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godihatethiswebsite · 2 months ago

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed.

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils.

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble.

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way–

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours.

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess.

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!”

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start.

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry.

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina.

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses.

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning.

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion.

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement.

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college.

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales.

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–”

Four. There were four of them. Four mates.

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far.

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.”

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado.

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other.

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness.

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?”

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.”

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before.

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey.

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?”

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect.

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off.

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view.

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock.

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale…

You are safe. You are safe. You are–

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks.

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?”

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing.

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.”

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip.

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he?

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table.

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown.

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you?

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble.

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff.

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth.

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear.

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios.

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates.

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving.

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.”

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view.

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again.

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car.

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eddieandbird · 4 months ago

Note

i just saw a quiet place day one ....................... i need eric x reader fics so bad 😭😭😭😭

not me taking this as an invitation to write one. -bird

Everest—

You take a study break with Eric

tags/warnings: fluff | 1k words | genderless reader

———

“Your eye is twitching, do you know that?” Eric's lips wiggled as he fought a smirk.

“Stop looking at it,” You quipped with your eyes glued to the overly blown out white screen in front of you.

Eric picked up the brightly colored energy drink can that sat beside your laptop and shook it, swishing the small amount of liquid inside.

“How many of these have you had today?” A low chuckle came from him as he tossed it into the waste bin beside him.

“I don’t know, a couple I guess,” You rubbed a fist into your eye, your voice was gravelly and tired.

Eric got up from his seat and walked up behind you. He placed his hands on the back of your chair, leaning over your shoulder to take a closer look at your document.

“I see you’re on the same paragraph you were on twenty minutes ago,”

You swatted lightly at his arm to get him away from your space. “Cut it out, I’m just stuck. I’ve been writing and rewriting this paper for like three days straight,”

You threw your head in your hands, massaging your temples. Not one thought you had about this project manifested into a single sentence in your paper. Your level of aggravation in yourself was steadily climbing.

“Eric, I gotta finish this. It’s like forty percent of my grade,” You groaned, pulling down at your cheeks in exasperation.

“It’s like forty percent of my grade,” Eric mimicked your accent, taking a seat beside you. “You are so American, it’s ridiculous,”

“Did you come over to study with me, or mock me?” You shot him a glare.

“To study. Not to watch you fall into a catatonic state over this essay,” His calloused, warm hands engulfed yours, making your breath catch in your throat for a moment. “You need a break,”

“Eric, I really need to finish,”

He rolled his eyes, standing up and pulling you to your feet.

“You’re not going to finish if you’re falling asleep at the keyboard. Come on, let’s go do something for a while,”

“Fine, fine, fine. I guess I’ve already wasted a couple hours, what’s a few more,”

As you got on your feet, you rolled your neck around your shoulders, then shook off your limbs to wake yourself up a bit.

“Where are we going, London boy?” You asked.

“First of all, I’m from Kent. Second of all, it is a surprise,” Eric chuckled.

“Kent, London. Same thing,”

You stuck out your tongue at him before grabbing your phone and wallet and stuffing them into your back pocket. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and slung it over one shoulder, gesturing for you to follow him.

“You’ll just have to wait and see then,” Eric said as he walked out of the library, holding the door open for you to walk through first.

You threw your laptop into your bag and followed him out. You flinched as a strong gust of cold air hit your face.

“Shit, do we have to be outside right now? It’s freezing,” You grumbled.

“Oh, stop. You’re being a child,” Eric retorted, tickling your side briefly. “You could use some fresh air,”

You pulled in the hood of your jacket to block some of the wind. “Please tell me we’re not going to be outside for much longer,”

Eric chuckled, his mouth agape as if he were offended. “You’ve lived in New York longer than I have. You should be used to it by now,”

“That means nothing. Me being here longer doesn’t make it suddenly feel warmer,” You retorted.

Eric took a turn around a corner you usually never went down before. You quickened your steps to catch up to him.

“Um, what’s down here?”

“A new café. It just opened up last week and they have this great drink I’ve been ordering,” Eric said with a sly grin.

A skeptical look came across your face, but it was too late to argue. Eric soon was holding a door open for you. You were soon seated in a booth.

“Two Everests, please,” He told the waitress with a nod.

“Everest?” You tilted your head. “What the hell is that?”

“You’ll see,” He responded.

The café was quite charming. It had dimly lit Edison bulbs hung around the walls. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries lingered in the air. As you took your seat, you couldn't help but give Eric a suspicious look.

"Eric, you better not be trying to poison me or something. What the hell is an 'Everest'?"

He chuckled, crossing his arms on the table in front of him.

"Just trust me. You'll like it,"

The server soon arrived with two mugs the size of cereal bowls, filled with hot cocoa and topped with tall swirls of whip cream.

Your mouth hung open in shock as they set it down on your table, a silent laugh caused you to bounce in your seat.

“Eric, what the hell is this?”

“What? You said you were cold. Warm yourself up,” He snickered, sticking his spoon into the drink.

“You seriously drink this whenever you come here? And I’m the child?” You teased.

“Hey, there is no age limit for hot chocolate,” Eric pointed his finger at you.

Before you could take your napkin to wipe your face, Eric’s hand swooped in and did it for you. You scrunched your nose with a grin.

“Thanks,”

“See, I told you, you’d like it,” He smirked, looking pleased with himself as he pointed to your drink. “I bet you’re ready to hit that essay again when we get back,”

“Wow. Do you really believe this hot cocoa can grant miracles?” You giggled before taking another sip.

“No, but I believe in you,” Eric folded his arms, looking at you for a bit before leaning forward. “You’re brilliant and you will get that paper done. Today’s the day. I’m manifesting it, or whatever,”

Your heart fluttered a bit at his words, but you tried to play it cool.

“Is that so?” You feigned skepticism, arching an eyebrow at him.

Eric leaned back in his seat, a smug smirk on his face, “You’ll see. You’ll finish that paper and you’ll absolutely ace it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Yeah right. Like your ‘manifesting’ will do anything,”

“I have so much faith in you, that I’ll make you a promise. If you get anything higher than a C on this paper, I’ll finally go out with you to that stupid karaoke bar you’ve been pestering me to take you to,” He said, scratching the back of his neck, trying not to look too nervous or unwilling.

“We’re doing three duets,” You glared at him, testing how far you could take it.

“Let’s start with one. I don’t want the other patrons ears to bleed,” he spoke behind his hand as if it were a secret.

“Deal,” You gave a satisfied grin and held your hand out.

#joseph quinn #a quiet place day one #eric aqpdo #aqpdo

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pretty-little-mind33 · 3 months ago

Text

Pietro Maxmioff x fem!reader

Summary: You and Pietro are just friends, right?

Prompt: friends to lovers - "I have never heard a bigger lie."

PIETRO MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

While Pietro asking you to stay at his and Wanda's apartment for another few hours is a tempting offer, you want to go home.

You miss your bed.

"I'll come with you," Pietro pipes up, standing from the couch and stretching out his arms above him as his sister sends him a confused look.

You turn, wrapping your scarf around your neck. "Oh, it's no problem Piet. It's late and I live pretty far," you tell him and slip on your boots. Pietro, however, is dressed to leave in seconds and he crosses his arms and looks you over, smirking.

"I'd offer to carry you home but last time you almost threw up," he snickers, his accent thicker from how tired he is. It is quite late. "This is the next best thing. Plus, I am not letting you take the subway alone at almost 2am, Princezna (Princess)"

"Let him play hero, Y/n, he lives for this," Wanda interiors from the living room, laughing.

"Drž hubu (Shut up)!" Pietro calls out, only causing Wanda to laugh harder. He turns to you and extends his hand. "You ready?"

You can't lie, you're grateful for Pietro's hand in yours as you walk to the subway station because of how chilly it is outside. He squeezes your hand as you make your way down the stairs and lets you put in your ticket first.

"Thanks," you mumble, feeling all warm inside as his hand finds the small of your back as you walk, a silent promise that he's here. You're safe with him.

"Y'know, I could keep you warmer if you were closer, drahoušek (darling)," he whispers as you sit down next to him, your knees touching. You look up at him, sending him a fake exasperated look and push his knee away a little.

"You're such a flirt," you chuckle, still glaring at him as you fiddle with your hands.

Pietro grins and pushes his knee against yours again. "You love it," he leans in and kisses your cheek.

You laugh as his stubble tickles your cheek and you push him away. "I do not!"

The train isn't crowded at 2am, so apart from the occasional drunk passenger, it's only you and Pietro. He hums and shakes his head, his face close to yours again.

"I have never heard a bigger lie, Princezna (Princess)" he quips, shaking his head.

How can he always read you so well?

"It's not a lie! I think you're insufferable," you say and Pietro sends you a look as if waiting for you to finish the sentence.

"Sometimes," you whisper.

"Never," Pietro corrects and guides his hand to rest on your cheek, pulling your head to the side and kissing your lips. "Isn't that right?" he teases, licking your cherry lip gloss from his lips as he smirks. He looks awfully proud of himself.

Your heart leaps and you find yourself nodding, unable to be stubborn as you lean in to have him kiss you again, your mind fuzzy.

"Never. You're never insufferable to me," you repeat in a whisper and Pietro smiles against your mouth, his hands cupping your face.

"Good girl."

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic, @sayitlikethecheese, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld

#pietro maximoff #quicksilver pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff fanfic #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff fanfiction #pietro maximoff smut #pietro maximoff marvel #pietro maximoff fluff #pietro maximoff x you #pietro maximoff x y/n #pietro maximoff x fem!reader #pietro marvel #marvel #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver x fem!reader #avengers age of ultron #age of ultron

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enchantedlov3r · 4 months ago

Note

Yes to daddy kink as Joel fucking dear reader clueless until he's successful into giving Ellie a sibling and he doesn't care how long it'll take. After all, we want to be his good girl, we want to give him our babies

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! that's exactly how I screamed when I saw this request. Beware, you may need a towel during your experience...mwah!

Can be found in my masterlist as: Bred and fed

joel was the man you simped for so badly. you weren't that old. mid 30's while joel was in his 50's.

ellie was young and she was like a daughter to you. she drifted towards you when joel and her made it to jackson.

you hung out at their house more often and you spent a lot of time with joel as well living the domestic life.

you started to crush on him. his texan accent, the way he carried himself and asserted dominance, the way he looked at you, his smile, his laugh, god- everything about him just made you gush.

especially those hot ass arms he had. he could choke you and throw you into a wall and you'd thank him and call him daddy.

you were always shy and innocent. you didn't learn what sex really was until you were about 20.

this disease infected apocalypse didn't turn you into a full bloodsheding killer but it did make you more reserved and cautious of your surroundings and the people around you.

what you failed to see was how intoxicated joel was by you. every single thought running through his brain was always you and ellie.

then he put pieces together. seeing you live this domestic life with him and ellie made him think.

what if he made you his and then fucked you until you were impregnated by him.

then he could finally give ellie a sibling to tell her stupid but silly jokes to. the more joel thought about it, the more he yearned and craved for you.

so, today he was finally going to have what was rightfully his. he walked into the kitchen after being in the bathroom to freshen up to see you already up and washing dishes.

you had slept over the night before and joel let you take his room while he slept in the guest room.

you liked the smell of his sheets, they smelled just like him. you were currently wearing one of his flanneled shirts buttoned up and some panties.

nothing more, nothing less. joel had given you some of his shorts but you chose panties instead.

his eyes widened when he quietly made his way to the kitchen to see your glorious figure standing there.

you looked like a goddess. how the sun shined on your face illuminating your skin tone. how you looked so happy and peaceful washing the few dishes in the skin from the night before.

"howdy." joel spoke out causing you to gasp and turn around. "jeez joel, you scared the crap outta me!" you exclaim.

"sorry ma'am, wasn't my intention." he responds, winking at you as you shyly smile at him.

"well how was your rest? good I hope?" you ask, a little guilty for taking his room.

"slept real good, what about you? I know my bed is real comfy." joel responds taking a few steps closer to you as he leans on the counter watching you was the remaining dishes.

"it was really comfy, thank you again joel! I am sorry to impose but I just like spending time with ellie, you know?" you express smiling at him as you put the last dish in the dishwasher.

"yea, and no need to apologize darling. you're always welcome and as a matter of fact, where is that kid?" joel addresses.

"oh, she left to go hang with dina and jesse but, I think she might be out longer cause she's going on patrol with jesse later." you answer his question while drying your hands and wiping down the counters.

"ah, ok. well, what are you doin' later hun?" he asks smiling down at you. your cheeks feel warmer and its not the heat.

you shy away and smile down at your feet. "I was planning on staying in your house a little longer if that's ok? just uhm-wanted to spend some time with you if you weren't too busy." you speak out with a small smile.

"mhmm. well I have an idea of some fun we can have." joel leans down closer to your ear. you gasp at the sudden closeness and the feeling of his breath fanning against your neck.

"what do you say to the idea of jogging your pretty ass up them stairs and laying on my bed for me ass up hmm? how's that sound babygirl?" joel whispered seductively in your ear. his texan accent going straight to your throbbing pussy.

you can't deny the idea nor the throbbing between your legs. joel really had a way with words and making you feel loads of butterflies dance in your tummy.

your eyes just couldn't meet his but, he grabs your chin and tilts your head upwards so your big cute doe eyes meets his. "I need a answer sweet pea." joel asks. you quickly nod at him and let out an 'mhm' and quickly scurry up the stairs.

he chuckles at your reaction before biting his lip and walking up the stairs after you.

when joel arrives in the room he sees your pretty ass up in the air and your glistening cunt. your arms stretched out in front of you while you whine out as the cool breeze hits your bare pussy.

"atta girl. your so good for me." joel says as he walks closer slapping your ass making you yelp out in surprise.

"you know, i've been thinkin baby, ellie's been needin' a sibling, and I wanna give 'er that. so why don't you let me breed you huh? give me a baby love?" joel asks unbuckling his belt and letting his pant's drop.

you whine and nod obediently. "words hun, I need words." he groans out as he runs his hard cock through your folds.

"mhm p-please put a baby in me joel, pretty please. I wanna give ellie a sibling."you cry out as he slowly slips his tip inside your aching wet hole.

"that's my good girl." joel says completely submerging himself inside you.

he groans in your ear when he has successfully inserted himself inside you. he wraps his strong bicep around your neck, you moan out at the feeling of his arm tightening around your throat.

your doe eyes going wide and your tongue hanging out as you moan joels name out loud.

joel lets you adjust and begins to thrust into you, grunting while he feels your tight walls squeeze his cock.

"fuck sweetheart, you squeezing me real good." joel groans as his thrusts pick up pace.

the whole bed is shaking and your screaming at this point, screaming in pleasure as the adrenaline courses through your veins and joels.

joel grunts and moans deeply in your ear as you egg him on with pleas of him giving you a baby. "come on joel, just give it to me. please."

