#''i never forget a woman's words~'' man shut UP | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

entitled-fangirl · 1 month ago

Text

How to liven a marriage.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

SMUT SMUT SMUT SO MUCH SMUT

Summary: Cregan and the reader's marriage is dull, purely for duty. When the reader finds a book in the Winterfell library depicting just how pleasureful a man and wife's sex life can be, she takes it upon herself to introduce such a thing.

Warnings: p in v, fingering, making out, washing bruises (from a battle), riding, studying the scientific parts of a vagina, foreplay, etc

A/n: based on a reallllly good ask. I think this is my longest fic and I have no regrets. Except that I haven't proofread it yet. That's a later problem.

Masterlist

.......................................................

She felt her stomach drop to her feet when she saw the drawings in the book. Her cheeks became a flushed red, completely embarrassed to have stumbled on something so… private. She shut the book with a thud and cringed at the loud sound that echoed in the library.

She heaved the book back onto the shelf and brushed off her skirt, as if trying to completely brush off the experience itself.

Once she had pulled herself together, she decided she'd had enough of the library. Enough scavenging and prodding at the books. Especially one like that.

Be even so, she felt herself stop halfway to the door.

She was a married woman. The act of sex itself is no crime to a married woman. Nor studying various positions of it.

It felt dirty to do so. Very wrong. Like her old Septa would appear and scold her ardently over it.

But her Septa wasn't there.

No one was there.

Just her and the book.

…

Cregan was sure to arrive within the fortnight.

She wished to be happy about all of it. The return of her husband was good. It had been a tough few weeks to rule without him. After all, she was still new to the North.

But she couldn't find it in her.

Cregan was harsh and cold. Never happy, never caring. Duty and honor. How the words were stamped across their foreheads.

They had married out of duty, and that is all they had of one another. They were awkward and lacked the eagerness to spend time with one another.

She had heard stories of great marriages of love that whisked away all problems and only left a man, a wife, and their love. That was not this marriage.

So the return of Cregan meant the return of a duty that she had started to dislike: Their attempts to conceive. She knew once she gave him a few sons, they would be rid of the need to conceive, but that day was far away.

And Cregan surely drew closer to Winterfell.

…

Perhaps the book- Forget about the book, she told herself. A proud man like him would never agree to look at such a thing.

Her fingers grazed over one of the drawings as she read the contents next to it. It was confusing to try and follow such a strange topic, but still she tried.

Women may experience intense pleasure of their own. It is most easy to start at the clitoris. It is located above the vaginal opening. A gentle circled rubbed at the area w

"What are you reading, my lady?"

She slammed the book shut with a thud and a gasp, her head snapping to the side to see Winterfell's maester standing with a curious expression. She held a hand over her chest. "Do not sneak up on a woman."

"Forgive me, my lady. I thought myself being rather loud in my steps." He gave her a chuckle. "It seems I was wrong."

Her shock was turning to embarrassment as she tried to slide the book further behind her back on the table that she leaned again. "You're forgiven, just go."

"Ah, I've come for a reason," he countered. "News of Lord Stark's return is at hand. He should be here by sunset tomorrow, gods willing."

She nodded, trying desperately to get him back out. "Right. How fortunate. Thank you. You may go."

"My lady, if I may," he continued. "You look rather flushed. Are you feeling ill?"

"NO!" She cringed at her outburst. "No, I'm quite well, thank you."

The maester gave her a strange look. He clearly didn't believe her, but he wasn't going to push it. "Right. If you need anything, only say the word." He dipped his head and hurried off, closing the door behind him.

Her entire body relaxed at his leaving. She ran a hand over her face in an attempt to physically remove the heat from her cheeks.

She had been so close to getting caught with this.

Too close.

When she was sure there weren't footsteps in the corridor, she turned back, opening the book once more and reading further.

It gave her an idea.

She grabbed the book, carrying it to Cregan's desk and setting the heavy thing down. Her fingers sprawled over the page once again, careful to not continue the tear that went down the side. She slowly sat down as she continued to read.

A gentle circled rubbed at the area will increase pleasure during the act of sex.

She looked over her shoulder to check one last time before her hands began to bring her skirt up. The fabric was quickly pooled around her stomach and her legs were exposed. Her right hand shook as it brushed the small piece of fabric still guarding her most intimate parts from the cold air.

But the most important part of a female's genitalia to understand is the vagina. Located between the clitoris and the anus lies the vagina. Though different in looks, all women's perform quite alike.

Her breath caught as she gained her last bit of bravery, and her fingers pushed the fabric to the side. The cold air made her hiss, as did the coldness to her fingertips.

The labia majora protects the vagina from foreign particles, the labia minora after that.

Her fingers explore the very area, the cold digits skimping past the skin until she knew her middle finger grazed the inside of her vagina.

She should have known the territory well. It was her own body and still she found herself unsure of where everything laid.

And above all else, she felt filthy for it. This was for her husband, not her own gain. Her own pleasure has nothing to do with making an heir. But she wouldn't stop now.

Her eyes grazed over the page again as she pushed her middle finger deep inside her. It caught once or twice, the lack of moisture causing a small discomfort. But once her second knuckle disappeared into her, she recalled the feeling.

She remembered this now: the feeling of something inside of her. Though, this was one finger and nowhere near as intruding as her husband's cock. And only then did she begin to understand how a man could fall apart from this feeling. Her walls seemed to not want her finger to part from her. She pumped it in and out a few times before daring to turn the page with her left hand.

…

Cregan returned as promised, with the sun beginning to set behind him- though it was covered with the thick clouds of the North.

Standing on the stairs to the castle was his wife. He had long awaited to return home. To continue his duties to her? No. But home meant warmth and small comforts and he would take that every day he could.

He dismounted his horse and took slow steps to her. He forced a small smile, more for the sake of everyone else than the two of them. "My lady."

She gave a polite nod of her head when he grew close. "You've returned safely."

"I have." His gaze wandered around the area in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

"I… I've missed you," she muttered.

His eyes looked to her and his brows pulled together. "Have you?"

"Well…" She looked down at her shoes. Was that even true? She didn't miss him. Not really. Well, she did in a way. Waiting to talk about the book. "Well, I found myself wanting to be with you as soon as I could." She swallowed and looked up at him. "Would that be considered missing you?"

" 'Being with me,' " he repeated as he thought it over. He squinted in contemplation before trying to clarify. "As in speaking with me or… other things?"

Her face flushed and her eyes looked right back down to the ground.

He sighed and placed his hands on his hips. His tongue ran along his teeth before clicking as he came to a conclusion in his mind. "An hour. My chambers."

It was a soft command. He never ordered her around. And if she chose to voice an opinion ever, she knew he'd consider it. He was a forceful man, but not like that.

But when she made no motion against it, he chuckled. One of his hands came up to her chin and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "An hour. I'll even wash for you first." He pressed an emotionless kiss to her lips and stepped away, grabbing his horse's reins and beginning to speak to one of the other men.

An hour. That felt like too long to sit with her thoughts. But she'd manage. Somehow.

…

An hour later, she opened the door with her heart beating wildly.

But upon seeing what laid inside, it died down.

Cregan laid in the large copper tub, his head laid back against the rim as he bathed: fast asleep.

She leaned on the door and studied him for a while. How easily the rough man became just as soft as anyone else. He seemed… at peace for once. That large crease that always laid between his brows was gone as he softly snored.

It's hard to make an heir like this. But he'd journeyed so far, and something like sex seemed dumb when he needed rest this badly.

She stepped in and closed the door behind her, careful not to make a heavy sound. Her steps were quiet and careful, quickly guiding her to him and now she kneeled at his side.

Her fingers dipped into the water. It was beginning to grow cold.

And judging by the light pruning of his fingers, he'd been there for a while.

Cregan often took his baths alone. He always refused the help of servants, even his wife, rather wishing to have this as his alone time.

She grabbed the cloth that lay over the side- unused, judging by its dryness, and dipped it in, beginning to lightly trail it over his chest.

She took the time to study every scar across him. There were many and she had no doubt that he'd won each battle they belonged to. She had seen him sparring- she knew how formidable she was with a sword in his hand.

The water ran down his chest and dripped into the tub again. The sounds echoed in his room. Each seemed loud compared to the utter silence of the air.

She moved to the other side of the tub and cleaned him, now noticing the deep cut on his shoulder. Deep purple and green bruising laid around it. It looked quite painful. When she ran the cloth over it, he hissed and his eyes finally opened.

He took in the room, a sharp gaze that would make most men fearful. Once they set on her and he completely came to, they softened slightly. She saw the way they flickered from her eyes to the cloth in her hand. She waited for him to inevitably shoo her from the room.

"Has it been an hour?" He quietly asked. "I apologize. How rude of me." He pulled the rag from her hand. "And I've made you feel as if you have to clean me to make up for time lost that I now owe you. Well, sit and I will hurriedly finish, wife."

His words and movements caught her off guard. She was unsure what to say.

"Go on," he motioned with a hand. "Sit and wait for me. Like you so patiently have."

"No," she finally countered. "Y- your shoulder. It looks painful. Let me."

Her hand grabbed for the rag, brushing his. The two seemingly froze in the moment. Cregan's deep eyes stared up at hers, as if taking her in for the first time. Finally, he shook his head. "It won't take long."

"I know. So, let me," she argued again.

He looked down to their hands, their fingers touching just barely. Slowly, his grip loosened and she was able to slip the cloth from him.

Silently, she took the acceptance and began to wash him again. She took extra care around the bruises now. When the cloth ran over them, the fingers of her other hand followed and paused. "Does it hurt?" She softly asked.

Cregan's eyes were glued to the water now, his fingers dipping in and out and watching the droplets fall back into the tub. "They always do."

"It didn't go well, I take it?"

He held water in his palm, cupped carefully as he studied it. "It went very well."

"This is very well?"

He tilted his hand and let the water escape down his arm with a sigh. His head tilted and he finally looked at her with a firm gaze. "The Wall is harsh. Even on its best days."

Having him stare at her so deeply made her chest flutter and she suddenly imagined how he might look at her while doing things from the book in the library.

She dared a thought, bringing a hand up to his cheek. He watched her carefully. To think that she did this of affection was a ridiculous one. He must have something on his face.

But when her palm rested there, on his cheek, he began to think differently. It brought a strange feeling to his stomach.

Her hand rested there for a while and the two were unmoving. But when she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, he pulled his head away.

Her fingers pulled to her palm as she accepted the rejection and blinked away all thoughts. "Lean forward," she gently commanded.

He raised no fuss, pulling himself forward with a small groan. No doubt his muscles protested with each movement.

She focused now, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his back flexed and contracted each time he moved.

The cloth ran across his back and few times, and he eventually sighed at the feeling. Her hand somehow applied just enough pressure to his aching back. And when she noticed and focused just above his shoulder blades, he let out an audible groan.

"Tense, Lord Stark?" She almost teased.

He didn't catch the teasing part though, too relaxed in this state. He only nodded and prayed that she'd continue.

She abandoned the cloth and began to fully massage his shoulders with her hands. It put the powerful man in a relaxed trance, and not one he cared to come out of anytime soon.

"I've been thinking," she spoke. "Well, do you think that… " she hesitated. "That maybe… maybe there's more to conceiving a child than… what we've been doing?"

There was a silence. It was suffocating and she was sure that she'd said the wrong thing. She would have swore he hadn't heard her, but the sudden tension in his back said so.

Finally, his head turned just a bit, revealing half of his face to her and he barely looked over his shoulder. "I think," he drew out, "you've been reading."

Oh. So he knew of the book.

She pulled away, as if burned and began to wring her hands as her nerves took over. "It was there… and… And I only thought… maybe-"

He laid back again the tub again to look at her. "Is that something you want?" He calmly asked.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to speak an answer.

"Wife," he voiced a little sharper. "I asked you a question."

She forced herself to take a deep breath. "Yes."

The corner of his lips tugged up and leaned his head back against the rim as before, closing his eyes. "So be it."

"W-" she stopped herself before creating any problems she didn't need. He'd agreed, and that was that.

With her confused presence, he opened his eyes and lulled his head to the side. "I'll apologize again for taking our time." His hand came out of the water to her, mimicking the way she had cupped his cheek early. "But after the feast?" His thumb ran over her lips, catching and pulling down her bottom lip. "You are mine to have."

…

She remembered something in the book about this. Foreplay, she recalled. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog and seeing the way it would drool in anticipation.

Like quick glances, small touches, things that would signal to a partner that you wished to engage in sexual activities.

Doing such things during a feast felt scandalous. But it filled her heart with a fire that she knew was traveling between her legs as well.

She had started it, brushing her hand with his as they ate. Then wiped at a bit of wine that had dripped down his chin. Then even daring to brush a hand across this thigh.

But that was earlier. Now, across the room from each other, she took other tactics.

When she wasn't looking at whoever she spoke to, she looked at Cregan. Her eyes would wander from his face to his feet, a long gaze that took its time, and enjoyed every moment of it. And he was quick to notice it. When she was caught and his eyes were on her, she quickly looked away in mock embarrassment.

It worked wonderfully.

The rest of the evening, she felt his eyes on her and when she'd look back, he'd have a look that said he was ready to devore her whole. She felt her core almost drip with the adrenaline rushing through her.

Now, to act on it.

She caught his gaze again, keeping it and taking slow steps to the high table, hoping he'd get the hint to follow her.

And perceptive he was.

She stood in front of her chair and reached down to her cup when his chest warmed her back. His hand reached over hers and seized her chalice as his voice spoke lowly in her ear. "Bid them goodnight. We are retiring."

She craned her neck to try to look at him. "We are the hosts-"

"-two minutes, and I'll carry you myself if I must."

His warmth disappeared, and he set her cup back down to the table.

A wide grin came to her lips.

…

The moment the door to his chamber closed, he pushed her against the wall. His lips chased her with a heat like she was the air he needed to breathe. His hands pulled at the fabric on her shoulders, so eager to undress and ravish her.

Her hands did the same, pulling at the strings of her doublet. But it was hard to do so through Cregan's heavy hands tugging her this way and that.

Soon enough, cold air rose goosebumps across her skin. Cregan paused, only for a moment, letting his eyes wander over her. And for the first time, lust was evident in his pupils.

His lips consumed hers once more, his tongue delving past her teeth to hurriedly explore. His hands and hers both pulled at his clothes.

With his chest bare, he deemed that enough for now. He picked her up and took her to the bed, dropping them both to it and holding himself above her with one hand. His lips moved to her neck now, sucking at the skin. And her small hitch of breath encouraged him.

Soon he pulled away and stood at the foot of the bed, pulling down his trousers and throwing off his boots. His eyes never strayed from her body. How beautiful she was. Now he really noticed.

His hands found her ankles. He pulled her down to the edge of the bed.

She began to notice how he'd began to go back into their routine from before.

He stepped between her legs and propped her hips up a bit, lining his cock with her cunt and beginning to force his way in.

Her jaw clenched and her nose inhaled sharply. She was never used to that first push.

Her mind wandered to the night before with the book. She had went on to get three fingers in and without pain. She knew it was possible to avoid this if they went slowly. And the pleasure she had felt yesterday was inexplainable.

"Cr-Cregan," she panted out.

His eyes snapped up to hers. They never spoke during this. There was never anything to talk about.

"I want to… to do it differently," she managed out.

He pulled out from her, holding her legs steady as he gave her a questioning gaze. "What did you read in that thing?" He finally asked.

"I want… I want to be… above," she tried to explain. "You lay down and I… I will do the work."

He was hesitant, understandably so, but he was hard enough now that he didn't quite care how it happened. He just needed a release.

So he laid himself on the bed, his eyes almost bulging out with the way she straddled him so confidently.

She brushed against his manhood, and he couldn't take it anymore. His hands gripped her hips tightly as he tried to take back control. But her own hands pulled his away. She gave him a look that warned him to let her try it.

She sunk down onto him this time. The pressure was there, but it was different. More bearable this time. And at her own pace, she took her time to adjust to him until his pelvis met hers.

Cregan's eyes were closed in bliss, and she took that as a sign to continue. She pulled her hips up and sunk back down, and a whine left her mouth without realizing it. It felt… good. Sex with Cregan felt good.

His hands trailed back up to her hips, more gentle this time. He guided her hips in a back and forth motion and a sinful moan escaped from him.

She continued it as he wanted, leaning down to brace herself on his chest. With this new motion, she could find a little pressure to her clit, and it brought a whole new wave of pleasure.

The motions quickened as the two began to explore the idea that maybe… just maybe… they liked this.

If their moans had any indication.

She felt a tightening in her lower stomach, something she remembered from yesterday. She wondered if Cregan could feel it from inside.

And he could. It created a resistance that had him almost drooling with how well it felt. How good she made him feel.

"Let me fill you," he voiced in a beg. It hadn't intended to come out that way, but it did. Cregan was begging.

"I w~" the words caught in her throat. "I want you to fill me," she managed. "Give me a child, Cre~"

The words died altogether on her lips as her orgasm washed over her. The one from her fingers yesterday was nothing compared to this. She felt it throughout her body like spring that had finally snapped.

Cregan's eyes were open and wide at the feeling of her cunt around him now, spasming with the aftermath of her orgasm. It felt amazing, and he had cursed himself for never discovering it before.

And now that he had, he wouldn't forget it.

Her cunt milked him for all he had, and he happily gave it to her, releasing himself with a heavy groan.

The two slumped on the bed, Cregan's arms wrapped around his wife's frame. Neither were eager to move from their positions, not even as he softened inside of her or the liquid ran down her thighs.

Before, Cregan had held her up and made her keep it in.

Now? He didn't care. He could always just fill her again.

He'd do anything to see the way her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over again.

"Thank you," she breathed against his neck.

There was a comfortable silence from him. Then finally, "I'll have that book read within the fortnight."

..........................................

Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar@kidd3ath @yujyujj@misswynters@cosmosnkaz@sithapprentice@kaniromi@lovemesomevesey@its-jackie-bb@thorins-queen-of-erebor@kingdomzeldaquest@nyxbranwenn@callsignwidow@a1lexh-blog@alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867@helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner

#fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x y/n #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan stark smut #cregan stark fanfic #hotd cregan #house of the dragon imagines #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #drew drools over cregan stark

1K notes · View notes

n0vazsq · 10 days ago

Text

Sweetest Pie | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x singer!reader

summary . . . Mclaren invites you to come watch the Miami Grand Prix with them after the release of your song. However, some fans notice you being there is more than just a guest appearance

request . . . no!!

word count . . . N/A

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . dua lipa my beloved

alexavia yaps . . . on the smau grind gng woohoo!! did you spot the refrences i made?? i love love love love dua so ofc i had to do a smau with her!!! its kinda shitty and rushed but i wont be uploading ANYTHING until wed so thats why i kinda rushed it

yourusername

liked by theestallion, madisonbeer, lando and 3.6M others

yourusername i'll drive and you just lay back - sweetest pie out in all music streaming apps right now! Tagged: theestallion

click to view all comments

username1 IM SO HYPEDDDDDDDDD

username2 i just know this is going to HIT

username3 from the teaser it sounds good

username4 IM SO GLAD I GOT THE DELUXE VER

username5 gorgeous

username6 mothered so hard a f1 driver appeared in her likes

username7 my GOD shes stunning

username8 LANDO???

username9 i cant wait to listen to this 24/7 holy shit

theestallion loved working with you so much!

yourusername thank you!! i loved working with you too!

username10 how does it feel to be a goddess y/n

username11 the music video.

username12 had me on my KNEES

username13 screaming crying throwing up

username14 im giggling at the lyrics

username15 i need more ASAP

username16 this song live will hit so hard

username17 I KNOWWWWW

username18 man im itching to get this on

username19 im never shutting about this for like another 6 weeks

username20 watch her disappear for like 2 more years just to drop another banger

username21 stop why is lando in the likes

username22 he has a crushhhh

username23 MEOW

username24 y/n im single btw hmu

username25 as if

username26 she doesnt interact with us commoners

username27 i need to know who shes singing about

username28 oh to be in a relationship with her

madisonbeer already have this playing on repeat

yourusername i love you

madisonbeer love you more

username29 WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF

username30 DIED. DECEASED. GONE. ROTTING.

mclaren

liked by yourusername, lando, oscar_piastri and 6.8M others

mclaren surprise guest for the miami gp! welcome the famous singer y/n! Tagged: yourusername

click to view all comments

yourusername would've loved to be in orange but it isn't my colour </3

lando don't worry you look beautiful in everything

This reply has been deleted

mclaren don't worry y/n! you still looked beautiful!

username31 LANDO!?!??!?!

username32 SIR.

username33 okay so im not schizo and lando did comment hitting on y/n

username34 living the dream

username35 they better blast her song or im suing

username36 sigh i wish i was her

username37 another celebrity who doesn't know anything about f1

username38 they should just give these tickets to people who actually want them

username39 wasnt y/n a f1 fan since she was a kid???

username40 she was idk what these idiots are yapping about

username41 MOTHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

username42 woah

username43 can she like marry me idk

username44 can't wait for the race tomorrow ahhhhhhhh

username45 imagine if lando wins

username46 she's his good luck charm then

username47 sigh i want to be as pretty as her

username48 STUNNING.

username49 ate up everyone frrrr

username50 LANDO BAG HER UPPPP

username51 he better before we do

username52 frr omg

username53 the next it wag

username54 when i sleep i see her in my dreams

username55 y/n has 4 albums and 4 singles, lando's number is 4. hes winning the miami gp

username56 y/n dont forget us when you become the no.1 artist

username57 shes my kind of woman

username58 id let her hit me with lando's car

username59 i'd let lando hit me with y/n's car

username60 queen

(click on pics to view the full tweet !)

lando

liked by oscar_piastri, yourusername, mclaren and 8.2M others

lando my good luck charm

comments on this post have been closed

yourusername has posted two stories !

caption 1: HE DID IT!!!!! // caption 2: celebrating the golden boy

yourusername

liked by lando, oscar_piastri, lilyzneimer and 5.4M others

yourusername he called me his good luck charm and i wrote a song about him Tagged: lando

click to view all comments

username71 WHAT?!?!??!?!?!

username72 IT COUPLE

username73 ew

username74 like why him???

username75 ATEEEEE

username76 WTF IM IN LOVEEEE

username77 PARACOSICL REKARIJSHP

username78 MOMMY AND DADDY

username79 wtf

username80 i-

username81 MY SHAYLA

username82 my jaw dropped to the floor

username83 the twitter detectives KNEW

username84 frrrrrr

username85 if they ever decide to buy a pet im like right here

madisonbeer congrats to you two!

yourusername thank you!!

username86 who tf is this i came from landos insta

username87 idk but shes ugly

username88 i dont like her

username89 i dont know if i want y/n or lando to be with me

username90 screaming crying throwing up

username91 giggling blushing and kicking my feet

username92 i need a fanfic on this ASAP

username93 sTOP THEYRE SO CUTEEe

username94 y/n holding his trophy im on the FLOOR

username95 my parents

username96 no bc i feel like im intruding

username97 SHES GORGEOUS

username98 shes everything and hes just ken

username99 this fits PERFECTLY bc she acted in the barbie movie

username100 lando could do so much better ew

username101 my QUEEN

username102 ok so like when is the wedding

username103 i just know that carlos is squealing and giggling bc hes y/ns biggest fan fr

username104 madre e padre

username105 PRETTYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

username106 so like wheres lando's comment???

username107 hes saving a finale grand stopping act

username108 ROMEO AND JULIET

username109 i would be sobbing in TEARS if i heard y/n's voice in the radio

username110 NOW I NEED THAT TO HAPPEN STFU

lando i love you so much my beautiful girl

yourusername i love you more my stunning boy

lando thats impossible because i love you more than life

carlossainz55 he nearly cried when he saw you enter the mclaren hospitality

lando SHUT UP YOU MUPPET

yourusername you did??

lando you looked so gorgeous i couldn't help it

lando fuck you carlos

yourusername LANDO STOP ILYSMMM

lando I LOVE YOU MORE MY BELOVED GORGEOUS QUEEN

rebeccad_ why cant carlos be like this?

carlossainz55 ??

yourusername dont worry rebecca, ill save you

rebeccad_ my princess in shining armour

lando shes MY princess

yourusername love you lan

lando love you more

username111 straight out of a fucking romance novel

username112 if my bf isnt like him i do NOT want his ass

username113 if i was y/n you'd need an army to get me off lando

username114 if i was lando you'd need an army to get me off Y/N

username115 legit the most gorgeous couple

username116 BEST WAGGGGG

username117 oh i am itching for y/n grand prix apperances

username118 im calling it everytime she attens lando wins

username119 LANDO ONEWIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

username120 the queen and her knight

lando

liked by oscar_piastri, yourusername, mclaren and 9M others

lando i might take you home with this, i might give you all of it, come get your dose of the sweetest pie. oh, this the ride of your life, hold on 'cause, baby, i might, i might just give you a bite of the sweetest pie Tagged: yourusername

click to view all comments

username130 sTOP

username131 im deceased

username132 HE USED HER LYRICS ABOUT HIM TO TALK ABoUT heR oH LANDO NORRIS THE MAN YOU ARE!??!??!?!!?

username133 how did he bag her wtf

username134 Y/N MY QUEEN

username135 the most gorgeous gyal

username136 if i was lando id die idk how id handle being blinded by her beauty everyday

username137 PLSSSS he really said 'fuck you' to the haters and posted them making out

username138 like did i get a subscription or....?

username139 ICONIC.

username140 its been 7 weeks & 3 days since i manifested them getting together

username141 if they break up i dont believe in love

username142 FACE CARD IS LETHAL

username143 ik their kids' genetics will be INSANE

username144 SOBBING i love them sm

username145 if glazing them every single second was a crime id be 89 feet under

username146 GOD HAS FAVOURITES !!!

username147 if she doesnt make a grand prix apperance im throwing hands

username148 counting down the days tilll we get them together in the paddock

username149 MY PRINCESS

username150 if i had to be an f1 driver to get with y/n i would started karting when i was 2

username151 the aura from them is insane

username152 welcome to my world

username153 get you a man who deletes hate comments for you

username154 where can i buy a lando

username155 or a y/n

username156 MODERN. DAY. ROMEO. AND. JULIET.

username157 they need to get married ASAP

yourusername i love you so so so so much

lando forever and always

yourusername until the end

lando my favourite singer

yourusername my favourite driver

lando who wrote my favourite ever song

yourusername who won my favourite ever race

lando who wrote it for me

yourusername who dedicated it to me

lando i love you more than anything in this entire universe my princess

yourusername i love you more than you'd ever know, pretty boy

lando forever

yourusername and always

username158 FUCKING FUCK OFF

username159 ok thats it im jumpiing off a cliff

username160 ive never seen something more romantic and its in a fucking instagram comment section

username161 im actually crying

username162 i love them so much i hope nothing ever happens to them

username163 my heart is paining i cant take this anymore

username164 you know the love is real when you dedicate your biggest achievements to each other

yourusername do you love sweetest pie?

lando i think i love it more than my win

yourusername maybe thats a bit excessive?

lando nothing is ever excessive with you

yourusername i love you

lando i love you too

username165 no i refuse bye i cant

username166 HES A SIMP BUT I FUCKING LOVE IT

username167 the a in lando starts for a lovesick fool for y/n

username168 THE WAY HE STARES AT HER>>>>>

username169 get you a man like lando

username170 hes setting the bar so high its on another altitude

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

550 notes · View notes

auroralwriting · 5 months ago

Text

home

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer gets shot, and you don't know who you need to forgive: him, or yourself.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: no use of y/n, spencer gets shot, season 9, blood and violence, criminal minds type violence, negative self thoughts, angsty but it turns fluffy, spencer's drug addiction is discussed, best friends to lovers

The ringing in your ears overwhelmed you. Shots were firing all around, and you didn't know what to do. You'd never been in a shoot-out before, and you felt panicked.

Spencer was beside you, hidden behind the car door as he fired some shots. You watched as an officer in front of you was shot.

You knew it was the worst idea to go out there, but the man could be alive. Your legs moved before you realized it, and you were attempting to drag the officer's body. Spencer and Alex both yelled for you, running out to grab you. Right as Alex grabbed your arm, Spencer pushed you closer to her, which was very out of character for him.

It was then you heard another bullet rip through skin.

The sound that came from Spencer was one you couldn't quite describe, but could never forget. Immediately, you noticed the blood seeping from his neck of all places.

"Spencer!" Your voice was broken and loud as you yelled, grabbing onto him. Derek made a jump, helping you and Alex move him behind the car again.

"No, no," Alex muttered, putting pressure on Spencer's neck. "Look at me, okay? Don't close your eyes,"

You sat behind her, shaking your head as tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "Oh my god, oh my god," You repeated, shock flooding your system.

"Ethan, look at me! Ethan!"

For a moment, you didn't realize who Blake was talking to, until you saw Spencer's shut eyes. "Spencer, Spencer wake up." You crawled over, shaking his shoulder. "Please, I need you, I need you with me forever. You're my best-- Alex, why is there so much blood?"

You helped Alex stop the bleeding, but it was so much. After what felt like years, the paramedics arrived. You and Alex fought to ride with him, and somehow, they let both of you. The woman held you to her side as she urged you to look away, but the sight of Spencer's dying body never left your eyes. Were you even blinking? Breathing? It didn't feel like it.

Spencer was rushed to surgery immediately. You didn't even get to say goodbye when you and Alex were sent to the waiting room. The two of you didn't speak for a while, until an hour or so later.

"Who's Ethan?"

Alex turned to you, "Ethan was my son."

"He passed?" You asked.

"When he was nine. I begged him to look at me." Alex bit her lip as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

You reached for her hand, which she took. "I don't blame you." You admitted, looking over to her with teary eyes. "Do what your heart tells you to, Alex. Don't let us determine what you're happy doing."

Alex gave your hand a squeeze as the silence took over once more as you waited. Penelope sent word that she was on her way, and you hoped it would be soon. Her cheerful demeanor was what you needed.

Finally, the doctor came to tell you Spencer had narrowly avoided death. You felt a breath release, one you didn't know you were holding. The man lead you both to Spencer's room.

Your first thought was about how peaceful he looked. Then, the panic set in when you saw the IV in his arm. "What medications will he be given?" You quickly asked before the doctor could leave the room.

The doctor listed a couple of medications when one caught your attention, "...Gabapentin, Hydromorphone--"

"Stop, what are those? Opioids?" You questioned.

"Uh, yes. Both are in the dilaudid family--"

You shook your head, "He can't have those. He had a drug addiction to dilaudid. Give him something else."

The doctor gave you a hesitant look, "Agent, those are what we recommend--"

"I don't give a damn, what else can you give him?" You demanded, crossing your arms.

"Uh, Morphine would be the most basic and cover the most ground." The doctor sheepishly responded.

With an exasperated look, you said, "Then write that down. That's what he'll be getting. Monitor the doses, too. I don't want to risk a relapse. If you have any questions, I'm his second emergency contact. First is Aaron Hotchner, he can attest--"

"It's really alright, miss." The doctor said, slowly stepping back. "We took note. I'll see to it that it is followed."

The doctor left and Alex chuckled, "You scared him."

"Good," You replied, sitting down next to Spencer. Alex took the other side as you carefully took his hand. "It's my fault, you know."

Alex's brows furrowed, "What?"

"It's my fault he got shot." You repeated, pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I was to his right. He pushed me out of the way. My head is just where his shoulder is, and he bent down to push me. It was meant to be a headshot, Alex."

Softly, Alex grabbed your hand across Spencer's body. "Sweetheart, that doesn't make it your fault. You couldn't have controlled Spencer's actions."

With a sniffle, you tearfully looked up to Alex. "Alex, please be with him when he wakes up. He's my best friend, and I failed him. I- I just can't."

Alex wanted to argue you, to tell you that you were exactly what Spencer needed when he woke up, but she also took into account your needs, too. "Alright," she sighed. "But please, come back after to see him, alright?"

"Yeah," You nodded, biting your lip.

Remembering the moment Spencer got shot was like it was from another lifetime, even if it was just from a few mere hours ago. You remembered exactly what you did, but looking back, it felt like you replayed every moment you'd ever had with the genius. Every lingering touch, every time he made your heart swirl. You would've never gotten to kiss him, or tell him you liked him. It was too much for your heart to bare.

Penelope showed up later on, setting up some Doctor Who action figures for Spencer to see when he woke up. The sight of it made you sick. Knowing he would need to see something good when he opened his eyes was too much, too soon. You excused yourself, leaving the room in a hurry as you left the hospital.

For a while, you sat in the black SUV provided by the police. You just needed space, air to breathe. After some calming breaths, you decided to get Spencer some flowers to cheer up his dull room.

The florist was only fifteen minutes away, so that's where you headed. When you walked in, the woman behind the counter noticed who you were. Small towns talk.

"I don't know anything," She said with a sigh, "You'll find better luck--" Her voice paused when she saw the look in your eyes. "You ain't here to question me, are you?"

You cleared your throat, "My uh, partner-- teammate, he got shot. I wanted to just get him flowers, I guess. Maybe this is too weird," You'd muttered the last part to yourself, turning around to leave.

"No! No, wait." The woman called as you turned back around. "You like this teammate of yours?"

You nodded, "Yeah."

"You like him more than that?" She raised a brow.

With a hot face, you nodded. "I do."

"I always know. I got just the thing for you, sweetie. Just give me five minutes to prepare it." The woman rushed into the back, and you hesitantly took a seat in a small chair. After those five minutes, she came back out with a gorgeous pink floral arrangement. "Put this together especially for you."

Reaching for your wallet, you mustered the best smile you could. "Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?"

"No charge, sweetie." The woman held her hand up in denial. "You work a hard job. I'm a mother, I know the look of love and heartbreak on a young woman's face. You tell him how you feel, alright? That's the charge."

Your eyes watered as you took the flowers from her. "Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind."

"Says the girl getting the boy she loves flowers after he got hurt." The lady smiled back.

After driving back to the hospital, you hit the fourth floor button and took the grueling trip up. You realized you'd left your phone in the room. Hopefully nothing too important happened.

As you walked up to Spencer's room, you heard his voice, but it was filled with panic. "Garcia, he has a gun!"

Your body moved before your brain as you ran in, grabbing the first person you didn't know. The male nurse, who you assumed was not a nurse, threw you back against the wall as you took note of the gun in the back of his belt. You reached for it, but felt the bottom of it crash into your forehead. He'd gotten it before you had. As you fell to the floor, you heard Penelope shout for help when you saw Spencer's bag, the one that had his gun.

Right as the unsub turned around, you grabbed it and shot him right in the chest. He fell to the floor as you realized you'd been clutching the flowers. Laying down, you let them fall out of your grasp as Derek appeared, grabbing the unsub.

"Oh, my ray of sunshine!" Penelope yelled as she helped you up "You're bleeding! Let's get you a nurse- a real one."

As she pulled you out of the room, you'd just caught a glance at Spencer who was watching you leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath of pain as the nurse finished stitching up your forehead. A good sized gash was left from the bottom of the gun, and your shoulder was already developing a bruise on the blade. “Sweets, are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope carefully asked, squeezing your hand as the nurse grabbed the rest of her tools and left you both alone in the small waiting area.

“Yeah, Pen. I’ll be okay.” You nodded. Playing with your fingers, you cleared your throat. “How’s Spencer?”

“He’s okay. Up and talking, the Morphine is doing him well. He’s not in too much pain.” Penelope replied, giving your hand another squeeze. “He was thankful it was Morphine.”

With a nod, you continued, “Was Alex with him when he woke up?”

“We both were,” Penelope bit her lip, “but he still asked for you.”

“I just couldn’t be there,” A sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed a hand over your cheek. “It should’ve—”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. It shouldn’t have been anybody. This is not your fault, I won’t let you believe it.”

A throb emitted from your forehead, “When do we leave? I just want to go home.”

“Spencer’s being airlifted there. We leave right when he does, in about thirty minutes. JJ packed all your things and brought them to the jet for you.” Penelope softly smiled. You made a mental note to thank JJ for doing that for you. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, right?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Pen.” You shook your head as much as the pain would allow. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Penelope nodded softly, taking your hand and guiding you to the car to go to the jet.

Two days later, and you were still at home in your apartment. Your forehead only got worst with a huge bruise around the stitches. That wasn’t to mention the pain radiating from your left shoulder, either. You felt so bad for not seeing Spencer while he was awake in the hospital, but even now, the thought made you sick to your stomach. Seeing him in pain, in the hospital gown, the beeping of the machines, it was all just too much to bear. It was worse knowing that should’ve been you.

You were sat in your sofa, a half-melted bag of peas on your forehead when you heard the doorbell ring. Slowly, you got up off the couch-- much to your dismay-- and approached the door, reaching for the knob and twisting it.

Spencer standing outside the door, holding a similar flower arrangement to the one you'd gotten him, was not what you expected.

