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imaginesig · 7 months ago

Text

“I was enchanted to meet you”

Kimi Antonelli x Norris!Reader

SMAU + Written parts

You’re Lando Norris’s little sister (18) and a spark flares up with a notable F2 driver (18) , how does everything go down?

Bonus: “I had the best day with you today”

I wanted to state that as I’m writing this I am 17 years old, on top of that I am an American. I do not know how to be 17/18 as a Brit so I did a bit of research but I’m not 100% confident. I gave Y/n an internship bc I assumed she’d be at the end of her secondary schooling. Sorry if that’s wildly off base.

~~~

A laugh erupted from my chest as a balled up sucky note made contact with Kimi’s forehead. I quickly grab my takeout lid to block his response attack. Only when I heard the ball make contact with the plastic did I relax my shield. On the other side, Kimi laid out on my hotel bed in sleep pants and a racing sweatshirt. His messy curls barely moved as he laughed. The soft light of the hotel lamp illuminated the scene like some kind of dream.

In here, it was a dream. No pressure, loud engines, cruel media, or annoying deadlines tainting the scene. It was authentic; our looks to each other were obvious, no sneaky glances.

In one smooth motion I moved from the desk chair to the opposite side of the bed from him. Propped up on my side, I mustered my best reporter voice, “So Mr. Antonelli, you've touched down in beautiful Barcelona a few hours ago and are gearing up for the weekend. The Spanish Grand Prix is known for its special conditions: corners of varying speeds, high chance of tyre wear, and many openings for overtakes. How confident are you in the car for this weekend? Any good strategies in the works to take advantage of rough tyre conditions the other teams will face?

Kimi and I laughed so hard we both turned red, “Well Ms. Norris it looks like someone’s done their homework.”

“It is my job” I shrug, “I also just love turn 9. I quite literally look forward to it every year.”

“Of course you love the hard one,” Kimi pulled his arm out from under his weight and fell into the bed.

“No sir, you have to go. Dont get comfortable,” I said.

“Y/n” kimi whines.

“No,” I laugh, “you need to go back to your own room.” With a huff and a few more comments Kimi is reminded of the reality outside of the hotel room, one where he has to return to his own room and wake up alone. With a hug and kiss, Kimi is on his way and I turn back to start cleaning up. Next to the takeout trash, my work bag also lays unpacked. I fall into a steady rhythm of tidying before bed while my mind wanders off to my secret relationship.

Kimi and I got together right before this season started. We met last season at a couple of different Motorsport events and spent the season getting closer. Then we spent the offseason working through the new depth added to our friendship. And now, we’re navigating unforgiving media who might not take our relationship too well and potentially ruin it.

With a yawn I finish up my task and head to bed. I go to turn off my bedside lamp and notice a goodnight message from Kimi.

~~~

yn_norris

liked by kimi.antonelli, landonorris, user1, and 918,289 others

yn_norris: Barcelona, you have kept me busy 🥴

tagged: no one

Lilyzneimer my busy bee!! Best gp watch buddy ever, you always keep me updated with the top info 💖💖

yn_norris love you sm 💖💖 thank you for letting the teammates sister join you

user1 my fav intern 😍😍

user2 she always delivers 👏👏

user8 and grinds until the end everyday

landonorris wow I don’t even get shown, I’m hurt

yn_norris I completely flooded my stories with celebrations and you when you won. This is my moment

landonorris proud of your work always!!

yn_norris🫶🫶🫶

martagarcialopez19 pleasure to be interviewed by you!!

maya_weug lovely panel❤️🏎️

hamdaalqubaisi_official women in motorsports forever!!

user3 I love how Y/n and Lando always have 2 comment threads with varying emotions under every post

user4 KIMI IN THE LIKES???

user5 he stays in her likes

user6 tbh most of the F2/F1 academy drivers are, between her being Landos little sister and covering them the most with her job/internship they’ve gotten familiar

user7 exactly, even her and Ollie Bearman have reported they talk and could consider themselves in a friendship

user8 Abbi Pulling and Hamda Al Qubaisi have been known to hang out with Y/n apart from the track

~~~

It was a beautiful sunny day in Barcelona, Spain. I was so thankful I was able to take a few remote work days so I’d be able to stay another day and explore. It all worked out perfectly because both my brother and his teammate invited me to join their exploration and Kimi was able to get a late flight.

With the sun shining and birds singing I made my way down a less crowded street and was met by my boyfriend snapping photos of the scenery around him. I decide to quicken my pace and give him a hug.

“Hello there,” he says surprised. A chuckle escapes his mouth once he’s turned around to reciprocate the affection.

“Hi,” I smile. I look around as he pulled back and saw the iconic kissing mural surrounded by greenery, “wow.”

“Pretty right,” he says.

“Beautiful,” I gush,”let’s get a photo.” Kimi nods and I set my phone up to record a video to screen record to screen shot from since there was no one around at the early hour.

“How do you wanna pose?”

“Let’s kiss and really be that couple, you know,” I joke.

“Come here then,” the warm air and slight breeze made the moment feel like a fairytale. The world melted away as I enjoyed the sweet kiss. For a moment it felt like we were out to the world. But when the kiss ended, I felt disappointment that no one has seen us. Part of me grew restless with the secret keeping, “I found a really cute place for breakfast I think you’ll like it.”

We walked hand in hand down the quiet streets, passing by locals going through their morning chores. Soon enough we arrived at a small restaurant and were sat outside. Concealed by aged buildings, the place itself was low traffic and gave up peace of mind.

“Smile,” I look back towards Kimi from the surrounding scenery to see him holding up his camera. We took a couple of different shots before returning to conversation.

“I had the weirdest feeling earlier,” I start. Kimi looks a little concerned, “when we took that kissing photo I wanted someone to see. I wanted our relationship to get out.”

“I’ve been feeling the same way. It’s been and is so nice to have our little bubble, but part of me just wants to be and not worry about the when and where.”

“Exaclty my feelings. I’m glad we’re talking about this, let’s let the idea sit for a little while longer and then we can come up with a plan. I’m scared to rush into an announcement and not be ready for the outcome.” Kimi agrees and we fall into other topics of conversation over breakfast. After we go to an outdoor market and look around. I purchase some trinkets for other interns at the office who cover other sports. As the air slowly got hotter, Kimi’s time with me got shorter. Eventually it was time to take him back to the hotel to take a ride to the airport. We said our goodbyes and he promised to call me when he landed.

I quickly traveled to the lunch spot my brother informed me to meet the group at. We spent the rest of the day enjoying the scenery, taking cool photos, and just enjoying each others company since extra days like this were scarce.

Too soon the sun went down and our activities ended. Back in my hotel room I worked in the soft lamplight and prepared for my flight back to reality tomorrow.

~~~

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, lilyzniemer, user91, and 928,827 others

oscarpiastri: pro tip: never explore with the Norris siblings, they’ll make a scene everywhere

tagged: lilyzneimer, landonorris, yn_norris

yn_norris ummm this is embarrassing you seemed to have misspelled “Y/n thank you so much for the adorable pic of me and Lily! Thankfully your skill is far superior to your brothers so I was able to post one”

landonorris you twat

yn_norris I mean he didn’t post yours so…

oscarpiastri that’s it I’m getting a restraining order on you guys

landonorris we only made a couple…

oscarpiastri yea bc Y/n was only with us a few hours

user1 LMAO THE BIKE PHOTO

user2 they were ready to square up

yn_norris I kicked his ass

user2 OMG SHE REPLIED

user3 everytime I see a Y/n and Lily interaction it always gives little and big sis🥹

user4 omg ikr!! It makes me so happy that even though her bio sisters aren’t able to be with her 24/7 she has someone at gps and such

user5 what I wouldn’t give to explore the world with this group

kimi.antonelli

Liked by user4, yn_norris, olliebearman, and 819,728 others

Kimi.antonelli: Barcelona, beautiful as always 👏

tagged:no one

olliebearman 💪💪

Prema_team glad to see the weekend allowed for relaxation 😎

user1 happy with the results this weekend!!

user2 ok scenic shot

user3 Kimi is coming for Y/n with the digital camera effect

user4 I wonder why it’s only on the last photo tho?

user5 maybe this is where she was when she wasn’t with the McLaren boys…

user6 ok grandma get back to bed

Yn_norris

liked by kimi.antonelli, carlossainz55, abbiepulling, and 718,828 others

Yn_norris: España, mi amor

Tagged: lilyzniemer

oscarpiatri so glad my gf make the post and I didn’t

yn_norris cry me a river

landonorris who took the first pic you don’t have any friends other than me 🤨🤨

yn_norris choke

carlossainz55 always love your love of Spain 🇪🇸♥️

yn_norris with every bit of my heart!!

Riabish gorgeous!!

abbiepulling travel looks gorgeous on you

yn_norris 💋💋

user1 she ate this up

user2 first pic >>>>>

yn_norris posted a story!

Caption: I get door dashed coffee even when he’s thousands of miles away 🫶🫶

Replies:

landonorris

who what when where why

idk, it’s coffee for those of us who don’t have the energy of a seven year old, this morning, my office, bc I’m loved

wdym “idk”

Y/n are you soft launching?? Your own brother doesn’t get to know before Instagram

I have a plan no fear

🙄

Kimi.antonelli

I’ve discovered you can special order a message or simple drawings through the app too

I can see that

so be prepared, there’s so much more where than came from

as much as I love this and would love to see what you come up with, I can get my own coffee

not happening

lmao ok

Not my hill to die on

I love you

I love you too, have a great day

Oscarpiastri

your bother is pacing

Lmao good

Let him squirm

Yes ma’am 🫡

~~~

The smell of exhaust fills my senses and V6s roar across the track. Lando and I were currently camped out in the Prema garage with our eyes glued to the screen. We let out a few comments and had mini conversations throughout.

When Kimi’s car cross the finish line the enter building jumped up. As the crew and engineers all ran out to the baraxade. I decided do lead Lando over where the podium is interviewed before the cool down room so we don’t interrupt team celebrations. We stand meters away so we don’t bother anyone but I still might be able to sent Kimi a thumbs up and a wink.

“I didn’t know you two got so close,” Lando mused as we still admits the buzzing padock.

“Well you know through other friends I’ve made from tagging alone to events and races with you we were bound to meet, especially with him being Ollies teammate this season,” Lando nods at that. “So how are you feeling about your race, the home ones always a big deal.”

“I’m super excited, but the nerves of potentially messing things up are there,” he confesses, “I want to win really bad.”

“Call it reporter’s gut but I feel-“ suddenly I was cut off my someone yelling my name.

“Y/n!” Kimi is sprinting over to us. So much for not making a scene, I think.

“Kimi! You did it!” I yelled back. Soon, he was a meter away and not stopping. I was grabbed along with him and brought a couple steps away as he slowed down. Before I could even comprehend the previous action, Kimi let out another victory cheer, grabbed my face, and kissed me in the middle of the paddock. The adrenaline and joy from his win charged the kiss from both ends. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. All those kisses in hotel room or hidden corners of the world were put to shame, this was the kiss. I was so focused on the moment that I didn’t remember that there were eyes on us everywhere, including the eyes of my brother.

“Y/n- I- What!” Lando stuttered with wide eyes. He still stood in our previous spot and seemed to be stuck there. After a moment of staring back, I realized my hands had come up to rest on Kimi’s biceps.

I quickly jumped back before turning to look at Kimi again, “Hey, I’m so proud! We can catch up and all that later. Go do your media stuff, I love you.” I wave him off and walk back to Lando, “before you say anything we need to talk privately.”

Once we find a quiet place I begin explains everything, “And that’s brings us up to now. We had a plan to slow launch and then during that time we hoped to tell family and close friends before anyone else. I swear this weekend was the one-“ he cut me off.

“Y/n don’t worry, I can tell the adrenaline got to him,” he smirks, “I know the feeling well.”

“Ew, ew Lando please stop there,” I cringe. “Are you sure you’re not mad? It wasn’t supposed to come out this way, especially not to you.”

“I’m fine. Granted I only saw a few seconds of that this relationship is but any man who’s gonna come running to you after a race before even heading to a mandatory interview or cool down then he’s a good one. Also you can’t fool me, your eyes lit up and you forgot I was even next to you when he showed up. I’m happy for you,” Lando pulled me into a bear hug.

“I love you Lan.”

“I love you too,” he pulled back and added,” but mum might be so give her a ring before she finds out.”

We both laugh before I FaceTime the family group chats for round 2 of explaining.

~~~

f1updates

Liked by user82, user282, user1, and 173,827 others

f1updates: After his first F2 win, Kimi Antonelli kisses Lando Norris’s little sister in the middle of the paddock! Videos from multiple sources have been reposted on our Twitter account.

tagged: Kimi.antonelli, yn_norris

used1 WHAT

user2 this was not on my 2024 bingo card

used3 after watching the videos it was right out of a romance movie

user4 the way he sprinted to her while ignoring everything else

user5 lando’s face killed me

user6 he was just as shocked as we are

kimi.antonelli

liked by yn_norris, user43, prema_racing, and 918,828 others

Kimi.antonelli: maiden win anyone??

tagged: prema_racing, mercadesamgf1, yn_norris

yn_norris “where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me” 🤭🤭

Kimi.antonelli ❤️❤️

landonorris 😑

yn_norris fuck off

prema_racing that’s our boy 👏🏆

User1 KIMI IS A RACE WINNER

user2 anyone else absolutely die when he kissed her

user3 yea I think Lando almost did

user4 Y/n’s comment 😭😭

carlossainz55 the last pic 🤨

danielriccardo so it is true

landonorris OF COURSE ITS TRUE A VIDEO HAS BEEN TRENDING ON TWITTER

Carlossainz55 honestly I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying but he could be worse

landonorris mate.

danielriccardo I say shovel talk before his next race see how he celebrates then

yn_norris no no no yall are done scheming in my boyfriends comment section

~~~

The British Grand Prix had been a rollercoaster for the younger Norris who sat in the coverage of the McLaren garage watching the race. Kimi and I had sent a few messages about the race but since Lando lost his lead during his pit in lap 40 I have been zoned in. I’ve been praying since Lewis passed that something would happen, that by a miracle Lando would regain his lead. Unfortunately as the laps dwindled, Lando lost time between the winner and in lap 49 Max had successfully overtaken him. Sighs and cuss words could be heard all throughout the building. My head fell into my hands as I watched the race though hooded eyelids, weight down with sadness.

When the race was over I slowly took the same path Lando and I had taken yesterday towards the media area. I flashed by badge once again and found a stop on the r of the action. Eventually, Lando made his way to Jensen and completed his interview.

“Hey,” I said empathetically as I pulled him into a hug. “I know you hate this and I know you’re upset. Lando, you hold yourself to the highest standard imaginable, but please know you did great. Third place is still a handful of points and now you’ve gotten more experience so you and the team can make better calls in the future. This wasn’t a race that you could predict, you had to roll with the punches and you did. I’m so proud of you and now I have a new trophy I can steal for my future apartments decor!”

Lando let out a loud chuckle before he hit me on the head, “you’re not getting my trophies you muppet.”

“That’s what you think,” I fired back before he pulls me into another hug, this one more playful than the last. I waved him off to the cool down room and said a quick congratulations to Lewis before heading to get a spot with McLaren for the podium ceremony.

~~~

landonorris

Liked by yn_norris, user3, mclaren, and 819,928 others

landonorris: Silverstone I love you, my sister not so much ❤️ congrats on the win @/lewishamilton, we’ll review, do better, and come get you next time 😜

Tagged: lewishamilton

yn_norris I cried real tears @/lewishamilton

yn_norris you fought hard, it was entertaining race. Love you to the moon and back🫶🫶

landonorris love you to the moons and back twice 🫶

user1 HELLO?? THIS IS TO SWEEET

used2 with no warning either 😭😭

yn_norris also for the record I did nothing

Kimi.antonelli ok now I said I was sorry

user3 why war McLarens strategy all messed up this week

Kimi.antonelli great driving today 💪

landonorris 😑

yn_norris lando try that again.

landonorris 👍

user4 you still did great!!

user5 lmao the jab at Y/n 😭😭

yn_norris

liked by danielriccardo, olliebearman, user88, and 198,828 others

yn_norris big weekend :)

tagged: landonorris, kimi.antonelli

landonorris big weekend? BIG WEEKEND? THATS ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY??

yn_norris I mean a lot happened

danielriccardo I think that trophy was kissed better than you

yn_norris 🙄✋

Kimi.antonelli love you ♥️

yn_norris love you too ♥️

user1 her and Lando 🥹🥹

olliebearman thanks for the support on your off weekend 👏👏

yn_norris anytime care bear

user2 “care bear” IM CRYING YN YOU CANT DO MY MAN LIKE THAT

user3 the McLaren flag slays so hard

kimi.antonelli

Liked by yn_norris, landonorris, used928, and 727,828 others

Kimi.antonelli: I owe an apology to Y/n for ruining our soft launch on a whim, Lando for doing it front of you, and my family for not telling you guys sooner. But that’s all besides the point because I can finally say LOOK AT MY GIRLFRIEND

tagged: yn_norris

yn_norris omg I love you ♥️

Kimi.antonelli I love you more ♥️

user1 the uppercase at the end he’s so cute 😭😭

user2 you can tell he’s so excited

oscarpiastri so does the Barcelona photo prove that’s who Y/n was with that morning?

landonorris no shot they snuck around right under my nose

Kimi.antonelli no comment

yn_norris not my fault you’re an idiot who doesn’t ask enough questions

landonorris oh just you wait for my questions now

Oscarpiastri oh look now you’ve opened Pandora’s box y/n

carlossainz55 I guess I like you

Kimi.antonelli that’s comforting?

