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harknessxo · 2 months ago

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I’ve Missed You

Paring: Dark!Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: You and Agatha had a twisted history. She had kidnapped you into Wanda’s distorted reality to make you into her perfect wife. She had you under a spell until Wanda freed you. Wanda promised you Agatha would never hurt you again and helped you find a new home where Agatha wouldn’t be able to find you. You had your little house in the middle of nowhere, where you were safe…or so you thought. (This is also based on the one clip of Rio pinning Agatha to the wall.)

Warnings; kidnapping, magical manipulation, manipulation, metal abuse, fingering, strap on use (r receiving), mommy kink.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/n: All these Agatha All Along trailers and teaser have motivated me to write after four months. I am so ecstatic for it to come out already! I have waited two years for this! 😭

You and Agatha had a twisted history. She had kidnapped you into Wanda’s distorted reality to make you into her perfect wife. She had you under a spell until Wanda freed you. You told her everything about Agatha’s sick plan and Wanda then was able to trick Agatha and put her under spell, trapping her in Westview. Wanda promised you Agatha would never hurt you again and helped you find a new home where Agatha wouldn’t be able to find you. She even casted runes around the house.

A couple months after those events you found out about Wanda’s death. You grieved her death little, she was the closest thing you had to a friend ever since Agatha stripped you from your friends and family, but most of all you felt fear. Fear that Agatha would come out of the spell and go looking for you especially because Wanda’s runes had disappeared.

You were paranoid for months until you had confirmation that she was still in Westview under the spell. You spent the next three years in hiding. You had your little house in the middle of nowhere, where you were safe…or so you thought.

It was around mid day when you found yourself in the kitchen making some coffee. You were just wearing a robe and your hair was laying wild over your shoulders. As you were pouring the milk into your coffee, you heard a noise outside. You frowned and walked over to the window and saw nothing. As you were about to get back to your coffee, you heard it again. You grabbed a knife and walked over to the front door. Before you could even open it, the door burst over and someone pinned you against the wall, making you drop the knife.

“I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” That voice…you hadn’t heard it in so long, it made your skin crawl.

“A-agatha?” your voice trembled as you said her name. You looked into her eyes, she looked the same, she hadn’t aged a day yet she looked older in a way. Maybe it was the dark circles that laid under her eyes. She gave you a sinister smile moving her hand to brush a strand of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear.

“You look as beautiful as the day you left me.”

“How did you free yourself? And how did you find me-”

“I had some help,” she simply said, moving her hand to your neck and squeezing lightly, “I didn’t appreciate you betraying me and running away. Did you really think you could get away from me?” she pouted mockingly.

“Agatha please-” you wrapped your hand around her wrist.

“Say that again, you know how much I love to hear you beg.”

“P-please don’t hurt m-me…” your voice cracked. You were terrified of this woman’s power, of what she could do. Agatha dismissed your pleas and started kissing down your neck, surprisingly gentle.

“God, I missed you so much,” her hand sneaked underneath your robe to grip onto your waist, “Wanda did quite the number on me but now she’s not here to save you,” she whispered harshly into your ear and a tear silently ran down your cheek.

“Shh, baby, there's no need to cry,” she wiped the tear away, “I promise to take my time with you.” She started dragging you to your bedroom and you just let her, you knew better than to fight back. She pushed you on your bed and started undressing. Even if she was manipulative she was still very attractive. Something you would never admit. When she was done, she crawled on top of you, still leaving your robe on.

“Look at me,” she said when you looked everywhere but her. You just wanted this to be over with. “I said look at me,” she demanded, cupping your face, making you look at her. Usually when you looked into her eyes, all you saw was lust and possessiveness but this time, there was something different.

“Tell me you missed me, Y/n. Tell me you missed my touch.” she pleaded. This was very out of character for her. She never showed vulnerability. Ever. Yet, here she was asking you if you missed her as if her life depended on it.

“I…” she started to kiss your neck again, nipping at it, “I missed you too,” you finally said. It wasn’t a complete lie, a small part of you did miss her. She did kidnap you but she still took care of you and gave you everything you had ever wanted.

“Good girl~” she finally started to untie your robe.

“Aggie-” you tried to protest, gripping into her wrist but she pinned your hand above your head with her magical binds.

“Shh, just relax,” she took off your robe, leaving you completely bare, “I’m going to take care of you.”

“All you do is h-hurt me…”

“That’s because you disobeyed me. I had to discipline you,” she said, manipulating you into thinking it was your fault, “If only you just did as you were told, I wouldn't have had to hurt you bunny…” she softly ran her nails down your waist and hips, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. You remained quiet, not saying a word as her fingers moved closer to your core.

“I can’t wait to have you all to myself again,” she finally dipped her fingers into your wetness, chuckling at the fact that you were absolutely soaked for her. She started to slowly circle your clit, her breath hot against your ear.

“You were always so ready for me, baby. Your body still remembers me.” You whimpered when the pleasure caught up to you. You hadn’t touched yourself for so long. Your thoughts undoubtedly went to Agatha every time you tried so you gave up trying to find relief.

She chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by your whimpers. She started to move her fingers faster, applying more pressure to your clit.

“I bet you haven’t touched yourself since you left me. You were too afraid to think about me, weren’t you?”

“…yes.” You replied, biting your lip when she sped up her movements.

“That’s what I thought. You knew that no one could make you feel as good as I do. No one can satisfy you like I can,” she smiled and leaned down to suck on your neck, leaving a dark spot.

