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asumofwords · 1 year ago

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Modern!Dark!Aemond - Divorce AU - Oneshot

Til Death Do Us Part

SUMMARY: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

WARNINGS: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, infidelity, divorce, NONCON, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage, rough sex, choking, hitting, punching, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, forced orgasm, violence, daddy kink, dacryphilia, head injury.

PAIRINGS: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: 10.2k

NOTES: Well, well, well.... Here we are. You have all been so feral waiting for this to drop and I am honestly so excited to see you all crawling about in my walls after. Probably shouldn't have to say this by now but will for new folks, READ THE TAGS, this is a DARK!FIC. There is no fluff or happiness lmao. This has been so fucking fun to write hehehe.... Anyway.... Without further adieu... Enjoy ;) <3

The soft hissing of the kettle took you away from the book you had been reading, nestled against one of the many windows in the small cottage you now owned.

Taking the kettle from the stove, you poured the boiled water over your tea leaves, watching the herbal mix swirl in the strainer.

The soft aroma of chamomile and peppermint wafted from the cup and you inhaled deeply, leaning against the kitchen bench as you waited for it to steep, no use going back to your book nook until the tea was ready to take with you.

The leaves from the pine trees in the forest outside had turned a deep green, the cold chill of winter having rolled through the valley of the quaint village you lived in early this year. Condensation rose from earth as the sun heated the mildew on the grass, the smokey illusion seeping from the forest floor.

It was different to the city. No more were the days of craning your head up to look at the crawling skyline of buildings, the sound of traffic, or yelling of people on the street. No more did you hear cars blare their horns or music, or the melodic sounds of people chattering in the late hours of the night or fights between lovers from apartments surrounding.

Now, the most noise you heard was the occasional storm that rolled through the valley, or the deer that wondered the pasture at the back of your property.

You could remember the first night you heard them, such a different and unfamiliar screeching that had set your hair on edge, eyes darting about to each window and front door as you raced around the house to make sure they were locked.

They always were.

You were meticulous that way. Always vigilant, always ready.

But in reality, you shouldn’t still be on edge.

It had been months since you left.

Almost an entire year since you packed your things and left the papers and your ring on the table for him to find. And what’s more, there would be no way for him to find you out here.

Not that he would even try.

You hoped.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t love him, or loved him; the lines were still blurred there. But Aemond had broken you in ways you never knew he could.

The lies, the secrecy, and then, her.

You remembered when you had first met Alys; a work event Aemond brought you along to. The pretty wife and happy family image did wonders for his company and the press, so he often brought you along on his arm, smiles and grins for the cameras, whispers of starting a family or trying for one, until you were out of view.

But that time had been different.

That time, something had changed.

You had known about Alys Rivers for a while, a new hire going months back. A woman from no notable name, nor background, a start up of her own, worked hard to get where she was, or at least, that’s what you had first thought when Aemond had described her to you; his new secretary hire.

An older woman, not one a wife would usually find as a threat.

It’s almost always the younger ones. Older men seeking out their youth between the thighs of a barely twenty-something, whilst their wives are none the wiser, or perhaps knowing and too resigned to care, birthing them children at home as their marriage dissolves into nothing but a loveless legal contract.

But this was different.

She hadn’t come to introduce herself at first, not at all, and that’s what you found the strangest.

Alys Rivers, a few inches taller than you, with pale skin and bright green eyes, had stood in the far end of the hired venue, sipping a glass of red wine, perfectly manicured maroon nails tapping on the glass, whilst she tucked an ebony strand of hair behind her ear.

You had felt the heat of her gaze immediately, your eyes meeting hers, and yet, she didn’t look away, didn’t smile softly, walk over and introduce herself as any other woman would have. She just stared. Right into your very soul. It had sent shivers down your spine, and you knew, in that moment, that something was wrong.

Off.

Aemond had done his rounds with his private investors, higher employees, friends, if you could call them that, and press alike, all whilst you stuck by his side, smiling pretty and responding with shallow answers that didn’t give too much or too little for them to talk about later.

You hated those stuffy events, men and women alike always trying to get closer to you in order to get to Aemond, who was a fortress to begin with. Some people often commented or made joking remarks at how surprised they were that you had married him. That you had managed to thaw the Ice Man himself, that he was even capable of such things, and you would always laugh and make jokes back in good nature, smile never reaching your eyes.

But really, he was amazing when you were first married. Doting, loving, loyal, and always there, though that was sometimes overbearing. There was of course the little things, the teeny red flags that you ignored more often than not, rose tinted glasses and all that, but you had been young and in love and crazy about him, and he had been the same about you.

But as the years rolled by, and the two of you grew, you also both changed. The business expanded rapidly with the death of his father Viserys, and Aemond became more preoccupied with that legacy, most of the empire being passed along to him, and not his older brother Aegon, who had no desire to work and would rather live off his inherited wealth with drugs and weekend benders surrounded by lusty women. Occasionally men too.

And then when Alys came into the picture, it was like a switch had been flicked.

As though the Aemond you had thought you knew, never existed at all.

Alys had sauntered her way over half way through the event to introduce herself, all saccharine smile with razor sharp teeth that looked ready to sink into your flesh. She was polite, pleasant, overly pleasant, too sweet, too complimentary, and it felt off. Like an overripe peach, or wine that had been left open for a week too long.

Your husband had been stiff at your side, hand flexing around the tumbler of whiskey the entire time she stood beside him, too close to be friendly, and most certainly far too close for a boss and his secretary. And really, you should have listened to your instincts then and there, for they screamed that something was amiss.

But Aemond had a way of getting into your head, making you believe every word he said, push away your own instincts, and question yourself over, and over.

And that’s what you had done.

Questioned yourself, over and over.

Yet one day, something in the back of your head nagged at you too loudly. Aemond had not answering his personal number, calls you could understand, but usually he responded to his texts. But that day he hadn't. And so you called the office, where he spent most of his time these days, which had become a frustrating new normal, as was the depletion of your small weekends away, romantic dinners, spontaneous days out together.

The marriage felt stagnant, stale, and you knew in your gut the true reason for it. His desk had rang for too many rings too long. And when Alys had finally answered, she sounded rushed, caught unawares, awkward.

That was all it had took.

You had asked if he had his lunch yet, that you were nearby in the city and wondering if you should drop by, knowing that he had been spending later evenings in the office ‘working’, or weekend trips away to Harrenhal for business there, his secretary tagging along.

Alys informed you that he had just ate, but the way she said it was with that same overly sweetness that set your brain afire.

It was almost smug.

And so, without even hesitating, like you had for months on end, you picked up your keys and left, heading straight to his office.

Your heart had raced the entire time you drove there, weaving through traffic, just knowing, knowing, something, deep in your gut was not right.

And you were right.

Because there they were, caught like two deers in the headlights as you had swung the door open, Alys, seated on his desk, skirt pushed up to her hips, one shoe lost to the floor as Aemond thrusted into her parted legs.

They hadn’t even heard you at first.

But she saw you.

And she had smiled.

You will always remember his face.

He had turned and looked at you with shock at first, but then it turned to anger, as though you were at fault for this, as though you had ruined his fun, as though you should have known better, scar on his cheek crinkling with the sneer he threw your way.

You left in a flurry of hot tears, immediately calling your lawyer.

You drove straight to your best friend Sara’s house, and crashed at hers for the week, ignoring the constant buzz of calls and texts, and yes, even emails from your husband. Aemond in his desperation to reach out to you, even drove to Sara’s house, demanding if you were there. You had hid in the bathroom, holding your breath in the tub, shaking with anger and heartbreak and fighting the urge to go out there, to yell at him, scream at him, or more dangerous still, forgive him.

Then you were gone, speaking to your solicitor to get everything set into motion, friends loyally supporting your decision. You left the divorce papers on the dining room table, packed your bags and left whilst he was at the office, giving him no chance to manipulate you into staying, no chance for argument, and no chance for your heart to win over, taking your essentials and sentimental possessions with you.

You stood in your home, looking at everything inside, at all the memories that you shared in there. From when you had first looked at the house, to buying it, to Aemond's insistence on christening every single surface in the house to make it yours, all giggles and smiles, pleasure and joy.

But gone were those days, gone was the joy and the giggles, the pleasure and the smiles, and so with shaky fingers, you ripped off your wedding ring, finger feeling bare in its absence as you left it atop the pages.

At first you were just hoping to get some space to clear your head and not be manipulated by your husbands lies and very convincing words again. You knew that if you gave him a chance, you would be stuck. You knew that if he pleaded, if he begged, if he smiled with his signature smirk, it would be your downfall. He knew you far too intimately now. He knew how to get you to bend to his will. So you booked the nearest ticket you could and raced to the airport, not once looking back.

You had just landed in Paris when you turned your phone back on, watching the screen as it lit up, where you were immediately bombarded with multiple missed calls from him and a barrage of texts that became more, and more aggressive as time went on.

It was your fault really, to poke the dragon the way you had.

And yet you still did it, answering one of his frantic calls to hear the cool and icy tone of Aemond, barely keeping it together on the other end.

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious.

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, or stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage.

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped, irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind.

‘See you soon.’

You hadn’t planned to run, you hadn’t even planned to leave the country indefinitely, you just needed an out, but Aemond’s aggression had extended it, triggering your flight instincts. You didn’t believe that he would hurt you, but this new anger had frightened you. This new Aemond frightened you.

But Aemond Targaryen’s anger was not new to you either, his possessiveness was not new, and at one point you had even found it endearing. But after years of being married to what you thought was the man of your dreams, the other shoe dropped, and the true man was revealed.

So you made quick work of it, going to an international bank, taking every single cent out of your combined account.

You knew he wouldn’t struggle financially from such a loss, having another seperate offshore account, or two, or five if you were really counting. Not to mention his inheritance which sat in a vault in Budapest.

Comes with being descended from royalty.

But in the end, you knew you needed every dollar if you were going to get away from him and make it stick.

So you got a new passport, ID, and hitchhiked your way across several countries until you finally settled, finding a cottage, nestled in the woods, a solid thirty minute drive from town, buying it from the local farmer in cash. No contract. No deed. Just cash and his silence.

And that’s where you had been ever since.

You took your tea to the window, settling against the nook, pillows and blankets strewn all over as you curled inside. You looked out at the trees, the sun slowly setting for the day.

It was cold in your cottage, not too cold, but cold enough. Winter had come early that year, and you had used more logs of wood for the fire than you had thought you would have needed.

It was strange, to be so far away from the life you used to live. To be so removed from the world. But in some ways it was good. You had no social media, having deactivated every single one you had, and you also had barely any use of your phone unless you turned on the broadband, which was shaky at best and if it was windy, the reception would cut out.

The only people you really spoke to anymore was the people who lived in the town just a ways away, and Sara, who called every Sunday like clockwork, well actually like clockwork, you needed to turn the broadband on for Skype to work on the laptop you had taken with you.

In the almost year you had been gone, you had taught yourself how to make your own clothes, pickle and preserve foods, and even became quite handy at baking the odd loaf of bread here and there. The farmers whose cottage it was previously had left his belongings behind, taking only his clothes and things of memory with him.

There were books almost everywhere, the old man having been an avid reader, and amongst the books had been one on horticulture, and so slowly but surely, you had grown your own self sustaining vegetable patch. It wasn’t perfect, but it prevented you from going into town too often, and also allowed you to not seek employment just yet.

That would come later when Sara would tell you that Aemond would sign the papers.

But every Sunday was the same.

“Any news?” You asked her that morning, Sara had frowned, pixelated to hell, but the frown still evident on your screen.

“Nope. Nothing. The asshole won’t sign them still. Solicitor can’t even find him to talk.”

You sighed, wiping hands down your face angrily.

Why was he doing this?

Why wouldn’t he just let you go?

Something about it made your skin crawl.

Those messages, those calls.

The ‘See you soon’ text.

Something had snapped in Aemond, and you didn’t like it one bit.

Your only consolation was that you were far away with a new name, new life, hidden amongst rolling green hills and large forests.

“How’s Cregan?” You changed the subject, and Sara had given you an update on everyones lives, her brothers first, and his new girlfriend. Then to all your other friends who you longed to see again.

But not yet, you just needed a little more time and for your husband to agree to the divorce.

When the sun had lowered in the sky, you moved to turn the lights in the house on, throwing some logs into the fire and lighting them with a match. You made sure to thank the Gods for solar panels.

The warmth of the fire heated up the small cottage quickly, and you made quick work of reheating a lamb soup you made a few days earlier, crisp homemade bread on the side with butter from a nearby dairy farmer.

It was hearty and warm, and filled you up, having a soporific affect on you. You had a glass of red wine as a treat afterwards, bought from the local markets and found yourself sinking deeper into fatigue.

It was a routine of sort, wake, eat, read, work on the garden or house, eat, drink, sleep. It was comfortable, and it eased much of your worries, always keeping busy. You didn’t realise how stressed and anxious the life you used to live made you.

The week went by, much the same.

The same routine.

The same walls, and floors, and rooms.

Same window nook, and cups of tea, and warming your hands by the fire.

By the time Saturday rolled by, you had been elated, excited even, to get out and look at the homemade wares and farm grown produce. To see the people you had grown to care about and make as your quiet friends. Still at arms length of course with your fake new life, but you let them in more than you had intended to.

It was never a large market, merely the other people who lived in or around the tiny town. But it was cozy, sweet, and some faces were more familiar than others. You looked forward to seeing them all and catching up on their weeks, especially an older lady named Lucy, who crocheted and knitted some of the most wonderful things. She had kind grey eyes, and would always insist on you taking something from her for free.

Today was no different.

“You make this most difficult, hen.” The grey haired woman frowned, coming round the side of her small stall to shove a large, grey knitted jumper into your arms, the same colour as her eyes.

You shook your head, “Lucy, please, at least let me give you some money for it.” Grabbing the soft wool that was pressed against your chest.

The older lady smirked, hands up in the air in submission, “It’s too late,” Her voice was thick with a Scottish accent, “You best be taking that, girly. It’ll be a cold winter that comes round this year, I feel it in my bones already.”

You sighed, “Then let me give you some money for it, and you can buy some more wool to make yourself some warm socks.” Fishing around in your bag to find some cash to give her.

Lucy crossed her arms across her chest, “Gonny no dae that. If you give me any money I’ll be right offended by you, I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug. It’s a gift, you dafty.”

You shook your head and chuckled, there was no point in fighting.

You would never win anyway.

“Fine.” You acquiesced, “But I’m coming to drop you some muffins and scones when I make them next week.”

The older lady sat down heavily in her chair behind the stall, “I expect nothing less. Will you bring some strawberries from yer plot? Dang caterpillars got into mine and tore them to shreds.”

“I’ll bring you a mix of goodies from my wonderful garden that has no caterpillars.” You teased, rubbing the woollen jumper between your fingers, “Thanks again, Lucy, but you’re a menace.”

“Got to be when yer married to my husband.” Lucy joked, but it made your heart race instead.

You swallowed thickly and smiled shakily at the woman, nodding before bidding her a goodbye.

You walked through the rest of the market for a while, getting some fresh honey from a local farmer, some potatoes for a stew later on, and even buying yourself a new handmade mug.

It was a bustling affair, small children giggling with their parents, and older members of town who had been born and raised there walking about and stopping to talk with their life long companions.

Bright bunches of flowers caught your attention, and you moved over to look at them all.