Carlossainz55 be happy it’s not hate

yn_norris he’s a tad bit overprotective

danielriccardo you’ve got balls kid, I respect it

Kimi.antonelli thank you 😁

user3 pls not this summoning all of Landos old teammates

user4 guess he’s not the only one they’ve grown attatched to

landonorris this is cute ig

Kimi.antonelli I’m taking this as a win

yn_norris don’t act all grumpy on main

yn_norris

liked by Danielriccardo, user817, Kimi.antonelli, and 817,828 others

yn_norris: “this night is sparkling, don’t you let it go”

tagged: Kimi.antonelli

Kimi.antonelli fav taylor song 🫶🫶

yn_norris see aren’t you glad I made you listen to it

user1 Kimi is an Enchanted stan???

landonorris wtf is that last picture

yn_norris 🤷🏼‍♀️

user2 I love them so much 😭😭

User3 she dedicated Enchanted to him?? Girlie is in deep

Carlossainz55 does he make you happy?

danielriccardo this is is a very important question

yn_norris very 🥰

landonorris cancel the plans guys

Kimi.antonelli I’m scared

yn_norris

Liked by lilyzniemer, user4, carlossainze55, and 981,828 others

yn_norris: he’s family approved ☀️😌

tagged: Kimi.antontelli

Kimi.antonelli Aunt Y/n 😍

landonorris absolutely not

danielriccardo I’m watching you

carlossainz55 stop right there

yn_norris do you guys always materialize in time to ruin the fun 😒

oscarpiastri 👶🚫

yn_norris OSCAR YOU TOO???

Landonorris take that helmet off her now, Uncle Lala’s is the only one allowed

yn_norris possessive much

user1 I can never tell how Lando feels about Kimi

user2 right mixed signals much? He bullies him in insta comments but openly supports him irl

user3 speaking from personal experience, that’s just him being an annoying older brother

lilyzniemer the matching outfits 🥰🥰

abbiepulling they are too cute!!!

yn_norris I love you both 🫶🫶

#f1 #f1 imagines #f2 #f2 x reader #formula 2 #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli imagine #kimi antonelli #formula 1 smau #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 imagines #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader

605 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

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ghsface · 6 months ago

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BUT WHEN YOU GET ME ALONE, IT'S SO SIMPLE | spencer reid

Sumary: After years of friendship you decide to ruin it for good

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) soft!dom spencer, oral sex (f), semi-public, p in v sex, If I'm missing something, let me know

Word count: idk i just started writing and i couldn't stop

Author's note: So this is my first smut I hate it but I like it at the same time, tell me what you think, I also have so many things to publish, tell me if you want to be on my tag list, I'm sorry if there are misspelled words or spelling mistakes, my first language is not English🎀

The clock struck nine at night and the FBI office in Quantico was unusually quiet. The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, adding a touch of surrealism to the atmosphere. You had decided to stay a little later to finish a report that had been piling up on your desk for days.

In the distance, you could see the tall, thin figure of Spencer Reid, still absorbed in his work. Ever since you joined the team, you had felt an undeniable attraction to Spencer. His intelligence, his unique way of being, and his charming shyness had captured you from the first moment.

You had noticed that your eyes met more often than you considered casual, and every interaction, no matter how small, left a mark on your mind.

There was something about Spencer that attracted you in a way you couldn't explain.

The way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about, or the way he bit his lip when he was focused on his readings.

He was a man who hid so much depth behind a facade of calmness and analysis.

That night, as you went over your notes, your thoughts inevitably drifted to him. You imagined what it would be like to be close to Spencer, to feel his warmth, his touch. The thought made you smile and sigh at the same time. You decided that tonight could be different.

Maybe it was time to break down the barriers and see what lay beyond the furtive glances and accidental brushes.

You stood up from your desk and walked to the section of the office where Spencer was working. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, and his eyes met yours. The spark in his gaze gave you the courage you needed to move forward.

“Hey, Spence,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm as your heart pounded. “You staying late too?”

“Yeah,” he replied, with a smile that made your knees weak a little. “I’m just finishing up going over some cases. How about you?”

“Same here,” you lied lightly, feeling your true intentions reflected in your eyes. “I thought I’d take a break and check on you.”

The conversation flowed naturally, but the tension between you was palpable. Every word, every gesture, seemed to be laden with deeper meaning. When you both realized the office was completely empty, the atmosphere changed. Spencer leaned a little closer to you, and you responded by moving closer as well.

“I’ve always felt like there’s something between us,” you murmured, your eyes locked with his. “Something that goes beyond simple friendship.” Spencer nodded, his expression serious but filled with emotion.

“I’ve felt it too,” he confessed. “But I never knew if you felt the same.”

Without thinking, you moved closer and took his hand. “So what do we do about it?”

Spencer didn’t respond with words. Instead, he gently led you towards one of the empty offices. He closed the door behind you, creating a small haven of privacy in the middle of the vast building.

The room was dark, lit only by the dim light coming in from the hallway. Spencer looked at you with an intensity you had never seen before. His hands found your face, and his lips landed on yours in a kiss that was gentle at first, but soon became more passionate and urgent.

Your hands slid down his back, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt. Spencer responded with equal intensity, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You found yourself lost in the feeling of being so close to him, of feeling every beat of his heart against yours.

The kiss broke briefly, and Spencer looked at you with a mix of desire and tenderness. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

“Me too,” you replied, before pulling him back to you.

Clothes quickly came undone, each item of clothing falling to the floor in deliberate oblivion. The touch of his skin against yours was electrifying, every caress, every kiss, igniting a fire inside you that you didn't know existed. Spencer's hands explored your body with a mix of urgency and gentleness, as if he were discovering a hidden treasure.

His fingers found the clasp of your blouse, sliding it down deftly. You felt his breathing quicken as did yours. You helped yourself to get rid of Spencer's shirt, revealing his firm, sculpted torso. Your hands ran over his chest, enjoying the feel of his skin under your fingers.

Spencer led you to the office couch, and gently laid you down, placing himself on top of you. His hands explored every corner of your body, from your neck to your hips, and your sighs mixed with his in a symphony of desire. Every movement, every touch, was a declaration of love and desire, a testament to the deep connection you shared.

“This is more than I ever imagined,” you murmured, feeling the pleasure build with each caress.

“I know,” Spencer replied, his eyes filled with adoration as he looked at you. “This is just the beginning.”

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake. His tongue traced circles over your skin, sending shivers of pleasure along your spine. When his lips found the edge of your bra, Spencer paused, looking up at you with a silent question in his eyes.

You nodded, giving him permission to continue. In one deft move, Spencer unclasped your bra, freeing your breasts. His lips found one of your nipples, sucking and licking until a moan escaped your lips. Meanwhile, his hands continued to explore your body, sliding down your sides and down to your thighs.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as he continued to torture you with his mouth. Every lick, every soft bite, sent waves of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, desire burning inside you with an intensity you had never experienced.

Spencer moved down, his lips trailing kisses from your breasts to your belly. He paused briefly to unbutton your pants, sliding them and your panties down your legs. You found yourself completely naked under his intense gaze, vulnerable yet aroused for what was to come.

His lips found the inside of your thighs, kissing them softly before moving to your center. When his tongue finally made contact with your clit, a cry of pleasure escaped your lips. Spencer alternated between licking and sucking, bringing you to the edge again and again without letting you fall.

“Please, Spencer,” you begged, desperately needing more.

He looked up, his eyes dark and filled with desire.

“I want you to enjoy every second of this,” he said, his voice husky and laden with passion.

With those words, he slid up, aligning his erection with your entrance. He looked at you once more, seeking confirmation. You nodded, and he thrust slowly, filling you completely. The feeling of him inside you was overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure that left you breathless.

Spencer began to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first. You could feel every inch of his length, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug into his back, your moans filling the room as he increased the pace.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice cracking with effort. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“Me neither,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop, Spencer.”

His movements became faster and stronger, each thrust bringing you closer to climax. You could feel the heat building in your belly, a delicious tension threatening to boil over at any moment. Spencer leaned into you, his lips finding yours in a hungry, desperate kiss.

When you finally reached orgasm, your body arched beneath him, a cry of pleasure tearing through your lips. Spencer kept thrusting, bringing you to a second climax before letting go, his own orgasm exploding inside you.

You both collapsed onto the couch, breathing heavily as you tried to recover. Spencer held you close, his hands gently caressing your back as you rested your head on his chest.

“That was amazing,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin

“Yes, it was,” he replied, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I love you.”

"I love you too spence,” you said, feeling overwhelming happiness knowing that you had found something truly special.

You stood there for a while, enjoying the closeness and newfound intimacy. You knew this would change everything, but you were both ready to face whatever came. Spencer looked at you with a satisfied smile and you smiled back, feeling a happiness you had never experienced before.

“I think we should head back before someone misses us,” he finally said, with a soft laugh.

“Yeah,” you replied, though a part of you wanted to stay there forever. You quickly dressed, adjusting your clothes and hair before leaving the empty office. As you returned to the main area, a few coworkers glanced at you curiously, but no one said anything. The spark in your eyes was enough to make everyone understand that something significant had happened.

The next few days were filled with knowing glances and secret smiles. The connection between you had deepened, and though you tried to remain professional, it was hard not to let your feelings seep into every interaction.

One night, after a particularly long meeting, Spencer invited you over to his house for dinner. You eagerly accepted, knowing that this would be another chance to explore your relationship.

The dinner was intimate and relaxed. You talked about everything and nothing, enjoying each other’s company without the pressures of work. After dinner, you sat down on the couch, and Spencer pulled you close to him.

“I love you,” he said, his words filled with sincerity and emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, feeling your heart fill with indescribable joy.

The kiss that followed was slow and deep, filled with the promise of a future together. Spencer led you to his bedroom, and that night, you gave yourselves over to pleasure and love again, knowing you had found something truly special.

Over time, your relationship grew stronger. You learned to balance work and personal life, finding ways to support each other both professionally and personally. The team noticed the change, but everyone stood by you, knowing you had found something rare and beautiful.

Every day with Spencer was a new adventure, a chance to discover more about him and yourself. The passion and connection you shared never waned, and together, you faced every challenge that came your way.

And so, what began as a silent attraction in an empty office turned into an epic love story, one that neither of you had anticipated but one you both embraced with your entire being.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly☆

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 1: Amethyst]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can't seem to get away from...

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don't like Titanic you won't like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @camsdaae @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

A note goes sharp, and you swim up through colorless currents—indistinct conversation, an iron-grey draft each time the front door opens, cigar smoke like fog over the ocean—and turn to the viola player. His eyes have caught on the place where your left hand rests on the table by a glass of pear cider, still cold from the icebox, misty with condensation. Rain pours outside. Logs fracture and hiss in the fireplace. Your gown is thick velvet, indigo like the night sky, and the ruffles of your sleeve have slipped back to reveal the evidence roped around your wrist: shadows of trapped blood, rubies that sicken and turn to sapphires and amethysts.

You hurriedly adjust your sleeve. Now the viola player’s eyes are on yours, an overcast blue and improperly direct, and something flies between you: his shock, your shame. You look away and pretend to ignore him. His horsehair bow finds its rhythm again, a tempo like a racing pulse. The quartet is playing The Wild Rover.

Daemon hasn’t noticed. He has ensnared the reporter entirely, here in O’Connell’s Bar in the heart of Galway, just across the street from Eyre Square and only a few blocks west of the Docks and the North Atlantic Ocean. The young man writes for The Irish Times and has traveled from Dublin to interview your husband, once a celebrated newcomer but soon departing and taking you with him. Five years ago a storm blew him in; now the gleam of distant treasure catches his eye and beckons him like the moon calls the tides. He has been this way all his life. You were mad to believe he’d change.

“Lord Targaryen,” the reporter says with his felt-tip pen hovering over his notebook, gazing at Daemon worshipfully, firelight dancing on both of their faces. You glance at the viola player again. He’s still watching you, and this is bad. “You’ve been described as a cowboy by numerous publications and business associates. Do you consider that a compliment?”

Daemon chuckles, smirking and imperious. He puffs on his pipe, elbows propped on the table. His eyes are a deep-set reptilian green, emeralds glinting from the mouth of a mine. Strands of dark blonde hair fall roguishly down over his forehead. “Oh, it’s a massive compliment, isn’t it? A cowboy eschews the safe and the predictable. A cowboy makes his own way in the world. My father was a duke, and now my brother is a duke, and one day my nephew will be a duke, God help us all. And so I always knew that if I wanted anything for myself, I’d have to go out and find it.”

The reporter is smiling, enraptured. He asks, already knowing the answer: “And what was it you found?”

“In the Wah Wah Mountains of Utah, we discovered red beryl.” Daemon talks with his hands, magnetic fields, incantations, spells that once worked on you. “It’s exceptionally rare and a gorgeous stone, high color saturation, not as hard as a diamond but durable enough for jewelry, essentially a blood-colored emerald. I was twenty-five years old and had just put together my first small mining expedition, and here we were sitting on the only known supply of red beryl on the planet. And it was then that I realized that there are these sorts of…natural monopolies that exist scattered across the globe, gemstones that can be found in only one location, and thus if you are the man who owns the mine…every single stone must pass through your hands before it ends up in retail establishments in London or Paris or Milan or wherever.”

“And so you took the lesson you learned from red beryl and applied it to other minerals,” the reporter says as he scribbles in his notebook.

Daemon grins, puffing on his pipe, exhaling smoke like a dragon. And how remarkable he is to have agreed to meet here in this pub like a common man, so unpretentious, so unafraid of the world’s dirt, effortless and yet untouchable, and this is why his miners love Daemon, why they will break their spines and poison their lungs for him. “We kept the Utah mine, of course, and bought up rights to thousands of acres of land surrounding it. I hired more workers. And then I investigated reports of mysterious, unnamed, brand new stones that had been stumbled upon in far-flung places, untamed by civilized men, the earth just waiting to be slit open and butchered like a fat hog. In Madagascar, we found Grandidierite, a bewitching blue-green, the Indian Ocean in miniature, crystalized form. In Tanzania, we discovered Tanzanite, halfway between an amethyst and a sapphire.”

The reporter nods to you as he says: “I believe Lady Targaryen is wearing some this evening, is she not?”

“Indeed,” Daemon replies without much interest. You touch your fingertips to your teardrop-shaped earrings and give the reporter a polite smile. You steal a glimpse of the viola player; he isn’t staring at you anymore—a blessing, a relief—but he frowns distractedly as his bow glides over the strings. “In Australia there was black opal, and in the Dominican Republic we were the first mining operation to encounter Larimar, and then…well, then I heard of Connemara marble.”

“Native to Ireland,” the reporter says proudly. “The lone quarry that’s still producing is right here in Galway.”

“So of course that intrigued me.” Daemon taps on the tabletop with his right hand, and now he is watching you, curling lips, taunting eyes. “And when I crossed the Atlantic to acquaint myself with this quarry and inquire into purchasing it, I was intrigued by the quarry owner’s daughter as well.”

His pen scratching against parchment; black rivers of ink filling up the page. “How would you describe the courtship?”

“Brief,” Daemon says, then laughs. He points to you with his smoldering pipe. “How about you, dear? How would you describe it?”

“Flattering,” you answer honestly, and the reporter makes his notes. “Daemon already had a reputation by then. A captain of industry, a staggering success story, a man who refused to rest idly on his family’s titles, which he could have easily done.” And a man who also refused to marry, rejecting Rockefellers and Morgans and Astors, duchesses and countesses, but asked your father for your hand in marriage after only a few weeks of tours of the quarry and dinners set alight with charismatic retellings of his travels. You knew the Connemara marble was part of the allure, but you took this as a common interest rather than the only thing Daemon wanted from you. Well…one of two things.

“You’ve resided in Galway ever since,” the reporter is saying to Daemon. “Barring a few trips for business. But that is about to change.”

Daemon sucks on his pipe. “I’ve received a very generous offer from Tiffany & Co. in Manhattan. They’ve been around for almost a century, did you know they supplied the Union Army with swords and surgical tools during the Civil War? Real patriots. Not afraid to get bloody. They want to expand into the sale of colored gemstones, not just diamonds and pearls and gold, the same unimaginative pieces peddled by their competitors. And after some long and arduous negotiations, Tiffany has agreed to pay a fair price for the exclusive rights to specimens originating from my mines, and I have agreed relocate to New York City for the foreseeable future to consult with them as a gemstone expert.”

“It’s my understanding that you have family in New York too, Lord Targaryen. Perhaps a reunion is part of the appeal of a move across the pond.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t assume that,” Daemon says impishly. “I haven’t seen Alicent Hightower or her children in years and years. I wouldn’t even know them if I passed them on the street.”

“Is that right?” The reporter’s pen hovers uncertainly over his notebook; he doesn’t think this is the sort of familial disharmony that should be printed in a newspaper.

“But my wife and I will have some company for the voyage,” Daemon continues. “My niece Rhaenyra and her charming husband Laenor will be joining us on Titanic. They’ve been on holiday in the Mediterranean and have several social engagements on the East Coast before they return to summer in England with my brother.”

“Viserys Targaryen, the 9th Duke of Beaufort.”

Daemon grins, not kindly at all. “One man earns a title, eight others wear it.”

The reporter shifts awkwardly in his chair. It’s not the sort of joke he’s allowed to laugh at. Changing the topic, he looks to the string quartet, which is now playing Danny Boy. The viola player’s eyes flick to you; you drink you pear cider and pretend you are unaware. “You’ll be sorely missed in Galway. But what a proper Irish sendoff you’re receiving here at O’Connell’s tonight!”

“Yes,” Daemon muses, the bit of the pipe in his mouth. “A week from now, tugboats will be hauling us out of Cork Harbor and into the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps never to return.”

You shudder as a man enters the pub and a cold draft blows through you. You are terrified of ships, tiny metal buckets at the mercy of bottomless blue, unnatural incursions into inhuman spaces. You have sailed twice before with your parents—once to Le Havre to visit Paris and again on a cruise of the Aegean—and both times you were consumed by visions of water rising up over your feet, bodies thrashing in the waves, bones turning to silt. You don’t want to cross the Atlantic. You don’t want to leave home.