“N-no one can…” You said, your brain turning into mush as she slipped her fingers inside you.

“I’m the only one who knows you better than you know yourself. You can barely take care of yourself, baby. You need me.” Agatha was doing what she knew best, manipulating you. She could put you under her spell again but she wanted you to willingly submit to her. She could feel your body starting to tense up as she continued to work her fingers inside you. She moved her lips to your jaw, placing gentle kisses along the way.

“You’re so close, aren’t you baby? Do you remember the rules?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed in response, tugging at the binds slightly.

“What do you say then?” she slowed down her movements, loving to see you so desperate for her touch.

“Can I cum please?”

“Beg me, baby. I want to hear you beg for me.”

“Please mommy? I promise to be a good girl!” And there it was. She finally had you exactly where she wanted you. She smirked at your words, her eyes darkened with lust.

“That’s my good girl. You always know how to please me. Cum for me, baby. Cum for mommy.” She freed your hands and you clung to her as you rode your high, moving your hips against her hand. She spoke sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you before finally pulling her fingers out and kissing your forehead. You thought it was over until you felt something poking your entrance again.

“Mommy?” You mumbled again, trying to clench your thighs together. She smiled and gently caressed your face.

“I’m not done with you yet, baby. You still have a lot to make up for~”

“No more-” you tried to push her away but she didn’t budge. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her.

“Don’t tell me no, darling. You’re going to be a good girl and take whatever I give you. Understood? Don’t you want mommy to feel good too?” She started rubbing the tip of her enchanted strap against your pussy lips. She’d fucked you with the strap many times and she could feel everything which is why it was her favorite toy to use on you.

“But I’m too sensitive.” You whined.

“You can handle it, baby,” she chuckled and slowly pushed the tip of the strap inside you, “You’ve done it before…” she started to move her hips, pushing the strap deeper inside you. The strap slipped right in, your juices making it quite easy.

“Fuck, baby. You still feel so fucking tight. You’re taking me so well. You’re such a good girl~” Agatha groaned. Your pained whimpers soon turned into pleasurable moans and the knot in your stomach started to build up again. She continued to thrust into you, her movements becoming more erratic as she felt her own pleasure building up. She leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Keep making those pretty sounds for me. I want to hear you scream my name when you cum.”

“A-Aggie-“ You dug your nails onto her back. She let out a low growl, her grip on your hips tightening.

“Say it again, baby. Say my name again.”

“Agatha!” You came again, your pussy pulsing around her strap as your legs started to shake. Agatha let out a moan as she felt you cum around her strap, her own orgasm washing over her. She continued to thrust into you a few more times before pulling out and collapsing on top of you.

“That’s my good girl. You did so well, baby,” she started petting your hair as if you were a pet. She pulled you closer, holding you in her arms. She ran her fingers through your hair, her voice soft.

“You’re mine and no one else’s. You’re going to be a good girl and obey me, understand? You don’t want mommy to have to hurt for not listening, do you?” You frantically shook your head, burning your face in her neck. She gripped your hair and pulled your head back, forcing you to look at her.

“I said, do you understand? You will do as I say. You will obey me. You are mine to control and use as I please. Don’t make me punish you, baby.”

“I u-understand…” your eyes watered a bit, now you were really trapped. She smiled and released your hair, her hand gently stroking your cheek.

“Good girl. I knew you would see things my way. You’re so much more compliant when your brain is turned into mush, isn’t that right? Maybe I’ll have to fuck you more often so you don’t fight me,” she kissed your forehead and pulled you closer to her, wrapping her arms around you possessively. Agatha held you tightly, enjoying the feeling of having you in her arms again. She ran her fingers through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. She could see the gears turning in your head and spoke up again.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get used to it. You’ll learn to love being mine again. And I’ll take good care of you, I promise. You won’t want anything as long as you’re with me…”

#fanfic #smut #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #dark!agatha #agatha all along #agatha harkness smut #agatha x reader #x reader #rio vidal #wandavision #wanda maximoff

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ceilidho · 2 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language

first chapter >> last chapter

Sinking into fear is the body’s natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldn’t be one that you’d win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs.

It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead.

You can’t feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.

“Don’t feel so clever now, huh?”

Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries.

“Well?” he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. “Got anythin’ to say?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“You a mute, girl? I know you ain’t deaf since you heard I’d been sniffin’ around lookin’ for ya. ‘Least I’m guessin’ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.” He sniffs. “Took me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldn’t believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.”

You finally muster up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re making a mistake.”

The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. “I’d try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyin’ just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

“No, you—you really don’t—”

He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. “Now, I know you’re a slippery little bitch, so I’ll level with you, alright?” Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. “You make so much as a peep—so much as a fuckin’ whisper—and I’ll shoot. Wink and I’ll shoot. I am dyin’ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.”

There’s no point in lying. It might’ve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.

“Now get to steppin’.”

He doesn’t tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesn’t so much as glance towards the door before it’s swinging shut behind you.

“Remember,” Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, “not a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.”

That kills the impulse to shout for help.

The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you can’t see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile.

Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. You’ve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right.

The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesn’t abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if he’ll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him.

“My husband—” you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. “—He can—he can pay you.”

He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. “I’m sure he’d like to, sugar. Jus' ain’t sure he’s got the cash to pay your price.”

“At least let me ask—”

At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you get?”

That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still there’s so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why here—why now?

The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. It’s almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world.

Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, “Morning, Mrs. Price” before sweeping by in a hurry.