"imma give it to you baby girl don't you worry your pretty little head. bambi." he groans into your ear.

you rub your arm towards your soaking pussy and rub your clit fast as you feel your high approaching, you just needed joel to take you to the edge.

"come on joel, make me cum, put a fucking baby in me pretty please!!!" you scream out as his cock hits your cervix.

"fuckfuckfuck! I'm gonna cum in this pretty pussy bambi. oh f-fuck!" joel groans out.

a couple more thrusts later and his seed is being spilled inside of you. nice and warm cum seeping into your stomach.

you moan as you cum with joel creaming around his cock as your high courses through you.

joel keeps his cock inside you just to make sure nothing seeps out, he wants to make sure that your chances of getting pregnant is high and accurate.

both of you heavily breathing, holding each other under the sheets with joels thick cock still inside you.

"gonna make sure nothing comes out. I want you full and pregnant with my kid." he whispers in your ear as he rubs your stomach.

Taglist: @raynesbandaids

#enchanted's writes💓#daddy joel #joel miller tlou #joel x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel tlou2 #joel the last of us #joel smut #joel miller smut #joel tlou videogame #joel #deer reader x joel miller #deer reader🦌

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valiwrites · 17 days ago

Note

can u do a Joao one where it’s just pure fluff and no angst ily😘

i gotchu girlie 💕

LAZY MORNINGS

pairing: joao felix x reader

type: fluff

warnings: none

MASTERLIST

<><><><><><>

It was one of those rare, blissfully quiet mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. No matches, no travel, no alarms blaring at 6 a.m. demanding you both wake up and start the day. Just the two of you, tangled up in soft sheets with sunlight slowly filtering through the curtains.

You stirred first, blinking sleepily as you tried to orient yourself. Joao’s arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close as he lay peacefully on his side, facing you. His hair was a little messy, sticking up in every direction from how he’d tossed around during the night, and you could feel his steady, warm breaths on your shoulder. You lay there for a moment, not wanting to disturb him, just watching the way the morning light softened his features, made him look even more carefree.

When you tried to shift, though—maybe to sneak out and make coffee—his grip around you tightened instinctively, pulling you even closer.

“Mmm... no,” he mumbled, his voice thick and groggy with sleep. He buried his face in your neck and held on, as if sensing you were trying to escape. You couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re awake?” you whispered, still a little groggy yourself.

“Barely,” he muttered, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke. “Stay here. Too early to move.”

You snorted softly. “Joao, it’s almost ten.”

“Exactly,” he mumbled, refusing to open his eyes, his hand reaching up to find yours under the blankets. He laced his fingers with yours, squeezing softly. “First morning off in weeks...”

You sighed, giving up on any attempt to get out of bed. There was something so peaceful about this side of him, this quiet, tender way he held you as if you were his anchor. Without all the noise of games and press, he was just Joao. Not a star footballer, not a public figure—just the guy who looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

So, you stayed. You let him hold you, running your fingers slowly through his hair, tracing little patterns on his shoulder as he gradually seemed to wake up a bit more.

Finally, his eyes opened just a sliver, sleepy but softened with a little smile. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice still low, that hint of an accent making the words sound even warmer.

You grinned, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

He laughed softly, his thumb brushing over your hand as he squeezed it again. “We should do this more often,” he whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Wake up slow. Just us.”

You nodded, feeling that familiar warmth spread through your chest. “You know, I could stay like this all day,” you murmured, half-joking but half-serious. The thought of having a whole day with him, away from everything, sounded perfect.

“Then let’s do it,” he said simply, a little grin playing on his lips as he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you better. “Who needs plans, anyway? I just need you.”

“You’re serious?” you asked, laughing as you looked up at him. “We’re just going to lay here all day?”

“Why not?” he shrugged, moving a little closer, his face inches from yours. “Unless you don’t think you could handle being stuck here with me.”

“Oh, I can handle it,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. He trailed a few more kisses along your cheek and jaw, his hand resting on your waist, keeping you close.

“And besides,” he added with a smirk, “I’m an excellent bed partner, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

You burst out laughing, pushing him playfully. “Oh, are you?”

“Absolutely,” he said, feigning offense. “And I’ll prove it to you... if you promise not to leave.” He leaned down again, but this time his kiss was slower, deeper, like he was trying to pour everything he felt into that one moment.

Eventually, you pulled back, grinning. “Fine, but if we’re staying in bed all day, I’m going to need breakfast. Preferably pancakes.”

He laughed, that bright, genuine laugh you loved so much. “Pancakes, huh?” He tilted his head, looking at you thoughtfully. “I could be convinced... if you don’t mind coming with me to the kitchen.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered at the thought of just doing something as simple as making pancakes together. “Deal,” you said, finally sitting up and stretching, though you didn’t make it far—Joao tugged you back down, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck again.

“Joao! I thought we were making pancakes!” you laughed, wriggling in his grasp.

“In a minute,” he murmured, sounding way too content to let you go just yet. “Just need another minute with you right here.”

You stopped struggling, leaning back into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He held you there, both of you enjoying the peaceful quiet, the sunlight warming the room, the sound of birds somewhere outside.

After a moment, he leaned in close to your ear, his voice soft and warm. “You know you’re my favorite part of the morning, right?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart feeling full. “You’re mine too.”

He hummed contentedly, finally releasing his hold so you could stand up. “Alright, chef. Pancakes it is.”

Together, you made your way to the kitchen, Joao still keeping close, his hand never leaving yours as you fumbled through ingredients, bumping into each other and laughing as you tried to make pancakes from scratch. He burned the first one, you messed up the second, and the third finally turned out edible enough that you could share it, each of you stealing bites from the pan.

And as you stood there in your pajamas, laughing with him over something so simple, you felt a warmth and peace that only he could bring—a kind of love that needed nothing fancy or grand, just the two of you and moments like these.

By the time the pancakes were finally done, he pulled you back into his arms, swaying with you in the middle of the kitchen, your laughter filling the room. And for the rest of the day, it was exactly as you’d hoped—just the two of you, no plans, just love and laughter and the simple joy of being together.

#football #football x oc #football x reader #football x y/n #football x you #joao felix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x y/n #joao felix x you

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 year ago

Text

❝Oh, oh-oh❞

Konig x male!reader | nsfw, smut | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 3,747

warnings: public sex, crossdressing, feminization, anal fingering, blowjob, slight sexual humiliation towards reader, light degradation, dacryphilia

in an attempt to win an argument with your boyfriend, you hit a few low blows but he bests you by bringing up how pathetic you were from a few nights ago.

"God, it is freezing out there" A large hand brings you closer to Konig's side. He rubs your arm though the pressure is barely felt through the thick coat you wore but the gesture is sweet. "I thought the Earth was supposed to get warmer, you know I'm starting to believe that that's just a scam" Konig chuckles. "You are just not built for this weather, babe" He teases as he slings a heavy arm around your shoulder to reach towards your covered face. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not built to survive inhuman levels of temperature, I'm sorry only one of us can be an operator for a private military contractor — Mpfh!" The same gloved hand that offered you comfort mere seconds ago was now planted over your face, tugging your knitted cap down and over your eyes in the process. "Schatz", he warns. [Darling.] His tone is still light despite it. The streets were more or less bare due to the weather but the shops were still aglow with lights. Those poor, poor, retail workers. The only thing staving off feeling completely guilty for stepping into one of the shops and making the already miserable worker have to work in horrid weather was the fact that due to Konig's work relocating the both of you here, your wardrobes were in desperate need of attention. "Hey," He greets them with a nod, his eyes squishing in a façade of a grin. His face was hidden with a mask which he finds a lot of comfort in not only for the fact that he worries someone from work finds out about his face and finds him (or worse, you) but it was less straining to mask his expressions in a conversation.

You rip his hand away from your face with a huff, walking ahead of your boyfriend as a way to show your obvious displeasure. Konig just chuckles and follows along, grabbing a basket. The shop wasn't that big but the brand was a household favourite.

It was a little pricy but Konig had more money than he knew what to do with at times, he can indulge. Plus, the quality and longevity of the clothes were worth it — it was all ethically made as well! A win in both of your books. "Schatz, you can't be mad that I remind you not to speak of my work aloud" his accented voice chides as you look for the basics of a wardrobe. T-shirts in neutral colours, jeans, underwear, and a new winter jacket since yours was doing shit at keeping you warm. "Yeah, yeah, because secret service assassins are constantly listening to you" An arched brow is thrown your way as your larger-than-life boyfriend shadows you. A sigh escapes you and with a dramatic wave of your arm, you place the back of your hand on your forehead and bemoan; "You're so important, schnucki". [sweetie-pie] "A real James Bond, I'm so lucky to be with you". Konig bursts into laughter. The pop song playing on the speakers do little to cover how gleeful the sound was. You stubbornly look ahead, finding immense interest in the different shades of green the t-shirt was made in. He all but towers behind you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pressing his covered nose to the top of your head as his chest rumbled with amusement. "You're extremely silly, hübscher". [handsome] "Compared to you? Everyone is, obviously" his eyes gleam and his arm squeezes you closer. It makes you halt your movement. That familiar pressure against you, the aura of heaviness suddenly draping over you. Konig can't help but think of how truly lucky you are. How many soldiers, mercenaries, and lowly scum had he crushed with his bare hands just like this? Too many to even count. He preferred keeping his thoughts of work and you on very different sides of the fences but whenever you throw a silly fit he can't help but coo inwardly at it. The blood he's knee-deep in, the strength in his sinewy muscles, and the rank he's earned by his sheer brutality and determination all purr in delight at your stubbornness. At your brattiness. You feel something poking at your back. A feat only Konig's cock could manage despite the thick coat you're wearing. Well, this wasn't a complete shock. After his return, the two of you would spend hours annoying your neighbours, however, your upheaval from your last house was made in haste.

Konig managed to squeeze in some frottaging in the shower last night but jetlag won over. Perhaps that's why it took so little to rile Konig up. He sways and you do too. Konig eyes his peripherals, noting the workers were pretending to look busy reorganizing some jewellery on a gondola so he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Let's look in a different section," he knows you're about to retort so he grabs your chin and tilts your head backwards that way he can leer down at you.

"Command, not suggestion". He enjoys the way your eyes scan his. The flicker of emotions, the way you wet your lips and a hint of your teeth brushing over your lower lips. He knows the blood pooling around your cheeks isn't just from the cold. Your eyes flutter close then open and he grins behind his mask as he releases your chin/neck.

Konig guides you towards the women's section with a steady gait. A worker gives an apprehensive glance but admittingly got far too embarrassed to stare once you stopped in front of the more...sexy bedroom set display.

Silk lingerie didn't last long in your bedroom sessions with Konig. He's gentle when he wants to be — those lazy morning sex with his tongue working you open and his hands stroking your dick to completion until you're limp and boneless was bliss — but his fetish for dressing you up in delicate lingerie sets always ends with your legs and hips needing a few days to recuperate. His size was another reason why sex with Konig was utterly satisfying and sore inducing but it's not like you dislike it (quite the opposite). "Which one, hm?" This time his arms are circling your waist. It was a shame that he was so covered up because the sight of his veins across the back of his scarred, calloused, hands always made you shiver. God, you can practically see the way his biceps are flexing as he continues to sway again. The silk clothes are all much too raunchy. Suddenly, it's too warm under your layers but that's not the exact reason you're squirming.

Most of them are cute. Feminine-cut clothes that would hang too low on your hips with thin straps that would slip down one shoulder. The ones that weren't cute were the classic lingerie dresses. Their length is so short you knew it would tickle the back of your thighs and hide nothing once bent over. The way it was tailored to hug just under the breasts was meant to give it definition but seeing as you were lacking in that department you'd think Konig wouldn't be a big fan? Wrong. He's as horny as an animal in heat when it came to you but he did have a thing for the way your "tits" couldn't fill out the certain clothes he got you. Maybe he just has a "thing" for you in general. He was insatiable. Konig stops swaying. You snap back into the present and furrow your brows. "Schatz", he purrs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." The black silk set catches your eye and you reach for it to feel the lace that lines the bottom hem. Pleased by your choice, Konig reaches for the hanger to pluck it from your hands and into the basket it goes. "Changing room...Mein König?" [My King?] His mask hides his sharp grin but his eyes darken from that warm coffee-coloured eyes to pools of sin.

The changing room was foreign. New country, new city, new surroundings. A sense of relief washed over you as you noted the wooden doors, glad they weren't just curtains held together by some loose velcro straps or hooked onto the opposite wall. The changing room hallway was dimmer than usual but once Konig had opened the doors to the room, it was clear why. He let out a low whistle at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors backlit by LED strips. The dimension of the space was large enough to not feel too claustrophobic — those mirrors seemed to increase the space as well. You shed your jacket, spotting a stool in one corner of the room meant to be a place to put your clothes, bags, or perhaps someone's horny partner to sit on as they look at you expectantly. The sight of Konig sitting on the tiny seat was comical, you pursed your lips to stop laughing but it couldn't be helped. Konig took off his cap and mask, effortlessly reaching towards the hooks on the wall to hang them before he leans back and tilts his head at you. His long, toned, legs stretched out before him. It invades your space. Overwhelming the room with more of him until the giggles fade away. Unwilling to accept his silence, you prod further. "What? You look cute, okay. All awkward in the corner, is this how you were in high school? All limbs like a spider, bet you were an eye-catcher, baby" He doesn't seem phased by your teasing. With his mask off, you can now ogle his face. That scar on the bridge of his aquiline nose, those strong jaws and sunken eye-sockets that give his eyelid a more hooded look. His top lip is thinner than his bottom, with a prominent cupid bow. Feeling emboldened you shed your knitted cap then your jacket and let it drop to the floor. The scarf twirls around your wrist as you walk forward and bend over to level your eye line with Konig. His downward-facing lashes almost always tickle his cheek — well, when they haven't been burnt off from his close proximity to explosives and fire. Thankfully, they're intact this time and you brush your thumb across his cheek, admiring their length. "You're the cutest little boy, you know?" his eye twitches. Still, he does nothing. Konig simply keeps his eyes on your face. You lean in, breath ghosting along his lips while you grin. "Come on, nothing to say, Mein König? Usually, you're the one that's so fucking loud, whimpering, growling, grunting —" Konig jerks forward. You hold your ground. His silence was both nerve-wracking and gratifying. "Ausziehen. Na." [Strip. Now.] He knows you know what he's saying. There's recognition in those perfectly shaped eyes. Leaning back, he adjusts his broad shoulders and eyes those shapely legs impatiently. "Ich werde nicht zweimal fragen." [I will not ask twice.]

