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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 1: Welcome To A New Kind Of Tension]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “American Idiot” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“What do you think, should we kill ourselves now or later?” Rio is spinning his Beretta M9 around on his index finger. This is not advisable. He doesn’t care.

Your hands are gripping the skeletal latticework of the transmission tower, steel hot enough to burn you; no electricity hums in the power lines suspended above your heads. Your eyes are on the horizon, golden June sunlight over fields no one has planted. Weeds are growing up through the earth, feral and defiantly useless, reclaiming their land just like the deer are, and the rabbits and the opossums and the turtles and the squirrels and the doves. The reign of humanity is over. Now you’re prey animals too. “Let’s wait.”

“For what?”

“Maybe someone will save us.”

“Ain’t nobody coming, Chips!” Rio says. “We’re a hundred feet off the ground in the middle of nowhere, motherfucking Catawissa, Pennsylvania, and we haven’t run into anyone since that Amish family back in Lightstreet, and I wouldn’t count on them driving by in their horse and buggy to pick us up.”

“We’re about sixty feet off the ground.”

“Okay, Bob the Builder, why don’t you whip up a helicopter or something to get us out of here?” Rio’s M9 has one bullet left in it, yours has three, nowhere near enough. At the bottom of the tower is a swarm of fifty-four zombies; you’ve counted them twice. There are no cute euphemisms: walkers, biters, the infected. They were once people and now they’re not. They wear the vestiges of their former lives, like how those who believe in reincarnation see meaning in birthmarks: here you were stabbed, there you were kissed by your true love. They lurch and snarl and hiss in their professional attire, college t-shirts, Vans and Jordans, septum piercings, wedding rings. They decompose in a miasma of metallic blood and spoiled meat. Parker had been the last one to the transmission tower, and they grabbed him by the legs. Now they’re chewing the gristle off his bones: disconnected ligaments that swing like strands of cobwebs, scarlet threads of muscle. “Oh shit,” Rio says, looking down. “We’ve got a smart one.”

Most zombies don’t have the fine motor skills to climb, swim, or open doors, but every once in a while—just like out of every 5,000 or 10,000 or however many ordinary humans you’ll pull the lever on the genetic slot machine and get a Picasso or a kid who can score a 1600 on the SATs—you run into an overachiever. This zombie, a teenage boy with red hair and a blue plaid shirt, is slowly scaling the tower. He’s already ten feet off the ground.

Rio aims his M9, semiautomatic, packs a punch but won’t break your arm with the recoil. “Fuck off, Ed Sheeran!” He fires and misses; the bullet grazes the boy’s shoulder. He groans dramatically and asks you in defeat: “Will you take care of that, please?”

You pull your pistol out of your holster and lean away from the tower to get a better angle, holding onto the scaffolding with one hand. You feel Rio’s large fingers close around your wrist, ready to yank you back if you slip. You click off the safety with your thumb, peer through the front sight, aim and wait until you’re sure. It’s a headshot: shards of skull ricochet off steel beams, half-rotten brains spray out in a mist. The carcass plummets to the earth.

“All this horror, all this catastrophe.” Rio’s eyes, dark like a mineshaft, drift mischievously back to you. “We could…distract each other.”

He’s not serious; this is a game you play. “No thanks.”

“You don’t want to die a virgin.”

“I do if you’re the only other person up here.”

“You deny a condemned man his final wish?”

“We’re not dying,” you insist. “What about Sophie?”

��Sophie would understand given the circumstances. She would want me to be happy.”

“What if we have sex and then immediately thereafter get rescued? You’d be a cheater. You’d be consumed by guilt. You’d never be able to take me back to your parents’ doomsday prepper cult commune in bumblefuck Oregon to wait out the apocalypse in peace.”

“You’re going to appreciate those doomsday preppers when you’re eating Chef Boyardee out of a can instead of shuffling around as a reanimated corpse.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I will,” you muse. “So you agree we’re going to get off this tower somehow.”

Rio sighs and whistles a morose tune: what a shame. “You should have gone out with that Marine at Corpus Christi.”

You frown, repentant, wistful. There’s nothing on the horizon except fields and trees and black storm clouds of crows taking flight. “I was afraid of making a mistake.”

“And now look at you. About to die as pure as Pope Francis.”

“How did this happen?! We’re not idiots, we’re goddamn professionals!” You re-holster your M9. You’re still wearing your uniforms from when you went AWOL, stealing away from Saratoga Springs like rats from a sinking ship.

“I’ll tell you exactly how this happened. You let that loser Parker come with us even though I knew it was a bad idea—”

“I couldn’t just leave him there! He started crying!”

“And he had one job, which was to check the oil in the Humvee, and clearly he failed because…” Rio glances at his watch. “Approximately four hours ago, the engine started smoking and the whole thing died on us, so we had to get out and walk, like we’re pioneers or some shit, and then that hoard down there came out of nowhere, and the only place left to go was up. Freaking Parker. I could murder that guy.” An awkward pause. “I mean, the zombies beat me to it. But still.”

“He had two jobs. He was also carrying the extra ammo.”

“Don’t remind me.” Rio isn’t messing around with his M9 anymore. He’s contemplating it as the sun hovers just past noon, hot and shadowless. “How many bullets do you have left?”

“Two.”

“Good. Don’t use them.”

You look at him, this man you’ve known for over four years, this man you’ve traveled the world with. You’ve already gone so much farther than Oregon together. How is it possible that what was once a six hour flight is now a month-long journey that might kill you? “It’s not over yet, Rio.”

“Remember what you promised me.”

His hushed voice in the moonlit indigo of the Humvee the night you left Saratoga Springs: Don’t let me die alone. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to make it to Oregon.” Then you grin, sweltering summer air breathing over you, humid, heavy, the screeching of insects in the trees. “But if it comes to that, I’d be happy to shoot you first.”

Rio smiles as the zombies below growl and claw at the steel framework of the transmission tower. Flesh peels off their fingers until you can see the gore-stained white of their bones. “Don’t miss.”

“I rarely do.”

“Do you have any more packs of Cheddar Whales in your pockets or—?” He cuts off as he spots something in the distance. His eyes go wide, his jaw drops open. “What…what is that?!”

It’s an SUV, massive, dark blue, rumbling across the field in a dust storm of displaced earth. It’s headed straight towards you. There is someone standing up through the sunroof, short dark hair that whips wildly in the wind, binoculars. You can hear the engine revving and, faintly, Kanye West’s Gold Digger. As the SUV nears the tower, Sunroof Kid ducks inside and closes the hatch.

Rio explodes into hysterical, rapturous laughter. “Oh my God, we’re saved! We’re not going to die up here! Oh, thank you, Jesus, thank you. I’m never going to jack off on Sundays again.”

The SUV, still accelerating, plows through the mob of zombies. Severed limbs go flying; bones crunch and snap. There’s a woman driving, you can see now through the slightly tinted windows. She puts the monstrous vehicle and reverse and does another pass. Zombies paw futilely at the sides of the SUV, a Chevy Tahoe, as it turns out. They smack their open, soggy palms on the windows; they gnaw and lick at the bumpers and the wheel wells. The Tahoe circles to regain speed, the engine growling, a bear, a dragon, and barrels into the remaining ambulatory zombies. The hoard is now largely incapacitated. Rio is cheering and clapping his hands.

The Tahoe’s doors open, and your rescuers appear. There are two men wielding baseball bats: one with long dark curly hair, the other tall and blonde, and there’s something wrong with his face, the left side, though you are too far away to see clearly. They move rapidly through the battlefield of felled, moaning bodies, swinging their bats and crushing skulls. There’s another blonde guy, shorter, softer, pink with sunburn, wearing plastic sunglasses and a teal polo with a popped collar. He’s spinning a golf club in his right hand. He is followed out of the Tahoe by one last blonde, spindly and swift, stalking the perimeter with a compound bow, a quiver of arrows secured to his belt. Rio is singing along to Gold Digger, drumming his fists on the steel beams.

“Now, I ain’t sayin’ you a gold digger, you got needs

You don’t want a dude to smoke, but he can’t buy weed

You go out to eat, he can’t pay, y’all can’t leave

There’s dishes in the back, he gotta roll up his sleeves…”

The driver wriggles out of the Tahoe with some difficulty; she is seven or eight months pregnant. “Stay in the car,” Madame Driver tells someone inside as she slams the door shut. She’s holding a hammer and sets about euthanizing the zombies still squirming on the ground and gnashing their cracked teeth at her.

Golf Club says: “Jace, bro, that’s so embarrassing. You’re gonna let her do that?”

Curly—or, rather, Jace—shrugs. “Exercise is good for the baby.”

All three blondes respond at once in a chorus of appalled disapproval. Interestingly, your rescuers have British accents. From within the Tahoe, someone turns off the CD player. This is wise; noise tends to attract more zombies. Madame Driver, unaffected, puts her hammer through the eye socket of a former Arby’s employee.

Jace flings back: “She likes helping! It would be sexist to tell her she’s not allowed to!”

The Scarred Man looks up at you and Rio and salutes, two fingers glanced off his forehead. You begin climbing down the scalding rungs of the transmission tower to meet them.