Native flowers of all kinds were bunched together; roses, petunias, anything that could survive the chillier climate. And as you looked at a peculiar shaped purple flower, hooded like a bell, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and instinctually you turned, eyes darting around the rest of the market, looking at the sea of people, young and old, walking with their wares, chatting amongst each other or smiling.

Not one had that familiar head of silver hair.

You breathed out a sigh, shaking your head.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re safe.

It’s just your anxiety. It was probably just Lucy’s comment that set you on edge.

Not even Sara truly knew where you were.

You looked back at the flowers again, eyes on the purple ones that were nestled amongst pea flowers and other pinks and yellows.

“Devils Helmut.” The man told you, noting your interest in its peculiar shape, “Monkshood to others, or Wolfsbane to those witchy ones.” His eyes looked at you intently, “You ok? Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally.”

He was tall, older, but not by much, with deep brown eyes and wavy brunette hair that came to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears. His jaw was sharp, a nice shadow across the skin from his stubble, with lips that were full and pulled upwards slightly. He had broad shoulders and large hands, tiny freckles dusting the pale skin as he watched you.

He was relatively new to town like you, but not really. Duncan, you remembered, had moved back to the little town after his father had passed away, inheriting the plot of land that was next to yours. Lucy had spilled the tea, over a cup of tea, about him with you a few months before, telling you that he was an eligible bachelor with a wink, trying to set the two of you up.

And although he was undeniably attractive, you worried for the implications of getting to know him, and eventually having to tell him about your marriage, and why you were truly where you were. You doubted the man would want anything to do with your baggage.

“I’m okay, just a bit cold. How have you been?” You asked him, the feeling of being watched prickling at the back of your head.

“Fairly good.” Duncan rolled his r deeply, same low Scottish timbre as Lucy, distracting you from the rancid feeling that curled in your gut, “The winter’s come early this year.”

Duncan leant a hand against the table, and you noted that there was no ring on his finger.

Stop that.

“That’s what Lucy said too. Can definitely feel it.”

Duncan looked pointedly at the jumper still in your hands, “And what’s she given you this time?”

Unfolding the jumper in your arms you held it up, holding it against yourself to show him, “A new jumper. Will be perfect when it gets colder. Wish she’d stop throwing things at me and not letting me pay though.”

Duncan laughed, a deep chortle that rumbled his chest and warmed your cheeks, “That’s Lucy for you. She does the same to me too, the auld blether.”

You laughed heartily, “We should go in doubles to the markets when you’re not selling. There’s strength in numbers, you know.”

Oh gods. Why did you say that?

A soft smile pulled on his lips, “You don’t know Lucy well enough if you think we’d stand a chance against her. She’d bowl us over without even blinking.”

Another laugh, and a shrug, "Worth the try.”

Duncan’s eyes scanned your face softly before he stepped forward, grabbing the bunch of flowers you had been looking at from their little vase, holding them out towards you, “Here.”

You looked at the flowers in his hands and frowned, “What?”

“Take them.” He insisted, “You looked right keen on the Monkshood, mean bloody flower that one. Be careful you don’t touch it too much.”

You shook your head, tucking your jumper into your bag, “I can’t possibly-“

“-Please. I insist.”

You reached forward to take the flowers from him hesitantly, feeling guilt bubble inside of you. What was with all these people and their generosity? It was going to give you an aneurism.

Your fingers brushed against his, and the warmth carried up your arm and straight into your chest. Duncan must have felt it too, because a soft blush creeped across his freckled cheeks.

Holding the bunch of flowers to your chest you smiled.

“You don’t have any pets at home? Any cats that might try and make a snack of the flowers?” Duncan pointed to the Monkshood.

You shook your head, “No it’s just me.”

His eyes danced as he nodded, and you felt as if you had answered his second question without him even having to ask.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

A large hand waved the thanks away, “Dinnae worry about it. Though, I have heard good things about yer baking.”

“Have you now? Has Lucy spilt all my secrets?”

A smirk, “Not yer secrets no. But yer baking, yes.”

Feeling bold, you smirked back, “I could make you something, if you’d like." You held up the flowers in show, "As a thanks, of course.”

“What can you make?”

“Anything you want.” You said quieter, swallowing the anticipation that rose in your throat.

“Can you make a good scone?”

You scoffed, “Easiest of things to bake.”

Duncan mirrored your stance, pursing his lips, “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that then. Do you have enough wood for yer fire? Snow will be falling soon, and we dinnae want you chittering in the cold.”

“I’ve got some left, but I know I’ll probably have to go over to Douglas and Lucy’s to get some more.”

The brown haired man paused in thought, tongue in cheek before he spun around, crouching down to rifle through a bag beneath his table, pulling out a pen and paper.

Duncan placed the small notebook in front of you.

“How about this, you give me yer number, and I’ll come round and bring you some more wood, maybe chop some for the fire as well, and you can thank me by making some scones. I can bring some of Elsie’s jam with me.” Duncan looked up at you, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

And although he had spoken with confidence, it was clear that he was just as nervous as you.

It was hard to fight the heat that creeped up your neck. Excitement and anticipation coursing through you, the feeling of being desired making you giddy.

It had been so long.

You bit your bottom lip softly nodding, leaning down to write your home phone number, making a note to plug the old thing in, praying that it still works, as well as your address into the notebook.

Duncan smiled softly, taking it back and looked at the note, “You didn’t have to write down yer address, I know you bought Macnair’s property a while back, we're practically neighbours. Not accounting for the acres between us.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly, “Sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”

“Hard to not know everyone here, especially when you grew up around them all. Plus, hard to not notice the bonnie lass who moved here. Quite the stir you created.”

You shook your head and blushed again, Gods damn him, “Not my intention.”

You both stood shyly for a moment, staring at each other, a warm pleasant tension building around the two of you.

Duncan cleared his throat, and clapped his hands together softly, “Right. Well, It’s a dreich day, so you best be off before the rain comes again.” He held the notebook up in his hand and shook it lightly, “You’ll be seeing me soon then. I’ll be coming to collect some of those scones.”

You grinned, and held the flowers gently in show again, “I hope they’re up to your standards. Thanks again for the flowers. I’ll see you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

The blaring ring of the Skype call filled your cottage. You raced from the kitchen to the desk, answering Sara’s call with a bright smile.

“Sar!” You smiled, pulling out your chair to sit in it, looking at your best friends face. But her excitement did not match yours, and instead, her face filled you with dread.

“Sar, what’s wrong?”

You watched as Sara visibly swallowed, leaning towards her computer, “Aemond’s left the country.”

Chills ran over your body.

“Oh, he must have a conference in Rome or Budapest. He always used to-“

“-No.” Sara interrupted you, and her voice instilled a rising sense of fear that you had been battling with for months, “Y/n, I don’t think that’s it. He’s already been gone over a week. That’s why the solicitor couldn’t talk to him him.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood rushing in your ears.

Sara continued as you felt the walls around you move closer, “That’s why the solicitor couldn’t get in contact with him. They went to his office. Apparently he’s on leave, not even Alys was there.”

You licked your lips, swallowing dryly, “What do I do? Fuck, Sara, what do I do?”

“Don’t panic. He doesn’t know where you are! Hell, I don’t even know where you are.”

“I know, I know. But still…” You paused, breathing shallowly, “Sara, I went to the markets yesterday, and it was… Off. Something was off… And I just couldn’t shake this feeling that I was being watched.” You felt like you were going to be sick.

Sara’s face fell, head turning to talk to someone else quietly in the room.

“Who’s that?”

“Just Cregan. He’s talking to Helaena.”

You scoffed sadly, “Helaena won’t know anything. She didn’t even know about Alys.”

Sara shrugged, image becoming pixelated, “I-…-ow…-bu-….-o….-harm…-“

“Sar, you’re cutting up.”

You swore, swatting the computer lightly as her image froze.

Fucking broadband. Gods, maybe you should invest in getting a satellite dish here. At least you could get some cable tv if you did.

“-come to you.” Sara unfroze, the pixels evening out to an almost smooth image.

You groaned, “I didn’t catch any of that. Fucking internet cut out.”

“Can you get a satellite or something like a normal person and not be such a hermit? I said, why don’t I come to you.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Sar. Besides, he wouldn’t hurt me, not that he’d ever find me. He’s just an asshole. Probably curse me out and tell me I’m making it all up.”

Sara’s face dropped again, and you wished she was pixelated so you couldn’t see it, the image making your skin crawl, “Y/n. Theres something you don’t know.”

You straightened in your chair, “Is Alys pregnant?”

“No. She’s too old for that. Something else. Something Jacaerys told Cregan one night years ago. I didn’t want to tell you then, you guys were so in love, and I had never seen you so happy. I just,” She sighed, “I didn’t even really believe it until recently.”

“Sar, you’re scaring me.”

She shook her head, “I know, I know. But as you said, he doesn’t know where you are, and he won’t find you. But Y/n, Aemond isn’t who we think he is.”

“Are you about to tell me he’s some sort of international spy, or politician in hiding?” You tried to joke, but the joke fell flat.

Sara’s head looked to the side before back at the screen, “When Aemond was young, he had a temper. A real bad one. Never got along with his nephews.” She took a steadying breath, “When Lucerys was thirteen and Aemond was nineteen, he attacked him. It was probably years of pent up anger after the accident, a fight had been brewing, but he didn’t stop. No-one could stop him, Y/n. It was bad. Really bad.”

Your stomach roiled.

“Y/n, Lucerys nearly died.”

Your mouth gaped open as you could scarcely get air into your lungs.

Oh gods.

“Breathe.” Sara cooed through the computer, “Girl, you need to breathe.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, hand rubbing your chest, “What the fuck?”

“I know. I know. But they were young, I mean, Aemond was a lot older, but still. They were boys. And Aemond would never do anything like that to you. Not that he will ever find you.”

You counted your breaths as Sara spoke to you, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

“Y/n, y-….I-…t wi-…ll be fine-…. I-… ca-…n…-“

You growled at your screen, standing up in anger and frustration, anxiety pulling cruelly at your gut. You paced in front of the desk as you waited for your friend to come back into view.

When she de-pixelated and came back, you leant heavily against the table.

“You got your phone with you?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Yea.” Sara lifted her phone to the screen.

“Okay, I’m going to give you my address. When do you think you can come?”

A cry flew from your lips.

The cottage was bathed in complete darkness, generator slowing to halt outside, the soft hum of electricity disappearing. Your heart lurched into your throat as you stood in the darkness. Skype screen blaring a ‘Lost Connection’ notification at you.

You took shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself.

This wasn’t unusual.

Just last month a squirrel had been trying to burrow into the electrical box for warmth and chewed through a cable. Luckily for you, Douglas had come over to fix up the wiring and helped you on your way. But with all that had been happening, it gave you a right scare.

Your heart did not slow in your chest, nor did you calm with the way your ears pricked at any noise inside or out. You stumbled through the darkness of the cottage to the kitchen, searching beneath the sink for your emergency torch.

Grasping it in your hand, you clicked it on, lone beam of light shining a path for you through the house to the front door. You crept slowly forward, the sound of your loud breathing in your ear as you got to the door.

You would have to go out and flip the switches manually, and make sure the damned squirrel wasn’t back.

Throwing on your wellies, you unlocked the four deadlocks you had installed on your door one by one until you opened it wide, the valley blanketed in the darkness of the night, clouds shrouding the moon and stars. The shadows of the forest around your house made you more on edge, every trunk or branch causing your eyes to linger that moment longer to decipher what it was.

But they were just that.

Trees.

You trudged around the side of the cottage, shoes crunching on the ground below as you made your way to the back. The icy air nipped at your skin, and you tugged the jumper that Lucy had knitted tightly around you.

They were right, winter had come early this year.

You would have to thank her later.

When you reached the electrical box, you tugged it open, shining the torch on all the different switches inside.

The main switch was flicked off.

For fucks sake.

The broadband must have blown it out.

The cottage was old, and the electricals likely older. But the solar panel were new, and you had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps the different generations of technology were clashing. You briefly wondered how costly it would be to have someone come to rewire the house for you.

As you looked at all the other switches, making sure they all looked in order, and the wires coming from out the back were all in tact, you felt the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

You never liked coming out here in the dark.

It was scary, and although there was nothing out here to hurt you, unless there was a miracle lone pack of wolves that came strolling by, which you knew could never happen, since Lucy had told you wolves were hunted to extinction there. So it was just you, the trees and the moon.

The sound of a twig snapping in the woods made you spin on your heel, shining the torch out at the trees in vain. The light didn’t reach very far, illuminating just the front row of trunks, leaving the rest to be bathed in its dense darkness. Your heart thumped in your chest as your eyes scanned the woods.

It’s fine.

It’s nothing.

I’ve just worked myself up.

Gods.

It was probably just a deer or something.

You remembered the day you woke up to a whole herd of deer outside your cottage one morning, quietly munching on the grass outside. You had nearly screamed with joy, but kept the excitement inside, tiptoeing to sit in your window nook and watch them graze.

Holding the box open with one hand, you popped the small torch in your mouth with the other, holding it in your teeth as you flicked all the switches off, and then back on again.

You looked to the house.

Still dark.

You groaned, and did it again.

Again, nothing.

No hum of the motor kicking back on.

“Third times a charm.” You mumbled with the torch in your teeth, flicking the power back on.

The steady buzz of electricity came back, and the lights from the house illuminated a path for you back inside. You all but slammed the box shut and sped back inside to the safety of your cottage, spinning quickly to shut the door behind you, rapidly locking it tight with the deadlocks.

One, two, three, four.

You sighed a breath of relief.

See? Nothing. Just country electricals and wild deer.

You toed off your gumboots, hanging your keys on the hook beside the door.

You needed a glass of wine.

That would do it, a glass of wine and maybe some baking.

“Took me a while to find you.”

Ice ran down your back. Your heart leapt out of your throat as you spun on your feet, fear crashing over you.

You blinked.

And there he was.

Standing in your lounge room.

He had found you.

Aemond’s jaw ticked.

You were so in shock, so terrified that you couldn’t move, entirely rooted to the floor in place as your breath was caught in your throat. Your mouth opened as you tried to suck in air, head feeling light, but you couldn’t even speak. Couldn’t even let the scream out that clawed at the back of your throat.

He had found you.

Aemond took a step towards you, dressed in all black, his long silver hair pulled away from his face in a braid, “I told you, I would see you soon.”

Instincts kicked in, and like a startled deer, you ran. Tearing down the short hallway to get to your room, where you knew the old shot gun Macnair had left behind was hiding beneath the bed. But Aemond was quicker, and you heard his loud steps before you felt him, grabbing you from behind as you kicked your legs back and screamed, trying to get out of his grip.

“Did you really fucking think you could get away from me?” He grunted, holding you impossibly tight, “That I’d ever let you go? It was just by chance that I saw you today, I didn’t even think to go to the markets.” He explained, and tears prickled in your eyes.

You were right, you were being watched.

“But there you were. The Gods brought us back together again, Y/n. I was about to give up. But it was fate that our paths crossed again. It was meant to be.”

You thrashed against him, his arm locking around your chest and neck tightly. You turned your head and bit down on his arm, hard, tasting blood fill your mouth. Aemond hissed, tearing himself from your teeth as he dropped you to the ground, knees collapsing beneath you as you scrambled along the floor to get away.

“Fucking bitch.”

Pain rippled up your scalp as Aemond gripped you by your hair, throwing you back against the floor. Your head hit the wooden boards, eyes sluggishly blinking as the room spun and nausea curled in your stomach.