He likes this changing room. Not only could he see the expressions on your face as you strip, but he could also see the view from behind thanks to the mirrors. The lights cast you in an almost angelic glow, a rim lighting that makes your skin all but glimmer. You're bent over, pulling your pants down, when the sounds of your moans fill the room. You nearly split your skull open in your haste to grab the phone from Konig's hand. He lifts his leg and his boot pushes onto your stomach, knocking you back and making you stumble onto the floor. You're almost naked, completely defenceless. Konig does not stand. He simply sits and knocks the toe of his boot to your thigh and jerks his chin to the basket close to you. Meanwhile, your moans are still playing. The wet noises of skin slapping against skin, the mattress creaking and the headboard slamming on the wall. "Konig! That's way — That is way too loud!" He splits open your thighs with the same boot and you squeak as he applies pressure to your crotch. The icy coolness from the outside has you shivering as you clamp your thighs around his ankles but he simply presses. Your high-pitched moan elicits a chuckle from Konig. That motherfucker mimics your moan, his stoic face turning annoyingly expressive as he mocked yours. His giddiness is hard to contain. He turns the screen to you and keeps on echoing the noises you're making. "Oh, oh-oh! Oh fuck! Konig! Right there!"

"Point taken!" You plead, blindly reaching behind you to grab the silk dress. You hear the shuffle of feet in the changing room hallway, hushed whispers but Konig does not pause the video. He simply lets it play as you hurriedly slip on the outfit. What a sight you were.

On the floor, pathetically slipping on a raunchy outfit while your crotch was still being stepped on. The straps are falling off your shoulders and your flustered state does little to assist. Your hair is askew and your cheeks are warmer than the fucking sun. The video stops just as you reach your orgasm and Konig removes his boot. "Strip. Fully."

He tosses the phone on the floor and leans forward. His elbows are on his knees and he gazes down upon you like a hungry wolf. After an awkward shimmy, the only thing protecting you from the wooden floors of the changing room was the thin silk. Your cock was tenting the front and no amount of tugging the material down was going to help you. "I think I may have been gone for too long, yes? My slut is much too disobedient as of late and getting more and more perverse. You're so hard after letting everyone in the store hear how pathetic you are when you take my cock, have you no shame?" Konig clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth when you avert your gaze. When you meet eyes, he's unbuckling his belt with one hand. "Do you even deserve to see my cock?"

You shake your head. No, no, of course, you don't! You're just a whore, a perverted boy who belongs to be on the floor. Even the lingerie you wore was too modest for you. Konig could tell you were edging towards that cloudy state. His cheek twitches as he suppresses a knowing grin. "That's right. You don't. But I'm allowing you to" "Th-Thank you, Mein Konig" He spreads his legs and pats his inner thigh after he had unzipped and pulled his heavy cock out. You gulp at the sight of it. It was damn near monstrous — a cock a few people could only ever see in pornography. Crawling on all fours, you nuzzle his thigh as thanks before grabbing it by the base. God, it was so hefty. A delicious pink tip and a few delicate splatters of moles decorated Konig's cock. The mouthwatering veins were given kisses and yet Konig remains silent as he watches with rapt interest in how you worshipped his big dick. "Perk your ass out. More" You're confused as to what he intends to do. Perhaps he wanted to see your asshole winking back at him in the mirror while you suck him off? That seems likely. You spread your knees and arch your back as you suck on his tip, loosening your jaw and covering your teeth as you close your eyes. Konig removes his glove. It doesn't take long for you to start drooling. He swipes two fingers under his dick, around the ring of your mouth, then leans forward to slip them in. Your choked reply is ignored by Konig. It's hard to breathe. You can feel his fingers scissor your muscles open all while he envelops you in his scent, his warmth, his everything. You feel like he's consuming your every being. His cock is halfway in, your jaw is aching and anyone unlucky enough to walk into the changing area would most definitely hear you gagging on it. Your eyes are watering, huffing through your nose as you feel your hips jerk without any conscious thought behind it. He's fucking you open on his fingers and he knows where to aim to make you all but spineless. There's this distinct dick-shaped bump in your throat. Konig is silent. When he pulls out his fingers and cock you cough, cushioning your face on his thigh as you catch your breath. One of the straps is falling off your shoulder and the dress hangs off your chest in a whorish display thanks to your flat chest. Konig's breathing is faster than usual but he is wordless as he grabs your wet chin.

"Kuh...Konig — Ngh!" You're looking at your reflection. Legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn as he holds you up. The dress is bunched over the curve of your ass. You're jerked forward until you slam into the mirror. A pained whimper is replied with a harsh slap to the back of your thighs. He uses his boots again. This time to kick your ankles apart. The fingers on your chin force you to look forward as Konig's heavy cock is placed on your back.

His face places itself on the crook of your shoulder. Those dark eyes swallow the lights from the mirror as he takes pleasure from your melted expression. You still taste his precum on your tongue, jaws still slack and lungs still desperately trying to swallow air. His thumb on your hole can feel the way you clench around nothing and Konig finally breaks his silence. "You are so filthy" You don't deny him of this fact. His cock pushes on the tight ring of muscles and you moan, fogging up the glass as he pushes, pushes, and pushes until he's inside and oh fuck. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. He fills you up so well. Every inch violated, comforted, by him. The pressure is so overwhelming but so familiar and you're getting on the tip of your toes to perk your ass out more. He watches the way your ass swallows inch after meaty inch. "Mein Süßer" [My sweet one] Konig groans into your ear. He's gripping onto your waist so tightly you know bruises will bloom and that thought alone makes you press your cheek on the mirror so you can look at him from over your shoulder. "Mein Konig, please...please, please, please" He's been far too mean and you're begging so sweetly. Konig thrusts in and out of you so harshly that your breath is being knocked out of you. He's kissing you, you're barely there to reciprocate. It's messy, it's hot, it's too much. His hand thumps onto the mirror and the lights flicker but neither of you cares. He's fucking into you so good you can't think. Konig is mouthing your neck, one hand on your waist while the other is groping everywhere, anywhere — as long as it was you. That's all that mattered to Konig. You're being far too loud. Both of you. There's no way no one knows what you're getting up to. Your breaths are fogging up the mirror and there's a ripping sound as Konig tugs on the strap too harshly. "Buh-Baby!" he shushes you. "I'll pay, fuck, I'll pay for anything you want, this boypussy is worth it. So fucking good, so tight " he snaps his hips into you and you choke out a cry at his name. "Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?" [Feels good, doesn't it?] Your chest is now in full view and so Konig grabs at it, twisting your nipples harshly. You're sobbing, tossing your head back as plead for him to slow down. Tears are now streaming down your face, lashes clumping together as you groan out, hand prints being left on the smooth surface as you desperately attempt to grasp at anything to ground yourself. "So sehe ich Dich gerne". [I like seeing you this way.]

Konig grins wickedly. He knows you're close, he can feel it in the way you're tightening up around his cock. He's not that far behind and he was determined for the two of you to cum at the same time. Thankfully, Konig knows just what to do to push you over the edge. Not that it would take much. All that foreplay, that humiliation, already made you a stroke away from jizzing on the floor. His sharp canines sink into the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you yelp as you paint the floor and mirror with your cum. "Ah, fuck!" you tightened around him like a vice and Konig stills as he empties his balls into you. His thighs twitch and his hips jerk a few times as he pants to catch his breath. "Woah!" Konig holds you up, laughing breathlessly as he hugs you. Your head is lolling to the side so he gently leans your head back, stroking your neck and chest until you're able to sharpen your eyes back into focus. "Are you alright, Schatz?" he's flattening his palm on your chest to feel the way your heart thuds against your ribcage. You nod, gulping and panting as you try to form sentences. He's patient as he carefully maneuverers you to lean fully against him. "Fuck, why'd you have to cum in my ass" Konig snorts as he lets you peel away to brace yourself on the mirror. He would say sorry but he's not. The sight of his cum dripping out of your hole has his cock twitching all over again. While you're catching your breath he reaches for his phone. The sound of his camera going off makes you roll your eyes. He's always taking pictures or videos. Says it keeps him occupied when he misses you a bit too much while he's deployed. Who are you to deny your boyfriend his needs? Wordlessly, you jut your hips back and spread your ass for him. He thanks you. It was silent as you both clean up (as much as you could) and when everyone was dressed you try not to limp on your way out. The workers all avoid looking in your direction and you groan as you hide your face in Konig's side. He simply tosses an arm around your shoulder, feeling smug despite the bashful blush under his facemask. "We can never shop here again" you mutter "There are more shops" Konig comforts.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #gay reader #male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty x y/n #call of duty x you #call of duty x male reader #konig x reader #konig x yn #konig x you #konig x male reader #call of duty fic #cod mwii

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silkendress · 13 days ago

Text

Bitten Bullet

First Chapter (You are here!) Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 1: Biting The Bullet

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

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You’re rather unremarkable, and what is there to be remarked isn’t anything flattering. Naïve, slow on the uptake, socially inept.

But that was precisely why you intrigued him.

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Read on AO3

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Keep in mind that the rating will increase to explicit as the story goes on.

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The world was cloaked in an inviting, auburn hue.

You’re still trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes when the convenience store comes into view, rubbing your eyelids with your thumb when that doesn’t work.

Your jacket protects you from most of the chilly autumn air, but your hands are still shivering in your pockets. A symphony of crackling leaves fill the soothing silence, they dance across the pavement with the wind.

Your grocery list is short, but you make a little tune out of the items in your head to keep yourself from forgetting.

The store is a bit warmer than the outside, but not by much. The clerk behind the cash register gives you a nonchalant wave. You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her often. You give her an equally as casual wave of acknowledgement.

You first fish out your wallet to open it and make sure you remembered to bring your ID—a nervous habit you picked up recently after you went to pick up wine for your mother and forgot it at home—Then you pick up a nearby shopping basket and cut through the aisles, singleminded.

A few minutes later you have almost all of the things you came here for. Except for one.

You stand on the very tips of your toes at the back of the store. Your fingers brush over the box of cereal you’ve been craving for weeks, but every attempt to grasp it only pushes it further back.

Distantly, the doors to the store open then close.

Your brows pinch together and your lips form a frown. You weren’t going to be deterred. You rest on your feet for a moment, shifting your weight on your heels, your lips push forward, almost a pout.

You hear footsteps. What makes you notice them is how heavy and loud they were. Loud meant the source was close.

There’s a shadow that wasn’t there before in your peripheral.

You flinch, barely containing a shriek, stepping away from the shelf and whipping around to face whoever was there. You were about to mumble out an apology for being in another shoppers way had your blood not ran cold.

The man is wearing a hoodie, black, somewhat loose. Yet his torso and shoulders filled out what should have been empty space, he was muscular, sturdily built. He is far taller than you.

What makes your muscles twitch in fraught anxiety is the fact only his ink colored eyes are visible, he’s wearing a mask with a skull motif. You feel the air has became static in your lungs, your pulse a frantic rhythm as if preparing you to bolt into a sprint.

Then his eyes drift down. Your eyes follow. Between his alarmingly thick index and thumb is a card.

“This must be yours, then.”

His voice is gruff, accented, and musing aloud. A chill goes up your spine. Something about the sentence made his presence real. He made the aisle seem much narrower than it truly was.

You felt half panic-striken, but in the moment it only felt natural. Not just justified but sensible.

When your eyes dart back up to his face you find he’s already looking at you, catching your eyes with his. A deer in a bear trap.

He extends his arm out, presenting the card to you. There is a stilted pause. He cocks his head imperceptibly, lightly jostles the hand holding the card as if to say ‘take it already.’

The movement snaps you out of your paralysis. It is then you realize it’s your ID.

“O-oh,” You must have dropped it when you opened your wallet earlier.

“Yes, that’s mine.” You clear your throat, forcing your legs to move forward to take it from him.

There’s an electricity in your limbs that makes them feel wobbly, your skin feels like it’s vibrating. It only intensifies with every step closer, and as you close the gap you become acutely aware of just how large the man is.

You don’t approach any further than strictly necessary, you reach your hand out, long and awkward; the card slips from his fingers with no resistance and into yours.

A pause, then, “Thank you.”

You’re caught between staring at your feet and watching him for any sudden movements.

He only grunts in reply. The sound makes your eyes snap up to him on reflex, and you are hit with the realization of just how far your neck had to crane up.

His eyes linger. You don’t think you’ve seen this man before. Or maybe you have—not like you would have known, what with the mask and all, you don’t think you were being rude.

Then his dark eyes drift upwards and behind you. Namely to the box of cereal you were trying fruitlessly to grab. You feel a pinch of heat on your cheeks. He probably saw your valiant effort to get it.

He keeps staring at you.

You blink at him. His dark eyes don’t move an inch, firmly trained on you, you were unsure of the last time he blinked. You swallow thickly.

You thought brown eyes were supposed to be comforting, not piercing.

“…I’ll be going now, thank you again.” You manage to say, your eyes darting around the imposing man. On anywhere but his face, or what little you could see of it.

Another moment ticks by and you feel like freezing and fleeing all at once, an ancient and primal urge; only instead the instinct of fight is replaced with paralysis. You knew you couldn’t take on a man that large and that tall.

Then he hums, gruff and clipped. The noise itself wasn’t loud, but it was sudden enough to make you flinch. He notices. You’re too nerve-wracked to look up at him properly to make out his expression.

“Goodbye.” You choke out, hastily stepping backwards and turning on your heel to walk fast out of the aisle and to the cash register. Your fingers aren’t just trembling from the cold.

You’re quick to pay and get out the store entirely. Resisting the very strong urge to glance over your shoulder all the while, only comforted by the fact you didn’t hear heavy footsteps trailing behind you, the memory of which echoing in your mind like a deafening cry.

The adrenaline wears off by the time you get home and feel safe behind your locked door. The few items you bought are put away and you’re curled up in bed in the largest shirt you own and pajama bottoms.

Your mind thinks back to the strange man you met in the store. You can’t help but feel a bit guilty now. Maybe you were judging that him too harshly. But every time you try to reconcile you remind yourself of the skull mask he was wearing.

The day goes by in an unremarkable blur. You get a few chores done and feel accomplished. You just wait for the day to be over, which had become an unfortunate routine.

You sink into bed by sunset and remain there until you drift off to sleep.

You fly awake with a short yelp.

A loud, booming sound resounds outside of your bedroom. Your heart races, you’re sitting up on your bed before you know it.

Your mind doesn’t realize it’s a revving of a motorcycle until a few moments later.

You sigh in exasperation, chuckling a little at yourself. Your room is dark, almost pitch black save for the night light plugged into the outlet by your closet.

You lay back down, and don’t drift off until an hour later.

“I just think you should go.” You’re holding your phone between your shoulder and chin, one hand balancing you on the wall while the other slips a loafer onto your foot.

A coworker at the bookstore you worked at had invited you out to go drinking with her this weekend, and you had just offhandedly told your mother about it during your daily phone call.

“I don’t even drink, though.” Your phone switches shoulders, you put on the other loafer.

Your mother sighs on the other end, you can practically see her run her hand across her face. “I know that. I just want you to…”

Your phone is in your hand now, you stand upright, waiting for your mother to find the words.

“I just want you to be happy. You know? Get out there, meet people.” You frown. She sounds almost melancholic.

You never had any friends before—not in real life, anyhow—and your mother spent the better part of your upbringing reassuring you that friendship wasn’t the end-all be-all of youth. It was odd hearing her seemingly change her stance. But then again, you weren’t so obviously distant and sad back then.