None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a moment’s notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death.

There’s something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isn’t quite happening, like you can’t quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like you’re watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesn’t resonate within you as real.

He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. You’re less than meat to him, less than human even—no more than a meal ticket.

When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Graves’ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning.

“If you think I was kiddin’ before, just try me,” he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince.

Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someone’s attention.

He doesn’t lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy.

This far from the center of town, there’s hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you can’t find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then you’re alone again.

A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches. When he suddenly unhands you, it doesn’t click until he’s several paces away from you, running his hand down his horse’s neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt.

“Bought the horse off a drunk three towns back,” Graves explains while loading up the horse.

You don’t respond, still unsettled. It’s the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasn’t been aimed at you. It wouldn’t be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your moment—a moment to scream or run away.

But you don’t. You don’t scream and you don’t run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. You’ve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind.

Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you can’t stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust?

“How did you—” you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. “I thought you’d left town.”

“You’d’ve liked that, huh?”

You don’t answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun.

He sighs when you don’t rise to the bait, almost pettish. “Wedding announcement. I saw it in the paper—by then, I’d moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethin’ about that bit in the paper about the sheriff’s wife hailing from the east coast didn’t sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sure—retrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.”

You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known.

(“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”)

“To be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorta thing you’d read about in a dime novel.”

A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, you’ve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin.

“I’m not a murderer.”

The look he gives you is withering. “Sugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems. But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out.

“He deserved it,” you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest.

Graves doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps.

“He deserved it,” you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you.

“That’s not somethin’ I usually concern myself with,” he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes.

You’re struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would.

It’s the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt.

“He would’ve—he would’ve raped me otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.”

At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank.

“Better that than what’ll happen now,” he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in. When they do, you have to swallow back bile.

His glibness shatters whatever hope you’d had left.

In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency won’t lead you anywhere because it simply doesn’t exist within him. You’ve known men like him before—those more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You should’ve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter.

There won’t be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, he’s happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins.

How many times do you have to ask yourself if you’re brave enough to do something before you answer?

When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you.

“And here I thought you’d stopped pissin’ me off,” he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it.

“What’s the point?” you retort, nostrils flaring. “You either kill me here or I die there.”

You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together.

Graves’ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. “Oh, I won’t kill you, sugar. I’m a better shot than that.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg.

“I’m surprised you won’t just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldn’t hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?”

That’s been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing that’s kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. You’d convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less you.

But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, it’s love. He’s proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, he’d come running.

Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesn’t align at all with the man you know. He’d go to hell and back for you, would rip out a man’s tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear.

You meet his eyes, intention set. “I’d rather just ask him.”

Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm.

He’s on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat.

“Shoulda done this before,” Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away.

When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest.

“Get your hands off—” you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight they’re bound. “Let me go, let ME GO—”

He pulls you in close again. “Don’t think I won’t tape your fuckin’ mouth shut too,” Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly.

“Please— please don’t do this—” you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now.

He sighs, long suffering. “Lord knows I tried to warn you.”

Despite the threat, Graves doesn’t tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You don’t have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it.

“There,” he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. “That’s better. Can finally hear myself think.”

The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesn’t apologize for his rough handling.

Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified.

“Save your tears, sugar,” he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. “You’ll need ‘em for later.”

The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat.

Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. He’s too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if he’s someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your hands—anything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong.

You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town.

You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun.

The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.

The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves would’ve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff.

“You never know with men who’ve gotten a taste of married life,” he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. “They get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Can’t be trusted to do the right thing.”

Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that you’re alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man who’d be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasn’t been quite so explicit, it’s apparent in the way he doesn’t offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder.

The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. He’d taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didn’t matter if you screamed or not. That’s what stays your tongue now—the creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight.

“How much was the bounty?” you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other.

“Now, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ain’t you collecting the reward.”

Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. It’s not like knowing would change anything.

The break ends sooner than you’d hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because you’re not far enough away from town that you couldn’t still be rescued. There’d be more of a chance of John or someone else—one of his deputies, perhaps—coming across you out here. But you don’t have much of a choice.

Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush.

The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky now. It’d be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. You’re still damp from riding through the rain earlier.

A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place.

Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. It’s impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will.

The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot.

Graves dismounts his horse about a stone’s throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property.

“Shit,” he remarks, sucking his teeth. “A local back in town swore a family still lived here. Don’t look like anyone’s lived here since Abraham.”

Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwelling’s vacancy. You’ve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; it’s common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores.

But you’ve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldn’t be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified.

You shake the story from your head. “…Are we spending the night here?” you ask tentatively.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that head of yours. Jus’ because a man’s gotta rest his eyes, don’t mean I gotta give you a peaceful night’s rest. No, I’m leavin’ those hands of yours tied.”

Your hopes deflate at that.

He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man.

The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust.

At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You can’t imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasn’t tried anything untoward so far—not so much as made a licentious remark—you don’t know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and he’ll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you.

It’s enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesn’t try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets.

One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin.

“Well,” Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Do…do I get to sleep as well?”

He cocks a brow. “Not much I can do to stop you.”

“It’s just that…” You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you won’t be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists.

Graves scoffs. “You can’t think I’ll just uncuff you ‘cause we ain’t in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.”

“You could use rope instead?” you suggest.

The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons.

Finally, he shrugs. “Alright.”

The relief that washes over you is almost palpable.

He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut.