“Oh fuck, Aemond, you gotta deal with this,” Golf Club says. He is holding a yowling zombie at arm’s length by the straps of its overalls. It’s tiny, maybe a kindergartener. “You know I can’t kill the little kid ones.”

The Scarred Man, Aemond, turns to him. He’s wearing a maroon Harvard University t-shirt. “You have to learn how to do things yourself. I might not always be around.”

Golf Club scoffs. “As if I’d outlive you.”

“Go on. You can do it,” Aemond says. Behind him, more people are emerging from the Chevy Tahoe: Binoculars Buddy, a slight girl with shifting, watchful eyes, a blonde woman in a billowing sundress and with a burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

Golf Club is still struggling. “Aw, Aemond, man, he’s got light-up sneakers!”

Jace strides over irritably. “Aegon, you’re so fucking useless…” He kicks the miniature zombie to the dirt, raises his bloodied baseball bat, and brings it down on a skull that disintegrates like an overripe Halloween pumpkin. “You’re welcome.”

“Get bit, you poodle.”

Rio hits the ground first, his boots thumping against untamed earth. Aemond sets his baseball bat aside and reaches out to offer assistance as you dangle from a white-hot steel beam. “No,” Rio tells him roughly. “Back up.”

Aemond shows his palms and complies, retreating several paces. Rio helps you down. Now you can see Aemond’s face perfectly. There’s a relatively fresh wound running down the left half of his face, the violent red of burgeoning scar tissue, clear stitches; his eye has been sutured shut. But that’s not why you’re staring at him. His other eye is a focused, hypnotic blue, his short blonde hair disheveled. He keeps touching his chin, a nervous tick. Immediately, there’s something you like about him. He gives you the impression of someone who has gotten very good at hiding how afraid he is. Aemond looks away from your gaze, thinking you’re horrified by his injury. Then, reluctantly, he comes back. There’s forbidden temptation the lines of his ravaged face, a curiosity, a hesitation.

“Thank you for saving us,” you say to your rescuers, tearing your attention from Aemond. It’s not easy. “That was really, really cool of you, and we know you didn’t have to do it. So thanks.”

“Yeah,” Rio adds. “Sorry your Tahoe is covered in guts now.”

Aemond turns to confer silently with his companions, then asks you: “Where are you headed?”

“Odessa, Oregon.”

He nods. “We’re going to California.”

“NorCal,” Jace says, holding his baseball bat across his shoulders. “Bay Area.”

“Are you two together?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” Rio says, misunderstanding the question.

“Not like that,” you clarify. “He has a wife and baby, that’s what’s in Oregon.”

“So you’re single,” Aegon says, grinning toothily. His fellow travelers—family? friends? classmates? a combination thereof?—grumble and roll their eyes.

“Um, I mean, yeah, technically…?”

“Aemond’s also single,” Madame Driver informs you, relishing the chaos.

“He’s single but deformed and traumatized,” Aegon says. “I am mentally uninjured.”

You chuckle awkwardly. Your eyes, by their own volition, flick back to Aemond. He peers down at the ground then up at you again, smiling, a little sheepish, a little wicked.

Aegon groans, swinging his golf club around. “Man, come on.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Aemond replies.

“No, it’s just right there, all over your fucked up face.”

Madame Driver feigns a sympathetic frown at Aegon. “How sad. Guess you won’t have anyone to give your syphilis to.”

“I don’t have syphilis,” Aegon tells you. Then, to the others: “I can’t be the only single guy! It’s pathetic!”

“I’m single,” Archery Team says brightly.

“You’re like twelve. You don’t count.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Are you Army?” Aemond asks you and Rio.

“Navy,” Rio replies. “We were stationed at Saratoga Springs in upstate New York.”

Aemond is fascinated. “You’re deserters?”

“What are you gonna do about it, Brit Boy?” Rio says. Aemond blinks at him. Aegon cackles, drawing huge circles in the air with his golf club.

“Everyone’s deserting,” you explain diplomatically.

“They were going to evacuate the base and send everyone left into New York City,” Rio says. “Fuck that, we’d heard things, we weren’t about to go on some suicide mission. We weren’t even in a combat unit for Christ’s sake, we’re Seabees.”

“You’re what?” Aemond asks, puzzled.

“We do construction. That’s why we were still at the base. If they’re putting us on the front lines, the situation is truly desperate. I’m not going in the meatgrinder. I’m not gonna be like those Hitler Youth kids sent to Russia.”

Aegon is squinting behind his sunglasses, truly lost. “Huh?”

“We should go west together,” Aemond suggests. He’s attempting to sound casual.

“I thought we didn’t want to travel with strangers, Aemond,” Jace says pointedly, mocking him. “I thought they couldn’t be trusted, Aemond. I thought they might slit our throats and steal our Tahoe in the dead of night, Aemond.”

“We’re useful!” Rio bargains. “We can shoot things!”

Aegon is very confused. “I thought you did construction.”

“Everyone has to go through basic training,” Aemond tells him impatiently, watching you.

“She got the Marksmanship Medal,” Rio says, grinning, proud.

“A lot of people get that,” you demur immediately.

“We can give you guys weapons training,” Rio continues. “You seem…like you probably don’t know about guns. Like you read a lot of books.” He gestures to Aegon. “Except that one.”

Aegon snickers, unoffended, still swinging his golf club around. “I don’t read books. I read maps.”

“Okay, lets do it,” Aemond says. “We’ll stick together across the Midwest and split up before we get to the Pacific. That puts us at ten people, and there’s safety in numbers.”

“Why do you get to make all the decisions?!” Jace demands. “Who signed that fucking contract? I didn’t consent to those terms.”

“Because that’s what Criston told us the last time the phones worked,” Aegon replies smugly. “He said Aemond’s in charge. So he is. If you want to find your way to California on your own, you’re welcome to try.”

“Who’s Criston?” you ask.

“Our fake dad,” Aegon says.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

“No, our mom is still married to our dad, he just sucks.”

“He does suck,” Archery Team confirms.

Rio tells you: “Hey, Chips, you’re standing in a torso.”

“Am I?” You look down. Your boots are buried to the ankles in the rotting gore of a bare midsection with only one limp arm still attached. You step out of it and shake off the bits of decomposing organs. “Gnarly. Thanks.” You spot Parker’s backpack containing the extra ammunition, pick it up out of the dirt, and throw it over your shoulders.

“Chips?” Aemond says. “Like…chocolate chips?”

“No, like woodchips. I’m a carpenter. I mean, I was a carpenter, I guess. That’s what I did in the Navy. Some people call the carpenters Chips.”

“I was an electrician,” Rio says. “So clearly, now that all the power is down, that turned out to be a fantastic career path.” Then he formally introduces himself. “Hi everyone, I’m Rio.”

Aegon perks up. “Oh, like the Rio Grande.”

Rio pretends to be scandalized. “Wow, racist.”

“So racist,” you agree.

Aegon’s chubby pink face fills with horror. “No, wait, I didn’t…um…”

Rio laughs and taps the nametag on his chest, black letters stitched over green camouflage: Osorio.

“His first name’s Bryan,” you say. “But no one calls him that.”

“My mom calls me Bryan. Sophie calls me Bryan.”

Aemond points at his companions, one after the other. “That’s my brother Aegon and my sister Helaena. Jace and Luke are our cousins. Then Baela and Rhaena are their girlfriends. Well, Baela…she’s kind of a fiancée. But there’s no official ring yet.”

Jace says: “Unfortunately, all the jewelry stores were looted on account of the apocalypse.”

“And I’m Daeron,” Archery Team says buoyantly, waving. Then he shields his eyes as he notices something at the edge of the field. “Oh, guys…?”

There are zombies approaching with clumsy, staggering strides, only a few now, but more will follow. That’s the thing; they are in seemingly endless supply. It’s easy to get too comfortable with them, to think of them as slow and mindless, even comical, even pitiful. But they can surprise you. And it only takes one bite to become just like them.

“Time to return to the Tahoe,” Baela announces, waddling towards the driver’s seat. Rhaena climbs in the passenger’s side. The rest of you pile into the back. The SUV has nine seats; Aegon crouches on the floor without being asked to. He’s unfolding a map he pulled from the pocket of his salmon-colored shorts and laying it flat across Rio’s knees so everyone can see. Baela turns the key in the ignition and the Tahoe rumbles to life. You spot a few red gas cans under the seats. If you can’t find more when that runs out—siphoning it out of other vehicles, stumbling across a gas station that is miraculously not drained dry—you’ll be walking, biking, or skateboarding to the West Coast. Or embracing the Amish lifestyle with a horse and buggy.

“We were planning to swing by Fort Indiantown Gap,” you tell Aemond. He twists around in his seat to look at you, that absorbed crystalline blue gaze. “That’s where we were headed before our Humvee broke down. It’s a National Guard Training Center. It’s probably cleaned out like everywhere else, but if it’s not…we might be able to find some guns and ammo there.”

“Where is it?”

“An hour south of here, just outside of Harrisburg.”

Baela is watching Aemond in the rearview mirror. He gives her a nod. “How do I get there?” Baela asks you.

“South on Route 42. Did you see the signs on your way in…?”