"Reid," You softly said, his last name feeling odd on your tongue. He was never Reid to you. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were doing. Morgan, uh, told me you got knocked around pretty good." Spencer eyed your forehead, making you feel like a tiny specimen under a microscope. You allowed your hair to fall over it, covering the large, disgusting mark.

Biting your lip, you nodded. "I'm alright." After a moment, you came to your senses, "Uh, come on in. Sorry if it's messy."

"I think I'll live," Spencer chuckled, making your blood run cold at his words. You lead him inside, and even if he'd been in your apartment a numerous amount of times, it felt different now.

Spencer sat on the other end of your sofa. You pressed yourself to the arm, giving plenty of space between the both of you. "Are you in pain?"

"No, not really." Spencer hummed as he pondered your question. "But swallowing sometimes feels different."

"Ah," You casually replied as you went to pick at your nails. You stopped yourself-- don't give Spencer any of your tells. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I wish you would've came to see me sooner." Spencer admitted. "I missed you. I thought you would've been there when I woke up."

Guilt crept into your gut as you replied, "I was out getting you flowers."

"For three hours?"

Spencer's comment clocked you. "Spencer," You rubbed your neck, head slinging down to stare at your lap. "I couldn't be there."

"Why?" Spencer breathlessly asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

He felt so alone when he opened his eyes and you weren't there. Sure, Alex and Penelope both were, but he was searching for you the whole time. You were his rock, you had been for the last three years. Sure, at first he took a while to warm up to you. Two months, twenty-three days, seventeen hours, and sixteen minutes, to be precise. The moment you both connected, however, it was like you and Spencer were attached at the hip. You had always been there for him. Why weren't you there for him now? It tore down Spencer to know you weren't there, but he was also concerned for your well-being as well.

"That shot was meant for me, Spencer." Your voice was cold as you spoke, a small quiver when you said it was for yourself. "We both know that would've been a headshot."

"You're mad that I saved your life?" Spencer didn't want to become angry, but he did feel frustrated at your lack of understanding.

You huffed, standing up quickly, "I'm mad that you hurt yourself for me, Spencer! You almost died, what would I have done if you died?"

"Says you," Spencer retorted, a small look of bewilderment on his face. "I couldn't live with myself if you died."

The air was thick in the room as you paced while Spencer watched. "Oh, so getting yourself shot was the answer. You scared Alex half to death, and I've never seen Derek cry before this! Don't even mention JJ going dead silent on us."

"Is this about them, or is this about us?" Spencer questioned, crossing his arms.

"This is about-- agh!" As you threw your arms out in distress, pain radiated through your shoulder blade. Your face scrunched in pain as Spencer quickly jolted to your side.

He softly took your arm, "Hey, hey. Let's just sit down, okay? Do you need more ice? Or, a better ice pack?" Spencer helped you sit down, and he grabbed your ankles to pop them up on the small ottoman in front of the couch.

"Better one would be nice," you muttered. "M' still mad at you."

"That's okay," Spencer's voice became more distant as he walked into your kitchen. "I guess I'd be mad, too. If I was in your situation, I mean."

You hummed, "Damn right."

Spencer chuckled as he made his way back into the living room. He gently pushed your hair out of your face, cringing at the huge bruise. You held onto the ice bag as he helped you sit forward. He could see the bruise that made its way up from your shoulder blade. It fell just above the hemline of your shirt, and the mere size made him sigh softly. "He really got you, huh?"

"He was Derek sized," you chuckled bitterly. "Plus, I was trying to save your flowers."

"Well, the vase was broken, but I kept the flowers." Spencer softly laughed beside you.

Your eyes twinkled as you looked to him, "You did?"

"Of course I did," Spencer nodded, "It was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Wow," Your tone was joking as you continued, "That's a really low bar. Gotta raise it, somehow."

Spencer softly took your hand in his. Every time he touched you, it reminded you of how much he trusted and cared for you; so much so that he allowed physical intimacy with you.

"I couldn't see you like that," You whispered, just loud enough for Spencer to hear. "It hurt me so much, to know I couldn't help you more. I-I couldn't- I-"

Shushes softly spewed from Spencer's mouth. "Hey, it's okay." He soothed, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm not mad at you. I was just sad you weren't there, but I understand."

"I can't live without you, Spencer Reid." You admitted, locking eyes with him.

Spencer softly spoke your name, and you noticed how his eyes flicked from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes. "I can't live without you, either." Spencer echoed, another hand softly meeting your cheek. "Please tell me if I'm reading this wrong."

"You're not," you whispered. "promise."

You both sat there for a moment, reeling in each other's presences, your life forces. Finally, the tension got to be too strong. You leaned yourself closer to Spencer, ghosting your lips over his slightly-chapped ones. You gave him a moment to back out, to tell you that you read it wrong--

and he kissed you.

It wasn't a hard, fiery kiss. It was one that was soft, sweet, like a shining body of water, or the sound of laughter. His lips molded into yours like a missing puzzle piece. Spencer's hands moved to hold your face so strongly, yet so gentle like he was afraid to drop one of Rossi's expensive china pieces.

As you pulled back, Spencer's breath softly hit your face, a peppermint smell softly brushing your lips. "Is that why you were so upset?" Spencer breathlessly asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I think so."

"You think?" Spencer half-smiled.

"I think so." You pondered for a moment. "Wanna prove me right?"

Spencer chuckled, pushing his nose to nose your own. "More than anything."

Your lips collided again, but you pulled back with confusion. “How did you know I liked you?”

“Pink flowers,” Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “They’re known for symbolizing crushes, romantic feelings. Your whole arrangement was all pink tulips, roses, carnations.” You eyed Spencer’s for you— it was all pink. “I guess your florist knew better than you did.”

You chuckled, “I guess she did. I like yours, too.” Spencer’s eyes fell to his bouquet and he blushed. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now, kiss me again you sweet genius boy.”

Spencer smiled, happily leaning in for another kiss.

It was then you realized why you were so upset before; you couldn't lose your home.

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #bau team #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x y/n

949 notes · View notes

goldenroutledge · 2 months ago

Text

love is a broken door

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

summary: fluff. in which broken doors don’t stand a chance against your boyfriend.

warning(s): hurt comfort, reader gets a bruise, some insecurities from carlos

“Damnit! Not again.” You groan, catching the attention of your boyfriend in the next room. It was no surprise that he was standing in front of you in a matter of seconds, before you could even open your eyes after tensing up from the pain throbbing in your arm.

“All good?” Carlos questions, concern clear in his expression and his tone of voice. “What happened?”

“Yes, it’s just this stupid door again.”

His eyes widen, drifting to where you clutched your arm with your other hand as you lean back against the bathroom counter. Out of instinct, he all but lunges closer towards you to take a closer look at the bruise that’s forming.

He hesitates before touching it, until you give him a consenting nod to which he runs his fingers over your swollen skin ever so gently. Carlos may have been a tough guy by trade, but he always regards you with the utmost tender loving care.

“What did the door do? How did this happen?”

“It’s alive or something, I swear. Every time I open this door it never stays open, it sways to about halfway shut. I’ve been forgetting, so when I turn around, I accidentally run into it.”

Carlos frowns, his beautiful brown eyes meeting yours with a plea. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve fixed it for you.”

You sigh, rubbing your arm soothingly. “It’s okay, babe. I know you’re busy and I don’t want to bother you with little things.”

“You’re never bothering me, amor. No problem of yours is little, I want to help you.” You kiss his lips reassuringly, hoping that his concerns will fade away.

“It’s not a big deal. In the meantime I’ll just have to watch where I’m going, no worries.”

“No, worries!” Carlos fires back, taking your hands in his before staring you in the eyes. He wants– no, needs you– to know he’s sincere about this. “What kind of man would I be if I let my woman stand in harm’s way, hm?” You giggle, surprised at how serious he’s taking this. You don’t miss the small smile he gives you in return.

“You mean stand in the door’s way? Get it, because it’s a doorway?” His now deadpan expression causes you to crack up even further, he’s clearly unamused with your jokes. “The door is not to blame for my lack of spatial awareness, honey. I promise you, I’m fine and unharmed.”

“Whatever you say, amor.” Carlos surrenders, eyeing you suspiciously. He welcomes another kiss from you before you leave the house, off to run the errands you were originally on your way to do before running into that stubborn bathroom door.

Of course he trusts your word, and he certainly trusts your capability to fix whatever needs fixing at home. But he can’t shake the nagging feeling in his gut that feels an awful lot like guilt.

He loves his career, and your support of him even more, except the part where he has to miss out on the little things. The ordinary, mundane things that happen in your life that he won’t get to know about or experience with you. The little things you won’t bother to tell him because you think he has more important things going on.

Another part of him feels silly for taking it as seriously as he is, but he also knows that the door represents only the surface of the issue that’s really bothering him. Surely he can tell by the way his stomach is turning at the thought of not being around for you as often as he should be. He knows you don’t hold it against him. But he also knows you two don’t have the most settled of lives either. When he overhears your best friend rave to you about the latest thing her boyfriend did for her, he wonders if you’re longing for the same stability.

He wonders what you say about him when it’s your turn to share, no matter how extravagant the gifts or the vacations or the experiences are that you two have shared together. He wonders if that’s really enough.

Carlos takes one good look at the door that’s taunting his insecurities. It makes a creaking sound as it swings halfway shut after he opens it, almost hitting his own shoulder as it did yours moments prior.

–

When you return home it’s quiet, and to your surprise the lights are off in the kitchen. Usually around this time when Carlos isn’t traveling, he’ll be in there perfecting his latest recipe, letting you have first dibs on tasting the food before he shows it off to his family and friends.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-song, to which you don’t hear a response. His car was in the garage, so he had to be here. Maybe he opted for a quick nap after his workout?

You quietly tip-toe up the stairs hoping that if he is asleep, you didn’t just wake him up. When you enter your bedroom, it’s a relief to see light shining from the doorway that connects your en-suite.

And if you weren’t surprised at the sight before you, you would’ve been entirely turned on by it. There stood your boyfriend, focused as ever with a drill in one hand and the door held upright with the other. The veins of his arms were especially prominent and he bit his lip in concentration.

“Carlos?”

His eyes glance towards you, startling him, nearly causing him to drop the door that was only partially attached to its hinges. He lets out a breathy laugh, clutching his heart to emphasize the shock he’s in, so engrossed in his project that he didn’t even hear you enter. “Mi amor, you scared me. When did you get home?”

��I got home a while ago.” You muse, walking into the bathroom to see him up close. “But I wouldn’t mind admiring you for a little bit longer.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking devilishly as your hands trace the muscles of his body over the shirt he’s wearing. “You like what you see?”

“Had I known you look so sexy fixing doors I might’ve just started breaking them.” You make it a point to let your eyes roam before making eye contact with him again. “And it’s not too late, you know. It’s never too late.”

“Before you start on that rampage, can I at least finish fixing this one first?”

“As long as I can watch.” You tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

“Be my guest, amor.” Carlos whispers in your ear, giving you a soft kiss on the cheek.

You hop up on the counter, swinging your legs with delight. He focuses once again, inspecting the lines on his beam level to make sure that his drilling will be accurate.

His dark hair is messy and his forehead shines with the sheenest layer of sweat. You can’t help but marvel at how good he looks in the bathroom lighting. So good, that you really do start to consider breaking doors in the house if it means you can see him like this all the time.

Your heart warms at the fact that he’s doing this just for you. This isn't the Carlos Sainz that’s working tirelessly to make his team or his fans proud of him, just you. At the end of the day, that’s all he needs.

He finishes securing the last couple screws before stepping back, nodding his head as he examines his work. He looks your way to see if you’re paying attention, and sure enough you are. He opens the door all the way, and watches you light up when it actually stays put where it’s supposed to.

“See, mi amor? Good as new.” He strides towards where you’re sitting on the counter. Carlos runs his thumb across your bruised shoulder before pressing soft kisses to the swollen skin. “You’ll never have this again.” His lips trail in a circle of kisses around your shoulder and then up your neck, stopping just below your ear.

Butterflies erupt inside your body and your heart warms for the man before you. “Thank you, my love. You’re always looking out for me.”

He shrugs, giving you a soft smile. “I try.”

Your dreamy stare falters slightly, sensing a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You always do, there’s no doubt about it.”

It’s his turn to feel the butterflies erupt in place of the uneasiness that’s still lingering from earlier. He’s amazed at how with just one look from you, he’s reassured that you’re meant to be together. “I just want to be there for you like you deserve, I hope you know that I’d give you the world if I could.”

“Carlos…” You murmur, taking his hands in yours. “As far as I’m concerned, when we’re together, the world doesn’t even exist.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But I know I’m away a lot of the time and it’s not easy for either of us. It’s not what you signed up for.”

“I signed up to love you, no matter where we are in the world. The distance is just a small part of that, always has been. And if we’re apart or not, nothing will stop me from cherishing our life together. I’m thinking of the big picture, when I can tell our grandkids that their abuelo found time to fix a broken door between racing around the world 24 weekends a year.”

Carlos smiles at your words, almost getting lost in the thought of you two growing old together, imagining the family that you two will create together someday. He’s happy to know that your dreams look alike. “Hopefully they’ll be impressed.”

“Trust me, they will be.” Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands cling to your hips in response. “Most people in your position would’ve just hired someone to fix it, but you personally made sure I won’t have to worry about it anymore. Every time that I don’t run into the door, I’ll have you to thank instead.”

He leans forward, kissing you with a familiar passion that never fails to catch you off guard. “You’ll always have me, mi amor.”

You kiss him once again, showing him the same affection in return. Your eyes find each other and you can’t help but smile at the comfort that consumes you. “You’ll always have me, too.”

💌: i didn’t know how to end this lol. reblogs are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading :)

742 notes · View notes

ceilidho · 11 months ago

Text

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 6) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

And they say if it sways, you have to cut it off at the root.

You repeat that to yourself when you catch the way you glance out the kitchen window again, surreptitiously watching John. It’s hard to pull your eyes away. He walks over to the well to fetch water for you to do the dishes, the chore you’d elected to take when he offered you the choice between that and feeding the horses. It’s a fair compromise since you balk at the thought of getting anywhere near either of those beasts.

Watching him bend over the well to lower the bucket down, his muscled shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and suspenders drawing tight against his back, makes you bite your lip. Then scowl. Then pull the curtain shut to block out the view.

You have to cut any gentleness off at the root.

When he comes back, you step to the side without a word to let him pour the water into the wash basin, hot water from the teakettle and lye soap making the water already in the pan sudsy. In a sense, it’s not any different from anything you’ve done back home; the same two pans for washing and scalding, the same cake of soap, and the same dish towel to dry the dishes off at the end. The only difference is the man that pours the cool water into the basin to make it more comfortable for your hands.

“I’ll be out back,” he tells you, before grabbing you around the waist and pulling you in close to press a close-mouthed kiss to the side of your head. You only scrunch your nose a little. “When you’re done, come get me. Got business in town.”

“Why do you need me to come with you?” you ask, lips cresting into a pout without a thought. You’d never considered yourself a bellyacher, but it’s almost second nature around John. “I can…I can stay and clean the house.”

“You saying I keep a messy home?” John asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You look pointedly down at the dirt he tracked into the kitchen after fetching the bucket of water from the well. “It could do with a spit shine.”

That gets a laugh out of him, a bellow from deep in his belly. It shakes you to your bones.

“Darling, I’ll be honest with you,” he says, turning you to face him before folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t trust you not to bolt like a runaway horse, and you’ll only wind up putting yourself in danger if you try to make a run for it out here.”

That expression makes your stomach twist. “Good to know you think of your wife as some scared filly.”

“You talk a whole lot for a woman who’s been over my knee. Do we need to repeat that?”

When his tone goes stern, you lose the wedging piece of candor keeping you upright. Eyes widen and then narrow. He’s been patient despite your loose tongue, but when that patience slips, you can see the steel underneath his gentle exterior. It’s the true root of him.

You clam up under his stare, sullen and begrudging. Smooth your dress down to have something to do with your hands. You’ve forgotten your place again. Side-stepped it out of intimacy or misplaced trust or naivety or forgetting, again, for the umpteenth time, that the world is not a place for women that open their mouths. So you keep it shut, trap every festering word behind your teeth.

He must not like something he sees painted on your face because his brows draw closer together, frustration brewing anew in his eyes. The longer you stay quiet, the more irritated he grows, his nostrils flaring wide.

“See that you come get me as soon as everything’s squared away in here,” John bites out, pointing a single, blunt finger at you. “Else I’ll come get you myself.”

And we wouldn’t want that, you think, surly. You hope it swims across your eyes. Blooms on your face. Perhaps it does.

The lines around his mouth and eyes grow more defined when he smiles. His whole mustache moves with his smile, every part of his face expressing his satisfaction. It’s beyond infuriating. He taps you on the nose with his knuckle before leaving out the backdoor, not sparing you a backward glance. You nearly shake with indignation.

It’s hard not to watch him out in the paddock while drying the dishes though, not with him set against the gilded sun. You inch the curtain slightly open, just enough of a gap to peer through. The Stetson shadows his face when he tilts his head up towards the sky, the hard edge of his jaw the only thing that meets your gaze. It’s not the first time you’ve seen a man out in the fields or pastures, but most of those have been at a distance, removed. Glimpsed briefly through the window while your train barreled on past acres of farmland.

John cycles through the morning tasks of guiding the horses into the paddock by a lead fixed to their halter, replenishing the food trough, and fetching more water from the well to fill the water trough. His horses are striking in the sheer size of them; muscled shoulders and legs, and well-padded flanks. Most of the horses you’ve seen out west haven’t seemed nearly as well-fed, many whittled down to rib and hip bone.

It says something about him, but you’re not ready to confront exactly what. You turn your attention back to the dishes, scrubbing the last of the dried butter and eggs at the bottom of the pan. It takes a little extra grit, but cleaning is a familiar chore—it’s one you’ve done all your life, what got you into this mess in the first place.

You don’t like what you find when you finally venture out of the house to track him down.

“I’m not getting on that thing.”

You put your veritable foot down with that, arms straight and stiff by your sides, more out of worry than annoyance. You do also give a little stomp for good measure, but you’ll chalk that up to reflexes should John inquire.

He doesn’t. Just stares down at you with unimpressed green eyes that haunt your days and nights now. Tells you without telling you that you’ll get on that horse, willing or not.

It’s not for a lack of beauty that you can’t quite shake the nervousness they elicit in you. Buttercup, the one that John saddled up and now waits patiently to be mounted, keeps her head low as if sensing your disquiet, curiosity glimmering in her coal black eyes. Not even the animal curiosity of is this a friend or foe, but the curiosity that comes with pure trust, almost intelligible that way.