Your husband stood over you, sneering.

“You’ve been hiding out here for months whilst I’ve been looking for you. Having an affair with that other man who gave you the flowers.” Duncan, “Almost paid him a visit, but that can be done later. Spent all this time searching for my ungrateful cunt of a wife, but you didn’t hide well enough.”

His lone eye narrowed as he looked down at you, lips pulled back in a sneer. Strands of his silver hair had fallen from his braid and puffed with each breath as he stared down at you, chest rising and falling roughly.

You scrambled backwards, nails digging into the wood as he stalked forward, hunting you like prey.

“Money talks. And I have a lot of money. Which you would know, since you cleared out our joined account. Very naughty, Y/n.”

“Fuck you. Get out!” You screamed, kicking a leg at him.

Aemond laughed, dodging your kick, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my wife.”

“I’m not your fucking wife, you psycho.”

“No?” Aemond paused, cocking his head, “Then why are we still on the marriage register? Hm?”

Your back hit the side of the bed, hands swiping underneath desperately in search as you kicked at him again. Aemond swatted your legs away with ease, smirking down at you meanly. But he couldn’t block your kicks forever, and your foot hit him squarely in his groin.

Aemond grunted, doubling over in pain.

You took your chance, desperate to escape as you crawled forward, away from the bed, dizzy and horrified, all instincts telling you to run, not fight.

Besides, you didn’t even know how to use the gun, let alone if it was even loaded.

You stood, side stepping him as you moved to run out the bedroom door.

Your head hit the wooden frame with a crack, smashed into it by Aemond’s large hand. Stars bloomed behind your eyes, pain shooting through your skull. You tried to catch yourself on the door, your nails digging painfully into the wood as you cried, the hand gripping your hair, pulling you back into the room.

Aemond threw you onto the bed, looming over you, “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? To see you again? How hard it was to find you? And you’re acting like such an ungrateful little bitch.”

You grunted and cried, trying to get away, desperate to get yourself off the bed as he pushed you back on it.

“Get off me!”

“But a husband needs his wife,” He leered down at you, pupil wide, “I’ve been dying without you, Y/n. I’ve been bereft ever since you left me. Abandoning me like a coward.” Aemond shook his head, “You could never really leave me. You’re mine.”

“I hate you!” You screamed at him.

Aemond smiled down at you softly, stilling for a moment. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at him, “No you don’t.”

His smile dropped from his face in an instant, shadow cast over his scarred cheek as he looked at you blankly, “And if you do, I’ll make you love me again.”

His hands slid down your body, and began to tear at your pants, busting the button from your jeans, sending it flying across the room, then ripping the zipper apart.

Sobs flew from your lips as you pushed up at him, desperate to make him stop, fear escalating within you, “Stop! Aemond. Stop!”

Your fingers tangled in the bed sheets as you kicked at him, knuckles going white as you tried to drag yourself up and away from him on the bed, nails pulling sharply as you used every ounce of strength you had left. The room still spun as your head throbbed with every movement or jolt of your body.

Long fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your jeans and tugged them and your underwear down your legs as you struggled and cried and clawed at him.

“Been a while since you played this game with me.” Aemond chuckled darkly, “Do you remember when you used to pretend you didn’t want it? When you’d say ‘Stop! Please, no!’ and cum around my cock all coy?”

You blinked, memories erupting inside your brain. But those days were consensual, that was fun, something he had even introduced you to. But now? This? This was different. This was not a game. This was not play.

You kicked at his chest, heel clipping his shoulder sharply, a grunt falling from his lips. Aemond slapped a leg away, other hand gripping your thigh tightly. You cried out in pain as his fingers dug into your skin meanly, pain rippling up it.

Your hands tried to pry his fingers away, but the glinting of his wedding ring caught your attention.

He was still wearing it.

He ripped open his belt, and terror struck inside of you.

“Aemond, no. Please. Stop! Aemond stop, please!”

But all the man did was smile down at you crudely, “Gods, I’ve missed your begging. So sweet and small when you’d get on your knees and beg for my cock.” He pulled his length from his slacks, hard and angry, a drop of arousal smeared across his tip, “You’re so fucking beautiful. And you’re mine. My wife.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, thrashing beneath him as he crawled atop of you.

You dug your nails into his arms, trying to swipe at his face and neck, your teeth bared, ready to bite down onto whatever limb came into their collision course.

“Stop.” He growled, slotting himself between your thighs, overpowering you completely.

You sobbed beneath him, begging him to stop, screaming at him to get off, grunting as you twisted beneath the sheets, your head still spinning with small stars that continued to multiply in front of your eyes, the corners of your vision shrouded in black.

In one final attempt, you went for what you knew would hurt him, what you knew would stop him, slow him down.

Give you time.

And so with the heel of your hand, you thrust it upwards into his face, connecting with his prosthetic eye, clipping the painful scar tissue that would sometimes wake him in the middle of the night in tears.

Aemond’s head withdrew with a sharp and pained cry, one palm pushing into his eye socket as he tried to calm the agony. You pushed against his shoulders, trying to move out from underneath, but Aemond was quicker, and his enraged gaze landed on you. The hand that had been pushing into his face, curled into a tight fist.

Your head whipped to the side, and a cool blanket of darkness washed over you.

You laid in it for a while, with no thoughts, no terror, no fear, just that darkness that curled around you quietly.

It was nice for a moment, almost comforting.

Just the feeling of not being there.

But then the blanket faded away, and pain bloomed in your face, iron on your tongue as you blinked in confusion.

There was movement and a weight atop you. Something sliding against your core.

And then, pain.

You whined, hands shoving against the chest above you as Aemond speared you on his length, thrusting sharply and dryly into you as he reached his hilt, the tip of his cock pushing painfully against your cervix.

You gagged quietly, head throbbing as the room spun, your arms weakly pushing at him, feeling as though they were made out of lead. Each movement of your body sent pain rippling through your skull, and bile into your mouth.

“Take it like a good wife.” Aemond growled, pulling his length out of you before thrusting it back in sharply.

You cried loudly, pain spreading through your core as you felt him tear at your walls.

He was always larger, much larger than anyone you had had before, and when you were together, he would have to spend ample time to prepare you, but you would always be wet to help.

The only wetness you felt now, was from your own blood.

Aemond began a harsh and rough pace, with long sharp thrusts that jolted you up the bed on his length, cries of pain bleeding from your lips as you cried, turning your head away from him.

You still tried to push at his chest weakly, nails scratching at him through the dark shirt he wore, but it was no use.

He grunted above you, picking up his pace, wrapping his hands around your neck for leverage. He squeezed, not tightly, but as a warning, and your eyes shot open to look up at him, hands clawing at his to try and get him to release you. The more you dug your nails into his skin, the more he tightened his hands until you were wheezing beneath him.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you just need to give in, baby. Come on. Be a good girl for me. Be a good girl for daddy.” He groaned, one hand leaving your neck to pull up the soft woollen jumper to reveal your breasts to the room.

Your nipples stiffened in the chill of the air, fireplace not having been lit yet and the cool of the early winter air seeping into the cabin.

“Fuck.” He hissed, hand coming to squeeze your breast roughly, pinching a stiffened peak between his fingers, rolling it through forefinger and thumb.

You whined in protest, hand trying to move his away.

Aemond lightly slapped your face, “Behave.” He accentuated with a hard thrust, another warning, sending pain shooting through your gut, “I’ll even let you cum. Be a good girl for me and I’ll let you cum, hm? Is that what my pretty wife wants?”

You shook your head weakly, tears overspilling from your eyes and down your cheeks, a sob working its way through your lips.

Aemond bent down and licked the trail of tears from your cheek, “Fuck.” He moaned, thrusting into you faster, “Forgot how fucking tight you were. Gods. Gonna have to make up for time lost aren’t we? You’ve been such” Thrust, “A naughty” Thrust “Girl.” Thrust.

Your core clenched around him instinctually, Aemond adjusting his hips upwards so that his length would brush against the soft spongey spot within. His pace faltered, and a smirk pulled at his lips. Warmth spread through your gut.

“There she is.”

“No. Please, stop. Aemond, please. I’m begging you.” You wailed, hands gripping his arms as your nails clawed into him.

Your husband smirked down at you, “Not so cocky now that you’re mine again, huh? Where’s that bratty attitude from on the phone?”

Aemond continued to fuck at you from the new angle, one hand on your neck in a promise, the other pulling a limp leg up his hip, revulsion barreling through you as you found yourself growing wet from the angle, your body betraying you.

The sound of your slick was loud in the room, adding to your shame.

Aemond only tutted at you, “See? Only I can make you feel like this. Duncan would never be able to make you cum the way I do. No-one can. You’re mine. This pussy, is mine. And what I do with it is for me alone.”

The light in the room was too bright above you, making your head spin even more, the clapping of his hips against yours loud in your ears as his thrusts rocked your head and body backwards, a familiar coil beginning to wind in your stomach.

It was all too much.

Even the smell of him overwhelmed you.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock. You gonna cum for me, baby?” He cooed, mocking you.

“P-Please st-op, Aemond. It h-hurts.” You sobbed.

“Oh it hurts does it?” The sneer was back, Aemond’s head leant down beside your ear as he pushed to his limit, your walls gripping him tightly, and whispered, “Now you know how it felt when you left me.”

You weeped.

“I hope it fucking hurts.” Aemond leant back, fucking into you with new found vigour, sitting back on his haunches as he pulled your hips onto him, the coil getting tighter and tighter.

It was horrifying, to find your body finding pleasure from his assault, but you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. He knew you too well. Knew your body too intimately. Knew everything that made you tick, twitch, or moan. He had spent hours, years, learning how to expertly map out your body, and he knew your body better than you did.

A slick thumb pressed down on your bud.

“Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you cum on me. If you cum for me, I’ll forgive you, okay? You cum for me and I’ll know you love me back. Come on, be a good girl, cum for me.”

His thumb swirled roughly against your bud, your hands tightening around him, unsure if you were pulling him toward you or pushing him away. Your mind hazy and confused, the world having been turned upside down.

You came with a cry, back arching off the bed as Aemond praised you through it, fucking into you harder and faster. Warmth spread through your limbs, your eyes scrunched tightly shut, bright lights behind them as your skull throbbed.

Aemond fucked your limp body, thumb leaving your clit as he held your hips with both hands, drilling into your wetness with a painful force, pulling agonising pleasure from you.

You weeped below him, keeping your eyes shut as you just wished for it to be over. For him to just finish.

“Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill my pretty wife up so we can have a baby. Hm, doesn’t that sound nice? Start a family.”

You sobbed loudly, hiding your face in your hands as you turned your head away from him, the taste of blood still thick on your tongue from where he had struck you.

His pace became sloppy, thrusts uneven as he began to lose himself to pleasure.

“Fuck!” He hissed, thrusting into you sharply as he came, hot ropes of cum coating your walls as he thrusted weakly through his climax.

You chest stuttered with sobs, head spinning, but exhaustion taking over.

You were so tired.

So tired.

You just wanted to sleep.

Wanted to fade away back to that darkness again. Back to nothing.

“Shh,” Aemond hushed you from above, dipping his head to press a gentle kiss against your wet cheek and forehead, “It’s okay now. I’m here. It’s okay.”

You sobbed even harder.

Aemond pulled out of you with a hiss, a small whimper falling from your own lips as you felt pain strum through your brutalised walls. He flopped back onto the bed, dragging your body up beside him as though you weighed nothing, black blooming before your eyes as you knocked your head against the pillow, a wave of sickness rising inside.

But you didn't fight it.

There was no point.

No escape.

Nowhere to go.

Nowhere to hide.

You couldn’t run, even if you wanted to.

And so you laid in his arms as he held you whilst you cried, curling into him as the tears kept coming. He cooed at you softly, rubbing a gentle hand up and down your arm in a way he always used to.

It was so stomach turning, the different sides of Aemond, and if it wasn’t for the concussion that you certainly had, his actions alone would send your head spinning.

Because this Aemond, the soft Aemond, was the one you had known. The one who used to hold you to him, and whisper words of praise. But that was a long time ago, and the Aemond who held you now was a different man.

Someone you didn’t even know.

This Aemond was not the man you married.

Aemond pressed another kiss to the top of your head again, “It’s okay, cry it out. I know you’re sorry. And it’s okay. I'll forgive you. Alys was a mistake, but she’s gone now. She won’t be a problem anymore, okay? It’s just you and me.”

You sobbed louder, and he pulled you closer to him, tangling his legs with yours.

“I know, baby." He cooed sweetly, but it was insincere, hollow, cold, "I’ve missed you too. I love you so much, Y/n." Aemond exhaled hotly at the top. ofyour head before his voice fell to barely a whisper, "So much, you don’t know what I’m willing to do to keep you with me.”

A chill rolled down your spine.

You knew now what he was willing to do.

And with the added news of what he did to Lucerys, you wouldn’t put it past him to harm anyone that came between you again.

A wave of mourning crashed over you.

Mourning your past.

Mourning your future.

And mourning the person that you would become with him. There was no escaping this.

Him.

You inhaled his scent deeply.

He still smelt as he always did, but there was a lingering smell of pine in his clothes. The pines from the woods surrounding your home.

How long had he been out there?

How long had he been waiting?

“You’ll love me again, I know it. I’ll never leave you again. We will be happy together. Here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes wide against his chest.

“You’ve chosen the best spot, baby. You always were clever, we can start our family here. Somewhere quiet, no-one around. Just you and me, and eventually the children. Like it was meant to be.”

A shiver rolled through you.

“Marrying you was the best decision I made in my life.” He kissed the top of your head again, smoothing your hair down with his hand lovingly, “I’ll make you see.”

You laid there as you cried, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to say. Having no real power over the situation, having no real way to escape or get out. If not for Aemond's sheer will, the four dead locks on the door assured it as well. He hummed softly as he let you cry, pain crashing through you in waves.

Aemond paused in thought, his thumb coming beneath your chin as he tilted your head to look up at him.

Your vision was fuzzy from the tears, and the edges were seeped in black, but you could see it. The crazed look in his eye as he gazed down at you with a hungry possessiveness.

“Do you remember our vows?” He asked, watching as you blinked at him, your lip wobbling as you tried to stop the endless stream of sobs that worked their way up your throat.

His thumb brushed gently over your bottom lip, a sharp sting sparking in it as his finger brushed over the split.

And then he smiled at you, in the same way that he had the day of your wedding, lips pulled wide, teeth revealed.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him.

The man you had loved, the man you had married and planned a future with.

The man you had been on the run from.

His mouth parted again, smile becoming softer.

“Til death do us part.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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suugarbabe · 4 months ago

Note

I had just gotten the cutest fluffiest tooth rotting sweet idea for a fanfic I've ever gotten.

You know how there is a type of color blindness called red green color blind? It's basically green turns to yellow and red to brown and well fellow and blue stay the same.

So what if reader is red green color blind and her favorite color is blue since it's the only special color she can see and since Theo's eyes are blue when she sees his eyes she gets really excited, wi excited that she just grabs Theo's face so she can get a better look.

I feel like the reader need to have a cherry and bubbly personality because she needs to be very very clueless to just grab someone's face because of how exited she would get.

i've quite literally been obsessed with this ask since you've sent it, and i've gone back and forth on how to write it completely, then went through a little bit of writers block altogether so hopefully i do this justice and close to how you might have envisioned it.