“Yup. Got it.” Baela steers the Tahoe across the field, kicking up a vortex of parched soil. She intentionally runs down four zombies before swerving left onto a two-lane road. Then she turns up the volume on the CD player: War Pigs by Black Sabbath. “It’s a mixtape,” she informs you.

Aegon points to southcentral Pennsylvania on a map of the United States of America, highway arteries and local route veins. “We’re here,” he says, sliding around on the floor of the Tahoe as Baela drives. His index finger traces the path; it’s a precarious balance between avoiding the most heavily populated areas and still having access to the necessary trappings of civilization: supplies to scavenge, roads to follow, buildings to take shelter in. “We’ll stop by Fort Indiantown Gap and then head northwest, thread the needle between Pittsburgh and Cleveland, stay south of Detroit and Chicago, cut across Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, that top part of Utah, then go our separate ways in Nevada. Oh my God, it’s just like the Oregon Trail! Do you guys remember that game?! Fording rivers, getting dysentery, hunting bison to extinction?” He starts humming the theme song.

Jace smirks, chomping on a Twizzler. “Hope you don’t die of a snakebite or something. That’d be awful.”

Aegon ignores him and refolds the map. “Rio! Fuck, marry, kill. The last three first ladies before Biden.”

Rhaena says, exasperated: “Aegon, you have to stop asking people that. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh, easy,” Rio replies. “I’m fucking Laura Bush.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Aegon gives him a high five.

“And then I have to marry Michelle.”

“You gotta.”

“Which means Melania gets the grape Flavor Aid.”

“It’s the only logical answer.”

“I’d fuck Melania,” Jace says.

“Of course you would, you sick, sick man,” Aegon mutters, rolling down a window and sticking his head out like a golden retriever, his sunglasses still on, his blonde hair flapping in the wind. There’s a tattoo in black ink on his forearm, you notice for the first time: It’s not over ‘til you’re underground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fort Indiantown Gap is a ghost town like a gold seam emptied, an oil well run dry, a collapsed coal mine. There’s no central armory but instead a series of arms rooms, one for each unit. Every single scrap of lethal metal is gone: no pistols, no rifles, no grenade launchers or machine guns, no ammo, not even pocketknives, although you do find clean PT uniforms for you and Rio to change into, t-shirts and running shorts and sneakers. Clothes are surprisingly difficult to acquire now. Most stores have either been looted or overrun by zombies, and Amazon is tragically no longer delivering. You can break into houses that seem abandoned, but then you have to hope the people who lived there just so happened to be your size and also aren’t waiting inside to eat you. It’s not usually a wise gamble.

You study Aemond and his companions as you move through the base clearing buildings, you and Rio with loaded M9s in your holsters and clutching borrowed baseball bats; gunshots are best avoided if possible so as not to attract unwanted attention. Aemond and Jace take point, almost always; Aegon hovers on Aemond’s blind left side, wagging his golf club around, occasionally slapping Aemond’s shoulder to remind him he’s there. Daeron prowls at the back and on the periphery. Baela pretends she isn’t struggling to keep up. Luke and Rhaena are the lookouts. Helaena fills her burlap messenger bag with small treasures you don’t even notice her accumulating: bottles of Advil, batteries, lighters, pens, tweezers, Band-Aids, Uno cards. You encounter only three zombies, easily decommissioned. Fort Indiantown Gap must have been evacuated weeks ago. You wonder what pointless battles her soldiers died in. Everyone knows the dead have won.

What the abandoned base lacks in weaponry it makes up for in food. You find a chow hall with an untouched kitchen, a wealth of shelf-stable delicacies: chili, saltine crackers, applesauce, fruit cocktail with bright red gems of cherries, peanut butter, strawberry jelly, green beans, carrots, peas, beets, tuna fish, chicken noodle soup. You feast—a Thanksgiving, a Last Supper—then settle into the barracks next door as the sun begins to set. There are plenty of bunkbeds and a closet full of pillows and sheets. Someone always has to be up to keep watch; Daeron and Jace immediately go to sleep so they can get some rest before they are shaken awake sometime around 2 or 3 a.m. Baela says she’s going to lie down for a minute and almost immediately begins snoring. Helaena makes silent amendments in her notebook; she keeps an inventory of everything the group has, needs, or wants.

Outside, Rio and Aegon are engaged in a spirited game of Uno. Luke is sitting cross-legged on the roof of the Tahoe with his binoculars. Rhaena is beside him softly reading a book out loud: The Hunger Games. Aemond is on a wooden bench on the front porch of the barracks, watching the sun sink into the west. When he notices you, he seems pleased. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m sorry we wasted your gas to come here.”

“No, it was a good idea. It was worth a shot. And now we have a safe place to sleep tonight.” His eye drops lower, his scarred brow crinkles in concern. “What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” In the haze of the adrenaline, you didn’t even notice. Your palms are blistered, swollen and stinging. “Oh. It was the transmission tower. The steel beams got really hot while we were up there. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me bandage them. You don’t want to get an infection.”

“Really, I’m fine, I shouldn’t inconvenience—”

“Sit down,” Aemond insists. You take a seat on the bench while he goes to the Tahoe to fetch a black nylon bag about the size of a briefcase. Rio casts you a furtive, crafty grin. It’s nothing, you mouth back, more to convince yourself than him. Your pulse is thudding in your ears; your cheeks are warm. You haven’t felt like this since you almost agreed to go on a date with that Marine you met at Corpus Christi, where your battalion had been dispatched to build a series of new airplane hangars. Aemond returns to the bench and begins wiping down your palms with antiseptic. “Sorry if this stings.”

It does, but you’re grateful for the distraction. “It isn’t too bad.”

“You’re not from Oregon.” He’s noticed your accent.

“Kentucky,” you confess.

“You aren’t making a stop at home before traveling west?”

“Why would I want to go back there?”

Aemond looks at you uncertainly; he can’t tell if you’re joking. You like the way his voice goes quiet when it’s just the two of you. You like the way he barely shows his teeth when he talks, like he’s keeping secrets.

After a moment, as the sky begins to turn to orange and pink and lilac, you continue. “People join the Army for a paycheck and a place to sleep, free college, health insurance. People join the Marines to prove they’re the best. People join the Air Force because they want to be in the military but think they’re too smart for grunt work. And people join the Navy to get away from home. I wanted to get far, far, far away.”

Aemond smiles. “Are you far enough yet?” He doesn’t mean by miles. He means the fact that the world will never be the same. Now he’s coating your hands in a thick white ointment, cool and blissful.

“I was afraid of so many things, and now none of them matter.”

“We all have brand new things to be afraid of.” He gets a roll of gauze and begins to wrap your palms, careful to keep your fingers and thumbs unencumbered.

“Aemond?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to your face?”

He shrugs. He’s trying not to be resentful about it; he can’t change it anyway. “We were scavenging supplies from a Home Depot. We had to board up the house and wait until things…got quieter and it was safe to travel out of Boston.” And by got quieter, he means that the initial wave passed, the zombies began to wander out of the cities and disperse, the survivors were hunkered down and not participating in gunfights or Vikings-style pillaging in the streets. “A piece of sheet metal fell on me from the top shelf. Aegon and Jace dragged me home, they thought I was dying.”

“I’m glad you weren’t. Who treated it?”

“I did.”

You can’t disguise your shock. “You…you stitched up your own face?”

He smirks, finishing the bandages on your hands. “I was in medical school before all this.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“I was an intern. So definitely not a doctor, but the closest thing to one I had access to. And I had taken some things from the hospital when everything went to hell. So I got a little mirror, and I lidocained myself very generously, and I started suturing.”

You don’t know what to say. His eye?? He stitched his eye shut?? “I mean…you did a great job.”

“I’m aware I look like Frankenstein, but I guess it’s better than not being here at all.”

“No, seriously. You look amazing, Aemond.”

He stares at you, bewildered. You realize how bizarre it must sound. You both start laughing as Aemond packs his supplies back into his medical kit. He touches his fingertips to his chin a few times—restless, meditative—then stands to return inside the barracks. “I’m…going to go check on Helaena.”

“Yeah. Cool. See ya.” You don’t watch him leave. This takes intentional effort.

Seconds pass anonymously: no time you need to be anywhere, nothing late, nothing early, no television premiers, no football games, no State Of The Unions, no time zones to do mental math over. You aren’t even sure what day it is. The earth has erased your invisible prisons. Now all that remain are the real ones: weather, terrain, disease, predators.

There is the creaking of weight on the porch steps. You warn him: “I’m not interested in your commentary.”

Rio winks as he says: “Maybe you won’t die a virgin after all.”

#aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen

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mirrorballresources · 1 year

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This gif pack contains 120 gifs of Caitlin Stasey in 01x01 of Reign. They’re all 268x160px. Click on the source link to be taken to a payhip link.

This pack contains: 60 uncolored gifs and 60 colored gifs

All gifs are made by me from scratch.

A follow, reblog, and like are extremely appreciated.

Please credit somewhere on your post or blog if using.

You may use these gifs for:

roleplaying editing into gif icons (with or without a psd) crackship gifsets sidebars gifsets for roleplay accounts

My only rules are that you credit me, do not share these gifs with others, and do not use to roleplay any situation of sm/ut involving a minor.