John runs his hand down her smooth, buttery flank. “Did you enjoy yesterday’s walk?”

“I didn’t hate it.” Truth be told, you’d hardly been of a mind to notice it at all. Though your legs still ache from the walk back to John’s house, the walk itself had not seemed especially grueling in the moment. The mind can put aside quite a bit when it has something else to focus on.

“Well, I’m not too keen to repeat it.” He leaves it at that, tightening a strap on Buttercup’s saddle in such a purposeful way that your shoulders tense.

“I could meet you there,” you say, a touch desperately. Your stomach turns when you think about hoisting yourself up onto Buttercup’s saddle. It doesn’t seem possible. It’s not something you’ve ever done or ever considered doing. You remember horror stories of stableboys back home trampled under their hooves and stomped to death, kicks so powerful that they could break a fully grown man’s ribs or cave in his face.

“My wife isn’t gonna wander into town by her lonesome like some vagrant,” John says disdainfully, almost scoffing. Insulted by the whole idea. “And you’re sure as hell not staying here alone, darlin’.”

“Well, figure something else out because I am not getting up on that thin—” You cut off on a yelp when he circles around you and abruptly lifts you up. Your head rushes at the sudden motion, legs flailing beneath you.

“Quit squirmin’ like a damn barn cat. Little hellion,” John grits out, guiding your heel into the stirrup. “C’mon, you’re just side saddling, so you only need your butt on the saddle.” When he sets you down lightly onto the saddle, you stop wiggling around, acutely aware of the thousand pound horse beneath you. “There we go—that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“I hate this,” you hiss, fingers clamped tight over the pommel.

“Aw, darlin’, don’t go insulting Buttercup like that,” John chuckles, replacing your foot in the stirrup with his own.

You sit there stiff as a board, perched precariously on the saddle as he hoists himself up behind you. His sheer proximity doesn’t register right away. You’re too concerned with the moving beast under you, its ribs expanding and contracting with each breath. Unlike you, John is more than comfortable sitting astride the horse, not a smidgeon of tension in his body. You suck in a horrified breath when you feel him readjust himself before settling down more comfortably.

He reaches around you to grab the reins, a sharp whistle signaling the horse to take her first stride forward, looping around the side of the house. Even the slow trot threatens to buck you off at first. You lurch forward with each step, certain that you’ll slip right off the saddle and onto the dusty ground below until John loops an arm around your waist and pulls you to his chest.

You grow stiffer in his arms somehow. Despite sleeping in the same bed the night before and sharing far too many kisses for your comfort or virtue, being pressed up tight against a man never gets easier. Perhaps if you’d been married for longer than a single day you’d be more at ease with the notion, but as of yet, it comes as a shock to the senses every time.

You carefully avoid the thought that other married women wouldn’t be still in possession of their maidenhead so many hours after their wedding night. That’s none of your business.

The two of you navigate into town at a slow canter, allowing you to gradually acclimatize to the gait of a horse. Part of you remembers riding horses when you were younger, but that was a lifetime ago, long enough to shake the memory from your muscles. These days, you can barely remember the hands holding you steady, the ones that would’ve lifted you up onto the horse and helped you back down. Those people are faceless in your memories.

John stays silent at your back, only tightening his hand around your hip when you slip the slightest bit when Buttercup picks up the pace, heading towards the familiar sight of the sheriff’s office. It draws a quick squawk out of you, neatly masked by a fake cough. His chuckle at that rumbles through you, clearly not buying it. Another lesson in humiliation.

You manage not to flail as much when he gets off the horse and helps you down, even though you’re still not used to being manhandled so, particularly not in front of the townsfolk milling about and glancing over with undisguised interest.

“Are you working today?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you while John ties Buttercup’s lead to the post outside the sheriff’s office.

“Don’t exactly get many days off when you’re the only sheriff in the county,” John replies. “We’ve got a few deputies in every town, and a couple here, but it ain’t an easy gig.”

“How many deputies have you got here?”

“Just the three. Simon, John, and Kyle. You met Simon the other day.”

His name draws up the faint memory of the masked deputy from your wedding ceremony. “I remember,” you say flatly. There’s no lost love between you and anyone involved with that sham of a wedding.

“Don’t hold that against him,” John smiles. “He’s a good ole boy. Can’t fault a man for following the boss’ orders.”

Watch me. You glance away lest he see that thought etched across your face.

The town is bustling with activity this late in the morning. Steps and floorboards creak under the weight of boots coming and going. A man going by in a horse-and-buggy whistles sharply when he cracks the reins, his horse puffing out a low, frustrated grunt.

Men hustle past you decked out in leather chaps and waistcoats, spats covering the half-boots of those not decked out in tall, spurred cowboy boots. There are far less women scampering about town than men, particularly not so close to the sheriff’s office, but you keep finding your eyes drawn to them.

John grips you under the arm and swiftly pulls you back when you narrowly sidestep a mound of horse droppings left uncovered in the middle of the road. The smell only hits you a second later.

“Well, that’s lovely,” you remark, deadpanned, putting your foot down deliberately a good distance away.

“Wouldn’t need to complain about it if you just watched your step.”

“You know, this really would’ve been a nice day to just stay home,” you mutter, chastised enough not to say something sharp in return.

While the smell makes your nose wrinkle, you have to admit that the air here is far less pungent than back home. In general, this bucolic town is far more pleasant in certain respects than the city you’d left behind in a haste.

“Where do you want me to wait for you?” you ask, turning to face him now at the front steps of the sheriff’s office.

He frowns. “Wait for me?”

“While you work, I mean. Surely you don’t mean for me to sit inside all day twiddling my thumbs while you work.”

His mustache twitches with a smile. “Thought I’d show you around first—get you acquainted with the locals.”

The idea of mingling with the townsfolk doesn’t appeal to you, but you also can’t think of a good enough reason to refuse. Especially with the curious glances already being sent your way. You duck your head to stare down at your boots when you spot a group of other women clustered together and whispering to each other, their eyes trained on you. Somehow you’ve gone from being furniture in a room to being a source of local gossip, and it’s almost hard to believe that you miss being ignored.

When you look back up at John, you find him still staring down at you, waiting patiently. Up close, the sunlight almost turns patches of his beard gold; he has a smattering of moles across his face, not the blush of freckles but rather a few dark spots by his nose. Aside from the tuft of hair under his bottom lip, his chin is mostly bare, and when he smiles, his whole face moves with it. You have to blink to snap yourself out of it.

Your upper lip curls involuntarily when you say, “So you want to help me make friends?”

“Well, seeing as I know most of ‘em, figured I’d be a help.”

“The job’s really not all that busy then, huh?” You really wish you could learn to shut your mouth, since it keeps getting you in trouble, but the barbs roll off your tongue so naturally. Luckily, it seems to amuse him now more than it did early this morning.

“Guess life isn’t as exciting ‘round here as it is back in the city, but it has its days,” John chuckles. “Now come on; I’ll give you the tour.”

For some reason, you hadn’t pictured the town being quite so big, but during your walk, you realize you’ve vastly underestimated the true size of it. Though not anywhere near as ostentatious as the cities back east, the sheer breadth of it eclipses anything from back home. It’s spread out on an incomparable scale, the mountains in the background stretching out along the horizon like the skeletal remains of a giant long since dead and decayed.

It’s not the ramshackle town you envisioned when you stepped off the train the other day, despite the wooden facades and their brightly painted signs. You almost wish you had more time just to admire the craftsmanship, but John leads you from store to store like he’s on a mission.

He seems most interested in towing you around like some prized mare, all trussed up and clean from your bath the night before. You meet so many people that their names and faces all begin to blur together. The worst offense of all is that it makes you lean on John for support, looking up at him again and again for reassurance whenever you can’t answer a question or your answer triggers a moment of awkward silence.

Those moments come aplenty too. The few people nosey enough to ask you about your life back in the city find themselves on the butt end of a cheerfully delivered lie from John. It unnerves you at first, seeing how comfortable he is with lying. He doesn’t even hesitate for a second when recounting your previous life as a schoolteacher in Connecticut prior to your engagement.

Perhaps it’s not a lie though. You don’t know the extent to which he and his original betrothed corresponded. Certainly not enough for him to suspect you of not being her, but maybe she’d spun him that story. Or maybe it had been the truth. All this time you’d thought that John had been swindled by some con artist using desperate men to fund her lifestyle, but maybe somewhere between here and Connecticut, there’s an unmarked grave with the corpse of the woman that John had intended to marry.

That makes you feel guilty somehow, like you’ve taken something not meant for you. Even if you hadn’t wanted it—in fact, been forced into taking it.

You swallow that thought when John leads you into the general store. Your eyes bug at the sight of a blonde haired woman in khaki cloth knickerbockers stocking the shelves, who turns at the sound of the door creaking open, the sharp look on her face melting away at the sight of John.

The warmth in her face infuriates you more than it should. You have no right to feel this way—or, some right, but you resent the fact that you do as well.

“Hi John,” she greets. Her voice is deeper than you anticipated, springtime crisp like a babbling brook.

“Laswell,” John greets, scooping his arm around your side until he can palm the side of your hip, dragging you in close. You stumble into him, catching yourself with a hand on his chest. Your neck and face go hot when Laswell’s eyes turn on you, curiosity glinting in them.

“Your lady finally showed up then,” she surmises. “I’ll be honest, I was starting to think you made her up. Told the boys to think about forcing you into an early retirement.”

John huffs at that. His fingers tighten at your waist when Laswell says your lady, as if the words alone make it fact. Speak it into being. The metal burns against your ring finger. In a sense, it is fact, despite the subterfuge. You wonder if it would hold up in court, but out here, it’s real enough.

“Well, she’s very real, as you can tell.” He gives you a little shake with the hand on your waist. “Say hi, darlin’.”

If looks could kill, yours would be pit-viper venom. You’d leave behind a festering puncture mark and a body in the throes of envenomation. “Excuse me?”

Your attitude might come at a cost this time because he looks unamused at your back talk in front of an audience. “Darlin’.” It’s said like a warning.

You bite your tongue instead of lashing out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kate Laswell; I own this little shop,” she says, introducing herself and stepping forward to hold out her hand. You have to step forward to take it, pulling you out of John’s arms. It feels familiar being on your own, certainly more natural than being constantly at John’s side the way you have for almost two days now. It’s also a bit cold after having John’s warmth at your back or side at all times.

There’s a moment when you realize that Kate is the first person you’ve had to introduce yourself to, John having introduced you to everyone else you’d come across. It hovers on the tip of your tongue when you realize that you could just say your real name, and you find yourself torn between setting it free and the odd fear of John’s reaction.

You chicken out at the last second, giving Kate the same name as the one John introduced you by to everyone else in town.

“He might growl like a bear, but you’ll get used to that,” she says, winking.

You frown. Awfully familiar talk for someone who isn’t his wife. Why should she know that?

You make yourself push that thought away, reminding yourself again that it doesn’t matter. It’s none of your concern.

“He’s been a gentleman,” you croak instead, smile so thin that it might as well be a grimace.

A shout from the bar across the street startles you, drawing your attention away from the conversation. John stills too. A series of raised voices puts him on alert, and then someone inside the bar must fire a gun because the violent crack of one makes you scream, the noise pulled involuntarily from your chest.

“Stay here,” John growls, his pistol already drawn. He’s out the door before you can respond, darting across the street towards the bar and shouldering the door open so hard that it rattles in its frame. You watch everything happen through the window of the general store with your heart in your throat.

“Good Lord,” you whisper, hand over your mouth. Kate stands beside you in a similar manner, her eyebrows pinched in concern.

The thought doesn’t even occur to you that now would be the perfect time to make a break for it, with John busy across the street. Your feet are rooted in place; you doubt you’d be able to take so much as a single step towards the door.

There’s precious little that you can see through the grit-lined bar windows, not as dusty and dirty as they are, but you can hear the commotion from inside. Raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. It makes you flinch, heart galloping at an even faster pace. Like harness horses on the Freehold Raceway. It’s not long before you see a large, masked man hightailing it down the road towards the bar, dust clouding around his boots with each heavy step.

You recognize him almost instantly as the man from your wedding, the one that signed your marriage license. John’s man—Simon. He nearly takes the bar door off its hinges when he throws it open, barely in there a second before he and John come out each with a man in hand, both already handcuffed and looking roughed up They drag them stumbling down the dirt road towards the sheriff’s office, Simon half-dragging another man whose white button-down is slowly saturating with red blood oozing out of a gunshot wound in his belly.

“Shouldn’t they call a doctor for that man?” you ask Kate in a frantic voice, whipping around to face her.

She nods. “They probably will once they’ve got the four of them locked up. Doctor probably heard that anyway—he’ll be on his way, I bet.”

“On his way already?”

“There’s only one doctor around here. And not much else sounds like a gunshot.”

“Does that happen a lot around here?” You don’t know why the thought makes you nervous, but there’s a cramp in your belly and a sweat building up on the back of your neck and your hands itch to grab something. When you swallow, it almost doesn’t go down.

“It’s not uncommon. I reckon it’s not something you’re used to?”

You purse your lips. “I’ve seen a dead body before.” You don’t know why that comes out so defensively, like a slight that’s been levied against you. There’s no easy way to dispel the myth in everyone’s mind that you come from a life of comfort and ease, with delicate hands fit for delicate work. You curl your hands into fists at the thought, conscious of the old scars and calluses built up over years of scrubbing and cleaning. If she were to look down, she wouldn’t see the well-kept hands of a lady.

When Kate quirks an eyebrow, you realize that your response had nothing to do with her question. “Well, look at you.”

When John and Simon disappear into the jailhouse, the door swinging shut behind them, you sway on your feet for a second, feeling oddly unbalanced. Something about the sight of the man’s blood leaves you feeling woozy, taking the chair that Kate offers you when she sees the way you rock back on your heels.

“Let me get you something to drink,” Kate offers, brows now furrowed sympathetically at the pathetic sight you must be. “I’m sure you got a little fright thinking of your husband facing down a man with a gun, but I’m afraid that comes with marrying a sheriff. There’s danger everywhere, you know.”

What you don’t say is that your lightheadedness came not just from the sight of the man with the blood leaking from a wound in his stomach, but the grim look on your husband’s face as he carted away the man responsible, eyes hard as steel. No sympathy for the man in his hands. Only another criminal to be tossed away in a jail cell. The punishment for making another man bleed.

Your hands shake in your lap, but you don’t say that. Instead, you smile weakly and take the glass of water from her hands when she comes back from filling it at the sink. “You’re right. Just a little fright.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain john price #price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader

2K notes · View notes

rememberwren · 5 months ago

Text

A Girl (Not Mine) || 1

Ghost is a little obsessed with Soap and a lot obsessed with Soap's girlfriend--you.

About this: ghoap/fem!reader, suspension of disbelief regarding anything military related is actually necessary for enjoyment, canon-typical trauma for Simon, intrusive thoughts, slut shaming, voyeurism, fingering, accidentally seeing nudes not meant for you, poor writing unless you squint, try squinting. 4k

“I’m so glad I got a girl to think of,

Even though she isn’t mine.”

The first time Johnny mentions you, the 141 is fresh from a month-long leave.

Ghost has a love-hate relationship with time spent off duty. He’d like to enjoy it—to do fuck all, to hike through Clayton Vale twice in a day if it suits him, to drink tea for every meal. But all leave does is remind him of the glaring emptiness in his life, the one he usually fills with violence. So he spent the month climbing up the walls and crawling out of his skin, waiting to be called back like a dog brought to heel.

Here was his comeuppance for craving something to fucking do instead of relaxing the way Price had told him to do. Now they were on their way to San Lorenzo in Ecuador dealing with Ghost’s least favorite flavor of criminal: drug cartels.

It’s too close to Mexico. Too close to that which he would forget gladly if it didn’t come with the loss of so many valuable skill sets. He’s crawling out of his skin for a whole new reason, watching the water fly by beneath them, deep in memories.

Ghost takes all those feelings, fears, remembrances and swallows them whole. Lets them sink to a sour, dark place in his belly. He sits tense on the helo, still except for the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle a familiar weight across his knees. Sometimes he has to shut his eyes, swallowing against the rising nausea.

He only has half an ear on Garrick and Johnny’s conversation beside him, but it is all he needs to follow along.

“—lass of my own now,” Johnny is saying around a laugh, his accent thick enough to chafe at Ghost’s skin in a way he doesn’t want to examine, one that leaves him feeling raw but not necessarily hurt. “So no more picking up the barflies back in Hereford.”

“She making an honest man out of you, Tav?”

“Aye, you could say that.” Johnny sounds proud of the fact. It all is so far from anything Simon has experienced in his life that he feels no distant stirring of empathy, not even a muted sense of familiarity in the words. Honest men do not exist.

Not to mention, Simon’s never had a woman (willingly) and he never will.

“You love her?” Garrick asks, earnestly interested to hear the answer. Ghost couldn’t care less.

“Aye. There’s something special about her.”

“What, she’s cool with anal?”

Johnny crows with laughter, and now Ghost does feel something: annoyance, cloying, creeping up his spine like a spider in a web headed for the wiggling maggot of his brain.

“Will you two ever shut up?” he snaps. “Not a moment’s fucking peace since we boarded.”

“Sorry LT,” Johnny says, sounding genuinely apologetic. Ghost cuts his eyes toward the other man, assessing for honesty. Johnny’s face is too expressive: brows lifted, eyes wide and earnest, mouth tipped into a tiny grimace, like the thought of irritating Ghost gives him real pain. Between the two of them, Ghost can’t help but think that it’s Johnny who needs a mask if he wants to survive in the world.

Ghost doesn’t have the energy for this. He goes back to watching the scenery pass by. They are over trees now: thick lush jungle, the scent of which he associates with pain—plenty of which was his own. Plenty of which he caused to others.

“What about you, LT?” Johnny asks, calling out over the sound of the helicopter blades. “Do you have a woman back home?”

Ghost lets his head turn, slow and dangerous. Johnny’s audacity never fails to surprise him. “What do you think, Johnny?”

“Honestly?”

“Go on, then.”

“You look like if yeh’ve got a woman, she’s probably locked in yer basement.”

(right where she’d belong.)

Garrick slaps Johnny’s thigh, his face mottled with panic. He hisses under his breath, something like, There are faster ways to die, Tav! Less painful ways, too, Ghost thinks. He fixes Johnny with a dead stare. The silence stretches, growing long and thin and dangerous, like the blade of a knife, until Johnny looks away.

“Think less about my private life, Sergeant,” he warns him.

“Not often you tell me to think less, LT.”

Ghost just grunts, finished with the conversation, returning his unseeing eyes to the trees and slipping back into his own memories.

