chapter warnings: explicit language, very brief mention of grief/loss
note: I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve sat down and written something, especially something where I’ve tried to use a more “artsy” approach (kinda like “marked”, “desolate love”, or “intimate silence”) and I just love writing like this. I know it’s kinda wordy, but it feels so fulfilling in a way I can’t even begin to describe. I hope you enjoy <3
(also, I kinda made my own timeline of things that don't directly follow bomens timelines, ex., their first album released in August 2016, but I'm having it released early 2017, etc.,)
THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!
NOAH
Noah had loved her for four years through nothing but ink stains and paper cuts.
The whole thing started exactly how he would tell it at parties, when he was deep enough into a bottle of Hennessy to make a punchline about the whole thing. “I got catfished by a fountain pen, and look at me now."
But that was always just a cheap version. A slivered joke.
The real story started in the third week of a university semester he hadn’t been sure he would even finish. A music major who was only there because he felt like he had to be.
Noah had signed up for a correspondence project because it fit between his hours at the studio and theory lectures, and frankly, everything else that was offered seemed boring.
The journalism department had pitched the project as an "exercise in narrative construction”, where you were supposed to learn how to understand someone without the distraction of appearance.
No photos, social media, or identifying details were allowed to be shared between pen pals- just voice.
For the journalism students, he was sure this was fun, but for someone who didn't give two fucks about his grades, it was only entertaining because of the mystery. He fully expected to get someone boring, or worse, someone who shared performative vulnerability bullshit dressed up as crappy insight.
Instead, he got her.
Her first letter was supposed to be a plain, introductory baseline of just two pages single-spaced, with a response to a solitary prompt. The professor had asked everyone to “Write about a habit you have never broken.”
Most people, Noah thought, would have confessed to something benign, like chewed fingernails, energy drink dependency, or staying up to write essays at 3 AM.
However, his pen pal took a different approach.
Halfway down the first page in handwriting so measured it read like a pulse, she stated:
“I count exits in crowded rooms. Not because I’m planning an escape, or because I’ve ever needed an exit. I’ve just never liked being somewhere without one.”
He felt like it was the sort of ominous line meant for a crime thriller, but her next sentence made it clear to him she had never set foot in one.
She wrote:
“Once, at my aunt’s funeral, I counted fourteen ways out. The casket was the fourteenth. But does that even count? The doors and windows seemed to matter less than that one. I kept thinking if I knew where all the exits were, maybe I wouldn’t feel so stuck.”
Noah had read the letter that first night while sitting cross-legged on his dorm bed, microwave burrito growing cold on his nightstand.
Her handwriting, clear and precise, looked as if each letter was considered before being placed. The air in his room, which was always faintly chemical, seemed different as he read- and afterwards he spent half an hour watching the brick wall out his window, wondering if the assignment was supposed to make him feel this observed.
He took a day to respond, unsure where to begin, but he thought maybe a joke would suffice.
“My habit is not breaking habits,” he wrote, then immediately regretted it. He crossed the sentence out, rewrote it twice, and crossed it out again, digging his pen into the paper with annoyance.
Then, with a sigh, he ripped a new piece out of his cheap notebook and started again, from the beginning.
“I track departure boards in airports even when I’m not flying anywhere. I like knowing where everyone else is going.”
He didn’t tell her he sometimes lingered at the edge of the campus parking lot at night, engine idling, just to feel the possibility of leaving without committing to it. He also didn’t mention the way he avoided unpacking fully in dorm rooms, as if the permanence might catch him off guard.
Noah hated staying in one place for too long and thought that maybe this admission would prove even to hers; but instead of that deeper confession, he wrote:
“I don’t think it’s strange to want an exit. I think it’s stranger to assume you’ll never need one...or to pretend staying doesn’t leave its own kind of wound.”
He stared at the words, twirling the black pen in his fingers. Then he added another line.
“I guess I understand the logic. Is it the leaving that comforts you, or the knowing you could?”
- Sebastian
Noah folded the page once, then again, suddenly aware of how intimate a first name could feel. His middle name sounded safer, almost slightly removed. It felt like a version of himself that could exist on paper without consequence.
Before he could reconsider changing it, he sealed the black envelope and wrote her P.O. box neatly in the center with a white pen, careful with each letter, hoping his precision might keep the exchange contained.
Her reply came a week later, and this time, her letter was adorned with a name.
Y/N.
He stared at it longer than he meant to. He had known other people with that name, heard it shouted across rooms and written in books. Still, this time it felt different… her syllables felt unfamiliar in his mouth, despite their familiarity in the world.
He said it quietly once, then a few more times until it settled against the walls of his room, and belonged somewhere around him, outside of the paper.
“Airports make sense, Sebastian. No one’s pretending they’re staying.”
Something was unnerving about how quickly she moved into his metaphor. Her words felt less like a reply and more like calibration; as if she had stepped into a conversation he hadn’t realized he had started.
On their third exchange, he noticed she avoided adjectives unless they earned their place. By the fourth, he realized she rarely asked questions directly. She left openings instead; small, quiet spaces in sentences that invited response without demanding it from him.
She wrote in such a poetic way, he found himself answering things she hadn’t even technically asked… and that irritated him. How could a stranger, someone he never even met, make him feel so... seen?
It was by the tenth letter that he stopped thinking about the assignment as temporary. Noah began making trips to his P.O box every other day; even though he memorized that she always wrote on Tuesdays, letters arriving by Fridays.
He told himself it was a coincidence the first few times. That he happened to be passing by the building. That checking the narrow metal door with his number etched into it cost him nothing.
But by the beginning of November, he knew her pattern better than his class schedule. Fridays became anticipatory in a way he refused to name, and he would step into the dim corridor of the mailroom, keys jingling eagerly in his hand. The faint buzz of the overhead fluorescent became a song, and he always chewed the inside of his cheek when the metal door resisted slightly before giving way, revealing what was inside.
Some weeks, the box was empty, and those were always the longest walks back to his dorm. He told himself it was probably unreasonable to expect punctuality from someone he had never even seen in person before. She had exams, he was sure.
She had a life outside of him, and owed him nothing beyond the parameters of a shared syllabus.
Though he couldn't deny that he missed her, and even though he knew he shouldn't, it was the first time he began to wonder what life looked like for her beyond the margins of the letters.
Did she walk to class or take a bus? Did she live in a dorm with thin walls and overworked radiators, or somewhere quieter, like an apartment with mismatched dishes and windows that faced the street? Did she drink her tea black because she liked it that way, or because she never remembered to buy the milk and sugar?
When those thoughts consumed his mind, he had to try extra hard not to imagine her face… because that had been the rule. No photos or social media.
So instead, when he missed her thoughts on lonely campus nights, he would reread her letters and picture movement instead of features. He imagined the way her hand must tilt slightly when she underlined something. The pause before she chose a word, or perhaps the faint pressure in the paper where she pressed too hard.
Noah told himself it was okay- because he didn’t need to know the colour of her eyes to feel the shape of her thinking. Even if he really wanted to know.
That's when he began timing his studio sessions with Fridays.
It was late December 2016, and instead of snow, rain speckled the sidewalk outside the mailroom, turning the concrete slick and reflective. The sky hung low and gray, heavy without committing to anything too dramatic.
Noah had rushed out after lunch, shovelling forkfuls of instant ramen into his mouth two at a time while Jolly leaned back in his chair and shouted after him.
“Don’t ghost me again, man! We’re supposed to finish that bridge!”
Noah waved him off without turning around, yelling back after swallowing that he would only be gone a few minutes.
The corridor to the mailroom felt longer in the rain as the damp air clung to his faux leather jacket, the smell of wet pavement trailing behind him when inside. He shook his shoulder-length brunette hair once before stepping under the lights, keys already in his hand.
He was stuck on a verse. The melody had potential, but no weight, and the words he drafted that morning felt hollow.
This first album was only two songs away from being done, and Noah knew that he needed to hurry up to make the deadline with the label.
He knew he would find the words for his song once he read hers.
He slid the key into the small metal door and hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning it. Inside was a cream-colored envelope, sealed with a thin black bow, her signature, and his chest loosened in a way he would never admit to outloud.
She had become a way of being his muse, recalibrating him, if you will. She wrote without trying to impress, and although her words weren’t necessarily performative, they sang to him. And he didn’t know why, but something about her cadence just made it easier for him to write.
Noah closed the box, tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, and walked back through the rain slower than he had come.
By the time he reached the studio again, Jolly was already strumming through the progression, impatient but familiar with Noah’s disappearances.
“You good?” Jolly asked, barely looking up as his fingers replayed a chord over and over again, eyebrows furrowed while plucking the strings. He knew a bit about Y/N and her letters, but never seemed too interested, since it "had to do with school".
Noah pulled the envelope from his pocket before sitting down with a sigh, gently peeling it open.
“Yeah,” he said, staring at her familiar writing. And for the first time all afternoon, he meant it.
He read the first few lines slowly, letting the rhythm of her phrasing settle into him before moving on.
“I don’t like admitting that I feel better on the nights you write back. It makes me feel dependent, and I don’t want to need someone I’ve never met… "
Over the months, she had become much more transparent with him.
So, to be honest, Sebastian...It’s better when you’re with me, but I feel like that’s better left unsaid.”
The room seemed to shrink, her admission making his heart skip in a way that felt inconvenient; but it wasn’t until he reached that last sentence that something sharper clicked into place.
It’s better when you’re with me.
Noah chewed the inside of his lip, reaching automatically for the pen beside him. The tip scratched against the edge of his notepad as he copied the phrase down without thinking.
“It’s better when you’re with me…” he murmured, leg bouncing, the sole of his black vans tapping lightly against the base of the rolling chair.
He added beneath it, but that’s better left unsaid.
Staring at the words, Noah sucked in a heavy breath. They looked different in his handwriting, but they were perfect.
Drawing a slow line beneath the sentence, Jolly glanced over, accent thick. “You finally got something?”
Noah didn’t look up as the pen dragged into small spirals and restless swirls at the edge of the page; his mind turning. “Maybe.”
He began to hum, rocking back and forth slowly as the bridge began to form. “It’s better when you’re with me…” he tried again, softer this time.
Jolly adjusted the progression instinctively, head tilting as he listened. Noah added, almost under his breath, “...but that’s better left unsaid.”
The melody caught on it, and he tapped the pen once more against the page. Then almost absently, another string of words escaped his lips.
“It’s better when I’m empty…” He hummed, "But I still let you in."
And for the first time all week, the song stopped resisting him.
+
By the school semester's end, you knew you were in trouble. The letters stopped feeling like assignments, and when you both received your final grade, there was no obligation to continue writing.
Though neither was ready to say goodbye.
“I judge books by their endings first,” you admitted once in March, tucked between mentions of a playlist you had made and the documentary that kept you up until 2 AM. These little details arrived in afterthoughts, scattered carelessly across the page as if they weren’t the very pieces Noah noticed most.
With each envelope, Noah collected fragments of you like souvenirs: your preference for mint green over blue, medium-rare steak with a char, the way thunderstorms made you calm, and how you cried during dog food commercials but never sad movies.
You gathered your own collection of him between the lines. The way he mentioned ducking through doorways and hitting his head on the tour bus. The way he once argued that anime with subtitles was superior and that anyone who disagreed lacked discipline. The way he loved to cook, hating how fast food tainted his tongue while on the road.
But Sebastian’s handwriting told stories his carefully chosen words didn’t. The pressure points where his pen nearly tore through paper when making a joke, as if hesitating. The way his typically measured script would suddenly race together when emotion overtook him.
Sometimes you would trace your fingertips over these rushed passages or hold the paper to your ear, as if the ghost of his voice might be captured in the fibres.
By the end of the school year heading into summer, you both knew each other’s minds with an intimacy better than people you had spent decades facing across tables. Because behind paper, you could be as brutally honest, or not, as you wanted to be.
In the years that followed, you graduated, and he dropped out. Life felt different navigating careers, but his words were still the soundtrack to your morning coffee, while your paragraphs were the last thing he read before sleep.
Neither of you explicitly said you would continue writing letters, but there was never a discussion that it would stop, either.
There were times the mailbox remained empty for more than two weeks, and Noah’s fingers would hover over his laptop keyboard. Your city’s name from your letters would remain half-typed before he’d close the browser. He never thought about searching for you to violate your pact, exactly- but some nights his mind would spiral, imagining your name in an obituary, and how he would never even know you were gone, or just simply didn't want him in your life anymore.
Three years in, his envelopes arrived with foreign stamps, weeks apart instead of days.
“The bus becomes a plane next month,” he had written, his usually careful script rushed and tilted. “I’ll find post offices where I can.”
The corner of the page bore the faint blue smear of his thumb, as if he sealed it before the ink had dried. You traced the smudge and nodded to your empty apartment.
Although you didn’t quite know the full extent of his career, you knew enough. He was in some kind of band, touring around somewhere, for certain periods of time. You were proud of him in the quiet way you were proud of strangers who made something beautiful.
But after a month of no letters, the silence hollowed something in you that you hadn’t quite anticipated.
It took everything in you not to type “Sebastian musician tour 2019” into the search bar. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard more than once, but you knew better than to risk ruining your relationship.
When his letter finally arrived, thinner than usual and from a random hotel in California, his words caught in your throat:
“I can’t go this long without you… Could we try writing in another way?"
Your mouth felt dry as you re-read his words. The request wasn’t dramatic, and Sebastian hadn’t asked to break any rules.
He only asked for proximity, and that made your stomach swirl, fingers heating at the idea of him missing you between hotel rooms.
You pictured him scribbling between time zones on airplanes, or in green rooms where your envelopes couldn't find him. Letters needed addresses, and he no longer had one that stayed still long enough to catch them.
So, this request to shift communication felt like crossing some invisible threshold you hadn’t noticed until now. For years, paper had weight, while ink had permanence. His letters were something you could run your fingers over, fold into your pocket and tuck beneath your pillow.
Emails were ephemeral ghosts, existing everywhere and nowhere at once, feeling a little less intimate and all the more dangerous.
But you knew at this point in life, you would be nothing without your best friend. You wrote back to his hotel, including a new anonymous email address, beneath a single line:
“If we try this way, the rules don’t change.”
For seventy-two hours, there was silence. Then at 2:13 AM, your phone’s blue light cut through the darkness.
There was no subject line or signature; just a photo, his handwriting on a napkin.
“Hotel rooms all look the same.”
And just like that, the miles between you collapsed.
pairing: fem!reader || words: ~6.4k || read time: ~30 min
bsf older brother trope masterlist
thank you to @withcrossesandframes for being my folio muse 😙🙂↕️
warnings: 18+, best friends' older brother!folio, readers kinda got a staring problem lol, lots of teasing, folio's a lil bit of a menace (y'know, older brother like), explicit language, smut, unprotected pnv, fem!recieving (oral, fingering), cream pie, nicknames (princess, sweetheart, baby), exhibitionism (car sex), mentions of drinking alcohol
summary: You knew camping with him was probably a bad idea. But when your best friend’s older brother pulls you into the jeep after dark, there’s no pretending you don’t want it too. Now you’re tangled in the backseat, gasping his name- and there’s only one tent between you and getting caught.
note: I’m sorry this took so long to get out. I re-wrote it so many times, I just couldn’t figure out where I wanted it to go (I’m still not entirely happy with it but yolo). BUT I hope you do enjoy <3 I haven’t written my boy folio in so long, but it feels so good :3
THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!
+
Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the Jeep rolled into the campground, headlights flashing across the trees and catching on a crooked wooden sign: Welcome to Sandy Flats.
The last of the daylight bled through the pines in streaks of gold and smoke, and you pressed your hand to the window of the car, convinced you had already forgotten how to breathe city air.
You hadn’t been camping in years, and you weren’t entirely sure how your best friend had convinced you to do this: a whole weekend with him and his older brother.
When the engine finally cut, the air smelled like dust and warm metal. You stepped out, sneakers hitting rocks, eyes tracing the outline of the treetops against the bruised pink sky. Your best friend swung the trunk open and started pulling out gear. You trailed after him with far less enthusiasm, still unsure why you agreed to come out here in the first place.
Then another engine growled behind you, headlights flashing.
Nick. His older brother.
You tried not to stare, but he didn’t return the favour.
He didn’t care if he was caught looking.
Nick climbed out of the second car, almost knocking his head on the roof as he jumped down. His hoodie was half-zipped, a box of beer dangling from one hand, and his grin was already set when his gaze locked on yours.
Well…you knew why you came. You just didn’t want to say it out loud.
His voice was unmistakable, lips tilting at you before nodding towards his brother. “Where’s the firewood, boy scout?”
Your best friend didn’t look up. “In the back. Grab a bundle.”
Nick scoffed, and the sound slid under your skin. “What, no ‘please’ for the guy who brought half the food?”
He appeared at your side a moment later, dragging a thick bundle of logs over one shoulder, a beer already in his other hand. His hoodie had ridden up just slightly, exposing the ink that curled around his ribs before disappearing beneath dark jeans. He caught you looking, and this time, he smirked.
“Something on my shirt, sweetheart?”
You blinked. “Yeah. Your attitude.”
He laughed, and your stomach twisted.
“I’m surprised you actually showed up,” he said, dropping the wood next to the fire pit.
You tried to look unimpressed, but the smile that grew on his face made your heart pound. “I was promised s’mores.”
“Good.” He teased, “I brought enough sugar for you to regret that.”
Nick bent, taking a lazy sip from his beer before reaching into one of the tent bags. Without warning, he tossed something at you.
“Catch, princess.”
Fumbling, the tent pole clattered against your shoes and onto the gravel. “You could’ve just handed it to me, y’know.”
He winked. “And miss that look on your face? Not a chance. You were supposed to catch it.”
You leaned forward, groaning when the short-haired brunette crouched to grab it before you could, holding it up in the air and just out of reach.
“If you two start flirting before I even unpack,” your best friend called from the jeep, “I’m leaving you both here.”
Nick only grinned wider, wiggling his brows in your direction with a whisper. “Oh, he’s jealous already. Tragic.”
“Flirt with him?” You tilted your head in annoyance at your best friend, who only rolled his eyes. “I’d rather perish.”
But you knew it was a lie the second Nick’s hand brushed yours when he finally passed you the pole.
Because even that brief touch was enough to make your pulse stumble.
A few minutes later, Dakota, or Kooter- Nick’s best friend- arrived in his own car with chips in one hand, speaker in the other.
Together, you all got to work setting up camp.
Nick tossed another pole your way, and you caught it this time, barely.
“Not bad,” he said, grin tugging. “You’re trainable.”
You shot him a look, scoffing at the word. “Careful. I might make you actually build this thing. Alone.”
“I am building,” he said easily, dropping to one knee to anchor the corner. His face was covered by the brim of his baseball cap, but you could hear the curl of his lips. “You just hold that end for me.”
When he bent to drive the pole into the ground, his sleeves pulled at the wrist, ink catching in the last of the light. His arms moved with a casual strength that made it impossible not to watch.
Nick glanced up once, a ghost of a smile curving his mouth, blush tinting his nose. “You’re staring again.”
You scoffed, running your tongue along the front of your teeth. “At your complete lack of coordination? Absolutely.”
“Mm, right,” he murmured, looking back down, shoulders shaking with a laugh.
The fading daylight caught the glint of his nose ring and the one tucked neatly in his ear. You weren’t supposed to be staring, but it was hard not to. There was something about him that pulled focus… he was reckless, yet so magnetic.
You had heard the stories from his little brother: how Nick was a drummer, the kinda guy who disappeared on weekends with his motorcycle to chase fish in the mountain rivers…Nick, who came home sunburnt and smiling like the world would never hurt him.
And standing there, you thought maybe the campground wasn’t the most dangerous part of this trip.
It was him. Your best friend’s older brother.
The one you knew was off-limits.
The one you were supposed to share a tent with this weekend.
By the time the sun slipped behind the trees, the campsite glowed with string lights and lazy laughter. The air smelled like cedar smoke and cheap beer as the fire cracked low between you all.
Kooter was mid-story, something about getting chased by a bear, as your best friend dozed off, arms crossed and head bobbing. Nick sat next to you in a red camping chair, elbow on his knee, beer can hanging loosely from his fingers as he grinned through every overly dramatic gesture from his friend.
“So, I’m sprinting, right?” Kooter gestured wildly with his can. “And some dude’s yelling, ‘It’s not chasing you, man!’ But I swear, I could feel it breathing down my neck.”
Your best friend groaned from his half-sleep. “You probably smelled like beef jerky, dude.”
Nick cackled, pulling his hood up over his head and hat, nearly tipping his drink. “You always smell like jerky, bro. That bear was just confused.”
You snorted into your can, trying to hide the sound, but Nick’s eyes snapped toward you anyway. His mouth tilted.
“There it is,” he murmured, licking his lips as his gaze lingered across your face for a moment too long. “Knew I’d get you laughing eventually.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, sipping from your can. You readjusted the beanie that covered your ears, taking note of the slight chill that grew in the air. “It was the bear.”
Nick leaned back in his chair with one knee bouncing lazily, watching you over the rim of his drink. The fire cast gold shadows across his face.
“You keep saying that,” he said, voice dropping low enough that it barely carried over the crackle of the wood, “but I think you’re just scared to admit I might be a little bit funny.”
“Maybe you’re just loud,” you countered, locking your eyes on the fire pit. From your peripheral, you watched as Nick’s head tilted.
He chuckled, “Could be both.”
The silence that followed stretched warm, threaded through the hum of faint crickets and the roll of music from Kooter’s speaker. You caught yourself tracing the aluminum edge of your can with your thumb, hyper-aware of the way Nick’s foot tapped close to yours in the dirt.
You gave him a mock glare, but he only grinned wider. “See? You can’t even argue with that.”
The way he said it made your chest feel warm.
As the night crept on, music from the speaker shifted to old rock, and your friend disappeared into the tent, ready for bed. You remained seated, watching the sparks rise from the fire and vanish into the dark, smoke clinging to your clothes.
Kooter had stood, cracking another drink before placing his can on the picnic table to chop some more pieces of firewood.
Nick nudged your foot with his sneaker. “You ever get tired of pretending you’re not having fun?”
Smiling lazily, you nudged him back. “Who says I’m pretending?”