#caitlin stasey #caitlin stasey gif pack #caitlin stasey rp #caitlin stasey gif hunt #periodfcnetwork #period gif pack #reign gif pack #reign rp #reign #gif pack

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 1 year

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Reign down on me - Part 1

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt

-🐺-

The sky was dark and sheeted in heavy fog by the time that Ghost had finally come for you. It was the first time you’d seen the man in the skull mask, but not the first you’d heard of the name of his Captain. Your ears twitched at the familiarity as he spoke it, his gravelly voice sending shivers down your battered back.

“I’m here on behalf of Captain John Price, he called ahead about the hybrid.”

You’d lifted your numb head from the concrete floor when you realised you recognised that name, painfully craning your neck just to see who’d spoken it. You tried to work the stiffness from your muscles, popping joints and rolling them as far as your bounds would allow. Water was tumbling off you like a dam all the while, creating little murky puddles all around you. Despite the flimsy tin roof above, the rain had been relentlessly blown onto you for most of the day.

As usual it was your fault you were suffering, you knew well enough you could’ve avoided the punishment. You could’ve chosen to suck up your pride. Though as your mind cycled back through the day, you wondered if maybe it was all inevitable. Perhaps they pushed you as a way of giving a last sordid goodbye gift.

A morning lashing followed by the announcement that you were being transferred to an unnamed team, being sent off to pack up your meagre possessions, finished off by a full day tied up and abandoned on the floor of the outdoor kennels. Somewhere through the first few hours of being left there you’d begun to feel a tiny spark of anticipation at the idea of being taken away. You’d wondered if things might be better somewhere else.

However when the mysterious man strode into your line of vision, you were right back to feeling hopeless. Every inch of the unyielding cold was digging it’s way into your aching bones, but even through that you were shivering now at the idea of being taken away by him. He was a giant, all shadows and wide angles, black cloth with a stab of white around his face. You fixed your sights onto his mask and felt your teeth almost shatter as you realised it was a skull. Was this big terrifying bastard your new handler?

“Ah, yes…Lieutenant,” there was an awkward pause, the handler clearly felt much the same as you about the behemoth. “Just over there. You’ll have to fill out some paperwork before you leave with it, but you can have a look first and decide if you want to finalise the decision.”

The man nodded and gave a grunt, his eyes narrowing at the mention of paperwork. Oh great, you thought, he’s pissed off and now he’s about to come meet me. There was no escape from him though. You were completely trapped, hands bound tightly behind your back with thick corded rope and legs similarly tied. There was nothing for it, but to wait for him to realise that the pathetic wolf staring up at him was the one he was getting stuck with.

“This wolf’s been serving out the last of its punishment today,” the handler said, running a nervous hand over his stubbly blonde head.

You glared at him, throat tightening as you valiantly repressed a growl. He’d always been an asshole to you right from the very start, he revelled in the chance to pull you down a peg or twelve, and that day he’d really outdone himself. He’d hit you with the leather strap until his veins were popping out of his ridiculously oversized arms and then he’d sneered all the way through tying you down for the day. He’d been taking particular joy in telling you ‘act like a bitch, get treated like a bitch’ before leaving you stuck there.

While most soldier hybrids were treated comparatively well, given the nature of the work you did, the base personnel took particular exception to you. Right from the very start, from the day you’d been dumped there as a mere child you’d been marked as the black sheep and there wasn’t a single day that you weren’t reminded of your lack of favour. You’d arrived a shitty kid with a chip on their shoulder and come through it a shell of that past self, never quite escaping the claws of your contentious past.

You were thinking about just how many times you’d been left to rot in that exposed kennel when you finally locked gazes with the Lieutenant. You wondered how he’d see you through those cold unblinking eyes as they peered at you through the front bars. Would he want to hurt you too?

Of course he would, you thought, they all do.

“Why’re they tied like that? What sort of punishment is this?”

You jumped at the harshness of his tone. There was a knife edge drawn in it, meant to preface an attack.

“It’s our version of a time out. Although with the amount this one’s been in here it’s more like a permanent residence.”

You huffed out a breath, watching as the man puffed up his chest. A useless inflatable shield. He wasn’t going to fold and pretend that he wasn’t being harsher than normal to you. He was quite happy to let the other man believe that you were deserving of the treatment. In fairness you had bitten him not long after you’d come back from your last mission, you’d been out of patience and he’d crumpled the last straw in your back.

“And how long has this timeout been?”

The way the Lieutenant spat the word, it dripped into your ears like venom. You winced as you watched him fold his arms and openly glared at the handler now, sending the other man stuttering backwards a foot or two.

“Only a half day, Lieutenant,” the handler faltered.

“Fuckin’ hell, you trying to kill them before they go? What are we meant to do with a half drowned wolf, eh? Its been raining all day, they’re soaked and shiverin’ like a fuckin’ newborn, how the hell do you justify that?”

“You have to appreciate that this is a-”

“I don’t have to appreciate anything. Get that door open now!” the Lieutenant ordered, interrupting the fumbling mess in front of him.

The handler visibly paled and suddenly thought better of trying to justify his work. He shakily got to work rattling his keys into the door, and yelped when the masked man shouldered past him, staying firmly planted outside while your cell was invaded.

You whined when his shadow descended on you and tried to pull away, attempting to try and get into a better position to fend off any attacks. However he was on you before you could so much as shift a muscle.

His gloved hands were quick to undo the knots keeping you pinned down and even quicker to trap you to the ground when he noticed you squirming and splashing your hands through puddles just to get away from him. It was like being held by a stone statue. He was relentless, keeping you pasted down to the floor before dragging you against him and rubbing those solid hands of his up and down your sides, willing your circulatory system to jump into a sprint.

Your energy was too busy being directed to your head though. The jolt of human touch was nothing like you were used to, and knowing who it was coming from was enough to send you into overdrive. His warm hands and rough voice left impressions up your spine and in your head, his scent burned in your lungs. Notes of spicy orange peel and gunmetal wafted around your head, somewhere faintly you swore you detected traces of cigar smoke.

Suddenly you were thrown back to being sent out on a mission with Price, he wasn’t so bad to work for, he’d treated you well enough and even gotten some food for you afterward. It made you wonder if maybe the big man he’d sent wasn’t so bad too. Not that you’d treat him as anything other than a threat for the time being of course.

“You with us, darlin’?”

You jumped when you realised he was finally talking to you. Your eyes connected with his, landing on those stormy blue irises before you let loose a growl. You couldn’t help it this time. Your body was kicking into its usual instincts in lieu of having any idea of how to act. Those same instincts had you flinching straight after, waiting for the retaliation.

“None of that now,” the man chastised softly, “C’mon, stop your growlin’. You’ve gotta warm up, pup, don’t fight me.”

Where most handlers would have slapped you or kicked you or even cuffed you round your big fluffy ears for all the noise you’d made, this man didn’t even huff at you. He just continued to rub your arms and legs and tried to coax the curl out of your shaking tail. Your usually silvery fur was drenched into a damp grey and clung wetly to his gloves as he ran his hands through it.

“Leave my tail alone!” you snarled, finally breaking free of the spell you were under.

Your tail had been snapped and broken enough times that it was stuck permanently lopping to the right. You weren’t going to let him do any worse to it. You attempted to twist and break yourself out of his hold but the man was steadfast in keeping you locked against him. His hands fastened to your waist and back and unfortunately pressed harshly against a big welt that scorched you as soon as his fingers pressed there. You howled out a scream in response.

“Hey! Hey, easy now. Stop, I’m not trying to hurt you. Keep still. Easy!”

As if you’d listen to him. You thrashed about to no avail, breathing harshly as you fought through the bubble of anxiety that enveloped you. Your lungs were working so hard to pump that you distantly worried they might explode. Every cell in your body struggled against the masked man, but no matter what you did you weren’t a match for him in your weakened state.

“Fuck sake, stop standing there being useless and get me a towel,” the Lieutenant shouted over you, calling over to the handler.

“You actually want it?” The handler questioned, his face a picture of horror as he watched you screaming like a banshee against your prospective new leader.

“Well I’m not leaving them here to freeze, am I? Get me that towel and tell your superiors to mail the paperwork, we’re leaving.”

“It’s not standard policy to-”

“It's not standard policy for me to rip your spine out your throat, but I just might do it,” Ghost threatened. “Go!”

…

You’d been bundled into a car not long after that, pinned fast to the Lieutenant’s front like a half-dead butterfly. After struggling for a good ten minutes with him, wrestling to keep the towel off you, you finally gave in. Being so good as to allow him to wrap you up and dry you off, roughly sweeping the fabric over the worst of your drowned tail, ears and hair before situating you in the back next to him. The driver started the car and got to moving without a word.

You sat ruefully folding your arms over the soaked towel, hair and fur poking in all directions, watching as your old base faded to a pin prick in the distance. The smell of your damp clothes drying was turning the air stale, but you could hardly focus on that as your mind tried to make sense of everything that had happened. That and your smarting back as it burned against the hard cushioning of your seat.

Meanwhile the Lieutenant’s voice was a gruff murmur as he spoke to his Captain, he was quietly updating him on the situation. You didn’t really bother to listen, ears pinned to the back of your head as you tried to figure out how to proceed with your new and strange circumstances.