That should be—well, not the end of it. He expects Johnny to become insufferable about it; that’s just the other man’s way. Still, Ghost had never expected to see you.

He’s doing paperwork in the rec room, too stifled by the tiny, enclosed space of his office to remain there. Paperwork and debriefing are always his least favorite parts of an op. Give him a gun with which to kill and he will gladly kill; give him a pen with which to write and he spends half the time thinking about burying it in his own eye. Garrick and Johnny are there nearby fucking around on their phones having finished with their easy portion of the work ages ago.

A phone is what Johnny thrusts beneath Ghost’s nose. It takes all of his mental fortitude not to flinch away from the unexpected action (or, more likely, not to rip Johnny’s arm off and beat him half to death with it). His eyes flicker down to the screen on instinct and—there you are.

You have one eye squinted shut, your hand up to create a visor against the overbearing sun. The picture shows you from the bust upwards, and Simon sees it for approximately one full second before he grips Johnny’s wrist in a brutal hold and forces the hand and the phone away.

It’s already too late. He’s committed you to memory. The way your hair sits, its color in the blistering sun. The curve of your lips (fuckable, he thinks against his will) as you give Johnny behind the camera an exasperated smile. The arch of your nose (images now—fingers pinching noses shut, forcing mouths further down his cock just to watch them choke and struggle)—

“Get that out of my face,” he grits out through his teeth. His thoughts won’t stop, not now that the floodgates have been opened, and it makes him feel like a dog backed into a corner, frightened-violence rising up in the back of his throat like bile.

—the smooth line of your throat (and his hands around it, choking the light from your eyes just to fuck you when you’re soft and pliable and he doesn’t have to listen to you crying and begging)—shut UP!—

“It’s just my girl, sir,” Johnny laughs, his own eyes flickering back down to your image on the phone, like they are drawn to you. Like it is hard to look away. Ghost doesn’t have that problem—he has some discipline left. “And it’s not as if she’s naked.”

Ghost grips the pen in his hand so tightly that the plastic shell cracks. He’s barely keeping it together, sick and afraid and horrified and angry that Johnny has done this to him—has done this to his own girl—

His voice is rough when he croaks out: “What makes you think I care to see her, Sergeant?”

“‘S it wrong to share the most important person in my life with the other most important people in my life?” Johnny says, eyes too guileless to be taken seriously.

“Share less,” he snaps.

“Been saying that to me an awful lot lately, sir.”

“A good Sergeant would take my words to heart.”

“A good lieutenant would know a futile lesson when it’s biting him in the arse.”

Ghost’s eyes narrow. “Careful, Johnny. As much as I hate paperwork, I’d write you up—gladly.”

Johnny gapes. “What for?”

Ghost grins without mirth, mask stretching around his features. Even grinning cruelly like this, his face feels unused to any expression that is adjacent to happiness. He swears darkly: “I’ll find a reason.”

It would send anyone else running. Even Garrick looks fearful, though fascinated: the same look a man wears when he’s watching a car crash in progress. But if sense were dynamite, Johnny wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose. Instead, he just flops down on the couch close enough to flutter the pages in Ghost’s lap. Close enough for their knees to brush.

“Jesus, you’re a tadger today,” Johnny says quietly, boot knocking against Ghost’s, a touch he feels all the way up his leg. “Shove off some of that paperwork on us. What’s the use of being a lieutenant if you can’t lord it over your sergeants?”

“I’m sorry, us?” Garrick asks.

“I don’t shirk my responsibilities, Johnny,” Ghost says coldly, gathering his papers. His elbow brushes against Johnny’s ribs, the firm, burning warmth of the other man’s body. He jerks away. He’ll take the stifling seclusion of his office, that makeshift coffin, before he subjects himself to any more of this. “You’d do well to follow my example.”

Ghost resolutely does not think of you. Not during quiet lazy moments on base, not during the frustration of training recruits, especially not during the eerie calm of missions. You do not cross his mind.

His dreams are another thing altogether.

There are the dreams where he hurts and the dreams where he is hurting, and he doesn’t know which are worse. He only knows that they are made worse by your strange presence: your body bent and being broken in by others; you, bent and being broken in by him. He wakes in cold sweats, jaw aching from gritting his teeth in his sleep.

He hates himself for this last place where he cannot execute control: his subconscious.

“Mail?” Johnny asks cheerfully at the sight of Garrick seated on the bench outside the DFAC, a stack of papers and letters laying on his lap.

Johnny is sweaty, gray t-shirt clinging to his toned body as he (for once) keeps a companionable silence at Ghost’s side. They have been training recruits all day—work which Ghost considers far beneath his pay grade, but which he can’t refuse when ops are so slow to arrive and when he is so eager (desperate) to keep busy. Ghost lets himself sit heavily on the bench a safe distance away from Garrick, sweat cooling on his own body.

He’s not ready to be alone yet.

He’s allowed to do that. To want company. Of all the people on base, Garrick and Johnny (and Price) might be the most tolerable of the lot of them. During the rare moments when the pitiful piece of humanity left inside him craves companionship, this is the least painful method to mainline it.

He ignores the lack of letters for him. There is no mail for Ghost—there never is.

Garrick passes Johnny no less than four envelopes. Johnny’s soft smile as he flips through them speaks volumes. Ghost can guess who they’re from: his mother likely, who writes as often as she can. One of his various sisters, surely. Take your pick. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Johnny flip through the letters and settle on one in particular, thicker than the others, tearing it open and tugging the letter out.

The pictures slip from the folded piece of paper and fall to the ground.

Johnny dives to grab them, but all it does is bring Garrick’s attention to them more. Even Ghost’s interest is piqued, his dark eyes giving up pretending to watch the recruits limp back to their barracks to shower before dinner and following Johnny’s hasty movements instead, watching the hot flush that crawls up the back of his Sergeant’s neck.

“What are those?” Garrick asks.

“No’ a thing.”

Garrick lights up. He practically tosses his letter to the side. “She sent you pictures?”

“Possibly,” Johnny says smuggly, the images—old fashioned Polaroids, a nice touch—pressed to his chest. His eyes narrow at the expression on Garrick’s face. “Don’t even think about it, Gaz—!”

Garrick pounces. The two begin grappling, both of their faces split into wide grins. Johnny can only defend himself with one arm, his other protectively clutching the photographs to his bosom. They take each other to the ground and Ghost watches, half interested and half irritated, wondering who will win.

The pictures go flying—and fate’s invisible bitch of a hand causes them to land at Ghost’s feet. Garrick and Johnny freeze.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, the same way he knows that he’s going to. Ignoring their renewed struggles on the ground as they fight to untangle themselves and stand, he leans down and reaches for the photographs.

The white of the Polaroid’s edges contrast nicely with his dark gloves as he gathers the pictures together like a deck of scattered cards.

“LT—“

They’re relatively tame. Perhaps you knew the high risk of sending them. In one you are kneeling on a bed amongst a sea of mussed, white sheets, wearing nothing but a t-shirt that you have tugged down between your parted thighs to offer yourself some modesty. It is painful to flip to the next one, but pain calls to Ghost, lures him in. In another you’re wearing some strappy lingerie but still covered artfully by the sheets, both hands covering your eyes, a grin on your face like you are mid laugh. Did Johnny take these photos of you himself? Did a stranger? A friend? Another shows your side profile, back arched, topless, every inch of you curved and poised.

You’re (a filthy little slut) so fucking pretty.

“Give ‘em back, LT, please,” Johnny asks gently, like he expects Ghost to tear them to shreds. Or confiscate them.

Ghost drops the photographs to the bench, wishing he could scrub the images of you from his mind. He shouldn’t have picked them up in the first place. It’s adding fuel to the fire of his broken brain, and he knows that he will pay for it dearly.

Johnny is talking. “—shy, she’d just die to know you saw.”

“She’ll only know if you tell her, Johnny,” Ghost reminds him. His mouth feels numb, his brain the quiet granted by white noise, a conglomerate of screams.

Johnny frowns. “Suppose so. You alright?”

“Since Ghost saw—“

“No, Gaz.”

Ghost watches the two of them enter the building.

His hand burns, where he has palmed the picture of you topless. He stands and slips the Polaroid into his back pocket. It’s on the tip of his tongue to call out for Johnny and give him the picture back—he could find some excuse, and Johnny would believe him, he knows it—but he doesn’t. He makes for his room, feeling sick with himself. He isn’t hungry. Not for food.

Ghost is compromised.

The thought replays in his mind over and over again as he drives to Price’s house in Solihull. You and Johnny have crawled beneath his skin and infected him, dug your way into his DNA and are affecting everything from his decision making capabilities to his dreams. He knows that going anywhere where you both will be is a mistake, but it’s one he can’t seem to help hurdling himself toward at high speed.

Nothing will happen, he tells himself, knuckles white against the steering wheel. He only does what he allows himself to do—no more. The others will be there at least, Garrick and Price and Johnny himself. Physical barriers between him and you. Human meat shields, if necessary. Ghost wouldn’t dare to lay a finger on you. (But who would stop him if he tried? Who could?) You are safe, he tells himself.

He is the last to arrive, dragging his feet up the concrete steps to the two story brick historical home that Price owns. He lets himself in the way that Price told him to and can tell by the eerie silence of the house that everyone is already outside enjoying the well-landscaped yard. Already he sees the evidence of you: a purse (go through it) laid neatly on the dining room table. He sets his keys beside it but does not touch it.

Ghost doesn’t bother trying to delay the inevitable. Every part of him wants to run, but that’s all he’s ever wanted his whole life. He’s used to it by now, used to being forced to walk toward the thing which terrified him. He squares his shoulders and slides open the patio door, slipping back out into the muggy heat of the afternoon, face mask in place, hood up.

The landscaping is one of the best features of Price’s house. The privacy fence is tall and appealing to Ghost’s seclusive nature, the lawn neatly clipped. There is a hedgerow running along the southern edge of the fence that is meticulously maintained. Flower beds lined with bricks rest along the house full of geraniums and phlox. The patio is smooth stone with an inlaid fire pit that would be crackling if the weather were any milder. An iron-wrought table sits nearby surrounded by chairs, and seated there are Garrick, Johnny, and Price.

You are over by the flowers, kneeling in the soft grass, picking phlox just a few shades darker than the sundress you’re wearing, the one that skims your soft thighs. Ghost’s eyes roam over you and away all before your head even turns at the sound of the door opening.

“LT,” Johnny calls, lighting up. “You made it!”

“Didn’t think you’d show, Lieutenant,” Garrick says with a smile.

“As if he’s got something better to be doing than spending time with us,” Johnny crows.

“Jesus, will you two leave the man alone? Wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already regretting coming,” Price says. Ghost inclines his head, grateful for the backup.

He hears your approach, the soft sound of your flats against the patio stone. You are small (weak) compared to him, craning your head up to look in his eyes. He hates the dark part of his brain that calls you easy prey as he watches you twist the phlox stems between anxious fingers.

“You must be Simon—” Johnny shakes his head a little, subtle, visible only out of the corner of Ghost’s eye. “—ah—Ghost? I mean—”

“I don’t care what you call me,” he admits.

“Ghost,” you settle where it is nice and safe. “It’s nice to meet you. John talks about you all the time.”

“Likewise,” Ghost says flatly, hoping you will not mistake it for a compliment.

Garrick snorts. “Never shuts up about you is more likely.”

There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, so you sit on Johnny’s lap, legs crossed demurely, skirt riding up around your upper thighs. He wonders about the softness of your skin, wonders if his calloused touch would hurt you or if you’re used to Johnny’s by now. He could make it hurt. The thought doesn’t come with any zing of pleasure, just the cold apathy of fact. Has Johnny ever tried that? Has he ever—

Ghost’s gloved hand clenches into a fist, curling around the iron armrest of the chair. He takes a measured breath and holds it until his lungs ache. Those thoughts aren’t his own. They come from the dark part that Roba seeded inside him, that part with creeping vines too deep to root out. That part with thorns.

He could hurt you, the same way he could hurt anyone, he tells himself. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

He does only what he allows himself to do. No more. No less.

You and Johnny stand, heading into the house to retrieve a round of drinks for everyone. Ghost watches Johnny’s hand dip low on your back to the curve of your ass as he guides you through the open door, shutting it behind you.

“Are you alright, Simon?” Price asks around a cigar. “I know meeting new people isn’t exactly in your repertoire.”

“Don’t mother me.”

“Don’t have to be your mother to care about you.”

“Garrick—get lost,” Ghost barks.

The iron chair legs screech against the stone of the patio as Garrick stands hastily. “Had the same thought, sir. Hedges look lovely this time of year.”

When Garrick is properly out of earshot, pretending to find amusement in the neat hedgerows along the fence line, Ghost says: “I shouldn’t have come. I’m… I— can’t be left alone with her.”

“With—? Soap’s gal?”

Ghost grits his teeth in shame and nods.

“Do you know her?”

Ghost shakes his head in the negative, but it’s not necessarily true. He knows a thousand women just like her, soft and unexpecting. The betrayal always cuts deeper than his cock could reach (estoy preso, somos lo mismo, por favor).

He stands, chair legs dragging against the stone. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”

“If you say so,” says Price, knowing better than to argue. “Go around the side. You won’t even have to see them.”

“My keys are inside. I’ll be quick.”

“Take care of yourself, Simon,” says Price, his eyes dark and lips downturned as he watches Ghost stalk to the patio door and slip inside.

He braces himself to see you and Johnny in the kitchen, but when the door slides open near-silent, neither of you are anywhere to be seen. Like a fool, he considers himself lucky. Quiet as his namesake, Ghost goes to the table and picks up his keys, palming them.

That’s when he hears it. The unmistakable muted slap of flesh on flesh.

(Go look.)

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but that is his modus operandi these days: failing himself, doing what he isn’t meant to, seeing what is not for his eyes. His feet carry him silently to the door, which is cracked open just wide enough for him to see through into the room. It is a guest bedroom judging by the bland decor, the queen sized bed. Johnny has you sprawled on it, your sundress hitched up around your waist, his fingers buried to the final knuckle inside your cunt. Ghost can hear the way it squelches from all the way outside the door, knows that you must be dripping down Johnny’s wrist.

“Keep quiet, love,” Johnny pants, one hand over your mouth (he’s not doing it right) to muffle the whines and groans trying to slip past your lips. “Needy little thing, aren’t yeh? Squirming in my lap, making my cock hard right there in front of my Captain, in front of my Lieutenant—“

You whine something back, but it is lost into his palm.

“Don’t have time to get my cock in you,” Johnny sighs, twisting his fingers inside you, hooking them to press against that tender spot past your pubic bone that has your knees knocking together. He shifts his palm down to grip your neck, your panting breaths filling the room. “But you can bet this dress is coming off as soon as we’re home, do y’hear me?”

“Yessir,” you whisper, and it has Ghost’s cock throbbing.

This is not for him. He thinks about Johnny’s words from months ago: that you are shy. There’s no chance you would ever want to be seen like this by him. Reaching out, he grips the doorknob and quietly tugs the door closed, til the sound of Johnny’s palm slapping against your clit is muffled behind the wood.

He takes his keys and is gone before you ever know he was there.

Johnny texts him later that night:

Why’d you leave early, you numpty? We wanted more time with you.

Ghost doesn’t respond. He’s too busy spiraling in his own flat, losing control every few minutes and slipping back into that place of pain and blood and dirt.

An hour later, Johnny ends up adding, My girl wants me to say she was glad she got to meet you. Only Jesus knows why! Ghost definitely doesn’t respond to that. But he doesn’t delete the messages either.

#ghoap x reader

960 notes · View notes

desireangel · 5 months ago

Text

Dark Cherry [4] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! I fucked the timeline and nigly bits bc this was an impulse fic ok soooo it was mostly unplanned, almost smut, angst, let the grovelling happen babyyy, unedited, mention of alys x aemond but not in a good way :((, infidelity, talk of sex, guilt, mentions of Aegon x reader, hmmm I ramble, little vulnerable Aemond, bad language, let me know if I've missed anything!

Author's note: y'all I was never done with that man like there's no easy out for him :llll. Anyways I wrote most of this instead of studying which I needed to do. Perhaps I'll have my hand at another idea I'm cooking before part 5 but I'm alsoooo unsure about how keen we are to keep this one going - like is it getting too much??? either way, I enjoy writing this. and idk how to shut up, clearly, because I love that internal mind talk shit. Drop your thoughts in my inbox or PM me because I love to yap!!! xoxo, kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

He was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant and entitled fool. You often thought about whether Aemond actually recognised the effect of his actions on anyone else. It was always ‘I did it for us’ or ‘I did it because I had to do it’.

So after your confrontation the day before, it had surprised you that Aemond had truly believed he was forgiven. Maybe it shouldn’t have. You had, after all, sat beside him and laughed with him. Shared a moment as if things were better. But it was nothing more than a lighthearted acknowledgement that whatever game was being played was entirely ridiculous yet you could feel how something had changed. There was a newfound intensity between the two of you and Aemond had clearly understood that he had made a mistake

But that wouldn't be enough for forgiveness. Things would never really be the same. You will never forget. The nameless woman had made a home in your unconscious mind and everything would remind you of the woman your husband had chosen to take to bed over you. She was beautiful, she was experienced and free of burden. Based on that alone a part of you could see why she could have been a better choice–a part of you that ached and pained ceaselessly.

And you weren’t sure you could carry on as if Aemond hadn’t thrown your entire world into the pits of ruin. Because that is exactly what he may as well have done. All you had was your marriage to him–a fact that was as painful as it was true. If it all fell apart because of him only you would suffer from it.

Your name, your family’s name. A Lady born to a house of remarkably lowly nobility with little more than your marriage to the prince. A charity case marriage to tell the realm’s people that the Crown was not so prejudiced as to be above uniting with the likes of your house. That the Lannisters and Baratheons were important but they were not everything. A fabrication only made necessary to cover up the fact that it was a lie–the Targaryens (and even the Hightowers as you had come to realise) really did believe they were of better blood.

A failure to fulfil your duty to the Targaryen crown as Prince Aemond’s wife would destroy your family name. And you would have no prospect of happiness after it. What else did you have aside from this?

Aemond would never understand that. Because not only was he a man but he was a prince. A privilege, a safety and a security he had inherited through birth.

Aside from the pressures of society, he had hurt you. Badly.

Despite your own confliction about it, you did have love for Aemond–how could you not? Love came from many things and while yours may have come from your dependance on his word, on the duty he performed to be your protector as he was to the Crown and its subjects, on his polite affections as limited as they were, it still found its way into your heart. Perhaps it was foolish to allow it entry into your existence when you had already known that there was no love to come from Aemond.