He laughed, lowly. “You’ve got that ‘I’m too civilized for bugs’ vibe. Like the dirt personally offends you.”
“Yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you’ve got that restless, loud, and annoying vibe.”
That made him laugh for real, the sound curling under your skin.
You scoffed. “I grew up camping, for your information.”
“Then you know what happens after dark.” He leaned back, eyes glinting across the firelight. “I guess that ruins my chance to impress you.”
Your breath caught, a smile tugging before you could stop it. “You were planning to impress me?”
“Duh,” he said, pushing to his feet and offering his hand. “C’mon, Y/N. You’ve seen trees before, right? Let’s go look at some more.”
You hesitated for half a heartbeat before glancing at the tent where your best friend slept.
Then you took his hand.
Nick’s palm was rough and warm, thumb brushing over your knuckles as he pulled you up. The contact lingered a second too long before he let go.
“This better not be a trick,” you warned, grabbing your hoodie from the back of your chair.
He chuckled, snagging the lantern and glancing over his shoulder. “Relax. Just want to show you something worth the trip.”
Kooter noticed as you passed, axe raised in the air before swinging it down into the log. He tossed Nick a knowing grin and winked. “Don’t fall in.”
Nick only laughed, lantern pooling gold between the bushes as he led you down the dark path.
The trees swallowed the noise of the campsite within a few steps. Crickets grew louder in the quiet, and the soft crunch of gravel underfoot matched the slow swing of the lantern in Nick’s hand. Every so often, his sleeve brushed yours in a light, accidental graze that made your pulse skip.
The path wound between the trunks until the ground sloped down toward the water. The air changed cooler there, grazed by the smell of pine and river mist.
Nick stopped just ahead of you, lantern held low. The light skimmed over the bank, catching on smooth stones and the lazy curl of the river as it slipped through the trees. Beyond the clearing the sky split open; an endless sea of stars poured across the deep blue stretch of nothing.
It was staggering how bright they were this far from the city. The darkness wasn’t empty at all; it was layered, dusted with white and silver. You could see the faint cloudiness of the Milky Way stretching overhead like a breath of smoke; the kind of sight that only existed on clear nights where the air was clean and the world felt far away.
You drew in a breath without meaning to. “Wow.”
Nick didn’t answer right away. He was watching you instead of the sky, lips softening at the edges.
“Told you,” he said finally, voice quiet, as if he was worried he would disturb the air around you. “Worth it.”
You smiled, shaking your head. “You dragged me out here to look at some stars?”
“Maybe.” He flicked the lantern off, plunging you both into the kind of darkness that hums instead of feels empty. “Or maybe I just wanted to see if you would follow me.”
The only light came from the sky now, stars glinting off the river and catching in his dark eyes. He took a step closer, the sound of his sneakers against the stones loud in the stillness.
“And if I hadn’t?” you asked, the words barely above a whisper.
Nick’s mouth tilted in a half-smile. “Then I’d have to find another excuse.”
The silence between you stretched, the crawl of the river growing louder as you switched your focus to the waves, rather than the quiet hitch of his breath.
His voice broke the stillness, quiet and thoughtful. “You know, I really wasn’t sure you’d come this weekend.”
You looked over, surprised. “Why?”
He shrugged, eyes darting back to the water. “You always seem like you’re in a rush to leave. Whenever you’re over at the house, I barely get a minute before you’re gone again.” He placed his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Kinda made me wonder if you were avoiding me.”
You hesitated, watching the reflection of the stars ripple in the river. “I just figured you had better things to do than hang around your brother’s friend.”
Nick laughed quietly, the sound small but real. “Yeah? Or maybe you just didn’t want me to notice you staring.”
Your breath caught. “I don’t-”
“You always do,” he said, turning toward you as he chewed on his lip, “At the fire, at the house.”
The words landed heavier than his tone implied.
“But I stare too.” He confessed.
His hand slid under his hood to the back of his neck, fingers brushing the edge of his hair. For once, he looked unsure of what to do with himself.
“It’s stupid,” he murmured. “Every time you’re over, I end up sitting in the living room just hoping you’ll stop to talk before you disappear upstairs to see my brother. You never do, though.”
Your heart squeezed, limbs warming at his confession. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
Nick huffed a laugh; barely a sound and more like an exhale. His gaze stayed on the rocks, jaw flexing once before he spoke. “I notice too much.”
You didn’t answer right away. For so long, you told yourself Nick didn’t think twice about you. He was your best friend’s older brother, loud and confident.
The kind of boy who filled every room without trying.
And you had convinced yourself he barely noticed you at all… because why would he?
You were just the friend who came over.
But you remembered every stolen glance, every joke that lingered too long, every time you caught him looking first, then looking away too fast. You had always chalked it up to bad timing, or your imagination….or the stupid crush you swore you would outgrow.
Still, part of you had always hoped, just a little, that maybe he saw you too.
Nick moved then, walking over to a flat rock near the water’s edge and sitting down, elbows resting on his knees as he looked up at the sky. You drew in a slow breath, waiting a moment before joining him.
Now, sitting there beside him, you weren’t sure what made your heart beat harder: the fact he finally saw you…or that he always did.
Nick’s shoulder brushed yours again, light enough to be an accident but deliberate enough that it wasn’t.
Neither of you spoke; the only sound was the river folding over itself and the low rush of wind through the trees.
When you finally looked at him, he was already watching you. The corners of his mouth curved up, the kind of grin that knew every thought running through your head.
“You’re looking again,” he murmured.
“Well, so are you. Maybe you’re just in the way,” you whispered back, but your voice betrayed you, coming out too soft and shaky.
He leaned in a little, eyes grazing from your mouth to your eyes. “Yeah? You sure about that?”
You meant to answer, but the space between you already thinned to nothing, and his hand came up. It was slow, as if giving you time to pull away, but then he tucked a hair that stuck out of your beanie back underneath.
Now you were really staring, watching the way the portrait on his neck twitched as he dipped his head, and the way his thumb lingered just beneath your jaw in quiet question.
You nodded before you realized you had, face warming when his lips brushed yours.
Nick leaned in and kissed you like he had been holding it in for years. It wasn’t careful; it was warm and hungry. The kind of kiss that makes time stutter.
You grabbed his hoodie, dragging him closer until the lantern knocked against his knee, rolling into the darkness of the bushes around you.
He smiled against your mouth, breath mixing with yours. “See?” he whispered, voice rough as his hand cupped your face. “Always staring.”
You laughed against his lips, pulse fluttering. “Cocky.”
“Honest.” He kissed you again, but slower this time, in a promised trouble.
Nick’s thumb stilled under your jaw, and for a moment, it felt like the whole forest had gone quiet. Then he exhaled a soft laugh, the sound tugging the corner of your mouth upward.
“C’mon,” he said, voice still raw from the kiss. “If we stay here any longer, I’m gonna forget how to stop.”
You blinked up at him, dazed. “Stop what?”
He sucked in a breath, fighting a smirk as he looked in the distance, brushing his knuckles along your beanie.
“Being stupid.” He then stood, offering you a hand.
“Come with me. I know something better than just sitting here pretending we’re not freezing.”
You hesitated only long enough to grab his sleeve. Before you could ask, he grinned.
“Drinks, glowsticks, a little midnight exploring.” He said, eyes bright with mischief. “You in?”
When you both got back to camp, the fire was dying down to embers. Your best friend was still dead asleep, sprawled halfway out of his sleeping bag, and Kooter’s snores carried through the trees.
Nick rummaged through the cooler and came up with two cans and a tangle of glowsticks. He cracked one, shaking it until it pulsed bright green.
“For safety,” he teased, snapping another around his wrist. “And fashion, obviously.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, clipping a purple one around your own. “You’re a dork.”
Nick made a few more into a necklace, placing one over your head, then one over his. He pointed a glowing wrist toward the road. “That’s what makes this fun.”
“Where do you wanna go?” You asked, cracking open your drink and taking a sip longer than normal. Something to calm your nerves.
Nick reached for your hand, pulling you toward him. “You ever play grounders?”
You blinked, resisting lightly, letting him lead you down the road. “What, like on the playground?”
You two passed various campsites, and many of the other campers were quiet and sound asleep.
He looked over his shoulder as you protested. “Yeah. Don’t tell me you forgot how to have fun already. What are you, old?”
You snorted, “You’re literally two years older than me.”
He feigned shock as he took a drink. “Two years wiser, you mean. And in grounders, wisdom wins.”
“Uh-huh. Pretty sure it’s agility, but I’ll let you prove me wrong.”
He gave your hand a light tug, steering you toward the clearing. His steps were sure, as yours scuffed the gravel, but he never let go. The glowsticks on your wrists made your shadows loop and twist across the road.
At the old wooden playground, Nick kicked at the dirt and turned off the lantern, setting it on the weathered bench. The world dimmed to green and violet haze.
“Okay, rules.” He held up a hand like he was making a serious announcement. “You’ve gotta stay off the ground, princess. If your feet touch, you lose.”
You scrambled up the metal slide, muttering under your breath as Nick counted. The swinging bridge creaked as your drink sloshed dangerously in your other hand, and you jumped across, landing with a thud.
“three…four…five!”
Nick spun, hands out dramatically, can shoved in his jean pocket. “Grounders!”
You bit back a giggle from the top of the structure, watching him shuffle through the dirt and woodchips. He looked ridiculous with his hood up, glowsticks bouncing at his wrists, but his grin was all confidence.
“I can hear that smile,” Nick said, turning toward you. You could barely see the way his eyes were squeezed shut in the dark.
“You can’t hear a smile,” you whispered, too late.
“Sure I can. And yours sounds way too smug for being in such a shitty spot.”
He took a step forward, pretending to trip, then caught the edge of the platform as his drink spilled on his jeans. “Fuck. Okay. Something wooden. That narrows it down.”
You tried to scurry away, sliding down the steps towards the swing, but the chain rattled, betraying you. “The whole park is wooden, you idiot.”
“Grounders!”
You froze, and Nick opened his eyes, but thankfully, you were still on a piece of equipment.
He chuckled, closing his eyes again as one hand slid carefully along the railing, being sure to feel for splinters. “And yet you still picked the creakiest part. Rookie move.”
“It’s called improvising.”
“It’s called being bad at hiding.” Nick tilted his head, pretending to listen. “Now…do I go left toward the world’s noisiest swing, or right toward the sound of denial?”
It was hard not to laugh at his tease, and when you did, he lunged, catching the toe of your sneaker with a triumphant whoop.
You yelped, stumbling back onto the bridge as his drink sloshed again.
“Caught you!”
“That doesn’t count!” You frowned in protest, taking a sip.
Nick grinned, eyes still closed, and tapped the bridge with his foot. “Contact is contact. I win.”
You crossed your arms. “Congratulations. Your prize is…more spilled beer.”
“Worth it.” He finally peeked one eye open at you, exaggeratedly guilty. “You look annoyed. It’s adorable.”
“Keep talking and I’ll dump my drink on you.”
He spread his arms wide. “Do it. I dare you.”
You raised your can like a threat, but the tilt of his lips was impossible not to mirror. The glowsticks at his wrists painted shifting rings of light over the wood, and as you stood there, your chest heaving. It all felt too nostalgic to be real.
Nick let out a quiet breath, the kind that fogged in the cool air before fading.
“You know what’s weird?” he said after a moment. “Half the time, I think I remember this place better than it ever really was. Then we come out here and it feels…still the same.”
You tilted your head. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? Places don’t change, so you can.”
He smiled at that, small and a little lopsided. “Deep thoughts for someone who just lost at grounders.”
You nudged him with your shoulder. “You cheated.”
“Strategized.” He shot back.
“Lied.”
“Adapted.”
That earned a quiet laugh, and your cheeks heated.
“You know,” he said, gently, “this is the first time in years I’ve actually wanted to stay at one of these places longer than a weekend.”
You hesitated. “Because of me?”
He didn’t answer right away, just reached over and tugged at the string of your hoodie. “You’re making it pretty hard to lie and say no.”
Your chest tightened. You weren’t sure who moved first, but the distance between you closed again, until his forehead rested against yours.
Nick kissed you once more, your heart pounding beneath your clothes. Your drink fell from your hands as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his own clawing at your waist. His fingers dug into your sweater, tugging you close as his lips moved in sync with your own.
Without warning, his teeth caught your bottom lip, stealing a small sound from you.
He broke the kiss with a quiet, frustrated laugh. “Of course the one night I finally get you alone, it’s one in the morning at a campground playground, and my brother and Kooter are snoring in the tent.”
You tried to catch your breath as you placed a kiss on his cheek. “Then maybe we should go somewhere else.”
His brows lifted, that grin creeping back as you caught his blush in the moonlight. “Like?”
“The car’s quieter,” you said, voice lighter than you felt.
He didn’t answer for a moment as his hands slid up and down your side in thought, before landing on your hips, tugging you forward. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“Is that so bad?” you pressed.
He shook his head, squeezing your hips one last time before grabbing your hand. “No. Don’t let me change my mind.”
Nick’s grip on your hand was firm as he led you away from the playground, the crunch of gravel under your sneakers the only sound breaking the night's quiet.
When you made it back to the campsite, the two of you listened momentarily for the sound of Kooter and your best friend’s snores. Nick glanced back once, his thumb brushing your knuckles in quick reassurance, before tugging you towards the jeep.
You both slid into the trunk, the door clicking shut.
"You sure about this?” he whispered, voice low and rough as he cupped your face and pulled you in for another kiss. Humming in approval, his lips traced yours, hungrier, tongue sliding without hesitation.
“I’ve been sure a long time,” You teased, and when he pulled away, the way his eyes dragged across your face made your thighs clench tight.
Nick's fingers trailed down your neck, over your collarbone, before slipping under your sweater to trace the curve of your waist. His touch was warm, calloused palms skimming your skin, sending shivers through you.
“I shouldn’t want you like this,” he admitted against you, nipping at your jaw as his hand ventured higher, thumb brushing the underside of your chest. “But you make it so fucking hard.”
You arched into him when his lips trailed to your neck. Nick sat up, back resting against the jeep wall, and he pulled you onto his lap.
The hard press of him against your leggings made a soft gasp escape you, and he rolled his hips upward, hoping you would make it again.
“God,” he said, voice gravel, “you sound so fucking good.”
His hands gripped your thighs, fingers kneading.
You swallowed, arms tightening around his shoulders as your tongue pressed into his. You could feel the heat of him, hard and unmistakable through the thin fabric between you, and the rush it sent through your veins left you dizzy.
Nick’s inked hand splayed across the skin of your back as he pulled you impossibly closer. His lips brushed your cheek, jaw, and the corner of your mouth; every touch caused your breath to hitch.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, wrecked. “You’ve been driving me crazy since the second you stepped out of that damn car.”
You leaned back just enough to look at him. “You’re the one who kept throwing shit at me.”
“I was flirting,” he said, deadpan, then smiled when you laughed. “Poorly. But clearly not too poorly, because here you are, on top of me.”
Your hands slid up the back of his neck, pulling down his hood and pushing the baseball cap off his head. Tugging at the ends of his hair, Nick groaned into your mouth. Your hips moved without permission, grinding down against him.
His head dropped back with a strained sound, hands digging into your waist again.
“Jesus,” he panted, pulling at your hoodie until you tugged it over your head. “If you keep doing that-”
“I’m not stopping you,” you whispered, chest heaving as you sat before him, shirtless.
He looked at you like he wanted to memorize every inch of skin, as if he didn’t believe you were real. Then he joined you, pulling his own hoodie off until it was thrown across the car.
The second the fabric hit the seat, his hands were on you again; hot palms on bare skin, fingers trailing along the curve of your hips.
Rolling your hips slowly again, Nick’s whole body tensed beneath you. Your bare chests brushed, and the jolt of contact made both of you exhale. His head fell back, hitting the fogged window with a quiet thud.
His jaw slacked when his breath caught. “You’re gonna make me come apart before I even get started.”
You smirked, dragging your mouth along his neck. “Then maybe you should start, Nick.”
That wrecked sound came again, straight from his throat, and he pushed you onto your back.
“You don’t get it, do you?” He whispered, sitting up on his knees before you, watching the way your eyes dragged across his inked chest in need.
You blinked, lips parting, but he didn’t stop. Nick pulled at the zipper of his jeans, revealing the hard line of his cock beneath his briefs.
“You walked up to that fire pit in that fucking beanie, laughing like you didn’t know how long I’ve been dying to hear that sound.” His breathing grew shallow as something feral grew in his eyes, pushing your knees back to your chest.
“Every time you smiled at my brother and not me-” He pressed his palm to your core through your clothes, the friction causing your chest to tighten.
“-every time you left without saying goodbye-” His words grew into a growl, fingers hooking on the leggings at your hips. “-I thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind.”
Nick pulled the fabric down your thighs, underwear following, leaving them just at your knees. “I’m sick of it. Sick of playing pretend.”
He then bent forward and kissed you like it hurt, your body folding into itself as he pressed into you.
His fingers reached between your thighs, running along your slick folds, and you moaned shamelessly.
“You’re soaked,” He chuckled, almost in disbelief. You nodded against his lips, and you felt him smile. “An honour, truly.”
Without warning, his cold fingers slid inside, stretching and pulling. You watched from below, holding your knees apart, mesmerized in the focus as his thumb circled lazily across your clit. Your back arched, his name leaving your mouth in a whimper you couldn’t hold back.
And it made him snap.
“Say it again.” Nick chewed on his lip, eyes dancing to yours before going back down to your pussy. “Say my name like that and I swear I’ll ruin you.”
You did, head falling back onto the floor of the jeep. His fingers curled faster at the praise, thumb matching his rhythm as he pumped in and out with his hand.
Sliding your hand from your knee, you reached to tug the waistband of his underwear, and he let out a sound that made your legs weak.
“Look at what you do to me.” He nodded towards his shielded erection, and you only smiled, dipping your fingers between the band, fingertips running along the edge of him.
Nick’s hips rutted from the touch as he choked on a moan, and he pulled his hand away from your folds, gripping your wrist with his free hand. “I won’t last if you do that.”
You only grinned, wrapping your hand around the length of him, pulling his cock free.
He groaned, head falling back, throat exposed.
“I’m serious,” he rasped, thin and ruined, “Let me taste you. Please.”
The reply died in your throat as he stayed upright on his knees, arms looping under your thighs. With a single, effortless motion, he hauled you up, tossing your legs over his shoulders like it was muscle memory.
Your spine arched off the floor of the trunk, weight shifting completely into his grip. The back of your shoulders and neck met the cold metal, but before you could shiver, he reached blindly to grab the hoodie he had thrown aside, balling it up and tucking it gently beneath your neck.
“Can’t have you getting too uncomfortable,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Not when I’m the one making you fall apart.”
Then he gripped your waist again possessively, keeping you lifted and suspended in the air with your thighs hooked around his neck, your pussy level with his mouth.
He looked down at you once, eyes dark and half-lidded with greed, then he leaned in, mouth open.
Nick didn’t waste a second longer, pressing his tongue flat against your clit for a moment before sucking. He slid a palm down your stomach, relishing in the feel of your skin before holding your abdomen.
The sound that left your lips was unholy; loud and ringing as he swirled around your core, devouring.
“Quiet,” he hissed through his teeth, before grinning, “They’ll hear you through the damn tent.”
You rolled your hips into his tongue, moaning louder without restraint.
He laughed heavily, breath brushing your folds as he sucked, “You don’t even care, do you?”
You met his eyes, “Not even a little.”
Nick’s entire chest heaved in challenge, and you pressed into his face, before he took his thumb to your clit once again. His tongue slid in and out of your body, leaving you a gasping mess.
It wasn’t long before your legs began to shake and give out, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. Warmth spread across each limb as the knot wound tighter between your legs, and when you cried his name as you came, Nick moaned.
He pulled back slowly, mouth still brushing your thigh as he looked down at you. With swollen and slick lips, he laid you down onto the floor, sitting back on his knees as his hand dragged across his mouth, then down to his arousal. He wrapped his hand around the length, wincing with need as he jerked himself a few times.
“I can’t-” he breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows. “I need to be inside you. Right now. Or I’m gonna fucking lose it.”
You reached for him, and that was all it took. He surged forward, grabbing your waist and hauling you into his lap once again. Your knees wrapped around his hips, and he took your lips with his own, tasting yourself on his tongue.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Nick mumbled, voice cracking at the edges as he lined himself up, panting. “Not with you. Not like this. My brother would-”
But he pushed himself into your body, cutting himself off with a strangled sound.
“Oh my god-” you cried, clawing at his shoulders.
You savoured every inch as he filled you. He wrapped an arm around your back, the other bracing your head, as he thrust forward.
Nick watched where your bodies connected, lips parted with hunger. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good.”
And then he held you close, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto his cock, thrusts quick and needy.
“I’m sorry,” he choked, not necessarily to you, but more so to the burden that this felt forbidden. “I’m so sorry. But I’m not stopping. I can’t.”
You gasped his name again, begging him not to stop, and he shuddered inside you, his voice cracking.
“Baby…”
You stilled at the word, and he did too. His brown eyes darted to yours, wide, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Of all the names he called you, this felt the most claiming.
“Sorry. I- shit. You just…” He rested his forehead into the crook of your neck, returning to a relenting pace, the slick sounds echoing through the car walls. “You feel like mine.”
The air caught between you, not just from his words, but the way he meant them.
Like this wasn’t a mistake.
Like this was something he’d been carrying for years.
You tightened your legs around his waist, dragging him deeper. A fist tangled in his hair, fingers curling through his short brunette strands, pulling just enough to make him lift his head.
“Make me yours,” you whispered, eyes heavy and lidded.
His lips crashed into you, messy and breathless, and his rhythm lost all sense of control. His thrusts were desperate and hard, as if he needed to make you believe it; that every inch of him inside you was a claim.
“You shouldn’t say shit like that,” he panted into your mouth, teeth dragging along your bottom lip. “Not when I’m this close, fuck-”
He buried his face in your shoulder again, arms shaking as he held you tight. “I’m gonna cum,” he groaned.
Nick rocked into you once, then buried himself deep, body shaking as his climax hit. A string of curses left his mouth as he kissed you again, shoving his tongue against yours.