“You look a bit familiar, boy,” Daemon says, and you realize he’s talking to the viola player. You startle, then are relieved to see that your husband has only a dim curiosity in the musician. The reporter has bored him, and Daemon’s eyes are wandering. He is a man of short and restless attention. You have learned this the hard way. “Have we met before?”

The viola player—early twenties, around your age, sandy blond hair and a beard trimmed close to the skin—pauses his fiddling as his three companions carry on. His accent is English, not Irish. “Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact.”

“Were you by chance at the McPherson wedding back in February?”

You don’t believe he was, you think you’d remember him; but the viola player nods eagerly. “Yes sir, that was me.”

“Ah! That was a fine night. Excellent duck. Wasn’t the duck good, dear?” But Daemon only half-listens for your response. He has turned back to the reporter and is recounting how he and his expedition hacked through the jungles of Tanzania to reach the location of suspected gemstone deposits, how they endured attacks from crocodiles and chimpanzees and burned up from fevers.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” you say as you rise from the table. The reporter scrambles to his feet to stand as decorum demands.

“Yes yes,” Daemon replies abruptly, not looking at you, then continues his stories.

You escape from the pub through the front door and stand beneath the awning just out of the rain, watching the reflections of streetlights glow in puddles like stars. Across the street in Eyre Square, a public park established in 1710, shadows of ash trees rock in the wind. With trembling fingers, you fumble a Kerry Blue and your cigarette holder out of your black handbag, then realize you don’t have a lighter. Someone else always does that part for you. You sigh and stare out into the rain, taking deep breaths of Irish night, early April, cold and wet and green, the only air you know how to take painlessly into your lungs, blood, bones, the dark damp earth that built you. You cannot imagine living amongst metal skyscrapers and rumbling automobiles instead of verdant rolling hills dotted with sheep.

You hear the pub door open, and you assume it is one of the waiters or perhaps Rush—Edward Rushton, Daemon’s valet and bodyguard, ever-watchful and unwaveringly stern—bringing you the black mink coat you left inside. But to your horror, it is the viola player, carrying his instrument by its neck. You gape at him as rain continues to fall.

“Hi,” he says.

You are clutching your handbag, a cigarette and holder still tucked between your fingers. “What are you doing?”

“I just…I was…uh…” He spots the cigarette. “Oh, do you need a lighter? I have one, hold on…” He begins rooting around in the pockets of his olive green tweed jacket.

“No, I don’t need a lighter,” you snap, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need you to go back inside.”

“Wait a minute, I wanted to—”

“Why are you speaking to me?” Your eyes are wide and petrified, your voice is a sharp whisper. No musician has ever addressed you beyond pleasantries: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, thank you ma’am, my pleasure ma’am. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I came out here because…I just wanted to ask…” He struggles to find the words. His eyes fall to your left wrist, now fully obscured by the ruffles of your sleeve, then return to your face. “Are you okay?”

“What?”

“Do you…you know…do you need some kind of help or something?”

It’s improper, it’s unthinkable, it’s dangerous. “You’re deranged,” you say as you breeze past him towards the door. “You’ve clearly escaped from an asylum somewhere. I wish you all the best in your recovery.”

He does not grab you—that would be absurd—but he does get between you and the front door of the pub. “Wait, please, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude or to overstep or anything, I’m trying to see if there’s anything I can do—”

“You will make it worse for me,” you hiss, and only then does the viola player go quiet and let you pass. You shove by him into O’Connell’s Bar.

Back at the table, Daemon and the reporter are engrossed in conversation. When you rejoin them, neither of the men take any notice of you beyond the reporter’s momentary rise to his feet. After a minute or two, the viola player returns to the quartet and slips seamlessly into the song they’re playing, Star of the County Down. You gaze into your pear cider, determined not to glance at him even once.

Daemon is saying as the reporter jots franticly: “I am reminded of something I read once in a French fashion critic’s guide from the 1870s. In the gloomy depths of the mineral world, stars are concealed that rival in their beauty those of the firmament. The fresh splendors of dawn, the sun’s incandescent rays, the magnificent sunsets, the brilliant colors of the rainbow, all are found enclosed in a morsel of pure carbon or in the center of a stone. Not everyone can see the potential, not everyone has the skill or the willpower to move the earth and free the treasures trapped beneath. But I found stars no one else knew existed. And my work isn’t finished yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~

At home in Lough Cutra Castle, your family’s estate since 1817, your parents are asleep and Fern is waiting up for you and Daemon, yawning into the back of her hand to try to hide it. She is your maid but she was hired by Daemon, and she scurries around the property like a mouse, eternally picking up toys and articles of clothing and papers that have slid off of tables, head bowed, footsteps so light you often don’t realize she’s walked into a room until she’s spoken.

“Care for some tea, my lady?” Fern asks as she takes your mink coat. Daemon goes directly to his study; you watch him leave with some feeling you couldn’t name, loss, relief, loneliness, resignation.

“No, thank you, Fern. I’m exhausted. Is Draco upstairs?”

“He is,” she says, but with hesitation, as if she is sending you into the lion’s den. You know what that means. You climb the staircase and find him in his bedroom sound asleep, four years old, surrounded by an army of teddy bears. Bears are his favorite animal; he likes the way they roar and brandish their teeth. He is named after the crest of Daemon’s family; Draco is the Latin word for dragon. His hair is white-blonde, a Targaryen trait. As they age it fades to an ordinary sand-like color, and by the time they are middle-aged—Daemon is forty, nearly two decades older than you are—their hair is a blonde so dark it’s almost brunette.

You stand in the doorway watching Draco for a long time. When you think of him, this is the image that comes to mind: your son across a room, or a lawn, or a garden, and you lurking on the periphery, longing to be a part of his existence, feeling so palpably unneeded. Already, he is becoming a stranger. He thinks it’s funny when Daemon insults people and breaks things. He stomps his little feet when he doesn’t get his way and rips flowers from the garden, tosses rocks through the windows of the greenhouse, hurls sticks at hissing geese.

“He’s asleep,” Dagmar says as if she’s scolding you. You whirl to see her behind you in the hall, glowering with those icy Nordic eyes, her hair grey and twisted into a tight bun, her face angular and cold-blooded. Legend has it that Saint Patrick expelled all the snakes from Ireland; you think he must have missed one.

“Yes, I can see that.”

“You’ll wake him.”

“I certainly won’t.”

“A boy that age needs his rest.” And this is how Dagmar has been since Draco was born: You can’t hold a baby like that, you can’t feed a baby like that, you can’t play with a baby like that, never showing you how to do things but only alienating you further and further until you looped around on some hopelessly remote orbit like Neptune circles the sun.

“Yes. Like I said, I won’t disturb him.”

But she does not leave; she only scowls at you with her bony arms crossed over her chest. She is ancient; she was Viserys and Daemon’s governess when they were boys, and your husband wrote to her immediately after Draco was born. She idolizes Daemon. The three of them are a family unto themselves, sardonic and spiteful and fiercely loyal, an oath you can’t figure out how to break. She wins this battle, as she’s won them all. It is not a war but an insurgency, a perpetual struggle for independence, sabotages and hunger strikes that amount to nothing. You retreat from Draco’s doorway and go to find Daemon in his study, bent low over his desk and sketching designs for jewelry men will buy for their wives, sisters, mothers, daughters, mistresses.

He glances over at you impatiently. “What is it?”

“You promised I’d never have to leave Ireland.”

Daemon shrugs, smiling wryly. “And yet…”

“Draco and I could stay here,” you say, as if this has not already occurred to him.

“And people would say my house is not in order. How am I to command the respect of American businessmen when my own wife does not obey me?”

You are desperate. “Half the year,” you plead. “I’ll spend winters in Manhattan and summers here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I don’t see how you’d accomplish that,” Daemon says, as if he’s already bored of this conversation. “You could throw yourself over the ship’s railing and into the Atlantic Ocean, I suppose. But that’s the only way you’re not ending up in New York.”

“You don’t even really want me there,” you reply, your voice quivering. “You don’t care where I am or what I do. Lots of men live separately from their wives, you can as well.” And even now—horribly, humiliatingly—you want him to contradict you, to swear that he does care, that he wants you, that he loves you in the sick brutal way he knows how.

Daemon picks up the dagger he keeps on his desk and uses it as a letter opener to unseal a piece of correspondence from one of his many mines, left in the care of managers just as your father’s Connemara marble quarry soon will be. The hilt is made of gold and has seven small gemstones imbedded in it, one on top of the other: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire. “You know,” Daemon says offhandedly as he skims the letter. “Draco is getting old enough for boarding school.”

“What?” You are shellshocked; it takes a moment for you to sputter a reply. “He’s…he’s four, Daemon. He can’t read more than a handful of words. He just learned how to write his own name.”

“I was only five when my father sent me away.”

“And you turned out to be so normal.”

“No,” Daemon says, a blade-sharp warning, his eyes burning into yours, ruthless green fire. He aims the point of his dagger at you. “I turned out to be extraordinary.”

Draco. Draco sent away. If I lose him now, I’ll lose him forever. He’ll never know me. He’ll never love me. “Please let me have a few more years with him.”

“Sure. In New York.”

“I’ll go,” you surrender. “Fine, fine, I understand. I’ll go. No more complaints.”

“Good.” He sets down his dagger and the letter and resumes his sketching. You’ve been dismissed, but you can’t look away from him: cunning hands that won’t touch you, blood that runs hot enough to scald.

What is this feeling, this hunger, this hatred, all gnarled up together, dark earth glimmering with flecks of jewel-tone light, constellations of subterranean stars? He has hurt you, but he has given you pleasure too, this man who is so impossible to know, to predict, the only man who has ever been inside you. It’s not that you want him, not exactly; you want what he can give you, and the cold truth is that if it’s not him it’s not anyone, never again for as long as he lives. You’ve never craved another body, another soul. If you ever took a lover, you believe Daemon would kill you.

He grins, mocking and cruel. And you are transported back to your wedding night, still euphoric and flushed and panting on the bed as Daemon sighed and got up to go to the washroom, the satisfaction and the shame, the inescapable sense that you have disappointed him. “Did you only come here to be vexing and disobedient, or did you have something else in mind?”

“No,” you say softly, turning away, leaving him with his drawings of rocks stolen from distant corners of the world.

At breakfast the next morning—Fern cracking Draco’s soft-boiled egg and feeding him careful spoonfuls, Dagmar reading aloud to him from The Three Billy Goats Gruff, giving him smiles radiant with warmth you’ve never received from her—you sip tea and spread butter over your soda bread, gazing listlessly at the mist that hangs cool and heavy beyond the windows. Daemon is at the quarry already. You are suddenly acutely aware of the absence of music.

“Hey, lassie?” your father says as your mother tries to coax him into eating his full Irish breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, white pudding.

You look to him, clearing the fog from your skull. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I saw the luggage. Where are you going?”

You keep telling him, but he doesn’t remember; he was becoming forgetful five years ago but now he can’t work at all, can barely even carry conversations. You had a brother who died in infancy and a sister who was taken at eight years old by convulsions. You are the only child left, and there are no other evident heirs to the quarry. This must have been something that occurred to Daemon when he met you, seventeen and overwhelmed by the black magic of him. He had seemed like the right choice: dashing, capable, from an illustrious family, a man who could take charge of the quarry as your father’s health continued to fail.

“Daddy, I told you. We’re going to Manhattan.”

He is stunned, grief-stricken. “What? That far?”

“Yes, on Titanic. It’s the largest ship ever built.”

“Who the hell cares about the ship?” your father says. “When will you be back?”

Never. You and your mother exchange a heartsick glance. She tries to be strong for him; she tries not to show you that her world is ending as you and Draco are taken across the ocean like gemstones mined and smuggled away for cutting. “Soon, Daddy,” you lie. He won’t remember anyway. “We’ll be back really soon.”

And then again ten minutes later, and then again after a half hour, and then again at lunchtime:

Where are you going?