You were really young when it happened, the accident that caused it. Mum was proficient in potions, and you just wanted to be just like her. But a four year old really shouldn't have been messing with her things. It all happened so fast, your little mind just thought you were playing, copying what you've seen her do. Throwing a little of this and a little of that in the cauldron, pouring the pretty blue liquid inside. You had picked it because it was your favorite color, which, looking back seems incredibly ironic.

The explosion was quick but it shook your entire house. Your parents had come rushing in, only to find you sitting up against the far wall, eyebrows gone and lower lip quivering. It has taken about six months before anyone was aware of what it did to you. You were so young and the experience was, well, pretty traumatic so you never really said anything about the changes.

Everyone thought you consistently picked the blue things because it was your favorite color. And while that was slightly true, it was also the only color you were able to see completely. You could occasionally see very dull shades of other colors, extremely muted or like you were seeing them through a layer of grey tissue paper.

Your parents never made too big of a deal out of the situation, instead just teaching you how to by hyper vigilant for specific details you could notice to help you out. Like the difference in how a ruby felt to an emerald, or how gum root smelled versus hickory drip. So overall you had learned to manage. And truly you didn't think you were missing out on much.

In your opinion all of the best things were blue. The ocean on a bright summers day, the sky on a crisp fall morning, the shine on a sapphire, and of course, your Ravenclaw robes. Your 'condition' was spread throughout the school by Christmas holiday your first year. It wasn't something you kept a secret, but it also wasn't something you spread around like you'd won the quidditch world cup.

It didn't bother you that people knew, but it did change how some people saw you. When you were younger, they tried to tease you, tried to call you a freak, tell you that you wouldn't amount to much as "you'd never be successful with such a limitation." It's a wonder what a loving family and supportive friends can do to keep one grounded and happy. As despite all those negative words in your early years, you were still so bright and bubbly.

You had gotten used to how you viewed things a long time ago, but that didn't stop you from being marveled at new discoveries. Which is what had you following a very tall and lanky Slytherin boy down the hall. You had noticed it by accident, as he passed you in the hall. You knew who he was, were well aware of his and his little gang's reputation. But you liked to form your own opinions from experience, and you hadn't quite interacted with this particular member yet.

Your friends had called after you, but after seeing the determined pep in your step had just settled for following. When you had finally caught up to him you wrapped your arms around his bicep, spinning him round to face you. "What the-," he was cut off by your hands grabbing hold of either side of his face, delicate thumbs resting on his sharp cheek bones to hold him still.

"Merlin, Theo, your eyes they're...gods they're like water colors." Theo was thoroughly caught off guard. Not only by the pretty girl holding his face but by the words coming from her mouth. "Oh sweet Rowena, they've just shifted, what are you thinking about?" He did his best not to stutter, "Erm, I...," you could feel his cheeks heat beneath your palm and your smile was instant, "I've not heard that description before. Usually they just say like the ocean or the sky or whatever."

Your thumbs rubbed gently on the apples of his cheeks. "Oh, they're much more than that. They're like...when you first dip your brush into the prettiest pallet after a dip in the water, then when you make the first brushstroke, and the color spreads so perfectly, shifting hues of blue. That's them...your eyes."

No sooner had you finished your explanation were his lips on yours. It was unexpected, catching you off guard but not unpleasantly. His mouth slotted against yours seemingly effortlessly, your hands slipping form his cheeks to loop around his neck and his hands found solace on your waist. His eyes are what drew you in but his lips, merlin you could get used to those.

"Oi, Nott. Who're ya-," The interruption caused the two of you to break apart abruptly, you wiping your slightly swollen lips and straightening where Theo was gripping your skirt. "Oh, no fucking way," Enzo Berkshire's voice sounded as smug as the look on his face. Theo simply threw up his middle finger at the boy before turning to you, small grin on his face.

"Erm, sorry for bombarding you like that its just-," You shook your head, cutting him off, "S'okay." Theo's grin grew two times, "Can I see you this weekend? Coming to the Slytherin party?" You nodded, biting your bottom lip to try and contain your growing smile. Theo placed a kiss on your forehead before looking you in your eyes, more so so you could see his one last time. Then with a wink, he turned and ran to catch up with his friend.

#theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #theo nott fic #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott fluff #slytherin boys

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gloomweed · 3 months ago

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Not Alone

(Eddie Munson/Reader Comfort One-Shot)

Summary: After a traumatic incident, you seek out the comfort of your crush best friend Eddie in the late evening.

Author's Note: I wrote this as a means to cope with my own recent traumatic experience involving my alcoholic father, so this is pretty self-indulgent comfort fic; however, I left the details pretty vague so hopefully it can relate to most others. Pretty much anyone with a shitty home life. Also, reader is referred to as a girl, but no pronouns are used for the reader and physical characteristics aren't mentioned. wc: ~2.8k tw: reader has an alcoholic father (implied), otherwise this a fluffy comfort one-shot.

Eddie’s dreamless sleep was interrupted by the sound of gentle rapping at the door. At first he thought he was hearing things, but when the sound repeated he rolled out of bed with a groan. He glances at the clock on his night stand that reads 12:23 am in bright red lights. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he rubbed the crust from his eyes as he stumbled towards the living room. Who the hell is knocking at this time of night? Peeking through the peep-hole, his eyes widen at the sight of you. Your hair was disheveled, like you had been running your hands through it, and the way you held your arms made you seem so small and fragile. Completely unlike yourself on any normal day.

The old screen door squeaks as he opens it, but underneath that sound, Eddie could hear you sniffling. Without the filter of the dirty glass covering the peep-hole, he could see that your eyes were red and puffy. The light from the porch lamp caught on the tear streaks running down your cheeks, making it look like gold. “Sorry, Eddie. I know you were probably sleeping, but-”

From the moment he spots you, it's clear to Eddie that you're in some kind of trouble. It puts him on edge, becoming hyper vigilant for your sake. He cuts you off as he ushers you inside with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, just get in here.” He's been around the block before, so he knows to make sure you aren't being followed by some lurking creep looking to prey on a vulnerable girl. He keeps an eye out as you enter, looking for any signs of immediate danger. From what he can tell, the rest of the trailer park is asleep. With no cars or people passing by, he follows you indoors, locking the deadbolt behind him.

Inside, you stand in the entryway for a moment, unsure what to do with yourself now that you're here. After locking the door, Eddie sees you standing there frozen. With a faraway look in your glassy eyes, you looked like you were lost in thought. His gaze doesn't leave your sad face as he gently takes hold of your hand, swiping his calloused thumb over your knuckles in an attempt to bring you back to the present moment. When you finally look him in the eyes, he smiles in what he hopes is in a comforting way. It’s okay. You’re here now. I’m here for you. You manage a tight lip smile of your own, grateful you have such a good friend.

He jerks his head in the direction of the couch, and you accept with a nod. Eddie leaves for a moment to grab the roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. When he holds it out to you, he explains. “We don’t have any real tissues, so this is the best I can offer.” As you take it from him, he cringes with embarrassment. “Sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. Thank you.” Taking a few squares off the roll, you wipe your face and blow your nose.

Eddie takes a seat beside you, looking worried. He runs his sweaty hands over his pant legs, feeling unsure of how he should help you. “So, uh… Do you want to talk about it, or is this more like a ‘no questions asked’ situation?”

There is a silent pause as you gather your thoughts, unsure yourself of what you want. You take a deep breath and release it slowly, refocusing yourself on the reason you decided to make an impromptu visit to your friend so late at night. “It’s my dad.” Eddie nods, aware that you have what some might call a ‘complicated relationship’ with your dad. Personally, he prefers to call it ‘your dad is an asshole, but you don’t have the means to move out of your parent’s place just yet, so you’re forced to just grin and bear it until you can.’ You fiddle with the crumpled toilet paper in your lap, frowning. “It got bad. He was yelling and screaming and breaking things.” The furrow of your brow made it seem like you were about to cry again.

“You don’t have to get into it if you don’t want to. I mean, look who you’re talking to. If there’s anyone who understands having a shitty dad, it’s me.” Eddie smirks as he confidently puts his hand on his chest. It’s enough to make you smile in appreciation of his understanding. “So what I’m hearing is you need to stay here for a few days?”

Eddie’s offer makes your heart skip and the moment it's out there, you're shaking your head. “Just for the night would be plenty. You don’t have to let me stay at all if you’re busy-”

He shakes his head with a smile, amused by the thought of him being too busy for you. “Nah, it’s no trouble. You know I like having you around.” He winks playfully knowing it would make you laugh. And it does, albeit just barely. It’s really more a snuff of breath exhaled out of your nose, but Eddie will take what he can get. “Besides, makes Wayne happy seeing I have actual friends instead of, you know, buyers.” After you nod in understanding, he points towards the back where his bedroom is. “You can take my room, while I take the ol’ reliable here.” He pats the cushion he's sitting on with a lopsided smile.

Knowing you, Eddie is already expecting an argument about it's his bed, he should be the one to sleep on it, but he could never have that, especially with his uncle's midwestern ideals. Eddie knows Wayne would chew him out if he lets a guest sleep on the couch. When you stay at the Munson's, you sleep on the one and only bed in the house. That's how Wayne was raised, and what was consequently drilled into Eddie's skull when he moved in. While he prepared this rebuttal in his head, your protest never came.

Eddie looks to see you biting your lip as you look at your feet. He watches you patiently as you work up the nerve to say what you want to say. “Would it be okay if we share the bed?” Eddie almost can't stop himself from grinning, but he manages to keep in his screaming thoughts at the prospect of sharing his bed with a pretty girl like you. On the outside, Eddie does his best to play it cool, but you must have seen his eyes go wide in excitement and took it the wrong way. Waving your hands dismissively, you do your best to remedy the awkward silence. “You don’t have to! I know it’s a weird request, it's just…” Your eyes dim again as you feel the embarrassment creep up your neck. “I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

Seeing you so emotionally beaten down and afraid makes Eddie feel a kind of sadness he hasn’t felt since he was a kid. Before he became more cynical and realized most people deserve what they have coming for them. But he knows you; your kindness and generosity. There’s a feeling of something heavy sitting in the pit of his stomach and Eddie knows for certain you don’t deserve to feel like this, no matter what the situation could possibly be. The sadness quickly evolves into rage when he remembers this is something your own father did. He may not know all the details, but he knows fathers aren't supposed to leave their children feeling like this. Like a burden.

Seeing as being around an angry person is probably the last thing you need, Eddie pushes his feelings to the back of his mind for when he might need it. Like the next time he sees your dad’s car sitting in the liquor store parking lot, for example. A crudely spray-painted penis on that dirtbag’s car might be the thing to put a real smile on your face. Even the thought that Eddie would go to jail if he got caught wasn’t enough to deter him. If it’s in the name of giving you the justice you undoubtedly deserve, he’d do it. This town already sees him as a criminal, so it wouldn’t make a difference to him either way. Why not do something bad for someone so good?

He says your name softly to get you to look at him through tear-heavy lashes. Eddie’s unwavering intense gaze is enough to make your hair stand up on end and your throat tighten. He subconsciously tilts his head at the sight of your sad face. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it. Alright?” All you can manage is a nod in response, not trusting your own voice. You only hope he can feel your gratitude through it. “Welp,” he stands up from the couch pushing off of his knees. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

You follow Eddie to his room where he begins to shake out the blanket he left resting haphazardly on his bed. He motions for you to lie down while he does so. Once you’ve settled on the side closest to the wall, the blanket flutters out one last time to lay mostly flat over you. Eddie quickly settles in bed next to you, doing his best to leave a respectable distance between you both. “Is this okay?” he asks once you’re both settled.

Clutching the blanket that smells overwhelmingly like Eddie, you bury yourself deeper into the pillow under your head. There is a small smile adorning your face as you get comfortable. “Yes. Thank you.”

Eddie quickly sits up to turn off the lights and for a moment the warm glow from his bedside lamp casts a fitting halo around his mop of messy dark curls. There is a quiet ‘click’ as the room becomes dark and you can hear him shuffle back down under the covers. Eventually, he lets out one last sigh saying, “Sweet dreams,” before relaxing next to you.

His gentle breathing is not enough to get you to fall asleep. Hours after Eddie began his soft snoring, you're still running through the night's events. Where did you go wrong? What could you have done differently? What's wrong with you?

These questions circle through your head to the point you begin to feel a pressing headache at the front of your mind. It was like a brewing storm, with dark clouds and impending rain. No matter how you think of it, you still feel in the wrong somehow. It was something you did to set your dad off. You deserve to be screamed at. The tight prickly feeling creeps up your neck as you do your best to cry quietly. You don't want to wake Eddie up. He's already helped you so much, you don't want to bother him again. You face away from him, towards the wall, foolishly hoping that little distance would protect him from your breakdown.

Unfortunately, the need to breathe and a runny nose is a noisy combination. Eddie blinks once, twice, before realizing that it's you making that pitiful sound. It's a lot of sniffling and quiet whimpers. When he turns and sees you curled up into yourself with shaking breaths, he feels a little panicked. He sits up and places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing gentle circles there. “Hey, hey, hey,” he coos. “It's okay. You're gonna be okay.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, trying to calm you down, but as the words leave his mouth he can't help but frown at them. Telling someone that they are going to be fine later is not really going to help them now, but it's all Eddie has to offer.

Voice too broken to respond, all you can do is shake your head. Being seen so vulnerable by the boy you like makes you all the more upset. A few stray tears is one thing, but being damn near hysterical with leaking snot is another. If you thought leaving his room would do any good, you might have tried to make a break for it. Instead, you shut your eyes tight, hoping he wouldn’t push you into talking about it, or worse, push you to look at him.

Seeing as his words of encouragement are falling on ears too sad to believe him, Eddie feels useless. He hates seeing you like this. He wishes he could take it all away and bear it himself. With his last attempt to console you, Eddie steadies his mind in case of your impending rejection.

The gentle hands on your sides make your breath catch in surprise. They pull you by the waist to rest a little closer before holding you in a loose hug. Is Eddie Munson cuddling you right now? His body heat radiates off of him in a comforting aura, soothing your tensed shoulders. The genuine surprise is enough to make you forget why you were crying, if only for a moment. The origin of his quiet voice makes you realize that pressure on your shoulder is where he is resting his head. He speaks into your shoulder blade, hiding his blushing face there. “I know I can’t make it better, but that’s not gonna stop me from trying.”

The sorrow in his voice is unmistakable, as if he was the one to make you cry. You feel a distant pang of guilt that Eddie feels the need to fix it for you. You don’t want him to worry about you, despite the little voice in your head telling you otherwise. You can’t deny that a part of you enjoys the way you feel loved when he shows his care for you, but you don’t want it at the expense of becoming a burden he feels obligated to bear. However, seeing as you can't form the words to tell him so, you're forced to let it go and just enjoy the feeling of Eddie enveloping you while you release the rest of your pent-up emotions.

Eddie is somewhat perplexed that you aren’t telling him off or pushing him away, but relishes the feeling of you in his arms nonetheless. He breathes in the scent of your laundry detergent, the one that he only associates with you. The little brushing of arms makes him realize how soft you are. It’s the kind of softness that reminds him of his childhood teddy bear. Something precious and sweet.

He holds you for a while, being there for you as you cry. There are times he feels like he’s about to doze off, but Eddie wills himself to stay awake. Until he’s sure you’re alright, he can't sleep. When your shaking eventually lessens and your breathing has steadied to the same rhythm of his own, he feels you begin to shuffle in his arms. Eddie takes a small movement away, trying his best to give you your space back should you want it. You turn to face him, tears now dried, and stare into his glittering dark brown eyes. You aren’t sure what words you can say that will convey the gratitude you hold for him. The appreciation. The wholehearted love.