Your brows knitted together in fervour as you felt his hips stutter, muscles locking as he came hot inside you. Nick’s whole chest heaved, voice breaking as he exhaled something that sounded like a sob.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “I’ve never come that hard in my life.”
You held him, one hand stroking through his hair, the other still clutched to his bare back. He stayed like that, trembling and trying to catch his breath.
“I don’t think I can ever go back,” you said suddenly, a heavy breath crawling from your lungs. “To before. To pretend I don’t want you.”
“You really want me?” he asked, just to hear it again. “Even like this? Even when it’s wrong?”
Your fingers curled against his back. “It doesn’t feel wrong.”
He exhaled sharply, nose brushing against your own. “Then I’m fucked,” he groaned. “Because I don’t think I can go back either.”
Humming in agreement, Nick trailed kisses across your collarbone. “Can you say it again?”
“What?” you shivered as his nails raked down your arms.
“Say you want me.”
“I want you, Nick.”
“Good.” He caught your lips again, moaning into them.
“What do we do now?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear.
Nick didn’t answer right away. Just held you tighter.
“We don’t tell him,” he said eventually. “Not yet.”
You laughed, quiet and breathless as you looked over your shoulder and out the fogged car window.
There was a shuffling outside, and then the unzipping of a tent.
“You think he doesn’t already know?” You said.
Nick groaned into your shoulder. “Fuck. Sorry. We’re so screwed.”
But he didn’t sound sorry.
And you didn’t feel it.
“Hey-” Your best friend’s voice rang from outside the jeep, sounding concerned and morified. “Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
Nick didn’t pause and didn’t even pretend to feel guilty.
He looked at you, lips bruised and hair a mess, your bare legs still tangled around his waist as he grinned like the devil.
Then he reached for a blanket in the back, covering the bottom half of your bodies, and rolled down the window two inches.
“What gave it away?” he yelled back, smug as hell. “The moaning, or the steam?”
You made a shameful sound, dragging Nick's hoodie over your face as if it could somehow erase you from existence.
“Nick,” your best friend barked. “You’re in my car!”
“Correction, baby brother,” he replied cheekily, “We are in your car.”
He kissed your cheek sweetly as your soul left your body.
“Disgusting,” your best friend groaned in annoyance, the sound of his retreating footsteps crunching over gravel making you breathe in relief.
Only until he yelled, “Y/N, I’m gonna kill you.”
Nick leaned in, “At least now I don’t have to hide how bad I want you.”
You moaned into your hands, yanking the blanket tighter around you like it could erase what just happened.
Nick only laughed.
“Oh, and next time?” His lips tilted upward, “We’re bringing two tents. And getting our own site.”
You weren’t sure what you were going to say when you saw your best friend in the morning.
tig trager meets his match (another perverted freak)
They officially meet the first time she pulls her absolute shit box of a car into Teller-Morrow Automotive. Her hair is messy, and a huge pair of sunglasses (like Paris Hiltons, is what she’s going for) cover dark makeup.
She’s been before, Gemma greets her like she’s here every week. From the look of her car, she honestly could be. Somehow, though, this is Tigs first time seeing her. In tight black pants and the tiniest shirt he’s seen, an angel has been bestowed at his feet.
Unfortunately, it seems like the angel is close to Jax, who is currently making his way over to her with a wide grin, and unfortunately, it seems like any women in a fifty foot radius of the kid has a thing for him these days. Especially, out of this world, mind blowingly hot ones.
Jax stretches his arms out while he swaggers over and wraps around her easily. He looks down on her, while she points to her car and explains what’s wrong. She tosses Jax the keys, with way too many keychains. Clunky silver and a black fuzzball hanging from his fingers, while she walks towards the office Gemma resides in. Turns back around briefly when Jax turns the keys and Type O Negative is blaring through the open window to shout an amused apology at him.
Tig digs out the paperwork he was supposed to give Gemma a few days ago as an excuse to follow her into the office.
“Gem, I found em!” He makes his entrance known, and pretends to be surprised by the hot slice of ass sitting on the older woman’s desk. “Well, hello pretty mama.”
She giggles. Her face splits in a grin, wickedly.
“Hi.”
Gemma sighs and yanks the papers from his hands.
“Don’t you dare encourage her.” Gem gives him that look, that makes every man on the plot of land cower back. She swivels her head, mouth open and scoffs.
“I didn’t even say anything yet!”
“Let the little lady use her free will now, why don’t we?”
Opie clambers into the small room, and makes it feel about four times smaller. He sends her, still perched on top of the desk next to all of the stacked up papers, a warm smile.
“Back already?”
She grins at him too, but the look in her eyes is different. Teasing and familiar.
“Hey, somebody’s gotta be putting that blond little whore to work.” She shrugs. Opie laughs, shakes his head. “Nah, I promised i’d take a night off and come party if he gave me a free oil change, but he’s taken pity on little ol’ me, and is fixing a bunch of shit.”
“You comin’ out tonight, sweet thing?” Tig jumps back in, and Opie takes his moment to speak with Gem about whatever he’d walked in for.
“Depends.” Her head tilts back, and that look in her eyes is back. It’s sharp, darkening, and has Tig’s pants growing a little (A LOT) tighter. “You gonna be there?”
Gemma hits her on the back of the head with a stick of bills.
“Baby, i’ll go wherever the hell you tell me to.” She hops off the table, and saunters over. Her nails are long, sharp and pointy, while she drags them over his kutte.
“I guess I better go tell Jackson i’ll be seeing him tonight then.” She mutters, finger tucking around his belt and pulling him just a tad bit closer.
“Oh, yeah? Trying your chance with the blond little whore?” He sounds a little jealous, the way he repeats her words back. She scoffs, and suddenly her hand is over him through his jeans and his breath is stuttering for just a second.
“He couldn’t fucking handle me if he tried. See you tonight, handsome.” The way she looks up at him from this close, he can tell this woman is no angel. She may have been, from faraway, deceiving enough for it to be thought, but that look in her eyes held what could only be the devils thoughts.
Tiggy leans against the wall where she left him, grin clouded over in absolute delight. Tucked away in his mind, he prays to see the devil again tonight.
summary: kitty has spent her entire life searching for somewhere to belong, and when the president of the sons of anarchy’s esteemed mother charter offers her a seat at the table, who is she to deny him? alas, it’s not easy being a woman in a man’s world. thank god for the tacoma killer, who’s stubbornly determined to watch her receive her patches.
pairings: happy lowman x fem!samcro!oc
warnings: canon typical violence, sexual encounters, graphic gore, misogyny. each chapter will have its own warnings.
The final part is here, guys! Thanks so much to you all for your engagement. I really enjoyed writing this, and it was lovely to see the enjoyment reflected back through those of you in the comments :)
Summary: As tour manager for Sleep Token, you're naturally close with the lads whom you're employed to look after. Then, there's your closeness with Vessel, the lines between manager and artist seeming to blur into something more meaningful... if you'll let it.
Words: 2,735
Warnings: 18+ content. Minors DNI!
Previous chapters - Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
“Is the duchess alright, mate?” iii asks, sitting backstage with a few other members of the band and crew ducking in and out during set up. “She’s been a bit quiet for a few days.”
“Yeah, yeah I think she’s just tired.” It’s a lie, but he hopes it works as a pacifier.
“Ahh, I get it. Works hard, doesn’t she?”
“Mm. She really does.”
It’s left there, much to his relief, Ves glad of it since it’s been a little prickly thorn of a thought for him, ever since the night where you couldn’t sleep as the bus rattled along the highway. He’s noticed the shift in you, feeling himself start to panic over why you’ve been pulling away from him a little bit. He reasoned why where intimacy was concerned, since you currently have your period.
Still, that didn’t stop you from making sure he was catered to where his desires were concerned. He’s still buzzing from the thrill of being dragged into a private space and given the kind of blowjob that virtually made his knees buckle earlier that morning, before you had to head off to oversee maintenance work needed on the bus.
That aside, though, the little change in your temperament has concerned him, the way you seem to be closing off. He’ll catch you deep in thought, looking glum, and naturally ask what’s wrong, only to be met with the statement of you being totally fine. He knows it because he does it himself; except he’ll come around to reasoning and actually talk after a couple of hours. You? Not so much.
“Where’ve you been all morning?” he then asks, iv strolling into the room, whistling happily.
“On the bus, then went for a walk.”
He’s about to ask why he looks so thoroughly pleased with himself when the door comes crashing open, his heart doing a little skip to see you there. But oh, that face. That’s not the happy visage he’s used to seeing.
“****!” You yell, watching iv virtually jump out of his skin.
“Oh, shit the bed!” he exclaims, knowing he’s in trouble as he flies out of his seat.
“Come back here!”
“Nope!” he calls, scuttling away at speed, “It wasn’t me!”
“Come here!” you state again, watching him wince.
“Ahh, shit! Somebody, hide me!”
iii is almost doubled over with laughter. “Brought this on yourself, didn’t ya? Upsetting the duchess with whatever it is you’ve done now.”
His eyes dart around, his escaped blocked by you closing the door and leaning against it, his focus landing on Ves. “***, mate, call you girl off.”
“I can’t,” he smirks, “she’s not a rottweiler, you know.”
“YES, SHE BLEEDIN’ IS!”
In the end, and much to the chaotic laughter of his bandmates and few assembled crew members, he vaults the sofa, landing in a heap behind it in his attempt to hide. You calmly cross the room, kneeling on his hiding place, leaning over the back. “****, what did we agree?”
“Erm... things?”
“What things?”
He grimaces, still lying flat on the floor. “Things and stuff.”
“Do not flush anything other than liquid down the bus toilet,” you speak, watching him cringing.
Ves leans over the sofa then, seemingly in the dark. “What did you do? Haven’t taken a T-Rex sized shit in it, have you? You know that’s universally banned.”
No shitting in the tour bus toilet indeed is the universally known no-go. “Not telling. I have wrath bearing down upon me!”
The howling laughter fills the room, even you by now are smiling. “Being a dirty little tart, is what he did. Flushed a load of condoms down the loo and blocked it, to the tune of four hundred dollars to call a bloody engineer out and get it working again!”
“Hang on,” Ves states, “how many are we talking?”
“The poor guy who had to dismantle the pipes counted eight,” you confirm.
Immediately, your man is leaning over the sofa again. “Eight?! You were only on the bus by yourself for three hours! How the fuck did you manage to use eight?”
“I’ve had a busy morning!”
“Busy?” he yells, “is the poor girl even still intact, that you went through eight condoms in three hours??”
His head pops up then, his grin wide. “Nobody said it was just one girl. You know, gotta be hygienic when you’re going from one lady to the other.”
The roar his bandmates and various crew let out is deafening, whistles abounding, Ves reaching to pull him into a headlock playfully, kissing his head. “Dirty boy. Well done.”
“Don’t you encourage him!” you exclaim, pointing a finger, turning then to the still beaming guitarist. “I have no objection to you shagging yourself silly, but really, use a bin!”
“Sorry,” he eventually says, “I was all sex befuddled, man!”
Sex befuddled. Oh, he’s too much. To be honest, you’ve dealt with a lot worse in your time as a tour manager.
Climbing back over the sofa, you’re met with a man who’s all sheepish smiles and puppy eyes, iv sitting down beside you and hugging you tightly. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).” he speaks, leaning to kiss your cheek.
“You get those lips away from me, I don’t even want to know where they’ve been!” you cry, wiping your face, fending him off when he tries to do it again. A small battle ensures, everyone in the room avidly watching, with you grabbing his head and licking his cheek.
“Getting licked by a pretty woman isn’t a deterrent, you know,” he chirps, and immediately you smirk.
“No? Guess where my mouth was an hour ago?”
Immediately, his head turns rapidly to Ves, who just winks smugly. “I feel violated.” Wiping his cheek, he eventually joins the rest of the room in the roaring laughter.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” iii speaks, taking a seat opposite, “don’t fuck with the duchess. She’ll get you back!”
Life on the road. It’s a hell of a lot of hard work, but also perhaps the most fun you’ll ever have, too. Once everything calms down, you sit and catch up with a few phone calls, Ves resting his hand casually on your thigh as he reads his current book. You’re at his side for all of ten minutes before excusing yourself.
You don’t leave without being followed, though.
“Oi, come here a minute,” he speaks, gently catching your wrist in his clutch and pulling you back as the door closes behind him. “That little comedic moment in there is the first time I’ve seen you be yourself and smile in days. Something’s up, and you need to tell me.”
“I’m fine,” you state calmly, not able to meet his eyes until he touches a hand beneath your chin, tilting your head back gently.
“Rubbish. Tell me.”
Your heart begins to hammer, swallowing hard, saved quite literally by the bell of your phone beginning to ring. “It’s the rig guys, I think I’m needed out front.”
Pulling from his grasp, you leave him there to lean against the corridor wall, sighing with irritation and dejection gnawing at him in equal measures. Is this it? Two months and you’re getting tired of him already?
He can’t help it, where his mind naturally wanders to, what the darkened shadows that lurk beneath his usual rationality and pragmatism begin to whisper. They speak the lies he tries not to believe, that he isn’t good enough, that you’ll find someone better than him and ultimately, he’s powerless to stop the wheels of fate moving in such a decimating motion.
Love, it seems, follows a distinct pattern for him. He allows the protective barrier around his heart to fall, just enough to let someone in and then when he least expects it, wham. He’s left with the injuries of loving unguardedly. Every fucking time, the barb pierces a fatal strike and leaves him bleeding. Except this time, it’s happening much quicker than before, and he doesn’t understand why. It’s like you’re calling time on it before the relationship clock has even truly begun to tick.
Ticking; his brain does this for the rest of the day, driving him to irritation, his mood bordering on morose. True to form over the last few days, trying to find a moment alone with you is nigh on impossible, too, meaning by the time he hits the stage, the only thing he’s pouring into his performance is all the energy of a man trying desperately to ignore that fate, once again, is coming to kick at him.
Looking to the side, he can’t spot you in your usual place, and it vexes him. Once the show is over, he smiles thinly for the obligatory picture, only hoping his sullen mood didn’t lead anyone in the crowd to feel disappointed, the usual on-stage hijinks a little lacking that night.
Tension coils through him as he makes his way back to his dressing room, looking all around for you. “Anybody seen (Y/N)?” he asks to the various people surrounding him. The resounding answer is no. He feels his chest tighten unpleasantly to let himself into the space and see it empty, hoping he might’ve found you waiting for him in there.
“We need to talk. Come to my dressing room xx.”
He types out that message with aggressive punches of his thumb onto his phone’s screen, placing it down before going through the process of de-Vesseling himself, as he’s come to call it. As the water from the shower beats down over him, he finds a little catharsis in the cleansing, hands washing away the black paint, grey-tinged foam cascading down his lean bulk.
Once he’s dried and dressed, he picks up his phone, irritation tightening his jaw to see you’ve read the message but haven’t replied.
“Nah,” he hisses on a low breath, “I’m not having this crap.”
Packing up his personal items, he goes to the bus first to throw his bag into the rear lounge area, eyes taking in your little trinkets scattered around, but finding the space otherwise free of the lovely woman he so enjoys sharing it with.
Back out he strides, dodging the crew in the middle of their strenuous load out duties, cases being wheeled around left and right, beginning to walk. Searching within the backstage area itself firstly provides no clues to your whereabouts, Ves once again venturing outside. Casting his eyes around as he walks, he finally sees a familiar shape huddled at the bottom of a long set of iron steps, the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he approaches.
“This has got to stop.”
Looking up at him, you know he’s right. You can see it there, in those lovely, huge Bambi eyes. He’s reached his limit with your bullshit. “I know, Bambs. I know.”
Crouching before you, he takes your hands in his. “If you’re going to finish with me, please, don’t leave me hanging,” he breathes, his voice shaking just a little bit with the emotion the thought alone stirs within. Even thinking it and he’s barely able to breathe. “Just tell me now, save me feeling any fucking worse than I do presently.”
You never meant for that. Not at all. “I don’t want to finish with you, I really don’t,” you begin, Ves cutting you up.
“Yeah? Well, if you keep acting like this instead of telling me what’s wrong, you’ll be leaving me with no choice but to finish with you. No matter how much I don’t want that. I need you to be honest with me and stop bloody fobbing me off with crap. You’re not okay, and you have to tell me why.”
Your heart is crashing against your chest like a war drum, your palms beginning to sweat as you grip his hands, lips thinning, biting onto them. “Why are you with me? You could do so much better than me, and I don’t understand why, out of every woman you could get with, I’m the one you want to be with.”
Immediately, his eyebrows rise, eyes widening. “Really? This is where we are, you asking me why I’m with you?” he questions, sounding a little incredulous. “Because I’m in love with you, you bloody daft knob! In love with you and scared out of my mind I’m about to lose you, because you’ve gone cold on me.”
“I didn’t mean to, Bambers. I just... I’m...” you begin, panic churning your insides. “Intrusive thoughts.”
“Yeah, I’ve been having a few of those lately, too,” he offers, smiling a little lopsidedly, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands. “This is about your ex, isn’t it? That twat who strung you along.” Your nod confirms, Ves continuing. “I’m not him. I’m about the furthest thing from him, too. I get why you’re scared because of him, but when you feel like that, fucking tell me, eh? I’ll be right there to reassure you. Listen, I’ve got shit like this in my past, too. I know where you’re coming from.”
A long pause follows, with him leaning to you, placing a tender kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m not going to string you along and then drop you. I’m not.”
“How do I know that for sure?” you blurt out. As if the man hasn’t let you know that enough already, but he’s patient enough to embellish further.
“Okay, I’m going to share something here with you that I... well, I wasn’t going to. Out of fear of embarrassment eating me alive to be so vulnerable with someone,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “If I’m asking that of you, though, then I have to meet you with the same. If you ever want to know how I feel about you, how I’ve felt about you for the last three fucking years aside from my direct words or actions, you can hear it in my music.”
Your head shoots up, meeting his eye as he continues. “Provider is written about you. Dangerous is written about you. I poured all my longing for you into those lyrics. I mean fuck, you even pop up in part in others, too. And I kept silent, all because I was too scared after Kate to make a move.”
Your eyes become glassy, swallowing a lump in your throat. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he affirms, hands moving to cup your cheeks.
Shaking your head, you return his gesture, thumbs stroking over his high cheekbones lovingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I saw this amazing, confident woman who everyone adores and respects highly for being such a tenacious force, and I sat there being a gutless dickhead who was too messed up in his heart to tell her he was in love with her. But now I have, don’t you ever, not even for a fucking moment, doubt my love for you.”
Standing, he pulls you up into his arms, cooing softly when you begin to cry. “C’mon, love. No need for tears,” he soothes you with, hands stroking you lovingly.
“I’m such a dickhead!” you gasp, sniffing hard.
“Yeah, not going to disagree with you there right now,” he chuckles, “you are, getting yourself so worked up about something I could have reassured you over days ago.” He leans to you then, kissing you softly, sending your heart soaring. “Dickhead I don’t ever want to be without, though.”
Still crying, you hang onto him tighter, eventually making your way back to the bus and getting ready for bed as soon as you’re there, curling up under the covers with him.
“Are you still bloody weeping?” he snorts, holding you a little tighter as he laughs softly.
“Yes,” you sniff, drying your eyes, lifting your head to look at him. “I feel like such a twat.”
He smiles, kissing you fondly. “Yeah, but you’re my twat, so stop bawling on me. It’s fine, just tell me if you’re feeling insecure in the future and we’ll work through it. You know you can. All I want is for you to feel loved and safe, darlin’.”
For the first time in for as long as you can remember, that night as you rest your head down against the thick muscle of his chest, safety is finally within your grasp. Or rather, you’re held tightly in his, all night long and beyond.
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𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Daryl Dixon's hands were made to kill—rough, calloused, and strong. But at the CDC, with electricity, a bottle of alcohol, and your lips wrapped around his fingers, he learns what it feels like to crave his woman's touch more than survival. Hot water. Red wine. Your mouth. And the man who owns it.
The CDC was so clean it almost made you feel dizzy. After days of mostly smelling decay, the sudden lack of it felt wrong—like you'd walked into another world. Even though the world you once knew hadn't ended that long ago, it felt different nonetheless.
After the doors sealed shut behind you and once the whole group was inside the building, relief went through everyone, though no one dared to say it outright. It was the kind of relief you couldn't trust anymore, not in a new world like this.
Having introduced himself by cocking a gun at first, with the words, "Anybody infected?" Dr. Edwin Jenner stood before you, explaining the rules—blood tests first with no exceptions. "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission," he'd told you before he asked why you were here and what you wanted, to which Rick had replied that you all just wished for a chance. Just one chance to survive for at least a little time longer.
As soon as you were all underground and gave samples of your blood away, you kept your expression neutral as Dr. Jenner drew a vial of it, but Daryl, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding his obvious annoyance.
"Can't say I blame him," you said quietly to yourself, watching as Jenner approached him with the syringe in his hand.
"Ain't no one stickin' me with nothin'," Daryl growled at him, but Rick stepped in quickly.
"We're all doing it, Daryl. He's just making sure none of us are infected, alright?"
"Yeah? That so? The hell do y'all know 'bout it?" Daryl shot back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And what's he doin' with it after, huh? Sellin' it to the damn government? Oh wait, that shit don't exist no more, does it?"
You couldn't help but laugh a little out loud, which made Daryl glare at you, but you simply shrugged in return, biting back a grin. "Oh, come on, Daryl. Afraid of a little prick now?"
That did it. He actually let Jenner take his blood, and when it was done, the man gestured further down one of the hallways. Dinner. Finally, you were about to eat food, something you hadn't had in days.
And as you followed the group, you couldn't deny the excitement of the luxuries around you, luxuries you all still had not that long ago. Running water, electricity, and not having to look back over your shoulder all the time in case a walker was about to attack. It was surreal as you kept looking around, and the thought of some normalcy, even as small as this, seemed too good to be true.
Daryl was still standing near a wall as Dr. Jenner and the rest of the group put the drinks and food on the table in the dining area, his eyes looking around like he was the only one preparing himself for a fight.
You approached him, leaning against the wall with a smirk. "Relax, Daryl. No walkers here."
"Place don't feel right," he grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Yeah, well, neither does eating squirrels, but look where we are now."
As soon as his eyes looked over at you, they seemed unreadable. "Ya gonna run yer damn mouth now, or what?"