Most hybrids would eventually be chosen to permanently join teams, but there’d never been any interest for you before. Plenty of Captains would praise your skills and openly admire the work you did, but you were very purposefully told after every time that they’d take a look at your disciplinary file and go running for the hills. It made you wonder what Price had seen in you. You weren’t even convinced you’d been that impressive given you were only assigned to him for a tracking mission. You hadn’t even brought anyone down or had to push yourself very hard at all, you’d only needed to locate his man and report back.

“Hey Ghost, should I turn up the heat?”

Your eyes flashed to the rearview mirror, catching eyes with the driver that had broken the silence. He watched you back unflinching. Ghost? You turned and faced the man next you, tilting your head when he looked up at the driver.

Was his name really Ghost?

“Your wolf’s shaking,” the driver continued.

You locked eyes with Ghost again, feeling your heartbeat more than you’d ever had in your life. It felt like it’d been locked in a cage barely big enough to fit. Your tail curled when he ended his call and turned his attention solely on you.

Interrupting the higher ups was never a good thing. You gulped.

“You still cold, pup?” He asked softly.

You frowned at him, feeling your ears peek up at the repeated use of the nickname. You were long past being a ‘pup’ anymore. Though for some reason it didn’t feel as patronising as it should’ve.

“I’ll be fine, sir,” you said, answering stiffly.

“Didn’t ask if you’d be fine, I asked if you were cold.”

You flinched at his words, already knowing you must be drawing out his ire. It wouldn’t be long before had you back at whatever base he was taking you to and was tying you up to a disciplinary post, you thought grimly. In most cases you knew you could bear the punishment and would quite happily spurn him, but knowing the full size of Ghost you weren’t so sure you’d walk away quite as well as normal from that one.

You thought carefully before answering him again.

“I am a little cold, sir,” you shrugged.

He nodded and motioned for the driver to go ahead and soon the car was filled with warmth, your shaking subsided but didn’t cease. It wasn’t all due to the cold.

To make matters worse that wasn’t the end of the interaction with Ghost either. Now that he was off the phone he was giving you a proper look over. It felt as if he were assessing every inch of you while you stared back at him, willing yourself to keep your eyes from naturally casting down. Did you measure up to his expectations?

“Are you ok?” he asked, breaking the bubble of silence that had enveloped you.

You frowned. What did he care?

“Fine, sir?”

“Are you asking me if you’re fine?” he snorted.

You could see the twinkle of a smirk in his eyes. The corners were pulling upwards and you swore you caught a twitch of a smile behind the black material of his lower mask.

“Do you care either way?” you asked, raising your brows at him.

He lost his smile at that.

“I appreciate honesty, pup.”

That was it. He snapped the tether to the tiny frightened wolf inside of you that begged you not to antagonise him and finally, you felt brave enough to push. The real animal inside was allowed to bark and howl uncontrolled.

“I’m being taken away to god knows where by Mr.Bonejangles and now he’s asking me to be honest with him after I’ve spent the whole day out in the elements with a whipped back. How do you think I’m doing?” you growled.

Now that the heat was properly thawing you out, you were feeling every ounce of your irritability spark to life. Even while you waited for some kind of reprimand, you held firm through your tensed muscles. If he hit you then you would do everything not to flinch from it.

Test me, asshole. Just do it. You won’t see me break.

He didn’t lash out at you though, he’d already proved he wasn’t like your handlers at your base, but this more than confirmed it. Instead he took a breath and kept his measured gaze on you, letting you know that he was perfectly in control of the situation.

“My name’s Ghost. I’m taking you down to London, and you’re going to join the 141 with me as your handler. You’re going to be serving under John Price, you did a mission with him and Kyle Garrick about a month back. Do you remember them?” Ghost said, his voice even and clear.

You blinked back at him, not even bothering to hide your surprise that he’d wanted to give you answers to the questions you clearly had. Now you were truly curious. It wasn’t often that anyone bothered to fill you in on what was happening, you were usually expected to just accept whatever happened and to keep quiet even if you couldn’t. Ghost actually wanted you to talk to him.

“Price is the one with the dodgy beard. And Garrick… he’s called Gaz right? The Sergeant?” you said slowly, still not quite believing you were being engaged with.

Ghost huffed out a laugh.

“That’s right. You’ll see them again in the morning, and you’ll get to meet Sergeant MacTavish as well. For tonight all you gotta worry about is getting clean and fed and having a decent night’s sleep. We’ve got a few hours till we get to the base though, so for now you can ask me whatever you like.”

You tilted your head at him and immediately got to work testing this new boundary of yours. Your ears were perked up like antennas as your brian buzzed with activity. You’d never been in a position to ask whatever you’d liked before.

“Why’re you wearing that mask?”

He rolled his eyes at that, causing you to shrink back. Ok, so maybe you weren’t really going to get to ask whatever you liked.

“Gotta hide how handsome I am,” he said, leaning back in his chair and giving you an amused side eye.

You snorted at that and unclenched your hands, letting your sharp nails come away from the chair before it tore. A smile even curled its way onto your lips.

“Not because you’re an ugly bastard then?”

“Negative.”

You snorted again.

“So lets see, I apparently have a model handler and a new and very experienced team that I have the honour of being express delivered to. You’re letting me speak more than any of those bastards ever did in a whole day and you’ve not punished me once yet. I can’t help but wonder why you’d choose me for this, especially after you saw me back there,” you said, pursing your lips as if you might come to any conclusions on your own. “Anyone would tell you I’m a liability, but you still took me anyway. Why?”

Ghost raised his brows under the mask, the blackout makeup below shifted and you swore you could make out some of his exposed pale skin out of the corners. You watched him intently, trying to make out any hint of insincerity or anger where there was none.

“Price said you were good. I trust his instincts.”

“No questions asked?”

“None,” he confirmed.

“Even after seeing my disciplinary record?”

“It raised a few eyebrows on the team, but Price was happy enough with what he saw on the field that he wanted you as long as I did too. And like I said, I trust him,” he sighed when he met your eyes and you still weren’t convinced. “Besides, your record’s a shit show from base but you’ve been getting consistently solid reports back for the last ten years you’ve been getting sent out. I’m willing to bet that that stunning display of incompetence I saw earlier was probably a good indicator of why you’ve not been performing very well at home.”

“Stunning display of incompetence,” you repeated, not able to help the bark of laughter you let loose afterward.

“Exactly, pup,” Ghost smiled.

You felt something inside you dislodge, like a brick had come out of the fortress you’d built around yourself. While you weren't rushing to fawn over your new handler, but you were willing to offer him more than just your contemptible obedience. Something about that sent a small shiver down your back, but even still you were able to lie back in the chair and let it leave you.

You didn’t have it in you to ask anymore questions after that. Your head was an overspilling cup already, you didn’t want to drown yourself with anymore knowledge. So instead you let the easy silence take over and looked off into the distance, watching with heavy lids as the car tore through fields and towns in equal measure.

Your eyes kept closing in a series of syrupy slow blinks, one second you were driving through a hedgeway of trees and the next you were in open blue fields of sky darkened wheat. Somewhere down the line your eyes closed for the final time and you gently arrived into a dreamless sleep, letting the darkness and warmth envelop your aching body.

…

You had the feeling that you were being lifted. The sudden shift in the air from warm to cold paired with the sensation of being jostled was enough to tip you over the edge of consciousness. In seconds you were looking for something to attack.

Your eyes snapped open and you went in for a bite, just about to close your teeth around an arm when that same appendage snapped back and fastened your neck against a hard wall of muscle behind you. You growled and panicked, heart hammering and body struggling in a flash of snapping canines and flailing limbs.

“Hey! Stop your nonsense.”

You stilled at the words, instantly recognising the rough manc accent that they’d come from. You breathed a little and came back to yourself, remembering that you weren’t at your old base anymore and you weren’t being captured by an enemy either. You were being taken somewhere new, not a base or a prison or a kennel, you were being brought toward a bungalow.

“Where are we?” you asked feebly, frowning at your unfamiliar surroundings.

“Just outside the base, darlin’,” Ghost rumbled. “This is my home, for now.”

“Why are you taking me to your house?”

You angled yourself against Ghost’s tight hold and frowned up at him, searching his face for any sign of bad intention. You’d invaded houses as part of your job, but never had you stayed inside one since you’d lived with your family. You couldn’t understand why he’d want you to live with him when you knew as well as he did that there were specialised barracks for hybrids in every military base. Why would he want his work invading his personal space?

“I don’t want you staying at the base until you’re more settled,” Ghost said, pulling one of his hands from you so that he could get his keys out his pocket. “You can choose to stay there if you want after the first few weeks, but until then you’re staying here with me.”

Your ears flickered as the loud jingling of his keys rattled through them and you whined, oversensitive and overtired. He let his remaining arm relax around you and held you close to his chest, shushing you all the while. His spicy aroma filled your senses again and you let your whines die down to low whimpers, hoping that he’d just put you down and leave you alone soon.

“Sh, It’s ok, pup. I know it’s been a long day, but I just need you to hold on a little longer, alright?”

You nodded and let him carry you through the doorway and down a dark hallway, setting you down on a cool tiled floor before turning on the light. You glanced up at him sheepishly and blinked furiously at the bright blue bulb, having to rub your eyes before you could properly check out your surroundings. Once you rubbed the sleep from them you realised you were in a bathroom.