With how long you stare, Eddie struggles to read your expression, and can’t help but smile nervously. Is this the part where you tell him to never do that again? “You always make it better.” Your quiet voice is a little hoarse from your crying, but he manages to hear it anyway. It makes his face go warm with pride and his smile all the more genuine. Your eyes trail over Eddie as you do your best to commit the image to memory. As you appreciate every freckle and crease and dimple, your chest swells with adoration for the lovable boy before you. The feeling is all consuming and before you realize it, you lean into the little space separating you from him and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

When you pull away, you see the shock on Eddie's face. His eyes are wide, his lips parted in awe. The seconds feel like minutes when he doesn't make any kind of response. Blood rushes to your face from embarrassment. You must have overstepped his boundaries! What were you thinking?! “Sorry. I shouldn't ha-”

Eddie cuts you off with a kiss of his own, his lips pushing into yours with a touch more force. Heart hammering in your chest, your eyes slip closed as you kiss him back. When he feels you begin to move your lips against his, Eddie can't help but smile into it. His breath fans across your cupid's bow as he sighs in satisfaction. Arms reaching for each other beneath the blanket, your hands slide over his bare chest before settling on his shoulders. One of his hands rests on your waist while the other delicately cups your face. Mouths separating with a click, both of you panting, you wonder if Eddie can tell you're blushing as you stare. His grin is all teeth and dimples as he gazes back with adoration in his eyes. “Don't be. You have no idea how long I wanted to do that.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fic #fluff #eddie munson comfort #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #gloomweed writes

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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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could u please do a quick lil fluffy one about heavily pregnant y/n and harry at an event like maybe an award after party or something? and her just not feeling great so he takes her home and they have a cute little cozy night in and just him taking care of her

Yes I can, sweet dove!

Check out our Patreon!

-----

"Y'alright?" His voice was quiet, but loud enough for her to hear over the loud chatter and music. His eyes were vigilant on her the entire night and he could visibly see her start to wilt a little bit in the last few minutes.

When she had agreed to go to the show with him, she hadn't anticipated how tiring it would be. How many people she would speak to, how many people would want to touch her belly. The congratulations had been so, so lovely- but if one more person touched her, Y/N would probably cry.

But this was Harry's event, his work, and she wasn't about to risk anything by complaining. She used to attend everything- the rehearsals and late night shows and signings, but with the arrival of their first baby looming over them and the trials and tribulations of a first time pregnancy, Y/N had been down for the count for a bit.

She did well, all things considered. She had stayed active and ate as well as she could -though the powder sugar mini donuts, sprite and salty French fries sprinkled with sugar had been her weaknesses- and ultimately had a smooth pregnancy. However, nearing the end now, her hormones were shot, her body ached, and her feet were swollen.

Sucking it up all night, she had kept a nice face and leaned into Harry's embrace. His hand had rested protectively over her bump, the swollen stomach his pride and joy as well as his most worried about asset, and he had been a doting father to be all night- but she didn't want to ruin anything for him.

It was nearing 1 in the morning, though, and she was shot. Preparations had begun at noon, making it more than 12 hours of hustle and bustle. Y/N craved mint chip ice cream, crisps, and the couch.

"Feet are swelling." Her response was mumbled into his shirt, but she knew he would understand. "Feels like m'standing on needles."

"Darling." His concerned tone matched the cute little furrow of his brow, making her smile. "Should have said something earlier."

"Didn't want to interrupt. This is work, and I got to eat my sweets earlier." That had been part of the incentive, as well as the goody bag. It was wild what people would send celebrities that could easily afford all the products, but Y/N was a woman who took what she could get!

"You're more important than the lot of them. Our son is napping well inside your stomach." He shook his head. "Cmon. We can go home, let me just say goodbye."

"Kay. Can we get my foot spa out when we get home?" She asked as she followed him to grab their coats. He had gotten her one that heated the water and acted like a mini jacuzzi for her aching feet and it had been one of her favorite things ever.

"Course. I'll get the nice smelling lotion and rub them after, hm? Need you comfortable too. Did you want to stop and get some chips?" His thoughtfulness made her tear up, sniffling before she cursed the hormones. This was common and irritating but she couldn't help it.

"Y-You read my mind. Milkshake too?" She peeped, wide, teary eyes looking up at him with hope. No good fast food run was complete without it.

"As if I could say no to you, my darling." A kiss was pressed against the side of her head as he called for the valet. "Your wish is my command."

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #dadrry #dad harry styles #dad Harry #harry fluff #fluff blurbs #Harry fluff blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff blurb

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wannaeatramyeon · 5 months ago

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Meeting DG for the First Time: Coffee

G/N. Fluffy? Strangers to lovers-ish. Masterlists

"Watch it!" You snap at the pink haired stranger.

Granted the collision wasn't entirely his fault, but he was the one who walked around the corner at breakneck speed, causing you to stumble into him and spill coffee all over yourself.

Not even a single drop landed on him, not even a splatter.

The look of surprise on the guy's face is soon replaced with practised indifference. No apology leaves his lips, he just glances coolly at you before striding off.

"What the hell. So fucking rude!" You snarl at this retreating back, loud enough for him to hear, see a brief pause mid step then he continues on.

Adding one more insult to soothe your temper, you holler, "Stupid pink haired weirdo!"

It does nothing to pacify your ire when you see his shoulders shaking, and a sudden bark of laughter from his direction.

He stops, turns, and grins. Sharp canine on full display and eyes full of mirth.

"Asshole," you mutter, narrowing your eyes and flipping him off.

You continue walking in the opposite direction, not wanting to have him interrupt your day any longer.

That idiot. With the pink hair and the fucking teeth. God how you want to wipe that smile off his stupid face.

DG is distracted all day.

Seeing your face all scrunched up with righteous anger was frankly adorable. The way there was zero recognition even when you saw him properly, and the viciousness at which you were slinging insults only added to your charm.

If only you thought the same. You spend the rest of your day cursing him.

Misfortune finds you, and luck finds DG when he sees you again the following week.

He recognises the back of you, your posture, the way you hold yourself.

It's not a surprise to him that he does. After all, he's a genius in many things. There's enemies and his past trying to catch up with him around every corner, it pays dividends to be vigilant.

What is a surprise though, is the shot of joy at seeing you. The smile he has to hold back.

What should have been a no-nothing encounter has spread like a wildfire, burning his skin and blazing over his entire being.

A brief wrinkle in time - the incident, your insults, your attitude and face screwed up and indignant - has left a mark on him.

Catching up then matching you stride for stride, DG murmurs loud enough for you to hear.

"How's the coffee stains?"

Part of him wonders why he asked that. Why the cold Diego Kang persona is dropped and his old bratty James Lee self has reared its cocky head.

Like being around you has flipped a switch.

You turn to face him, confusion fleeting before you take in his pink hair and the haughty, mischievous expression and your eyes widen in shock and recognition.

The smile that he held back breaks through when he notices your lips pursing, the annoyance painted blatantly on your face as you choose to ignore the question.

"Ruined, I take it?"

"..."

"I'll replace it."

"..."

"It's the least I could do."

Curiosity gets the best of you. "What? The coffee?

"No, your clothes."

Who even offers to buy people clothes?! You give him an incredulous look and receive a full on grin in return.

There's that damn canine again. You wonder if it's as sharp as it looks.

"No thanks."

DG shrugs, "Ok just the coffee then."

You pull another face at that. Is this guy for real? Is he trying to ask you out for a coffee? Just as you're about to tell him to piss off, he cuts you off-

His next words surprising even himself-

"...And sorry. For running into you like that."

Huh. You think he's sincere, although his expression seems to be constantly trying to challenge you and he looks very full of himself. But at least, his eyes seem genuine.

Your resolve wavers. You can’t believe you’re even agreeing to this.

"Fine. One coffee."

DG finds you a little awkward and a lot funny. The way you take your coffee is absolutely disgusting, and your loud slurps are an abomination.

It's endearing as hell.

He watches you watching him. Silence sits well with him. It's a powerplay he has learned to use to his advantage. Whoever breaks first, loses. Useful for media shenanigans and negotiating with idol agents. But he sees you fiddling, your glances when you think he's not looking, feels your unease lingering in the air.

And the silence is broken-

"Do you still keep calling me asshole in your head?"

You choke on your coffee, not expecting such a conversation starter. He's not smiling, face blank, but you hear the playfulness behind the words.

Still, you grimace because it's true.

"And other things." You confess.

"I see."

Then he leans forward. Gives you a nod as a form of introduction.

"I'm Dieg-" he pauses. Thinks he's always been a good judge of character and makes a split decision that he hopes will come to bear fruit. "James Lee."

"James," You say. Casually. Not knowing the weight of the secret he has let you in on. You gesture to the cup in your hand, "Thanks for the coffee."

It's... nice. It's been so long since anyone has called him by his name without any expectation. Or malice or animosity.

A clean slate.

James Lee nods again in acknowledgement and sips quietly on his own drink.

This really is nice.

Fuck it.

"Can I get your number?" He asks, holding out his phone, and internally cringes although the outside remains a mask of cool, self-assured confidence.

It's been so long since he's had to do this. He's used to actors and starlets and models throwing themselves at him without having to do any leg work. Do people even ask for numbers anymore or is it social media handles now?

"So I can warn you the next time I'm speeding round the corner, drink in hand."

Ugh, what a line, you think, huffing out a laugh. He really is an asshole.

You reach out for it anyway, and tip tap away, adding in your details before handing it back.

"Y/N," James reads, savouring the syllables.

He likes the sound of your name as much as his own on your lips.

#screaming but daddy im indifferent to him #why is this happening to meeee #lookism #lookism x reader #diego kang x reader #james lee x reader #dg x reader #kang dagyum #lookism dg #james lee #diego kang #lookism fic #wannaeatramyeon

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pascalssbabyy · 11 months ago

Text

The Slip Up, Part Two

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Virgin!Reader

Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI

Word Count: 6.9k

Summary: The secrets out and Javier finally knows, but what you hadn’t expected was him to react the way he did. Two months had gone by since then, and you’re finally ready for Javier to take your virginity.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT mdni, age gap (25/40), both readers and Javiers POV, Javier is unbelievably soft in this, innocent reader, Javier talks you through it, blowjob, fingering, P in V, protected sex, virginity loss, Javier talks you through it, mentions of past f!oral, couch shenanigans, feelings (my gosh there’s so many feelings.)

Here we go! First off, thank you all for being so patient with me. I hope this lives up to people’s expectations and that you weren’t waiting too long! Please let me know what you all thought and I hope you love it!💕 Part 1

Also, huge shoutout to the lovely @schnarfer for reading through this for me and helping me with the final product! So thankful for you!🤍

To the lovelies who wanted to be tagged: @easystreet07 @softstarlite @joelscurlss

The past few months felt like a dream. A dream so vivid in picture and totally immersive. So sharp and in perfect vision. It was a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

Many times you had to remind yourself that the joy you noticed hadn’t been just a figment of your imagination. It wasn’t a fantasy or notions that you wished on. But that it was all real. No, he was real.

You were happy. This being the happiest you’d been in a long time. You could recognise a change in yourself immediately. You felt brighter in the early mornings, there were no thoughts that plagued you or interruptions while you slept, and when you would peer at yourself in the mirror your skin was glowing. A radiant glimmer and dimples deeply imprinted in your cheeks from the constant smiling.

Work was better and shifts weren’t as stressful. The crime in Columbia was at its lowest and the atmosphere around the office was smooth sailing. You had become more at ease with your tasks, but still remained vigilant in your role. There was no more overworking or giving yourself no time for the activities you enjoyed or missed doing. Instead, you concentrated on the things that made you feel better about life away from home.

And Javier Peña was a big factor in all this.

Two months. Two unimaginable months had gone by since that heated moment you and Javier shared in the filing room. You remember the nervousness when he looked at you, that rush of honesty leaving your lungs in apprehension, your heart pouring out into his open palms.

You waited with bated breath. Waited for the rejection that would crush you into nothingness and embarrassment. You had prepared for it. You’d gone through countless scenarios of how Javier would decline your affection. And as difficult as it was to admit, it was all your fault. You had taken things too far. An infatuation with desire and want for him had become so out of reach, and the jealousy was hard to disregard.

But to your surprise his refusal never came. Not one ounce of rejection appeared on his face. And fuck, what a beautiful face he had. Instead, he admired as you stood fearfully, his posture open and understanding.

On that day, he’d shared something else entirely.

You’d never forget that unforeseen consequence. Javier Peña, kissing you and on his knees, his warm, brown eyes firmly locked on yours and giving you the most intense and intimate orgasm of your life.

With buckled knees your body went rigid, electricity rippled through your veins and blinding specks of white obscured the sight of his face deep in your core. Javier’s mouth, fingers and reassurance had unveiled more than anything you ever envisioned.

Leaving that room with his touch gnawing at your skin, you realised that your relationship with Javier Peña would never be the same. No more wishful thinking or privately scanning him from afar. No, this time he yearned for your gaze, your bottom perched at your desk, the end of a pen skimming across your lips, staring at his mouth that had been on yours just moments ago. Now, you were the only one to know the distinct flavour of his tongue, that hint of bourbon and cigarettes being your new favourite addition. This wasn’t going to be a one-time occurrence. This was to become a pattern in your lives, a state of events what would leave to something greater.

It was just the two of you. Hidden glances and lingered touches kept secret as you walked past one another in the hallway, tinted and purplish bruises in the shape of his lips disguised under nude concealer on your neck or collarbone, creased clothing from being ruffled up and gripped when you’d both get an opportunity to be alone.

You finally had that glimpse of him, and fuck it was hard to go without.

Javier would have you at every given possibility. Whether it was late at night back in his office or once again, in the filing room, or when he’d sneak you into the bathroom when the both of you were on your breaks. Javier had pulled orgasm after orgasm from you, and you’d never get enough.

The drop of your skirt and underwear on carpet and tiled floors had become a routine, bare legs dangling over the edge of his desk, his lips hungry and feverish and colliding against your own, his large hands gripping the flesh of your inner thighs. He’d make you come with his mouth, lips sucking hard on your clit and fingers shoved deep into your walls as you’d reach your peak, cunt reaching its high all over his mouth, chin and fingers, his tongue lapping up every single drop.

It was all still so new, but it was beyond compelling. You wanted more. You were so desperate for more.

But with Javier, you had to learn to be patient, attention drifting back to the first time, his words being that constant reminder.

‘I’ll give it to you baby,’ he had promised, his face level with your own, ‘but not right now. Let me do this right, okay? Let me take my time with you.’

And that’s how it went. His warm mouth would trail over and across your naked legs, his moustache saturated with your release as it tickled your skin. You’d yank him up off his knees eventually with urgent hands, his lips puffy and eyes hazy and drunk, his body clearly aroused.

You’d peer down at the clear and evident bulge in his jeans, the denim so tight and restricting, fingers attempting to pull at his belt until…his own would stop you.

Not right now cariño. Next time.

You’d scream his name into the back of your hand, teeth marks indented into your skin, his tongue luring an orgasm from you as you’d muffle your praise in hopes of keeping quiet, to not get caught by friends or work colleagues.

You’d kiss him with intensity, cupping his hard cock and palming him with compressed pressure, his grunts landing on the surface of your tongue.