"Depends. You gonna keep pouting and standing far away from everyone else like some crying kid?"
He stepped closer, his height in comparison to yours making your pulse quicken like it always did. "Careful," he grumbled with a quiet growl. "Might decide to shut ya up."
But before you could think of an answer, Daryl backed off, leaving you to follow him in silence.
The tone of his voice seemed so casual, but the way he said it sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but remember how it all had started in the first place before you even became a couple.
You remembered how you hadn't thought much of it at first—his hands. They were rough, dirty, and usually smeared with blood or grime. But somewhere along the way, those hands became an unholy symbol.
Maybe it was the first time you'd really noticed them, back near the quarry, when you twisted your ankle while trying to escape several walkers surrounding you. Daryl had come out of nowhere, crossbow in hand and that feral look in his eyes that made your heart race for reasons you didn't want to admit back then. The bolts flew fast, and the walkers were down before you even had a chance to scream for help.
Then he was there, pulling you up with those hands—big, calloused, and so strong they felt like they could break you in half.
"Dumbass," he'd said as he carried you back to the camp, but the way he held you so carefully told a different story.
From then on, his hands became something you couldn't stop noticing. The way his fingers gripped his crossbow, the way he carved up whatever animal he'd managed to hunt, even the way he wiped the sweat from his face after a long day of hunting. Every move of his hands seemed primal in a way, and it wasn't long before your imagination had started wandering to places it shouldn't.
The first time it happened—really happened—was during one of those rare moments you had alone together. While scavenging, you'd been holed up in a gas station just outside of Atlanta for the night, and Daryl had found you sitting on the floor, trying to reload your gun. He'd grunted something about you being useless, then sat down beside you and taken over.
It should have been boring, just another one of those simple gestures. But then his fingers touched yours as he wanted to take the gun from your hands, and without thinking, you'd brought them to your lips.
"What the hell are ya doin'?" He'd asked, both with shock and curiosity.
You hadn't been able to answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you'd let your lips part, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt and dirt on his skin. The noise he'd made, just a quiet and low growl, had sent a shiver through your body.
"Shit," he'd growled, pulling his hand away, then looking slightly disgusted. But the way his eyes stared at you, the way his breathing had slowed—he liked it. And when you'd grabbed his wrist and brought his fingers back to your mouth, he hadn't stopped you.
That was the night everything changed between you. What started as teasing and stolen moments in the dark quickly turned into something more over time.
The image of his hands had stayed with you afterward, creeping into your mind at the worst possible times. You couldn't explain it, couldn't really shake it, and you couldn't stop wondering what it would feel like if he touched you like that—not like a man helping someone up, but with need, with lust.
The worst part? He'd caught you looking one too many times, and Daryl certainly wasn't the kind of man to let something like that slide.
An actual time he'd tested you again was weeks later, after the gas station incident. You were filthy, exhausted, and too worn out to care about much of anything—until you'd felt the touch of Daryl's fingers under your chin.
"Ya been eye-fuckin' me all damn day," he'd said. "Think I didn't notice?"
You'd opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat as his thumb slid across your bottom lip. You didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, because all you could focus on was the way his thumb had pressed against your lip and the roughness of his skin that was making you shiver.
"Open up."
Those words made you obey without thinking, your lips opening up just enough for him to slip his thumb into your mouth. The taste of dirt was immediate, and you should've been disgusted, but all you could think about was how completely he'd owned you at that moment.
"Yeah... Knew it. Knew ya'd be like this. Thought I'd give ya what ya been beggin' for," he'd whispered as his hand still cupped your jaw. "Go on. Show me how bad ya want it."
Pulling out his thumb, he'd pressed two other fingers against your lips, his other hand now sliding down your waist to grip your hip. Your body had reacted before your mind could catch up, your mouth opening again to take him in, your tongue moving around his fingers in an instant.
"Mhm… Got ya all wound up now, don't I? Ain't even touchin' ya for real, and yer already greedy as shit," he'd said, his hips grinding against you. "Thought 'bout makin' ya gag on 'em... see how much ya can take…"
And it didn't stop from there. He used it further against you, shamelessly even, teasing you in moments when no one else was around. Those fingers, those strong hands—they became your undoing. Whether he was teasing you in the middle of the camp or in the woods, Daryl knew exactly how to mess with your head.
Sure, he was rough around the edges, a man who didn't trust easily and didn't know how to show affection in the ways most people would. But with you, he didn't have to. The looks and signs you gave each other were enough—his hands, your lips, and the way you both seemed like two different pieces that would surprisingly fit the same puzzle.
The group had caught on eventually, of course. But only due to a fight. A stupid fight that made sure everyone in the camp knew exactly what was going on between you and Daryl. Even though you weren't exactly hiding what you had, not with the way he would turn overly protective, sometimes even aggressive, whenever someone so much as looked at you wrong.
Back then, it had to be a supply run again. Of course, it had to be. Together with Shane and Glenn, you were searching for medicine and canned supplies while the rest of the group had stayed at the quarry. It should've been simple—quick in, quick out—but Shane's tendency to live out his frustration had been messing with your nerves, and you had just about enough of his bullshit when he'd decided to start running his mouth about Daryl.
"Dixon's a loose cannon," Shane had said, tossing a can of food into his bag. "Don't know why we keep that redneck asshole around. Probably gonna get us all killed."
You didn't always agree with Daryl—hell, sometimes he pissed you off more than anyone—but Shane didn't get to talk about him like that.
"He's done more for this group than you ever have so far," you shot back at Shane, making him turn around and glare at you.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," you'd answered, stepping closer. "Daryl's kept this group alive, got us food when we needed it, even after Merle was gone. What the hell have you done, huh? Other than bitching around and crying about everything at once?"
"Careful," Shane had growled back at you. "Accidents can happen all the time, you know..."
But you didn't back down. "What are you gonna do, Shane? Hurt me because you're just some sad and whiny shit that can't get his dick wet anymore? Leave me behind and get me killed because you fucked up that affair of yours? Yeah, that's right, I know. And I don't care. In fact, I couldn't even care less about you and your pathetic problems. But sure, go ahead. See what happens."
But Shane didn't get the chance to act on the thoughts that you'd put into his mind. By the time you had made it back to the quarry, Daryl already knew something had gone down. He could see it in the way your jaw clenched as you walked toward the fire, trying to act like nothing was wrong, but Shane wasn't done.
"Why don't you tell everyone else what you were saying, huh?" Shane yelled after you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "Go ahead. You got such a damn mouth out there; let's hear it now."
You froze mid-step, eyes narrowing as you turned. "Oh, you mean the part where I said Daryl's done more for this group than your sorry ass ever has? Yeah. I said it. I'll say it again, too."
Shane's laugh was bitter. "You know what I think? I think you two deserve each other. A bitch and a backwoods freak. Makes sense."
Those words weren't even fully said yet when Daryl was on him.
It was fast—him coming at Shane with his fists. Rick shouted something, Glenn went to help, but nobody moved fast enough. Daryl had Shane by the collar, dragging him down, fists hitting him again and again.
"Ya call her that again," Daryl growled. "I'll break yer fuckin' jaw so hard ya gonna choke on yer teeth."
"What the hell's your damn problem, Dixon?!"
"You," Daryl had spat, his chest heaving as he closed the distance between them. "Got a problem with me too, ya say it to my damn face! Don't run yer goddamn mouth 'bout us behind my back!"
He quickly pushed Shane away, and then his eyes went to you. "You," he snapped, walking toward you. "With me. Now."
"What?"
But he didn't answer anymore. Daryl grabbed your wrist hard, pulling you away from the group, dragging you toward the treeline like he owned you—and maybe he already did.
"Daryl—what the hell?" You hissed, stumbling behind him.
As soon as you were out of view, his hands pinned you back against a tree, leaving them next to either side of your head, caging you in. "Ya just gotta go pickin' a fight with that asshole, don't ya?"
"I was defending you, Daryl!"
"And I don't need ya damn defendin'!"
"Maybe I do! Maybe I'm tired of letting assholes like him talk to me like I'm some whore just because I'm not scared to want you!"
That did it.
In one rough move, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. "Ya wanna prove somethin' to me, woman? That right? Ya got somethin' else to say to me, too?"
"Yeah," you'd snapped back at him with a snarl. "I'm sick of you acting like you don't give a shit when it's obvious that you do!"
"Ya don't know what the hell yer talkin' 'bout."
"Oh? Don't I?" You'd shot back, your voice shaking with anger. "Just admit it, Daryl! Just do it! Admit something for once in your damn life!"
For a moment, he'd said nothing, just staring at you.
Then he had kissed you.
It wasn't soft or gentle. It was rough and desperate, like he himself was trying to prove a point. His hands had slid up your sides when he finally pulled back, and his forehead was pressing against yours.
"Stand up for me like that again, woman, I swear… I'll have ya on yer damn hands and knees and show ya what happens."
And show you he did. Right there against the tree, with the camp just out of sight and everyone else wondering what the hell had happened. By the time the two of you had returned, sweaty and disheveled, it was clear to everyone that something had changed.
"Guess we know where they stand now," Dale had sighed, shaking his head, his expression half amused.
Shane had been the second to say something, leaning against the hood of the RV with a shit-eating grin and holding a rag against his bloody lip. "Yeah… Never would've thought Dixon was the type to settle down with such a loud-ass slut. Sounded more like she was screaming for help out there, not begging to get railed," he'd said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Least when she screams, it ain't 'cause she's realizin' she picked the wrong brother."
That made Shane shut up. Glenn choked on his water. Rick furrowed his brow, confused—but Lori? Lori froze.
After that, the others were less loud about you both. T-Dog seemed more confused than anything, like he was trying to figure out what you even saw in Daryl, while Andrea gave you those knowing looks that made your face heat up and your cheeks burn red.
Back at the table in the dining area of the CDC, the food was already passed around as you pulled your focus away from the memories, along with an opened bottle of wine. The laughter and conversations felt uncomfortable for you at first, but then, slowly, you turned more relaxed as the rest of the group let their guard down as well.
You sat next to Daryl, who had barely touched his plate at first. Instead, you drank the alcohol and looked around with a smile that was barely there before he started to joke around, too.
"Keep drinkin', little man. I wanna see how red your face can get!"
The group laughed at his words, and you caught the way Daryl had relaxed. Liquid courage, maybe. Or just the comfort of not being the outsider for once.
"I thought you weren't a fan of the CDC?" You teased softly so that only he could hear. "Or are you now? Just like that, huh?"
"Shut it," he answered, but there was no real anger behind his words.
As the others continued to talk and laugh, you felt it all of a sudden—a quick touch of his rough fingers against your lips. It was so fast you almost thought you imagined it, but when you glanced at Daryl, you saw the corner of his mouth turn into a smirk again.
That bastard was playing with you.
He soon did it again, under the guise of reaching for his drink. This time, your reaction was instinctive. Your lips parted, your tongue sliding out to kiss and taste the tip of his finger.
You had to bite your lip to keep from reacting further as he then leaned back, closer to you.
"Careful, woman," he whispered. "Ya keep doin' that, and I might forget where we are."
This made you remember the last time he did exactly that—forgetting where you both were since you've been in a relationship.
A run gone wrong, the two of you holed up in a building with a barricaded door and walkers outside. It had started like everything did with Daryl: tension, silence, and then frustration when you'd made some idiotic remark.
But his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked on your mouth like he had wanted to devour you alive.
"Quit staring," you'd whispered, just to piss him off a little.
Big mistake.
In one motion, he had pulled you onto his lap, his hand pressing down over your mouth.
"Shut. Up."
His other hand was shoved inside your pants, fingers sliding over your pussy with zero warning. You moved, but he'd held you down, his lips close to your ear. "Told ya I'd shut ya up. If ya make a noise, I stop."
Biting his palm to muffle your cries, you'd felt how his fingers suddenly curled inside you, rough and thick. You hadn't made a sound—not when he pushed those two fingers deeper inside you, not when his thumb touched your clit just right, and definitely not when your body jerked on his lap as if he'd shocked you.
Outside, the walkers groaned. Inside, Daryl's breath hitched as you came hard on his hand, his growl vibrating against your skin. "Knew ya could be quiet."
Indeed, he was good at shutting you up whenever he wanted you to be silent.
Coming back to your senses again, you stole another glance at Daryl as you drank your own glass of wine in silence. His fingers tapped against the table, restless even now. Those fingers had become your undoing, and he knew it all too well.
It was almost cruel, the way he had brushed them near your lips only moments before, knowing exactly how your body would react. You tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the laughter and conversation around you, but his little smirk was still there.
"You two okay over there?" Glenn's voice made your heart jump as you quickly looked away.
"Fine," Daryl grunted in response, his tone still as gruff as ever, making Glenn shrug before he turned back to his conversation with the rest of the group, leaving you and Daryl to yourselves.
"Keep it up," Daryl then grumbled under his breath at you, seemingly out of nowhere, and his voice was low enough that only you could hear. "See what happens when we're alone."
You barely had time to process that threat as Dr. Jenner stood up, with the rest of the group suddenly following him. The group's laughter had stopped as he had explained the CDC's suicides, the desperation, and how everyone had lost hope. But you weren't listening. Not really.
Your skin still burned where Daryl's fingers had brushed your lips. Your pulse still hammered in your ears, having drowned out Jenner's words. All you could focus on were the memories of how it had all started with Daryl.
But what exactly would happen when you were alone and out of sight again?
The thought consumed you so completely that you barely noticed when Jenner finally started to walk down a hallway, gesturing for you all to follow.
"Most of the facility is powered down, including housing," he said, leading you all down a hallway. "You'll have to make do here. The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like. There's a rec room down the hall—just don't plug in the video games. Or anything that draws power. The same applies... If you shower, go easy on the hot water."
"Hot water?" Glenn asked in disbelief, and T-Dog grinned in return.
"That's what the man said!"
As quick as those words about hot water had left Jenner's mouth, leaving everyone in shock and relief, the group was already splitting off to claim spaces. But you? The second he was done talking, you slipped away—further down the hallway, past the rec room next, toward a room to claim and the promise of a hot shower.
But what you didn't notice? Daryl stayed behind, his eyes locked on you like a predator tracking down prey.
You didn't look back at him.
Because you felt it—the moment he followed.
The second you slipped away, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Daryl's presence was unmistakable, even without him making a sound. He was just like that—always close enough to be in your space, but never too obvious.
And he had no intention of letting you get away so easily.
Another full bottle of wine was in his hand as he moved silently behind you, and you paused, hand resting on a door, just as you reached one of the free rooms. You were so close to washing away everything—the grime, the dirt, everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
But then, without warning, you felt one hand on your wrist, spinning you around with enough force to make your breath catch in your throat. His face was inches from yours, and you could see the same look he always got when he was ready to claim something, and you knew it wasn't going to be easy to escape this time.
Daryl's lips were on yours before you could even think to answer, rough and hard, forcing a groan out of you as he backed you into the wall of the hallway. You didn't have time to resist, not that you really wanted to. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head back as his tongue demanded yours.
It was a kiss that left no room for doubt before his hand was moving down your neck and over your tits next. It was reckless, almost violent, but that was Daryl. Always untamed.
You let out a breathy laugh, not that it mattered to him.
"Don't need no damn shower," he said between kisses. "Waste o' time." His hand soon slid down to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh with a roughness that only seemed to make you want him more.
You barely heard the words—too caught up in the sensation of his touch, his mouth, and his body pressing against you. It wasn't just the kiss, not just the way his touch felt—it was everything. The way Daryl made you lose control, the way he could bring you to the edge without ever needing to say anything much.
Yes, he was always like that. Rough. Raw. No apologies. And it drove you wild. You didn't know if it was the isolation of the world now or just Daryl's overwhelming presence, but you'd grown accustomed to that hunger. His hunger. And to the way it felt when he took what he wanted, no questions asked.
"Not here," you managed to gasp quietly between kisses, though you weren't even sure what you were suggesting. "We're still in the hallway, Daryl…"
"Yeah, yeah, shut up. Ain't got the patience for this," he growled in return, biting your lower lip and grabbing the door handle next to you. "Rather taste ya like this—dirty, mine."
Not giving you the time to answer, he shoved the door open behind you, pushing you inside, and kicking it shut again with his boot, before Daryl pushed you back against it, the wine bottle in his other hand pressed to your throat like a warning.
"Ain't no runnin' away now. Ya gonna drink first."
You nodded before he tipped the bottle to your lips, the red wine running down your chin, before he licked it off with a groan.
"Ain't 'bout gettin' clean," he growled against your jaw, his tongue licking along your skin. "Don't needa be clean for me."
"Daryl, please… Come on, just let me take that shower!" You managed to laugh, trying to hold your ground, but your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.
"Ain't no damn shower worth this," Daryl answered, his free hand grabbing your jaw roughly, forcing your gaze upward. His thumb touched your bottom lip, and that simple touch made your heart beat faster. "Ya think ya can just go?"
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
But Daryl's grip on your jaw loosened anyway as he stepped back like the war inside him had pulled him in two directions—fuck you stupid right here or let you go just long enough to drive him even crazier.
He stared at you for a moment, then dropped the wine bottle to the floor next to the couch in the room.
"Fine," he grumbled. "Go wash off, woman."
Opening the door to the shower for you, he was then standing to the side but still crowding your space, his eyes staring at your body like he was imagining you naked already.
"But ya leave that door open, y'hear?"
You raised an eyebrow at him, heart racing. "So you are gonna follow me?"
He smirked in response, tilting his head just enough to make your thighs clench. "Ain't sayin' I will. Ain't sayin' I won't."
You gave him a playful smile—half daring, half pleading.
"Daryl," you whispered, your voice breathy as your hands moved to his chest to push him away from you. "You still want me?"
"Ain't that obvious?"
You didn't answer. Instead, you turned around slowly, letting your hips move and your ass shake as you reached for your shirt. One glance back over your shoulder told you everything—he was sitting on the couch by now, legs spread wide, chest rising with every shaky breath.
Your fingers slid under the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head in one smooth motion, and the air hit your bare skin as soon as you got rid of your bra, your nipples hardening instantly.
Your pants slid down next, you shaking your ass on purpose as you stepped out of them until you were standing there fully naked, hair messy, lips swollen. And God, the way he looked at you like he was a few seconds away from fucking you right then and there…
He was sitting there, one hand grabbing the couch like restraint was the only thing keeping him from standing up again.
"Think I forgot something," you then whispered before you stepped back toward him, straddling his lap without hesitation. Your naked skin pressed to his pants as you started to grind against him slowly—agonizingly so.
Daryl's breath hitched, his hands shooting to your waist, thumbs digging into your hips as he hissed, "Ya teasin' me now?"
You didn't answer. Not with words.
Instead, you leaned down, guiding his face to your chest, and when his mouth closed around one nipple, his teeth scraped along it just enough to make you gasp. Both his tongue and lips were needy, licking and sucking as if wanting to mark bruises onto your tits like he was starved—like he didn't care about anything else but tasting you.
"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, back arching, nails scratching down to his biceps, trying to hold on.
Then, when you knew he was ready—ready for more—you pulled back, grabbed the alcohol bottle that was still standing next to the couch, and brought it to your lips.
Red wine ran down your chin and onto your tits before you let some of it drip from your mouth into his, watching his eyes close as he tasted it and you all at once.
Daryl's deep groan hit you like a shock.
The second your wet lips let the wine drip into his mouth, you felt him twitch beneath you—his cock hardening under your pussy like it had a mind of its own. His pants pressed against your folds, the friction making your breath stutter as you ground down harder, slower.
And he felt it. God, he felt it.
His hips bucked up more, unable to stop, his cock straining so hard you rolled your hips again, dragging your soaked pussy along that thick, hard outline—once, twice, again, and again—until he was hissing loudly.
You smirked through your quick pants, teasing your clit against his bulge again with another slow grind. "Are you going to beg for it, Dixon?"
"Beg?" He smirked in response. "Ain't beggin'. Just takin'."
Daryl then snapped—grabbing a handful of your ass and lifting his hips to shove you down harder on his lap, so your pussy was pushed right along his cock again. You cried out, his pants now soaked through, his cock throbbing beneath you, twitching as hard as ever.
And he just watched you—breathing like crazy, his chest rising and falling fast as he stared at you with that wild look in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more.
You let out another cry—half-laugh, half-gasp—as he flipped you onto your back in one rough move, his face already moving down your body. He dragged his stubbled jaw across your belly, biting your skin just hard enough to leave little stings of pain and pleasure behind. His hands pushed your thighs open, spreading you wide without an ounce of hesitation.
"Wine," he continued, and you didn't have time to ask before he grabbed the bottle, pouring a slow stream down between your tits, then down your stomach, until he was letting it drip between your thighs.
"Daryl—" You choked out, body jerking, but he didn't answer.
Not letting you argue, his mouth was on you in an instant.
He licked the wine straight off your skin, groaning low in his throat as he tasted every drop. His tongue was hot and rough, sliding over the curves of your body, to your inner thighs—closer—until he was right there.
You weren't ready. You thought you were, but the second his tongue met your clit, you arched off the couch like he'd shocked you.
"Jesus—fuck!"
Daryl growled against you, holding you down as your hips bucked helplessly. "Thought ya wanted a shower?"
His tongue moved in a punishing rhythm—quick licks that made you try to squirm away, but his strong hands were like iron fists. He shifted lower, burying his face deep, letting his tongue slide through your folds and suck hard on your clit until your back arched and your moan broke in your throat.
"Daryl, fuck, Daryl—"
That just spurred him on. His nose pressed against you, tongue working deep. He poured a little more wine, this time straight down onto your pussy, and the cold mixed with the heat of his mouth made you cry out, legs trembling.
Then he pulled back just enough to say, "Ride it."
He shoved his shoulders under your thighs, grabbed your ass, and pulled you back with him and you down onto his face. "Ya heard me. Ride it. Fuckin' use me."
You gasped—whimpered—but obeyed, rolling your hips slowly at first, grinding down onto his tongue as he groaned into you like he couldn't get enough. It was messy and wild, with wine running down your thighs and his chin, his stubble soaked with it and your wetness before he slapped your ass.
"Harder."
You obeyed.
Fingers tangling in his hair and your moans coming out uncontrolled, you rode his face like a savage. His tongue never let up—licking and sucking you with his mouth until your whole body shook.