He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. “I don’t usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Don’t go tryin’ anythin’ stupid. I’m gettin’ a good night’s rest and so help me if you wake me up—” his eyes flash, gray going steely “—you won’t like the consequences.”

You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat.

True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements.

You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but you’re far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you can’t help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory.

It’s all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that you’re gone. It isn’t fair. After everything you’ve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward.

Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle.

Then your eyes drop to your wrists.

The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesn’t cut into you the way the metal did.

Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesn’t snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable.

The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That there’s a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.

Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as they’ll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow.

Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat.

Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm.

When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though.

You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know it’s within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out.

Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until you’ve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet.

Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, it’s hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.

Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement.

Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Graves’ sleeping form. He doesn’t so much as shift. It’s another beat before you’re able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel.

The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you.

The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. You’re out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right.

If you had less strength, you’d fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once.

The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that you’re on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky.

Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldn’t waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. They’ve only ever led you off course.

The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, he’d starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on.

You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence.

“Hey there, honey,” you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you aren’t a threat. Its nose twitches.

Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words.

You aren’t John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.

It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door.

The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb.

Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Graves’ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged.

“Hey!” Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. “Get back here!”

There’s no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didn’t exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you.

All you can do is run.

The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You don’t have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where you’re going—just away from him. You’d jump off a cliff if you came across one.

He’s close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then it’s too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow.

You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs.

Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth.

“Insufferable bitch,” Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken.

Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face.

“Please—” you beg, blood dripping from your split lip.

“Knew I shouldn’ta trusted you—conniving little cunt—c’mere now, get up—”

He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body.

Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you can’t believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden.

“Ah, hell, I didn’t mean to do that,” he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. “Alright, sugar, one second—I’ll pop that back in.”

“Nononono—” you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words.

The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.

“You…bastard…” you gasp.

“Wouldn’ta had to do that if you hadn’t run,” he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage.

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding.

He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. There’s no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods.

The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. You’d rattle if someone shook you.

“I hate you,” you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. “Rot in hell.”

Graves doesn’t respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins.

No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that you’ve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You should’ve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon.

The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow.

Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit.

“Get up,” a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. “We got places to be.”

He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he won’t let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that.

There’s no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him.

The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints.

The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. It’s all wastelands and portents. Evil omens.

Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves.

“Cheer up,” Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. “You should be glad I didn’t jus’ shoot you.”

Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing.

A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.

"What in the hell—"

You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.

#this is a long one because it's 2 chapters that i didn't feel like posting separately #but they're separated on ao3 if you wanna go read there #ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #john price/reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you

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lov-3-rs · 3 months ago

Text

Let’s be Honest

Simon Riley (Bodyguard) x Reader!!

(mdni 18+)

Your father is an undercover investigator working a dangerous case on a human trafficking ring. Unfortunately, they somehow discovered his intentions, and now they're out for revenge. So, they’ve put a bounty on your head, claiming you’re worth millions to whoever is able to find you and sell you to the best bidder. Despite the danger, your father can’t abandon his mission as there were other lives on the line. He’s too close to cracking the case, rescuing the victims. To protect you, he hired someone no one would see coming for them and that was going to be protecting you. He hired a Ghost.

————————————————————————————

The moment you saw the brute, you couldn’t believe it. This 6’3”, 220lb, constantly masked man was supposed to be by your side for who knows how long. The sheer size of him was intimidating enough, but the mask? It kept you wondering what kind of man was beneath it.

You couldn’t argue with your father, though. He wanted you safe, and you weren’t about to be taken and sold off to some creep. So, you dealt with it. But now it’s been two months too long. Two damn months of constant monitoring, endless rules, and the same warnings: 'You need to listen to me Y/n,' 'Stay by my side,' or ‘It’s not safe.' It was honestly getting sickening at the fact he had complete control over your day to day life now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I was thinking of going shopping today, get some fresh air,” you say, taking a bite of your breakfast. He stands near the window, eyes scanning the street outside like he always does. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low, almost disinterested. You roll your eyes. “Jesus Christ, why not? It’s just us walking down the street, Simon.”

You started using his real name after weeks of pestering him to tell you. It felt weird calling him “Ghost” all the time—like something out of a video game. What good was being around someone this long if you didn’t even know their name?

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask—if there’s an expression at all. Then, just as silently, he turns back to the window. “You never know.” You put your fork down and stop eating, “Simon, I can’t keep going days without stepping foot outside, i’m literally going insane”, he steps away from the window and pulls a chair out to sit beside you. “Everything I do and everything I say is to protect you, that is the whole reason I am here”. you looked into his hauntingly dead eyes. “Please you can’t keep me trapped in these walls”. You say with hesitation in your voice wondering if this will be another useless plea to let him agree for you to get out the house. He paused for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. You smile, “oh my gosh really? we can go?!” you say quickly standing from your chair in excitement. “yes. but the moment I feel something is off we leave, immediately” he says sternly. You were already putting your plate away and running to your room to get ready.

You visited a few of your favorite stores near your house, picking up small items here and there. Simon stayed close, as usual, walking silently beside you. As you stepped out of another shop, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “We’re going to one more store, then we’re heading home. Do you understand?” You shot him a side-eye but nodded, not in the mood for another argument.