Not yet bebe, let’s wait a little longer.

Your mouths would find a lustful pace, arms wrapped around his neck and hips thrusting up into his erection.

So impatient. Don’t worry, you’ll have my cock soon.

Soon. It always ended with soon. But when would ‘soon’ be? The anticipation was growing in the pit of your stomach and so overwhelming you couldn’t keep up. You were ready, and that statement you knew to be true, and you couldn’t wait for Javier to take things to the next step.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Javier knew the moment you stepped into his office that very first time you’d be trouble.

He wasn’t too pleased with the idea of his boss offering him a secretary. Javier was very skilled at his job, and he was known around the DEA as one of the top agents in the Embassy. He didn’t need a secretary, someone who would slow him down, pulling his focus away from tasks and a simple distraction. However, Javier knew whatever excuse he’d pull out of the book to oppose, nothing would change the matter. Only to be told that it was ‘to take the smaller jobs off his back.’

It was bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit.

But what Javier didn’t expect was his secretary to be…well, you. Javier had been told before your arrival that you were more than capable in the role and had been doing so back in the US for a couple of years. Except, not one person had told him what you looked like, and it completely surprised him once he took a first glance at you.

You were young, your features delicate and big eyes that beamed with enthusiasm. Javiers first question was why you would involve yourself in a job with so much risk? But then, being so young and accepting a proposition as high as this, surely you must be good?

Javier couldn’t help but admire you. You looked so shy, body language held back and reserved and apprehensive. He couldn’t help his jeans tighten when you introduced yourself, your words quiet and innocent.

“Thank you, sir,” you’d mustered up. “I’m excited to be working alongside you.”

Javier had a certain reputation around the Embassy. Having his ways of getting the right women to talk, needing detailed information fast and efficiently. He never sought the approval of people he worked with, because he was well aware that they judged. Plus, he got a no-feelings-fuck out of it, so why should he be bothered about what they thought?

Javier had come close to you throughout your time at the Embassy, developing a firm and loyal friendship that deep down, Javier hadn’t had in a long time. From the first introduction, Javier did his best to welcome you to Bogotá with the same support he was given years ago, and he could see that you appreciated his hospitality massively.

But of course, being Javier, he had thought about you in ways a friend shouldn’t be thinking about another friend. And yet, how the fuck could he not? You were beautiful, a flicker of luminance in his ordinary life. Javier liked being around you, your presence emitting that emotion of being back home, it was familiar.

Javier could be his normal self with you.

Javier didn’t know that the shyness you possessed was hidden feelings. It’s not his fault of course, but it makes his chest ache with shame. The amount of times he’d clearly come into work after a night with a woman, the smell of their cheap perfume still lingering on his clothes, or being at the bar with you and walking away from the crowd with another under his arm. He fucking hates knowing how hard it must have been for you to see that, now knowing your feelings.

He questions your decision to stay quiet. Why didn’t you say anything? Or give him any indication as to what you truly wanted from him? Javier had no idea, and it hurts him knowing that you kept it secret from him for so long.

When you confessed your affection for him at the work party, that’s when Javier knew. The moment he heard those words out loud, he’d be delving into a fantasy that in the back of his mind, he truthfully longed for.

‘Well maybe it’s because I like you Javier. That every single time I look at you I wish you looked at me the same way. And even though I’ll never have you, it doesn’t stop me from wanting you as badly as I do right now.’

You avoided him the next day. Calls going straight to answer phone, feet skipping away when he was near, your apartment door glued shut when he’d irritably knock, praying that he’d finally see your face on the other end. You were embarrassed and ashamed of confessing it to him, and worse that it was helped with liquid courage. Javier made it his aim to get you to talk, to ease the tension that grew between you both.

He stares at you from his desk, fiddling with his unlit cigarette that hangs from his lips, his foot banging against the hard floor. Your head hangs low, the piles of paper he’d stacked on your desk held flushed to your chest, making your way into the filing room.

Fucking finally, Javier thinks.

He’s marching towards you before his mind can even comprehend it.

He listens to you talk, words shaky and jumbled and limbs quivering. He hears about how you expected him to reject you, and that he’d never be interested in a woman like you. Javier wasn’t a good man, and he wasn’t good enough for you.

You deserved better.

But when you stood there, telling him how highly you thought of him, that’s all he needed to break.

Your lips felt soft against his own, needy whimpers mixed in with his deprived grunts, pushing your back up against the shelf. How the fuck did it come to this? Suddenly, he can’t help it when his knees drop and hit the floor, or his hands pulling your skirt up. He can’t stop the tip of his tongue from moving closer to taste your sex, eating you out like a man starved until you’d come on his mouth.

And when you’d told him you were a virgin. He could’ve come in his pants right there and then. You’d never had anyone’s mouth on you, never had anyone’s fingers inside you other than your own, and when he’d made you orgasm for the first time, he’d promised himself he’d take his time with you.

All of that happened a couple months ago. And at every given chance, Javier needed to have your cunt on his mouth and fingers. Whether it was in his office late at night or back in the filing room, in the bathroom or even back at his apartment, he had to have you.

He never pushed you, never overwhelmingly you with stress as he knew you weren’t fully ready. He remembers his own words, I wanna take my time with you. And that’s exactly what Javier was going to do.

For Javier this wasn’t just lust or quick hookups when you both could get your hands on one another. No, he wouldn’t do that to you, this was much deeper.

And it fucking terrified him.

He wanted you, and he knew you wanted him just as much, hands dragging his zipper down to try and free his cock, limbs inching lower so you could sit on your knees, palms rubbing his length that was tight in his jeans.

Javier was hooked, you were a crave he had to soothe. When he would lie in bed, he’d still smell your body on his skin, even when he would furiously try to scrub it off in the shower. He fucked his fists every time he finished work, the taste of your arousal still on his tongue and moustache. He’d come in his hand so helplessly, envisioning you behind his eyelids, imagining the way he’d fuck himself inside your mouth and your pussy, covering your neck and breasts in his mark.

Javier was restless, and he was running out of patience with himself. He needed to have you, he’d go crazy if he had wait any longer.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Those two months of persistent seduction and lingering touches had led to now. All of the built up and pressure between the two of you falling into place, and with a firm grip and hurried movements, Javier ushers your body inside his apartment, his lips cemented on your own, breathless whimpers willingly pouring out of your mouth.

Your feet are forced backwards by his eager strides, and when the back of your thighs hit his sofa, your hands grasp onto his leather jacket.

“Javi…,” you moan, stealing more kisses with every word, “I want you now. Please, fuck me.”

Javiers groan is guttural, low within his throat and it causes your skin to shiver. He likes you like this, so desperate for something you’ve never indulged in, his cock thickens as he rubs against you.

Javier’s mind clouds with dizziness, his hold tender. He can’t seem to fathom that out of all people, he was the one you wanted. And soon, he was going to be the one to watch your eyes widen in surprise as your walls stretched around his length, slowly easing his cock further into you for the first time, waiting for the immediate pinch you’d feel from him, your walls welcoming something new, something euphoric.

“You sure hermosa?” he questions, his voice pained. Javier wants this as much as you do, but he asks you anyway, needing to make sure that you’re certain. “S’that what you want? You don’t wanna wait a little longer?”

You give him a smile. A smile that holds truth and a stare full of confidence and sureness. You’re tired of waiting. “Yes,” you breathe out, “yes, I’m sure. Please don’t make me to wait anymore.”

A devilish smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Come here cariño,” he assists, holding you closer and moving you to the front of the sofa, resting you down and lying his body on top of yours.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, lips kissing the permanent blush on your cheeks, “you won’t have to worry about a thing. You just tell me how you wanna do this.”

He makes your heart flutter. You trusted Javier, more than anyone you’d ever known and here he was, being so honest and gentle with you.

There’s no one else you’d want to share this moment with.

He holds his frame light above you, almost feather like, both his palms lying flat at the sides of your head. You can feel a radiation of heat steaming off his body, and you want it closer.

You lift your mouth and kiss him, his tongue licking the insides of your mouth. His hands move down your body, knees digging into the mattress to keep himself steady.

This time wasn’t like the previous times you and Javier had shared. This time, Javier is taking a moderate and balanced pace to explore you and your body. He understands where you like to be touch and kissed, those spots that would have you calling out his name, his fingers gliding places he knew were sensitive.

“Can I see you querida?” he politely asks and you’re quick to oblige his request. He removes your top, hauling the material up and throwing it onto the floor, leaving you in a white bra. It’s nothing sexy, as you hadn’t expected to be here with him right now, but by the way Javier eyes you with a hungry gaze, he may be thinking something else completely.

You’re nervous, and it’s an emotion that’s difficult to disguise. Yes, Javier had seen most of you, but throughout everything he hadn’t removed any item of clothing above your waist. You were yet to fully show yourself to Javier, and it causes your anxiousness to pump loudly against your rib cage, ready to break through the fragile bone. It’s simply deafening.

His fingers follow your bra strap, arms wrapping under as you lift your back up, arching it off the sofa whilst he unhooks the clasp, fiddling with it for a couple seconds until finally, it comes loose.

Javiers eyes wonder down, his stare burning hot into your skin as he looks at your bare chest. Your nipples are already hard, caused by the cold air and the darkness of his pupils.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he says, knees moving down the sofa and bringing his mouth to your breasts. He swirls his tongue around your sensitive nub, flicking and pinching you with his lips and teeth. The gasp you release is high pitched, his tongue warm and sticky on your skin causing your eyes to roll back, fingers pulling on his hair and keeping his mouth locked in place.

Javier breaths heavily against you, his grunts wavering and your chest damp and fiery, sparkling that match inside your core.

Rutting your hips into his growing erection you plead out his name, the roughness of his jeans catching on your clothed clit.

You’re so close already, the friction on your pulsing core and Javier’s mouth leading you closer to lightening-like bliss. You need to feel his cock, squeezing your hand underneath his body and cupping him, his forehead resting on your shoulder, mewling at the touch.

“Please, Javi,” you beg, fingers clutching onto his hard erection, “I want you.”

His lips that were latched on your nipple leave his mouth with a light ‘pop’, his tongue poking out to lick his pinkish lips.

“What is it mi amor? Tell me, what is it you want exactly?”

Your gaze lowers to his jeans, realising how constricted they look. Unintentionally, your own mouth fills with saliva, a daring need to feel him on your tongue.

“I…I wanna make you feel good.”

“You are bebe,” he consoles, “you are. Just look at you, lying here looking all pretty for me.”

“Javier please,” you flush and tone hesitant, “it’s just…I—I wanna feel you in my mouth.”

A breath hitches in Javiers throat, your words hitting him right in his gut like a harsh punch and winding him. His cock pulsates and twitches in his boxers.

“Yeah?” he questions, “s’that right? You wanna suck my cock bebita?”

You pause. “I do,” you confess, forcing him back by his chest so he’s put in a seating position, his feet flat on the floor.

Moving yourself, you rest your knees on the carpet below, hands yanking at his belt buckle and loops, unbuttoning his jeans along with pulling down his zipper. The outline of his head is visible through his boxers and your voice stops halfway up your throat. He’s clearly hard and he looks thick, the grey colour of his boxers now a darker shade from the pre-come that drips from his tip, the spot glistening in the sheer light covering his apartment.

You’ve wanted to do this for him for so long. He deserves this. But what happens if you’re not good at it? Or worse, what happens if he doesn’t like it? This is a newly discovered experience, and you didn’t want to fuck it up.

You can’t recall the seconds that have passed, eyes just staring at him and his cock. Javier’s tone breaks through the anxiety.

“You don’t have to do this hermosa,” he says, the words soothing and thumb faintly stroking your hands, “y’remember what I said? That first time in the filing room?”

Of course you remember, how could you ever forget?

“So, you know this is all for you,” Javier states, “I wanna make you feel good, make sure you feel comfortable.”

“I know Javi,” you say, heart thumping at his kindness. And that’s why your fingers don’t stop, hands still tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

“I wanna do this. It’s just…I wanna make it pleasurable for you.”

“It will be querida, I promise,” Javier replies, smirking at your innocence, that fucking smirk of his. “Don’t you go shy on me. Go on, start off by taking these off.”

Fuck.

Javier lifts his hips up to help you, and with your digits hooked under his boxers, you drag them down his sun-kissed thighs.

His erection lands on his stomach, the tip of his cock a swollen red and wet. His pre-come covers the sides of his length and rests pretty on his tummy.

Your eyes bulge at the sight. Holy shit. He’s bigger than you had anticipated, veins travelling up the sides and the base of him covered in thick, dark, curly hair. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a heavy weight pooling on the surface of your tongue, you lick your lips.

Javier snarls, “Now look at that pretty girl,” he teases, sliding his thumb across your parted mouth. “Already so desperate to have my cock fill your mouth, aren’t you.”

“Yes…,” the confession plummeting out of you, “Javi, tell me what—“

“I will hermosa,” he kindly interrupts before your apprehension gets the better of you. “Don’t be so nervous, do just what I say, okay? M’here to help you.”

You needed that, a gulp of thickened air you swallowed and had been holding onto was suddenly being released from your lungs, less suffocating.

Your hands dance at the top of his thighs, fingers inching closer to the coarse hairs that scattered his pubic region. You stop, movements still, waiting for his instructions.

“Take me in your hands cariño,” he teaches, his palms resting flat on the sofa either side of him, “just lick the tip for now, get me nice and wet.”

You take him in your hand, like he asked, your tongue poking out of your mouth and moving closer, hovering over his tip. Cautiously, you lick the slit, collecting the salty liquid. It surprises you, but you quite like the taste. That saltiness mixed with Javiers own flavour. It makes you want more, and this time you eagerly swirl your tongue around the head, adding more pressure as you do so.

“M’fuck,” Javier groans, his head dropping back onto the sofa, fingers finding a place on your scalp, threading his digits through your hair, “that’s it honey, keep doing just that.”

Your tongue was so hesitant at first, doe eyes beaming up at his features. With each lick you reverse every furrowed brow, the pull of his bottom lip and the grunts that slip from his mouth. He moans out loud at a certain swipe of your tongue across his seam, so you repeat the motion, over and over and over again.

“You look so pretty bebe,” he grunts, “fuckin’ made to suck my cock weren’t you. Keep kissing it hermosa, feels real nice.”

Javiers praises make you bold, circling your tongue round more confidently and dropping your mouth on him, the whole head of his cock filling the inside of your mouth.

You do that for a while, hand kept still as you hold him at the base, your tongue doing all the work.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” Javier murmurs, “you can—shit, you can take more of me in your mouth, if you’re comfortable.”

Just as you’re about to lower your mouth, Javier cups your cheek, his voice breaking, “remember to breathe through your nose bella, it’ll relax your throat. And don’t take more than you can’t handle okay? You can use your hand to help.”

You inch his cock further into your mouth, remembering to slowly inhale and exhale through your nose to ease your throat. His length glides through your mouth and you hollow your cheeks around him, using your hand with the rest of his cock you can’t fit inside.

With each rise and fall of your lips you take more of him, sliding his length further down your throat, but not so far that it’ll cause you to gag. The filthy sound of your slurping spreads through his apartment. It becomes smutty and loud and Javier sighs above you, his hold on your head now much firmer and you moan around his length.

You peer up at him and he looks wrecked. His own mouth is parted, his forehead covered in a glittery sheen of sweat, his chest rising and stomach tight. Your heart fills with pride, you love how your mouth’s pulling him into that state of pleasure.