It didn’t change anything. Betrayed your trust, taken you for granted and destroyed the sanctity of a husband’s loyalty as if he were as dishonourable as any other Lord.

You would never say it out loud but it had broken your heart. And heartache is a consuming, suffocating and painful thing to feel. A constant lump in your throat, something always weighing your chest down, a disastrous, aching discomfort in your belly. Tears had stained your pillow at night and dried by the morning, the fabric of the linen acquiring the same unphased facade that you would wear as you plastered on a mask of ignorance so that you could continue to live through your day.

All because you had wanted him. Aemond, who was doomed to disappoint and destroy merely because that is all that princes do.

For him to have mistaken your truce–the end to the back and forth game that had been wreaking havoc in its wake-as forgiveness was infuriating. He had no idea.

Well, maybe he did. Now that he had seen you with another just as you had seen him. And you recognised your own experience in the moment he had realised what was happening.

Aemond’s call to breakfast made you want to laugh. But you had turned him down for afternoon tea just the day before only to be found swallowing his brother’s seed. You winced at the shamefulness of your thought, muttering a quick prayer for the sake of your piety whether it was genuine or not.

He was seated lazily in the chair he favoured, an array of food spread across the table. There was a book in his hand. The same one he had taken from you the last time you had shared your morning meal together. Aemond had a smirk playing on his lips.

You cleared your throat, curtsying before sitting down at the other end of the table to him and with as much distance between you as you could muster. “Good morrow, my Prince,”

“Formalities, I see,” He looked at you through his lashes. It was odd seeing him so relaxed, the tension that was always in his shoulders had been lost and there was a playful glint to his eye. You wanted to smack it out. “I believed we were past titles and distance for the sake of propriety, my sweet. As well as rigid greetings.”

All you responded with was a stare.

Dropping the book to his side, Aemond sighed and leaned forward, pouring tea into a cup. He stood, taking a couple steps forward to hand it to you. “We have fixed-”

“We have fixed nothing.”

“I am trying to turn a new leaf,” he commanded. You took the cup and saucer from his hand, the warm waft of vanilla and rose giving you a slight reprieve from the threat that rolled off his tongue. “If you do not recall, dear wife, I as well have every reason to resent you. The image of you sucking on my useless brother’s cock is not one I can easily bare. Yet I have chosen to let it be. I could have easily decided otherwise.”

“That would make you a hypocrite.” You glanced at him over the rim of your teacup.

“It does not matter much if I am a hypocrite, does it?” Aemond sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t bothered with the food in front of him, focused solely on you. “I hardly see how that would change anything.”

You squirmed under the intensity of his stare, picking up a cherry from the bowl of fruits and rolling the stem between your fingers. “It matters to me. Certainly, it matters for your reputation among the smallfolk. Nobody cares for a selfish prince, my dear.”

Aemond hummed, smirking at the venom you spat at him. You noticed the coin that he rolled between his fingers, nimble and thoughtless as if it were like breathing. Not so much a nervous habit but a thoughtful one.

He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy your confidence. It was refreshing. But there was a dip in his gut at the thought that there was no hope for the two of you. Aemond, ever logical, knew he had no one else to blame but himself with his lack of foresight and failure to see beyond the now and here.

Because Aemond had not even considered how things would go on should you not forgive him. He had assumed that you would if not merely on the basis that there was little lost from a relationship that hardly existed in the first place. You had love for him and he was so convinced that such a thing would be impossible that he didn’t consider that it would cause you heartache beyond slighted offence and jealousy.

A violet eye lingered on the cherry that remained between your fingers. Aemond was good at putting on an act. He thought for a moment that he would rather take lashes to his back than have you know that he had no idea how to love someone properly. A part of him was persuaded that he was incapable of being a good lover. The lashes seemed like a blissful gift compared to the self-loathing that simmered in his belly at the probability that he had ruined any chance your marriage had of recovery.

It crossed his mind that it was his ignorance towards you right from the beginning that had damned your relationship.

Either way, it did not help that you had turned to his brother for intimacy. Aemond felt his blood scorch whenever that invaded his mind. He wanted to crumble the walls of this fortress when he wondered if Aegon had enjoyed your womanhood. Jealousy did motivate him well, he realised, and Aemond had the murderous urge to feed Aegon to Vhagar.

Nonetheless, he feigned amusement. “It seems as if you care for one.”

You ate the cherry. It was sweet and rich. All you replied with was an upturn of your chin as you gracefully held a small embroidered towel to your lips.

“So I am not forgiven?” Aemond had to break the silence before it cut him open. “Are we not even?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you held back a surprised laugh. “You never apologised. Not that it would make any difference.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Of course you are not forgiven,” you sighed. The tea cup hit the table with a clang. Your disdain for his actions and his ignorance gave you an unfettered confidence around him which you weren’t accustomed to. It made it very difficult to control yourself. “And no, we are not even, my Prince. And since you have brought it to my attention, I am of half a mind to find Aegon and offer him a meal between my thighs. You see, I have often wondered how it would feel and I expect that our King would be happy to indulge my… curiosities.”

Aemond sneered, a silent one that was more visible in his intake of a breath, the curl of his lips and the hardening of his eye. Bullseye.

It took him less than a couple seconds to be on his knees in front of where you sat, a strong hand tightly gripping each side of your thighs over the thick fabrics of your dress. He had shoved the table aside, unphased as tea spilled and fruits and cheeses toppled to the floor. Something in the look of bewilderment on your face had Aemond ready to both grin at your clueless innocence and frown at your shock.

Aemond didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that you had given up on expecting such pleasures from him. He was your husband; nothing about what he was clearly intending on doing to you should surprise you. Cursing himself to perdition would not be enough for how he has failed you.

“I feel obliged to remind you that we had agreed,” he grazed his nose across your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes, jaw clenched tight as he all but growled his words. “That there will be no more of this foolishness. Not from you and not from me.”

It was an onslaught of different things that had rendered you still and silent. The way Aemond looked at you like you were the only satiating force for his eternal hunger, the wordless mixture of desire and anger in how his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, the desperation in his voice, strained by the fear that you would. Or was it the overwhelming feeling that Aemond was finally taking some accountability and that maybe he recognised not what his actions were but the meaning that they carried?

For a moment Aemond just looked at you, conflicted and fragmented and unguarded. The sight of him like this reminded you of a vulnerable child. But it didn’t last long before the menacing, cautionary glint was back in his eye, his posture becoming rigid as shuffled the fabrics of your skirts.

A new kind of anxiety overcame you. Not like the insignificant nervousness you had felt that night when you had wandered into his chambers or used his leg to make yourself peak and not like the clueless apprehension with Aegon. It formed a ball in your chest and made it hard to breathe.

There was no chance he would ever admit it but you could see Aemond’s vulnerability and desperation within the hardened facade he had perfected. He wanted nothing more than to seem strong and powerful at all times, worthy of acclaim and reverence. But here he was, willing to stay on his knees and worship you forever, all under the pretence of rageful infatuation.

It was too hot. Even with the cool of the shadows cast by the dark net curtains that only let in enough daylight to see clearly and not enough to cause Aemond irritation from sensitivity in his eye, it was so warm you worried you would have to rip the sleeves off of your dress.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Aemond let out a soft, dark groan, running his fingers across the expanse of your legs over your stockings, your skirts already bunched at your hips. Skin burning at his touch, you couldn’t help the way you whined and squeezed your thighs together, squirming under the intensity of his gaze.

His voice was heavy with the burden of lust and regret. “I will be better. In all the ways that I have failed you and more. Your forgiveness, I realise, is not as easily granted as I presumed but I will show you that I am worthy of it.”

There was a moment of weakness in your mind before you caught yourself. You didn’t quite believe him. It had clearly been too easy for him to give you empty promises and there was no reason why things would be different now.

It was odd. Seeing Aemond weak like this.

What would it mean if you let him continue? It was clearly different this time. You couldn’t put it into words exactly but there was a rawness, a blitz of different emotions that set things ablaze and made you want to both weep and mewl for him.

You couldn’t spare a thought about why it was different. Aemond was right there, a weaponised Prince on his knees for you, a lowly Lady with nothing more to offer him than yourself. Since when did you hold all this power over him?

That night in his bedchambers and last night when you had shared a laugh despite everything that had unfolded felt detached in a way. When you had allowed yourself release over his leg it was simply that. A way to ease the tension he had put in your body and a way to leave him wanting.

Aemond’s eye swam with a tenderness you had not seen from him. He continued to look up at you waiting to gauge your response. It was a slight nod of your head which had his hands tearing at the soft fabric of your stockings, his lips instantly meeting the skin of your knees before you had the chance to even gasp. All the while, he kept his eye on you as if his heart would cease to beat if he could not watch the way you reacted to him.

It became increasingly harder to breathe. There were so many thoughts, so many sensations that you struggled to put it all together. Your flushed with anticipation, your cunt throbbed at the wet plushness of his lips on your hot skin and your hips squirmed at what was to come.

Your mind, however, flashed with the image of Aemond, exactly as he was now, between another woman’s thighs. A woman who didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar touch, who didn’t jerk away at the foreign feeling of being pleasured. You wondered if he would be so angered at the prospect of another man’s mouth on her womanhood, if her skin felt softer or more rough on his lips and if he looked at her with the same heated need.

It made you feel sick.

Aemond let himself enjoy the way your thighs tensed, pulling your smallclothes off of you as much as carefully as he could under the restriction of your skirts. There was an urge to rip the entire dress off but he knew it would be a step too far. He couldn’t help the low sounds that left him, sounds he couldn’t recognise. The expanse of your thighs and the sight of your flushed, hot cunt in front of him made his mouth water with a hunger that would have shocked him had he not been so distracted by your scent.

Without complete vision, Aemond had learned to train his sense of touch, taste, smell and hearing to make up for the disadvantage he was stuck with. They were always slightly heightened compared to those who never needed the compensation of senses but in the cloud of desire and lust, he was sensitive.

You whined at the way his tongue glided over your skin, biting down hard but not hard enough to be painful on the flesh of your upper thigh so close to where you needed to feel him. But Aemond was always remarkably patient and he merely made way to your other leg, repeating his ministrations and licking you from your knee to where he bit you at your thigh.

The haze that had possessed you made you lose track of your thoughts so easily. Still, they fought their way to the forefront of your mind at every chance they could and you were reminded of her.

Aemond’s mind was overwhelmed by you. There was no power in the realm that could make him think of anything else, not with the way you were trembling under his feathered touch and making such beautiful sounds for him, and not when he desired for anyone else apart from you.

A heavy breath of shame and excitement tumbled out of you at how lewdly he dragged the tip of his nose across your thigh, pressing it into the flesh that sat above your slick, aching cunt and inhaling. You clenched around nothing, your clit twitching at the sound of Aemond’s unabashed groan.

He grasped at your hips and your legs, his fingers burying into your flesh and tugging as if there would never be enough of you in his hands. It would have driven you into a similarly desperate state had things been different.

The prince between your thighs was a sight to behold. Aemond’s skin was flushed pink, his eyepatch slightly out of place and his hair tousled from the way your legs clenched and unclenched against his head. He was almost drooling, mumbling about how good you smelled and how perfect and pretty your cunt was for him. His cock had never been so hard, constricted by the stiff leather of his training attires.

Aemond enjoyed being a tease but there was only so much he could handle himself. While he wanted you to crave for him the way he was craving you so unbearably, Aemond needed to taste you. He needed to make you feel the blinding pleasure he should have been giving you at every chance he had since the night you were married. He needed to show you the ways of unbridled human desire and to show you all the ways your body could come undone and fall apart only to feel completely whole and fulfilled.

There was no changing the past but Aemond would make up for how completely inattentive he had been. He would show you all the more fervently. When Aemond placed an open mouthed kiss just above your slit, letting a string of his spit glide off of his tongue onto your sensitive pussy, you shuddered.

All at once your mind was once again taken over by unsavoury thoughts. It had your eyes welling with tears, a familiar lump lodging in your throat, threatening to come out in a devastated sob. There was a ringing in your ears and you were back at Aemond’s door, peeking in only to see him giving that woman the same touch he was giving you right now. He had seemed so enthralled by her and the way she must have tasted. It was as if he’d been there before, indulging in her with so much passion it rivalled how eagerly touched you in this moment.

Did her smell fill his veins with fire as yours was? Did her scent alone make his cock as painfully hard as yours did? Did her cunt drip for him the way yours did? Was the hunger in his eye shining for her too?

It was terrifying to consider.

Aemond would spend hours here, he had decided. His duties for the day could be damned to the hells for all he cared. There was a rumbling in his chest for what he saw in front of him, inviting him to indulge and filling his mind with senseless ardour. Aemond let himself enjoy just the scent of you, his eye fluttering shut and his nose gently resting above your folds as he breathed you in, caressing your thighs softly with his hands. As if he were starved for years, Aemond salivated and with no patience left within him, he brought his lips downwards to meet the precious cunt he had been dreaming of.

With a whimper that you couldn’t hold back, you jerked away from him. Aemond pulled away in surprise, his gaze full of confusion and lust and insecurity. “Wait, my love—“

You had slipped free of his grasp, a strangled cry escaping no matter how hard you tried to keep it in. There was one tear that slipped free, followed by countless more and you couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see that he was hurt before scrambling away from him.

She was stuck in your mind. The memory of Aemond’s little trysts with her replaying behind your eyes no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. It was clear that there was nothing you could do to get ahold of yourself because everytime you looked at him, so enthralled in you and your sex, she was there.

Laughing at you in the back of your mind, as if she had taken residence in a permanent place in your head, enjoying the state of despair and madness she and Aemond had led you to.

But she couldn’t be in your head. Not really. Not in the way it felt she was.

You barely glanced back at Aemond through your tears, struggling to even your breathing and calm the rapid beating of your heart. He hadn’t moved much; just simply stayed there frowning at the space that you had once occupied on the chair.

There was nothing he could do to change things. Aemond knew that as well as you did. But there was a pain in your heart at the way he looked so defeated, so guilty that it almost seemed like he would melt into a puddle of remorse. A far stretch from the usual stoic warrior that you had known him as.

“My prince, I–” you swallowed, your voice catching when he looked up at you with a wide eye and furrowed eyebrows. For a moment you remembered that he had no right - but he was trying, was he not? “I cannot continue with this knowing that you had touched her like this. It angers me and it upsets me and it pains me to think of it but ‘tis beyond my control.”

He stayed silent, observing the way you hid yourself from him and struggled to meet his gaze. There was a sullen look to you, one you had not entered with and it stuck needles in his flesh to think that he had been the cause of it. Aemond’s entire body felt hot and he was itching to tear off his leathers. He wished the gods would strike him down as he was for hurting you so.

You had turned away, disappearing from his quarters swiftly. You would never forget the image of how you had left him there–it was both satisfying and devastating.

Aemond, still on his knees for the ghost of you, his expression tortured and his shoulders tensed. It was a pathetic sight, should anyone stumble upon it, but you considered it beautiful. Beautiful in a lethal, catastrophic manner. Not unlike himself; a weaponised source of destruction who had a tendency to bring torment upon those he loved.

The rest of your day had been spent alone in your chambers. You hadn’t cried so much over any of it until now. The tears and sobs that you had held inside of yourself for weeks had forced themselves out, along with the emotions you had pushed down until you could no longer.

Aemond had a certain control while you were sitting in that seat, skirts bunched to your stomach and quivering for him to have his way. Regardless, the power was still yours and you knew that it was Aemond who was wrapped tightly around your finger at that moment. He would have listened to anything you had said–done anything you had told him to do.

Perhaps you had become too stubborn in your anger to have let yourself feel anything else. A retributive anger; one that sprouted from the lack of love that existed in your marriage and reached a climax at Aemond’s brazen adultery. And it only grew stronger in whatever back and forth Aemond had encouraged by dangling his whore in front of your face.

Whatever it was, you were feeling so much more now than you had before.

Or perhaps it was because you could see that Aemond was remorseful. He would never yet admit it but you knew from the way he had behaved since you had visited him in his bed. It was no act of redemption and definitely no apology but it was impossible to ignore the change in him. You had never seen Aemond the way you had seen him this morning.

Vulnerable, gentle, tormented.

A knock on your door had you sniffling and wiping away any tear stains that may have lingered on your cheeks. You had stopped crying for some time but the need to wallow and lament had stayed. When you called out to ask, the guard at your door notified you of the Dowager Queen’s presence.

Oh, seven hells.

There was really no chance you could refuse her so you merely let her in and called a servant to bring some refreshments. Queen Alicent sat herself down but remained tense, carefully watching you as you took a place beside her.

“Have you been crying?” Her concern was comforting. “I believe I know why.”

You straightened, not meeting the eye of the woman who reached a tender hand to your knee. Hiding behind a forced smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep knows, Your Grace.”

“It has been known for some time,” Alicent was gentle, her cautionary gaze telling you that she was apprehensive about bringing her son’s misadventures up. You held your breath. “Since the first time he had summoned that Alys woman-”

“Alys? Is that her name?”

“You do not know?” There was a tense silence. Alicent couldn’t meet your gaze, pity swimming across her features. Aemond was her son and there were many things that she had let her sons get away with but her heart pained at the broken quiver in your voice.

Alicent had noticed the change in Aemond since the night that you had found him with Alys. The second time. He had never paid much attention to you aside from what appearances required yet Alicent knew her son far more than he would be willing to accept. She had known that there was something in his heart for you, no matter how small and no matter how it dwindled until set alight.

Aemond had done the wrong thing. She had no doubts about that. Alicent would have words with him once she figured out what to say to him. But he was her son and there were certain misdoings that she knew she had to defend them through. To protect his marriage, his image and his happiness. The Queen Dowager cleared her throat and reached for your hand, eyebrows furrowing at the way you stared down at your lap, the anguish you felt in your heart written clearly across your face.

“I understand that you are hurting, my dear. Although my husband remained faithful to me until his death and I cannot quite imagine the pain in your heart–I see how you have love for my son, even if you nor him have known it, I do understand,” Alicent took a breath, closing her eyes. “This is the way of men. And princes–”

“Please, Your Grace, I mean this with utmost respect for you but I do not wish to hear your excuses,” you whispered. There was a prickly, breathless worry that had settled in your gut. What did you not know? Was this Alys someone who mattered? “But I would like to know what you are withholding from me about this woman. I believe I deserve that at the very least.”

Alicent stared at you for a moment, examining you. She could drive her son further into the ground with what she was about to say. “Aemond had a paramour–at least it was rumoured, he never spoke of such things with me. Alys Rivers, a wetnurse and servant woman from Harrenhal.”