“I know it’s hard for you. But moving out was hard too, and look at you! You did that and more.” Your heart twists up, a lump in your throat has to be swallowed before you can reply.

“I don’t think people would want to be friends with me.” It takes you much longer than you would have liked to choke that sentence out.

“What? How could you say that? You’re one of the most bright and fascinating people I know.” Your frown deepens with every sincere word she speaks.

“I think you’re just in your own head too much. I think you should just bite the bullet and go. Just like how you bit that bullet when you moved out, when you got your first job.”

“I’m not doing anything special.” You blurt out before your mind could think better of it.

“Honey,” Your mother says after a moment of uncertain silence. “Your life has barely started and you’re beating yourself up over achievements you haven’t even given yourself time to get.”

Wetness rolls down your cheek, you wipe it away with more force than is necessary.

“It’s not a bad thing, being hungry for success—hunger is good. It keeps you from wasting away. What isn’t good is this, dear.”

You can’t answer because your fighting sobs from coming out your throat.

“I think you should go with her. Even if you don’t like it, just go.”

Which was how you found yourself standing aimlessly across the street from the bar, staring at it like if you did so intensely enough you would feel more in place.

The wind blows past the street, making you curl inwards on yourself. The orange and yellow leaves are pushed across the pavement yet again, the sound of crackling a cacophony. The stars sparkle indifferently.

Swathes of people walking the streets, each time someone nearly bumps into you makes you shrink further and further back until eventually you’re standing nearly pressed against a building, hoping that if you take up as little space as possible you’ll be invisible.

You’re unsure if your coworker, Chloe, is inside the bar already or still on her way. The thought of entering the bar alone makes your palms sweaty. It’s not like it’s a shady establishment, you’re just nervous.

You’ve waited for a few minutes. You never confirmed anything with Chloe, you could still go back home. But you don’t because the mere thought of it fills you with bitterness.

Stubbornness wins out in the end and you cross the street, your face half obscured by your fluffy scarf and your hands tucked away in the pockets of your coat. You should really buy gloves sometime.

You stand awkwardly to give people space to walk past you, almost running into one person and stammering out an apology to her with a painfully tight smile, then you’re finally past the door and inside.

You glance around. The bar is lively tonight, people are laughing, drinking, watching the game on one of the televisions hooked up and suspended over the bar counter. You don’t see anyone that looks like Chloe from here, so you walk around further.

An irrational fear that everyone can somehow see you’re out of your element takes root in your heart. You comfort yourself with the assumption that most are too caught up in themselves or their company to pay you any mind.

You try to be casual about it, but you’re looking a bit too frantically around. Maybe Chloe wasn’t here just yet. You decide to sit on the far side of the bar on one of the many stools. When Chloe walked through the door she’d be able to see you, at least. It also gave you a great vantage point of the primary entrance.

You’re almost able to become invisible back here.

You sit for about two minutes, your hands twitching in your lap and eyes darting uneasily around. At some point the tension within you simmers down and your thoughts are instead filled with musings of how this night out with Chloe would go.

The bar ambiance is drowned out in your head. Some groups of men are cheering on whatever game is on tonight. There’s some women gossiping amongst themselves, laughing brightly. Chatter and banter. A man attempting to grab a woman’s attention; no doubt looking for a companion for the night.

“Hey. Little lady.” Your head snaps up, he speaks with the mild irritation of having to repeat himself. You didn’t realize the man was talking to you.

You look at him and instantly your stomach clenches with unease. He looked average to you, but you were sure he was used to women falling head over heels for him; white and straight teeth, decent yet casual clothes, tall.

The man didn’t look nor sound drunk yet; but his face had a bit of a redness to it. Perhaps he had a few, maybe he just knew how to hold his liquor.

The grin he gave you reminded you of a wolfs snarl.

“Um. I didn’t realize you were…” His smile grows bigger, a glint in his green eyes. You feel nervous, a pit forms in your stomach. You swallow thickly to try and regain composure.

“…Didn’t think you were talking to me.” The man’s laugh is loud and sudden, it makes you flinch.

“Of course I’m talking to you,” You think he’s trying to sound nice, but it comes off as condescending. “I only see one sweet little thing at this bar.” He leans almost conspiratorially towards you.

You lean away.

“So, where are you going after this?”

“Home.” You blurt out, fast and somewhat panicked.

Green-eyes clicks his tongue. “Alright. Is this seat taken?”

You didn’t like where this was going. Your palms feel sweaty, your knuckles tense against your skin as you grip the fabric of your skirt to steady yourself.

“Uh—”

“It is.” Another, much deeper voice interjects.

Your heart leaps in your throat, you almost jump and fall out your seat.

It’s the large man from the convenience store, you wonder in dismay if he remembers you. You recognize his skull mask and the shape of his brown eyes, you notice his lashes are blond. He’s easing his weight on the counter, the other hand resting on his hip. Nonchalant. The hoodie he wears this time around is a dark blue. He’s wearing gloves with the design of a skeletal hand on it.

The masked man eclipses green-eyes, not only in width but in height. His eyes are black and burning, his brows furrowed together in a warning.

The other man stiffens, “Sorry about that.” He mumbles something about wishing you two a good night before slinking off.

The masked man remains resting on the counter, his eyes a heated glare directed towards the other man until he is out of sight.

He isn’t anywhere near close enough to cage you in, but his sheer size and presence certainly makes it feel that way. Silence lingers for half a breath.

You’re at a loss for words.

His rich eyes land on you. “You alright?” He asks, gruff.

Your mind finally gets back into gear and you nod. He hums in acknowledgment.

“Thank you.”

A pause, then;

“You’re in my seat.”

“Oh.” You whisper. He doesn’t sound upset. He actually almost sounds bored.

“Sorry, I didn’t—“

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice isn’t argumentative, but it leaves no room for retort. Commanding the flow of conversation without making much of an attempt. You blink and he takes the stool right next to you instead. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table.

The scent of nicotine hits your nose, it’s wrapped around him like a cloak. He must have just went out to smoke. You feel lucky that he came back just in time before that situation could escalate any further.

The fabric of his hoodie stretches across his muscles, expanding and shifting with the movement. One of his sleeves roll up just barely enough to reveal a peek of a black tattoo on his wrist. Too little of it is exposed to tell if it goes all the way up his forearm or not, but you think you see the beginning of a skull design in swirling ink. It’s missing its lower jaw.

You stare aimlessly in front of you, avoiding eye contact with the man. Yet his presence in of itself is incapable of being ignored. You silently hope the bartender comes over so that there will be some kind of buffer between you and him, some kind of reprieve from the silence that so oddly wants to be filled.

“You ever get that cereal?”

You are so taken aback by the attempt at small talk that your head whips around to look at him. You even think you hear a fraction of dry wit in his tone. So he did remember you.

“No.” You reply, deadpan. Unsure of what else to say. You weren’t a very witty or snarky person, you could barely keep up a conversation—a bit of a paradox, considering your desperate longing for human connection.

That was why you were here, to make a connection. With Chloe.

He grunts indifferently.

Before another awkward silence could form the bartender comes around. The masked twice-met stranger next to you is quick to speak.

“Whiskey. Neat.” He might as well have been speaking in morse code.

The bartender understands him, however.

“And for you?” It takes you far longer than you would have liked to realize the man behind the counter was talking to you.

“Uh. Nothing.” You mumble quickly, looking down at your hands.

Thankfully, the bartender doesn’t press further, your skittishness must have been apparent. He leaves.

You exhale a small sigh of relief. It is short lived though, you can see your unintentional bar companion—whom you don’t know—shoot a look at you unabashedly.

Your face heats.

“Just came here to sit?” And again, there’s that almost teasing drawl to his rough voice.

“I don’t drink.” You blurt out, feeling your face grow hot with pinpricks as soon as it comes out.

It’s this that finally makes him fully look at you, his head turning over towards you in one smooth swivel.

His inky eyes squint, the lower lids pushing up as if he is smirking under there. The tone in his voice confirms it.

“That so.” He exhales a bit once the words leave his mouth, it almost sounds like a scoff.

There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, it’s gone as soon as you notice it. You’ve given him something, you’re not certain what.

“So if you’re not here to get pissed, why?” He’s stirred on regardless. He cocks his head at you as the question leaves his lips. There’s a strange sort of nonchalance to it. He wants to hear your answer, but wouldn’t care if you chose not to give him one at all.

Though now that you thought of it, you supposed you were also intrigued by him in your own way. Talking to him couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like many men spoke to you, let alone just to banter. This was a bit of a novelty for you.

“I’m waiting for my coworker to show up.” He leans forward a little on his elbows—the muscles there flexing—trying to hear your soft spoken words over the revelry and noise in the bar. A heat crawls up your neck, you clear your throat and dart your eyes away.

He considers you, thinking.

He doesn’t let you know what conclusion he reached. “Where do you work?”

His question is framed with the same indifferent cadence as before, but the fact he inquires at all clues you into his mild interest.

Mild. Indifferent. Despite his outward appearance he was rather calm and muted. And for some reason was exchanging words with you, of all people.

He seemed alright enough. A casual back-and-forth at a bar couldn’t hurt. You were still acutely aware of his size and strength—his form spoke to hard manual labor and practicality. Not to mention he was still a stranger, but…

Talking should be fine. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to anyone new.

“At a bookstore.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a low and deep rumble emanating from his chest.

Before you could ask him the same question, the bartender comes up and places a glass of whiskey on the counter before leaving. His gloved hand moves fluidly to take it up, his hand dwarfing it.

“What about you?”

He stills, and you know that you’ve said something wrong somehow. He pauses, and you find yourself freezing with him. You want to blurt out an apology, but the static in the air keeps your mouth shut.

His eyes become hollow, dark and empty holes. Your palms grow sweaty. It’s gone the next time he blinks.

“Military.” The word is spoken almost unnaturally. It’s clipped and concluding, an edge to his voice that wasn��t there before. So much spoken just from how it was said.

You weren’t going to pry about it. You weren’t rude.

You couldn’t think of how else to change the subject, so you decide to tell him your name. Tacking on a ‘by the way,’ at the end to make it seem more casual.

He takes the change in subject in stride.

He repeats your name, slowly, trying it on his tongue. Like he needed to know how it’d sound out of his own mouth. His accent curls around the words, the inflection thoughtful. His index finger runs languidly across the rim of his glass so incrementally that it would be easy to miss it was moving at all.

You become aware of the increased intensity of your heartbeat after your name leaves his mouth. You finally reckon with one of the thoughts you’ve been pushing away ever since he first sat down and began speaking with you.

His voice is very nice.

You want to put a name to him, too.

“What’s your name?” His finger stills. He isn’t quite looking at you. His eyes are on your face, but he isn’t looking at you.

You don’t know what he’s looking at, or looking for.

What you do know is that it takes such a long time for him to reply that you’re about to apologize and insist that he didn’t have to tell you if he didn’t want to.

Your mouth opens—

“Simon.”

—And is promptly shut.

“Simon.” You repeat, thinking it only fair to see how his name sounded on your voice, too. It’s quick and hushed, but no less experimental.

Simon’s eyelids droop. It’s slight, but it’s there. The pinch in his brows has smoothed out. His eyes don’t leave you. Yours don’t leave his. There’s a wordless understanding in the air that you can’t name or explain even if you tried.

In the gaussian blur of movement and color, a particular arrangement of shape and tones catches the corner of your eye.

It’s Chloe.

…It’s Chloe.

You blink. Mentally chastising yourself for feeling an odd wave of disenchantment. You see her look around aimlessly for a moment until your hand almost instinctually shoots up to wave at her. In the background of your awareness Simon’s eyes widen imperceptibly, he tracks your sight.

“Your coworker.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.” You nod, already getting up out of your stool. You wanted to talk to him longer. Perhaps solitude made you very receptive to any change, to anything new, but you couldn’t help it. It was how you felt at the moment.

You smooth the wrinkles out your ankle-length skirt in a nervous habit. You try to ignore how Simon is still so big even when he’s sitting and you’re standing.

You don’t want to leave Simon so abruptly. So you turn to face him, clutching at your hands in an anxious fiddle.

“Thanks for talking with me.” He blinks at you, seemingly not expecting you to thank him for such a thing.

“No problem.” He murmurs eventually, monotone.

“Have a good night, Simon.” You make yourself spit out before ducking your head and scampering off to Chloe.

Simon’s eyes stay on you until you become obscured in the crowd.

By Monday you still are thinking about Simon.

That’s how your mind worked, it was nothing new; you grasp at the mere idea of potential camaraderie and clutch it fiercely until it’s squeezed dry. Even if it amounted to nothing in the end, you couldn’t help but think of Simon.

It was small things. Naïve and harmless in nature.

‘I wonder if he always goes to that bar.’

‘I wonder what he looks like without the mask.’

‘I wonder why he wears the mask.’

It was normal for you. Chloe was also once a topic of your mind when you first began working at the bookstore. It was unnoteworthy. Perfectly mundane.

You and Chloe had ended up going bar hopping that fateful Friday night. She barely drank and by the time the night was over she wasn’t even tipsy. You enjoyed her company far more than you thought. Sure, you found yourself walking on the occasional self-imposed eggshell—you clammed up and danced around the subject of school—but the time spent was pleasant.

It was odd, going bar hopping with someone who didn’t like alcohol, but if she minded she didn’t show it. Maybe she was like you in that strange way. It was this that made you hopeful for an actual friendship.

The week goes by too fast yet too slowly all at once. Before you know it the day was Friday. And just like the Friday before, you are lingering across the street from the bar you encountered Simon.

Your arms are crossed, half in a self soothing gesture and half an attempt to warm your bare hands.

You had no clue what had gotten into you. Maybe your mother’s words of encouragement worked a bit too well.

That said, you were unsure if you had the bravery to go inside all alone without the comfort of someone to come be with you. You didn’t even know if Simon was in there or not. And even if he was, it would be a rather ridiculous thing to do now that you truly thought about it.

You didn’t drink. You told him as much. And you didn’t have a coworker you wanted to bond with as an excuse to make yourself go to a bar. The question would inevitably come up and you wouldn’t have an answer.

Just as this realization crosses your mind, you see a towering yet vaguely familiar figure come out the bar. Simon has a box of cigarettes in his hand already.

You of course choose flight. You hope Simon didn’t see you standing there aimlessly across the street and turn on your heel and make the walk home.

You clutch your arms around yourself, your nails digging into your palms like rose thorns. The more you think about it the more embarrassed you get, which makes you chastise yourself even more.

It was ridiculous to think a man such as Simon would actually want to spend time with you. It was a one time, random occurrence.

You realize the journey back to your home had you more on edge when you were by yourself. You avoided it whenever possible and the latest you stayed out was until sunset due to your paranoia.

The previous time you walked home at night was last weekend, and Chloe was with you. The closer you get to your residence the less people are out on the streets with you until eventually you realize you’re alone.

You pick up the pace, your body tense and your footsteps rapid.