Your back arched as he spit on your clit, then slurped it up like he'd been dying of thirst, and he didn't give a single shit. His face was soaked by now, and when you tried to move? Tried to shift away, even just an inch?
SMACK!
He slapped your ass so hard you wanted to cry out loud.
Daryl's hands weren't just holding your ass now—they were playing. One hand cupped a cheek tight, spreading you wide open while his thumb traced along between them, dangerously close, just to tease.
"Damn fuckin' view," he groaned into your cunt, spit dribbling down his chin. "Gonna fuckin' die right here, suffocated in this damn pussy."
Then—SMACK—his palm hit your other cheek, hard enough to make you yelp. "Grind harder. Rub that needy fuckin' clit all over my mouth."
You obeyed, moaning some more, your pussy soaking his tongue. His nose rubbed your clit with each thrust while his tongue slid down, licking deeper, dirtier. Then you felt it—his thumb pressing lower.
"Bet ya ain’t been touched here, huh?" He growled, his voice muffled but clear enough. "Bet not. But still beggin’ like ya want it here like the rest o' ya."
You choked on a gasp, grinding harder on his face as he groaned. "Keep ridin' like that, woman," he snarled against your skin. "Keep that damn pussy on my fuckin' face."
He kept you right where he wanted—his hands wrapped around your ass, spreading your cheeks wide, squeezing and pawing. He seemed obsessed—grunting and groaning, licking everywhere, switching between tongue-fucking you and just dragging the flat of it up and down your slit all shamelessly.
"Fucking hell, Daryl—" You whimpered, your body trembling.
But then came the wine again.
You didn't even notice him grabbing the bottle once more—you just felt the sudden chill as he tilted it up and let it pour all over your lower back, your ass, and down to your pussy. The alcohol hit your skin in streams, ran between your cheeks, and right down into his mouth in the front.
"Tastes like mine…" He groaned like you were divine. "C'mon, woman. Gimme all o' that. I know yer close."
Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry, your pussy dripping on his face, the mix of wine and your wetness sliding down his chin and onto the couch.
And your orgasm hit hard.
You moaned—loud, raw, shaking on top of him as your body convulsed. "F-Fuck, Daryl—!"
But he held you down, licking and sucking you through it, eyes wild beneath you like he was praying for his own religion to unfold. His mouth stayed on your clit, tongue still relentless even as your body shook, twitching with aftershocks.
And even then, he didn't stop.
He just kept going.
Your hands searched for anything to hold on to—his hair, the side of the couch, the wall—as he brought you to the edge way too fast once more. Your thighs trembled violently, your body collapsing forward onto the couch, but his arms wrapped around your hips and kept your ass and pussy in his face.
"Fuckin' perfect," he growled, licking and sucking you slower now, almost lazy, not wanting to let you fall a second time on purpose. "Can't get 'nough. Never gonna stop wantin' this sweet fuckin' pussy."
You whined, too far gone for words.
There was drool on your chin.
Tears on your cheeks.
Wine everywhere.
Finally, finally, he groaned into your pussy, gave your ass one last squeeze, and let you slide off his mouth.
You collapsed next to him on the couch, catching your breath.
Daryl just wiped his face with the back of his hand, then licked it clean with a smirk. His lips were swollen, his eyes seemed satisfied, and his stubble was soaked with wine and you.
"Now go take yer fuckin' shower," he casually said after a while. "'Fore I fuck ya face down on one of 'em cots from the storage next."
Soon stumbling toward the shower, you looked like a woman who had barely survived the possessed man that was just between your thighs.
And Daryl?
He sat back on the couch, legs still spread wide, cock hard, and his tongue running over his teeth, watching your ass sway the whole way into the bathroom.
But even as you stumbled, legs barely working, you didn't close the door, just like he had told you. After all, you knew he was watching.
So you slowed your pace at the edge of the bathroom, just enough to give him a show. You paused, leaning one arm against the wall like you needed the support, and glanced back over your shoulder.
He was still there.
Still on that couch with his legs spread wide, that cock of his tenting his pants like it was ready to rip through them, and his chest was rising and falling like he'd been running from a horde of walkers.
So you dragged your hand slowly up the wall, the other down your hip, letting your fingers move through the wine still glistening on your skin.
"Are you really just gonna sit there?" You breathed, your voice wrecked and eyes half-lidded. "Or are you that scared of a little soap?"
"Ain't scared of nothin'," he snapped back at you with a smirk. "Don't mean I gotta like it."
You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head. "Guess that means you're just gonna sit there and pretend not to be scared?"
"The hell I am," he answered as he shifted, one knee now bouncing like a fuse had just been lit.
Then—just to make it worse—you turned around fully, facing him now, flushed and sticky, and ran your fingers down between your thighs, feeling the mess he'd left behind. You brought them to your lips and sucked two fingers clean with a soft, wet pop.
"Still tastes like your dirty, fucking, nasty mouth," you whispered, letting your tongue drag along your fingers again before you smiled. "Disgusting as shit."
That was it.
His boots hit the floor hard as he stood up, his chest heaving.
"Disgusting and nasty, huh?"
Not giving him the satisfaction of an answer, right as you moved inside the bathroom and turned on the hot water of the shower, you heard how he was coming closer, taking his time just long enough to take another look at you.
That hard cock of his, still straining against his pants like it was fighting to break free, was now a problem—one he seemed pissed about. Glancing back over your shoulder, you saw the way his jaw clenched and how his eyes narrowed at you like you'd just dared him to stay uncomfortable for a moment longer.
With a grunt, Daryl stepped into the bathroom fully, the heat from the shower already fogging the mirror next to him. He stepped out of his boots as if they offended him; his pants were hitting the floor next after his hands went straight to his belt, yanking it open as fast as he could.
"Fuckin' shit," he grumbled, almost to himself, before shoving his boxers down. "This what ya wanted, huh? Fancy-ass hot water and soap?"
His cock sprang free, thick and hard, slapping up against his stomach—and God, the groan that tore from his throat when it was finally free made your pussy ache.
His shirt? He ripped that off with one rough pull, letting it drop wherever, and you watched the muscles of his chest and arms flex with every move before he turned to the door, closing it but still keeping an eye on you through the mirror. His scars were there on his back—ugly, beautiful, everything at once—and all his, just like everything else he gave you.
But Daryl caught you looking. Of course, he did.
"The fuck are ya starin' at?" He asked, voice rough, eyes dropping down to your drenched skin.
"You," you breathed quietly, backing up a step under the hot water, beckoning him in with just a tilt of your head. "Always you."
You were expecting another comment, maybe a grunt—but Daryl wasn't saying anything.
"Daryl…" You started softer this time.
He was still only staring until he was moving quickly, pushing you against the cold wall of the shower, the water pouring down on him, and his hand gripping your chin hard enough to tilt your head up and shut you up all at once.
"Don't," he growled. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout that shit."
You opened your mouth—but he kissed you instead.
No warning, no tenderness. Just claiming. Tongue and teeth and water-drenched skin pressed to yours, making you taste the wine and yourself on his lips, making you feel the way his hands trembled as they held you in place.
You didn't even try to argue.
Not when one of his hands grabbed your ass and pushed his cock against you like a warning.
And definitely not when he whispered, "Ain't scared of no damn scars. And you? Ya keep lookin' at me like that, woman, and yer gonna learn just how much I ain't scared of you either."
Still, it didn't take long for him to give in to it all. Into you. His body soon relaxed, the tension going away as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the water run down over him and feeling the warmth of it on his skin. He wasn't used to this kind of comfort, but you could tell he was enjoying it in his own way.
Not giving him much time to lose his focus, you took one single step closer to him, the water streaming over your skin as you moved. His eyes opened when you reached for him again, but this time, your fingers slid over his flexing muscles, making him shiver under your touch.
"Shit," Daryl grunted, right before his hand shot out to stop you, his rough fingers sliding over your lips like he owned them. And you? You didn't even pretend to hesitate. Your lips parted on instinct, like they'd been waiting for his touch all along.
He watched you—those blue eyes narrowing as he slid his thumb into your mouth, slow, almost mocking you. You wrapped your lips around it and sucked, slowly, letting your tongue move around the tip of it like you wanted him to feel just how badly you needed more of him.
"That's it," he grunted as he watched you closely, that everlasting smirk returning to his lips. "Knew ya couldn't help yerself. Every damn time ya just gotta—"
He didn't even finish. It was as if the words got lost somewhere in the back of his throat before he pulled his thumb out and replaced it with two of his thick fingers. They pushed in deeper—past your lips, over your tongue, down until your jaw hurt, and you sucked on them just as greedily.
"Now actin' like ya were starvin' for it, huh?" He growled as his fingers stayed inside your throat, fucking your mouth with them. "Ain't the damn shower ya wanted. Nah. Coulda just fuckin' asked, ya know."
But you didn't wanna ask.
You never did.
Because with Daryl, it wasn't about asking—it was about taking. Anywhere. Even at a place like the CDC.
As the warm water continued to pour down, dripping off his head and running down his shoulders and chest, you looked down—truly looked down at him this time. That thick, veiny cock of his twitching, throbbing, leaking precum between his legs, and just begging to be touched.
With your hand immediately following your eyes, your fingers wrapped around his cock, and the hiss that came out of his mouth made your eyes widen.
"Fuck—" Daryl groaned out, his hips jerking forward the second you started to stroke him. It was slow at first, your fist tightening just a little near the tip to tease him a bit. "Ya tryna fuckin' kill me?"
But he didn't stop you. Didn't even want to.
Two of his fingers stayed in your mouth until you gagged lightly around them—but didn't pull away. His other hand came to grab the back of your neck, just enough to keep you there. Right where he wanted you to be.
"Look at ya… suckin' on my fingers like that while ya got yer hand on my cock... Jesus fuckin' Christ."
Drooling around Daryl's fingers by now, your lips feeling swollen from the pressure, eyes glassy as you moaned softly for him. You were grinding your thighs together again, barely breathing as you stroked him harder and faster, and he noticed—like he always did.
"Ya like that?" He asked, tilting his head as soon as he noticed how you were grinding and clenching your thighs together. "Like tastin' me while ya touchin' my cock?"
You nodded, or tried to, but his fingers pressed deeper down your throat and made your eyes water, long enough until he had you pushed down onto your knees in front of him.
Then he gripped his cock for a moment—just to line it up near your lips—and tapped the thick tip against them once. Twice. Smearing the water, his precum, and your spit across your mouth and chin.
"Open," he ordered, voice ragged. "Wanna see that mouth stretched 'round me."
Daryl looked as if he was close already. Due to need and by how your hand had felt on him, touching him like you never wanted to let go.
You parted your lips again, teasing him just a bit with the tip of your tongue.
"Hell, woman… I swear I'm gonna come just from this damn view," he growled. "Ya gonna swallow every drop I give ya?"
Biting your lower lip with a slight smile, you nodded slowly.
Your mouth opened obediently—eagerly—and your tongue moved out just to tease him once more, to taste the precum of him, and you knew he was trying hard to hold back.
He had one hand pressed against the wet wall behind you, the other in your drenched hair now, holding it tight enough to make it sting. "Bet ya been thinkin' 'bout this all damn day."
You didn't answer him anymore.
Instead, you sank your mouth down onto his cock, letting the underside of his shaft slide over your tongue until the tip pressed against the back of your throat. The groan that came out of Daryl was downright animalistic—deep, loud, and primal. He was already bucking forward before you even had all of him down.
"Shit—fuck—" He hissed, hips twitching as you sucked him in deeper.
You started to move—head bobbing, lips sucking tight, drool running down your chin as the water of the shower cleaned it away from above. Your hand worked what your throat couldn't reach, stroking the base while your tongue licked and flicked and worshipped.
"Yeah… just like that. Deep as ya can—don't stop."
His grip tightened in your hair, and he began to fuck your mouth a bit faster now, just enough to hear a few little gags.
"Got ya down on yer knees suckin' me off in a fuckin' shower like it's the only thing ya ever wanted."
You moaned around his cock—loud, needy—and the sound of it made him snarl, his other hand slapping against the wall, trying to hold himself together.
Knowing that he was right on edge already, since, after all, he'd been holding back so far, Daryl wanted to keep his focus only on what he worshipped the most. You.
But you felt it in every twitch of his cock, every groan, every grunt he couldn't bother hiding anymore, how much he wanted to let go. It made you suck harder, faster, one hand massaging his balls and the other gripping his trembling thigh.
"Shit, gonna—" He announced just as it was about to happen, shoving his cock in deep—just enough to make you gag one last time—before pulling back slightly with a strangled groan, hips jerking as he came hard, and his cum shooting onto your tongue and down your throat. But you kept sucking him, eyes looking up at him even though the water was still pouring down on you, tasting him.
Daryl's whole body shook, his chest rising and falling with quick gasps for air, with his mouth open as he stared down at you like he couldn't believe what you just did to him.
But before you could even swallow the last of his cum, he was grabbing you—pulling you back up against him with one arm around your waist, the other gripping your ass roughly. Your lips were still wet with him, so slick with drool and cum when he crashed his mouth onto yours.
He kissed you like a man starved. Tongue pushing in deep, tasting himself in your mouth, and growling like it turned him on all over again.
He didn't stop kissing you for as long as he could hold his breath, his hand sliding all over your ass again, fingers slipping between the cheeks, pressing right where you knew he loved to play and tease.
"Bet ya still want it," he then whispered against your jaw, pressing the tip of his finger deeper, not quite pushing inside, but just enough to make you whimper. "Even after takin' me down that pretty throat, ya still want it, don't ya? Wanting me…"
You moaned into Daryl's neck, clinging to him, your arms immediately wrapping around him as he held you like he was scared you might fall.
But he didn't push further. Not with your body still shivering, still breathless from how he'd handled you.
Letting go of you slowly, almost hesitantly, his eyes weren't leaving yours.
"Finish yer shower," he said after a while, that tiny smirk coming back onto his face again as he stepped out, still soaking wet, with the water dripping off him.
Not even reaching for a towel, he bent over, grunting as he took the shirt he'd ripped off earlier from the floor. It was wet, still dirty, and smelled like sweat—but that didn't stop him.
He just ran it down his arms and across his chest, barely bothering to dry himself off completely, though he didn't put it on, throwing it back onto the floor.
"Ain't closin' the door," he threw in, right before he grabbed his pants next, like anyone had asked. No boxers. He just shoved himself into his beat-up pair of pants like he hadn't just come down your throat like an animal. And then?
Then he dropped himself back on the wine-drenched couch.
Legs wide open. Shirtless. Still wet. One hand slid through his hair, the other resting between his thighs like he wasn't doing anything, but oh—he was doing everything. Just sitting there, smirking, and watching you.
Even when you thought he would maybe doze off from the heat and the exhaustion, you caught him looking from time to time—his eyes barely open, but still tracking you like you were prey.
You finished up slowly in the shower, dragging out every second just to see if he'd react once more. He didn't. But one hand did move just a little more south, his fingers resting dangerously close to where your mouth had just been.
And right when you thought he'd keep quiet, let you get that moment of silence, maybe even dry off in peace—Daryl was talking again.
"The hell are ya takin' so long in there for?" He grunted. "Ain't like ya gotta shave yer damn legs or nothin'. Who are ya tryna impress?"
"Maybe I just wanted a moment alone to clean your cum off my face, Dixon," you shot back, a towel half-wrapped around your waist as soon as you stepped out, not bothering to cover yourself much.
"Well, ya missed a spot," he grumbled, jerking his chin toward your mouth. "Right there."
Of course, you knew there wasn't anything left behind, but playing along, you licked the corner of your mouth just to taunt him and noticed how your legs were shaking again—but not from exhaustion right now.
From him.
From that man right there, sitting on a couch that smelled like sweat, wine, and you.
But you made no move to rush. No shame. No hurry. You walked toward him, still trembling, and without asking, you climbed right back onto him—straddling his lap, your thighs sliding over his pants as you sat down gently on top of him, like you were home there. His cock wasn't hard now—but it twitched under you anyway.
Daryl let out a low grunt when your ass moved into place, and one strong hand landed instinctively on your back.
"Ain't even dry yet, and yer sittin' on my lap like ya forgot how to stand straight…"
You leaned in, putting your arms loosely around his neck, brushing your nose lightly against his cheek.
"Neither are you," you whispered in return, smiling against his skin. "You'd say no?"
"Won't say 'no' to ya, woman. 'S the damn problem," Daryl answered, both his hands finding your hips now, holding you steady while you rolled them over his pants again. Then his mouth was on yours once more—brutal, with no warning, and slow, like he was trying to crawl inside you with just his tongue. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you, pulling your wet hair to tilt your head back.
And he didn't waste a second.
He bit down hard, just under your jaw, before sucking a bruise into your skin. Not a hickey—no, this was a mark. His mark. You felt your blood rush under the skin there, your pulse quickening, and the slight pain as his stubble scratched your neck and his mouth moved lower.
"Gonna wear that for me," he growled, his tongue licking over the bite. But before he could do anything further, you sat up straight, smiling, and reached for clothes of yours—wherever they'd landed earlier.
At least your shirt was within reach. Grabbing it quickly, you put it over your head as you stayed straddling him, and Daryl still watched, though he didn't speak. But those hands of his? They never stopped sliding over your body, even as you finished mostly dressing up.
Not knowing any better, you leaned into his ear and whispered, "Are you going to sit here looking like this, or are you gonna go get us another bottle?"
That got him.
"'Nother bottle o' red, huh?" He asked with an arched eyebrow. "Ya mean just like the one I poured down yer pussy while ya were all desperate for it?"
You grinned in return. "Maybe?"
He huffed—more laugh than annoyance—and smacked your thigh before pushing you off his lap. "Fine. But I ain't gettin' it just so we can talk feelings or none of that shit."
You stayed on the couch after he stood up, watching him as he went to grab his shirt again—the same one from before, dirty, soaked with some water, and wrinkled.
You half expected him to throw it aside again, but he didn't. He put it back on, scowling the whole time. "Fucked up my goddamn shirt."
"You ripped it off yourself, Daryl."
"Still counts."
He rolled his eyes—but a smile was there. Small. Tiny.
For another moment, the CDC was quiet. No walkers. No survival. Just you. Him. Another bottle of wine somewhere in the building. And the certainty that when he came back, you'd start all over again.
Then—because life clearly didn't know when to leave the both of you alone—you heard it.
A quick shout. Not far away. Muffled. Angry.
"Stay put," Daryl instantly said and walked out into the hallway.
That's when he saw him.
Shane leaned against the wall with several fresh and bleeding scratches across his face. He was clearly grumbling angrily to himself—pissed, drunk, and barely holding it together.
Daryl didn't say anything at first. He walked right past him like he wasn't even there, grabbed a new bottle from the dining area from before, and twisted the cap off to take a long sip as he walked back.
Then Shane opened his mouth.
"Dirty fucking redneck living off shit and actin' like he's got it all figured out…" He said to himself at first, right before coming at Daryl directly. "What are you looking at, Dixon?!"
"Hell, I dunno. Lookin' at some dickhead that got told ‘no' and got slapped the fuck down by someone who wouldn't piss on ya if ya were burnin'."
And just as Daryl answered, turning back to face Shane, you appeared at the end of the hallway. Barely clothed. Hair still wet. Lips swollen. And you were watching—just watching—in silence, with your arms crossed.
Shane looked you up and down—and then laughed. "That all you got, Daryl? That bitch will run away as soon as there's someone better! They're all the same!"
Daryl didn't answer right away.
He just stood there, the new wine bottle still in one hand. And his eyes? They were dead calm.
But calm on Daryl never exactly meant safe.
Then he took one long step forward. That wine bottle in his hand? He lifted it, right in front of Shane, and poured some of it onto the floor between them.
"Ya don't talk ‘bout her..."
Shane still laughed, but it was quieter now. "Jesus, what the hell's your problem?"
Daryl moved. Not his fist. No. Just got up in Shane's face until their foreheads almost touched.
"Ya wanna talk like a man? Act like one, 'cause right now? Y'ain't nothin' but an idiot that got turned down. I oughta rip yer tongue out and make ya choke on it along with yer damn teeth, just like I told ya 'fore. Ya hear me?"
One more look, and Daryl stepped away from him as if he'd already won. He walked right back toward you with that same death stare he got when he was about to kill a walker. Once in front of you, he took another long sip from the open bottle.
"C'mere…"
Daryl's fingers immediately gripped your jaw, tilting your face up as if to remind you—you're his. The kiss that followed wasn't gentle this time. He pushed your mouth open with his tongue only to spit the wine from his lips down your throat, making you swallow it all down as you grabbed his shirt, trying to keep yourself steady despite your trembling legs.
When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. Drunk off him more than the wine.
But Shane? Shane still stood there, snarling like he couldn't stand to watch something he'd never have.
"Bet she tastes like regret and low standards," he said loudly, but he was too cowardly to look into Daryl's eyes anymore.
And just like that, Daryl turned back toward him, handing you the wine bottle. One last drop of it ran down his chin, but he didn't even bother wiping it off.
"Ya ask what she tastes like?" Daryl hissed, voice low. "Tastes like me. Ya want some? Ya can suck it off my fuckin' cock if ya beg hard 'nough."
You gasped—whether from the words or the way Daryl said them, you weren't sure. But your body was feeling weaker, and the wine bottle almost slipped from your fingers.
Then—only then—did Daryl step back, like he'd finished what needed finishing.
"Cop polish," he continued with a smirk, "still can't shine up a piece'a shit."
Looking you up and down slowly, Daryl took the bottle back from you like it belonged there—and so did you. His arm slid around your waist again, pulling you closer to him. And this time, when he kissed you?
Guys, when I tell you I am astounded at how popular this has become, I bloody mean it! Thank you all so, so, so much for your interest and engagement. You're all beautiful people, and if I could send you cookies in thanks, I would! :)
Summary: As tour manager for Sleep Token, you're naturally close with the lads whom you're employed to look after. Then, there's your closeness with Vessel, the lines between manager and artist seeming to blur into something more meaningful... if you'll let it.
Words: 3,039
Warnings: This chapter is pure smut. All of it. Minors DNI!
Previous chapters - Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
“The whole world outside of this room could fall away right now, and I’d be completely content just to stay like this with you.”
