eyes at you, her mother is smiling again, glad that she had a way to keep you occupied for the time being.

“It’s settled then,” she says, moving to give each of her daughters a kiss on top of their heads. They giggle at the affection, looking rather proud of themselves. Then she turns to you, hesitating, clearly having the instinct to give you a kiss as well. Half of you wants to stand on your tippy-toes, expectantly, wondering if she’d do it (and how flustered it would make her). Instead, you pretend not to notice, accepting the awkward shoulder pat she ends up giving you. “I will see you this evening, for dinner. Do try to enjoy yourself. But don’t forget-” she leans in until her mouth is right next to your ear, breath tickling your neck- “behave yourself. I will not tolerate any tomfoolery, understood?” Alcina does not pull away until you’ve nodded, and you do not relax until the library door has shut behind her.

Except now you’re alone with her daughters. Wonderful.

---------------------------

Dealing with finances was not, to put it simply, Alcina’s ‘favorite’ activity. Although she employed someone to handle the majority of the paperwork, she made sure to go over it herself to ensure accuracy. There were many aspects to her business, being both legitimate and illegitimate, technically. One could never be too careful about their records. After all, failing to file tax returns had taken down Al Capone, of all people. Who was to say that such a mistake, or one in a similar vein, could not damage House Dimitrescu? Certainly it wouldn’t be enough to ruin them entirely, but it could lead to certain ‘nuisances’ bothering the village. At the end of the day, Alcina cared more about the impact it would have on Mother Miranda than anything else, even the possible decline of her household.

A nasty habit, really. Few knew the extent of her self-entitled devotion to the cult leader. The only bond that ran deeper was that she had with her daughters, who meant more to her than she could ever vocalize. Even then, she viewed them as a gift from Miranda, which in turn strengthened her love for the woman. Now that love leaked into everything she did. With a flourish of her pen, she signed away some of this month’s earnings. So what if she already ‘donated’ a large portion of her income to the village and its leader? Certainly this was a way to show the level of her devotion? Certainly Miranda would take notice, eventually? Praise her for it? Take Alcina’s hand in her own, thumb caressing her skin, eyes filled with a long-sought affection?...

The sound of passing footsteps brings her back into the moment, and Alcina stares down at the mountain of paperwork she’d yet to approve. With a deep sigh she readjusts her reading glasses, sets the finished document aside, then gets back to work. A part of her mind soon starts to drift to other subjects. To you, primarily. Would your affection be easier to gain? Steadier?... But could it, in any way, compare to Miranda’s? No matter how she tries to brush the thoughts away, they nip at her heels, circling her head like vultures. Only time would give her the relief she so desperately sought.

---------------------------

“So, don’t tell me you really think you’re my mother’s soulmate, right?” Cassandra says, somewhat grumbling, as you trail behind Bela. It’s less than five minutes into the tour, with the siblings having behaved so far, focused on actually showing you around. At her words, both her sisters started walking slower. Their gazes were still locked ahead of themselves. The way they positioned themselves, however, made it clear that they were listening. “Is it some elaborate scheme, hmm? Did you spend a dozen hours with the other servants, noting every last detail about her soul mark, before copying it? Do you really think that you’ll get away with this?” Well, ‘twas good to know who the most paranoid of the three were.

“Ah, yes, it’s all a great, horrible ruse. You’ve caught me red-handed, I’m afraid,” you chime, sarcastically. A hand goes to your forehead as you fake faintness. “I’m just so desperate to be scrutinized by yourself and your mother, to have my every movement watched, to somehow be less free than I already was. I simply… cannot… believe… that you saw through my bluff.” With that you give a dramatic sigh, pausing in the hallway to give Cassandra a judgemental look. If not for Alcina’s instructions to keep you safe, you’re certain she would have beheaded you on the spot. “I’m not claiming to understand the universe’s decision. But I’m also not giving up immediately, no matter how much the three of you scare me.” At that, Bela stops in her tracks, slowly turning to you. Instinctively you go to take a step backwards, only for Cassandra to catch you, holding you in place. Next thing you know, the oldest daughter is grabbing your head, staring you right in the eyes.

“Answer one question, and maybe I’ll make sure you don’t fall victim to some tragic, unfortunate accident. Can you see yourself loving my mother?” Bela asks, more intense than you’ve ever seen her before. Despite that, you don’t tremble, swallowing your fear long enough to reply.

“Honestly? I don’t know. She’s terrifying… and beautiful. Cruel to some of the maidens I’ve met… and loving to you three. I… I don’t know if I can love her,” you admit, gulping. “But isn’t that part of the point of trying? To find out? I am going to try, for both my sake and hers, to love her. To cherish her. What more would you ask of me? I cannot tell you how the days to come will go, whether or not your mother will enjoy them, or even whether she could love me. This is not a situation you can threaten into resolving the way you want it to. So let me go, finish the tour, and give me a chance. You owe your mother that much, do you not?” Soon enough the hands keeping you in place loosen their grip, and Bela turns away with a scoff. Honestly, you can hardly believe that your little speech worked. You aren’t given much time to celebrate, however, as the sisters quickly resume their walking. Before long, Daniela is speaking up between giggles.

“I like this one already.”

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #gremlin trio is protective #they're like #you're not cool enough for our mom #hey tumb please stop fucking up the order of my tags #this is the second time you've messed up my attempt at being funny

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after-witch · 3 years

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

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