“A paramour?”

“It was before you were married,” Alicent was quick to clarify. “I had assumed that Aemond wanted nothing more to do with her when she left–at his order, I believe. Some say she was a witch. Perhaps she enchanted him.”

You couldn’t look at her. She was more than just a whore? Had he lied to you right from the beginning? Bile rose up in your throat. There was a thrum in your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat and you feared that you would be sick from the drop in your gut.

“Did he love her? Could he still?”

Alicent sucked in a breath. “I do not know, my child.”

All you could do was nod pathetically. Alicent was a woman of great strength and dedication; you had once wished to be much like her one day. But as you sat beside her now, you wished she had been a liar and a cheat and a meddling gossip. That you could find a way to fault her words but you could tell it caused her great difficulty to speak of Aemond’s actions honestly.

Ever poised and elegant, Alicent only leaned forward to you, her posture straight as a needle and her touch soft as linen. “I did not mean to upset you further. I only meant to speak with you about returning to Courtly activities, with the other Ladies and Helaena has been asking for you. And the Ladies speak–”

“They speak terribly of me,” you scoffed, allowing a humourless laugh. “I understand, Your Grace. I will return to spending my days in company other than my own.”

Alicent hated to pry but she felt that she must, now that she had dealt her cards against Aemond’s fate. “Perhaps you should speak with Aemond. He cares for you deeply. It would be a shame for your union to fall apart over such misunderstandings.”

If not for formality, you would have rolled your eyes. Again, you simply nodded, your mind reeling back to the woman that Alicent had given a name to. You would ask Aemond about her. It would be the less damning option rather than turning to Aegon once more but the idea of speaking to Aemond about a woman he may once have loved still made you want to crawl underneath the sheets of your bed and disappear.

You thought of the woman who you had seen through the crack in the door and wished you had taken extra care in looking at her. There was little you could recall other than the darkness and length of her hair, the paleness of her skin and the perfection in her curves as she pleasured Aemond and as he did the same for her.

As if she was familiar with all the things that made him weak. All the things that made Aemond weak. How she had touched him like she was an expert in his body. And you thought of Aemond, bare and comfortable with her. Aemond with his sapphire glimmering under the lamplight instead of an eye, a rawness and trust that you had never seen of him until that night.

He trusted her.

Alys Rivers.

.....................................................

Tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen

429 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 2 years ago

Note

jake with a shy!reader i feel like that man would be so down bad he’d be unrecognizable to his friends

Tailgating by the beach means sand in your hair (and everywhere else), a trash can full of beer bottles, and a whole lot of wipeouts. For most.

For you, it means Jake’s sweatshirt bunched up under your head like a pillow as your back rests against the metal grooves of his pickup’s bed. Your pinky is intertwined with the man’s own as you stargaze, avoiding the cloud of smoke billowing up from the bonfire.

“That one looks like an F-35.” He informs you, pointing at a constellation that is definitely not a fighter plane.

“I think that’s Draco.” You hum, “Not sure, though.”

Jake turns to you with a furrow in his brow, “That little shit from Harry Potter?”

“No!” You shriek, louder than you’re used to speaking. Jake has a way of making you forget your reservations, giving you the courage to speak up around him.

“It’s a constellation.” You quiet yourself, feeling Jake’s pinky tighten around yours. “I read that it was supposed to be in the sky tonight.”

“You read up on the stars?” Jake turns to you, propped on his side in the truck bed. It must be awful on his hips, but he does it anyways to gaze at your side profile.

You give him a front view, turning your head to stare back at him, “I didn’t do it on purpose, I just saw it on Instagram, I think. On someone’s story.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but neglects to return to stargazing. He’s yougazing now, his eyes tracing the curve from your chin to your cheek, then sloping down the bridge of your nose.

“Do you think-”

You’ll never know if you and Jake share thoughts on whatever matter is in his head, because a sudden thud against the mouth of the truck bed makes you startle, and Jake nearly breaks his neck sitting up to see who made the noise. You draw yourself upright but slower, more cautiously.

It’s one of his squadron members, you’ve seen the guy before in passing, but you don’t think he’s ever noticed you. He’s on the shorter side, and he’s quickly flanked by both Coyote and a taller, unknown counterpart.

“Hangman,” The short one snickers, “I was betting you were passed out somewhere with a bottle in your mouth, not schmoozing some poor woman in your truck.”

You’ve met Javy before, albeit briefly when you’d passed in the hallway of his and Jake’s shared apartment, and in the few terrifying seconds of confrontation your eyes stray over the man’s shoulder and meet Javy’s. He sends you a kind, sympathetic smile at the antics of his friend. You feel safe around him.

“What’s your name, honey?” The taller man leans over the side of the truck bed, a smirk on his face, “Last one was Brenda- no, Brianna.”

“Payback, that was months ago.” Javy snaps, and even though you know it’s true, Jake still looks guilty. He’d confessed in you that he wasn’t exactly a saint when it came to past relations, but all that mattered was the present for you; that you were the only one in it, and he’s stuck to that without a problem.

“I’m not schmoozing her, Fanboy.” Jake drawls, a vicious look in his eyes, “We were trying to have a private moment.”

Fanboy elbows Payback incredulously, shit-eating grins already on their faces, “Sex in a pickup! On the beach, in public. Jesus, man, there’s nothin’ you won’t do.”

“I won’t hesitate to break your nose if you don’t shut your mouth,” Jake seethes, and his free hand tenses into a fist even if he’s more bark than bite. Fanboy doesn't flinch, but Payback's smirk dims.

"Lay off, man." Coyote elbows Fanboy, "It's not like that."

"The only reason you've never met'er before is 'cause I knew you'd act like this," Jake scoffs, "Doesn't mean she's some cheap fling."

You desperately want to intervene, but you don't have the words to do it even if you tried. There's a thousand swirling in your brain, but there's a stopper in its drain to your mouth, a thick clog of panic.

"Well what is your name?" Payback repeats his question, more considerate this time. You're glad he seems to have dropped his bravado, even if you're not sure Fanboy has.

"Y/N," You manage to speak, glad that you know your own name well enough to utter it even when your brain doesn't cooperate. You don't say much else, though, and Javy fills in for your silence.

"She's Jake's girl," Javy smiles at you, happy to see his friend settling down, "She's not big on talking. Not to assholes like you, anyways."

"Well that's great," Fanboy's demeanor is much nicer when he's not goading his teammate, "'Cause Jake never shuts up. Sounds like a match made in heaven."

"I'm gonna send you to hell if you don't leave us alone," Jake glares pointedly at Fanboy in particular, but the expression is extended to Payback as well, "I wasn't kidding, we were having a conversation."

"That's our cue," Coyote informs the other two, who knew but weren't willing to give up their teasing leverage. He rings an arm each around their necks, bidding you a kind goodbye as he leads them away.

"Darlin'," Jake turns to you as soon as they're gone, like a guard dog that eases out of attack mode, "I'm so sorry. They don’t mean any harm, just- they seriously don't know when to quit, 'probably comes from bein' so aggressive in the air. I'm sorry they were so pushy."

"It's alright," You nod, "It's not your fault, Jake. I'm not angry, I just- I was a little embarrassed."

"I know," He hums sympathetically, leaning in to peck your lips, "I know baby. Listen, now they've met you, they'll probably back off. And if they don't, if you see 'em around somewhere and they try messin' with you, you let me know and I might accidentally fire on 'em in an exercise."

"I don't think you should murder your friends," You tamp down a smile at Jake's suggestion, because the last thing he needs is encouragement, "But I hope I don't see them when you're not around."

A hundred feet away, down on the smooth, wet sand of the shore, Coyote finally lets Payback and Fanboy go, shoving their heads down with the force of his grip around their necks.

"Ow, dude!" Fanboy gripes, but he deserves it the most, "If I'm gonna break my neck it's gonna be in the air, in some sick-ass stunt maneuver."

"Your sick ass needs to learn to shut up," Coyote scoffs, "He's serious about that girl, man! And I wouldn't be surprised if she was running for the hills now."

"C'mon, Coyote, we were just teasing," Payback pleads his case, but Coyote narrows his eyes.

"You can't tease her, not like that. Hell, the first time she ever came over I made a joke about wearing noise-cancelling headphones for them and she couldn't look me in the eye for weeks."

"The first time she came over," Payback's brow furrows, "He's been bringing her around your guys' place?"

"I told you he was serious," Coyote throws a glance back over to Jake's truck, where his hand is pointed in the air once more, "Know any other reason he'd be stargazing right now?"

Fanboy's face wrinkles in a confused grimace, "Stargazing? He's way too douchey for that."

"He's way too in love not to," Payback marvels, "Holy shit. That's- I can't process that, man, that's weird."

"Get used to it," Coyote takes a swig of his beer, "Y'know he's been lighting candles in our apartment for her? I mean, it's nice, 'cause it gets rid of his nasty laundry smell, but candles. Hangman, candles!"

Fanboy rears his head back, "What scent?"

"Lavender."

"Lavender?"

"I know!"

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman fanfiction #hangman imagine #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x y/n #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader

5K notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 1 year ago

Text

Jealousy a la Bucky

Summary: He’s not jealous.

Pairing: (Soft)Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: jealous Bucky, Bucky is smitten for the reader, Steve being a tease, fluff, flirting

He’s not jealous. Never. He’s not even looking your way when you talk to one of his business partners. Nope. He’s not squaring his jaw or balling his hands into fists. No, of course not.

What he does is sulk at the bar, a pout on his lips, and a grumpy expression on his face. He nips at his drink while following your every move.

“That her?” Steve finally asks. He watched his friend stare at you from afar for almost half an hour. Now he wants to tease him. “I guess she’s good at making new friends, huh? A pretty dame like her. All alone. Wearing a dress like that.”

“First and final warning,” Bucky points his index finger at his friend and brother-in-crime. “I saved your life more than once. But I will take it if you say one more thing about that woman.”

“Aw, it finally happened,” sipping at his drink Steve watches his friend frown deeply. You giggle at something Clint Barton, one of his confidants and notorious weapon dealers, said. “James Buchanan Barnes is in love.”

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky grunts. “If you say one more word, you’ll lose your tongue and more.” He angrily glares at Barton, swearing on his mother’s grave he’ll kill the man if he dares to touch you. “I’m not in love.”

He’s not in love. Not at all. Of course, not. James Buchanan Barnes, a notorious mobster, and stone-cold weapon dealer doesn’t fall in love.

Then, why can’t he take his eyes off you, his sweet new assistant? The woman taking care of his life. “She brings me food and makes my appointments. Y/N is only my assistant. Stop acting like I lost my dead heart to that beautiful, caring, and sweet girl.”

“You are so in love with her,” Steve grins and raises his glass. “To James Buchanan Barnes, the most wanted bachelor who finally got tamed. I hope you know I want to be your best man at your wedding.”

Bucky glares at Steve. He wants to say something, or (and) punch his friend’s face when someone calls his name. Your sweet voice brings him out of his rage and back to reality.

“Mr. Barnes, you should eat something,” you clear your throat to get your boss’s attention. “Sir, I got you a plate filled with all the things you like.”

“All the things I like?” He drops his eyes to the plate you hold. “You mean all the things you like, doll.”

You giggle at the pet name. Bucky Barnes is a dangerous man, and you should be afraid to be even close to him. Oddly, you feel the safest around your boss. He’s a big teddy bear when it comes to you.

“Fine, I got you the same things I like so we can share.”

“You want to share the food with Bucky?” Steve swallows thickly when his friend snaps his head toward him. “He’s a food thief. You should keep a close eye on that food.”

“I like sharing,” you softly say. “Mr. Barnes often forgets to eat. I made it my mission to take care of him and his well-being.”

Steve chokes on his drink at the look Bucky gives you. Puppy dog eyes. James Buchanan Barnes looks at you like you are a miracle to him.

“Uh-cool,” the blonde says. “I’ll grab some food too. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Same,” you are busy offering food to your boss and barely look at Steve. “Now, what do you want to taste first?”

‘Your lips’, Bucky thinks to himself but doesn’t say it out loud. “What do you recommend?”

“We could start with the salmon and then, you should try the green asparagus. It’s delicious and the best I ever ate. OH, and they have the best desserts, Bucky.” You gasp as you just called your boss by his name. “I’m sorry, Sir…I didn’t…I…”

“My name sounds like a melody on your tongue,” Bucky grabs the salmon to wolf it down. You just stare at him, and let his words sink in.

“That was…” you snort. “Oh my god! So funny. I mean…sorry…but…that was the lamest pick-up line ever,” you step closer to whisper in his ear. “You know, if you like me, you can just ask me out.”

“It was poetic and—” He tries to argue until he realizes you kinda asked him out. “Do you want to go on a date with me, doll?”

“Phew, finally,” you smirk. “I wouldn’t have made it through the night if I talked to Mr. Barton for much longer. He wanted me to have a look at his bow. I still don’t know what he meant.”

“His bow?” Bucky hiccups. “That bastard wanted to show you his bow?”

“Hmm…I told him that you already offered to show me your gun.”

“Right now?” He nervously shifts on his feet, and hopefully looks at you.

“No,” you pat his chest and smile. “I don’t look at a man’s gun before the second date…or the third.”

“I bet you’ll make an exception for me,” he takes the plate out of your hands and throws it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll order room service for us.”

“I’m keeping you up on that promise, Sir…”

You will have room service, in Paris only a few hours later…

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #mobster!bucky #mobster!bucky barnes x reader #female reader #mafia au

1K notes · View notes

erenjaegerwifee · 6 months ago

Text

✧₊⁺ Crushing pt 2

✨yall asked and shall receive! Here’s a part 2 of this drabble. I hope Yall like it! Don’t forget to like, comment and reblog!

✨Warnings: MDNI 18+, friends to lovers, belly bulge, fingering, p in v, neteyam writes on you

✨Word Count: 2.3k (this was supposed to be a drabble).

✨ all my characters are aged-up! If you’re uncomfortable please do not interact with my post.

“So y/n can I ask you something?” Neteyam mumbled as you both sat together eating some fruit he picked for you. It’s been a couple of weeks since he saw you wearing that his name on your back and since then he’s been easing you into the idea of spending time with him. He has successfully managed to make you set a couple hours just for him alone which makes him extremely happy.

“Go for it” you answered waiting for his question, “I saw an avatar the other day, he had a tattoo on his shoulder and it reminded me of the Metkayina when we went…I know it’s also a human thing, have you ever considered getting one?” Neteyam asked sweetly.

His ears twitched as he looked down at you sitting so cute and small on the log, he looked like a giant next to you, but that wasn’t something that bothered him anymore after he over heard Kiri and Lo’ak talking to you about like na’vi men. He knows he has a shot he just needs to act before someone else does.

“Oh yea I have a couple right now I was hoping to get some more, I like how they look I just can’t decide what to get” you chuckle. Your laugh was ever as beautiful but that’s not what caught his attention this time, how could he have not known u have tattoos already, all the man does in his spare time is look at you.

“You have? Since when?” He asked his tone was surprised, you expected it, no one besides the woman who gave you the tattoo knows you have them. It’s not a secret really but you just never thought anyone would care. You thought it was cute neteyam was so interested. “I got my first one when I was 19 and my second about 6-7 months ago. It just finished healing.”

You’ve had this tattoo for years? And he’s never seen them? How? “Can I see them?” He blurted out making you giggle, “I can’t show you out here silly”Oh so these are intimate tattoos, even better.

“I have one behind me ear and the other on my ribs” you gestured to the places with your hands as you finish eating the fruit. “I’ll show you, let’s go back to the lab” you jump off the log and Neteyam follows suit walking behind you.

When you arrive to the lab neteyam pushed the door open for you to walk in and you take your mask off and he grabs one throwing it around his neck. Neteyam followed you through the hallways bending down so he could fit, he looked cute crouched down like that.

You walk into your room and shut the door behind you, Neteyam naturally made his way to sit on your bed, it was a big bed he could fit there easily but it was low to the floor so when he sat down, he was almost at your height but not quite.

“Ok look” you walked up to him and stood were his knees were and pulled your hair over your shoulder pulling it back for him to see the cute atokirina behind your ear behind your ear lobe (I’ll put pics of the tattoos I imagine below) it was small he couldn’t see it probably from his far away you were.

Instinctively he put his large hands on your bicep and waist and pulled you closer slotting you in between his legs. His head moved closer to see you your tattoo and your felt his breath on your collarbone as he looked at it.

You’ve never been in this kind of compromising position before especially not with neteyam. It made you slick, you squeeze your thighs together hoping his amazing na’vi nose doesn’t pick up in the scent change.

“Atokirina…” he whispered next to your ear “Tsal lu yuey sìn nga” (it is beautiful on you) his voice made your shiver, you took a deep breathe trying to calm your raging hormones. Neteyam’s hand that was on your bicep now ran through your hair pushing it back more and brought his head down so his lips could touch your tattoo.

You gasped at the feeling of him kissing you there, it was always a sensitive spot for you. Your eyes shut as his tongue darts out to taste your skin, “taste like you..”

“Neteyam… it’s healed you wouldn’t taste the ink” your voice was breathy and your legs felt weak. It was only when he heard your voice he realized what he was doing to you and boy did he love these cute reactions, “where’s the other one?”

He pulled back his head and look at you, your face was slightly blushed and your lip was trapped between your teeth, “here…” you raised you r-shirt up to right under your bra pointing to the tattoos of the knife curved under your left breast with 2 feathers hanging off the handle.

Neteyam recognized that knife, it was the one you made go him when he passed his rites of passage at 15 years old. It was 10 years ago but he never changed that knife for anything. “my knife”

“Well yea I thought it fit nicely in the spo- what are you doing neteyam” his hands moved to the base of the t-shirt you were holding up and pulled it swiftly over your head exposing you in your bra and cute shorts. Your bra was a pretty baby pink with a bow in the center.

“Neteyam!” Your hands fly down to cover your bra, “mawey (calm), just want a better look.” He pulled your close by your arms that were crossed on your chest and then pushed them out of the way so he can see the tattoo. His head dipped examining the details that are his knife on your body.

His lips met the stop kissing it before darting his tongue out making you suck in a breath. “You look beautiful, so so pretty with these, you want more?” He asked you.

You nodded your head meekly at him trying to stop your panties from leaking. “Where?”

“M-my back maybe, my thighs” you said softly. He smiled, his head came back up holding his body up to his full height. Neteyam’s hands sat on your hips running up and down twisting your small frame in his hands. He loved the way his fingered unintentionally touching when it crawls up to your waist.