The back of your neck prickles, a cool sweat sweeps over your body. You whip your head around over your shoulder every now and then, an action that only soothes you for a short while until you have to look behind you again.

It’s a reflex, except this time you look over and your heart leaps in your throat.

Over on the other side of the street, silhouetted by the warm yellow hues of the streetlight, stands a large man. He’s looking at you. It is then you realize you can’t see his mouth, or his nose; nor a skull motif. A panic rises in you.

Your eyes flick down to his forearms which were thankfully exposed, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up, it is there you see a skull donned in a crown in black ink on pale skin, missing its lower jaw. You also note his tattoos do extend further up his arm—perhaps even the entire length—all in black ink.

You release a breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

It was odd to take comfort in a man such as him, but it was better he than a total stranger.

Simon still was a stranger, but a stranger you had encountered twice; he returned your ID and had scared off a man who couldn’t take a hint. You still were a bit on edge, but it was eased somewhat. It appeared he foregone the skull mask tonight.

A pickup truck passes by, and Simon finally crosses the street. His hands are still tucked in his pockets, he isn’t moving hurriedly, but his steps were sure.

You cock your head at him, your heart rate increasing as you take a hesitant step back. He comes to a stop a few feet away from you.

“You look just about ready to bolt.” You swallow thickly, not certain how to respond. The rough timbre of his voice was accented with an almost imperceptible lilt, a half tease. Your cheeks itch uncomfortably with heat.

“I didn’t recognize you for a moment, there.”

It’s subtle, the tilt of his head. If you weren’t staring directly at him, watching his every move, then you would have missed it. Simon’s eyes pinch subtly. You wonder if it’s from a smirk you can’t see, if he found your indirect admission of finding security in him interesting.

His rich eyes dart around your face. “You don’t look the type for midnight strolls.” It’s a musing that’s muttered aloud.

You shift awkwardly on your feet, once again at a loss for words. You wonder where he was going so late, but the question dies in your throat.

You want to break eye contact, to turn on your heel and walk back home, but something keeps you still.

He doesn’t make any move to get closer to you, but his eyes are laser-focused on you. You can’t read his expression, not just from his mask but not from his eyes, either. They’re just as unknowable as they’ve always been.

Simon has to say your name to snap you out of your thoughts. Your mind races to piece together what it was he said to you while you were getting lost in the depths of his eyes.

“Going home?” He had said.

“Yes. I am.” You stammer over your words. You feel embarrassment, biting and acrid. The conversation could be over now. But you didn’t want it to be.

“Do you live around here, too?” You toss the question out there offhandedly.

“Not around this way.”

You blink. And then you blink again.

“Oh. Huh.” Is all that comes out your mouth. You don’t like the conclusion you’re coming to. It must be written all over your face, because Simon’s speech is far too nonchalant.

“I saw you at the bar. You didn’t come in.”

Your conclusion was the correct one. Of course he saw you. You truly couldn’t catch a break.

“Oh.”

You had never wanted a meteor to strike you down so fervently before.

He lets the silence hang, as if he’s giving you a chance to explain. He waits and waits, insistent and stubborn. He only speaks again when it’s clear you’re not going to budge.

“You like going to bars a bloody lot for a woman that doesn’t drink.”

His flat delivery cuts the tension a bit. You find yourself huffing out a small, breathless laugh. His next question catches you a bit off-guard, however.

“Waitin’ on someone?”

You stare at him for a moment. “No.” You eventually reply.

He nods, and it fascinates you that he seems satisfied with your answer.

A cracking of a branch makes you jump and yelp, the sound echoing down the street. A squirrel skitters down a nearby tree and disappears into the foliage.

You exhale heavily, a palm over your heart. Simon doesn’t huff out a laugh like you’re expecting him to. The rough edges to his voice have been sanded down when he speaks, at first you’re not sure if you hear him right.

“Need a chaperone?”

Your mind is caught between ‘don’t lead a man you don’t know to your house where you live alone’ and ‘just bite the bullet.’

You consider it heavily, even as you shift on your feet Simon doesn’t falter or betray even a hint of anxiety over your answer. He stands there, immovable.

To his credit, he does eventually utter something that you think was meant to be comforting. “Not that type of man.”

It’s firm, resolute. And you, perhaps foolishly, believe him.

It wasn’t surprising that he knew the source of your hesitation, it was common sense. It would be more off-putting if he hadn’t noticed the proverbial elephant in the cobblestone street.

You weren’t close to your house just yet, it’d still be a decent walk all on your own. You would be lying if you said the presence of a big and well-muscled man accompanying you didn’t bring you some comfort.

“Yes.” It comes out so fast you barely process that you’ve said it.

Simon nods only once. You turn stiffly and continue onwards.

The heavy footsteps trailing behind you begin a moment after, the sound of his boots landing on the cobblestone.

You shoot a look over your shoulder. His height gave him longer strides, he was approaching a bit faster than what you expected. His shoulders were straight and firm, as were his steps. There was an aura of self-assuredness around him, one that was earned and justified.

You snap your eyes away when he comes up and starts walking next to you. The stars are out and sparkling dauntlessly, glitter across the night sky. You catch yourself glancing up at it every now and then. You almost trip in the uneven pavement but catch yourself quickly. All Simon gives you is a single, somewhat bemused glance.

“Thank you. For walking me home.” You murmur, wanting to fill the silence somehow. He only grunts in reply.

The quiet becomes comfortable after that. Simon’s presence is a constant, he keeps an appropriate distance away while walking beside you but his broadness made him feel closer than he actually was.

Even as you become increasingly at ease with every step, The acknowledgment of him, his company, of Simon, never fully fades away to half-awareness.

“Long walk just to turn around.” You find something out about Simon; he could be persistent if he wanted to be.

You can’t say anything other than a quiet hum.

“You make a habit of that?” Very persistent.

“Oh, no.” As soon as the response leaves your lips the muted follow-up question of ‘why tonight, then?’ Is so loud that Simon doesn’t even need to speak it, he just shoots you a single look.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You settle with a half-truth. His eyes shift to glance at you again, lingering there for a second longer than you expected before breaking eye contact.

He doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. Despite the desire you have to replace the comfortable quiet with comfortable conversation. You can’t think of anything to say and you didn’t want to run the risk of annoying him when he was technically doing you a favor.

Your hands were trembling a little with the cold, you felt a chill on your nose and cheeks. You tuck your hands in your pockets. Simon notices, but says nothing.

Eventually you get close enough to your home for you to walk the rest of the way yourself. You still didn’t want him to know exactly which home you lived in, nor the precise route to get there, after all.

“Okay, I can walk the rest of the way now.” You try to sound confident, but it comes out hushed and sheepish. When you meet his eyes you’re once again hit with the reality of your neck craning up and how he towers over you. You turn your head away to glance at a tree that looks particularly interesting all of the sudden.

“Alright.” He replies, indifferent. You feel your nerves ease a little.

You shift your weight idly on your feet. “Thank you for…” You wave your hand in place of a word you can’t decide on.

Simon nods regardless.

You stand aimlessly there for a second that’s too long even on its own.

“Good night, Simon.” You mumble softly, hoping your gratitude was evident.

You make yourself turn to go home by yourself, this time without a second pair of heavy footfalls to accompany you. You get a few feet away until you hear Simon, his voice raised only just enough so that you could hear him.

“Good night,” he says your name. It takes a surprising amount of willpower to not look over your shoulder, to not give him one last glance.

“We should definitely go.” Chloe is resting her chin on her arms, which were slung over the chair she was sitting backwards on.

You were both on break, and the day was slow. Which lent itself to chatter.

Chloe brought up the topic of a festival that would be taking place in just a few days. It was too far for you to walk.

You were scrolling through the event page website on Chloe’s phone. It looked like something you’d enjoy, but…

“I would love to, but I don’t have a car—or a license.”

“That’s no problem. I can drive us both.” She replies as easy as anything. You look up at her with wide eyes. She’s beaming at you. You smile back with all your teeth.

Two days later, you wake up to your phone ringing.

“I’m really sorry—“

“Chloe!” You admonish, “Please don’t apologize. This is more important than any festival. Let your sister know I said congratulations and that I give her well wishes.”

Chloe laughs, the sound watery. They are happy tears. “Thank you. I will.” She sniffs.

As it turns out, Chloe’s sister was pregnant—you had no idea she had a sister, let alone a pregnant one—and she entered labor early. Of course, Chloe rushed out to the hospital to be with her sister until her and the baby were all settled.

This meant you didn’t have your now acquainted-with coworker to spend breaks with or just chat while there was a lull in customers. It was fine, you could handle it.

The sky was a reddish pink, the sun sinking ever lower over the horizon. The bookstore would be closing soon.

You were currently in between shelves, a small box half-open at your feet full of books. You were restocking. It was a repetitive, monotonous task, which led to your mind wandering.

You actually let yourself think about the last time you ran into Simon.

Simon saw you. And he then followed you to walk you home.

You wondered if he was hoping you’d come back to the bar just like you were hoping he was there. But you nip that thought in the bud as soon as it begins to sprout. It never ended well when you got too attached to people, best not to look too deeply into things.

Maybe he was just the chivalrous type.

You hear the entrance to the bookstore open and close, you slide the last book into the shelf.

You hear the footfalls of whomever entered wander around the store. It sticks out to you that the steady beat of footsteps never stall or pause for even a moment.

You carefully step out of the shelves just enough to peek your head out. Your eyes go as wide as dinner plates.

Simon combs through the aisles a few feet away from you, on the other side of the store. Like a man on a mission. His eyes scan his surroundings methodically.

He’s far away, and hasn’t seen you yet, but you couldn’t mistake his gait nor his size. Not to mention, he’s wearing the skull mask again.

You are frozen in place, genuinely surprised you would run into him again—at work, no less.

Umber eyes land on you, he pauses, then takes a step forward in your direction. He crosses over to you in a few quick strides. Before you know it he’s standing right in front of you.

“Hi.” You softly greet.

Simon looks down at you, his expression unreadable. He remains silent for a beat too long for it to feel natural. Instead of replying he fishes something out of the pocket of his jacket.

In his large hand is a pair of gloves far too small to be for himself. You stare at it, wordless. Simon pushes his hand out further for emphasis, wordlessly directing you to take it.

You do.

“Oh, Simon. You didn’t have to…” You whisper, looking up at him in disbelief and gratitude.

“Wanted to.” He replies simply.

You look down at the gloves in your hand, they feel soft.

You hear the shifting of fabric again, and when you look up you see a small deep green book with gold lettering on the cover within Simon’s hand. “Wanted to buy this.” He grunts out.

You blink, then smile widely up at him. “Of course.”

You tuck your newly gifted gloves into the pocket of your jeans before taking the book from him and heading to the register with Simon following behind.

You close the doors to the store and tug on them for good measure to ensure you locked them. You are quick to put the gloves he got for you on your hands, already feeling a bit of a nip from the cold in your fingertips.

When you look up you see Simon is still outside leaning his back against the building. You wonder if he waited for you to be done closing up before leaving.

You give him a small smile and a little wave. He acknowledges you with a single nod. Instead of going his separate way like you assumed, he walks up to you.

You stare at him quizzically.

His broad shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths. “Need another walk home?”

“Well, I was going to go to a festival.” You weren’t sure how the conversation shifted to this. One moment Simon was asking you what you did in your spare time other than linger around bars—you couldn’t suppress the snort of laughter that came out of you from his monotone delivery—which led to you talking a bit about your hobbies.

Then hobbies turned into activities.

“When is it?” Simon didn’t let up with his questions. Fortunately for him, you didn’t mind answering them. As long as he would answer yours in return, of course.

“Three weeks from now.”

Simon hums thoughtfully, then; “Changed your mind?”

It takes you a second to realize what exactly he’s asking.

“No. I can’t drive to get to it, my coworker—“

“The one from before?”

“Yes. She was going to take us both, but something important came up.”

There’s a small pause before Simon asks you, “Don’t have a car?”

“No. And even if I did, I couldn’t drive it.”

This makes Simon’s eyes dart over to you.

“No license?” His tone was almost incredulous. You feel your cheeks become warm.

“No license.” You mumble sheepishly.

You’re quick to change the subject. “Well, what about you? Any hobbies?”

Simon goes silent for longer than you expected. Almost like he truly had to consider anything that would be suitable for an answer.

“Motorcycles. I like ‘em.”

Your eyes gleam with interest. “You have one?”

“I do.” You are reminded of the sound of a motorcycle that would sometimes be heard at night. You wonder if any of those nights it was Simon.

“That’s really cool.” You state with a grin. You think that particular topic of conversation had reached its natural conclusion until Simon speaks again.

“You could be on the back of it.”

You almost choke on your own saliva.

Your mind is racing and so is your heart. His already rough voice was lowered an octave and you did not imagine it. Innocent observations you’ve made of him become honeyed and blazing. His size, his voice, him. Your tongue is like mercury in your mouth.

‘He probably meant nothing by it, get a hold of yourself.’ You desperately wrangle your thoughts in check. “Hah. I’d probably be a bad passenger, I…” You clear your throat. “I’d be terrified.”

There isn’t any change in Simon’s expression—which was just his eyes, really—nor his demeanor. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if anything at all.

“I’d go slower for you.” Heat pools in your belly and crawls up your neck. You couldn’t read his tone at all. It was just as dry and flat as it usually was.

You mentally chastise yourself. ‘He’s just making conversation,’ you insist to yourself; but it does little to cool the fire rising in your cheeks.

‘…But is he, though?’ Neither paths of thought help your increasing body temperature.

It wasn’t like you and Simon had ever met up intentionally. And while he had walked you home twice now—counting this time—that could mean nothing. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe it was that chivalry theory you were going with.

You don’t know what to say, but you know you don’t want to remain silent for too long.

“Oh. Then that could be fun.” Is what you end up going with. You force a stiff laugh out your throat, trying to dissipate the tension rolling off of you.

Simon’s eyes remain in front of him. “Yeah?”

You feel your heartbeat in your stomach. “Yeah.” You mumble in reply.

Eventually, you reach the point on your journey home where you last told Simon you could walk the rest of the way. He stops in his tracks first.

“Thank you for the gloves, Simon.” You turn to him, trying not to stammer. “And for walking me home. Again.” You add on hastily.

Simon only nods. Something keeps your feet planted.

After a pause, Simon calls your name. Your eyes widen a little when you see him beckon you with two fingers.

You spend the rest of the day trying not to think about how fast you walk back up to him.

“Yes?” You prompt when you near him. “Did you need something?”

“Depends. Can I have your phone?”

You blink up at him in surprise. He stares down at you unflinchingly. “Need to make a call?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

After a moment of hesitation you retrieve your phone from your pocket, opening up the app to send and receive calls for him. The screen is prompting him to type a number when you hand it to him.

You watch him wordlessly as his thumb swipes across the screen, inputs a few digits, and then—

He hands it back to you.

“See you around.” He says gruffly, turning around and walking away before you have a chance to comprehend what just happened.

You stand motionless until Simon’s figure goes out of view. Then you finally look at the screen in your hand.