The last stop was the lingerie shop—you had been eyeing their new fall line for weeks. You grabbed a few panties and bras before something else caught your eye: the most stunning, sexy set you’d ever seen. You had to try it on. Walking into the dressing room, you slipped out of your clothes and into the delicate lace set. The fabric felt luxurious against your skin. You peeked your head out, only seeing Simon waiting, his posture as stoic as ever. You stepped out to check yourself in the mirror, admiring the way the set hugged your curves. From the corner of his eye, Simon caught sight of you. His jaw clenched almost immediately as he tried to keep his focus elsewhere, but it was impossible. He’d been around you every day for two months, and he had seen plenty—your tight shirts with no bra, shorts that barely covered anything. He’d always kept his cool, reminding himself that you were off-limits, and he took care of himself whenever you were asleep or when he took a shower. But seeing you now, in something so revealing, stirred something deeper in him that made his jeans tighten. He forced himself to remain still, but the tension in his body betrayed his thoughts. Respect for your father, the job—those were the only things keeping him from acting on what he felt. And he had to keep it that way, or at least he was trying to.

You caught Simon’s gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. His eyes were unreadable behind the mask, but you could feel something he wasn’t saying. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat. “What do you think?” you asked casually, but your pulse quickened. You didn’t know why you even asked—it wasn’t like you cared what he thought about lingerie. Or did you?

He blinked, caught off guard. “About what?”

“The lingerie,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I thought I’d get a professional opinion.” His jaw tightened more, but you caught the flicker of something in his eyes. “You don’t need my opinion.” You stepped a little closer, testing his boundaries. “Maybe I do.” He stayed still, but you could see the tension in his stance. His voice, when he spoke, was low. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” You laughed lightly. “What? Shopping?” His eyes met yours, and for a second, there was nothing but silence between you. “No,” he said softly, almost reluctantly. “This.” The weight of his words hung in the air. For a moment, neither of you moved. His response was a beat too slow. “You should hurry up,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual. You rolled your eyes, but his tone made your skin tingle. There was something about the way he held himself that made you wonder—did he see you the way you were starting to see him? You slipped back into the dressing room to change, but the tension lingered, thick in the air. When you came out, dressed again, Simon stood up immediately, his shoulders tense. “Let’s go.” The rest of the walk home was quiet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted.

You walked into the house, setting your bags down and slipping off your shoes. Simon followed closely behind, immediately locking the door and heading to the windows like he always did, scanning the outside for any sign of danger. But your mind was elsewhere, replaying that one word—this—over and over again.

What did ‘it’ mean? You had to know.

“Simon,” you called out softly, still unable to meet his eyes. “What did you mean earlier?” He stiffened immediately, turning to face you. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he’d been hoping you would let it go. He didn’t mean to let that word slip out, and now he was trying to think of a way around it. “What do you mean?” His tone was even, but there was a slight edge to it, a hint of tension. You swallowed, gathering your courage. “You said I was making this hard. I’m not sure what that means… I want you to tell me.” Finally, you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was fighting with himself. His silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, as though he was weighing whether or not to tell you the truth. He turned back to the window, staring outside as if it would give him the answer he needed. “You’re making my job harder,” he said after a long pause, but there was something in his voice—a hesitation. But you had a smirk on your face knowing exactly what it was, “it was the set wasn’t it?” there was a pause, “you thought I looked good, too good right?” you stepped closer to him testing his limits wanting more reaction out of him. “I think you should keep this fantasy shit to yourself” he said quickly snapping back at you, but you kept pushing, “I don’t blame you Simon, I bet it’s been months since you got laid and I won’t lie it’s been a hot minute for me too with you being around me all the time, having me cooped in this house” you can see his brows furrowing. “you’re crossing the god damn line” that’s what he was saying but the raging boner in his pants said completely different about your attitude.

Before you knew it, he was stepping toward you, his hand gripping your arm firmly. “You’re pushing me too far,” he said, his voice low and rough. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Maybe I need you to push back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment was charged, and without warning, one of his hands let go from your arm to lift up his mask above his nose exposing his lips. your eyes widen never seeing anything but his eyes for the last few months. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, It was intense and consuming, leaving both of you breathless and more entangled than before.

He picked you up and put you on the dining table. the kiss became more passionate with his hands tangled in your hair, you could feel your core throb waiting to be touched. Simon pulled away from you and looked into your eyes, “you don’t understand how long i’ve wanted to touch you” he says breathing heavily. “all those times you walked around with no bra and I could see your fucking nipples through your shirt and the times you walked around with your ass out, god I wanted to bend you over, i’d fuck you right there and don’t even forget about the times I could here you moaning in the shower doing god knows what to that pussy, ya fuckin minx” your cunt was practically dripping at his words, your breathing became more heavier, “Then do it Simon, bend me over and fuck me” before you could say anymore he already was turning you over on the counter and pulling your pants down. “already planning on it love”. Simon pulled your pants down then slowly pulled your panties down revealing your wet pussy. he bent down to get eye level with it bring his fingers up to your folds and playing with your clit. You moaned at his touched, “fuh-fuck”. Simon pulled his fingers away and replaced it with his tongue, licking your throbbing clit and making you squirm.