He has you so close to him, his scent invades your nose so you could imagine how strongly you must smell to him. “Tell me to stop?” You didn’t say anything. You didn’t want him to stop.

Neteyam kissed you softly on the lips, his finger tips squeezed your flesh as he ran his tongue over your bottom lip. His lips were so soft and tender. His mouth was much bigger than yours, his kiss progressively got more heated and his grip on your body got more intense.

You pulled away feeling Neteyam strain his body for air and brought the mask that hung on his chest up to his mouth. Neteyam took in a deep breath looking at you with his golden eyes. He is so fucking fine!

He pushed you aside and grabbed a dark blue permanent marker that sat in your desk. He pulled you onto his lap making sure you get comfortable before he leaned back against the wall next to your bed. “Gonna let me draw some tattoos on you baby? Want one here right?” His large hand slide up your thighs making you shiver and you nodded your head meekly.

Neteyam opened the marker and slipped his head to your neck sucking in your soft skin. Your human skin bruised so easily he absolutely loved how sucking on you for 3 seconds could turn you red.

Your eyes were closed as you took in the feeling of his tongue on your skin and his hand moving lightly with the cool marker pressed against your leg, you couldn’t see what he was writing so when he pulled away na moved the marker you looked down at your thigh. There in bold capital letters was NETEYAM on the entire length of your thigh.

The slight made you blush, is he staking claim? Is this some kind of ownership? Whatever it is you are loving every part of it. You don’t touch it not wanting to smear the writing but you glance up at him only to see him waiting for your reaction.

You lean forward and kiss him roughly on the lips. “Neteyam will you do something for me?” You pull away batting your eyes at him, “anything baby”

“Fuck me” your request caught him off guard but he proceeded anyways. He picked you up and laid you on the bed softly, he kneeled on the bed in front of you pulling off your shorts and underwear in one swift move. Neteyam laid on the bed next to you throwing your left leg over his thighs, and pushing your right up in the air spreading your legs. Neteyam observed your soaking folds gliding a finger through them collecting your slick.

He brought the finger up to his lips to taste you with a sweet hum he brought his finger back down to circle your clit. With another finger he slid into your weeping hole. You head your head on his shoulder as you watch his movements with him, his other arm was thrown over your shoulder keeping you close as he finger fucks you open.

Neteyam added another finger then another speeding up his pace until he was shaking your entire lower body, “Neteyamm AHH” you scream when you gush on his fingers. Your head was buried in his neck kissing his warm skin softly as he assaulted your cunt.

Neteyam pulls his fingers out licking them clean before be lays flat on his back and moves you to his lap, straddling his hips. “Now baby, where else do you wanna get a tattoo?” Your mind was woozy as you stared at him, you still felt the stretch of his fingers in your cunt. Your hands press onto his abdomen leaning forward, your hair fall in front of your body.

Neteyam wraps as arm around your back and with his fingers he unhooks your bra ad falls down your arms exposing you to him. Your tits bounce when they fall free and Neteyam’s eyes were glued to them. You took notice and guided his hands towards them so he can touch you.

You bit your lip feeling the way he tugged on your nipples. “I- uh, I think on my collarbone and my back, my legs, maybe right over here” you run your fingers over the side of your waist where it curves inward so perfectly. Neteyam didn’t waste a moment scrambling for the marker and pulling you close right his initials, ‘N.S.’ above your collarbone where your shoulder meets your neck.

Then he moved the marker down writing the nickname you call him ‘TEYAM’ vertically down the side of your abdomen. He dropped the mark after admiring his works and pulled you up to sit on his abdomen while he unties his loincloth. You drop your body down kissing his while he does, your breast press against his hard chest as you stick your tongue in his mouth fighting for dominance which he won. When you pull away a string of spit connect both your lips and he raised you up laying you on the bed and him on top of you.

Your body is dwarfed beneath his as he lines his cock up with your dripping slit and slowly push into you. This is the first time you’ve ever seen a cock so big you weren’t sure it was going to fit in you. As if he read your mind, he bent his body over so he face is in front of yours and kissed you, distracting you from the painful stretch.

You focus all your attention on the way his tongue moves so seamlessly with yours and you don’t even realize when he’s bottomed out inside you until you hear his grunt. “So tight baby, so fucking tight” Neteyam groaned, his head dropped down onto your shoulder and you wrap your legs around his sexy waist and locked them together.

Neteyam started moving slowly listening to your loud whimpers, you’ve never been so full before. “Tey, s-so full” he pulled his head up to look down at you admiring they blush that traveled down your hot skin. His eyes traveled down your body, watching the way your tits bounce with his every thrust making him speed up to see them bounce harder.

His faster pace made you tear up, your jaw was slack you couldn’t even form sounds because he was fucking you so good. Neteyam admired the writing he left on your skin, and his eyes made it to your tummy, your every full, bulging tummy. His eyes widen slightly as he watched the imprint of his huge cock moving in and out of you. When he bottoms out, his tip was right up to your belly button.

When you come on his cock your moan loudly and gush on him. Neteyam felt his entire cock get wetter in your snug cunt and his head dips down into your tits sucking on your nipples as he speeds up his thrust. He pulls out and lends back stroking his cock so he can cum on your body, “Fuck, fuck gonna cum on you baby” he whimpers as his cock shot up onto your breast and stomach.

Neteyam was panting as he dropped to the side of you looking at the mess he made of your body. He grabbed his discarded loincloth and whipped the cum down and off your body pulling you close to him, “You did so well for me baby, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked his voice was concerned. “No, no it was amazing tey” you said in a weak voice.

“Hey baby, next time I see my name on you, want it to be permanent.” he kissed your neck wrapping his big arms around your body. And who were you to deny him what he wants?

Taglist:

@rivatar @xylianasblog @strongheartneteyam @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @m1tsu-ki @kylimarz @quicktosimp @its-jennarose @r11k4 @xrollingmyeyesx

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam avatar #atwow neteyam #neteyam smut #neteyam talks #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #avatar the way of water #neteyam x human reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x human #neteyam x human girl #avatar neteyam #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x oc #neteyam x female reader smut

570 notes · View notes

moraxussy · 4 months ago

Text

You Can't Take One Without The Other

Damian Al Ghul x Twin!reader

Content Warnings: mention of the word "abuse", nothing major, and not proof read:3

Word Count: 646

Despite her seemingly cold demeanor accompanied by her unmoving stature. Talia Al Ghul is a woman—a mother that lets her hard shell peel open when it comes to what's hers—her children.

Damian Al Ghul, her prodigy, blood born assassin, but also her beloved son. So composed and calculated yet also holds a temper that it easily triggered. Trained to kill on the spot without mercy, the young boy is honed to secure any emotion that hinders his mission—the Al Ghul's mission. He was made to not let any other being get in his way, to use all means necessary as long as he's able to give expected results, preferably exceed them. Yet despite his killer instincts and apathetic front, he is a boy of value. He believes blood over all matters. He cherishes his family to such a strong degree that he's willing to kill just to preserve and protect it. No outer force can sever his belief on this. But it doesn't stop at family. Damian adores animals and takes care of them unconditionally. It pains him to see any of those creatures hurt in any way. Which pushed him to pursue the path of veganism.

The Demon Prince, Heir to the Shadows, and Son of Assassins....

Damian Al Ghul

Damian may possess the prowess and talents meant to satisfy the legacy of Al Ghul, never forget his other biological half, his twin sister.

The youngest, Talia's sweetheart, her doll, and her precious killer. Her little girl, the same as Damian, trained to be the perfect assassin for their family's legacy and for the preservation of the world, isn't just a weapon, she is also a daughter she dearly loved with all her heart. The mother might say she doesn't pick favorites, but one might think otherwise once you see how she treats the two differently. Although tender towards both, Talia can't help but train Damian a little harsher than her heiress. If you try to argue with her about this, she would just shut you down. But deep down, all she wants to do is give her daughter the childhood her mother failed to experience while also helping her build strong walls to protect herself once their mother leaves them on their own devices to strive for independence. Of course, this doesn't make the daughter twin an ordinary girl. She also values family and cares for animals but not the same degree as her brother. Believing that animals are a resource meant for humans for which they should be treated with respect and value if one wishes to utilize its maximum potential. This contrast in stands causes quarrels between the two during moments involving any animal. Not to mention she as well possesses the strength and capabilities that qualifies her as an excellent assassin whose efficiency in the shadows allows her to parry and counter any attack thrown to her by her foes.

The Demon Princess, Heiress to The Shadows, Daughter of Assassins, and Talia's Second Chance...

You

The Duo of the Shadows, The Successors of the Demon, The Treasure of Talia Al Ghul

Together, no enemy can stop the twins. No matter how harsh nor how inhumane the training they are put through, as long as each twin is there to root for the other, they are ready to take the abuse. In the glory of their legacy. In the name of Ra's Al Ghul's greatest aspiration.

But what will happen if a new variable is introduced to the family of demons? A man of night once again reminded of his time in the shadows. A wake up call for the Dark Knight that what happened all those years ago gave birth to consequences that he now has to bear.

Will the bat be able to handle his demons? Will a mother finally let her young fly on their own?

Notes:

Hi so this is my first time making a batman based fic. I'm still new to the community so I'm basing on just common knowledge. I really wanted to try and focus on how Damian and the reader would be in the clutches of the shadows. I'm still learning though!

#talia al ghul #damian wayne x reader #dc x reader #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #batfam x reader #damian wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #x reader #platonic!reader #platonic #batfam x batsis!reader #batfam x y/n

365 notes · View notes

mind-intheclouds342 · 3 months ago

Text

I found her first - Jimmys pov

This chapter contains mature and dark content.

This is the little bonus (from Do it for them) chapter about why Jimmy is so mad about the cute couple we love.

Jimmy: "Do I really have to use that crap?"

He complained while running his hand over his member to make it hard, so he could put on the condom.

"I already told you, sweetheart, no party without a hat~ don't feel left out, I do this with everyone who comes through here~"

The only thing separating them was that wall, and the only thing connecting them was that hole through which the man slid his member, immediately letting out a moan upon feeling lips on it.

That was one of his favorite places, his favorite mouth, he spent his money there every time those lovely lips were on the other side.

He immersed himself in the pleasure and compliments he could hear from the other side, he adored every second of it.

"Oh~! Did you finish, darling? You've lasted longer than last time~ what a good boy!"

Jimmy: "Shut up... get ready for your payment"

He heard the giggle from the other side and slid the bill through the slot, seeing the edge of a bra and placing it right there.

Jimmy: "You say that you charge others first before providing your service... Why do you let me do it later?"

"Because you are my favorite customer~ and I trust you!"

Those words melted him, he always asked the same thing, to receive the same answer, it made his ego grow bigger.

He already noticed that her favorite mouth was in different places, not just doing these jobs.

When he knew he could find her in the alleys looking for something good to smoke and to forget about the world, he knew how to find her.

"20 dollars? Let's go... That's excessive for this amount..."

She complained but was desperate to get the only thing that relaxed her.

Jimmy: "Can you do something for me to get it for just 10?"

That's how he managed to see her face and her lips back on his member, but there he didn't receive any kind of praise, just a quick suck, but it was worth it to see her face, how her eyes rolled back when he pushed her head, making her choke on him, he loved being able to do that.

But it drove him crazy that she wouldn't even look at him, always avoiding any kind of eye contact.

To then end up smoking together by the shores of the lake at that place.

Jimmy: "You could get it for free if you would just let me..."

"No"

She said curtly, looking at the lake and scratching his leg repeatedly, which she couldn't stop moving.

Jimmy: "I'm just saying... I could give you a place to sleep, you know."

"Go to hell"

Jimmy: "You too"

He loved her company.

It was still very much present the day he had been cornered by a group of teenagers who tried to steal the merchandise he had to sell in that area.

They were armed with sticks and a knife, being five against just one, the man was at a disadvantage.

Until she arrived, without any remorse, she hit one on the head with a glass bottle, breaking it.

She grabbed him by the neck and pointed the broken bottle at his face.

"Leave him alone, or I'll kill your friend right here."

No matter how bad they wanted to appear, they couldn't leave their friend behind, so they dropped their weapons and left.

"That should at least give me a week of something good without any payment, right?"

She commented, taking her hand to help her up.

Jimmy: "Bitch, you only helped me for that"

"Of course, you bastard, do you think I care about you?"

But the smile with which she said it, said the exact opposite for him.

For him, she was his companion, a woman he could turn to at any moment, as long as he gave her something in return.

That's why when he saw her by his side... Immediately, his whole world crumbled.

Curly: "Jimmy! Let me introduce you to (Y/n)"

It was the first time he heard her name.

He watched her as she hid behind her friend, avoiding his gaze, fully aware of the things she had done with him, as if she wanted to pretend they had never happened.

Why are you with him?

Why do you hold onto him like that?

Are you really going to leave me?

They were questions that always crossed his mind, furious at having to witness how something that was his, something he had achieved on his own, was snatched away by someone else.

From that moment on, he never stopped insulting her, only saying unpleasant things about her to his friend, hoping that one day he would leave her and she would be his again.

But that never happened.

Jimmy: "Goddammit Curly, why don't you answer?"

He complained by leaving messages for his friend, with whom he was supposed to meet that day. He was going to his house and knocked on the door loudly to get his attention.

After several minutes, the man opened the door, embarrassed, wearing only his pants.

Curly: "Jimmy! We were supposed to meet today, weren't we? I'm sorry, I fell asleep! I'll get ready right away and let's go!"

He immediately knew it was a lie when he saw her hiding behind a wall, spying, with a blanket covering her body.

I also want to see it.

I also want to have it.

Why did you give it to him when I've kindly asked you so many times?

Jimmy: "Get ready quickly! You're wasting my time..."

His friend laughed and nodded, apologizing again for the problem.

Even their hopes of reclaiming what was theirs did not fade.

Even after they have gotten married.

He was going to get what he wanted, even if he had to snatch it from his friend's hands.

After all, he found her first.

#do it for them mouthwashing #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #captain curly #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly

229 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

Sum of All 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The woman doesn’t say a word as she gets in the car. You don’t either. The tension in the car is like the sound of glass about to break. Each breath is another crack.

The fourth passenger in the car is your confusion. You’re not quite sure why you’re still there. The job is done, right? And this is business. Not your business. You don’t ask. Questions are a bad idea with these kind of people.

Rogers drives out of town. The old warehouse is ominous and you’re happy you’re not the one he tells to get out. The woman doesn’t hesitate even as you can sense her uncertainty. You only get a brief glimpse of her as she goes as the car pulls away swiftly.

He retraces the same route. He clears his throat as he passes the city marker. “We needa talk,” he says.

“We do?” You eke out.

He sighs and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, “look, I’m taking you home. You did your job.”

“Oh, okay,” you fold your hands in your lap.

“So, let’s discuss the elephant in the room. Discretion,” he intones.

You thoughtfully mull the world. As far as you’re concerned, the moment you’re out of the car, it’s all behind you. Just a weird fever dream you can forget about.

“Not that anyone should ask but if they do, you know nothing.”

He stares at you intently. His blue eyes are bright despite the shadows, as his beard and hair swallow up the dark. He really is a frightening man. You’re fortunate to be walking away. You know that at least.

“Sure,” you agree.

“Open the glove box. Your take is in there,” he says.

You lean forward and do as he says. You take out the envelope. It’s stuffed with bills. That won’t be suspicious at all. You’ll deposit it a little at a time. Wait, should you accept this? It’s blood money, isn’t it?

“All yours. I’m sure you can figure out something to do with it,” he says.

You recognize the streets around you. Your neighbourhood isn’t the nicest but it’s home. For now. You watch through the window as you ponder your deal with the devil. You won’t argue with him but you could always give the money to a good cause.

He pulls up to your building and you tuck the envelope in your purse. That’s it. It’s over. It’ll just be a funny story to tell in twenty years when the heat’s off of you. People won’t believe someone like you had a brush with danger. You can hardly believe it yourself.

“I’ll stay here til you’re inside. Make sure you don’t have anyone tryna snatch your purse,” he says.

You look at him, “what are you walking about?”

He squints and his lashes flick. He shakes his head, “what?”

“Who are you?” You ask.

His lips part and he pauses before he speaks, “you hit your head?”

“Discretion,” you say. “Remember? I don’t.” You tap your head and pull the door handle, “have a good night. Or, er, life.”

You shut the door gently and turn away. You let out a breath and march staunchly up to the front door. You sense him watching you but you’re not bothered. It’s over. You’re free.

You go inside, certain to pull the grate door closed heavily before you continue up to your unit. As you get inside, you let your shoulders drop and hang your head back. No more scary men and hopefully, no more fainting.

You take out your phone and find it just as lifeless as ever. You have a few notices to keep up your game streak but nothing important. Just an email.

Wait. Before you can swipe it away, your brain catches the name. You applied to the firm months ago. Please, don’t be another rejection.

You open it, one hand on your phone, the other stirring around for the envelope in your bag. You carry both through the front room of your apartment and into the bedroom. You tap the email to open and put the phone down to look for a hiding spot.

You tuck the money under your mattress and reclaim your cell. You sit on the bed and read. It’s an offer for an interview. Great timing too. The sooner you can get out of this city, the better. You’ve seen its dark underbelly. No thank you.

You reply, drafting your acceptance several times before sending. Content, you stretch out the last of the tension. You feel bad for all those people; the man that Rogers beat in the middle of the road, Warren, and whoever that woman was in the backseat. Still, all you have is your empathy. You can’t do much for any of them.

The night passes so dully that you can almost believe you dreamt the last three days. In the morning, you’re back to the usual, though it doesn’t feel quite so. You get dressed, pack your lunch, and set off for the firm.

You greet Geraldine as she unlocks the front door of the office. She’s happy to see you. You’re less than happy to see your desk. There’s a dozen post-its stuck to your keyboard. Each with a name and file number. That’s everything you have to catch up on, all scribbled in Brenner’s tight lettering.

You sit and stack them up neatly. Brenner shows up an hour later. He’s hung over. You can tell by how he keeps his sunglasses on and goes through coffee like a siphon.

Neither of them acknowledge your absence. They don’t ask and you don’t mention it. If all things go to plan, soon enough, your desk will be filled by someone else.

You get through a couple post-its before lunch then check your phone. You have a time and date for the interview. Things are moving along. You’re already fantasizing about giving your two-week notice.

You’re going to be out of here, onto greater things. Just like you set out for. Well, it’s just an interview. You need to be practical about this. One step at a time. For now, you need to shovel through the pile of shit before you. Fresh air is just around the corner.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #sum of all #au #mob au #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

233 notes · View notes