In your contacts is a new number, named ‘Simon.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

I wanted to post something that felt seasonal, so I ended up with this! (I got bored and wound up getting interested in Call of Duty.) I still am unsure of the length of this story exactly, but I think it won’t be too long. Right now I’m aiming for 2 chapters, maybe 3 chapters at most.

I decided to post the first part on its own because I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish this entire thing before October was over…

In addition to the rating increasing as chapters get added I will be adding new tags as well.

Once again I find myself finishing stories for characters that aren’t my favorites, but that’s just how it goes sometimes haha. (If you’re curious, my favorite character is Kyle/Gaz 🫶)

I haven’t played the game before so I ended up watching a few lets plays and videos. I tried to do my best with characterization, let me know what you thought of it!

I didn’t feel the need to type out the entirety of Simon’s accent, I feel like most people already know what he sounds like and I feel like doing that can be distracting at times for me personally. ;;o;;

The location/setting is vague because I was hesitant to specify lest I got it wrong somehow but hopefully that can be overlooked and the story itself is still enjoyable enough!

Tags will be added as the story continues.

Feel free to let me know what you thought!

Thank you so much for any likes or reblogs! It means a lot to me. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #x reader #reader insert #⤜stories #⤜Call of Duty #⤜Simon Ghost Riley/Reader #⤜Suggestive

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anarchiii · 2 months ago

Text

Worlds apart-12 —ACOTAR x TOG AU

Part Twelve | warnings: angsttt, violence? | Azriel x Celaena Sardothien

Summary; pain and sorrow one after the other, Azriel decides that maybe he isn’t meant for this world, but maybe for another…

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

Celaena’s POV

Two weeks of slaughtering near-innocents and the party was here, and she couldn’t be more tense, she had heard that Dorian was her partner for the gathering and that had horrified her, Celaena prayed that the King wouldn’t punish him for it, there was only so much guilt she could handle.

Though it had killed her, she had given Fleetfoot to an old friend of her’s, a lovely baker that was sure to spoil the dog rotten, Fleetfoot had become too depressed and lonely with her so busy, she couldn’t take care of her, she’d vowed to retrieve her when the time was right. If there was ever such a time.

She shuddered out a breath as she waited for the Crown-prince, standing on the icy sidewalk, she couldn’t be more cold, her plain black jacket did nothing against the frigid night, it was spring and yet not, the flowers had still not bloomed, the birds had yet to start their song.

The panting of breath announced Dorian’s arrival, she turned to find him already watching her, he wore a fine black suit with silver accents, nothing more was needed, he nodded towards the waiting carriage and she took that as her queue to follow him into it, death-staring the driver as she got in. He had watched her the entire time she had been shivering and had done nothing. Bastard.

Thankfully, the inside was a lot warmer but still had a chill to it, the Prince and the Champion sat side by side, not saying a word to eachother, Celaena was too busy wondering where she had seen the drive before to care about conversation, perhaps the man had picked her up once before? No not possible, Arobynn didn’t hire the same Carriage driver twice. Perhaps she had just seen him on the street before. That made more sense.

“Celaena,” Dorian started, she turned to him, wary blue eyes watching sapphire one’s, he pursed his lips as he watched her, like he was debating whether what he had to say was worth getting executed for, she hoped he thought against it. Wrong, “I want to help you, and I want you to help me, if we can get eachother out of this mess then we can both be free, I know it is treason but I can only watch you suffer alone so long, please.” He said. His eyes pleading. She had thought him smart but this was pure stupidity and madness, of course she wanted to be free and then run into the Staghorns and live there for the rest of her life but that was unrealistic, and it would never happen, besides, even if she got to live that life it would never be perfect. Because no matter what universe. Azriel would not be there with her, she had learned that hard truth these past few weeks, no matter how much they wanted to, they would never fit.

No matter if she bartered with the gods to make it so, they were star-crossed lovers, and that was all they would ever be, Azriel most likely had a mate in his world who was waiting for him and she her’s, she silently prayed that Azriel had realised the same thing and had given up, but she had seen the raw determination in his eyes right before he’d left, he wouldn’t stop fighting.

Celaena hated that she had given him such a sense of hope and how things could be, because if he came back, she would have to rip that all away, perhaps she was a monster, forced to fall in love and then damn them and herself. A monster.

“No,” she said flatly, staring out the window, watching the people go by, so unbothered and blind to what was going on, oh how she wished she was like them, “no?” “No.” Confusion and worry laced his face but she didn’t care, she wouldn’t let him get killed for helping her, she refused, Celaena adjusted the bracelet on her arm, content to ignore the anguish on her friend’s face until he got the idea, but if she knew Dorian—which she did. She knew that he was as stubborn as a child.

He cleared his throat, lowering his head, “very well then,” he said simply.

They did not speak to one another for the rest of the ride.

As soon as they entered the building, she went straight for the drinks table, grabbing a glass of wine and downing it before grabbing another, she may be undercover but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy herself, besides, Celaena had a incredible alcohol tolerance, she’d be fine.

In her peripheral, she noticed one of the King’s men was slinking about, staying to the walls and surveying the room, he noticed her gaze and instantly hid his face, disappearing into the shadows, she’d keep an eye on him, it was then that she noticed a lot of members of the Royal court and soldiers were here, a lot of Chaol’s personal men as well. Now that was odd.

Even stranger, she was feeling the wine a lot quicker than she should, her eyesight was a little fuzzy and her stomach was churning, what the hell? She’d eaten no food today, only wine.

The man was back at the wall again, watching her intently, a small smirk laced his face as she realised what was happening, shit— there was something in her drink, Celaena dropped the glass, the item shattering on the floor but she didn’t care, she ran to the nearest powder-room she could find but found the door locked, shit! “Please-unlock the door, p-please!” She banged on the door as hard as she could, her words slurred and stuttered.

She leaned her head on the oak door, attempting to calm her breathing, no such thing happened, it only got worse as time went on, sweat coated her skin in thick layers, yet she was so cold, Celaena felt as if her body was immobilising, losing feeling in her toes and fingers. Bloodbane. It was ironic, a few years ago when a travelling circus came to Rifthold, she’d begged Arobynn to let her get a reading to see how she would die, the creepy, grey haired woman had told her ‘poison, that is how you shall go,’ she hasn’t believed her, neither had her Master.

She started crying then, she had accepted that she would die one day but so soon, and so young? She still had so much to live for, so much to love, and now she would perish slowly at the door of a powder-room, the room she had always found useless and tacky, oh how wrong she had been, if only she hadn’t been so distracted by Dorian’s offer, she would’ve noticed the poison. Her Master would be ashamed.

Her tears fell in thick, salty rivers down her face, this was the end, a story ended too soon, the page ripped out of an unfinished book, she should have gone with Azriel, Azriel, the Shadowsinger that had stolen her heart without even trying. The male that had given her a sense of hope and confidence when she had thought it lost.

All her life she had been told happy endings didn’t exist, and she had fought them on that, told them they were wrong. Perhaps they were right after all.

The End.

Note: no comment. 😶

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@shadowsingercassia

@snoopyspace

@yashiw

@azrielslittleslut

@aelincaddel

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spookyrea · 2 months ago

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Something About Us

You're stuck waiting for the bus in a torrential downpour. Conrad offers to keep you company (and later, to warm you up).

(part of a larger series of vignettes about navigating life, love, and monsters with one James Conrad.)

Warnings: none! | read it on AO3 here

You stand under the lab’s narrow awning, watching a tropical storm batter the pavement. The wind carries the rain at an angle, whipping mud puddles into a thick mist that leaves your legs prickling uncomfortably with the cold. You had the forethought to wear a jacket but your umbrella lies inside, useless, at the bottom of a garbage can, decommissioned by a fatal gust earlier this morning.

“Dreadful weather, isn’t it?” A warm voice and an even warmer body joins you under the awning. Whatever James Conrad is doing in the lab is beyond you – he’s not a researcher, nor a tech, so outside of delivering mission reports he has little reason to be on this end of the Monarch campus.

That hasn’t stopped him from becoming a constant in your day-to-day life, though. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Had to get my shots.”

“Right.” It’s a lie – more likely that he’s spent the afternoon being briefed on some top secret reconnaissance endeavour that’s above even your clearance level.

“Are you waiting for the bus?” He curls just that bit closer, his voice calculatedly casual. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him against your arm, his body half turned so that you are parallel to his underbelly, to the space where his jacket is wide open and vulnerable to the chill. It’s a space just big enough for you to slot in, if you wanted.

“Yep.” The researchers’ barracks are within walking distance, technically, but they’re at the very edge of the base, farther than any of the other accommodations from the central hub. “Which means I have to sit,” you nod toward the lone bench on the side of the road, “right there.”

The lab door opens; instead of stepping away to let them through, Conrad crowds up into your space, so you’re pressed shoulder-to-chest, leaving just enough room for the janitor to slip by on his way to the barracks. He’s appropriately dressed for the weather, at least, in a raincoat and hat, and heads off in the opposite direction toward the pub.

“I could share,” Conrad says, unfolding his umbrella, “as long as you promise to behave.”

“Behave?”

“Mhm.”

“You ask too much of me,” you say, though you don’t deny yourself the pleasure of looping your arm through his as you start toward the bench.

It’s not a very large umbrella so you both have to huddle to stay under it. In weather such as this, though, it’s nearly useless; the rain seems to come at you from every angle, stirred up by the wind, and the asphalt swims with a couple inches of water. You regret wearing suede shoes – there’s no way you’ll get these stains out.

“It was a typing day, then?”

“Hmm?”

Conrad nods at your calves, now shiny with rainwater. “You’re wearing a skirt. You don't wear skirts in the lab.”

“Oh.” Something warm thrills in your chest at the knowledge that he’s taken notice. “Yes. Reports to write. Forms to sign. Any excuse to dress up, you know…”

“So the day hasn’t been a complete write off. Since you got to… dress up.”

It’s not necessarily vanity – you just like the feeling of putting yourself together in the morning. Of matching your shoes to your hat, or coordinating your lipstick with your mood. Some of the techs and more than a few of the privates make fun of you for it, jeeringly calling you nicknames like Scientist Barbie or Private Monroe. Even those who are nicer about it have begun calling you ‘ doll’ and, in true military fashion, the nickname is near-permanent.

“I did.” A jeep rolls by and you have to pull your feet back to avoid getting splashed. “And now I’m kind of regretting it.”

“Oh come on, doll. It’s just a bit of rain.”

You don’t mind when Conrad calls you doll. His accent curls it a little, makes it less leering and more affectionate. He gets this look to his eyes, a puppy-dog kind of expression you’re glad hasn’t been carved away by the horrors Monarch subjects you to every day.

“You’re not going out tonight? Weaver thought the two of you would make good money destroying those transplant recruits, the ones from the base off the coast of British Columbia.”

“Not tonight. Figured I would give someone else the chance to win for once.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Thoughtful? No, no – I’m stoic, remember? Rugged. You can’t slander my name like that. I just want to bide my time to make them complacent.”

You laugh; the look Conrad shoots you is unimpressed, his mouth turned down in a pout, but you can see the slightest curl of amusement behind his eyes. “Sorry,” your fingers wander with a mind of their own, pushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead. “It’s just hard to take you seriously when you’re all wet.”

“It’s raining,” he deadpans. “You’re wet. We’re both wet. ‘Wet’ is neutral at this point.”

The wind howls as if summoned, syphoning the rain into the collar of your blouse. Your nylons are soaked through, the hem of your skirt so saturated that it clings to your calves. His shirt is equally wet, slippery under your hand when you lean into his chest to muffle another laugh. Conrad tucks himself closer still, scooting up the bench so that you are half wrapped up in the circle of his arms, as if he means to shield you from the rain with his body instead. His left hand, the one not holding the umbrella, threads through one of yours and draws it under the lapel of his jacket, tight to the space just under his heart.

The bus’s headlights cut through the rain a little ways ahead. A twinge of disappointment stirs in your belly as it approaches. As cold and wet as you are, there is something nice about being this entangled.

Conrad ushers you to your feet under the pretence of keeping you under the umbrella, his hand riding low on your back, just shy of friendly territory. You don’t think it’s intentional, though – you suspect that, like yourself, he is an audience to his own body, watching it respond to yours unconsciously.

The inside of the bus is superheated compared to the weather outside. You’re the only passengers – it’s a weekend, so everyone is probably already in bed or playing pool at the base pub. You lead Conrad to the very back of the bus by his index finger, looped around your pinky. You think it’s too intimate, to try and hold his hand outright, so you settle for this, if only for the excuse to keep touching him.

A cassette tape soothes through the bus’s radio; new records and a decent radio signal are nearly impossible to come by on the base, meaning your only lifeline to pop culture comes in the form of your twice-monthly trips off base and the occasional recon mission abroad. This tape is probably a couple years old; you don’t recognize the voice or melody.

Water pools under the umbrella where it lies between Conrad’s feet, spilling out along the grooves in the bus’s rubber floor. You shift in your seat and Conrad’s knee is quick to follow yours, so he never loses the weight of you against his leg. “I’m dreaming of a hot shower right now,” you sigh. “Dry clothes – what a luxury. When I get back state-side I’m moving to the desert where I’ll never be this damp again.”

“Area 51, then?”

“No. Somewhere completely, utterly boring. Adjunct professor, maybe. University of Arizona.”

“Hmm. I’m not convinced. I give you three months before you’re crawling back to the jungle to take more of those little smears or slices or whatever they’re called.”

“I would be a great professor, thank you very much.”

“Of course you would.” His fingers trail under your sleeve, admiring the skin over your pulse point. “You’d have a full class every semester, I reckon.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Though the demographic might be a little skewed.”

“Ah. Business students looking for an easy grade.”

He laughs. “Not quite. I was thinking something along the lines of teenage boys making excuses to come to your office hours. At least, I would, um… I, well…”

“Oh.” The bus rocks as it eases over a speedbump. Conrad winces, looking a little regretful at his revealing joke. It’s maybe the most blatant he’s ever been with his affections for you. You imagine for a smooth talker like himself, it must be difficult to be tongue-tied.

Taking pity, you try to move on. “The hot shower might be a pipe dream at this point. I’ll be lucky if the water is lukewarm in the barracks.”

His shoulder bumps yours when he sinks backward into his seat. “A perk of being so indispensable: private bathroom.”

“Ugh! I hate you right now. I actually really do.”

“The hot water runs out quickly, if it makes you feel better.”

“Well if you’re only one man, that’s not an issue. Twenty, all in one bunk… The stuff of nightmares.”

Neither of you acknowledges the fact that you work with real, living nightmares on a daily basis. Nightmares with teeth and acid drool. Instead, you trace the side seam of his jeans with your pinky finger.

The bus groan under the weight of the storm outside as the first flash of lightning tears through the sky.

Conrad watches you watch him. An understanding yawns in the narrowing space between you, grown heavy and swollen with a latent charge that needles your skin. Your whole body thrums; for all the discomfort - the tight chest, the hammering heart - you think you'll find relief in him, in his mouth, like a lightning rod.