“That’s only because you came so hard, you can’t feel your legs, Bambo.”
He chuckles, pinching your nose playfully. “Oi, less of your cheek. I’m trying to be romantic here!”
Oh, but he doesn’t even need to try. He is, and it’s effortlessly lovely. You’re entirely unused to it, too. “And I appreciate that, but you know me.”
“Yeah, I do,” he hums, kissing your head, “you can’t help but be a knob.”
The banter between you will never be lost, not even now you’re together. It’s been two months now since your first time with him after the show at the O2 in London, the tour now a month into its USA leg, and it’s fair to say that yes, you very much are an item. The way you had that confirmed to you from his perspective had you both beaming with happiness and laughing into your hand, overhearing a conversation between him and ii one morning.
“I’m not going day drinking, I can’t trust myself,” he’d stated at the suggestion they go find a bar to kill a little time.
“Who said anything about getting pissed up?” ii had countered, Ves groaning into his hand.
“Because you’ll have me doing tequila shots and I can’t say no. If I get messed up, trust me, the missus will bloody hang me for it!”
The missus. How you’d squeaked internally to hear him refer to you as that as you carried on down the corridor backstage, your professional head intact, but your heart bursting at your boyfriend’s words.
Lying against his chest there in a Chicago hotel room, you bask in his affection, all those lovely tingles of new romance darting around your heart like fireflies. You can feel it, the penetrating gaze, lifting your chin to look up at him.
“Do I have something on my face?” you joke, watching him laugh.
He reaches to stroke your lips with the tip of his index finger, nuzzling you. “Yes. You have a man who is head over fucking heels in love with you right here.” He kisses you then, and your heartbeat soars skywards, humming happily against his lips. The width of your smile breaks the kiss, leaning back a little, stroking the faint grain of stubble on his face.
“I love you so much, my tall, sexy Bambi man,” you sigh, Ves nuzzling you again, kissing the tip of your nose.
“And I never thought I’d fall so deeply in love with a little menace who fucking calls me Bambi, yet here I am,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead, your eyes, your cheeks, his arms tightening around you. “I haven’t loved anyone like I love you in a long time. It’s a bit scary, truth be told.”
You frown a little, fingers stroking the light, reddish-brown strands of hair framing his forehead, your hand coming to rest on his cheek. “Why?”
“You know why.” Yes, he’s right. You do. After Kate, his last serious relationship ended rather badly, her confessing that she’d cheated on him, unable to deal with him being away for such long periods of time on the road, he was shattered inside.
It led to him revealing all to you one night on a few days’ break between shows back at the time, both of you sitting in the corner of a dark bar, Ves letting his guard down more with every vodka that passed his lips. He detailed of his heartbreak, of how he always felt like he was somehow disposable to women, how Kate’s betrayal wasn’t the first of its kind.
“They all say they want a nice guy, and I am one, but then I get dropkicked in the heart again and again and usually left for some complete wanker who's a walking, talking red flag,” he’d fumed, huffing as he ran his fingertip repeatedly around the rim of his glass. “I should just be a complete fucking arsehole, see if that gets me anywhere, because being a man who thoroughly adores women, attends to them on all the levels they want, nah. Not good enough, apparently!”
You sat and listened to him blow off all the verbal steam borne of his emotional duress, telling him that it wasn’t fair and apologising on behalf of your gender.
“Some girls, they want to feel the thrill of the chase and get addicted to the drama. I suppose it isn’t just women, though. Some people are just like that by nature, and they usually have no clue what’s good for them. When men like you come along, ones who might as well have a neon sign flashing that they’re the better choice than the wankers who’ll only mess them around, they have no idea what to do with him. Trust me, I speak from experience.”
He’d sat and listened as you explained it to him, a previous relationship that never really was one. You were strung along for eighteen months by a man who had no intention of ever fully committing to you, and you knew in the back of your mind that he never would, yet you let yourself become tied up in the thrill of it. It went one way repeatedly; chasing him, securing him eventually, but only ever fleetingly before he gave you the run around again.
“He sounds like a right dickhead,” he’d snorted, shaking his head, “but it’s the dickheads that get the women! And I’m just over here like, “Hello! Nice fella, reasonably attractive, loving and attentive, damned bloody good in bed, too, and what do I get? Fucked around, is what I get!”
“I do know why,” you reply in the here and now, thumb stroking his cheek, “but you know that I’m not Kate, or any of the other silly bitches who came before her. Trust me, when I find a diamond of a man like you, I’m not letting him go. Oh, absolutely not! All those qualities you told me of, well, you’ve proved them to me. I know how good I have it.”
He squints a little, his smile tilting playfully. “And I’ve got a big cock!”
Your laughter bursts forth. He’s so fucking cute. “Yes, you do! One you know how to use as well. Trust me, some fellas who are well hung just batter your cervix with it and think because it’s big, that’s enough.”
He shakes his head, frowning. “I don’t understand that, but then again, I’m very much about the other person’s pleasure. Turns me on more, you know, knowing that who I’m with is having a good time. I’m not about getting in there and just giving someone a mindless dick battering. Nah, man. Takes a little more finesse than that.”
True, he is nothing short of a very selfless lover. “I think I might need reminding of that, you know.”
“Oh?” He arches and eyebrow, shifting to lie on top of you, “you do, do you?”
“Mmhmm.” Your hum is met with a very wide smile, Ves stroking your face before he leans to kiss you.
“Then excuse me while I do just that.”
He pushes the sheet off you both, humming to himself as he kisses his way down your body, making you laugh at the little cheeky glint in his eye as he levels himself with your sex. “Ahh, right here, madam? Is there where the sexy, baby deer man services are required?”
He’s so bloody funny. “Yep, right there.”
His grin is wicked, stretching his tongue to tickle teasingly over your slit. “Thought so.”
A firm, flat lick delves within, the soft velvet of your cunt laved at slowly, kissing your folds with a hungry grunt before his tongue is trawling once more. He has you dewy in seconds, your walls tingling, pleasure skittering through you as the honey of your cunt bathes his tongue.
“You taste so bloody gorgeous, babe.” he whispers, his lips wrapping your clit in a suck, moaning as he does. Babe, it’s a new word used to reference you. Babe, baby, pretty little darlin’; he has a few, and you burst with happiness to hear them all.
Each lick sends ebullience skittering over your bones, heat pulsing right to your marrow, each lick rolling over your heat a little quicker, his big hands sliding beneath you to grasp your bum and squeeze. Closing his mouth over your entire slit, he sucks at your greedily, and his moan... oh, the way the man moans when he goes down on you. You’ve never experienced a lover get so turned on by it quite as much as he does.
Emerging, he turns you onto your front, gently shunting a knee between your thighs to open them just enough for him to guide his cock to your streaming opening, sliding in fully. You close your legs again, the penetration immediately tightening, his long body blanketing yours as he stretches out along the length of your back.
Holding his weight on his forearms as he begins laying kisses of honeyed embers upon the back of your neck, groaning deeply, bottoming out and dragging back slow. God, how you love this position with him, the feel of his chiselled muscles sliding against your skin, his hands sliding beneath you to grasp your tits.
“Fuck... fuck, I love you so much,” he pants, teeth gently laying a soft bite upon your shoulder, sucking a pink welt onto your skin.
“I love you, too.” you sigh, your body undulating in perfect rhythm with his. It’s erotic bliss unmatched, pinned there beneath the weight of him, feeling his thick chest pressed deliciously against your upper back, mouth still sprinkling kisses over your neck.
The friction of it has you ascending rapidly, your walls beginning to flutter on his cock, his hands moving to clasp your hips as he backs off a little, entering your more shallowly.
“You will not turn me into a bloody two-minute wonder.” he pants on a little chuckle, hand meeting your bum in a hard smack when he sits up, pulling your hips from the bed with him. You both simmer a little, enjoying the slow trawl of his gorgeous, thick cock, glimmers skittering up your spine as he gradually begins to add speed to each deep, trawling thrust.
“Mmm,” you whine, reaching back between your legs to feel his wet cock as it slips so effortlessly back and forth. “I really want you to fuck me hard, feel you cum in me.”
That two minute wonder comment? Flit. Off it flies, that part connecting his brain to any kind of restraint snapping like an over-tense elastic band, Ves immediately beginning to plunge into you with hard, sharp thrusts.
Your hand moves, fingertips rotating over your clit, your other hand clutching the sheets below as you wail, the sound of his groans making fire lick against your insides. It begins to pour golden over you, pleasure fracturing beneath your skin as you unravel, his tide crashing against your shore as you come with a feral wail.
His undoing follows moments after yours, and the way his cock twitches within your post-orgasmic flutters sends further shivers through you, his head coming to rest between your shoulder blades as he pants raggedly.
He remains folded for a while before sitting up, cock slipping from your heat. “Mmm, that’s so fucking sexy,” he grunts, hands stroking over your bum.
Is it, though? It’s just... oh. Yeah. You know what he’s doing. “You’re watching your cum drip out of me, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Dirty boy.”
He chuckles, a low, throaty rumble. “Yep.”
“Is this the main reason why you’re so pleased we don’t have to use condoms any longer?”
“Yep.”
Men. Such simple creatures to keep happy sometimes. You have to admit, since going on contraceptives yourself, the feel of his naked cock within you, no barrier there, is nothing short of amazing. Some people can’t detect the difference that much, but you certainly find it distinguishable.
In truth, he himself is nothing short of amazing, the kind of boyfriend you’ve longed for all your dating life. You can be nothing but yourself around him, and the same goes for Ves, too. The same little comforts both of you had to sometimes push aside under the accusation of being nerdy for respective partners of your past now count as treasured time together.
Even such pursuits as relaxing in the tour bus lounge while gaming and eating pizza, and you find the greatest joy in downtime travelling between venues. What’s even better? The rear lounge seating is able to be converted into a bed, so you don’t have to sleep apart from him in a bunk, comfy as they might be in the better quality of bus now available to the band.
With it being a double deck bus, it’s shared with a few of the crew members as well as the rest of the band, but this little area is such a lovely, private sanctuary for you both to enjoy building on your fledgling relationship. In a world of chaos, such is life on the road, these are the moments you live for.
“I fucking love this, you know,” he comments, placing the Xbox pad in his hand down and picking up a slice of pizza from the box between you.
“What, me causing us to fail the mission because I’m shit?”
“Shut up,” he tuts, “you’re not shit at all. Nah, I just meant spending time with you like this.” He then knocks the box with his hand. “Have those last slices. I can’t, it doesn’t lend to keeping abs.”
“Yeah?” you scoff, pointing at your tummy, “and what about this? I’m getting too comfortable and it’s giving me a gut.”
He raises an eyebrow, moving the box from between you and pulling up your vest top, leaning in to inspect. “What, this? This tiny little bit of nothingness right here?” He then has you squealing with laughter, blowing a raspberry on your navel, looking up at you with a big grin and very, very loving eyes. “You talk a load of bollocks, darlin’.”
How is he so perfect, so lovely? “I’ve put on four pounds since we’ve been together.”
“Bullshit,” he dismisses, pulling your top back down and resting his head on your tummy instead, shutting off the Xbox. “But if you feel uneasy about it, I could help.”
“How?” If he’s going to take you to the gym with him, you’d rather not attend. You’ve seen his workout routine, and it’s nothing short of torturous.
His grin begins to spread. “I’ll let you go on top more. You’re moaning about your weight, and I like being ridden. It’s a win win.”
Yep. He’s perfect, your laughter filling the space as you lean to kiss his forehead. That night, while the bus speeds down the endless highway, you take him up on his offer, riding him into the bed and making sure he falls asleep smiling.
While he lies in slumber at your side, you find yourself unable to drop off despite the plentiful release of dopamine. Ahh, intrusive thoughts. You wondered when they’d catch up with you. It would be fair to say that aside from the person you present professionally, you’re often at the mercy of a slightly lacking sense of self-esteem.
Mostly that’s borne of shitty relationships of the past, men using you without offering commitment, leading to your self-worth to become dented. You know with Ves that he’s a world away from those men. He’s kind, loving and committed. He doesn’t look at other women, the lines of them vying to secure a coveted place backstage and try and get into his trousers holding no interest for him at all.
In truth, when you say he’s perfect, he very much is. Of course, the man has his flaws just like anyone else. If he has something on his mind, it can take an age to wheedle it out of him, and he’ll be quiet and distant until this is achieved. He’s also very, very grumpy if he isn’t well rested, becoming short tempered and snappy. Those are but two you could mention.
Honestly, though, his flaws are few. He’s grown enough to realise if he’s being “a massive twat” as he often coins it, checking himself and apologising. He’s a very sincere person, and yet as you lie there with your thoughts eating you alive, it’s that sincerity you question.
Why, when he could have any woman he wanted, does he desire to be with you?
The man is beautiful, so cute it kills you, with a body to die for, an amazing personality and a sexual prowess that honestly borders on godlike. He’s also the most astoundingly talented musician you’ve ever met, so why the hell is he with you?
“Because I love you, you silly fucking knob.” That’s exactly what he’d say to you, while looking at you like you were mental for even questioning it, and you know he would, because you know him. You’re safe, he isn’t going to mess you around, but still, your brain screams everything to the contrary.
“Why you huffing and tossing?” he grunts, still half asleep.
“Can’t sleep,” you confess on a little sigh, feeling him curl his long form around you, pulling you back against his chest.
See? He intrinsically knew you needed comfort and gave it immediately, even in a half-asleep state. “If you want to ride me again for a bit, I won’t complain.”
Does he ever get tired? “I might take you up on that.”
He kisses your back, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. “Just wake me up if you do. That’s about the only thing in the world I don’t mind being woken up for.” Another kiss is pressed, his thumb stroking where his hand splays over your tummy. “Love you, babe.”
“Love you, too.”
See? It’s all so simple, so effortless with him. You shouldn’t doubt him or his commitment towards you for a single second, yet here you are.
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Breeding kink with Vessel, besties? Alright, you got it! Tagging a few of you who I think might be interested, too :)
Words - 500
Warnings - Breeding kink smut below the cut! Minors DNI!
“I can’t, please,” you beg, your entire being humming, your core aching. “I can’t take another.”
He smirks, hands pressing to widen your thighs again, stroking his cock over the puffy petals of your sex. “Yes, you can, my sweetheart. You’ve got another for me.”
Watching the way your glistening little hole drips with the milk of his release, he feels the dark lust in him swell and swirl, needing to fill you again, breed you, stay snugly inside of you this time to push his seed right up deep, deep, deep.
He arrows into you once more, and you hiss a breath, his hand moving to stroke your cheek with affection. “Shhh, my baby. I’ll be gentle with you for a while. I know, my cock bruises your pretty little flower. But you always do plead with me to fuck you harder, don’t you?”
“I do,” you gasp, the burn giving way once more to the divine tingles his thickness evokes.
“And I love to watch you take it,” he rasps, voice deep and thick with lust, “love to watch this pretty little hole stretch around my cock.”
The pleasure of it is biting, burning hot beneath your skin, rocking your hips against each of his thrusts, the pain of him being inside you so relentlessly eclipsed by the ecstasy of it. It pools golden, blooming through your belly, Vessel moving quicker and quicker until once again, he’s plunging back and forth with rapid snaps of his hips, his groans all grit and sin.
In the garden of your bed, you blossom for him, his fingertips chasing the peachy flush dappling your chest, trickles of sweat beginning to slide down his. Taking him is like negotiating the vast expanse of a storm, but you’ll chase his lightning to fork through you without hesitation every time.
Those flickers begin at the base of your spine, jumping from strikepoint to strikepoint, wincing a little as he hits your summit.
“You can take it,” he assures you, hand gently clasping your jaw, leaning to grant your mouth the tenderness of his kiss as his body becomes wilder. “Gonna put a baby in you this time.”
He’s stoking a fire inside you, burning white, hips pounding against your sore, spent body, sending the little darts of bliss skittering up your spine as your cunt clasps around him, milking his release deep into you. You feel adrift in the comedown, aware only of him panting against your neck.
He lies inside you for what feels like forever, making sure none of his cum seeps out. Held in the warm cocoon of his arms, you share kisses, hands lovingly stroking one another, all that was frantic now replaced by a much softer edge.
Looking down at you, you see the love welling deep in his eyes, but it’s nothing compared to the way he looks at you months on from that moment, finally witnessing the elating sight of your belly all swollen with his child.
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ghost in the silence // deer in the headlights — part ii: two motes of dust drifting in the cold night air
Warnings: grief, mentions of minor character death, swearing, intercourse, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, two people who are SO bad at feelings
Word Count: 8k
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Pia watches him intently.
Not much about this has changed since the last time she has seen him on stage. He does seem a little more sure of himself, a little more confident in the way he interacts with the crowd, but at the root it’s still the same boy.
Granted, it’s only been a few months, and she isn’t sure if they’ve played shows back home. Either way, she enjoys what she sees.
Next to her, Morgan is still throwing heart eyes towards their drummer. It’s endearing. Pia wonders how long this crush will last.
This is the first she’s seen of him since they came back from the states. They’ve both been busy and this isn’t exactly something she wants everyone to know about, so she can’t just roll up to the nearest venue without a good excuse.
In the three months since she’d last seen him, Pia had finally convinced herself to seek professional help. The grief counsellor the hospital had assigned her immediately after Marcus’ death had been somewhat helpful, but it had only been a band-aid on this cut to the bone.
Three months hadn’t been enough to fix everything, but it was a start. They’d started to work through the near endless well of guilt that had made a home for itself in her chest.
Morgan nudges her side, “I think this might be more than a crush.”
Pia takes a hasty sip of her drink, trying to mask just how startled she is by the statement.
“Oh?” She asks, hoping that she doesn’t sound as surprised as she feels.
“I don’t know. We’ve been texting a lot and — I think this might be more.”
“That’s nice Morgan.” She squeezes her friend's hand, “I’m happy for you.”
“You know, I almost thought that I couldn’t have more than crushes.” She sounds almost relieved, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
For as long as she’s known Morgan she’s always been single, always crushing on someone but never more. To see her actually talking about wanting more makes Pia feel genuinely happy for her.
Once their set is over, Morgan practically drags her backstage. Pia feels a little like a modern day chaperone. And it only gets worse when Morgan decides that Pia should come with them to get food.
“Do you want company? If you already have to play babysitter?” Noah asks, leaning into her space.
“Please.” Pia sighs, “I don’t want to third wheel on my own.”
“To be honest, I just really want to see if Folio’s going to make a fool of himself.”
Pia’s sure that this is the single most awkward double date anyone has ever gone on. Folio and Morgan are entirely absorbed in their own little world. It’s sweet.
Noah kicks his foot against hers under the table, “I’m gonna get cavities.” he says quietly.
Pia drops her head to hide her smile, “Stop.”
“I did not think that he’d get this sappy this early.”
Now it’s Pia’s turn to kick his foot, “Shut up.”
The kissy noises he makes almost get them caught. He laughs through the honestly murderous glare Morgan throws his way, and Pia is amazed that nothing more happens.
“So I was planning on staying here a few days once we’re done with the tour. The boys will head back home, but I thought I’d catch some sight, you know, when in Rome?”
Pia doesn’t want to know if he’s actually planned this trip to do some sightseeing or if it’s a thinly veiled excuse to make his way into her proverbial bedroom. If he changed his travel arrangements to see her, they would need to reevaluate what they’re doing because that sounds a little too much like obligations and responsibilities to her.
“Maybe I’ll find someone who could show me some places?”
She rolls her eyes just a little, “You know that you could just ask, right?”
“Where would the fun in that be? Come on, Desmond, this has to stay entertaining.”
Morgan convinces her that she should come back to the hotel too, and Pia agrees, mostly because she doesn’t want Morgan to make the journey back home on her own this late at night.
They’re walking a few feet behind the lover birds, at a comfortable distance to each other. It actually does feel as if they’re just friends for a moment. Noah tells her about how they’re thinking about getting a house to share instead of the tiny, cramped apartment the lot of them have been in for a while. And it makes Pia think about how she can only really afford her flat thanks to the payout of Marcus’ life insurance.
His parents had covered the funeral costs and while she had tried to make them accept some of the moment, his mother had insisted that Pia should keep it. She was the intended recipient, after all. It still felt bad. And it’s another reason to consider moving into a different place.
“So small issue with this plan. Nick and I are sharing a room, so there might be a chance that he’s back and —“
“Did you only come along so you could get me to come back to your hotel room?” She pretends to sound scandalised, “Noah. I would have never expected this from you.”
“I know I’m terrible. If he’s there we can just watch a movie until those two are done with whatever they’re up to?”
Sure, I’ll watch a movie with the guy I’m casually sleeping with and his best friend while I wait for my best friend to finish sleeping with his friend, Pia thinks to herself. Perfectly normal.
This whole situation is so entirely absurd that Pia can’t bring herself to take any of it seriously. It feels like something out of a poorly written romcom where the protagonist and the guy she’s casually sleeping with end up falling in love for some godforsaken reason.
Except that they won’t fall in love.
Another revelation Pia had made thanks to her therapist is that it’s perfectly fine and normal for her to have no romantic interest in other people after a loss like this. And it isn’t that she doesn’t like Noah — she just doesn’t like him like that.
And maybe it’ll come back one day, but for now she’s content with satisfying her more carnal needs.
Nick isn’t there when Noah lets them into the room.
“I think Jolly knows some people here.” Noah comments on his absence, “At least I hope Jolly isn’t in his room because that would make things really awkward for our lovebirds.”
“You’ll have an eye on him, right? Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“I think you underestimate how strongly Folio feels for her.” Noah says as he slumps down on the sofa, “I’ll keep an eye on him, though.”
She sits at the other end of the sofa, keeping a cautious amount of distance between them.
“Still wanna watch a movie?” Noah asks after a moment and deep down Pia is a little relieved.
They’re about twenty minutes into the movie when Pia notices his shifting. His constant readjusting jostles her every time. When he does it again, she slaps her hand down on his thigh, hoping that it’ll silently tell him to calm down.
It works for a few moments, and then his shifting changes.
“Noah.”
“Sorry.”
“Is everything okay?”
His demeanour has shifted so much that she can’t help but be worried now.
“I’m getting a headache.” He says quietly, and Pia’s face instantly softens.