The vibrations around Javier’s cock causes him to subconsciously buck his hips up, the tip of his cock instantaneously hitting the back of your throat and causing you gag and cough around him.

His eyes widen in shock, “fuck hermosa—,” Javier yelps, hands pulling you back as his cock leaves your mouth in a crude gasp. A line of saliva trails from his tip to your bottom lip, his whole length saturated and drenched, and Javier could come just from that sight alone.

“Shit, you okay cariño?”

You can’t help but cough and your eyes start to tear up, an overcast of blurred vision.

“Yes Javi,” you cough out, your voice laboured. “You didn’t hurt me, I’m okay.”

You gaze at his cock, lying damp and stiff in the palm your hand. You enjoyed having him in your mouth, and by the way you can feel your wetness seep through your underwear, it’s clearly evident.

“I really liked doing that,” you blurt out.

“Yeah?” Javier chuckles, “that’s good cariño. You did so well, felt fucking incredible.”

You’d blush if your cheeks weren’t already red. You wipe the remains of your saliva off your chin with the back of your palm.

“That’s enough for now, cosa linda,” Javier says, “come ‘ere.”

His lips are back on yours, shocked that he doesn’t seem bothered that you’d just had your mouth on him. His kisses move across your face, nipping at your ear and moving lower to your neck. Your eyes flutter shut and you allow him more access, fingers clinging onto the back of his jacket.

“Fuck I can’t wait to be inside this pussy bella,” he confesses, sucking and biting your skin, “thought about this for so long. You have no idea how many times I’ve fucked my hand thinking it was your pussy wrapped around me.”

Fuck you want him right now. “I need it Javi. Need you. Please, take me to bed.”

He’s quick to lift you up into your wobbly legs, shifting his arm under your knees and carrying you up to his bedroom.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Javier’s on his knees and your calves touch the end of his bed, hands resting atop his shoulders to keep you upright. His hands slide up your legs, fingers fiddling with the button and zipper on your trousers, his digits tugging until the material pools at your ankles.

He helps you remove them without hurry, his stare fixed in your face as you watch his with a hooded gaze, lustful.

There’s no worries or no interruptions, just a small, compact space full of admiration.

His moustache drifts over your skin and tickles your bare thighs, goosebumps rising with each swipe of his lips. He kisses your hipbone, his mouth a distraction as his fingers slide your underwear down.

“So fucking beautiful like this hermosa,” he says truthfully, a clear devotion heard in his words.

“Go and lie down for me, get comfortable mi amor.”

Your back lands onto his neatly made covers. Your spine shivers from the coldness, his quilt soft and swallowing you further into the mattress.

You’ve never entered Javiers bedroom before. His room’s barely lit, the blinds wide and keeping the sun out that’s just about to set. The walls are painted with a dark cream colour and his decor is minimalistic. A wardrobe in the corner, a desk, a small bedside table sitting next to his double bed. You like it, it seems well known and cosy, it matches Javier perfectly.

You lie on full display, body exposed and frozen with suspense. “Javi,” you whisper, his name coming out velvety and sweet, limbs reaching out to him.

“I know cariño, I know,” he hushes, removing the rest of his clothes, his thick muscles tensing in his arms once he unbuttons his white shirt.

“Fuck,” the word comes out before you can even register what you’ve just said. You think Javier must have heard it too, but your mind’s too busy in appreciating his physique to care.

He’s so beautiful.

You clench your thighs together. You already know that you’re soaked for him, your pussy wet and folds messy and dripping onto the cover below.

“You want me to fuck this pussy princesa?” he teases you, hand fisting his hard cock and giving it a few tugs, “you gonna tell me how bad you’ve wanted this?”

You moan, the view in front overwhelming. Your chest lifts and falls, back arching off the mattress and eager for his touch, “I do Javi. Want you so bad.”

He crawls up to you on his hands and knees, his cock hanging hard and long in between his legs. He looks down at your form and parts your legs with both hands, nestling his body on top of you. You can feel his length on the inside of your thighs.

He brushes your hair off your face with the gentlest of touches, moving the strands behind your ears.

“You really are something querida, delicioso.”

His mouths latches on your breasts again, licking his tongue around the flesh and sucking your nipple. You whine at the sensation, your breasts already sensitive to his mouth and hands.

“Fuck, Javi,” You sigh, “that feels…”

“Tell me,” He ushers, his big, brown eyes looking up at you as he continues his assault.

“Good. So fucking good,” you moan.

His hands follow a path and meet their place in between your legs, fingers parting and rubbing your wetness through your folds.

You gasp, hand wrapping around his wrists, “please. Javi, I don’t—“

“What is it hermosa?” he asks, stopping his motions, “what don’t you want? I thought—”

“—No Javi, it’s not that. I’m—I’m ready please,” you babble out impatiently, “just…I want you inside me.”

“Necesitada,” Javier snickers, “I gotta prepare you cariño. Let me open you up first, gonna make sure you’re ready for me. Promise you’ll have me soon.”

Taking two of his fingers, Javier pushes them past your opening, scissoring and curving them upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion. You cry at the feeling, your walls making room and preparing for his size.

“So warm on my fingers bebe,” he seduces, “and so fucking wet. Gonna glide so easily in your pussy mi amor. You think you’re ready for me?”

With your breathing erratic, you nod at him, “yes, Javi, please.”

He removes his fingers from you, shifting his weight and pulling the drawer out on his bedside table and reaching for a pack of condoms. You gaze at him as his fingers slide it onto his length, and when it’s done and secure, he leans back over you.

He kisses you, the weight of him sweltering. He presses his chest up to yours and rests on his forearm, his other hand grips his cock and rubs it through your folds.

You pant against his mouth avidly, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance and smearing against your clit, your pussy fluttering as you wait.

Fuck, this is it.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises, his tone quiet, “anytime you feel uncomfortable, I want you to say, okay? Need you to talk to me while I do this.”

Gently, he prods his tip at your opening, eyes averted to your face as he slowly and carefully eases his tip inside you, his hand rubbing tender circles on your hip.

You show no sign of discomfort. “Alright? I’m gonna push—“

“Fuck Javi, please. Please just do it.”

“A needy little thing aren’t you querida,” Javier grins, pressing more of his length deeper inside your walls. He grits his teeth hard, forehead nesting in the crevice of your neck.

“Shit sweetheart—,” he winces, his eyebrows furrowing in, “fuck you’re so goddamn tight.”

Aiming to slow your breathing, you open your legs wider as you feel his girth stretch you open, his groin moving forward. It hurts there is no denying it, it’s an unpleasant sting, but not so painful that you’d tell him to stop.

Your eyes clamp shut, fingernails digging into his shoulder as you hiss, feeling a burn in the centre of your core.

“Hermosa,” Javier murmurs, keeping himself still, “open your eyes. Keep them on me bebita. Y’want me to stop?”

“No Javi, don’t.” You really don’t want him to stop. “I’m fine, jus’…please, kiss me.”

He kisses you tenderly, humming into your mouth. With every part of him sliding inside you, your body starts to relax, and that initial prick gradually eases away. It still rather uncomfortable, but you know once he begins to move, it’ll get better.

Once he fully sheaths himself to the brim, he halts his movements, giving you time to adjust to him.

“There you go,” Javier worships, his words slow and dragged out. “The worst parts over now bebe. Y’doing so well. That’s it, relajarse.”

You both breathe in-sync, his breath easing your muscles and calming.

His legs shudder, a crinkled line indented in between his brows. Every inch of willpower is forcing him not to thrust up into you and fuck you hard, but he can’t do that to you, knowing that he’s already difficult to accommodate to.

Your next words are a fucking blessing.

“You can move Javi, please move.”

Javier draws his hips back and pushes forward. There’s a sudden emptiness you feel, until he thrusts his whole length into you again. You whimper out to him, his mouth hanging over yours as he grunts into your open mouth.

You can’t describe the way it feels, the way he feels. He’s so deep, he cock makes you core hot and butterflies flitter in your lower stomach.

“Fuck, talk to me querida,” Javier pleads breathlessly, “tell me how you’re feeling.”

Javiers thrusts are long but slow, and with each push the pleasure expands and courses through you. “Feels good now javi,” you breathe out, “it feels— fuck!“

Javier hand had curved under your ass and lifted it off the bed, the new angle causing the tip of his cock to hit your g-spot. You immediately wrap your legs around his lower back, keeping him as close as possible.

He laughs, adoring your reaction, “yeah? Right there?” he asks as he hurries his pace and you shout, his cock bringing your orgasm round fast.

“Yes, fuck r-right there,” you weep. “Oh my god Ja-avi.”

“Shit this pussy feels so fucking good,” he moans loudly, his tongue licking up your chin and sucking on your bottom lip.

“You’re mine now princesa,” he claims, “no one gets to feel this pussy apart from me.”

He picks up even more speed, fucking into your cunt hard and fast. He grips your jaw and cheeks tight, constraining you, so you have to stare at his face.

“You’re mine,” Javier growls, “shit—bebe, tell me who you belong to.”

You can feel that knot in your centre tighten, your walls pulsing and twitching all over his length, you grip onto his shoulders.

“Y-you Javi,” you stutter, “fuck I belong to you. Always yours, please.”

His hand moves and the tips of his fingers circle your clit. You’re close, so fucking close and with that added pressure of his fingers, it’ll tip you over the edge.

“Oh my, Javi I’m gonna—“

“Y’gonna come?” he says, quickening the swirls on your bundle of nerves, “fuck querida go on, come on my cock, that’s it.”

The tip of your fingers dig into him as your orgasm crashes over you, your stomach twisting and thighs tightening against him. It feels fucking incredible, his cock hitting your precious spot relentlessly and prolonging that feeling of ecstasy flourishing through your skin.

“Buena niña,” Javier praises, his hips never ceasing as he chases his own high. Your walls constrict, pussy drenching his cock with more of your release.

“M’gonna come,” Javier warns, his movements faltering and body slumping. With one last forceful push, Javiers orgasm ripples through him, moaning out a string of curse words as he fills the condom with his come.

“Fuck me,” he chokes and praises your name, his breathing fast as his arms wrap under you, keeping himself shielded inside you.

Your trace patterns on his dampened back, feeling the lively pace of his heart, the rhythm heard in your eardrums.

A couple minutes go by like this, and once Javier gathers the energy, he slides his weight off you and rests beside you.

Javier’s the first to talk. “You alright cariño? How was it? Wasn’t too rough with you was I?”

You smile, hands rubbing his scalp and digits lacing through his messy hair, “No Javi, you weren’t. It was perfect.”

He nudges your nose with his own, hoisting himself off the bed and walking towards the bathroom. He freshens you up, covering your body with his bed sheet to keep you warm and once he’s finished that, he lies next to you.

“Thank you, Javi,” you say after a moments silence, staring up at his ceiling. He looks at you confused.

“I just wanted—,” you sigh, a sudden shyness mixed in with your voice, “you’ve been really good to me. And so patient, I appreciate it so much.”

“Y’don’t have to thank me querida. If anyone should be saying thank you, it’s me.”

Your eyebrows droop, ready to question him but this time, Javier’s quick to reply.

“You trusted me with something personal,” he says quietly, “got me thinking about how important you are to me.”

Your heart rapidly beats at his words, swallowing down the lump you can feel in your throat.

“You already know that, don’t you. You’re pretty much the only thing that gets me through days when shit gets tough.”

Your face rests on his chest, giving it a quick peck, “You’re important to me too Javi. And this may be a stupid question but…I’m hoping this isn’t just a one-time thing?”

Fuck, please say no.

He looks down at you through his eyelashes, a mumbled chuckle petting your cheek. He smirks at you.

“Oh, definitely not a one-time thing mi amor.” You gulp. “You have no idea what else I’ve got planned for you. You’ve got so much to learn.”

Swiftly, he fits in between your legs again and you wheeze in shock. His face holds a mocking expression, and you laugh.

He rubs the end of his finger over your lip, watching with seduction as you lick the tip. He pushes forward and you take his digit into your mouth and moan.

“Fucking hell, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into querida,” he says almost like a warning, “you’re playing a very dangerous game y’know that?”

You don’t. But that’s what makes it exciting.

“Then show me.”

His finger leaves your mouth as he hums. “Rest first cariño,” he says, kissing your lips. Javier turns off the light on his bedside table and hugs you from behind. His breathing tickles the back of your neck, and before you can say goodnight, you fall into one of the best and quickest sleeps you’ve ever had.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

Text

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight.

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life."

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other.

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you.

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs?

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist.

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too.

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you.

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh.

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke.

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves.

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books.

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat.

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand.

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain.

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over…

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh.

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure.

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle. "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine.

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs.

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?"

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips.

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't.

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good.

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you.

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks…

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to…

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck…

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time.

“Desperate for it?”

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?"

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership.

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…?

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body.

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled.

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench.

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees.

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you.

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet."

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want...

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined.

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him.

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is.

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat.

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic.

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves.

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable.

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch.

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong.

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two…

You never even kissed.

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

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #Bodyguard!Ghost

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doin-just-fine · 8 months ago

Text

MAJOR UPDATE: Questioning systems or systems in a doubt spiral pls read.

I recently told my therapist about potentially being a system. This was a scary move because she has previously had some iffy takes about systemhood. But I told her because I trusted that she would meet me where I was at and help me navigate , at the least, the general idea of not understanding my own brain if nothing else which I was ok with. I told her and it went as expected. I explained why I thought I might be a system but also the doubts I had about it and how it was distressing me to not understand myself. She agreed to use the language I was using for it and was happy to help me through (as is her job) and also because whether it was systemhood or not it was something in me that was trying to be seen and we would work on figuring out what it was.

Fast forward a few session, and I was going through another bout of "what the fuck even is my brain". I was starting to realize that my "systemhood" is very different from the things I've been seeing online. In the ways that it's different to other systems is: - I'm always in the front, always in the captains chair - I have no amnesia because I never switch out - My hyper-vigilance never lets me dissociate fully though i definitely "check out" in my own way - Head mates just feel like vague ideas or emotions

But the ways that are similar are: - These vague ideas or emotions have opinions and feelings that are different from my own. - Though they are vague, I can definitely tell they are separate from what I have come to understand as "me" - I become "a different person" in the sense of my attitude, vibe, behavior, and opinions change from where they were 5 mins ago, but I am still me, just a different me.

Anyway, I was already trying to make sense of all of this and was not planning on talking about it with my therapist because nervous... However, my therapist ask me about it first. She asked some clarifying questions about my partners system vs my own and how they are different. When I explained what I just wrote above to my therapist she said "Thats what I thought and I owe you an apology."

Basically, my therapist, like any good therapist should when confronted by something they don't know a lot about, had been doing research on complex forms of trauma and coping. Things in the same vain as CPTSD and Plurality including those two topics. She had specifically been reading a book called "The Body Keeps The Score" (TW it is a book about trauma and studies of trauma so it has details of case studies that some people may find incredibly triggering). I did some research on what exactly the book was talking about in regards to "systemhood" and from what I've found, chapter 14 at the end of a section called "Writing to yourself" and the first parts of chapter 17 have interesting information regarding systemhood and how its not entirely limited to things that are diagnosable like DID or OSDD. It seems to talk about how we all have several selves and trauma can get in the way of those selves communicating effectively. My therapist told me about this book and what she learned from it and apologized to me because the book made her realize that she was wrong and that I was in fact a system....