“You could always join me,” he says slowly.

“Mhm,” you mumble. “I could.”

“It’s… and after, with two bodies in one bed… much warmer than the barracks.”

“Much.”

“Don’t even need to worry about dry clothes.” His nose brushes your cheek.

“Because we won’t be wearing any.”

“Exactly.”

The bus bounces off a pothole. The two of you collide inelegantly, shoulders and chins bashing, fingers scrabbling in each others’ clothes as you both nearly slide out of your seats. It shocks you both into a proper seated position, backs ramrod straight, eyes forward, your hands tangled in a knot.

You roll to a stop outside of the private quarters – Conrad’s stop. Yours is two more away at the end of the loop.

“The offer still stands,” he says gruffly, not looking at you. He peels himself off the velour seat slowly, making a show of shaking out his coat.

“Don’t forget your umbrella.”

He waves it away. The spell over you seems to have been broken; there is a significant arch to his shoulders that exudes displeasure. “You’ll need it. It’s a longer walk to the barracks from the bus stop than it is here.”

He climbs off the bus, leaving you reeling and a little lonely. You watch him trudge through the rain toward the private lodging complex where the higher-ranked staff live. Not quite it's own house – closer to a dormitory than anything – but he gets his own room and bed.

It’s a short journey to the next stop, only a couple minutes’ drive, and you spend it stewing. These barracks are for the soldiers and labourers; there’s a gravel path connecting their courtyard to the private quarters’. The lab staff’s housing has no such thing – it was built almost as an afterthought, right against the edge of the bluff.

You descend from the bus and start the walk back toward the private housing.

You find Conrad’s name on the list outside his building and dial him. The intercom rings and rings and rings, so long that you start to get nervous and steel yourself for what is sure to be a dreadful walk back.

His voice is rough, even through the tiny speaker. “Hello?”

“I–” You what? You find yourself at a loss for an answer. “We weren’t done talking.”

“Doll? Jesus, one–” the intercom cuts out. You shuffle your weight from one foot to the other, your hands gone cold and numb.

Conrad is wearing a dry shirt and a pair of gingham-print boxers, and his hair stands up at awkward angles, half-dry already. “Did you walk?”

“Only one stop.”

“Come inside you silly thing.” He corrals you through the front door and down the hall, toward his room. You’re not sure if this housing is co-ed – despite the recent push to allow women equal employment, military organisations (particularly private ones) tend to be quite exclusionary – so you try to keep your voice low, lest you get caught.

“Take your jacket off. Take everything off, actually, you’re going to freeze to death.”

You laugh. Your jacket joins his over the back of a chair – standard issue, plain teakwood beside a matching desk. “I thought that was what the shower was for.”

“Tell me you didn't just come here for a shower.”

“No. I was promised a warm bed, too.”

His eyes soften just the faintest bit. “Ah, yes. Understandable.”

His fingers start on the top button of your blouse, watching your face for any signs of reticence. “Come along, little doll,” he murmurs, drawing you backward toward the ensuite. “Let’s get you warm.”

It only occurs to you that you left his umbrella on the bus the next morning.

#james conrad x reader #james conrad x female reader #james conrad x y/n #wrote this almost entirely in the notes app on my phone at work #i think you can kinda tell lmao

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marthawrites · 2 years ago

Text

A Game of Chase

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 5.7k+

Can be read as a stand alone, but reads best as pt 2 to Pretty Girl

About: You and your best friend go out to a local event. While there, Aemond, surprisingly, makes an appearance. With quick wit you pretend like it's your first time meeting. Equally quick and curious, he plays along. A game of chase ends up with some unexpected aftershocks.

Includes: About half plot and porn. Explicit sexual content! Rough!Aemond with themes of jealousy, possessiveness, and obsession. Sexual/tension, fingering, blowjob, p in v, and a sweet ending.

Note: Hello lovely reader! I had to return to this AU - just had to! One day I will learn to not be a wordy bitch but today is not that day. Reader is nondescript and implied to be 21+ due to alcohol consumption. As always, it is my highest hope that you enjoy this story! ♥

The city below sparked with life in every corner and lane. You leaned on the balcony's railing and looked over the last remains of sunset: spilled watercolors across a slowly dimming sky. As the last rays of sun disappeared, spring's chill swirled through the air making you wish you wore a jacket over your black evening dress.

"Christ. If we're out here any longer my nipples are gonna jab through this dress," your best friend, Rebecca, said with a noticeable shiver. "Shit, girl! Let's go inside." She hooked an arm through yours and turned to guide you both inside where it was much warmer. She looked gorgeous tonight in a mauve dress, silver heels, and silver jewelry. It all accented the lovely hue of her hair and skin; strands of hair loose to frame her classic face. Her seemingly effortless femininity always had you jealous. She was much more "girly girl" than you, and you relied on her often.

"No leather jackets and no jeans! And oh my God none of your combat boots! This is a formal event. Not one of your creepy bonfire circles with gas station beer." Rebecca had told you earlier with a dramatic roll of her eyes, humor clear on her face. "Who knows. Maybe you'll find someone to put your last hook up to shame," she winked.

There was no way you weren't going to tell her about Aemond. Except, much to her dismay, you didn't tell her tell her; just the bare bones of it. You met a guy through work, hit it off, and ended up getting laid after he took you out.

She wanted the deets. You were keeping your mouth shut. She hated you.

You didn't even mention his name! With it being unique you knew she'd do some serious digging – and you already did. Local cryptids had a bigger digital footprint than him. Considering the day and age, maybe it should have been a red flag… Bec wouldn't let you live that down.

"Will you shut up about that?" You laughed. "Okay okay. I'll skip my favorite jacket and boots too. Only, and only, because I just got a fresh pedi. You can take my lipstick and eyeliner out of my cold dead hands though," you threatened.

"Those are your trademarks and we both know it. Besides, you look hot with it. Black dress and… black heels too. Your strappy ones!" You let her pick your outfit. When it was time to leave you looked good.

Bec was the only person who could play with you like a human barbie. You two went through high school together – and all the awkwardness that brought – and even college. You'd been through thick and thin and you loved her more than anyone else. You two even used each other to learn how to kiss. A truly fun and silly experience in hindsight.

This event happened twice a year. Music was huge in the area. More specifically, classic music. The university had one of the best programs in the country and was widely respected for it. At a young age your love for the violin blossomed into something truly spectacular. While it fell to the back burner during college, it remained a cherished hobby. Bec's skill was her voice. It earned her lead soprano. She was ethereal. Listening to her in the choir – whether part of the group, doing a solo, or singing with any of the other leads – was something to behold.

"I'm so glad you were able to come out tonight. It just wouldn't be the same without you," you told her as you both walked away from the bar with drinks in hand.

"Trust. I wouldn't miss it. Hubs can handle things for one night," she laughed even as her eyes rolled in feigned annoyance. She smirked and sipped her beverage.

Everyone seemed to be dressed in their finest. Dresses, suits, and glittering jewelry sparkled beneath the ornate lighting. Various perfumes and colognes hung in the air to create an atmosphere of intimacy. Some of the attendees looked young enough to have just graduated high school while others were grayed and wrinkled with time. The common thread of everyone was their love for music. It was truly a treat.

"I'm constantly shocked at how young the freshmen look every year. Look at them. Babies!" You exclaimed, tilting your head in the direction of a small group of friends who probably couldn't even buy alcohol yet. It prompted you to your drink; an accidental gulp instead of a sip.

In the theme of the event, music played over the speakers which seemed to bring everyone closer.

You two made your way to a bar table by the facade window. The soft lighting and twinkling accents brought out a pink in both of your cheeks that only fine liquor could coax.

"I wish you'd tell me more about your mystery man! Honestly I'm starting to think it was that cute coworker of yours who I like to make eyes at. He's a blusher! You know you could tell me if it was him, right?" She teased you easily.

You gasped. "Oh, wow! You truly have so little faith in me? I wouldn't hook up with your boyfriend," you laughed, unable to keep your mock shock up for long. "You know, it's starting to be more fun holding this over your head than actually giving you all the dirty details." You chased the thin straw of your drink, flashing her a tauntingly playful expression.

She'd just opened her mouth to retort when something else caught her attention. "Oh my God no way," she slammed her free hand atop the table in surprise. "I didn't think he'd come! Here I thought he was way too cool and too busy to make an appearance."

You snorted a laugh as Bec started waving an arm to beckon him over. "Another boyfriend? Sheesh." You teased. She was happily married and you only liked to flick her shit.

"Hey! Yeah, you! I'm so glad you came. Come over here and meet my girl. Y/N, this is Aemond. Aemond, this is Y/N."

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

Bec kept talking, explaining how she knew both of you. You, her best friend since high school. Him, a piano enthusiast who'd taken the university's classes multiple times purely for pleasure. Her voice droned. You heard none of it. Not with Aemond standing there, hand in one of his pockets, drink in the other, looking like that.

Was it even legal for a man to look so fucking good? He looked absolutely stunning. The three-piece suit he donned had to be specially tailored for him because there was no way a regular suit could fit him like that. Black, charcoal, and deep green; it made his naturally silver-white hair and fair skin all the more stark. The subtle pinstripes of his pants and coat elongated his already tall frame, and the tip of his pointed shoes were in a single direction: you.

With Bec introducing, you had fleeting seconds to decide how you'd react to this. "Aemond," you said his name like it was the first time you'd tested it on your tongue. "Nice to meet you.” You sipped to hide smirking lips. Quiet mischief danced behind your eyes. ‘Play with me,’ they said. ‘You feeling it?’ they taunted.

“Hmm,” Aemond hummed while looking over you like he might have recognized you from somewhere. “I thought perhaps we had a class together. But, I don’t think so. Those aren’t pianist hands,” he said, tiny dimples betraying his restrained smirk.

“Ha!” Bec all but snorted. “No. No no no. She does not. She’s a ranger of our lovely national park and she plays the fiddle for Bigfoot.”

Aemond blinked, taken back.

“What the hell, Bec!” You blushed, embarrassment waving up in you like a tide. “You can’t just go telling people that all willy-nilly!” Despite the embarrassment, you laughed, as did Rebecca, and some of the palpable tension between you and Aemond melted. Perhaps she’d done you two tricksters more of a favor than you realized.

“This is Bigfoot country, is it not? I’m into cryptids,” Aemond replied smoothly. “Wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it tonight. But, now I’m glad I did,” he added in that same tone, taking an extra moment to glance over you appreciatively. “Becca’s hard to miss, but it was you who called me over here from across the floor.”

You arched a brow at his forwardness. “Wow. Uhm… I didn’t notice you at all,” you quipped cheekily before taking the last swill of your beverage.

Bec rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, Aemond. You’re gonna have to try harder than that. My girl here isn’t quite so easy.”

A genuine smile flashed across his features to brighten his eye. “Right. I’ll have to try harder for that one,” he said amusingly.

“Well. I feel a second one calling my name. Catch you later, Becs,” you said before turning, doing your absolute best (and somehow succeeding) to not flick another glance to the Targaryen tech giant who stood tall and wonderfully imposing next to your best friend. Would he still smell like clean laundry as he did the last time you two were together? Or would he perhaps carry the faintest aromas of shared perfumes, cigarette smoke, and cool night spring air? You dared not glance over your shoulder. You couldn’t be certain, but you swore his gaze trailed after you until you disappeared into the crowd.

An hour passed and you didn’t see either of them. The crowd was growing looser; people mingled like old friends. Karaoke replaced the overhead music and with it brought a fresh batch of excitement and silliness. The entire vibe of the place slowly shifted and you found yourself happily chatting with strangers like they were long lost college, or even high school, friends.

It was during that occasion you finally caught sight of him again. You were buzzed – happy – talking to a dark haired man with a dazzling smile. Each time he did his entire face lit up and sent the corners of his eyes crinkling. He was playing the charm game very well. If you didn’t already have secret plans to leave with Aemond, he very well might have talked you out of your pretty black dress. Aemond didn’t know that, of course, and when you could still see him at the edge of your peripheral you knew the little game just went up a notch.

Another hour passed in the blink of an eye. Bec had to leave – turns out her hubs couldn’t handle everything on his own for a night. The dark-haired man, while attractive and sweet, wasn’t what you had in mind. Once you finally managed to slide away from him you sat at the bar. You’d been standing most of the night and your feet were starting to ache in the heels you rarely wore. The bartender handed you your final drink for the night. You sat alone. Relaxed. Content to people watch as the event resembled more of a high-end bar at this hour.

Again, from the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond linger just there. Just at the edge of your vision. Playing. Teasing – a silent stalk. However, you pretended like you didn’t. You slowly traced the rim of your glass, attention elsewhere. With one leg crossed over the other you leisurely bounced your foot at the ankle, the heel of your shoe tapping against the heel of your foot. Quiet. Confident. Even if Aemond hadn't already known you he would have been drawn to you. It was the tiny knowing smirk at the outermost edge of your mouth that really called to him. ‘I see you,’ it said. ‘What are you going to do?’ it purred.

“Is this seat taken?” Aemond’s smooth voice came from beside you.

With a shake of your head you answered, “it wasn’t. But I think it is now.” Your pretty eyes lingered over him and you just now noticed the three headed dragon tassel he wore on his collar. The buttons of his cuffs were the same three headed dragon. Half of his hair was pulled back and secured into a bun at the back of his head, and you wanted nothing more than to loosen it and let the strands fall over your hand.

“Good,” he all but purred, leaning in a little closer than was truly necessary. “Hm… I don’t know what it is about you, pretty girl, but there’s something about you that keeps pulling me in.”

“Bold of you to say to someone you’ve just met,” you replied through a laugh, giving him a sly side glance from beneath your lashes.

“Perhaps,” he said quickly, leaning on the bar as he stood between you and the empty stool at your side. “But, I think you’ve been eyeing me all night too. Unable to truly lose track of me in this crowd,” his voice was a low rumble and it sent a shudder of excitement all up and down your spine.

“What makes you think that? This is the first time I’ve seen you since Bec introduced us. Honestly, I thought you left.”

He chuffed amusedly. “Sure, okay,” he started. “Is that why you can’t quite look me in the eyes? Or why you let that man paw all over you once you knew I was there? Or… why you only came here once it was empty and I was there?” He tilted his head slightly, just slight, as he spoke; smug condescendence angled his jaw.

It took everything you had to steady the excitement in your voice. “You’re very observant, Aemond,” his name dripped like honey from your tongue. “What do you plan to do with all those observations, hm?”

“Lots,” he answered lowly, triumphantly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Giddiness bubbled up from your core. Before you could stop yourself, you answered, “no. I don’t think so.” The change of his expression filled you with victory. This was your game and you were still playing by your own rules even if that meant making them up as you went. “Here is my offer, Mr. Targaryen. I’m leaving. You will give me your number and if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll text you my address.” The pupil of his good eye expanded; black swallowing violet. You wanted to cheer. He wasn’t expecting this, you thought. “Take it or leave it. If you leave it… I have another number to fall back on.”