“We can turn off the film if that helps?
Noah gives a silent nod, and she reaches forward to pause the film on his laptop.
“Let me see what’s in this minibar, okay?”
She can feel Noah’s eyes following her as she makes her way to the low cabinet that houses the fridge.
“Where do you have your medication?”
“You don’t need to baby me.” Noah protests, sounding somewhat like an indignant child.
“Just accept the help, will you? I’m trying to be a good friend here.”
Noah slumps back against the sofa, “Fine.”
“Into bed with you.” Pia orders while she digs through the minibar, “Let me repeat, where is the ibuprofen?”
“Suitcase.” Noah grumbles, “The grey one.”
He limbers towards the bed and lets himself fall onto the mattress. He toes off his shoes, letting them tumble onto the carpet below.
Pia hands him a bottle of water and the unscrewed bottle of ibuprofen. He plucks one of the pills from the package and swallows it in one clean go.
“Thank you.” Noah mumbles.
She sits at the foot end of the other side of the bed.
Noah still looks so awfully restless, and it makes her chest ache just a little bit.
“Do you need something else?”
He looks almost timid then.
Pia hasn’t seen him in a lot of positions but this is entirely new to her. She feels reminded of herself, when Alex had to drag her out of bed in the weeks after Marcus had died.
Asking for help and comfort had felt so awful and strange that she’d just tried to ignore the feelings away. In the end, Pia had to admit to herself that accepting a little bit of care from the people around her was worth it – and an important part of healing.
“Would it help if I held you for a while?” She asks hesitantly.
Just because she’s comfortable with this, doesn’t mean that he’ll be.
Noah is silent for a moment, but Pia still moves to sit against the headboard.
“Isn’t that too — I dunno close?”
“This isn’t a cuddles after sex scenario, Noah. You’re poorly and I’m offering as a friend.”
Noah thinks for a moment longer before sets himself upright again.
“How —”
“Whatever works for you. I don’t think that you’ll find something that’ll catch me off guard. I’ve spent too much time with Morgan. She’s cuddly.”
Without another word he plops down, adjusting a little until he’s comfortably resting his head on her thigh. It feels odd for a moment, but when she feels him relax more and more the weird feeling phases out.
Pia keeps repeating the same mantra in her head over and over again.
Friends, she tells herself, nothing more.
She’d do this for any one of her friends.
Pia combs her fingers through his hair so delicately. She doesn’t want her nails to get caught on any knots that might still be in it. Noah slowly eases up, relaxing in her embrace. Pia tries to tell herself that she doesn’t feel odd about this when Morgan lies in her lap like this. But then again, she also hasn’t slept with Morgan.
He falls asleep at some point, nothing but the soft sound of his breath emanating from him.
She can’t and won’t deny that she is attracted to him. It’s far too late for that.
He’s long wrapped her around his little finger but that doesn’t mean that she’s ready for any of that. Pia knows that the sensible thing in this situation would be to stay away, put some distance between them. And yet here she is, still tracing her fingers through his hair because he shifts if she stops.
Pia feels herself dozing off when the door unlocks and someone — she assumes Nick — enters with a laugh. This will be interesting to explain.
She hears him say good night to someone before the door closes softly.
“Man, you’ll never —” Nick stops as soon as he spots them.
He looks so impossibly perplexed that it makes Pia laugh a little.
“If I tell you how I ended up here, you’ll think I’m insane.”
He shakes off his stupor, “Hello to you too.”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
Nick doesn’t sound offended, more surprised, she guesses.
“Morgan and I went to catch your show because she’s got an eye on your drummer boy. They dragged me and Noah out to get dinner with them and because I didn’t want Morgan to have to travel back home on her own at night, I came back to the hotel. We planned to watch a movie but — headache.”
Nick toes off his shoes as he listens to her recap.
“They’ve been bad recently.” He says after a while, “He refuses to see a doctor about it.”
She looks down at Noah, he looks so peaceful resting here like this that she feels a little bad about having to move out from under him.
“Any idea why he’s getting these?”
Nick shakes his head, “They usually come when we’re on the road.”
She pulls some of the stray hair away from his face. Noah’s nose crinkles just a little.
“He should get it checked out.” She says quietly.
“He should. But we both know that that’s not going to happen.”
“Boys.” Pia shakes her head, “He’ll figure it out eventually.”
There’s another knock on the door then.
Pia half expects it to be Morgan telling her that she’s ready to head home. To her surprise, it’s Jolly — and he looks just as stumped by the sight inside the room as Nick had.
“Somehow this is less weird than what I saw in the other room.” He says, slumping down on the sofa.
“They’re still —?”
“Oh yes. Absolutely.” He replies with a chortle, “And I don’t think they'll be finished anytime soon. What’s this about?” He motions towards the bed.
“Headache.” Pia and Nick say almost simultaneously.
This whole situation is getting more absurd by the second, Pia thinks.
“I think I should just take a cab home.” She says, hoping that she doesn’t sound as awkward as she feels, “I don’t know how long that’s still going to take and I’d love to sleep in my own bed.”
Nick gives a quick nod, “He won’t wake up. Takes an arsenal to get that one out of bed.”
Pia shimmies out from under Noah, making sure that he lands somewhat comfortably. He shifts for a moment, but otherwise remains asleep.
“I’ll walk you down to the lobby.” Jolly offers quickly and Pia doesn’t protest.
They don’t talk until they’re standing in the elevator and even then they’re almost at the ground floor when Jolly speaks up.
“Thank you for taking care of him. I know you had a difficult start, but it’s good to see that you get along.” He says.
Pia doesn’t look at him, purely out of the fear that what they’ve done is written all over her face.
“Noah really likes you. He’s just not good at showing it.” Jolly continues, “You should have seen him when we got the email that you wanted us to come on that tour. You might have to be a bit patient with him.”
“Patient?” Pia questions, head snapping towards him.
She knows what Jolly is insinuating, but she needs to quell that thought in the bud.
Jolly looks a little taken aback, “Sorry if I assumed the wrong thing. It just looked like you two — were heading in a direction and — I know Noah, he needs time with things like that.”
“We’re not. I’m just — he was feeling unwell and I didn’t know how else to help.”
“Oh.” He replies, “I — I’m sorry. It looked like — that makes sense, I guess. I don’t know why I assumed that it’d be more.”
“A little cuddle was the only thing that would help Morgan sleep before she got the right medication for her cramps. Thought it would be worth a shot.”
Jolly nods, evidently a little embarrassed that he assumed the wrong thing.
“Either way, I’m glad that you stayed with him.”
“Glad I could help.”
Jolly waits with her until she finds a free cab. He sends her off with a hug and the plea that they should stay in touch.
Pia wakes up to a message from Noah. A sleepy selfie that ignites something soft inside of her.
Thanks for taking care of me last night. I owe you.
I’ll see you when we come to America?
Sure! Let me know when you’re free.
Pia mills through it in her head for longer than she wants to admit. Travelling out to LA before the rest of the band does to spend time with the guy she’s casually sleeping with doesn’t sound very casual at all. But she also needs to get out of this city. She needs to see other faces and places.
It’s a delicate line, and so far Pia thinks that they’ve managed to keep things at a comfortable level.
She pushes her keyboard back to pick up her phone. She changes the wording of the message multiple times, trying to find the most nonchalant way of saying this.
The email informing them about the visas had come two days after she’d asked Noah if she’d see him when they’d come to America. Pia tries not to feel as if she sounds desperate, because she’s not.
But at the same time, she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his hands on her body, about his lips on her skin.
So we had a small change of plans. Our visas are good from the 1st and I was thinking about heading out early to do some sightseeing.
Sightseeing, huh?
I haven’t seen a lot of L.A.
Sure 😉I can show you around if you want?
They both know what they’re planning here — at least Pia assumes that he knows what she’s aiming at. She doesn’t know why she’s trying to be covert about it in their private conversations. They’re both consenting adults, what they’re doing isn’t wrong. The only people that could get hurt here are they.
Where are you today?
The message comes a little out of habit. She’d always ask Marcus, even though she knew exactly where he was.
Paris. I’ll send you a picture later. We’re still at the hotel.
While it is an hour later where he is, it’s still early. It’s barely 6 where Pia is and she can’t help but think about him still wrapped up under his duvet typing his messages into his phone.
She has to physically shake herself to get rid of the warmth in her chest.
What are you doing today?
Pia hesitates before she answers. They’re moving into a territory that feels awfully intimate. And as much as she wants to resist it, she can’t bring herself to drop the conversation.
Just a bit of tour prep. I need to get my hair touched up and get some stuff. Boring chores.
Are you doing something different?
Just a touch up. I like this colour
I like it too
Throughout the day, Noah continues to send her pictures. They’re all selfies with him in various states of unimpressed. Her favourite is the one of him in front of the Eiffel Tower, looking as if he’d rather be somewhere else entirely.
You look miserable.
We’ve been walking so much :(
Oh no :( poor boy has to walk to see sights. That’s so sad.
You can stop making fun of me now. I’ll have my revenge when you’re in LA.
They’ve only been to L.A. once, just after they’d put out their first EP as one of three openers for a midsized band. They had exactly 20 minutes of stage time and it was the worst tour Pia has ever been on.
Something about this city makes her skin crawl with unease, except this time there’s an underlying current of excitement that weasels its way through her system. She can’t wait to see him and it’s terrifying and nauseating and Pia hates it. The promise of no feelings seems long forgotten and she doesn’t know what to do about it.
She can’t make the feeling go away – she’s tried that, but she also doesn’t want to act on it. She doesn’t want to be with someone in a romantic way.
The Airbnb she’s booked is paid for by the label, as she’s technically here to work. Technically. She does plan to get some writing done, but realistically she knows that as soon as she’s near Noah all plans will be immediately scrapped.
She hasn’t told him where she’s staying yet, mostly to keep a little bit of distance between them. That won’t last long either.
It’s an impasse she hadn’t expected to face.
She doesn’t want any of this, but at the same time, she doesn’t know if she can stop it from happening. If one of her friends would be in this kind of situation, she’d tell them to just do what feels right. But now that she’s the person with the romance issues, she doesn’t even know what feels right. Maybe that advice is complete garbage after all.
The worst thing is that she can’t even ask any of her friends for advice. Another self-imposed rule that she now regrets. She doesn’t know if Morgan would have anything productive to say on the matter, but maybe talking about it with someone would help.
She shouldn’t have started this. She wouldn’t be in this situation if they had never started this. God, she feels stupid.
Noah shows up at the Airbnb the morning after she arrives. They barely make it into the living room before they’re tearing each other's clothes off. Noah sinks to his knees in front of her. His eyes remain fixed on her face while he makes himself comfortable between her thighs. Pia lets her head drop back when he leans into her.
The first brush of his tongue against her is a little tentative. It’s been a while since they last were together like this and it somehow feels brand new to have him touch her like this. At the same time, his touch is so familiar. The soft brushes of his fingers against the inside of her thigh, the way his hands grip into her when he buries himself against her.
Her fingers tangle into his hair, keeping him as close as possible.
Noah sighs against her. He’s so diligent with this, carefully easing her closer and closer towards her climax.
For a moment, Pia forgets that they’re doing this casually — supposedly. Noah seems to know her body so intimately. It’s almost as if they’ve done this a million times, when in reality this is only the second time that he’s found his way between her thighs like this.
Noah stays where he is until she pries him away. His head comes to rest against her thigh. He looks up at her with his big doe eyes, and Pia has to swallow. Noah presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh before he rises to his feet.
He slumps down next to her with a huff.
The warm feeling still sits in her chest, and Pia once again wonders if she can stop herself from feeling this way for him.
Noah speaks up just as she reaches for her underwear that he’d carelessly thrown onto a nearby armchair.
“I thought maybe we could finish that movie we started.”
He sounds awfully hesitant, Pia thinks, as if he worries that she’ll say no after all.
Pia thinks back to the thump her heart made when he had messaged her that he was on his way and so she nods.
“You wanna order something to eat? I don’t know what’s good here.”
His eyes brighten a little, “Are you feeling like something specific or –”
“Surprise me?”
“I can do that.”
He holds her gaze for a moment. There’s the faintest trace of a smile in his eyes, something gentle – tender. The tips of her fingers tingle with a strange kind of anticipation. Pia waits for the moment to snap, for all of this to be over, but it never comes. She feels frozen in this moment. Opposite her, Noah seems to be just as stuck.
“I’m – I’ll get food sorted out.” he says after a while, sounding a little dazed.
Pia nods absentmindedly.
She remains where she is for a moment longer, and when she eventually manages to shake off her trance, she still feels lightheaded.
Pia slinks off into the bedroom, desperately needing to escape Noah for just a brief moment. Her entire body buzzes with that awful feeling.
Why can’t she just shake it off?
Why can’t she just do this no feelings thing?
In theory, it should be so easy.
She doesn’t want a relationship, she doesn’t want romance, but all of this feels so awfully like her first moments with Marcus.
Noah has ordered enough food to feed five. It’s a spread of things – just to be sure. The cardboard and styrofoam boxes are spread out in front of them on the coffee table. The film flickers across the projector screen, but Pia can barely get herself to pay attention to it. Her mind is too occupied with the warmth that radiates off Noah.
“You need to try this.” he holds a chip out to her, it’s lathered in sauce and barely staying upright.
She lets him feed it to her, but with how sauce-drenched it is, some of it ends up in her chin. Noah immediately reaches out to swipe the sauce from her skin. In doing so his thumb brushes against her bottom lip. He jerks his hand away as if something zapped him.
“I’m gonna get a napkin.” he says quickly.
Noah’s up on his feet a second later and once again Pia remains stunned.
This all is going in a direction she hadn’t wanted, but deep down, she can’t bring herself to pull the emergency brake.
Three days later, Noah shows up again – unannounced this time. He doesn’t give a lot of room to debate his plan and before she knows it, Pia finds herself stuffed into the passenger seat of his car. They’re driving for a good thirty minutes, and Noah still hasn’t told her where he’s taking her.
Their first stop had been a supermarket, but that also hadn’t given her a good hint at what he had planned for the day.
He let her pick the music, and Pia uses the moment to subject Noah to her current favourite album.
Pinegroves’ latest — she’s been playing it on repeat for a few weeks now.
Noah taps his fingers against the steering wheel, having picked up on the rhythm of the song as quickly as she had expected from a songwriter.
The scenery breezes past them. Noah takes them up the hills into the canyon.
“I’m not going on a hike with you.” Pia says seriously.
Noah gives a laugh in response, “No hiking. Got it. Only ruins part of my plan.”
Noah pulls into a car park not long after that. Pia follows him to a bench on an outcropping.
“What are we doing here?”
“View’s great here.” He says as he stretches his legs out in front of him, “I got lost around here when we first moved out here. And I found this and sat here for hours. At least long enough for Nick to get worried. And now I come here when I need a break from the rest.”
“It’s nice.”
“No one really comes here. Except for hikers, but we don’t really ever cross paths.” He speaks the words into the distance, not looking at her, “It’s just nice to have a spot, you know?”
“I know.” Pia replies quietly, “When Marcus — when he was in hospital and I couldn’t sit in that room anymore because all of the noise the machines made became too much, I’d go and sit in the furthest corner of a nearby park. It was like everyone had forgotten that that corner existed.”
“I don’t want to imagine what that was like.”
“Terrible. Awful. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. His mother insisted that the machines stay running for as long as possible, even when there was basically no chance that he’d ever — I don’t blame her. But watching him just be — that was horrible. Some days I thought that I should just pull the plug and end it. Let him go in peace, you know? But I couldn’t do that to her.”
Noah reaches for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze, “You did what you could and what you thought was the right thing to do. It’s not like you could have magically fixed it.”
“Sometimes I wish that I could have.”
“That’s perfectly normal.”
“It’s been over a year and I’m still trying to fix something that I couldn’t have fixed back then.” She knows that she sounds pitiful.
Sitting in this pit isn’t doing her favours, she knows that. But leaving Marcus behind doesn’t feel right either.
“I don’t think anyone faults you for that. You need as much time as you need. If it takes you three more years then that’s okay too.”
She gives a curt laugh, “I feel like everyone’s moving on and I’m trailing behind.”
“You’re going at your own pace.”
“What if — what if I am taking too much time?”
“The right things will wait for you.”
The exchange happens so quickly that Pia forgets that he’s still holding her hand.
“I hate when you say smart things. It makes you harder to dislike.”
Noah gives another laugh, “I’m literally holding your hand, Desmond.”
He holds up their joined hands, turning them over and practically twisting her arm in doing so.
“Did you get a new tattoo?” he asks, pulling their hands closer to his face.
He inspects the little dagger that sits just above the knuckle of her ring finger. It’s still new and the skin around it is still healing. Pia only got it the day after her and Morgan went to see their show.
“It’s fitting.”
“How so?”
He hums, “In that it’s exactly like you. Tries to look intimidating, but actually is kinda cute.”
She feels her cheeks heat.
Pia wants to scold herself. She’s not a teenager. Blushing when someone calls her kinda cute feels a little too high-school crush for her.
“You wanna get a bite to eat? There’s a burger place around here that’s really good.”
The burgers are good. So is the view, but Pia can hardly focus on any of that. Her mind keeps circling around the conversation they’d had on that bench.
The right things will wait for you.
She’s been thinking about it a lot lately.
She has spent so much time denying herself a way forward, and now that someone offers to take it with her, she feels so hesitant. It’s scary. It’s not just about leaving a part of her life behind but starting something new is just as terrifying. It was scary with Marcus, and now it feels even scarier. She was younger when they met – not that she’s old now, but she’s seen more, done more, lost more.
Maybe she’s more scared of the idea of losing this again than she is of starting something new. They’re both somewhat public; if this goes bad, she’ll be the bad guy again – even if she was never the bad guy the first time around.
Out of the corner of her vision, she sees Noah’s hand creeping towards her plate, gearing up to snatch another chip from the stack. She smacks the top of his hand just as he reaches for one. He lets out a laugh when she still lets him take the chip.
“I thought you wouldn’t notice.” he says with this mouth still full, “You looked like you were off in a completely different world for a moment.”
“Just got stuck in a thought.”
He nods as if he doesn’t quite believe her.
Pia reaches across the table to snatch up one of his sweet potato fries in retaliation.
“Try the dip. It’s really good.” Noah pushes the little dish towards her.
This all is so awfully comfortable.
They spend the rest of their lunch with casual conversation. It feels as if they’ve done this for years. They share a dessert afterwards, and Pia realises that in trying to stop herself from falling for him, she’s only made things worse for herself. Because now all of those feelings that she has been shoving towards the back of her mind come flooding back in with a relentless speed and she doesn’t know if she can stop it – or if she even wants that.
Noah takes her to a few more stops that he insists are a must-sees. At her request, he takes her to a few record stores. He seems to be perfectly happy keeping her company while she rifles through the near endless rows of shelves and without even asking holds on to whatever she decides to pick out.
“You’re not looking?”
“I dunno – I’m not really a physical media guy.” he shrugs.
She wants to shake him a little, but maybe all he needs is someone to tell him where to start.
“Alright. Come one.” she wraps her hand around his, tugging him towards a different section, “What’s your favourite? Film, album, whatever.”
Noah thinks for a moment too long.
Something tells Pia that he hasn’t been asked about what he wants or likes in a while and suddenly she feels a little bad about making this entire day about herself.
“You could always just get something that looks good. Maybe find something new.” she suggests, hoping that it’ll do something.
He looks around the shelves for a moment. Pia watches him, flip through a few things. It’s slow-going at first, but eventually something catches his eye. The small glint quickly dims again — at least until he looks over at her. Pia can’t hide the smile forms on her face when he holds up the CD he’s plucked from the shelf.
She’s a little surprised that they have this stocked in the first place. She’d recognise the cover anywhere. She’d spent hours working on it, after all.
“I am not letting you buy one of my records.” she protests.
Noah gives a laugh, “What? Can I not support my friend? It’s a good album.”
“You have to find something else.”
“Nope. This is what I want.” He says defiantly.
Pia waits for him to stomp his foot like a toddler.
Noah ends up picking out a few more CDs, mostly classics, but he does follow her recommendations on a few occasions. Really, she just needs him to listen to Slowdive.
Just when she thinks that they’re heading back to the Airbnb, Noah tells her that he has a final stop for them. He pulls into what she soon realises is a drive-in theatre.
“Really?”
“Hey, you said that you’ve always wanted to go to one of these and they just reopened.” He holds up a hand in defence, “I don’t know if the movie they’re showing is good.”
Pia can’t hide her smile, not when he remembered this little thing she told him about weeks ago.
“A bad film can still be a good time.” she replies, now buzzing with excitement for this.
It suddenly makes a lot of sense that he had them stop at a supermarket earlier in the day.
The film is some kind of 80s romcom she’s never heard of. At the end of the day, the experience of this will be more important than the actual film.
Noah parks them towards the side of the lot. It’s still somewhat empty, so they have plenty of spots to choose from.
By the time Pia returns from her bathroom and get-drinks trip, Noah has ferried all of their snacks to the front of the car.
“The guy at the concession stand said that we have to tune the radio to this station.” she lets the flyer drop into his lap, “I’m not going to fiddle with your car.”
Soon enough, the film starts and Pia settles into her seat. When she chances a glimpse at Noah next to her, she finds him focused on the screen in front of them. She dips her hand into the bag of crackers between them, fishing out a couple.
Noah’s brow crinkles in what she assumes to be confusion.
“This is bad.” he says after a while, eyes still focused on the screen, “Where did he even get the letter from?”
“I wish I knew.” Pia replies, trying to hold back laughter, “None of this makes sense. Is this a sequel?”
Noah shakes his head, “Didn’t look like it. I’m sorry that this is such a – bust.”
She waves her hand dismissively, “You couldn’t know that they’d show this. I appreciate the effort, though. I didn’t think that you’d remember.”
He turns to look at her then, “Do I come across as that inattentive, Desmond?”
She can’t quite identify the look on his face.
“No – but, I don’t even remember I mentioned it.”
“Doesn’t mean that I can’t remember it, no?” there’s an odd glint in his eye now and Pia feels her chest warm once again, “You told me when I told you that we all went to that screening of Fellowship of the Ring. You said that you had tickets for an open air screening of all three movies that you never got to go to. I don’t remember if it was a drive-in thing or just open air, but I thought this would be close enough. Didn’t think that the film would be this shit, though.”