“You think you can shower yourself and get changed into something for bed?” he asked. “I can run you a bath and help you wash if you need?”

“No, shower’s fine,” you said quickly, not wanting to go through any further humiliation.

“Good, I’ll leave your things for you here and let you get on with it then,” he said, setting down the hold all you’d packed just next to you. “There’s a clean towel there on the rail for you, the blue one. Once you’re clean and changed you can come to the kitchen and get some dinner. It’s just at the end of the hall.”

You checked to your right and sure enough there was a clean fluffy towel waiting right on the heated rail for you. Ghost nodded and took himself out of the room, closing the door with a soft snick and leaving you alone for the first time since he’d picked you up.

You shivered and chanced a look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, quickly averting your eyes when you realised just how pathetic you looked. Your hair was a mess, your fur was thick with matts and your skin was plastered with dirt. You were a sore sight. You growled at yourself for getting into such a state and stalked into the joint bath and shower, not bothering to wait for the water to heat before yanking the shower on.

Cold water jetted out and shocked you into awareness, drawing out another low whine until it started to heat up, letting you properly set to work washing all the filth away. There were a couple of bad matts that came out in thick clumps, but other than that you were glad for the shower, pleasantly surprised by how warm it could go. The heat bled through your skin and into your tired muscles and before long you were just standing there enjoying the water, already done with washing yourself.

You didn’t want to push your luck though. So with an unwilling jostle from your survival instincts you turned the shower off and got yourself out, not wanting to risk Ghost barging in and asking what was taking you so bloody long.

Soon enough you were finding out that being wrapped in one of Ghost’s towels was also quite pleasant. These weren’t anything like the raggedy old towels from your base, like the one sitting sadly discarded on the floor, no these were warm and soft on your skin. Where the other towel scratched this one soothed and you found yourself smiling, feeling your tail wag as you found comfort in the gentle material and lingering orange scented steam.

Again, you couldn’t stay like that forever. So you dug through the clothes in your bag until you found an old pair of sweats and tugged those on, taking care to gently pull your tail through the specially stitched opening that had long been fraying with age, and then shrugged on a baggy t-shirt afterwards. Finally you were ready and able to go see Ghost.

You put your towel back on the rail and neatly piled your dirty things in the corner as you weren’t sure what to do with them, then marched from the bathroom and down the hall, depositing your bag outside the doorway. It wasn’t hard to pick out Ghost’s scent even in his own house, even as you now smelled like him after using his Soap. His aroma now mingled with the smell of chicken and chips and your mouth watered as you came into the room, fixing your eyes on where Ghost now stood. He was leaning over a hot oven, pulling out half a rotisserie chicken and a tray of golden brown chips just as you’d walked through the threshold.

“How was your shower?”

You raised your brows, still taken aback by how much he cared about your feelings and opinions on things.

“Good, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir when we’re not on base,” Ghost said, throwing you a glance over his shoulder.

You’d noticed that he’d dressed down since coming home. He’d shed his layers and changed out of his soaked clothes into a pair of jeans and black tee, wearing a black balaclava over his face instead of his skull mask. However you realised when he fully turned around with the plated food that it still had a skull painted over it. Cute.

“Here, I’ve just heated up some leftovers for tonight. Nothing great, but try to eat up, you’ll need energy for tomorrow.”

“This is all for me?”

You frowned when he set the plate in front of you and looked up wide eyed. He was selling it like it was crap, but it was miles better than the tinned slop they served you on the base. This was fresh, this was the type of stuff you got as a treat when you were sent away on deployments. The crispy chicken skin was already tearing through the teeth of your imagination, your mouth watered at the thought of the sensation. Even knowing it was a little shrivelled from overcooking it was still going to be one of the tastiest meals you’d eaten in a while. Some small part of you wondered if it was all some kind of trick.

“Yeah, all yours, pup. C’mon eat up, then off to bed,” Ghost urged, giving you shoulder a small squeeze.

You shrunk from him, but successfully resisted the urge to snap. You couldn’t lash out after how nice he’d been, so you begrudgingly had to allow him the unnecessary physical contact. Putting it out your head, you instead lowered your head to your plate and gathered up your fork, ready to wildly stab at the bits of chicken and crispy chips. You could feel your tail swishing behind you, though even in present company you didn’t care.

You happily set about finishing your food while Ghost sat across from you, intently typing and reading things on his phone. The light from the device bounced off of his eyes, the fake blue light pooling thick on top of his shrunken pupils. You only realised you’d begun to stare at him when he looked up and seemed to smile at you.

“Don’t get distracted, finish your dinner,” he chastised.

Your ears pinned to your head in embarrassment and you focused back on the plate, not looking back up until the plate was empty and your belly was pleasantly full. Your tail twitched happily behind you and you leaned back in your chair with it, closing your eyes so that you could bask in the pleasant heavy feeling that was starting to overcome you again.

“Ah ah, you’re not sleeping here. C’mon, to bed,” Ghost rumbled.

You opened your eyes again and blinked up at him, glowering under the weight of your exhaustion. Whatever bed you were imagining him having for you, you couldn’t imagine it’d be that much better than the rickety wooden chair you’d planted yourself on. Of course you’d forgotten all the nice things he’d allowed you already, and your mind was imagining something like your sleeping arrangement at the base.

And once again your expectations were blown out of the water. He gestured for you to come follow him and with a sigh and a sharp crack in your knees you rose from your chair and huffed off down the dark hallway with him. The wood creaked as you both walked across it, groaning more heavily under your new handler’s larger steps. You didn’t have to walk very far fortunately for you.

Ghost stopped at a door that was just next to the bathroom and opened it, ushering you in front of him as he got the lightswitch. You let him lead you round and looked into the room as it flashed to life, surprised again to see how much better your circumstances had become since leaving your original base.

“I’m sleeping in here?”

“Yeah, this is your room. You’ve got a few blankets and pillows there on the bed so you can arrange it however you like. I know some hybrids like to nest and some don’t, so its up to you how you want to keep it. All I ask is that you make sure it’s kept clean, and I will be checking.”

You barely listened to him as you stared at the bed in front of you. It was a real bed. Not a stuffed foam pillow on the floor, not a mattress bundled in the corner, not cold barren concrete, no. It was a real bed with legs and a springy mattress and a cornflower duvet cover and an assortment of pillows and blue blankets to match.

“I’ll let you put your things away tomorrow, for now I want you to lie down for me. You need your tail brushed and I want to check over your back.”

All at once your chest collapsed and the happiness you’d felt left your body entirely, every inch of it dropping from your ears and tail. You turned around and looked at Ghost, stopping him in his tracks just as he was taking a step toward you. He paused when he looked down at the snarl you now wore.

“You’re not touching my tail, I’ve brushed it already myself,” you rumbled.

“And you’ve done a piss poor job of it. Go lie down and let me take a quick look,” Ghost said, his tone forceful and even.

You growled then, letting the engine in your chest roar to life. Even if he was being nice to you, this was a step too far. You didn’t like it when people touched your tail or ears, usually it meant tugging and pulling and pain. Whenever you felt someone's hands on them it’d bring bile up everytime, your body ready to process the agony it was about to experience.

“Alright, I can see that’s an issue for you,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “What if I make sure not to touch it with my hands and just run the brush through, would that be ok?”

You paused and considered his words, growls dying low in your throat. Maybe this was the lesser of two evils, you thought. After all, if he wanted to brush your tail then he more than proved he could overpower you, so perhaps this was the only way to keep him from putting his hands on it. Unless you wanted to put vicious intent behind your attacks, the kind that would get you put down like a dog, then you had no way of actually making him stop.

“Fine,” you snapped.

“Good. Lie down then,” he commanded, disappearing into the gloom of the hallway after.

He reemerged again just after you finally lay down. He walked in on your internal battle, one part of you wanting to squeal with joy at how soft the bed was and the other wanting to jump up and bite the hand that held the brushes and lotion bottle. The main thing that gave you pause was knowing that the other handlers you'd known would’ve beat you black and blue for growling at them and questioning their orders, meanwhile Ghost had adjusted his plans just to suit you. He proved again that he championed your comfort.

“I’ll make this quick, I promise,” Ghost soothed.

He sat down on the bed beside you, causing it to dip and groan under the new weight. It forced you to roll toward him too. You huffed when you came into contact with his side and scrambled to correct yourself, trying to maintain some modicum of distance from him. Once you were settled again, he placed the brushes and lotion bottle down next to you and lifted the thick toothed brush bringing it to your tail.

You scrunched your eyes shut tightly and grit your teeth. You already felt like you were going to bring up your dinner. You couldn’t help but picture him ignoring his past promises. However instead of living up to your dark imaginings, he placed one hand on the small of your back and let the other drag the brush down your tail snagging almost immediately on a big clumpy matt that you’d missed.

“See, couldn’t let that sit there and build up. You’d end up with a skin infection,” he grunted. “If you don’t want me touching there that’s fine, but you’re going to need to help take the clumps out, ok?”

You stiffly nodded your head and opened your eyes again, feeling your cheeks heat when you realised that Ghost was staring down at you. You gulped down your embarrassment and reached your hand back, digging into your tail and pulling at the clump that the brush had brought up.