The session ended and I just kind of sat there... not sure how to feel but definitely feeling relief and validation.

After doing research on the book to write this I have some words of wisdom. If you are a questioning system or are doubting your validity remember this: The human brain is so incredibly complex and no one actually understands how it does anything beyond its basic physical functionality... the conceptual abilities of our mind are a mystery. How we define self is just theory. If you don't fit into boxes, labels, identities, or diagnoses that does not mean your experiences aren't real. You are going to be ok. Understand YOUR mind and how it works for YOU, not through a label or diagnosis. If those things come later, great! Do not let them destroy you just because you don’t fit perfectly. I am a system. Simply. No types, labels, or diagnosis. I am a system. I have a unique experience because my brain is no one elses. I am a system. I may not have people in my head in the traditional sense but I'm also not alone up here either. I am a system. I am a system. I am a system. Nobody has the right to deny me this for they do not live behind my eyes.

As I understand myself: I am a system.

#median system #questioning system #plurality #system #actually plural #actual system #actually median #questioning median system #plural community #neurogenic

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ryuzakemo128 · 1 month ago

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who wants a royalty au of poly141 with pirate hunter reader?

Think about it. Four dukes meet a princess who is coincidentally a pirate hunter.

Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

If you would like to have a say/ input for this idea: Link to a poll.

The Defiant preys upon other vessels belonging to pirates, bandits, assassins, slavers, marauders, and thieves. Described as a beast with an insatiable appetite. Its prey deliberately chosen before headhunting those with influence inside those few communities. Targeting the ones who gather the most power amongst the pirates, slavers, and marauders.

The defiant is maintained by the pirate ships, she cleaves through in half with the obsidian blade in the front of the war ship. A blade made from obsidian and steel.

The wood of the ships would be used to fix damages incurred, and anything left over would be stored as cargo. Anything of value would be secured in safes to prevent theft from third party groups and individuals. Ensuring nothing of the wreck is left behind once they're done.

The Defiant's crew likely assess the materials on the conquered ships for quality and usability before dismantling them.

Usable wooden components are carefully removed and sorted for potential repairs or reinforcements.

Valuable metals, fabrics, and other resources are extracted and catalogued for later use or trade.

The obsidian blade is used to efficiently cut through enemy ships, minimising damage to the Defiant while maximising the harvestable materials.

Skilled carpenters and blacksmiths on board The Defiant repair and reinforce the ship with the salvaged wood and metal.

Any excess materials are stored in the ship's hold as cargo, providing additional resources for trade or barter.

The Defiant gets large shipments from outposts you have created all over the world, hubs of intelligence gathering, recruitment, trade, repairs, and maintenance.

Your ties to people within the black market, information brokers, contraband trade, blacksmiths, mercenary services, protection rackets, money laundering, hidden workshops and safe houses.

Planting disinformation whenever the target needs to be forced out of hiding.

While also maintaining a close eye on the region as a hub for their spy network. One that you have meticulously established over the years to help hunt down more pirates, obtain more resources and expand their range of influence.

Working on your own for this long has been taxing on your mind. So how do you do it when things constantly require your attention for one thing or another?

They called you, ‘Ghost of the High Seas’, ‘The Iron Maiden’, ‘The Merciless’, ‘The Pirate Killer’ and ‘The Human Shark’.

However, once someone got your loyalty, they would have to do something so heinous and vindictive against you to lose it.

You didn’t give out demands.

You gave out requests.

For things which for sensitive souls in the royal department often took as forceful demands with a dramatic flourish.

John heard a rumour of how you asked for something. But a Duchess took it as an aggressive demand.

Which he thought was either a declaration of war or an exaggerated complaint about you. Either way, you weren’t to be crossed, regardless of how simple your requests actually were.

You didn't need to raise your voice to get what you wanted; a simple, firm look usually did the trick.

John chuckled to himself whenever someone complained about how you managed to make it sound like a demand. Your diplomacy was as subtle as a sledgehammer, or a knife in the back. Depending on who you were dealing with.

It worked surprisingly well in your favour.

It was all part of your charm. But you didn’t think you had charm. Something which he vehemently disagreed with you.

To him, you had it in spades, enough to sink a merchant’s ship. His first meeting with was in court. You were mumbling, grumbling and scowling about having to wear a dress.

“‘I must take care to maintain a vigilant watch over you and all matters of such impropriety.’” you were as sour as a cat trying to get the taste of lemon off their tongue.

The dress you wore, a midnight blue colour with matte silver trimmings, and silver embroidery in the skirts. The skirts hovered just above the marble floor.

Custom-made as well as custom-designed to suit your personality and fit your physique perfectly. The dress in made of soft feeling velvet. The underskirts of the dress have both satin and silk underlay. Underneath the silk and satin is a layer of cotton for added comfort.

The three throwing knives sat firmly. Comfortably in your garter. It provided another level of security in case you felt cornered by someone you didn’t trust. The fan you used to cool yourself down had feathered tips along the edge, matching your dress.

It was all part of your charm.

Which had earned you the respect of many and the fear of those who knew you well. Price had seen it in action during your second meeting. You'd simply looked at a man twice your size and said.

“Might I entreat you for the loan of that map? Your generosity would be greatly appreciated.” and somehow, it had ended with him handing it over without a fight. It was uncanny.

“I am wholly indifferent to the duration required for its completion, provided that the task is executed with care. Such an undertaking demands an ample allowance of time, for one cannot hasten the attainment of perfection, even should the final result fail to appear flawless to the discerning eye of another.” you told your second-in-command.

You weren't petty, vindictive or sadistic. The preferred term you loved to call yourself is more, realistic, tinged with cynicism in your terms and conditions.

Strolling right past the four of them. Blatantly ignoring them. Not even giving them a sideways glance.

Your mind wasn’t focused on any of them. You had a target on your mind. The focus totally on your own mission. Your own priorities.

"Didn't your father give you a warship at sixteen?" John would overhear in complete disbelief. A warship for your sixteenth birthday? Was your father mad or just incredibly wealthy?

"I didn't just hear that, did you hear what I just heard? I'm not going hearing things, am I?" Kyle asked the other three.

"The defiant is more than enough. It dwarfs every warship stationed at this dock, and you know it." you protested. "It will cleave those pathetic pirates in two, or I will die trying."

The other person's voice is muffled. Your voice was loud enough to echo own the hallway. Simon couldn’t help but wonder how long you’ve been at sea for. Some say it has been almost eleven years. But that couldn’t be right. It would mean you were sixteen when you started Pirate hunting.

“Did you hear that Price? Eleven years. What does eleven years sound to you if they were spent at sea the entire time?” Gaz asked Price.

“Either a living legend or a madwoman.” John answered.

“Possibly both.” Simon interjected.

When Price had the misfortune timing of coming across you in person a second time. Your face, had a sickening, twisted Cheshire grin painted across your face. The two sword slicing through pirates like a hot knife through butter. Slicing and cutting them down to size.

It was, by the lord above, it was enjoyment on your face. Unhinged joy radiating as you continued to cut them down.

Then a loud sound came from your throat.

Your war cry sounded like a siren's song to your crew, a battle hymn echoing through the port as you led them further into the fray.

These pirates had no idea what was coming for them, who was coming for them, but the four shadows lurking in the alleyways certainly did. Watching with a mix of horror and fascination as you and your loyal band of warriors descended upon the marauders like the wrath of Neptune's own hand.

You weren't just a killer; you were a strategist. Knowing what how to strip things down fast enough to leave someone with nothing to work with. It’s a system you are familiar with. A system you crafted your own purposes.

The stragglers were picked off by your archers. As the fight quickly came to an end.

“Look, take a real good look. The defiant cannibalises other ships as it is MEANT to be. To devour, to eat, to survive. And we do it well. She does it well.”

Price couldn't help but begrudgingly admit you had a point. The way your crew moved with precision, stripping the enemy vessels of their resources, was surgical. It is adamantly clear the Defiant is more than just a ship to you; it is a living, breathing entity you had tamed and turned into a weapon of war.

“Awful thing for morally minded people, to be sure.” you stated. “But sharks eat, lurk, move around, they don't stand idle because they're pretty or have a fancy title. They survive.”

“And you know what we do? SURVIVE.”

Perhaps it was the time Johnny seduced you into walking to their home in person a third time, whispering honeyed words into your ears like he knew what you were capable without really knowing what kind of person you are.

“You and your questions. I love them. Please tell me you have more.” you answered, taping the tips of your fingers together.

Price gripped the pommel of his sword upon hearing your voice coming through the front door. As his lover, their lover Duke John MacTavish, made his blatant seduction attempt in front of him, Duke Kyle Garrick and Duke Simon Riley. Their anger thrown towards you, as if you should have known better, despite not knowing he was spoken for already. How could you have known that?

You tapped the tips of your fingers together nervously. “I will take my leave. My deepest apologies, your grace.” you were a rank higher. Tipsy sure. But you weren’t going to stay in a den full of lions.

Simon blocked your exit, leaving your heart beating fast like a rabbit running from its predator. As the adrenaline building up inside, finally kicking in. “Goin somewhere luvie?” he asked.

Price placed a hand on your shoulder, you were certain you were going to die right then and there. Was it the way your hair had crimson red flowers woven into your loose braid? Was it the matching teardrop earrings in your ears?

“Your grace, if I may.” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. As if you were willing your courage to come back to you.

“You may not.” Price uttered into your ear, guiding you back into the depths of the room again. “As you might observe, your... reputation has indeed found its way to us. Yet, it is our friend Johnny, who, possessing a certain flair for eloquence, appears to have made no small impression upon your good self as well.”

“I can always find someone else.” you protested. Meekly.

“But why would you need to? Why would you even want to?” Price cooed into your ear. “You have four willing men at your service.”

#cod #cod x reader #poly 141 #poly x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #royalty!au #poly141! royalty!au #poly!royaly x female reader #poly141 x female reader

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onesidedradiostatic · 11 months ago

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aromantic alastor headcanons for aro-week (with some ace in there as well, because I think for alastor those things are so entwined, it's hard to separate them):

tried going out with girls a couple of times when he was alive, to make his mother happy, but always found a way to extricate himself from the attachment. this ties into his learning how to have complete control over any situation he's in

I wonder as well about whether or not he "passed" as white, or whether his community knew that he was creole, and how that affected his dating opportunities, and his paranoia, his need to be in control, basically his constant hyper-vigilance

got a lot of fanmail for his radio host work, women (and men, but more furtively) loooved his voice. this was acceptable, because (apart from some of the weirder ones) he could use this as a metric for how accepted he was in society, as well as how well he was passing -- both in terms of race and orientation, but also youknow, as someone who is definitely not clockable as a serial killer

although of course we know he also enjoyed company. he'd go out drinking and dancing a lot. was mimzy a bit in love with him? I just like the idea that people kept being incredibly taken with his charm and his politeness and his poise, because he does have all those traits. whether he notices...? (no). I mention this point not so much as headcanon, I just like that alastor as aroace and repulsed on both of those points, was never a shut-in about it. he's always been very lively (ha) and outgoing, and clearly likes being in the company of others... but maybe that last point has gotten to be a little difficult during his time in hell, due to having to be so careful about showing any kind of emotional "weakness." speaking of...

post-death became a more extreme version of himself -- that is, a man on a mission to be in control and create emotional distance between himself and others through the power of voice, rather than having to faff about pretending emotional connections where there were none. very suited for hell because of his precarious political lived reality whilst alive, and because hell is built on who has power and who doesn't. these are rituals he understands better than the strange romantic ones during life

the smile as mask and unhealthy coping mechanism -- wonder if when he was alive people swooned over his having a lovely smile (as well as its being useful to placate and to disorient people who had more violent intentions, and in both cases potentially to lure in victims). so the smile likewise became the most extreme version of itself. the smile in essence as the signifier of someone who doesn't fit into any boxes and needs to hide that fact, both by being mixed race and aroace, but then the smile itself becomes something that effectively owns him, because he literally cannot let it drop, ever (honestly if alastor ever stops smiling, it'll be the biggest gasp moment on this show)

all that being said, surprising connections do occur: rosie, I think, sees through him from the beginning, and she's so disarming (ha, disarming... cannibal joke) that she never feels like a threat + they're both cannibals, so there's a relaxed kinship there and maybe she reminds him of the parts of home he (secretly) misses a bit

I wonder how rosie figured out that alastor wasn't into dating. I think at first she might have thought he was gay, but then quite quickly seen that that's not it, he doesn't even like men much, and she feels like she's been around the block enough to piece together peoples' natures from one of a million other people she's known, so way before she knows the terminology, she knows, and crucially, she never judges or tries to force the point

I wonder how vox and alastor met -- whether vox was able to gain power on his own and this attracted alastor's attention, or if alastor saw something of himself (that turned out to be surface level) in vox, that is, they both wear smiles as masks, they're both presenters, their mediums may be different, but their aims feel similar. perhaps alastor was comfortable enough in hell at this point -- probably in a way he never was whilst alive -- that he was feeling magnanimous towards what must have felt a bit like an upstart. and most importantly, the constraints of alloromantic ideas are a comfortable 20 years in the past by now, alastor can barely remember that this was ever anything that was expected of him, or that others' could possibly feel about him

cue vox falling head over heels, the way people so often did while he was alive, and he... does not notice at all (barely a headcanon). I kind of feel like I don't have much to say on these two, because this blog is already a treasure trove of vox and alastor hcs!

I think rosie is the only one who knows alastor is aroace, although... maybe husk? not in so many words, but he knows alastor isn't interested in those things. nifty Does Not Notice Nor Care (in a good way). charlie i will forever think will at some point do a deep-dive on modern queer lingo and get everyone flags (this is practically word of god canon considering that older piece of art you shared). vox definitely doesn't know. val....... sort of kinda knows but in an evil way. vaggie does not care, but she'd be chill about it. mimzy... I don't think knows, mainly because she never cared to think about his behaviours, as someone who's quite self-centered on what alastor is to her. jeez, who am i missing... angel, does not know, head empty

speaking of angel, I think if he ever found out, especially with where he's at in his journey rn, would be very unhappy in some way about having stepped over his boundaries so often so casually at the beginning. dunno how he'd act about it, but i like the idea of vigilantly (and crudely, and bluntly) supportive angel if they ever manage to get alastor out on the town. more on the ace side of things but i can see him going: "do not try to fuck this guy! this guy is unfuckable!"

(i like hypersexual and deeply romantic angel + sex and romance repulsed alastor as unlikely friendship in my head. opposites finding common ground type stuff is always good)

at the end of the day, alastor living and dying in an amatonormative world and having to orient himself within that by building walls that persist/worsen after his death because of the culture of hell being predicated on who controls whom, veeeeery slowly discovering that he can be vulnerable on his own terms without people demanding things from him that he cannot give (smthinsmthin the hotel gang as the opposite of vox in that sense -- not only that sense, but also that)

also something about imagining his mother hoping he'd find a nice girl and settle down (in the way parents often do, because that's the metric of happiness right.....) and how he never could give her what she wanted, and maybe feels some very locked away guilt about that, which he thinks he'll never be able to deal with because his mother is in heaven, but perhaps in this story she'll get to see what he's built with the people at the hotel and that's really all she wanted for him in the end

OH MY GOD ANON THIS IS ALL SO GOOD?? THANK YOU SO MUCH HAHAHA. happy aro week everyone!! (x2)

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cherrrydragon · 7 months ago

Text

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside.

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

#damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #dc x reader #robin x reader #superboy x reader

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