Pia feels a smile forcing its way onto her lips, even if the memory itself stings.
“It was a drive-in.”
Noah’s face becomes awfully serious then. It’s a look Pia hasn’t seen on him yet.
“I know that I’ll never be him and I don’t want to be that either. No one could ever replace a person like that. But maybe you can still give this a chance. I know – I know we said no feelings and all of that, but I don’t think I’m very good with that. I care a whole lot about you, and even if you don’t want this – not saying anything doesn’t feel right either. I’d be more than happy to just be your friend.”
He doesn’t try to hide the sting on his face when he says the word.
She’d tried so hard to push all of this away. If she’d been able to keep him at an arm’s length it would have been easier, but unfortunately for her, Noah had drawn her in like a moth to flame.
He’d pulled her into his gravitational field with such ease that she had missed the moment to cut the line entirely.
Maybe she should have known it from the beginning. These no feelings things never work out. She should have known that it would be either all or nothing. There’s no middle ground with feelings.
Pia knows that the longer she stays silent like this, the more awkward things will become. But making this step, saying that maybe they should try this, terrifies her. She feels petrified, frozen to the ground.
And then she feels it.
For the first time since the funeral, she feels as if he is with her again. Back then it had been a feeling of comfort and now – now it feels more like it’s okay to move on. A different kind of comfort, but comfort nevertheless.
It will never be the same. She’s different now, and Noah isn’t Marcus. She isn’t replacing.
This is something new.
Pia feels the tears brimming at her eyes.
It’s scary – mortifying, actually – but so was everything with Marcus in the beginning.
“We don’t have to talk this out now.” Noah says quietly, and Pia easily picks up on the defeat in his words.
“I want to try.” She says barely above a whisper.
Noah almost doesn’t seem to register what she said and he stops himself just as he’s about to say something.
“You — you do?”
She nods, unable to find the words again.
Noah looks so full of disbelief. She can see the words forming in his brain, but they don’t quite reach his lips.
Pia reaches across the centre console for his hand, and that seems to shake Noah up again.
“I really want to kiss you right now.” He says, still looking a little dazed.
“Maybe you should.”
It takes him a second to catch up. He leans in slowly, inching towards her as if they’ve never done this before. And when his lips do finally meet, it feels as if they are actually kissing for the very first time.
Pia is sure that this is the first time that they’ve kissed without doing anything else.
His hand finds its way to the side of her face, gently cradling her cheek in his palm. She leans in deeper, letting herself sink against him. Noah smiles against her lips, and the warmth that had previously settled in Pia’s chest spreads throughout the rest of her body. It is accompanied by a pleasant buzz. A gentle thrumming that vibrates through every fibre of her body. She doesn’t want to stop kissing him, even if the air in her lungs is starting to grow thin.
In the end, Noah is the first one to pull away.
He remains close to her, hand still warm against her cheek.
“I don’t know what to do now.” he says then, and the honesty in his words makes Pia smile.
“Could kiss me again?”
He surges forwards to press his lips to hers again.
“I wish we could just leave. I have no idea what’s happening with the movie anymore.”
Instead of giving him a response, Pia reaches for the stereo and switches the channel to the one that’ll play the music from his phone, “Solved.”
Noah chuckles, “I have to do more research next time.”
“Next time, huh?”
“Yeah, well – I can’t exactly let this be the one drive-in cinema date we go on.”
Date.
“I think it went quite good all things considered.”
In the corner of her vision, she can see his hand flex and relax nervously. Pia reaches out, placing hers on top of his. Noah lets her tangle their fingers together.
“The film isn’t that important.” she continues.
Noah turns their joined hands over.
Her hand looks so small compared to his. She likes how their tattoos look together.
“You wanna put on that album you made me buy?” Noah asks after a moment.
“I did not make you buy it.”
“Yes, you did.” he replies in mock protest, “You put a gun to my chest and said buy this or else.”
“I did not.” Pia replies, trying to contain her laughter.
Noah has given up on it entirely, “Maybe you didn’t say it. But I felt it.”
“Well, it’s not my fault that you have the most standard taste in music.”
He looks so terribly offended that she can’t help but laugh out loud.
“Oh, is that so?” he shakes his head, trying his hardest to look disappointed, “I can’t believe that this is our first fight already. We’ve lasted what? 20 minutes?”
Pia eventually puts the album on and while the film flickers across the screen they’re caught up in their own little world. So much so, that they almost miss the end of the film and just barely evade the ire of one of the stewards.
They’re on the second loop of the album by the time Noah pulls out of the drive-in again.
“I’ll drop you off at home?” Noah asks as if there are other options.
There is another option, but that would mean dealing with his roommates – his friends – and she gets the feeling that he’s not quite ready for that either.
The drive home feels different. A part of her hopes that they’ll be stuck in endless traffic so that she won’t have to say goodbye so soon. But for once L.A. traffic is nice to them.
Noah’s hand flexes on the steering wheel when he pulls into the driveway of the Airbnb.
“Do you want to come inside?” She asks quietly.
She doesn’t miss the flicker of a smile that hushes across Noah’s face.
“I’d like that.”
Noah follows her into the dark kitchen. He drops his keys on the counter as if that’s exactly where they belong.
He turns to her, his hand automatically finding its way towards her waist.
The conversation, the kiss, it all races around her head.
She doesn’t want to fight this, not when for once it feels right.
Pia lets him pull her in. Noah dips down briefly to kiss her. It’s soft, chaste — just a press of his lips against hers.
“I’ll be honest, I missed half of that movie.” He says, still so close to her.
“I think he got the girl in the end.”
“You think so?”
She hums in agreement, “Pretty sure he did.”
He steals another kiss from her.
“Bed?”
Pia overexaggerates an eye roll, “You really only want me for one thing.”
It takes Noah a second to catch on, “Oh yea because we’re just casually fucking. Nothing more.”
“Yep.”
“Absolutely nothing more.” He says between kisses.
“Just friends.”
He breaks then, letting his forehead rest against her shoulder as he laughs.
“I can’t keep this up.”
Pia reaches for his hand, “Come on then.”
She leads him through the house towards the bedroom. She heads straight for the bedside table instead of turning on the big light. She already feels laid bare enough, more light won’t help.
It all feels different now. There’s no rush when they undress, no pushing or pulling, no tearing at each other’s clothes. She’s uncovering a new part of him, a side that she hasn’t seen yet.
And she’s letting Noah see another part of her too. The guard isn’t down entirely, but for once Pia allows herself to be soft, to crumble entirely when brushes his fingers along her side.
She finds herself on top of him that night. Noah’s hands never leave her waist, he keeps her close, carefully guides her as she moves against him. She can’t tear her eyes away from him.
His lips are parted just so as he sighs her name. Pia swears that he’s never been prettier. She leans down, pressing a kiss to the side of his jaw.
“You’re so beautiful.” he says when she pulls away from him again, “God you’re so fucking beautiful.”
It feels like all air evacuates from her lungs at the same time then. Between the way he looks at her and how he touches her, Pia can’t hold it back any longer. She feels her head tipping backwards as her climax takes over her body. Noah follows a moment after her. His hand digs into her side almost painfully. She reaches for his hand again, anything to be closer to him, hold on to him tighter and keep him close.
Noah holds her afterwards.
It’s the first time they’ve done that too. Usually, they’d both try to separate as quickly as possible, but now Pia can’t bring herself to move further away from him than she absolutely has to.
“Can I tell you something?” Noah asks and she feels the vibrations of his words through his chest.
“Of course.”
“I tried so hard to be I dunno – cool – because I wanted to impress you so bad. The first time we get asked to be on a tour overseas and it’s this cool band that we love with this incredibly talented singer and all I wanted was for you to think that we’re on your level, I guess. I really thought that I fucked it up at some point, you know?”
“You almost did.” she replies with a smile, “Nick really saved your arse. He’s a good friend.”
“The best I have.”
They both fall silent for a moment after that.
For once, the silence doesn’t feel as if it’s about to overwhelm her. The constant static buzz in her mind has quieted to a low, manageable hum now.
Pia continues to blindly trace her fingers across his chest.
“Be patient with me, will you?” she barely dares to disturb the quiet, but she has to say it.
“Of course.” he catches her and presses a kiss to the back of it, “I want this to work. We’ll make it work.”
I don't usually post on weekends, besties, being that tumblr is dead over this period, but with the rampant popularity of this story plus the demand for this chapter, I thought, what the hell! I'll make you all happy and drop it a day early! Huge love to every single one of you connecting with the story <3
Summary: As tour manager for Sleep Token, you're naturally close with the lads whom you're employed to look after. Then, there's your closeness with Vessel, the lines between manager and artist seeming to blur into something more meaningful... if you'll let it.
Words: 2,850
Warnings: This chapter is pure smut. All of it. Minors DNI!
Previous chapters - Part One Part Two Part Three
When you enter the bedroom again, he immediately ceases checking his phone and places it back in his bag, his interest firmly falling upon you. You catch his gaze, holding him there upon the precipice of anticipation, moving to where he sits on the end of the bed, letting the towel swathing your body fall before climbing astride him.
“You’re... ahh, wearing too many clothes,” you purr, your breath hitching mid-sentence when his mouth closes over your nipple, fingers teasing in a soft tickle down your back.
“I’ll get to that,” he murmurs, blowing cool air over the furled peak. “Eventually.” He flicks the bud with his tongue, just once, his eyes a dark chocolate haze of gathering desire.
You’re turned then, your back meeting the bed as his long, hard body blankets yours, scattering kisses over your skin as his hands slowly begin to tour your curves.
“You’re so incredibly beautiful.” he breathes, tongue circling your other nipple, your muscles quaking when his teeth close in a soft bite. Those words make you soar, coupled with the swirls of his tongue over your sternum, licking and kissing a path over your tummy, descending gradually, lips dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses over your hip.
His eyes find yours, a dark blaze of lust twinkling before his focus shifts as he parts your thighs, splaying you before him. To see you in such fine detail has his pupils blown wide, the scent of you ensnaring his senses.
His hands continue to tour your skin, goose pimples rising, read like braille by his long, tapered fingers. The message your body conveys to him is unmistakable, a kiss pressed hot upon your inner thigh, his thumb teasing through your folds and circling your clit, his mouth replacing it a moment later.
Your back arches, feeling that first drag of wet heat contacting with you, his hands grasping your thighs as the tip of his tongue begins to circle slowly over your bundle. Oh, Christ... he knows exactly what he’s doing. Some men go at it much too hard, some can’t even find it, but not him. His breath is hot against your dewy folds, each lick sending little skitters fizzing up your spine, the bliss of his mouth already making your blood glint with it.
A whimper wells in your throat to feel the contact firm, writhing against his mouth, his lips wrapping your clit in a soft suck that intensifies gradually, the tip of his tongue beating rapidly over your little bud. Faster... faster... holy fuck... and faster still, until he has you crying out, tingles suffusing through your core.
Your hands fist in his hair, legs brushing against the sides of his head, Ves letting go of that firm suck with a soft slurp, his tongue moving to push against your glossy opening. His lips curve into a pleased smirk to hear your moans, tongue moving to lay long, firm, flat licks over your heat, making your body virtually ripple each time he hits your clit, chuckling a little at your reactions.
“Hmm, is someone enjoying herself?”
“Oh, like you wouldn’t fucking believe!”
More chuckling, Ves sucking on your clit again, sending your cries echoing through the room, his fingers stroking firmly over your labia, making you gasp and keen into the contact further. “Don’t want me to stop then, no?”
“You bloody dare!” you grit through your giggles.
“Nah,” he mumbles, “not when you taste this gorgeous. Don’t expect to see my face for a while, darlin’.”
You don’t, either, kept in continuous rapture by his enthralling talents, sucked at and licked upon as if you’re ripe summer fruit. It only intensifies further when he slides two fingers into your heat, stroking with perfect precision against the tender, soaked velvet of your walls, tongue beating rapidly over your clit.
God, how the man knows a woman’s body.
Your slippery walls begin to contract around his fingers, his tongue eagerly coaxing pure, unfiltered ecstasy from you, your soft moans loudening. It causes his cock to throb hot, hearing your ascension, biting your lip as your back arches, being penetrated quicker by hard snaps of his fingers. You can barely form thought, it feels so amazing, so utterly incredible, tight tingles spreading through you as a pulsing heat begins to blaze.
You are the garden in full bloom, and he is the sunlight pouring down as you clench and feel it explode white hot, your muscles in spasm as he sucks it from you, fingers working hard to further push beams of neon right up your spine.
The fingers within you gentle, his mouth scattering kisses back up to your lips, smiling down at you. He looks like he has stars glinting his eyes from the low light of the room, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that makes your heart somersault.
“You’re too bloody good,” you pant, and he laughs softly, resting his forehead to yours.
“Thanks, even though I think I’m a bit out of practice,” he confesses, fingers still gently rotating inside you. “It’s been a while.”
Your eyes widen a little. “So, if this is you rusty, what the fucking hell are you like when you aren’t?”
He shrugs, biting the corner of his lip. “I guess you’re going to find out, aren’t you?”
“Hopefully with you wearing way less clothes,” you quip, turning him onto his back, Ves reluctantly slipping his hand from within you. “If I have to take it upon myself to make that happen, I will.” you then add, lifting his top and placing kisses against the taut muscles of his abs. Oh, his skin. Petal soft, blemish free, you discover after lifting his top and pulling it over his head, finally viewing him in the finer detail you’ve craved.
God, to see him up close undressed, your mouth descending to swipe a long, slow lick up that gorgeous chest. His eyes fall shut, a little quake rippling through his muscles as your hand lowers, brushing over the very hard bulge at the front of his sweats. After you remove them and see what you’re dealing with, your mouth immediately drops open.
“Now that,” you purr, pointing to his cock, “is very impressive.”
“Mm,” he hums, “yeah. No false modesty here. I know I’m a big boy.”
He truly is, thick and long, perhaps the most gorgeous cock you’ve seen in a long time, too. Not that you happen to see many of them, living a life more or less permanently on the road. Shifting so you’re straddling his thighs, you fold forward, peppering kisses over all the taut muscles you find, hand curling around his shaft and slowly beginning to caress him.
You lower further, mouth joining your hand, feeling his thighs tense as your mouth descends right to the base of his cock, your free hand gliding in tease over his chest. Gently teasing his foreskin back, you suck upon the head of him, pre-cum bathing your tongue. The noise it pulls from his throat is a pure, deep orchestra of sin, his eyes virtually swivelling back in their sockets.
Alternating between beating your tongue rapidly over the very tip of his cock and sucking on the head, you have him panting hard, his body starting to quake. Wetting him sufficiently, you let your hand take over, shifting back up to kiss him, those kisses all smoky sin and keen longing.
It winds slow and hot, like the gathering of a summer storm, the might of thunder and cascade of rain still far off. He wraps an arm around you, his fingers pattering your spine, short nails leaving raspberry marks of lust in their wake. You get lost in his eyes, watching the lust dart through his pupils as you swirl your thumb over the head of his thick cock.
“Fucking lord, woman!”
“Good?” you whisper on a little chuckle, kissing him again. Oh, he might be magnificent at foreplay, but so are you, too.
“My brain’s gone static.” Yes, that’s a good enough reply for you, kissing him again before moving your mouth to his neck, remembering his earlier comment, the deep baritone of his groan vibrating against your lips. His words certainly ring true, for the longer your lips remain at his neck, moving from side to side, the harder his cock becomes in your grasp, his hips beginning to sway against the clutch of your fingers, groans welling deep in his chest.
You almost send him stratospheric at moving the head of him to your heat, rubbing the very tip of his hardness over your clit as your hand continues to pump his shaft, feeling his body quiver almost helplessly beneath yours.
“Fuck.” he breathes, taking your face in his hands and kissing you blindingly, all the need and passion in him wound tight, loving the feel of what you’re doing so much, it’s sending him utterly mindless. He shifts, sending you onto your back, hands closing around your wrists and pinning you there beneath him with a wicked smirk, kissing you again with such force, it knocks you sideways.
The need almost drives him to sink into you in that moment, but he reins it in, pulling away to grasp his sweats and retrieve the condoms from the pocket, throwing three onto the bedside table and rolling the fourth down his cock. Turning back to you, he grabs your leg at the ankle, hauling you across the bed and making you giggle.
“Caveman,” you joke, chuckling against his lips as he leans to offer kisses soaked in honeyed embers.
“I like to think I’m a little more refined. Sometimes,” he laughs, settling between your thighs.
He looks down at you, his smile soft but something there in his eyes far from it, hands stroking up from your neck and through your hair, his lips lavishing affection at the side of your neck as you feel him nudging your opening, pushing into you fluidly. To feel him part your walls, filling you, it sends bolts of pure brilliance flaying over your nerves, the heat of it skittering through you as his body begins to rock back and forth.
His hand gently cradles the back of your head, gazing at you, kissing you as he strokes your cheek, the moment so tender and so hot, you feel butterflies cascading throughout your entire body. You’ve never been with a man who maintains that kind of eye contact before, and you thought such might be uncomfortable, but it’s the farthest thing from it.
The moment, the man, those eyes... it’s utter bliss. It’s the most intimate thing you’ve ever experienced, feeling his cock filling and emptying you, watching the way his gaze never falters, not until he feels your walls clutch around him.
He groans, all smoke and salt, eyes closing tightly as he buries his mouth against your neck, your hands trawling over his arms and down his back. He shifts, head dipping to suck your nipples in turn, happy to lose himself to the absolute ecstasy radiating through his entire being, his body humming low with the pleasure of it, a little tilt of his hips sending him deeper, your wail making his blood spark as he strokes your lips with his thumb.
You suck on it, Ves moving to sit back on his heels, watching the way your body responds to each deep, slow punch of his cock. You’re like a rare rose bathed in stardust to him, such beauty almost too bewitching to be real.
His fingers rain trails over your skin, letting you keep sucking on his thumb, his forefinger stroking beneath your chin. It’s incredible, to feel so attended to, his other hand slipping to where you’re fused, using the pad of his thumb to rub pure ecstasy at your clit.
He slows even further then, penetrating you with shallower thrusts, only to dagger back into you sharply, having you wailing as the pleasure of it glimmers over your nerves. Repeating it, he smirks, winking at you as he watches you falling apart around his cock, pulling his thumb from your mouth and replacing it with his tongue.
Those kisses? Scorching, his groans gone to gravel, spilling from his mouth to yours like wine, thumb rubbing a little faster over your bud.
How is he real?
A primal instinct takes over anything that borders on contained, his need to fuck you senseless dragging him headlong into mindlessness, your nails tearing down his back, his teeth sharp at your throat in retaliation.
He fills you again and again in a greedy, pounding rhythm, your mouth dropped open, crying out with every pant. His eyes fall to watch the sight of his cock assailing your insides, glistening with the gloss of your arousal in the dim light.
Your body lurches with every determined arrowing of his hips against yours, his beautiful cock sheathed in you deep, your fluttering little cunt glimmering as he drives skitters of caustic pleasure through you. His groans rend the air, deep and soaked in lust, the little twitches around his shaft making the coil within him tighten sharply, a blade of ecstasy cutting through him right to his very marrow.
Your shuddering body, jerking as each muscle cords and twitches beneath your blazing hot skin is a feast for his eyes, pouring pleasure into you with boundless determination. He folds at the waist, leaning to offer kisses steeped in filthy indulgence, pulling you up from the bed and holding your body tightly to his as he bounces you on his cock.
Utter sexual delirium fogs your brain, nails dragging over his shoulders, your head thrown back as you wail at the blinding, boundless pleasure. You think you always knew it, though, that a man who pours so much passion into everything he loves would be nothing short of an incredible lover.
The silken, slick throb of your walls in spasm on his cock begin to pull it from him, a crest so acerbic he can barely hang onto it, the wild coursing of release, chest heaving as he pants raggedly and grits cusses. Nirvana is upon you, too, the glimmers streaking through you like a hail of comets, pressed to him so tightly your clit grinds deliciously against his pubic bone.
That friction sends you further into the relentless abyss, until it’s dragging you under, your hands clutching one another as it leaves you both shattered to mere fragments of yourselves in the wake of it, gasping, sweaty, completely come undone.
“I can’t see,” he pants, and you turn to look at him, stroking his lashes with your thumbs.
“Your eyes are still closed, Bambers.”
He chuckles, a flash of brilliant white teeth splitting his mouth. “I still don’t think I’d be able to if I opened them.” He then does, blinking, kissing you. “Haven’t come that hard in a long fucking time. Bloody hell.”
You move from astride him, a little wobbly, collapsing down on your back. After disposing of the condom, he joins you, pulling you into his arms. With your head rested on his chest and his hands stroking over you lovingly, you realise you’ve never felt so attended to by a man before. What a welcome change he makes from the rest.
“Tired?” he asks when you attempt to stifle a yawn.
“Little bit, but not so much that I don’t want you to do that to me all over again at some point tonight,” you reply, lifting your head to press a kiss just beneath his defined jaw.
He chuckles low and dirty. “It won’t just be once, duchess.”
It isn’t either. God, how that man shows off some incredible stamina throughout the early hours of the morning, until you finally both come to rest curled around one another. You’ve only been asleep for around four hours when his stirring wakes you, opening your eyes to see him dressing.
“Shit,” he tuts, leaning to kiss your forehead. “Sorry. I was trying not to wake you.”
“You going down to get breakfast?” you mutter, your voice a little thick with sleep.
“Nah, I was going to get room service when I get back, so you don’t have to get up. I need to go out, though. According to my phone, there’s a Tesco Express about a ten-minute walk from here, and I intend on buying every single box of condoms they have on the shelves.”
You arch an eyebrow, beginning to smile. “So, that’s my day off decided for me, then? I’m going to get shagged ragged some more?”
“Yeah, man,” he chirps, chuckling a little before pulling his hoodie over his head. He then leans to you again, dropping a kiss upon your lips. “Won’t be long, beautiful.”
In just over twenty-five minutes, he returns to you, both ordering your choices of food and eating before resuming your place upon the bed. As far as days off go, spending most of it with a gorgeous man pressed against you is a pretty blissful way to go about it.
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