Ghost grunted his approval and let the brush run through again and again, only pausing when it would stop at a tug. It started to become rhythmic, the noise of the brush cutting through your wiry fur and the dull thud whenever it hit a snag. He never once tried to touch you without your permission.

“How long has your tail been twisted like this,” Ghost asked, interrupting the sound of the brush.

You tilted your head, trying to think back to a time when it didn’t curve off to the side, you hadn’t remembered it being straight in so long.

“I think it was fully broken when I was around sixteen maybe,” you said softly. “The doctors tried to set it properly, but it just wouldn’t come back no matter what they tried. I’ve learned to balance with it like that though and it mostly works like it used to - just a little range of movement lost they said”

“How did it break?”

You shivered at the memory. Ghost must’ve felt it underneath his hold on you because he stopped his brushing for a moment and let you speak.

“Sergeant Maddox got mad because I couldn’t complete the training he’d set that day. I was tired from being out in the kennels the night before and I didn't have the rest of the run in me. He yanked me up off the floor by the tail and it just…snapped.”

You couldn’t see Ghost’s expression properly, but you could hear his anger through the seething breath he let out. A string snapped in your body, you felt the heat coursing from him, you tensed. Though you were soon relaxing again when he got back to brushing, silently continuing on with the rest of the treatment.

The process only lasted a couple of minutes, thankfully it wasn’t as bad as you might’ve thought, soon enough the brush was sliding down your tail like it was a boat sailing through a silver river. The second brush he’d brought, the one with the finer teeth did the same in a matter of three clumps and for a second you were grateful to be able to sleep. You smiled to yourself and got ready to readjust yourself for bed, but Ghost stopped you, his hand still firmly on your lower back.

“You said you got lashed earlier. I need to check your back first then you can sleep.”

You whined but didn’t bother to properly protest. It would do you no good anyway. He lifted your shirt and let out another seething breath, cursing to himself about something to do with ‘the staff being leagues below incompetent’ and curled up a little, willing him just to be done and to take his venom away from you.

“These marks aren’t good. I’m going to put a little bit of cream on you to help keep them clean. It’ll sting a bit but I’m sure you’ve dealt with worse.”

You nodded, signalling for him to proceed. He carefully worked the cream into your back, withdrawing when you hissed at the pressure or when he’d covered a particularly bad area. Though in time that was done too and he was twisting the cap back onto the bottle in no time. You breathed in a sigh of relief and worked your way onto your side, turning away from Ghost and his annoying efforts to treat you well.

He laughed at the movement and gathered his things, rising off the bed and letting you get comfortable. Before you could think to pull up the sheets and get them over you though, Ghost took care of that for you. He stretched the duvet cover over your body and gently stroked his hand down an area of your back that he knew had been missed from your punishment.

“G’night, pup. Sleep well and just shout if you need anything.” he murmured, voice soft as he retreated from the room.

He turned out the light and shut the door, leaving you to lie there in the darkness with your wide eyes growing wetter with every retreating step you heard. You were more awake than you’d been the whole day, your mind was racing and your lungs were labouring hard under your heavy breaths. Somehow you tried to process the fact you’d just had someone tuck you in for the first time in…maybe ever?

You let out a little sob and buried your head in the covers, eyes streaming tears before you could bully yourself into controlling them. It felt like you were a new recruit all over again. Your head raced with images from your early years, lying in the bunkroom with all those strangers around you, wondering when your parents would come back, scared shitless of the big shouty human men that seemed so quick to anger.

You weren’t scared of a big man trying to shout at you and punish you anymore though, now you were scared of the big man that wanted to treat you softly and give you a good home. Hard punishment felt like something you could do, but nice treatment with soft blankets and consenting touches and warm bellies full of food? That terrified the fuck out of you.

You silenced your cries with the covers and jammed your fingers into your skin, willing yourself to shut up and go to sleep. Even while the salt stung at your cheeks and your skin protested under your sharp claws, the greatest pain felt like the sheer humiliation of enjoying Ghost’s affections.

You liked that he was babying you and taking care of you!

weakling.

You growled to yourself and threw your head into your pillow. Fuck him. You ignored all your racing thoughts and blocked them out, scrunching your eyes closed and focusing instead on the white dots that crossed your field of vision. You wouldn’t be so weak tomorrow, you promised yourself. You wouldn’t let him dote and treat you like a puppy, you would be strong, you vowed, he’d see what you were really capable of then.

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader

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daddyhausen · 1 year

Text

• acknowledgment — roman reigns •

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{ masterlist } | { wwe masterlist } | { roman reigns masterlist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ summary } — your job was simple, acknowledge your tribal chief

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, oral sex { male receiving }, power imbalance, power play, asphyxiation, hair pulling, face slapping, tit slapping, pussy slapping, throat fucking, cumshots, facials, throat pie, size difference, penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, male + female orgasms, internal cumshots, vaginal creampie, squirting

{ word count } — 2.9k

{ pairing } — fem!reader x roman reigns

{ genre } — smut

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{ taglist } — @stxrrlightwrites13 @boutmachines @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @baysexuality @legit9thlunaticwarrior @slut4kennyomega @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @baybay-boom @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

it was a flurry of emotions after roman’s triumphant win over a now heartbroken cody rhodes. paul was spouting praises that fell on your deaf ears as you casually sauntered behind the pack of brothers known as jimmy, jay and solo, the youngest of the three remaining silent all with a brooding stare while his brothers cheered and celebrated their cousin’s big win.

“excellent job out there, my tribal chief! you were absolutely marvellous, cody did not stand a chance-“ paul’s albeit over the top praise of your tribal chief only offered an eye roll on your part. of course roman won, only your wished he had done it on his own instead of relying on the twins and solo to do his bidding. still…you were proud of him nonetheless and he was still champion of course and that’s all that mattered now.

yet roman remained stoic, barely acknowledging their presence for the time being, cody surely did put up a fight, even had you holding your breath in a mix of fear and anticipation, you’d never seen roman so desperate in a match before, and you knew that was eating away at your tribal chief.

“how should we celebrate, my tribal chief? i have a limousine parked out front, wherever you want to go it shall take you-“

“paul.” roman spoke sternly not even offering the wise man a mere glance in his direction, one that made mr. hayman’s blood run cold, his face had an unusual pallor to it, almost going grey in fear, the only word leaving his lips was a meek “yes”

“leave…” roman grumbled, placing his recently defended titles beside him onto the couch with a haphazard throw. “all of you”

you watched them all leave one by one. paul scurried out the door first, followed by the twins, jimmy first than jay. solo held back for a bit offering you a small parting glance as you held the door open for them.

“not you, y/n” roman’s voice shot up from the silence just as you were about to leave. his tone was stern and it left you, admittedly, a bit frightened. you closed the door behind you, quickly turning to face your tribal chief who had already made himself comfortable on the couch. his skin glowing under the warm lights of the locker room, still glazed over with perspiration, his hair slicked back into a haphazard bun, he sat back into the couch legs spread, his chest still heavy with laboured breaths. an inviting sight it surely was. you kept your head down to avoid his gaze, fearful of what your tribal chief’s next words.

“you seemed a bit quiet tonight.” roman simply remarked. eyeing you down curiously. “care to tell me why?”

you managed to gulp down the fear that rose in your throat, still avoiding your tribal chiefs stare.

“t-to be truthful, m-my tribal c-chief…” you began, already stuttering over your words “i was a bit worried that you would not retain tonight…”

“what do you mean by that? did you think that i wasn’t capable of beating some pathetic loser like cody?” roman’s demanded shifted slightly, he leaned forward, a single forearm upon his knee, staring you down, despite the distance in which he sat from you, it felt like his presence was looming over your figure

“no! that not what i meant at all, my tribal chief!-“ your words seemed panicked to roman’s ears which pricked up at your sudden hostility

“then what did you mean by it?” roman sneered, still feeling as if he was standing daggers through you. you stammered over your words, barely able to string a sentence together all in which made roman give up his interrogation with a scoff, resuming his original position on the couch.

“come to think of it, i don’t think i heard you acknowledge your tribal chief yet” he was right, you’d been so caught up today with all the cody drama that you had forgotten completely. you went to open your mouth to speak before roman cut you off again

“not like that, sweetheart” roman reached past the waistband of his ring gear, freeing his cock from the restraint of it. his half hard cock slapped against his stomach, tip glossy with pre-cum. your cheeks grew heated, never had you seen a more magnificent cock. roman was thick, much thicker than any you’ve encountered, his size was also impressive, an imposing nine inches at most, thick veins wrapped around his shaft.

“like this” he slowly began to stroke himself simply at the thought of ruining your throat, you gulped thickly, already feeling a tightness in your oesophagus.

“now…” be began, releasing the grip on his cock “come acknowledge me”

your movements were almost instinctual. just about to practically crawl on your hands and knees towards him if he so please before refraining for a moment. you gathered yourself, allowing yourself to collect your thoughts for a moment despite none of actual substance forming, your gaze merely fixated on roman’s size as he casually stroked the lower half of his shaft. you made slow, cautious strides towards him, his cocky gaze looming over your figure, a sliver of a smirk twitched on the corners of his lips. eventually you’d made your way between his thighs, kneeling before him as he stared down at you demeaningly.