He ate you out till you came on his mouth, “Si please”. Simon got up and looked at your bent over form while he started unbuckling his pants, “please what love?” he already knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. “fuck me hard” he smiled at your words taking his hard cock in his hand rubbing his pre cum all over the top of his head giving it extra lubricant. He aligned his cocked to your hole and slammed into you making you jump, “Shhhhhhhit” you hiss out the word from the painful pleasure. He started to thrust in and out of you hearing your moans made him want to cum already but he couldn’t, it felt too damn good to stop now. Simon bent down to your ear, “All those fuckin times you were playing with this tight cunt in the shower, who were you thinkin about huh?”. You didn’t want to answer out of embarrassment but you did it anyways, “y-you si, I thought about sucking your cock and you cumming all over my tits” that snapped something in him when you said that, his pace picked up he started fucking you harder, his balls slapping against your clit. “what would ya daddy think of the man he hired to protect you fucking your pussy raw?”. You could feel your self about to cum, “Si I’m gonna cum on your cock” his thrust became sloppier feeling himself about to finish too, “cum baby, cum”. Simon thrusted harder into your cunt making your back arch more and your ass jiggle against his hips the sight was pushing him over the edge, “god damn baby i’m gonna to cum” his hands gripped into your hips harder. “Simon cum inside me god please”. He busted a load in you, pushing his cock feel in you making sure nothing came out, “fuckin hell”.

After the intensity of the moment subsided, Simon and you lay there in the aftermath, the room now quiet except for your shared breathing. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I didn’t plan for this,” Simon said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and affection. “I never wanted to cross that line.” You turned to face him, your own emotions swirling. “Neither did I, but… it felt right in the moment. I just want to know what this means for us.” Simon looked at you with a conflicted expression. “I don’t have all the answers. This situation is complicated, and I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my feelings with my responsibilities.” he says lowly “I understand,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “I just need to know where we stand. Do you want to try and make this work, or is this something we need to move past?” There was a pause as Simon considered his words. “I care about you more than I should,” he admitted. “But I also need to focus on keeping you safe. We’ll have to navigate this carefully.” You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. “We’ll figure it out together,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“As long as we’re honest with each other.”

#call of duty #cod smut #cod #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley bodyguard #bodyguard #ghost smut #ghost x reader smut #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod mw2 #cod ghost

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lonniemachin · 6 months ago

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EXTREMELY URGENT REQUEST: EUROPEAN FUNDRAISER HOST NEEDED BEFORE JULY 10th

The family whose fundraiser I have adopted, Ahmed, Maram, and their three children, created their GFM without a bank account attached. Their account is in euro, which means I cannot attach my own, and I do not know any trusted individuals who would be able to attach theirs — I am coming to you with a desperate plea for help. I need someone in Germany, Italy, Spain, France, Ireland, Netherlands, Belgium. Portugal, Austria, Luxembourg, or Finland who I can trust will not rip off this family/steal their money who would be able to host their campaign or attach their details to it and transfer the money to them.

I need to find someone before July 10th, or else they will lose all of their evacuation and support funds.

I can attest to their legitimacy, and they have been vetted by @el-shab-hussein.

This is a struggling, 9-times displaced Palestinian family with a starving 10-month-old baby, a 4 year old, and a 2 year old. They have been waiting with more patience than I can express to raise funds, and they are so close to having enough to evacuate once the border opens. I would hate to see them crushed by losing all of the funds in such a dire, horrific situation.

If you would be willing to take on this work, PLEASE reach out to me and we can discuss further. This family’s safety and survival means the world to me, we can’t fail them. If you know anyone you trust, please reach out to me and put me in contact with them.

Thank you.

Here are some photos of the family I have been given permission to share:

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #rafah #all eyes on rafah #all eyes on palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #mutual aid #signal boost #mutual aid request #gaza genocide #gazaunderattack #save gaza

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raven-dor · 4 months ago

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come back to me

In which gwayne hightower leaves his wife asleep before the battle, and she worries over his return

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x reader, alicent hightower x PLATONIC!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x PLATONIC!reader

WARNINGS: allusions to nsfw, angst, old friends, hurt/comfort, arguing (not actual arguing, just reader letting out her worry), fluffy ending

WORD COUNT: 2,994

Her emerald green dress flowed with the wind as she stood on their shared balcony, staring at the town below. He always admired her from afar, she was angelic, Gwayne had come to realize over the years. He walked behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, a gentle touch that spoke volumes as to how much he treasured her. “Come to bed, my love.”

She hummed, leaning her head back into his chest. “If I come to bed, this night will end, and that will mean you are leaving.” She shook her head, her resistance palpable in the air. “So I will not.”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Will you deny your lord husband the pleasure of your company before he goes into battle?”

She laughed, twisting in his hold. “Is this a request or a demand?”

“It is a plea.” He leaned down, inches away from her lips. “I do not wish to leave on bad terms. This battle will be one for the histories.” He shivered, pulling her closer. “Indulge me.”

She leaned forward, cruelly teasing him. Quickly, she pulled back, escaping his hold easily. She walked past him, smirking. “If we must.”

He grabbed her wrist, spinning her back to him. She gasped, her knees weakening under his piercing gaze. Gwayne had always had a hold on her, even long before they were promised to each other, and she was just the Dowager Queen’s childhood friend. He was a good man; he always had been. “You know I would never force myself on you, my lady. But I must confess…” He leaned down, whispering. “If I do not kiss you, I will surely die.”

She giggled, reaching for his lips. “We cannot have that, can we?”

He collided her lips with his, groaning. “My darling girl…”

“Take me to bed, Gwayne.” She murmured, linking her lips with his once more. “Please.”

“Whatever you wish, my love.” He grabbed her thighs, wrapping her legs around him with ease. “Whatever you wish.”

The sun peaked through their wide-open curtains, stirring her from her otherwise peaceful sleep. She rolled over, reaching out for her husband. Her reach came up empty, his side of the bed still warm. She gasped, realizing what he had done. She sat up quickly, calling for her maid. “Help me dress.”