When will you be back?

~~~~~~~~~~

Titanic is not a ship but a wonder of the world, unbreakable like the pyramids, towering like the Colossus of Rhodes, beckoning seafaring travelers like the Lighthouse of Alexandria. It is too large to dock in Cork Harbor, and so two tenders—named, quite appropriately, Ireland and America—are used to shuttle the passengers to the anchored goliath waiting to carry you across the ocean. Aboard, a five-piece string ensemble greets the first-class passengers with The Sunny South, and beaming stewards distribute flutes of champagne, liquid gold freckled with bubbles of trapped air. The men are chucking and shaking Captain Smith’s hand and the women are sighing with soft, feminine awe at the soaring funnels and the sprawling Promenade Deck, steel overlaid with yellow pine and teak, and you stare vacuously back at the shadow of the shore, speaking to no one, noticed by no one, alone in a wonderstruck crowd on a cloud-covered, warm afternoon, April 11th, 1912.

Rush is giving bellboys instructions for the luggage to be taken to your rooms. Daemon disappears with Rhaenyra to inspect the accommodations, their steps swift and careless, laughing like children, Rhaenyra’s blonde hair—yellow jasper, yellow jade—streaming out behind her, her gown a shallow-water bluish-green like the Grandidierite Daemon found in Madagascar. Fern skitters after them to unpack the bags when they arrive in the staterooms and offer to make tea. Laenor, wearing a deep and dignified shade of blue, immediately makes the acquaintance of several Parisian passengers and sets about to stroll the deck with them, smoking their pipes and remarking on the ingenuity of the ship’s design, planning to enjoy the Turkish Baths together this evening. Draco is getting tired and ill-tempered; Dagmar merrily whisks him off to see the Grand Staircase and distract him until the rooms are ready.

Meandering, rudderless, you walk to the deck railing and look down into the water as the ship weighs anchor, unmooring itself from Ireland, stealing you away forever. Trying to distract yourself from weeping—tears burn in your eyes like a stoked furnace—you pretend to adjust your earrings. You wear amethysts to match your gown, dark mauve, a color not long ago only owned by royalty. One of the musicians has appeared to soothe your maladies, desperate terror and melancholy he perhaps mistakes for seasickness. But no, it’s not one of the men from the ensemble that welcomed you aboard; he is not wearing a pristine black suit but a pale green tweed waistcoat and unceremonious plaid trousers. He isn’t a crewmember of Titanic at all. He’s the viola player from Galway.

You jolt away from him, spinning around to ensure no one from Daemon’s party has reappeared to witness this. Then you whisper furiously: “What are you doing here?!”

The viola player stops fiddling and holds his instrument by its neck. His answer is amiable and innocent. “Playing viola.”

“No, why are you on this ship?!”

He shrugs, smiling, his hair blowing in the wind as the tugboats pull Titanic out to sea. “Heard it was the biggest one ever built, unsinkable, extravagant beyond compare. Seemed like something I’d like to experience given the opportunity.”

“You followed me,” you say flatly.

He winks, resting an elbow on the railing. His teeth are small and white; there are lines from the sun around his eyes.

“You overheard our arrangements at O’Connell’s Bar and bought a ticket for yourself? Crossed Ireland, travelled south to Cork, all to stalk me like some lunatic? A nautical Jack the Ripper?”

“Well…I wouldn’t say I bought a ticket.” He is playful, teasing you. “I found one.”

“How did you manage to by pure happenstance find a ticket for Titanic’s maiden voyage?”

“I ran into an aspiring passenger at a pub in Cork,” the viola player explains. “A very nice man, his name was Fergal. Unfortunately for poor Fergal, when the time came to board the tenders, he was…indisposed, and I found myself in possession of his third-class ticket. A strange coincidence!”

“Indisposed?” you say, squinting suspiciously.

“Perhaps he had a few too many pints in celebration and passed out somewhere. Perhaps he got lost on his way to the harbor. Or perhaps he was locked in the pub’s storage room and therefore unable to make it to the tenders in time to sail blissfully away on his trans-Atlantic journey. Who could say for sure?”

“So you stole a ticket.”

“I think that’s a cynical way to put it.”

You are incredulous. “How would you put it?”

“Fortune brought me a ticket. The stars aligned, the saints were looking out for me.”

“If you hold a third-class ticket, you are on the wrong deck of the ship.”

“Shh!” He holds a finger to his lips. “No one knows that, I just wander around playing songs for the rich people and they assume I’m supposed to be here.”

“You have to stay away from me,” you plead, staring out over the ocean. “Daemon can’t see us talking, he can’t know you followed me from Galway, he can’t find out that you saw…” The bruise, the evidence, the betrayal of you not keeping his secrets.

“Relax, I’m not here for you,” the viola player says, and of course he is lying. “I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

He grins, slow and mischievous, and you are alarmed to realize some part of you wants to smile too. “You know what?”

“What,” you offer resentfully.

“I think you want me to be here for you.”

You turn away from the railing to make your escape. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“I’ll think about it,” the viola player quips. And when you glance back at him from the end of the Promenade Deck, ocean wind tearing your hair out of its pins and salt stinging on your skin, he’s still watching you.

#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen

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aventurineswife · 15 days ago

Note

Ok, confession time.....wriothesley and gallagher....there thats it

-Smooch Anon💋

The Weight of Unspoken Words

Tags: Gallagher x Reader, Wriosthesley x Reader, Confession, Slow Burn, Confession, Vulnerability, Romance, Introspection, Emotional Depth, Quiet Moments, Inner Turmoil.

Warnings: Mild Emotional Angst, Introspection on Loss and Loneliness, Mild Suggestion of Relationship Dynamics.

A/N: first time writing about dilfs lookin ahh them 🧍‍♀️

The bar was nearly empty, save for a few patrons scattered about. The faint clink of ice against glass echoed through the dimly lit room as Gallagher expertly prepared another drink. His rough hands moved with precision, yet there was a certain gentleness in the way he handled the glass. His eyes, distant and weary, flickered up briefly to meet yours before he returned to his work.

"You've been quiet tonight," you said, your voice soft, trying not to disturb the silence that had settled between the two of you.

Gallagher paused, his movements faltering for just a moment. He took a breath, as though collecting his thoughts, before setting the shaker down on the counter. His gaze shifted to the window, his expression unreadable.

"I've been thinking," he said, the words almost a whisper, as if he were speaking to himself more than to you.

You leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the rare vulnerability in his voice. Gallagher rarely shared his thoughts, and you couldn't help but feel honored to be the one he chose to speak to tonight.

He turned back to you, his eyes glimmering with something deeper than the usual melancholy. There was a quiet longing behind them, something that had been buried for a long time.

"There's a lot I’ve lost," he continued, his voice steady but tinged with sadness. "A lot I’ve seen. And it’s... left me empty. But when I look at you, it’s like... for just a moment, I don’t feel so alone anymore."

His hand hovered near the bottle, but his attention was focused solely on you now. The sincerity in his words was unlike anything you'd heard from him before.

"I don't know if I deserve it," he muttered, his gaze faltering for a second. "But I’d like to try. For you."

He didn't need to say more. The weight of his words hung in the air, and in that moment, you knew what he meant. It was a quiet confession, one not of grand gestures, but of a man willing to open himself up, just a little, to the possibility of something more.

The Fortress of Meropide was always quiet, a place where silence reigned. But tonight, the stillness felt different—thicker, as if something was hanging in the air. You had come to deliver some reports to Wriothesley in his office, but now, you found yourself standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to say next.

Wriothesley was seated at his desk, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he read over some documents. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment, then returned to his work.

"You seem lost in thought," you said softly, stepping closer to his desk. "Something on your mind?"

He paused, setting down the papers, his gaze now fully focused on you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His calm demeanor was as composed as ever, but you could sense an unspoken tension between you.

"I suppose... I've been thinking about how much I value peace," he began, his voice as calm as ever, yet there was a hint of something more, something tender beneath the surface. "How much I cherish the quiet moments. The simple ones, like this."

He stood up, slowly walking toward you, his steps deliberate and measured. As he neared, his eyes softened, and you could see the exhaustion that lingered beneath his composed exterior.

"I’ve been surrounded by chaos for most of my life," he continued, his voice low, almost intimate. "But in you, I find a peace I didn’t know I was missing."

You could feel your heart race as he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. The touch was warm, reassuring, and in that moment, you knew what he was about to say.

"You've become more than just someone I rely on," he confessed, his words steady but full of sincerity. "I don't want to imagine a life without you in it. Will you stay by my side, through whatever comes?"

The question was simple, yet it carried the weight of everything he'd said before—a promise, a desire for something more. You didn't need to say a word; the connection between you two was enough. Wriothesley's confession was a quiet one, but in its stillness, it spoke volumes.

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teamchasezwrites · 15 days ago

Text

Breed You

Word Count: 8,504

Characters: Damian Priest/OC

Genre: Smut, Side of fluff

Tags: Breeding Kink, Smut, Dirty Talk, Pregnancy Kink, Sexual Explicit Content

Summary: Thoughts about having sex with his wife were nothing new for Damian. Having thoughts of mounting her from behind and breeding her... well... those were new.

Author's Note: When it comes to writing smut, this post fits me to a T. I almost reported it under "I'm in this photo and I don't like it." This story is the first time I've attempting writing a kink and I do hate how it wasn't the main focal point. Go easy on me! Enjoy

Inspired by:

The door to the arena closed behind Damian as he stepped into the private parking lot. He nodded his head to a couple crew members standing along the building. A lingering acrid stench hung in the air indicating a cigarette break. He would never forget the smell as a former smoker himself. Ten years clean the smell now irritated his nose.

The building did little to hold in the cheers of the thousands of fans inside. The music was muffled but he couldn’t distinguished which wrestler was headed to the ring or who was victorious. If he were being honest with himself, he had no idea what was even on the card for the night beyond his own match – an eight man tag team match between Judgement Day and R-Truth, The Miz, and DIY. Judgement Day won of course. He was able to secure the pin on R-Truth.

Then his focus turned from the job to something better. Thankful Triple H was now in charge and he was a big champion of letting wrestlers have time off for family. His match needed to be in the first part of Raw or else it would throw off the scheduling for his traveling. Like the ripple a rock makes in the water as it plunges into its depth. The rings start off small and get bigger and bigger. He didn’t get out of the arena on time, he’ll miss his flight from LAX. If he missed his flight, it was a six hour drive.

Without traffic.

And six hours was way too long of a delay to be where he so desperately needed to be.

Damian hit the button on the key fob of his rental and tossed his black duffle bag into the passenger seat as he climbed into the nondescript sedan. He pushed the button on the dash and the engine started immediately. The radio started blasting Death Angel’s “Father of Lies”. He quickly reached out turning the volume down a couple notches from where he’d been rocking out earlier on his way to the Honda Center.

As he backed from the the parking spot, he sent a little prayer up for traffic to work with him. There was slim wiggle room and it was already a little after six local time. Los Angelas wasn’t exactly known for its commute.

Whatever Gods controlled the traffic were on his side because he was able to make it to the rental drop off at LAX in the time the GPS estimated. The drop off was quick and he was able to zip through security and make it to his gate with time to spare. Boarding hadn’t begun yet so he took the time he had to go to the bathroom and check his phone.

He sat in a chair surrounded by no one. The black hat on his head pulled low over his eyes with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over it. The long braided extensions he currently had his hair styled in was hidden by the hoodie helping give him a case of anonymity. Though he was still a six foot five man with bulking muscles. He definitely stood out against the rest of the passengers awaiting the same flight.

‘Made it to the airport.’

Roughly two hours – depending on how long it took to board and actually take off – before he would be at his destination. His leg bounced in anticipation.

While he waited, Damian scrolled through his social media. He liked posts from fellow Raw wrestlers and shared posts from WWE’s main account about him to his accounts. When boarding was announced he stood, shouldering his bag.

The attendant at the gate scanned the ticket on his phone with a smile. “Have a good flight.”

He responded with a smile and made his way onto the boarding bridge. He stepped into the plane, ducking his head where he smiled at the flight attendant welcoming him and quickly found his seat. Keeping his phone in his hand he stuffed his bag into the overhead compartment and took his assigned window seat.

The anticipation continued to build and he wished the passengers would move more quickly to their seats. The clock didn’t start ticking until the plane was in the air.

75 minutes until touchdown.

Damian’s phone chirped in his ear through the AirPods. He had yet to turn his playlist on. Glancing down at his lock screen he saw the notification. His lips spread into a smile.

Ali: You’re so close!!

He swiped his thumb across the notification to open the message thread.

‘Boarded now.’

‘If I could fly this plane, I’d already be on the way.’

A college-aged looking kid took the empty seat next to him before Damian could stand and try to do just that.

‘I’ll be your sexy flight attendant to mess around in your cock pit.’

Damian grinned at the sexual connotation of his wife’s text. ‘You do know your way around my cock…’

An image appeared next and he greedily tapped on it to enlarge it on his screen. The photo was dark, the only light source were the candles lining the edge of the bathtub and the windowsill above it. His wife’s feet peeked out of the water through the reflection of the candles. The feet glistened with water. Her skin tanned and perfect in the candlelight.

‘I’m gonna start right there and work my way up. I won’t be stopping until my lips have touched every piece of skin.’

He shifted in his seat. First to make sure his phone screen was hidden from prying eyes. Second, to alleviate the growing pressure against his zipper.

‘I hope you’ll be spending extra time in certain places on your quest.”

‘There’ll be quite a few layovers in all my favorite places.”

‘Fuck Dame… I need you to hurry up.’

Damian bit back the moan wanting to come out. He could almost feel her need coming through in the previous text. ‘Are you on edge Corazón? Do you need to cum?’

‘My fingers are nothing compared to yours.’

Damian shifted again at her words. There was no way to inauspiciously press the heel of his hand to his cock for some form of relief. ‘I’ll be there soon Baby.’

The plane finished boarding during his shameless conversation with his wife. The flight attendants were already closing the overhead compartments. ‘Getting ready to take off. I’ll see you soon. I love you.’

Ali’s answering ‘I love you’ text had him putting his phone in airplane mode and pressing the button on the side. The screen went dark. Tucking it in his hoodie pocket, he stared out the window as the plane taxied away from the terminal and down the runway.

The wait wasn’t long before pilot had them speeding down the runway past the other flights waiting their turn. The buildings on the ground flew by as the plane picked up speed. The nose lifted and soon the plane was off the ground and climbing high into the air.

The anticipation danced around in his belly like nerves. Damian couldn’t even explain the feeling. Ali was just in his arms yesterday when he kissed her goodbye at their front door before heading to the airport to fly to California for Monday Night Raw.

Maybe it had to do with the fact he was flying to Mammoth Mountain where he was spending the next six days nestled in a cozy room with his wife in the California ski town. Six days of uninterrupted time with just him and her. Celebrating five years of marriage. Celebrating their love.

Jesus did he love her.

They met in a club in New Jersey. The relationship was purely sexual on the onslaught. Then it turned into an on-again off-again before he finally wizened up to make it permanent in 2017. He didn’t know where wrestling was taking him at the time, but he knew Ali was it.

The plane leveled off and settled in for the quick jaunt west. The seatbelt sign clicked off but Damian paid it no attention. He retrieved his phone from his hoodie pocket and entered his passcode. He had a few games he could play to pass the time; an old pro at traveling now but he ended up in his photos. Skipping the raunchy and inappropriate memes he’d send Rhea and the rest of the Judgement Day in their group text, he narrowed in on the true photos on his camera.

The first one to pop up was a photo taken just last Wednesday on Valentine’s Day. A picture of him and Gabriela – his four year old daughter. She was perched on his back in a piggy back ride. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck in a pinching squeeze with his arms hooked around her already long legs securing her to him. Long legs and arms reminded him of a newborn horse. Her dark brown hair hung in a mass of wild waves hadn’t yet met a comb that morning. Her brown eyes sparkled in pure delight or mischief. The crooked little grin proudly displayed on her face.

Gabriela – an absolute surprise to them both finding out they were already many weeks along after their wedding. Completely spoiled rotten and one hundred percent Papi’s little girl.

Then there was a photo of two year old Ian taken that same morning, sitting at the kitchen table in his booster chair. His hand griping the small fork in a backwards grip with a look of pure determination on his face as he tried to stab the syrup covered pancake.

A smile formed on his lips as he could still hear his son chanting ‘Papi, Papi, Papi,’ as he dished up the special heart shaped pancakes to him and his sister along with cut up sausage patties and strawberries.

He swiped his thumb again and there was a tired looking Ali with her own heart shaped pancake. He liked to imagine she was tired because he wore her out the night before but he knew better. The culprit of her (and his) exhaustion was sitting in his wife’s lap, sporting an open mouth grin showing off her teeth. Sofia just turned one last month and had yet to sleep through the night. He was beginning to think she never would.

Damian could still smell the fresh baby scent when he nuzzled her sweet little face and kissed her goodbye yesterday.

He continued to scroll through the photos in his phone, getting further away from the current photos. His kids regressed quickly through the months and his heart twisted a little noticing how much Gabi changed in just this last year alone. Sofia became that tiny infant again; the one he was almost too afraid to hold after delivery. She’d been the smallest of his children. Not quite clocking six pounds. He felt like an overgrown oaf cradling her in his arms.

A couple more scrolls and there was Ali laying in the hospital bed, looking exhausted yet beautiful still in the midst of labor though not at the pushing stage. Her belly big and round with a stubborn Sofia not wanting to come out.

There was a stirring deep in his own belly he couldn’t place as he stared at a few more photos of Ali in the hospital before Sofia was born.

He kept swiping back through photos and his breath caught in his throat at the black and white photo. Taken at Christmas time because he received a tripod for his phone. Happy he could now take photos with his family without them having to be selfies all the time. This photo though…

Ali was lying in their bed on her back. The long flowing sheer negligee was deep red he remembered. The slit started at the center of the bra cups and down the entire length allowing it to fall open exposing her belly. Her back was slightly arched allowing her belly to be more prominent. Her head lifted a little, exposing her neck and the angle of her jaw.

He laid between her legs, shirtless with a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. His arms holding himself above her to keep his weight off her. The black and white photo drawing out the tattoos on his left arm more. His arms were slightly bent so he could dip and press his lips against Ali’s belly.

He’d forgotten all about the photo.

The next photo showed him on his knees in front of a standing Ali kissing her belly again. Then they were both standing. Him behind her with his arms wrapped around her, his hands on either side of her belly. Another photo of Ali by herself. Turned sideways to the camera, displaying her pregnant belly. One arm resting on top, the other cradling it from underneath.

Damian’s scrolls became faster almost frantic as he swiped through his photos searching for the ones with Ali pregnant. Anything with his wife’s belly on display. As he stared at the photos he couldn’t help but remember how it felt when they made love.

Her breasts enlarged, full of milk to nourish their babies. Her nipples tender and sensitive. The cries he could draw from just tracing his tongue around the areola. How her legs would jerk back and forth listlessly.