“open your mouth for me” roman instructed, still lazily pumping his cock as you obliged. your tongue parted your lips, the appendage hanging out of your mouth, waiting for his next instruction. he shuffled his hips forward momentarily, hand still wrapped firmly around the base of his shaft, slapping the tip of his cock against the flat of your tongue a couple of times, droplets of his pre-cum mingling with your tastebuds.

his free hand snaked around the back of your head, fingers knotting in your hair, tugging at the roots as he pushed your throat down around his cock. you choked at the foreign feeling, a sound that only warmed his loins further. he gave a small gutteral moan, the vibrations of your throat caused such a delicious reverb around his cock.

“shit, babygirl…” roman muttered through clenched teeth as your lips enclosed around his being shaft “who knew you could suck cock this good…”

roman’s words were breathy and almost dreamlike as he continued to use your throat, not allowing you up for air for what felt like minutes at a time. he kept his hips still, the only movement being that of your head, he’d taken it between two hands effectively using your throat as a makeshift fleshlight, not that you cared you were just happy to please your tribal chief.

“mmm…such a good little whore for me…” roman’s eyes fluttered closed in his blissful state, simply basking in the feeling of your warm, wet mouth. the tips of his fingers, as rough as they held your hair, massaged your scalp with small circles. you peered up at him, the whites of your eyes slightly bloodshot and glazed over, the assault on your throat pricked them with tears, roman payed no mind to it, too wrapped up in his own pleasure to care. his cock stretched your lips, his thickness made it feel as if they were going to tear at the corners at any moment. they way he stuffed your throat, trapping the air in your lungs while you choked and gasped around him was nothing short of exhilarating.

“look at you…your little mouth can’t even take half my cock” roman mocked with a sly grin, an equally matched chuckle fell from his parted lips. he stood up, despite being flushed with exhaustion from his match, he’d obtained a sudden burst of energy, what from he dosen’t know, maybe it was the sight of you gagging around his length that got his adrenaline pumping. his grip still tangled in your hair, knuckles turning bone white at the tightness, without warning, he pushed your head further down, his cock sinking into the back of your throat, until the tip of your nose was nestled against the base of his shaft. he would not move, no matter how much you scratched and clawed at his thighs, so desperate for air.

“you need to acknowledge me, sweetheart” you stared up at him, almost a twinge of malaise in your glare but it was quickly dismissed by him. he knew you’d fall in line soon enough. he kept you there for a moment, simply enjoying your choked gasps and sputters, the sensation reverberating around his thick cock. he noticed your eyes beggining to flatter from your fixed gaze upon him, eyelashes starting to bat softly as unconsciousness was slowly taking over. you were just on the brink of passing out when he ripped his cock from your throat

you gasped and choked, finally able to get air into your lungs after what felt like hours, roman stared down at you with a malicious grin, his cock cascading a shadow over your form, his shaft glossed over and dripping with your spit.

“you gonna acknowledge me now?” his tone was dry yet, still held onto that sly flirtatious wit.

“fuck you-“ you did not mean to curse at him like that, let alone raise your voice at him. you hand reached around your throat to try and soothe the burning sensation within it. as much as you enjoyed the wonderful assault from his cock. roman’s gaze quickly turned cold, the once cocky smirk now replaced with a scowl, he barely gave you enough time to catch your breath before he interlocked both hands him your scalp, forcing his thick cock back down your throat for more lovely abuse to continue

“so you’re taking back to me now, huh? who gave you the fucking right to do that, you little whore?” roman’s cock slipped in and out of your throat with ease, desperate to ruin it, to make you choke on his cum.

“you’re only job is to acknowledge me, to take this cock like a good little slut, do you fucking understand me!?” of course you did, roman took the hint by the lack of claw marks in his thighs, the way you’d stopped resisting, not that you were resisting in the first place. the way you’d become completely absent to yourself, being completely subservient to him

roman came down your throat without warning, his hot seed filling your cheeks with warmth. you swallowed him greedily, an apology of sorts for speaking back to him, you showed him your tongue as he pulled out, an act of compliance of some sorts, he related what he had done previously, slapping the tip of his cock against your tongue some droplets fell atop your cheeks as he beckoned you to stand. you did, and with that he offered you a rough slap to your cheek, one that send shockwaves of arousal to your core. he cupped the skin as it began to redden, his thumb smoothing over the burning flesh

“don’t you ever speak to me like that again, otherwise i won’t be so easy on you” his fingers fell to the buttons of your blouse, unbuttoning the semi-sheer material all while keeping you’re gaze. you skin burned with heart, and no that was not the lingering effects of that previous slap, roman had a way of commanding people, making them feel small and helpless under him and by god it was surely working. he had removed your blouse with such ease that you had not even realised it happened before he reached around to unclasp your bra, not before groping your clothed breasts in his large palms.

he was quick to undo the clasps, letting the lace material fall to the floor, he admired your breasts for a moment, adoring them, he repeated the process, groping them, kneading the supple flesh, your nipples hardened at the contact, his calloused palms grazing against the swollen buds. without warning he slapped them both, the sensation made a small yelp of pain to leave your lips. he only chuckled at your reaction. he made his way behind you, impatient and needy as he unzipped your tight pencil skirt, throwing it across the room into the pile of clothes that slowly started to form near the door. roman stuck a large hand into your panties, his fingertips toying with your sensitive clit, marveling at just how wet he had made you.

“you’re such a little slut, you know that, y/n…” he smirked into the crook of your neck. “listen to how fucking wet this little pussy is for me”

he did not have to do much, simply part your folds with his fingers for you to hear that wet sloshing sound of your cunt, one that you adored so much. roman pried his fingertips from your panties bringing them to your lips for you to taste only for him to bypass your lips completely, bringing them to his own. he relished in your sweetness, a drawn out moan ripped through his throat as he licked his fingers clean.

“i might just have to devour you, babygirl” his words gave you a sliver of hope, a gasp help in your throat for a moment.

“but tonight is not about you. it’s about me” roman ripped your panties clean off, leaving your dripping cunt exposed to the elements roma have a harsh slap to your dripping cunt, one that made you wince in excitement. he grabbed your wrist, dragging you over to the couch once more. he took his seated position again, pulling you atop his lap, lining up his thick cock with you entrance. he gave you no time to adjust to your surroundings before he stuffed you full of him

“roman…” you whined, head thrown back in pleasure simply by being stretched out by him. he cocked an eyebrow accusingly at the use of his name.

“my tribal chief…” you corrected yourself quickly. noticing a satisfied smirk form across his lips. “y-you’re so big”

“i know” roman chuckled, beginning to move with slow, deep thrusts to set the pace. he kept his gaze on your breasts, loving the way they voiced and jiggled every time he fucked up into you, a singe hand place on your hip to guide your movements, the way you swirled and bucked against him, so needy and feverish to get him off.

“you look so fucking tiny on my cock” roman mocked, comparing your radical size difference. he took a mental note of the way his cock outlined in your stomach, each thrust made it bulge against your skin. your cunt was trembling around his size, taking each inch deeper and deeper until you were stuffed to the brim. as much as you did not want to admit, you enjoyed the way roman used you like this, his personal fuck toy. it beats doing his paperwork for sure.

your hips seemed to bounce absentmindedly, your mind too fixated in achieving orgasm that you completely forgot you have not acknowledged him yet. your body hummed with pleasure so close to the edge that you did not care if he didn’t cum, you just needed to.

“i acknowledge you, my tribal chief” you whimpered through small, breathless moans. he’d caught ear of your words, simply smirking to himself. he pulled your hips down with both hands, holding you down on his cock as he practically rearranged your insides. roman’s chest heaved with arousal, the force of his thrusts bucked you into his chest, your breasts pushed up against his solid frame. his large palms fell to your ass, gripping the pillowy flesh as he slammed into you with such delicious force. roman’s dementor shifted quite rapidly from before. at first he was insulting, demeaning, now he was attentive, respectful almost

“you gonna cum for me, babygirl” his words were soft against your skin, lips pressed into the crook of your neck. you meekly hummed in response, feeling the tightness of your stomach increase. he rested back into the couch, adoring the way your ass bounced back against his cock. he pried your face up for him to look at. he admired your beauty, they way you mouth hung open with breathless pants, eyes rolling into the back of your skull, completely fucked out

you came around him, the proverbial flood gates opening. nails clinging to his biceps, digging into the flesh as your slammed your hips down against his. he was quick to follow, pressing your hips against his, holding your waist tight as he emptied rope after rope of his cum deep inside you. his lips inches from yours, teasing you with faux kisses before planting open mouthed ones to the side and column of your throat.

“fuck-“ he groaned against your skin, still holding you still. his pupils were blown with a mix of adoration and lust. he peered down at you for a moment, noticing the redness still evident on your cheek, he cupped it again, your skin feeling so delicate in his palm.

“i’m sorry if i hurt you, babygirl…” he hummed softly against your cheek, pressing a soft kiss to the burning skin. you did not expect such a sensitive and compassion side from roman

“why don’t i take you back to the hotel? eat you out for doing such a good job huh?, how does that sound?”

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#{ my fics : 🤍 }#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns imagine #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfic #wwe #wwe x reader #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfic #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut

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