The young girl nodded. “Which dress would you-”

“It does not matter!” She snapped. “I am sorry, truly. Any dress, just do it quickly.”

The maid threw on her frock, a simple green velvet slip that she typically wore when exploring the woods surrounding Old Town. Smiling gratefully, she raced through the halls, not caring for the looks that followed her. The doors to the courtyard burst open, and she scanned quickly for her husband. The Dowager Queen stood alone in the center, staring at the gate. Gathering herself, she approached, curtsying. “My Queen.”

Alicent smiled lightly. “No need for such formalities. We were once friends, Y/N.”

She ignored the request. “Has your brother-”

The queen nodded knowingly. “He just left, I’m afraid.” She put a comforting hand on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “He did not want to wake you.”

“I-” Tears began to well, and she coughed. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Y/N, wait!”

She had already dashed up the stairs, her tears now fully streaming down her cheeks.

It had been over a month before she’d received word that the battle was over and the surviving soldiers would be returning home. In that month, not one letter from Gwayne had graced her room or, more accurately, her cell. The Red Keep was a prison now, though if Gwayne came back, she would not tell him. He loved his family dearly, especially his sister and learning of his wife’s distaste for them would surely cause a rift.

She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had only been twenty years ago, when she, Alicent, and Rhaenyra would sit in the gardens, jesting about tutors and gossiping about knights of the realm. When Alicent left to attend to her father, Rhaenyra would look over at Y/N, teasing her about her budding crush on Alicent’s brother.

She had not seen Rhaenyra in years. Now, her nephew by law had usurped her throne, and there was nothing Y/N could do but watch. She had no dragon, no power of her own. Which she had been contempt of before her husband had been dragged into this whole mess. Thanks to her nephew, he might never return to her. All she could do now was count down the days until the horns blew, and she stood in the courtyard, raking over the faces in the crowd until she found Gwaynes.

A knock rang through her chambers, her guard's voice coming through the door. “My lady, the Dowager Queen, would like to see you.”

She sighed, taking a deep breath. “I will be out in a moment.”

Alicent rarely called for her anymore. The last time had been when Viserys had died, a letter arrived to Old Town not for her brother, the Lord Paramount, but for you. For you to come.

You had not; after all, you had just given birth to your second child, and you were too frail to walk. Gwayne had refused to even let you entertain the notion, insisting that your health came before his sister, even if she was the queen.

Her chamber doors were wide open, and Alicent sat at her table, tea and two glasses in front of her. The Queen smiled, waving away her servants and guard. “Leave us.”

“But my lady…”

“My sister-in-law is no threat, Sir Rickard.” The older man nodded, ushering the servants out of her chambers and closing the doors soundly behind him. “Are you well?”

“As well as I can be, my lady.” Y/N smiled. “And yourself?”

“As well as one can be, I suppose.” The two former friends sat in silence, sipping their tea. The fire crackled behind them, and Y/N began to wonder what exact moment had caused a rift in their friendship.

“I must tell you something.” Alicent looked torn like she was fighting herself to stay silent. “You must not tell anyone, not even my brother.”

“Of course.” She nodded quickly. “Of course, Alicent.”

“I made a mistake.” Her face was ghostly white. “Aegon–” She gasped, a sob wrecking through her body. Y/N froze, unsure of what to do. “He was never supposed to be king. I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?”

“Viserys, he was spouting nonsense about Aegon the Conquerer, and I thought-” She scoffed. “I misunderstood.”

Y/N sat back in her chair, staring at the fire. “You mean to tell me that this entire war started because of a misunderstanding?” Alicent remained silent. “Alicent, you must tell Rhaenyra. Before it’s too late.”

The queen laughed. “It’s already too late. Her son is dead; my grandson was viciously murdered in his own bed. She would not see me. You remember how stubborn she is.”

Y/N knelt in front of Alicent, taking her hands in hers. “Alicent, for the good of the realm, you must meet with Rhaenyra and come to an agreement. Atrocities have been dealt by both sides, but if you tell her this…” She shivered. “It would save thousands. It would save your brother, Helaena, your…guard.” She tightened her hold on her old friend's hands. “Please.”

“I-” She nodded, not trusting her voice to stay collected. Y/N stood, dusting off her dress and sitting back down.

“Have you heard any word of your brother?”

“None.” It was Alicent’s turn to hold her hand. “He will return to you, I am sure. He is a great knight.”

She nodded. “He is; that is what worries me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He would never leave his men behind. Even if that meant…” She trailed off, sighing. “You understand.”

Alicent nodded, her heart at the bottom of her stomach. Her old friend had always been melancholy since childhood. Her parents had perished in a horrible accident, and she had been a ward of the crown ever since. She could not bear to be the cause of her further grief.

“How are the children?”

“Well. Daeron writes that Arthur is practically as talented at the sword as he. Emma is still just a babe, but she grows larger by the day.” She murmured. “As far as I’ve heard.”

“You will be back with them soon; I promise you that.” Alicent smiled. “I understand what it is like to miss a child.”

Y/N nodded, but she knew Alicent could never understand. How could she? She had never been forced to leave her children to come and serve a usurper of a king.