With her belly big and round, their frequent position would be him taking her from behind. He would help ease her onto her hands and knees as he situated himself behind her on his knees. He’d run his cock through her glistening folds before slowly sinking in. His hands would be gripping her hips as he moved in and out of her. Slowly his hands would move to her belly. He’d pull her up so her back was to his chest. She’d sink on him allowing him better access to her belly.

He loved the weight of her belly. The feel. The look… how it turned him on to see her pregnant with his child. It bolstered the possessiveness he felt when it came to it wife. He was the man who sent his seed deep inside her body, marking his claim.

Damian swallowed roughly on a dry mouth. The path his thoughts took were surprising. His cock was painfully hard in his jeans now as thoughts swirled in his head of impregnating his wife once more. Of releasing his unfettered sperm deep inside her.

Of mounting his wife from behind and breeding her.

Watching once more as her belly grew round with his child.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Please fasten your dealt belts as we make our descent into Mammoth Lakes. Flight attendants, please prepare for landing.”

Damian’s thoughts were nearly feral as he exited the plane and walked into the small, private terminal of Mammoth Lakes Airport. His stride was purposeful as he exited the main doors. A few vehicles were lined up to fill with passengers to take them to various locations on the mountain.

He stepped up to the first one at the front of the line. “There’s a nice tip if you take me to The Lodge without waiting to fill the vehicle.”

The man grinned. “Yes Sir,” he gave him a mock salute. He started the vehicle as Damian climbed inside.

He fastened his seatbelt and pulled out his phone taking it off airplane mode. It chimed in his ear as the van pulled away from the curb.

A video from his mom waited. He tapped the video and was rewarded when his screen filled with Gabi. ‘Hi Papi! I love you!’ Her face zoomed in as she must have kissed the phone. He smiled watching as the phone shook and he was left staring at his daughter’s ear as she turned her head. Then she was off running, her giggles coming through his AirPods. ‘Say hi to Papi Ian.’ His son came into view as he pressed his face against his sister’s. Their faces squished together to fit both on the screen. ‘Hi Papi!’ Ian always over accented the ending sound in his name, holding onto the ‘e’ for a few beats. He loved it. ‘Say I love you!’ He chuckled at Gabi’s whisper. ‘Love you.’ Ian parroted as he learned toward the phone showing off his mouth full of teeth. The screen shook again and bounced as Gabi was on the move again. ‘Careful Sweetie.’ He heard his mother’s voice. Then Sofia was on the screen. Sitting in his mother’s lap. Her pink blanket in her lap. Her mouth sucking on her binkie. Even though the phone Damian could see the heaviness in her eyes as she held onto the last vestibules of wake, no doubt too intrigued by the movements of her siblings. ‘Feefa loves you too Papi.’ The nickname caused him to smile. Gabi had such a hard time saying Sofia. It came out as Feefa and even he called her that at times. His heart burst when Sofia pushed the binkie out of her mouth, a wide grin of her face as she saw her own reflection in the phone. ‘Wave to Papi, Feefa. Wave.’ A cheer nearly left his mouth at the same time as his mother’s when Sofia raised her hand out opening and shutting her fingers. ‘Bye Papi! I love you!’

The video ended and a small wave of sadness went through him. He missed them. He missed chasing Gabi through the house trying to corral her into the bath before bed. He missed snuggling with both Gabi and Ian on his lap as he read a bedtime story. He missed giving Sofia the final bottle before bed. Her brown eyes staring up at him holding him captive. Her small hand reaching up to touch his cheek, petting his beard. He would take her hand and press soft kisses to her fingers.

“We’re here Sir.”

Damian looked up from his phone. The Lodge loomed before him. He tucked his phone into his hoodie as he unfastened his seat belt. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a couple bills out and handed them to the driver. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

Damian shouldered his bag as he tucked his wallet back in his pocket. He shut the door to the vehicle and started walking to the front doors as the van pulled away behind him.

The lobby was busy with the evening dinner hour. The lifts were closed. Skiing done for the night. Everyone was gathered, unwinding from a day on the slopes. The bar was standing room only. The roar of laughter and chatter echoing through the lobby. There was a line of patrons waiting to enter the restaurant. The large fire place was on the far wall. The flames danced in bright orange, red, and yellow hues. The seats around the fire were filled with friends and lovers alike.

Damian kept his head down and gaze averted as he ducked into a corner; phone already in hand. He had a waiting message from Ali.

An image.

He swallowed roughly and opened it. He released a breathy moan when the picture popped up. Ali lay on her stomach on the light colored comforter. The photo caught the side of her face; the mass of curls dipping in front of her shoulder and over her back. She wore no bra.

Her legs bent behind her, ankles crossed. Her back arched, sending her ass popping up. A pair of white lace panties sat on her waist and dipped between ass cheeks.

‘You’re killing me.’

He wanted her just like that. Wanted to slid up behind her and press his lips to the curve of an ass cheek before sinking his teeth in it. He wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and pull her back while his other hand set about unbuckling his pants.

‘Where are you?’

‘In the lobby trying not to be recognized while trying to get a room number out of this girl.’

‘Is she cute?’

‘Fucking hot.’

‘Yeah?’

‘What would you do if you got her room number?’

‘Corazon you’re playing with fire.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’d slip into her room while she’s laying on the bed. I’d press a kiss to her ankle while I climb between her legs. Pressing kisses to the back of her thighs up to her ass where I’d sink my teeth in to the soft flesh. I’d trace my tongue along the lace panties to where they dip down between her cheeks. I’d run my hand up her back to tangle into her hair and pull back causing her to arch more into me. I’d run my finger down between her cheeks to where her pretty pussy waits for me. Dripping wet. I’d press my finger deep inside her, pumping into her. Then I’d pull my hard cock out running it through her wet pussy lips as she begs for me to take her. She’d be so wet for me I can slid all the way into her on one hard thrust. There is no softness here. Just hard and fast until I have her screaming and coming apart all over my cock. When she does, I’ll give her what she so desperately wants. My hot cum painting deep inside her pussy walls.’

Fuck. Hard and fast is probably all he’s going to be good for the first time. He tugged at his hoodie in an effort to pull it down to cover his raging hard on.

‘Get here right the fuck now or it’s gonna be my fingers I’m riding hard and fast.’

The room number came through immediately after.

Armed with the information, Damian made his was through the lobby toward the elevator. Outside he appeared calm, on the inside he was wound so tight he threatened to explode. It wouldn’t take much. The simple squeeze of his cock to ward off an impending orgasm would send him in a tailspin.

Jesus he needed to get a hold of himself.

The elevator was thankfully empty when it arrived and no one followed him on. He hit the button to close the doors before anyone could slip through.

Moments later he was stalking down the hallway. Eyes catching door numbers as he passed. Then he was standing outside his room for the next six days. His wife just on the other side. Anticipation rolled through him. He raised his hand to tap softly on the door when it was pulled open and he was yanked through.

Hands palmed his cheeks pulling him down into a hot kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth. There was no finesse. Just desperate strokes.

The door clicked shut behind him. His bag falling off his shoulder to the floor. Her hands grabbed at the hem of his hoodie frantically trying to push it up his body needing to get him naked. To feel that warm skin beneath her fingers. Feel his hard muscles.

“Corazon, wait,” Damian murmured through the kisses.

“I can’t… I need you. Right now,” Ali’s hands hit skin and she moaned into his mouth. His skin was fever warm and she ran her hands up his chest, pushing both the hoodie and t-shirt up.

With strength he wasn’t sure he had, he broke the kiss with a groan and straightened. He caught sight of her for the first time. He moaned as his eyes raked over her naked body. “Ali, baby… you better not have been answering the door like that to anyone else.”

“And if I did?” Ali reversed her destination and her hands traveled south to Damian’s jeans.

Damian growled at her words. He pushed the hood from his head and ripped the hat off. With one hand gripping the hem of his hoodie, he yanked both it and his t-shirt over his head. His AirPods fell from his ears, bouncing to places unknown on the floor.

He didn’t care.

“No one gets to see this but me, Corazon,” he growled. He carded a hand through her hair to the back of her head where he yanked her forward. He swallowed her squeak as his lips captured hers. She fell against his body; her hands trapped between them. His tongue licked her lips and when she opened for him, he darted forward. He plundered her mouth chasing an acidic taste with a hint of bubbly… fruity… as if she’d been drinking a glass of wine. He had images of dribbling the wine on her body and licking it off.

His hands traced down her back; his palm rough against her soft skin. He cupped her ass and pressed her against his hard cock still confined in his jeans. Her arms broke free from between them to wrap around his neck, twisting in his hair. He felt her shift against him and he lifted her effortlessly in his arms. Her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Damian,” she moaned against his lips. “Fuck me…” She nipped his bottom lip then ran her tongue over it to soothe the sting.

“I got something better for you…” Damian carried her further into the room and turned toward the right to enter the bedroom. He’d check out the room tomorrow. He laid her down on the comforter from the earlier photo. ‘Maybe not,’ he thought staring down at her.

Her hair spread against the blanket. Her pupils blown wide in desire. A red hue of arousal on her cheeks. Full breasts on display, a size larger after three pregnancies. Her nipples erect and enticing beckoning him to take one in his mouth. His eyes trailed down her stomach, softer now, to the small triangle patch of light brown curls. Her legs parted under his gaze revealing her glistening folds.

Like a starving man faced with a buffet he fell to his knees on the floor. He ran his hands up her legs. His fingers light over the skin drawing goosebumps. Up over her knees to her thighs. The skin so soft beneath his touch.

“Damian…” His name fell from her lips like a plea.

The cadence entered his body touching every dark recess before wrapping around his cock. The breathy moan from between her lips had him reaching down and frantically ripping down his zipper to free his cock from his briefs. He wrapped his hand around the hard flesh and squeezed. Hard. He groaned, tossing his head back. A bead of cum appeared on the tip and he breathed to ward off his orgasm.

With his orgasm staved off for now Damian opened his eyes catching sight of Ali leaning up on one elbow her face full of want and desire. The hunger in her eyes had him groaning. “The way you make me feel Corazon,” he whispered as he parted her legs. He hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to his mouth.

Damian placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh and Ali shivered as his beard scratched the delicate skin. “Oh Damian…” the words fell from her lips as her eyes drifted close.

“I haven’t even started yet.” Damian smirked. He took pity on his wife – and himself by lowering his head and licking a stripe straight up her center. Tanginess burst on his tongue and he moaned, pressing his face closer.

Short licks at her entrance before moving up to her clit. His tongue circled the bundle of nerves, flicking the button, drawing soft cries from Ali. Back down through her folds to her entrance his pressed his tongue deep inside.

“Damian…” Ali mewled, her hips undulating in the hold he still had on her thighs. Keeping her right where he wanted. Where she wanted. Her back arched as his tongue assaulted her clit again. His movements sure and knowing. He could always work her into a frenzy within minutes. Her hands fisted in the comforter beneath her, pulling the fabric.

A cry fell from her lips when he pressed two fingers deep inside her channel. They slid in without resistance. She been slick all evening since she watched him in the ring during his match on TV, his muscles rippling and glistening under the lights. Her thighs closed on his head.

“Let me at this pretty pussy Corazon,” Damian murmured as he pressed a hand on the inside of her thigh cocking her leg higher onto the bed, opening her up to him. “I can’t wait to sink my cock in you. You’re squeezing my fingers so well…you need me baby don’t you,” he pressed a kiss at the crease of her thigh.

“Yes,” Ali hissed. She reached down and grabbed his ponytail, the braided strands twisting in her hold. She wished his hair was free from the braids so she could tangle her fingers in it. “Please…”

“You beg so nicely.” He removed his fingers only to replace them with his tongue. He buried his face in her folds, his nose at her clit. He wiggled his tongue inside her. He licked between her folds to his clit. His tongue swirling around it, flicking over it. He pressed his fingers back inside her as her hand pressed his head closer. He knew she was close based on that hand.

Twisting his fingers he curled them up to the front wall, searching and finding the slightly rigid patch of skin. Ali’s breath hitched at the contact followed by a low moan. Pre-cum dribbled down his cock. He closed his lips around her clit and sucked. Ali’s hips came off the bed and he used his free hand to hold her in place.

It took another flick on his tongue and she came with a cry. Her hand had a stinging grip on his hair as she pressed his face into her pussy. Her hips jerked wildly as her body convulsed.

Damian slowed his fingers, moving them in and out of her in an almost lazy manner. He pressed soft kisses and gentle licks to her folds before letting his fingers slip from her opening. His cock so hard it was painful. A wet spot on his jeans where his cock leaked.

Raising up he pressed his face into her belly. He kissed the small pouch she carried. The extra ten pounds she always complained about in the mirror. The same pouch he loved so much.

Ali’s hand had relaxed her grip on his hair but her fingers started to move again. Soft little caresses against the short stubble of his faded haircut. He closed his eyes concentrating on those ministrations as they moved toward his cheek. When her other hand cupped the other side of his face and started lifting his head, he opened his eyes to meet hers. He grinned at the sated look on her face.

“Come up here,” Ali whispered.

Damian would follow her anywhere. He pushed to his feet, his knees protesting from the prolonged position.

Ali moaned seeing her husband’s cock jutting from his jeans. She reached out and wrapped a hand around the hard, hot flesh drawing a hiss from Damian. She glanced up through her eyelashes to see his head tossed back and his eyes shut. A look of pure bliss on his face.

She kept her strokes light and teasing. Her thumb took a swipe through the creamy liquid pooled on the tip. She brought her thumb to her mouth, sucking the digit in; tongue swirling over the pad. Her eyes drifted closed as the saltiness flavor burst on her tongue.

“Fuck,” Damian moaned watching Ali suck on her thumb where she collected a drop of his cum. He quickly kicked off his shoes and shucked his jeans and briefs down his legs. After removing his socks he stood tall with his cock in hand.

“Yes,” Ali breathed. Her mouth watered as she stared at her husband in all his naked glory. The broadness of his shoulders, into his powerfully toned chest. The tattoos covering sculpted arms from his wrists to his shoulders. The libra and skulls entwined piece on his right pec. The cross coming out of the flames on his left bleeding into a skull morphing into a lily flower. Her favorite piece on his body because it represented her and their children.

An exquisite piece with a lily (her favorite flower) coming out of the nose opening. Its petals going up and covering an entire eye socket. The only shown eye socket – just a black shadowed circle meshed so well it almost looked like a petal itself. The cheekbone defined so well it acted as another petal. Then it gave way to the teeth before the jawbone became petals once again. Their children’s names - in her loopy cursive – were written in each of the petals.

She drew her eyes away from his chest and downward; over the taunt abs with the hint of definition that came and went depending on his gym workout and dieting. The sexy v-line on either side of his hips that made her want to fall to her knees and do his bidding when they’d peek out of low slung jeans on his hips. She always thought it was a travesty his ring gear covered the sexy Adonis belt.

Her eyes followed the line her tongue has traced so many times before to his cock – hard and red still grasped in his hand. The area completely shaved. The skin perfectly smooth. His fingers languidly moving up and down. She drew her lip between her teeth when his thumb circled the tip collecting the drop of cum pooled at the slit before massaging it against his length with his movements. Her thighs closed as she rubbed them together looking for friction; her pussy clenched around emptiness.

His balls were drawn up tight beneath his shaft, telling her how close he was to coming. They were heavy and full and she felt a gush of fluid between her thighs at the thought of his virile cum filling her, coating her womb.

A white hot need shot through her. Her mind clouded as arousal built. Her fingers tingled and her body grew hot. Wetness slicked her thighs and saturated the blanket beneath her.

Her eyes hit his thighs – muscular and powerful. She wanted to spread her legs on either side of his thigh and press her pussy to the hard muscle and ride until she came.

Damian nearly came watching the different emotions flicker across Ali’s face as her eyes roamed his body. He preened under her perusal, tightening his muscles, making them more defined. His pecs rippled. The veins on his arms more pronounced.

“Damian… please,” her voice was rough and full of need. She scooted away from the edge and laid back on the bed. Her legs parted in invitation and her fingers ran through the soft brown curls framing her aching slit.

“Corazon… Baby girl…you have no idea how much I need you” Damian placed his hands on the bed as he bent over and kissed her delicate ankle. He didn’t linger as he moved his lips up her leg, placing a kiss to the inside of her knee. It drew a whimper from her and cum leaked from his cock at the sound painting the comforter.

He bypassed her cunt – slick and swollen from her first orgasm. The heady scent of her arousal invaded his nostrils and he breathed deeply causing a full body shiver to course through him. He nuzzled her belly. His tongue tracing the feint stretch marks spidering on the skin.

Continuing on his upward path, his nose lightly traced up her stomach. His mouth pressing ghosting kisses on the soft kiss, leaving behind a trace of wetness to dry in the air. Her nipples were drawn in stiff peaks and he took one in his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the hardened pebble. She arched into his mouth as her hand twisted in the braided locks.

“You gotta… take these out,” she gasped as he sucked her nipple. His teeth nipped and then there was a long swipe with a flattened tongue over the flesh to soothe.

“Tomorrow,” Damian murmured against her skin as he drew her other nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Damian…” Ali’s hand clutched his bicep; her nails digging into the tattooed skin. She dug the nails of her other hand into his scalp pushing her breast further into his mouth even as her back arched up. Pleasure zinged through her, pooling deep in her belly. Her pussy clenched and released milking the emptiness, wishing he’d shove his cock deep into her.

Before Damian had a chance to latch onto the spot where her neck met shoulder and that place right behind her ear that always made her cry out, Ali’s hands were cupping either side of his face. She drug his lips to hers.

She moaned into his mouth when his weeping cock painted her thigh. His tongue wasted no time entering her mouth tangling with hers; each fighting for dominance. It slid against hers and she pressed her hips wantonly against him surrendering to his touch. The movement seductive as she sought pleasure from his body.

“Damian,” she whispered breathlessly. She felt lightheaded and dizzy. Drowning in need. “Please…”

Damian pushed up on his knees, a hand on his cock giving it a quick hard squeeze at the base. He stared down at her, breathing heavily. His got impossibly harder twitching in his hand. She was spread out before him like an offering. Her hair fanned out on the comforter. His fingers itched to bury in the soft silky tresses. Her eyes blown wide in arousal. The black nearly absorbing the green he loved so much. Her lips – swollen from his kisses – parted as her breaths came out heavy. He watched, transfixed, as her tongue came out to lick along the bottom lip, coating it in wetness. Her skin a red hue from her cheeks sweeping south over her chest.

He reached out and traced a finger down until he got to her stomach. Her belly twitch beneath his touch and he spread both his hands over her abdomen. In a blink his mind morphed the soft, pillowy pouch to full and round with child.

His child.

“Dios Corazon, te necesito,” Damian moaned. His hands ran down either of her thighs pushing them further apart as he moved closer.

“Take me Damian…” Ali begged. “Please. Now.” Tilting her hips up in offering.

Damian wrapped his hand around his cock and ran it through Ali’s wet folds before lining up and pressing forward. His eyes closed and he groaned as he entered her body, her pussy gripping him. He sank to the hilt, his hips pressed against hers.

Ali clenched around him drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. He tossed his head back, his eyes clenched tightly as he breathed through his teeth trying to keep from coming. She was tight and warm wrapped around him.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. “Corazon I’m barely hanging on…”