“Give me your phone,” he said, posture and jaw tight. You did. He tapped his thumbs a few times on the screen before handing it back.

As soon as you had your phone back you stood. “That’s what I thought,” you told him softly, smugly, not giving him a chance to reply before walking towards the exit.

Game over. You won.

Truthfully you would have left with him immediately, but your house was a mess and you weren't going to invite him over to this. It took perhaps twenty minutes to give the entry way, living room, and kitchen a quick clean sweep. From there, it took maybe half the time to shove everything out of place in your bedroom in your closet. You’d properly tidy later. But now? No. The only thing on your mind was the look on Aemond’s face when you laid out your terms for the night.

You texted him your address and nothing else. Now, it was your turn to wait.

Barely ten minutes passed before a knock sounded at your door. Peeking out from behind a curtain you saw it was Aemond. A secret smile plastered on your face and you wondered what he’d been doing for the last half hour. It took at least fifteen minutes to get to the event hall, so he must have already been out driving in the general direction. Either that, or, he broke every traffic rule to get to you in record time. You opened the door only to be shoved back inside, door slamming closed behind both of you. A sound between a gasp and strangled moan broke from you beneath his kiss as his hands were all all over you at once; sliding, groping, pressing.

“Did you have fun with your little game?” He asked hot against your mouth. You were trapped between the back of your couch and his looming form. The furniture was the first thing to get in the way of your eager bodies.

Your breath shuddered, chest rising and falling above the black neckline of your dress. “Aemond,” you managed to whisper hoarsely. Nothing else formed on your tongue before it was against Aemond’s for a second time.

“I could have had that entire fucking hall dismissed in an instant. You know that, right?” You didn’t ask how or why because you didn’t fucking care. Not now. Not with his mouth on yours, and his hands squeezing your hips and waist, his thigh between your legs. “And then you force me to stalk you around the crowd. Watch you flirt so easily with other men. Watch weaker men stare after you like sniveling piglets.” His teeth sunk into your neck until you yelped, body squirming against his.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, head buzzing with a hundred different things all at once. Heat flooded your core. Thrill webbed throughout all your senses until you were keenly aware of even the tips of your fingers, toes, and ears. He bit again, softer this time, making his way down the length of your neck to your collarbone. “I didn’t think you’d play along for as long as you did,” you simpered, hands rubbing up the sides of his smooth face until your fingers were tangled in his silken hair.

Both his hands pressed up your ribs until the weight of your breasts sat upon them. You couldn’t see from your angle, but he was biting and sucking little hickeys all down your skin. “Do you think that dark-haired man would have tried as hard as he did… pathetic, really… if you were already marked by my teeth, hm?” As if to make his point even clearer, he drew in a mouthful of your soft cleavage and worked it until you yelped, forcefully pulling his head back with a wet pop. A dark bruise was already forming; the deepest one yet.

“What the hell? You’re fucking crazy,” you moaned, breathlessly looking down at him, arousal turning your blood to fire. “Is that what this is about? Me flirting with that guy?” Your face bloomed with heat.

“If I knew you were going to be there you’d have been on my arm the whole night. Fun as it was, pretty girl, I wanted to gouge the eyes out of every man who looked at you for too long.” He was hard inside his pants, painfully trapped inside the confines of the fine material.

Aemond didn’t strike you as the possessive type. It shocked you. Even scared you a little. “Holy shit, Aem,” you said, trying to catch your breath from the assault of his hands, mouth, and intentions. “I just thought we were having fun. With you only being here for a visit I didn’t think it was anything serious, ya know? Fuck.” Your hands fell from his hair to instead push yours back.

“At first I thought so too,” he replied, voice and body language softer now. “I was immediately drawn to you. As soon as you opened the door at your ranger cabin in your dorky uniform...,” he kissed you again, gentle and easy. He felt you melt into and against him. “Distance doesn’t matter to me. In another time my family would be kings,” he smirked, holding your face between his hands to read it.

“If you are a king or a prince –” you teased, playfully mocking the old timey titles, “ – then let me be your queen or your princess.” Your hands trailed down the sides of his biceps, across the front of his chest, down the plane of his abdomen. His intensity could surely frighten other women away, but you found yourself drawn to it. A fire burned beneath his skin and you wanted nothing more than to feel its heat against your own.

Aemond read you well, eyes squinting down at you as you traced and caressed over his clothed form. Something in his gaze shifted, then. A game of his own, you recognized.

His turn.

“Would he have been able to excite you like this?” Your dress had bunched up high around your thighs and he took full advantage of it. With his question he trailed the tips of his fingers over the front of your clothed cunt. Your warmth tingled his fingertips. “Could he have gotten this pussy so wet?” He asked, slipping his touch beneath the front of your panties to your bare folds. “Hm?” He inquired, the pads of two easily sliding up your slit and to your clit where he rubbed small, firm circles. You were soaked.

You jolted, legs tightening. “Aem…,” you warbled, back arching. Your body was desperate for him. One of your hands lowered to the wrist he was using to tease you, eyes looking up at him in a silent plea. “No,” you answered. “He couldn’t.” You squeezed your hand around his wrist, then, urging his fingers to slide into you.

A satisfied growl rumbled in his throat at the combination of your admission and grip. “I didn’t think so…,” he cooed, following your touch as he pushed a long slender finger into your body. “I missed this pussy,” he admitted, bending his head to catch your pleased sigh in a kiss. He swirled and pressed along your walls, reveling in the way you felt around him and the muffled sounds you made.

By now your alcohol buzz was gone and you were entirely drunk on Aemond. He spun you in a whirlwind and you were at his mercy. It was when he pushed a second finger into you that you broke the kiss, unable to hold back the moan he pulled from you. “They feel so good…,” Aemond-drunk and pleasure-drunk; the night was just beginning.

“There,” he said as your eyes fluttered and struggled to stay even half open. “Cum on these fingers so we can take this pretty dress off.” He pumped both in and out of you with added fervor, now, relishing just how fucking wet you were. There was no denying or hiding the sloppy little sounds that came from between your thighs. Those, mixed with your continued pleasured whimpers, made for a delicious melody that made Aemond’s cock throb.

“O-oh..! Right there, just like that! Please…,” you whispered as if in prayer. Your hand squeezed tighter around his wrist as he fucked his fingers into you at that same wonderful angle and pace. Even without your pleas he could tell you were close. Your cunt squeezed around him a little tighter, hips squirming, grinding down on his hand for added pressure. You dipped your head into his chest, hips rolling with his pace, and it was when he squeezed a third inside you that you absolutely lost it. Orgasm washed over you in lovely waves of bliss. You trembled; walls clamped around him rhythmically. You panted. Blissed out and ready for another.

As soon as you came down from your natural high Aemond helped you out of your clothes. Dress, bra, panties. They were all tossed aside somewhere in your living room.

Then, it was your turn to help him out of his own clothing. “Fuck, you have beautiful tits,” he said as he stood in front of you in only his briefs. He bent down to lick and kiss over them appreciatively, holding the soft mounds in his hands.

You giggled at the tickling sensation it gave your sensitive skin. “My room is down this way,” you said with a tilt of your head, taking his hand and leading him through the kitchen, down a short hallway, and into your room. It was only illuminated by an essential oil diffuser which glowed with a soft pink. It steadily misted with a heady mix of oils.

Once there it was your turn to have your hands all over him. You trailed along every bit of him that you could. From his shoulders, to his arms, across the patch of hair along the center of his chest, and down his lean abdomen, until your fingers hooked beneath the hem of his briefs. You pushed him further into your room until the backs of his legs hit the outside of your bed.

Sitting on the edge he pulled you to him by your waist, coaxing you to stand between his parted legs. He unabashedly bit into the meat of your hip. One of his hands reached behind you to squeeze your asscheek, giving it a firm smack.

You jumped at the combination, goosebumps racing to the top of your skin. "My turn to make you feel good…," you grinned, tugging the bun at the back of his head so he was forced to look up at you. "How dare you look so fucking good in a suit. It's really not even fair. Pinstripes, really? And your three headed dragons? It should be me who is green with jealousy over all the women who were checking you out."

Whether you were merely teasing or being wholly serious, Aemond didn't care. You had taken control of the flow once again. He let you have it, let you hold onto the reins if only for a moment. He loved seeing you like this. The faintest hint of pink shone in his cheeks at your compliment.

Releasing his hair you sunk down to your knees. You kissed the flat of his abdomen, beneath his navel, nipping the skin there as your hands pulled the front of his briefs down. He groaned in relief when his cock finally sprang free. Too long had it been solid and trapped; the generous size of him aching to be released for longer than he cared to admit. "So big…," you praised, idly stroking him as you looked up at him.

Seeing you so eager on your knees snapped something in him, and any chance of playing nice broke as soon as your warm tongue swiped along the underside of his shaft. "That's right," he muttered through a pleased groan. "It's like you forgot how fucking good this cock made you feel. Making me play along with your silly game," he tutted, seizing a handful of your hair in his fist. "Parading around like you weren't already mine…," his voice dark, dangerous. "You need to be reminded, pretty girl. Of whose you are, and of how good only my cock can make you feel."

Your belly flipped at the change of his demeanor. The way his eye pulled you into the void of its blackness. You looked up at him like the little doe you were. With his help, and in a single shared motion, you raked his undergarment down his legs to throw it aside. His hand was still knotted in your hair and, using that, he pulled your mouth to his cock until he hit your gag reflex.

Instantly you choked. He fucking groaned as your throat constricted around him. Saliva pooled in your mouth. Your hands gripped over his thighs, fingernails digging into the lean muscle there. He lifted your head up only to do it once more; slower, more deliberate, savoring the sensation of your mouth around him for the first time. And a third time, too. After a moment both his hands lifted your head off him, smiling softly. It wasn't what you expected. It was the gentlest he'd been since arriving. "Too much? Or are you okay?"

It was the sincerity in which he spoke that made you want to slap him, kiss him, and jump on him. All at once. Instead of any of those, you laughed. You wiped away some smeared mascara from under your eyes and nodded, unable to stop laughing. "Surprising, yeah. But, I'm okay. Thanks for checking."

He smirked. That asshole. "Good," he replied, leaning back on one hand while spreading his legs wider apart. "You don't have to be easy with me."

You didn't have anything to say, simply scooted closer into him and looked up at him with those big doe eyes smeared with the night's makeup. You took him in your mouth once again – on your own terms this time. His hand rested lightly at the back of your head in an attempt to keep your hair from falling in your face. You sucked more of him in, then pulled back, plunging forward once again to swallow yet even more of his length.

A truly delectable groan rumbled out from Aemond's throat. He couldn't help it. Your mouth felt so fucking good. He looked down at you, glaring, while a pleasured grin spread across his face; the black of his eye making it all the more lecherous. "Fuck. 'M not gonna last long if you keep doing that."

"Good," you shot back in the same manner of his. "You deserve to cum for playing my silly little game." You didn't go easy on him. Lewd glugs and hot pants filled your room; his hisses and gasps accented the depravity. Saliva drooled helplessly from your mouth and made it all the more sloppy. When your hand moved to cup and massage along his balls you were surprised to feel those already coated in your saliva.

"I'm close… gonna be good and swallow me whole?" He moaned, length somehow getting even fucking harder if that was even possible.

You weren't stopping to say anything back. Your other hand gripped onto whatever wasn't in your mouth and stroked along him firmly, still rolling his sack in your other. He took that as a yes.

The would-be Targaryen prince erupted down your throat with a string of muttered curses and praises. His lean body flexed and shuddered, toes twitching and curling as he rode the waves of climax. His hand had never clenched your hair again, yet it fell heavily like it was tired from holding a fist. "Christ, woman," he breathed, glowing.

You stood and wiped the back of your hand across your mouth. "Yeah," you replied dreamily as you plopped onto your back atop the bed; grinning like the sloppy blowjob gave you as much pleasure as it did him. Or, perhaps it was merely pride.

Both of you stayed like that for a minute – catching your breath. He rolled over. Those slim hips fit easily between your thighs as his hands planted heavily beside your head. A sly grin graced his chiseled features.

"You're already hard again?"

"Can't help it, pretty girl. You're too sexy," he answered, lining himself up with your eager opening. He wasted little time in pushing into you, hissing at the sensation. "God you're so fucking wet from sucking me off."

The stretch of your body around his girth stole your breath. He stilled to let your walls accommodate his size. "You're right. How could I have forgotten how good this cock makes me feel?" You whined up at him, spine arching beneath him tantalizingly. You were more than slick enough for his intrusion, and now you were full. Absolutely full of him. Slowly, he pulled out. Easily, he pushed back in. Your breath turned ragged and quick, lovely pressure building in your core until it moaned out of your red-smeared lips. "Shit, yes," you whimpered, nails digging into his back.

Leaning up, Aemond grabbed both of your ankles in a single hand and threw them over a shoulder. The new angle sent him railing toward your belly button. His cockhead dragged against that deep, deliciously sensitive spot, over and over, your pussy hot and perfect for his ravaging. "Taking me sooo well…," he praised between slapping skin and your cries of bliss. The palm of his free hand pushed down and splayed wide over your low belly; claiming and intensifying your pleasure.

The added pressure sent fire blazing through your senses. Orgasm consumed you quickly and harshly, and you squeezed the sheets in tight fists as he fucked you through it. The edge of your vision blurred with ecstasy.

"Fuck, yes," Aemond panted, sweat glistening on his brow. "Feel so fuckin' good squeezing me like that." His length harded like iron yet again, balls tightening in preparation for a second release. His pace grew sloppier as he chased his high.

"Fill me up, Aem," you cooed up at him, nodding fervently. "Do it, fill me up." Your voice broke off into syllables and mutters, eyes desperate.

Hearing that was all he needed. He twitched inside you, spilling ropes of his seed deep and shallow alike inside your greedy cunt. Finally, with his firm chest heaving, he let go of your ankles and eased out of you. He flopped onto his back beside you, grinning like a fool. "Alright, babe, you're on water and cleaning duty this time."

You giggled. Actually giggled. "In a minute." You laid on your side and cuddled against him, laying your head on his chest – his heart thumping powerfully below your cheek. A contented silence settled over both of you. He stroked your hair, and you his torso. Once his pulse calmed you leaned up and smiled at him. "That was seriously amazing, the fuck?" you said with a satisfied blush. On your dresser was a pile of clean washcloths you forgot to put away. You used one on yourself and tossed another to Aemond. "Be right back." You put on a new t-shirt and underwear before leaving.

When you came back with water and snacks, Aemond was already browsing through your Netflix. "It's all murder docs and shitty reality tv," he teased.

"Oh shut up," you retorted, rolling your eyes. "Here I brought you snacks and you're talking shit."

"Thanks," he said appreciatively. When you laid by him it was his turn to cuddle into you.

Eventually you decided on a horror movie neither of you had seen but agreed looked either really good or hilariously bad.

He stayed the night, and there may or may not have been a third round before sleep finally settled over your pleasantly exhausted bodies.

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