“Good. I need you to fuck me… right now.”

Damian groaned at her words. He pulled from her body, his eyes watching his cock appear, slicked with her creamy juices. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth as he sunk back in.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about all day…”

Damian fell onto his elbows over her. “Corazon you have no idea what I’ve been thinking about all day.” He seized her lips in a hard kiss. His tongue entered her mouth, demanding.

Ali wrapped her arms around his massive shoulders pulling him closer. Her skin tingled and her core flooded as his tongue stroked hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. She broke the kiss on a moan. His cock driving deep inside her. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Damian groaned and buried his face in Ali’s neck as his mind exploded with images of her pregnant belly. His arm muscles bulged as he kept his full weight from crushing her. His hips pistoned in and out sharply. His balls smacking against her skin. They were drawn tight to his body, ready to explode.

“Tell me,” Ali whispered nipping his ear, drawing the lobe between her lips. The movement caused his hips to move faster and she released a heady moan in his ear. Her nails raked down his back leaving red streaks in their place.

“I wanna breed you… I wanna fill you with my cum.” Damian sucked a bruising kiss on her neck. “Plant my seed deep in your womb. Watch you grow big with my baby.”

Ali felt the gush of liquid at his words, coating Damian’s cock. Her eyes darkened with lust. The thought of his cum coating her pussy, painting her womb ignited her insides. Her belly growing round and full with Damian’s child.

“I wanna roll you over and fuck you from behind. Keep fucking you all night long until I’ve fucked a baby into you…”

Ali tightened her legs around Damian, stopping his movements. He was trapped deep inside her. When he lifted his head to meet her eyes, she saw some trepidation like he’d overstepped a line. She fisted his hair and brought his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. “Do it,” she whispered, their eyes meeting once again. She saw his eyes flare with desire and she clenched around him. “Breed me, Damian. Put a baby in me…”

Damian moved like lightning. He pulled out with a moan and helped his wife roll over to her hands and knees. The moan he released was harsh and visceral staring at his wife. Her ass and pussy on display. Her pussy lips red and swollen from his thrusts. A slickness coating them and her thighs.

He moved behind her. His corse hairy thighs pressing against her soft skin. He didn’t waste a moment. He thrust back in sinking fully into her. Their moans were loud and long at the invasion. He hoped no one was on the other side of the wall but he was beyond caring.

He withdrew once again watching his cum coated cock pull from her body. The way her lips seem to clench around him as to stop him from leaving.

“Give me a baby Damian,” Ali moaned tossing her head back.

“Fuck yeah,” Damian breathed through his teeth. His pace was harsh and brutal; unrelenting. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room mixed the creaking of the bed. “I’m gonna fill you full of my cum. Then I’m gonna keep my cock buried deep inside of you so my cum has no choice but to fill your womb.”

She cried out in pleasure, rocking on her knees to meet his thrusts. Her thighs and arms quaked; her muscles quivering. Her pussy nearly purring with the assault. “Damian…” she chanted her husband’s name as if she was sending a prayer. Maybe she was. His fingers gripped her hips with bruising force. It sent another bolt of lightning through her flooding her core.

She spread her knees further apart and gasped as his balls slapped against her clit with each thrust. Tears built in the corner of her eyes. “Oh…I…Damian…” she whimpered against the tight coiling in her belly. The feeling so big and powerful it scared her. Her hands fisted in the comforter; nails digging into the fabric.

“I got you,” Damian’s voice blanketed her trembling body. Her safety net. Her protector. “Let go for me.”

“With… you…” Her voice desperate trying to hold her orgasm at bay.

“Always.”

It was like a spring breaking free. The tension inside her snapped and she came with a loud wail. Light burst behind her clenched eyelids. She trembled as lightning danced through her body, sending tingles up and down her arms and legs. Her pussy clenched around him as she gushed, coating his cock with her essence.

“Ah… ah…” Damian’s face contorted in pleasure as Ali’s pussy clenched around him as she withered and arched on his cock as her orgasm worked through her. He snapped his hips one final time sending his cock deep inside her. He came with a roar. Rope after rope of his hot thick white sperm shooting from his throbbing cock deep inside her pussy.

Ali moaned at the feel of her husband’s sperm releasing inside her, coating her walls. She lifted her head toward the ceiling. Her messy hair showering down her back, sticking to the sweat soaked skin. Her pussy spasmed with each twitch of Damian’s cock inside her.

Damian’s body trembled as the last of his cum released inside of wife. A full body shudder as his muscles turned to goo, weakened by the force of his orgasm. It took a considerable amount of effort to unlock his fingers from Ali’s hips. He pulled out of his wife with a groan, watching as his cum dribbled out after.

With two fingers he pressed his cum back inside drawing another moan. Her pussy clenched around his fingers in mini spasms as she recovered. Damian pressed a kiss to the small of Ali’s back before he collapsed on his back beside her.

His heart hammered against his rib cage. Every so often his muscles would twitch as electrons starting firing, trying to get his body back online. His breaths came out in gasps, his lungs heaving in exertion. His body shone with a sheen of sweat. Heat radiated off his body. He wondered if his legs would even be able to hold him up in the shower.

The shower was forgotten when the mattress shifted and Ali’s head hit his shoulder. Her own breath coming out in gasps hot and sticky across his skin. Her body pressed against his side and her leg entwining with his. He wrapped his arm around her back holding her more firmly to his side. His hand rested on her hip. His fingers lightly caressing the skin.

“Corazon, you’re gonna kill me before the week is out.”

Ali hummed and pressed her lips to his chest, right over that lily flower tattoo. She tilted her head up and Damian turned his head to meet hers. Their lips collided – softly this time. Slowly their lips moved together. His arm crossed his body and she felt his calloused hand cup her cheek gently. His fingertips just breaching her hair. Their mouths opened and their tongues mated. The stroke soft and smooth. Lazy. The furious desperation from moments ago satisfied for now.

Their lips parted and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Ali’s eyes blinked opened. Light filtered in from a crack in the curtains but she couldn’t distinguish the time. Her phone was plugged in on the nightstand but she would have to leave the warm cocoon she was currently enveloped in.

Damian lay behind her, his arms wrapped around her. His body pressed against hers. His face tucked into her neck. She could feel the soft tuffs of hair blowing gently on her skin with each breath he took.

She shifted. Both her body and Damian protested the movement. Her muscles deliciously used after last night’s lovemaking. From the desperate first time to the needy time in the shower after hands strayed and lingered to the slow and lazy way he slipped inside her as the first feint glow of sunrise hinted.

Damian’s hold tightened on her. A small nose of protest from the back of his throat as he pulled her more securely to him, snuggling against her body.

Speaking of delicious…

His hard cock pressed into her ass. Twitching over one globe leaving a string of wetness behind. She bit her lip and fought against the desire to press her ass into his crotch.

Wetness once again pooled at her center, slicking her lower lips. She pressed her thighs together, keeping the ministrations minute so not to disturb Damian and find some type of relief. His hand lay lax against her belly and she had designs about pushing it down until his fingers pressed between her folds; until those calloused fingers rubbed her clit.

She wondered if she kept the movements slow if he’d wake up or if he’d finger her in his sleep. She arched against his cock almost subconsciously. The hard flesh pulsed against the soft globe of her ass cheek. What was he thinking about to be hard right now?

‘I wanna breed you.’

His words from last night echoed in Ali’s mind. God they were so hot. Something she never thought she’d think. Did she have a breeding kink? Did she have this inane desire to be bred like an animal? Was it the thought of getting pregnant that caused her insides to turn to liquid?

Or was it the thought of actually being pregnant that made her burst with one of the most intensive orgasms she’s ever had?

Was it the want of having another baby with Damian leading the charge? Of her stomach growing full and around. Of feeling the little flutterings and kicks. Of nurturing a tiny human being with her body. Creating another little mixture of her and Damian?

A heavy dose of want coursed through her. One that had her pressing herself back on Damian’s cock. Her hips gyrating against him.

It didn’t take long before the hand on her stomach tensed as Damian’s body came to life as she pulled it from sleep. His body hardened behind her. His hips moving with hers. Lips ghosted over her neck as his fingers dipped dangerously close to her center.

“Someone woke up feeling a little frisky.” His voice was low and sleep filled in her ear. Goosebumps broke out over her arms.

Ali hummed in answer, cocking her head to allow him better access to her neck. His teeth nipped her ear and drew her lobe between his teeth and suckled. She moaned and settled her hand over his, pushing him toward her aching center. They ran through her slickness together, coating their fingers with her arousal.

A moan escaped as he pressed a finger inside her.

“You’re already so wet for me,” Damian breathed as he ran that slick finger through her folds to her clit.

“Damian,” she moaned. Her eyes falling shut. “Breed me…”

Damian’s fingers stilled at his words and he lifted his head to stare at his wife. Unsure if he heard correctly.

Ali could feel the embarrassment on her cheeks but she turned her head to meet Damian’s eyes. “If you’re serious about wanting another baby, I won’t take my pill today.”

“You’re serious?” Damian’s eyes searched hers looking for any small trace of doubt. He found nothing. He slowly began to smile.

“Breed me Damian. Fuck a baby into me.”

With a groan his lips met hers.

#damian priest fanfic #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfics #damian priest #damian priest x oc #wwe #fanfiction #wwe smut #damian priest smut #damian priest fanfiction #breeding k1nk

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lunarflux · 2 months ago

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x: Thomas Shelby found his match in an information bookie who has eluded the grasp of the Peaky Blinders long enough to crumble their power over Birmingham. But at last, he found you. The ghost he'd been chasing was finally in front of him, but you were trickier than he expected. Dangerous, cunning - and a bit too much like himself. To buy your loyalty, he would have to sell his in equal measure. Loyalty for loyalty - blood for blood - how much were either of you willing to spill before the game changed entirely?

a/n: midway through writing this, i realized it got too romantic, and then i changed my writing music and it suddenly all became clear looool here's your smut (even though i initially thought this fic was going to be way smuttier)

part 15: the king and his queen

word count: 2,831 tag: @bruhidkjustwannaread | @rubyxx16 | @immyowndefender

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

Tommy sat in the office of the Garrison, cigarette in hand, staring at the reports spread across his desk. His expression was unreadable, but the sharp set of his jaw betrayed his tension. The fire at your bookshop had been days ago, but the fallout lingered like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.

The door creaked open, and Arthur, John, Finn, and Michael filed in, their faces unusually grim. Arthur carried a small red notebook and what looked like a charred photo in his hand.

Tommy barely glanced up. “How bad was it?”

“There wasn't much we could do, Tom,” John said, his tone unusually subdued. "There were some books in the back that were saved, but the structure is lost."

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, narrowing. “What else?”

Arthur stepped forward, dropping the photo and notebook onto Tommy’s desk. “Thought we might find somethin’ useful, but a lot of it was gone.” He hesitated, his usual bravado replaced with an uneasy edge. “Found this instead.”

Tommy reached for the photo first. It was warped at the edges from the fire, but the image was clear enough. He studied the man's features. Photographs usually told so little, but from this small glimpse of a face from your life—one he assumed had not resurfaced since your time in Birmingham—he found himself retreat. His usual firm hold on his emotions faltered at the sight of a man who could have meant so much to you.

Finn, standing off to the side, muttered, “Guessin’ that’s someone she cared about.”

Michael crossed his arms. “We found it in her desk. Buried under a pile of papers—like she didn’t want to see it but couldn’t bring herself to throw it away.”

Tommy turned the photo over, finding a date and a name scrawled in your handwriting: Ezra—1919.

“What else?” Tommy asked, his voice calm but commanding.

Arthur put his hand on the red notebook and slid it forward. "Haven't opened it yet, but it's hers."

Tommy ran his fingers over the leather. The temptation to pry it open and dive deeper into your thoughts coursed through his arm, but he resisted. He placed his hand down firmly on the journal with a heavy sigh. The last time he pried into your life, you met him head on. Unlike then, you wouldn't have expected anyone, let alone him, to see into the very depths of your soul. He didn't know why, but the thought unsettled him. He wondered when it had become such a priority to consider your privacy as something of importance.

Michael leaned forward, his voice sharp. “Should we try to find him?”

John tapped the photo. “Whoever he is, he meant something to her. For all we know, he's the cause of all this. Maybe he's involved.”

Tommy stared at the picture again, his mind working like clockwork. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s the reason she’s running.”

Finn frowned. “Think he’s dead?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on the man—Ezra's face until the features had solidified in his mind. He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, standing up and pocketing the photo. “I’ll talk to her.”

Arthur scoffed. “And if she doesn’t tell you?”

“She will." Tommy’s eyes were cold as steel. "In time. Don't tell her what you found. She's still healing.”

As the others filed out, Tommy stayed behind, his hand brushing over the photograph in his pocket. Whoever Ezra had been, whatever happened to him, Tommy knew it held the key to understanding your past. And perhaps, at last, everything would finally unravel.

✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒✒

The early evening light filtered through the tall windows of Arrow House, bathing the room in a golden glow. You sat in a plush armchair near the fire, a book balanced on your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in some time. Your wounds had closed, and what remained was the budding presence of scars, ones that wouldn't soon fade. The physical wounds may have mended, but the ache beneath the surface lingered, more persistent than you wanted to admit.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Tommy always walked with a deliberate purpose, a rhythm you’d come to recognize.

“Come to regale me with another story of a good day at the race?” you said without looking up, your voice tinged with dry amusement.

“Not today,” he replied, stepping into the room. “If those stories don't interest you, I will tell Arthur to stop.”

You chuckled, just loud enough for him to hear. “If that is what enthuses Arthur, then who am I to stop him? Better than him trying to watch me like an injured bird trying to take flight.”

Tommy moved to stand near the mantle, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they studied you. The photograph of Ezra still lay safely in his pocket. He continuously tucked it away, convincing himself that now wasn't the right time to ask you. Eventually, it became routine to slip it back into his pocket in the hopes that it was finally time. His fingers toyed with its edges, the presence of your past trying to escape into the open.

But he couldn't. As the days past, you looked more and more at peace. You'd settled into a new routine. Finn brought books back to Arrow House, and while none of them knew what it actually was that you liked to read, they all started to recognize your true glimpses at contentment. Whether it was a book or a conversation that had no hint of duplicity, there was a part of you that was perfectly capable of what some considered to be a normal life. The possibility of shattering this and bringing you back into his world weighed heavier on his shoulders than he would have ever imagined.

Eventually, you grew used to his presence. You sighed from your place by the fire, gently massaging your shoulder. With one hand, you unbuttoned the first few inches of your shirt and eased the collar down to reach the ache. Tommy's eyes drifted to the newborn scar, but then his gaze wandered to your chest. Your breaths were soft and steady, a tempo that matched the ticking of the clock behind him.

“You're healing well." He broke the silence. Your eyes flickered up to him with a soft smile in acknowledgement.

“Like I said before,” you replied, closing the book and setting it aside. “I do not control how a body heals, even less so, my own.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile. With the slightest movement of your shoulder, Tommy found himself staring at the scar again, and, as if it were a reflex, he reached for his own. Now a part of his chest, he realized it was just like yours. Tommy’s eyes lingered on your face, searching for something beneath your composed exterior. You tilted your head to the side, eyes fluttering shut with a melodic hum.

No—not now. He couldn't ask you about Ezra now. This moment was so fleeting, and the second he asked, it would be gone forever. If only for today, he wanted to savor this—you both peacefully existing in the same room without any threats from the outside. It was a selfish decision, and he readily accepted that it was his own.

Tommy didn't know what he was doing when he approached you and reached for the scar, but as if sensing this was a gesture of curiosity, you let him. His fingers were warm and almost soothing as they ran over the fresh patch of skin like he was studying it.

For the briefest second, you tensed, your hand brushing absently over your side where the second wound lay tucked away. Tommy quietly retreated, but before he could step back, you grabbed his wrist and stood.

You let out a heavy breath, eyes shutting again in thought. Still holding his arm, you guided his hand to the buttons that were still clasped and nodded.

"You were a gentleman then," you nodded, mostly to yourself. "Telling Arthur and John to leave. I already felt... Exposed. Naked—just from the wounds alone and being seen like that. But, still, you told them to leave, so it wouldn't be so bad. Don't think I didn't notice, Tommy."

Tommy's fingers stayed on the top button like he was still processing if the gesture was an act of repayment or the giving of permission.

"If you need to see it for peace of mind, then you can," you whispered. The usual confidence in your tone dampened into a soft pitch.

He told himself he was doing this because he needed to see if you were telling the truth—that the wound had actually closed and was now just another scar. In reality, he didn't know his intentions. It could still have been a need, but it was one with weak conviction.

Tommy undid the rest of your shirt and parted it just enough to see the second scar. Your arms stayed relaxed at your sides, your face still but forlorn, as he touched the wound gently enough to make you shiver. He pressed the palm of his hand against your waist, firm and steadying.

He stepped closer, and your lungs filled with the scent that had accompanied you to dreams for many nights, always by your side. Tommy looked down at your as if he was silently seeking permission. Though, in truth, he didn't know what he was asking for.

As if seeing the war raging in his head, you reached for his neck and pulled him towards you. You rested your lips against his with a sigh—at last, feeling what you denied yourself weeks ago. Just a taste of him was enough, you told yourself. Just one.

Unlike then, he didn't move with urgency. He simply waited for you to make the decision. If it was just a kiss, then that's all it was. For once, he accepted this was out of his control.

You pulled back, eyes bearing into his with a seriousness one only experienced in the face of a choice that would not soon be presented again—or at all.

"Listen to me, Thomas Shelby," you whispered. Your stare commanded his to never tear away from yours as you spoke, insisting without words to hear you clearly because you wouldn't repeat yourself again. "I am not something to be won because I am earned."

Tommy's breath flitted across your skin as you spoke, and in your words, you showed him that your guard could go up at any moment. But for the moment, you were letting him acknowledge the mask of pain and power, one that only you possessed and chose to grace him with. The burden of understanding you wasn't not something easily given.

"If I give myself to you, I'm never taking any of it back." You spoke so firmly, the weight of your words forcing him to listen. "And if you give yourself to me, I am never letting you go."

He told you once that your purpose of being here would come out whether you dared to say it out loud or not. While you couldn't bring yourself to say this gently, you said it regardless.

"Every mistake you've ever made until now means nothing to me. But if this is a mistake—one you will come to regret, then tell me now. Tell me what you want." Your grip on his neck intensified with the slight twitch of your fingers. "That's why I'm here. That's why I made my choice. It scares you to crave, but it terrifies you to need. If you tell me now that I am a passing craving, then you've proved a point—that this was just business. But if you need me, all I want is for you to say it. And mean it."

It wasn't a threat. This was a declaration of self-preservation over the fantasy of possibilities.

For a moment, Tommy stayed silent.

He'd loved before, loved countless times to the point where it all might have been meaningless—just fleeting moments where he felt love, but it never lingered. And now, with your intentions finally out in the open, he understood. Your goal was to force him to experience it all—the pain and the loss. To be loved and respected. To choose to be alone no longer, and to understand what it meant to choose someone because he needed them and not because he wanted them for the moment.

You wanted him to face the inevitable—that loving someone wasn't a choice. But to love someone who was truly good for him, who didn't just love the idea of what he could be—that was a choice.

And he made his decision.

Tommy gripped your waist, sliding your shirt over your shoulders until it fell to the floor around your ankles. With a solitary sigh, he kissed you again, still as gentle as the first.

"I need you."

The words rang in your ears like an autumn breeze numbing summer's heat. And all at once, his lips found you again. His touch was tender, methodically moving in a way that still treated you as fragile beneath his fingertips. He carried you to the bed, his lips trailing down your neck, peppering you with kisses until all you felt was the need he'd suppressed for so long.

You sat up, taking his face in your hands. His eyes searched yours for permission, and with the soft nod of your head, his hands wandered your body, discovering and adventuring across your skin. He slipped his shirt off, and your eyes landed on the scar on his chest.

You reached for it, seeing in a different way how similar you both were. This was not an attempt to put the other back together, but a way to hold the broken pieces to the light and admire the sunlight between the cracks. To love the other earnestly and honestly, and to hope in desperation and the fear of never loving again.

Tommy watched you as you straddled him. You eased him into you with a long drawn out sigh, pressing your forehead against his. With one hand, he steadied your waist, guiding you as your hips moved, and with the other, he held your cheek with the gentle stroke of his thumb.

He sighed against your neck, groaning every time he slid inside you, the full length of him feeling the warmth of your walls. He admired you as you grinded into him, the last of your defenses crumbling down at his touch. There was no more need for words. Tommy let you take him in whatever way you desired. He didn't care if you were using him for your own pleasure. All that mattered was that you accepted his need, reciprocated with your own carnal desire to claim him.

Slowly, the mood changed. Your eyes darkened as it suddenly settled in that, together, this was something new. It wasn't just romance. It was the molding of the power you both held. Others only alluded that together, you and Tommy could set the world on fire—if that was what you desired. He held the match, and you soaked it with gasoline. At your command, he would set the world ablaze and build you a throne from the ashes and debris.

Tommy laid you back down on the bed and lowered himself in between your legs. He gripped your thighs, taking pleasure in how you writhed from the motions of his tongue. He hummed against your core, his mouth moving with an urgency that mimicked his need and hunger. You threw your head back with a gasp as his tongue plunged deep inside you, curling and pulling you against his face.

He pulled you closer, lapping up the dampness dripping down his chin. You gripped his hair, urging him to keep going until you felt that tug in the pit of your stomach. Your legs clenched, and with a guttural moan, you came until you twisted onto your stomach, riding the high as you spilled out onto the bed. Tommy positioned himself above you and slid back into your pulsing core. He eased himself inside you, taking a hold of your chest and holding you against him. He panted against your neck, his tongue dragging against your skin like no amount of your taste was enough. With a final thrust, he collapsed, his hips still grinding against you to draw out the ecstasy.

You panted, keeping a firm grip on the sheets until he was gentle once more. He kissed your shoulder with a sigh. Tommy's lips curled into a knowing grin, and you met his expression with equal satisfaction.

The game has changed with an entirely new board. The King has his Queen, and it was only a matter of time before the world would feel the ground rumble beneath their feet.

#thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #lunarflux #a game of ghosts lunarflux #mild smut

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woodelf68 · 7 months ago

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DISCUSS!

The scene in The Dark World where the guard tells Odin that a body was found on Svartalfheim. I haven't seen an in-depth discussion of some questions the scene raises:

Did Odin send the guard as soon as he realised Thor had freed Loki from his cell? Did he plan on throwing them both in a cell together as punishment? Or in adjoining cells? (Note: this would make a great fanfic, someone write it if it doesn't already exist. Brotherly bickering! Shared angst over Frigga's death! Joining forces to present a united front against Odin!)

I presume the guard had an easier way to get there vs. Loki's path through the mountain crack? Was Svartalfheim even accessible once the Convergence passed? (So like...could Thor have returned for Loki's body later? Or was there only a narrow window to get there and, more importantly, leave?)

When the guard got there, was Loki still looking like a dead body? Or was he already reviving and trying to figure out what to do next? Did he kill the guard before he took on his appearance? Presumably there was an actual guard since Odin wasn't surprised by the guard showing up with his report. (Again, has anyone ficced this?)

Is the weapon the guard mentions the Aether?

The clip for anyone needing their memory refreshed:

youtube

Everyone feel free to add their thoughts, but I'm also going to tag a few people: @delyth88, @lokijiro, @thelightofthingshopedfor, @psychoticgirl, @fourth-rose, @nostalgia-tblr.

#loki #odin #the dark world #marvel meta #mcu #thor #i was thinking of using odin keeling over at the end of this scene as a start for the sifkiweek 'throne' prompt #but realised i need to understand what went on back there with loki and the guard #going offline now will check back for replies tonight!

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idkfitememate · 1 year ago

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Welcome To Aperture Science

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! GLaDOS Reader x Raiden Shogun, Kujo, Aether, Dottore & Maillardet

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 6.5k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Reader is a insane robot, Mutilation, descriptive gore

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I ran into a bit of a dilemma in writing this. I realized that a lot of you probably would be able to get into the role of you were called “GLaDOS”, so here’s the plan. I tried my hardest to not have to use (y/n), but me thinks I’m gonna have to. The actual operating system will be called “GLaDOS”, but you yourself will be called (y/n). You’re replacing Caroline & GLaDOS. There will be a little surprise - since this is my ver of Portal (AKA throwing Portal into Genshin), so you’ll be introduced as (y/n)! If this ruins the experience, please let me know, and I’ll come up with something different! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

Also! GORE WARNING!!!! THERE WILL BE GORE!! I’ll post a warning right before it starts and a little thing for where it ends!! ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა

Finding out one of your islands is being used for things unknown is not something you want to wake up too.

But unfortunately, that was what Miss. Raiden Ei was subjected to this morning.

The apparent “island” wasn’t even actually an island. It looked like a small plot of land, with it’s only inhabitant being an old bot that resembled a Fontainian Meka - which was still active and very dangerous - and what looked to be some kind of small, one person hut. But when the fishermen who had found this island somehow managed to enter the hut, they found it actually housed a long, winding staircase that plummeted into the earth.

So of course this news was sent straight to Ei. As the Archon, anything that went on in her Nation’s boundaries that wasn’t documented was immediately brought up to her for investigation. In any other case she would have told the Tenryou Commission to take care of it or otherwise, but seeing as this was seemingly more than just a “island descending into the depths” - the fishermen also reported strange noises coming from below - this seemed like it would need to be handled with a more… direct touch.

Gathering her wits, she made a small “exploration team”. This team consisted of:

1. The Traveler, because why wouldn’t it

2. Kujo Sara, her loyalty will be of use

3. Maillardet, she had heard of his helping with the Icewind Suite Meka. His expertise may be needed.

And finally, though unfortunately,

4. Dottore.

As much as she may have detested the Fatui and their methods, she couldn’t deny they got results. And on top of that she had heard of his experiments on that of Ruin Guards, which again may be needed.

After making her plans and sending off letters to all she believed she may need, the Shogun began to wait.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ ��˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍰🍧🍯୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

It was dark in the Aperture Science building. Though it wasn’t silent. After word from the singular guard at one of many openings alerted human sightings after… years of nothing, you had to admit something inside you was excited.

It was in human and monster nature to be curious of the unknown. And with all the years since your last… nuisance test subject, you figured that Aperture may have been - more likely was - forgotten by those above.

You rapidly repaired test room after test room, rebuilding the facility to the best of your current abilities. Which wasn’t much a problem, because due to the lack of human error, you were able to keep the place up and running with extreme precision.

It looked just like when Aperture was first built.

With different power sources from every nation, keeping powered on was never an issue. The location that had been found by humans was the one that was powered by the never ending lightning storm that surrounded the nation of Inazuma.

The strikes of Electro traveled through the water into sensors placed on the ocean floor, that changed the pure Electro into actual electricity that was then used to power the specific part of Aperture Science that was stationed below it.

The real facility spanned all across Teyvat.

This was only the beginning.

And your cold heart was more than ready for this coming future.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍰🍫🍭୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

“I am shocked than and Archon such as yourself has called for me.”

All heads in the room turned to face the masked male.

Kujo immediately summoned her bow and pointed it at the man, while Traveler did the same with his sword. Poor Maillardet only ran behind the armed female, clutching her skirt.

Kujo glanced at him before pushing all attention back on Dottore.

“Please lower your weapons.” Heads whipped to look at the sullen voice of Ei.

“I asked him to be here. Please do not make this experience more difficult than it already may be.” Even she seemed… less than enthused by her actions, but the sudden silence- to soak up her words - was interrupted by the man in question’s laughter.

“And how shocked I was when The Tsaritsa said the Electro Archon herself had asked for my assistance in a ‘pressing matter’! Please, do listen to her and try to not make this difficult?” His grin unwavering. Aether scoffed and Kujo only huffed a small ‘Yes, my Shogun’, before turning to her backseat passenger who hadn’t moved since Dottore’s appearance.

“… What?” The brunette asked. Then he sighed. “Just because I build fighters doesn’t mean I myself can fight, Madame.” He quickly pushed himself off her and dusted both her and him off.

With one more sigh, Ei stood.

“Let us not waste anymore time. There is an odd island off the coast of Amakane Island. On it is a single individual that resembles a Fontainian Meka, and a hut. The odd thing being that this hut holds a staircase that “plummets into the earth”, so say my sources.” She then looked at the Doctor.

“Have your men done anything to this island?” It was a fair question.

It wouldn’t be odd for the Fatui to have a lab or something of the sort in a Nation without the Archon or Nation’s knowledge. In fact, it wouldn’t be the first time. Though - again - Dottore only laughed again.

“No, Miss. Ei. We haven’t any labs that “plummet into the earth”, as you say.” Kujo flinched at him not referring to her Archon by her title, but before she could do anything, she was stopped by a look from said Archon.

“Thank you for being honest,” she hummed, “Then we best be off. Who knows what we shall find and who knows how long we may be.” And she started off.

Following behind her was everyone but Maillardet, who looked confused.

“No equipment? No food provisions?” He glanced a guard who was stationed at a door nearby who shrugged. They both sighed and spoke in unison.

“Vision holders…”

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🎂🍬🧁୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Making their way to Amakane Island was easy enough. Making their way to the unnamed island was also easy.

The Meka that was guarding the small hut was… tall, to say the least.

“It looks vaguely like a Suppression Specialist Mek mixed with an Assault Specialist Mek…” Maillardet muttered, causing Dottore’s head to whip in his direction.

“So nothing you’ve seen before?” He mused, causing the Fontainian to glare at him.

“No.” He huffed, “It isn’t.” Dottore smirked at that answer.

“Then we have an unknown Meka on our hands? Perhaps made by someone outside of Fontaine-“ “No.” Maillardet interrupted.

“It still has hints of Fontainian handiwork. The way you can see some gears and cogs, as well as the fact that it’s utilizing Fontaine gun tech. It very well could be imbued with Arkeh energy. If I had to guess, Ousia.”

Everyone stared at the man, who blushed.

“What I’m trying to say,” he breathed, “Is that while it’s not any Meka I’ve ever seen, it’s definitely made by Fontainian hands. Sir Aether should know how to deal with it effectively.” Dottore stared at the man.

Aether nodded and jumped off the boat they all currently inhabited, and began to attack. The others stayed back and watched as he gracefully dodged attacks and fought back.

Though, in a sudden switch of attack, the bullets firing from the cannon on its arm changed to Electro-Charged pellets of water. The sudden swap shocked Aether and the Mek was able to land a few solid hits on the man.

Getting fed up, Kujo stood to fight, but Ei held her back.

“Those are Electro-Charged attacks.” “I understand Shogun but-“ “No. We’d only make things worse.” With a huff, the tengu sat down, glaring at the Doctor who dared to chuckle.

The fight continued on for a few more minutes before Aether came out triumphant. As the Mek collapsed, a voice rung out from its destroyed body.

“Warn…ing…Intruders At….Inazuma Ent…rance…Access Not Given…Send Warning To GL…a…” Before finally collapsing. Aether stood overtop its corpse before turning to the others.

“Well… I suppose we can continue onward?” Maillardet questioned, only to be met with everyone else in the boat jumping out onto dry land, once more leaving him behind.

The man grumbled as he slowly pulled himself out the boat, soaking his boots and pants.

By the time he made it, everyone but Dottore had made their way into the hut, on their way down.

“After you.” The bluenette grinned, and Maillardet shuddered.

And then they all made their decent.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍮🍯🍫୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

While the staircase itself was long and narrow, surrounded on all sides by pipes and cogs, what they found at the bottom was truly a sight; though they had been going down for a while.

A large open space - like a courtyard. There was artificial sunlight that streamed in from the panels on the ceiling that simulated a blue sky. False grass and trees swayed in a deceptive breeze. A ‘building’ sat before them with glass doors. It was grey and unassuming, the words “Aperture Science Laboratories” was in big lettering above the doors in big, illuminated lighting.

“Incredible…” Dottore mumbled as the group began to make their way down a path that led from the staircase to the building.

Just then, a sharp creaking noise was heard, and the staircase they had just traversed began to retract. It slowly made its way upward, lifting off the ground. Without flinching, Kujo summoned her bow and knocked an arrow, looking for a place to shoot. Finding a button near the staircase labeled ‘emergency shut down’, she shot, hitting it head on.

“Sudden Power Surge Detected At: Inazuma Docking Station. Rerouting Power Surge To Backup Power Supply’s. Emergency Dock Closing System: Initiated.”

And with that, the stairs shot up, effectively sealing the group inside.

“Sorry, Shogun…” was the only thing that left the now embarrassed Kujo’s lips.

“Worry not, I am sure we’ll find another exit eventually. Let us continue forth.” And onward they went.

Walking down the path, Dottore noted that there were hills far beyond the little building before them, fading off into the distance.

“I wonder how long this facility stretches out?..” He wondered aloud. Maillardet grumbled under his breath.

“Hopefully not that far…”

Entering the building they were met with something none of them - minus Dottore - had experienced.

Fluorescent lighting.

The light outside had at least been convincing, but the buzzing overhead and the slight flickering was enough to get under everyone’s - again, minus Dottore’s - skin.

“Whatever is this awful-“

“Welcome, gentleman, to Aperture Science. Humans, Vision Holders, War-Hero’s, Hybrids — you’re here because we want the best, and you’re it. Now, who’s ready to make some science?”

Weapons were immediately drawn from hearing the unusual voice.

“Who dared cut of The Shogun-“

“Now, you already met one another on the boat ride over, so let me introduce myself. I’m Cave Johnson. I own the place.”

Kujo growled.

“Well, Mr. “Cave Johnson”, I recommend you reveal yourself before we-“

“Mr. Johnson! I believe you’re forgetting something..? Or rather, someone..?”

All heads turned to the wall length screen that turned on with the new voice.

They were met with a cartoonish figure of a person, though their head was replaced by the grey, circle logo of Aperture. They were dressed in a white button up with a black vest overtop. With pure black dress pants and black dress shoes. A snow white lab coat over their shoulders and pure white gloves on their hands. The only hint of color or their person was an orange tie.

Dottore was the first to walk over, pressing a gloved hand to the screen.

“This is all absolutely incredible…” he spoke with a grin.

Nobody noticed how the figure flinched away.

“That eager voice you heard is the lovely (y/n), my assistant. They were added as a safety protocol in case some of you get lost. There are screens all of Aperture where they can keep a close eye on you, to make sure you stay in one piece, or at least as close to one piece as we can get you. Now, rest assured, they have transferred your honorarium to the charitable organization of your choice, isn’t that right, (y/n)?”

The figure on the screen - now known as (y/n) - nodded. Or… nodded as best a 2D model may be able to nod.

“That’s right, Mr. Johnson.”

“Since their addition, they have been the backbone of this facility. Pretty as a postcard too. Sorry fellas, they’re married. To science.”

They watched as you walked over on the “screens”, trotting all the way over to a pair of double doors. With one arm behind you, you held an open palm in the direction of said doors.

“Now, if you just follow them, they’ll take you right to the testing sites.”

With that small tidbit of information, the group reluctantly walked their way over to the doors. Pushing through them, they watched as you faded on the other side. Only for the walls of the hallway surrounding them to light up with bright white light, and for you to be on their right side, walking down the hall on your screens.

“There’s a thousand tests performed everyday here in our enrichment spheres. I can’t personally oversee every single one of them, so these pre-recorded messages’ll cover any questions you might have, and respond to any incidents that may occur in the course of your science adventure!”

You continued walking down the long hall, it slowly dipping further and further into the earth, but not to an alarming degree. A tune played throughout the hall, your head bobbing to the beat.

“Recorded..?” Ei asked. She turned to Kujo and Aether, who both shrugged. She then turned to Maillardet who muttered a quick ‘I’ve heard of it… that’s all…’ then looked away. Finally she looked towards Dottore.

“… Recordings are a rather new technology I’ve discovered. It’s a lost technique from long ago, the act of taking the waves of one’s voice down onto a physical form - such as a disk or a vinyl - and relaying those waves through a certain machine to recreate noises. I’ve been able to get my hands on a few, but to find one of such large scale, with moving images to boot! If I can get my hands on whatever is relaying these recordings…” His voice toned back when he realized he was walking alone.

Turning back he noticed that everyone had stopped behind him, confusion written all over their faces. He groaned, slapping a hand over his eyes before dragging it down the side of his face.

“It refers to something hearing noise, then relaying it at a later time when prompted.” And on they continued. It took a moment to catch up to you, as you had continued on your merry way while they had been stopped.

When they made it, Cave Johnson began speaking again.

“Your test assignments will vary, depending on the manner in which you have bent the world to your will.”

They finally made it to the end of the hall, with double doors greeting them. The doors opened automatically, opening to a large space, akin to an auditorium. Doors led off to different halls, each closed off by double doors that were identical to the ones they just came through. The room was surrounded by the Aperture logo, with small tables set up with small experiments on them. Walking past, Maillardet’s eyes glanced at a potato battery.

The most obvious thing in the room were the blue and yellow lines on the floor that each led to another room. You popped up again on a few overhead screens, though now you were sitting at a desk, typing away. You occasionally took a sip from a grey cup.

“Those of you helping us test the repulsion gel today, just follow the blue lines on the floor. Those of you who volunteered to be injected with praying mantis DNA I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

Lights lit up over the blue lines and your figure changed to a looping recording of you walking on the lines and through the door.

“Injected with praying mantis DNA… why would you ever..?” Maillardet wondered with a grimace, while Dottore only smirked.

“I think me and this Mr. Johnson may have something in common. Anything in the name of science.” His grin made Aether shiver.

“Can we please just move on?” The blonde growled. He turned to the two females, only to find Kujo trying to open another door with Ei beside her.

“What are you doing..?” He asked. The General exhaled before turning back to the group.

“Trying to find another way out. Why are we even listening to this Cave Johnson person? We don’t know who he is, we don’t know where he is, we don’t even know what he looks like.” She walked over to another set of doors and tugged.

“She has a point.” Said Ei. “But in that same breath, we don’t know where we are either. The only thing pushing us forward is the voice of Mr. Johnson.” She placed a hand on the tengu’s shoulder.

“I feel it may be in our best interest to listen for now. When we find an exit, we’ll leave immediately.” Kujo sighed and muttered an apology before turning to the blue lines.

The loop of your walking through the doors still played above as everyone filled through the doors.

“Bad news, we’re postponing those tests indefinitely. Good news is we have a much better test for you: fighting an army of mantis men.”

“WHAT?!-“ shouted Maillardet. “WHY WOULD YOU EVER-“ A hand was slapped over his mouth as Dottore shushed him.

“I want to hear the rest of this.” he whispered.

“Pick up a rifle and follow the yellow line. You’ll know when the test starts.”

“Oh Mr. Johnson…” Dottore swooned.

“Only a rifle..?” Maillardet whimpered.

Kujo groaned. “Don’t worry about that now. We’re following the blue lines. Not the yellow ones.” Ei grinned slightly at the banter.

“They say great science is built on the shoulder of giants. Not here. At Aperture, we do all our science from scratch. No hand holding.”

“I really do like this man.” Dottore grinned.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍩🍫🍦୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Walking along the catwalks was a new feeling. Despite the no longer being really… anywhere… there were still screens nearby that depicted you walking along side the group.

Little to no effort was made to make any kind of conversation. Just the sounds of different kinds of shoes hitting the metal that made up the catwalks.

Though that all changed within a moment.

“Hello..? Hello??”

The sudden voice calling out made everyone come to a stop. Aether brandished his sword and turned to a pair of doors that led off the path they were being led down.

They waited with bated breath as the mechanical whirling of something moving towards them echoed in the open space. The walls themselves seemed to shift as whatever it was made its way to the door…

The doors burst open as a spherical robot with a bright blue eye pushed its way through the doors, pausing when it saw the group.

“Humans..? Humans?? Humans!! Wait… HUMANS?!?!” Its confound shock was extremely apparent, especially with the way it screamed out.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING BACK HERE?!?! I haven’t seen a human since… since… her…” It’s tone grew somber within a second, but then it shook on its… bar??? Grip??? Dottore wanted to know.

“That doesn’t matter, what matters is that you guys are humans! Actual, genuine humans!” It rolled forward on its… whatever and faced them.

“… None of you have the portal gun though.. oh. Do you have those ‘vision’ things? Because I can assure you they won’t be of much help here-”

“And why is that?” Dottore jumped in.

“… Well first off all, it was incredibly rude to cut me off there, secondly, Aperture focused on the sciences that… well, had to do with those who lacked visions. Now don’t get me wrong, there were certainly tests for those who had them but uh… yeah these were mostly for those without.” It nodded.

“I see… now. Do you happen to have a name. Or would you tell us what you are?” The Doctor asked.

“A name..? Right! Oh gosh, I completely forgot about that. Wheatley’s the name and… yeah I don’t know where that was going really. And to answer the other question, I am what’s known as a core, but where are you lot off to?” He introduced. Though before the blue haired doctor could answer, a voice rung out.

“They’re off to test with the repulsion gel, Wheatley.” Your voice ring out, and there you were on the screen, facing them with a hand on your hip. The core seemed the freeze up at your voice, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh! Uh… hey… (y/n)… hehe.” Wheatley seemed uncomfortable at now knowing of your presence, before something seemed to pop into his head.

“But… without the portal gun?”

“You don’t necessarily need a-“

“What’s a portal gun?” Maillardet questioned. You heaved a long sigh and Wheatley seemed to brighten up.

“We’ll only one of, if not the, best things Aperture has ever made, of course! It’s this nifty little gun that allows a person to go from one point, to another in just a snap!.. If I could snap I would to punctuate my point-“

“What he means-“ You interrupted, “Is that it is a special device that allows someone to manipulate space itself by opening up a doorway - otherwise known as a portal - and go from an unreachable point A to unreachable point B… or at the very least a vision-less ‘someone’. We weren’t able to test on those with a vision… or any non-humans with human intelligence; such as Oni from Inazuma or Adepti from Liyue. But even then our knowledge is… limited…”

Wheatley stared at you as you explained the Portal Gun in detail, before scanning the group.

“Oh! There is a vision-less with you!”

Maillardet swallowed nervously.

“Here, you won’t be at a disadvantage if you let us give you the Portal Gun! No need to feel like you may be falling behind… bloody hell you might even be able to go ahead and be advantaged in this situation!” The blue eyed bot explained.

“Wait wait wait… are either of you… alive or uh..” Aether stumbled over his words before you cut him off impatiently.

“Yes we are entirely sentient. Now Wheatley, we can’t make these decisions-“

“I don’t know why you’re complaining. You’ve been moping about for years! All because you ‘don’t have any human testers’ and ‘robots were starting to get the same results’ and ‘humans unpredictability made them unique’ and-“

“That’s enough, you idiot.” “HEY!-“ “Fine. Here’s how this will work, so be quiet and listen.”

Nobody moved.

“We will give your little friend access to The Portal Gun, you complete a couple tests for us, and we help you leave as fast as possible. Deal?”

“Well it doesn’t sound like we get much out of that deal besides our assured exit.” Ei stated, and you groaned.

“You’ll have access to technologies that those above this facility have not had access to for years. Plus, this will practically be free training. Now do we have a deal?” Your impatience was starting to grow clearer and clearer with each passing moment.

“Well-“ “YES!” Maillardet screamed. He didn’t care. This was his chance to truly make a name for himself. If he was able to get this ‘Portal Gun’ outside of the facility, the things he may be able to do with that tech…

Everyone looked at him with shock - though Dottore was more amused than anything - at how fast he agreed.

“Great! Wonderful even! Here, just follow me through here and we’ll get you right as rain, isn’t that right (y/n)?” Wheatley glanced at you as he turned on his rail. If you could, you would’ve rolled your eyes.

They watched as the screen you stood on blinked off, and Wheatley rolled away.

Maillardet followed behind and the others hesitated. Though after that moment of hesitation, they followed behind as well.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍡🍯🍮୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Instead of the grey halls and metal walls they had become accustom to, they were met with greenage and foliage on all sides.

Flora of all kinds blossomed around them, tress that reached higher than any of them could see. They all followed behind the humming core, until he suddenly stopped.

“Now, this is a bit awkward, but my rail system ends here. I’m gonna let go, but I need someone to catch me. Do we have any volunteers..?” Wheatley informed and asked. He looked around the group only to make eye contact with Dottore. Who was grinning. Sharp teeth fully on display.

“Uhm… anyone..?” The robot squeaked. Though the only one who moved closer was Dottore.

He sighed, then ‘steeled’ his nerves.

“Alright, I’ll let go on the count of three- NO, ONE! If I do it on three I’ll chicken out and… mmmm I’m talking to much aren’t I? I’m nervous because of the very real possibility that you may drop me. Not to say you look weak or anything, you actually look quite strong. Has anyone ever told you that? I mean, personally I would prefer to be strong if I had a body… On that note I wished they gave us hands. That’d be nice. Or a way to move while not on the rail systems. They can only go so many places and so far, you know? And some of them end in the oddest of places. I found one that ended over a bottomless pit. Isn’t that just insane? I mean-“

Dottore grumbled something under his breath before moving directly below the blabbering bot. Then he cleared his throat, and screamed:

“ONE!”

The high pitched scream Wheatley let out as he fell would’ve been able to convince anyone that he was actually a girl. Dottore’s knees nearly buckled under the sheer weight of the still screaming robot in his arms. After finding his footing, they all stared at Wheatley, who continued to scream for a solid minute before realizing he wasn’t falling anymore.

“AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa…. Oh. You caught me. That’s a first- Anyway, directions! You’re going to want to follow the greyed out path through the green, and you’ll find a platform behind some broken walls and such. I’ll admit, when you get there it’s a bit of a jump, but I have faith in you lot!” He… grinned??? Well it was as close to a grin as a giant metal eyeball could get.

Everyone hummed in response and continued to trek on. Every now and then Dottore or Ei would ask about a type of flower or plant they saw, only for Wheatley to say he’s neither the flower nor plant core. Which led to Dottore asking about cores and Wheatley offering an explanation.

“Cores are… well to put it in perspective think of the basic parts of your personality. Of what makes you, you. Cores are basically that! We work as the pure forms of interests or emotions. Such as the flower core, who only ever talks about flowers. Or the anger core who… uhm… well. He screams? I guess?” Wheatley answered.

“So… what do you embody? Fear? Worry? Rambling?” Dottore asked, only for Wheatley to shout in objection.

“No! Absolutely not! None of those things! In fact, just for that, I don’t think I want to tell you.” He spun his eye around as to not look at the man carried him, causing Dottore to chuckle.

Maillardet suddenly shot ahead, causing everyone to quickly follow after. Wheatley seemed to understand why he shot ahead.

“There she is.” He muttered.

Just behind a wall, there it was.

Placed on a pedestal, vines and flowers grew all around in a mesmerizing pattern. A small hole in the roof let a halo of light fall onto the midsized device.

It was sleek. It was shiny. White and black mixed together in a perfect blend.

“Isn’t it beautiful? The pride of Aperture. What nearly all of our resources went into after its conception.” Wheatley mused. His focus was entirely on the gun in front of them.

Though his previous statement was true, there was a rather large drop from the platform they were on and the platform the Gun was on.

“You can drop me here.” The core suddenly spoke. Dottore looked down with a bit of a scowl.

“Weren’t you the one who screamed like a baby at falling only about four feet?” He asked. Wheatley scoffed.

“That was the make sure you’d catch me… anyway, I know I can survive this fall. I’ve survived worse. Just drop me and then jump down. It’ll be easier that way.” Wheatley’s voice suddenly got very serious. it lost its lively charm and became something more robotic… which was ironic.

The robot started acting more robotic, and they felt uncomfortable about it.

Dottore scoffed, then dropped the core without care. Though this time, Wheatley didn’t make a sound, just a small grunt when he hit the floor.

‘It can physically feel..?’ Dottore wondered.

Then one by one, they jumped down - Aether catching Maillardet - and began their walk over to the Gun after Dottore picked up Wheatley again.

“Hold on.” The blue eyes core suddenly spoke. His eye turned to a wall, and the panels suddenly shifted. A small control panel pushed itself out, presenting itself to the group.

“Plug me in there. I can make sure nothing hostile happens to pass by.” He explained.

“Hostile..?” Ei questioned and Wheatley, suddenly seeming very tired, sighed.

“Yes. Hostile. Just- Don’t worry about it, okay? I promise nothing will happen.” He glanced back at the group with a drooped eye. Dottore placed him on the panel.

Electricity shot out for a moment, then the core settled. He looked back, then without a word, got pulled back into the wall.

“It looks… so mesmerizing…” Maillardet whispered. He was the closest to the Gun. He hesitantly reached a hand out and touched it. Then, he picked it up and got a grip on it.

“I can’t say I’ve ever shot a gun but…” The mechanic pointed the gun at a wall, away from everyone as they watched.

He shot the gun.

And everyone watched as a pure black circle surrounded by blue latched onto the wall.

Everyone stood in shock.

He hesitantly shot right next to the blue and was met with a circle of orange.

Though now he could see through both.

And they reflected the room back to him.

He walked closer and looked through one and saw everyone looking back at him in silent disbelief.

He stuck a hand through the blue portal.

And watched his hand exit the orange.

He fell back in shock and everyone ran closer. They gathered around him, awe and shock written all across their faces.

“This is…” Dottore spoke.

“… A revelation.” Maillardet finished.

“Truly, isn’t it?”

The third voice broke everyone out of their stupor. They watched as the walls fluctuated and moved, opening the room up into another.

It was dark - pitch black, save for the screen that had only your figure on it. You stared at the group before moving your attention to the Portal Gun.

“Such an expensive piece of equipment it is… hopefully you understand what I’m about to do is only in your best interests.”

The screens blipped off, and a hole in the center of the room opened, a disgusting orange red glow emanating from it.

“Preparations Made. Systems Online. Ready For Emergency Long Fall Boot Insertion. Is Moderator Ready?”

“Yes.” Your voice rung out.

“Participant Ready?”

Before anyone could speak, you spoke for them.

“Participant is ready.”

“All Parties Set. Commencing Insertion.”

˚ʚ ꒰GORE WARNING!! GORE STARTS HERE!!꒱ ɞ˚

Metal wires suddenly shot out from the floor, causing everyone who could to summon weapons. Unfortunately, you had a plan for that.

Your wires shot out and gripped the visions on everyone who had one, but tightly wrapped around both Aether and Ei, quickly picking them up and throwing them into walls.

“Stand down, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” You warned.

The wires quickly wrapped around the ankles of Maillardet, dragging him forward and making him drop the Gun. Kujo rushed forward but a wire wrapped around her and threw her to the ground.

“Last. Warning.” You said.

They were forced to watch as the vision less man was strapped down to a table that came up front the pit by those wires. Buzz saws and bone saws and needles and others rose from the hole in the ground.

Wires tore at his pants and ripped the boots off his struggling body.

“This is going to hurt. A lot. I don’t personally believe in anesthesia, but feel free to pass out.”

And with that, the first saw turned on and immediately buried itself in his leg, blood spraying and his screams ripping themselves out his throat. You could practically hear the tendons snapping as he cried.

It went until it hit bone, where you moved the buzz saw out of his leg with a sickening *squelch*, pressing the saw into his bone and quickly sawing through.

Everyone - of course, minus Dottore - did their best to look away from the scene, but Kujo couldn’t help the whimper that left her lips when some blood spattered on her face.

After bone, the buzz saw when back to work until the odd cut was completed. It was curved, leaving the front of the lower leg untouched, but the back - up to the upper caff - was completely removed, as well as the ankle and leg. Then the process started all over on the next leg.

“Did you know there was once a surgery with a 300% mortality rate? It was an amputation, much like this one, preformed by a Mr. Robert Liston over two hundred years ago. What happened was his patient died of an infection, his assistant also died of an infection after his fingers had been amputated accidentally, and a witness of shock after the knife came too close. Isn’t that interesting?”

Your words echoed through the chamber over the cries of Maillardet who just lost his other lower leg.

The two amputated leg parts were picked up by robotic claws which threw them into the hole below. Then, two odd looking boots were raised from said hole.

The class took the boots apart and began to assemble them on the man’s body. They were a solid white with black base and a weird black wire at rhetorical back.

The screams grew worse - then silent after Maillardet finally passed out due to pain - as the black wire - which was connected to the black base - was drilled into what was left of the bone. The wire was then shifted, then grafted into the muscle and bone.

The white part was reattached to the black, the straps tightening against what was left of the skin, before it was literally melted onto the boot.

The smell of burning skin, bones and blood filled the room.

“See, wasn’t that easy?”

His body was thrown off the table and next to the Gun.

The wires let go of everyone, and Aether landed on the floor, passed out.

˚ʚ ꒰GORE OVER GORE OVER!! YOU’RE SAFE!!꒱ ɞ˚

“Why aren’t my abilities working..?” Ei wondered aloud while helping Kujo to her feet.

“You think I wouldn’t recognize a God? News Travels, Beel. We have a few protocols in case a God were to ever wonder into our wonderful facility, but I don’t think I feel like telling you exactly what’s happening to you.”

She quickly looked up above the still open hole in the ground with a glare.

“Stop being a coward and reveal yourself.” She hissed.

“If you insist.”

The lights suddenly turned on, blinding all who were awake.

Dottore stared on in wonder at your body. It resembled that of a human who was suspended from the ceiling. Legs pressed together and arms bound behind them with their back to the floor.

It was the most beautiful piece of machinery he had ever seen.

You slowly turned to face them, the orange light of your eye glaring down at them.

“Let me formally introduce myself, this time without the assistance of a recording. This body you see before you has been dubbed the “Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System”. GLaDOS for short. Though if you prefer it, (y/n) is not off the table.”

“Where… is Wheatley?” Kujo suddenly asked.

“I figured you wouldn’t like him. How shocking you ask. But if you must know… You’re free to reveal yourself.” You mussed.

Silently, the core rode in on a rail in the background on a catwalk. He looks away.

“You’ve payed me back enough, moron. You no longer hold a debt.”

The room was silent.

He had… he betrayed them?

People he didn’t even know?

“… I still feel the itch, you know..?”

Your large head turned to face the blue eyed core.

“I know I’m not the smartest… but I still feel

The itch. It’s like it’s at the back of my brain… and you know what needs to be done to fix it. Please allow me to stay. I won’t… I won’t muck up as bad as I did last time.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

He felt bad and everyone could tell, but you knew that the need to test was able to push back all other thoughts. All other emotions.

It changed people. No matter if they were made of flesh or metal.

And addiction is an addiction. No matter what.

It wouldn’t go away with a bit of cold turkey quitting. That always came with side effects.

The silence was deafening.

If you could smile, you would.

“If you want. I may have final say, but my control over the cores is loose.”

Your gaze turned back to the group who had huddled themselves in a corner, glaring at you.

But you noticed Dottore was staring with less hatred and more… curiosity.

Like a child.

“You understand why I did what I did, don’t you?” Your voice was cold, yet still somehow held some kind of twisted warmth.

“It was to make him stronger. He can survive tests without a hitch now. As soon as he recovers, we’ll be able to continue testing without a hitch. You’ll each be given a relaxation pod while we wait. I’ll be holding up the end of my deal.” You turned away and focused on the screens behind you.

“What… are you..?” Ei asked.

“I thought I answered that question. I am GLaDOS. I am (y/n). I am the current head of Aperture Science.” You turned back to the group.

“And as long as you’re here under my care, I can assure you that we’ll have loads of fun.“

Everyone who was awake was suddenly knocked out by the gas you had been silently filled the room with.

It was time for testing to begin.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I hope this is good! Ima be honest, don’t know if any of the explanations for anything that was explained make sense lol. Also, don’t forget to tell me if you were okay with the whole (y/n) thing! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

This is just in case nothing more gets requested: (y/n)’s transformation went like this: human (Cave’s assistant), mascot (first take on GLaDOS-like system, success), GLaDOS (Cave asked for them [they retained their human personality and memories as the mascot] to be GLaDOS while he was dying, like in the cannon)

Now I’m gonna spend some time on Requests! After which I’ll start on Mora!Creator! Again, I hope you enjoyed! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊˚

And don’t be scared to request any Automation Reader (Executioner or GLaDOS) okay bye-

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #Portal 2 #Portal 2 x reader #x reader #x gn reader #gn y/n #GLaDOS!Reader

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