The horns had blown midday only two days later. Y/N’s worry for her husband had turned into anger over the past months, anger that he did not say goodbye to her before he went off to war. She’d been sitting on her balcony when the deep sound blared through the city, rousing her out of her stupor. Even if she was angry with her husband, that did not mean her heart did not yearn to be in his arms, to be kissed like it was the last moment they would ever live. Her dress billowed behind her as she ran, again not bothering to acknowledge the prying eyes that followed. She slowed, and two guards opened the doors slowly, slower than she would have liked.

Walking down the staircase gracefully, she tried to keep her composure when she could not find Gwayne in the crowd below. Her heart dropped, and she clenched her fists, nausea bubbling in her stomach. She was too young to be a widow, too young to raise two children on her own, too young to-

“My lady.” She turned around, almost sobbing at the sight. There stood her lord husband, in all his glory. His hair was dirty, his skin broken, but all Y/N saw was her love before her and alive.

She bowed, making no movement to embrace him.

“Lord Husband. I am most grateful for your return.”

His eyebrows raised, a smirk gracing his delicate face. “How formal of you, my dear.”

She huffed, turning on her heels and walking back into the castle. Gwayne followed behind swiftly, entirely confused as to why he did not have her in his arms. They walked in silence to their chambers, servants stilling at the sight of Gwayne. “Leave us.” He ordered, not sparing a second glance. They scurried out, the doors shutting loudly.

He stared at her curiously. “My Love-”

“Let me dress your wounds.” She sighed, walking over to their wardrobe. “It seems you have many.”

He nodded but made no movement to sit or remove his armour. “Darling-”

“Turn for me, my lord. I need to remove your armour.”

He nodded once more, turning as requested. The tension was palpable, but neither of them made any effort to break it. She quickly removed his armour, setting it delicately on the table. “Sit.”

She stood in front of him, leaning down to dress his wounds. His hands ached to reach out and pull her into his lap, but he made no effort; he simply stared at her. “Was the battle difficult?”

He nodded, hissing as she disinfected a cut. She mumbled apologies. “It was quite the scene. A dragon’s fight is something I hope you never witness.” Y/N simply hummed, concentrating on the cut. “Did you fare well while I was away?”

She tensed, nodding quickly. “As well as one can do when their husband leaves without a word.”

Ah. So that is why she had not jumped into his arms when he arrived. Gwayne had wondered why he had not been making his wife sigh and gasp from his tender touch. “I thought it was best if-”

“You thought wrong.” She murmured, walking over to the bowl of clean water. He couldn’t fight it anymore, reaching out to grab her hips. She gasped but made no effort to look down.

“Please forgive me.” He tightened his hold, dropping his head against her stomach. “I did not want to wake you.”

“So I was told.” He looked up, and she sighed. “Your sister.”

“You looked so peaceful; I did not wish to see you cry.”

She laughed humourlessly. “Who said I would waste any tears on you?”

He sat back, clutching his chest playfully. “You wound me, wife.”

She scoffed, squirming in his hold. “You cannot charm me into forgiving you.”

“I made no such claim.”

“Yes, well.” She sighed, pulling out of his arms and rinsing the rag. “You thought it. Of that, I am sure.”

He smiled. Her spirit had always drawn him in. From the first day they had met, she had not withered at the sight of a lord. She held her ground, staying as strong as she was. “Withering is for flowers,” she told him. “I am no flower.” He laughed, placing a daisy behind her ear. “No. But you are as pretty as one.” That had made her blush. How he wished they could go back to then when everything was much simpler. When the thought of dragon fire didn’t threaten their very lives, their children’s lives.

She stood back in front of him, but this time, he put his hands on her hips, pulling her into his lap. Her cheeks grew red, and she looked down at his neck, tending to a rather nasty bruise. “My love, please look at me.”

“I can’t look at you.” She shook her head defiantly. “I am angry at you.”

“Y/N-” He cupped her cheek with his hand, caressing it with his thumb.

“Don't!” She yelped like she’d been burned, jumping up. “You left me. I woke up, and you were gone. No note, no kiss goodbye. What if you had died?” She scoffed. “But no, ‘I looked too peaceful to wake.’ That is a horrid excuse. You’re a coward, Gwayne Hightower. A coward.”

Gwayne stood up, his eyebrows furrowed. “Now, wait just a moment-” She hit his chest, tears streaming down her face. “How could you? Do you know how worried sick I was? Do you?”

“Stop this.”

She shook her head, continuing to beat at his chest. “Don’t ever do-”

He grabbed her wrists delicately, stopping her. “Stop this madness.” His voice was gentle, not a trace of anger or annoyance found.

She sobbed. “You mongral. Let me-”

“I understand that you are upset, my darling. But surely you realize this is not the solution.” He lowered his head, their lips inches apart. “I wanted to remember my happy girl. No tears.”

“I wouldn’t have cried.” She murmured, still fighting against his hold.

“As opposed to what you are doing now?”

She glared at his chest. “You are without a doubt the most-” Releasing one of her wrists, he brought his hand to her chin, raising her head gently. When she still refused to look at him, he leaned down, kissing her nose, cheeks, and forehead until she finally gave in to his love.

“I have to admit, I was rather disappointed at the reception I received.”

“If only you had left a note.” She mumbled. “Never do that to me again. Promise me, Gwayne.”

He nodded, kissing each knuckle gently. “I swear to you.”

She wanted to take him to bed, admire his form, and thank the gods old and new that he was with her and not dead on a battlefield, but the reality was he still had many cuts that needed to be tended to, and he desperately needed get the stench of battle off his skin.

“You need a bath.”

“Are you insinuating that I smell?” Gwayne tilted his head, a jesting look on his face. She nodded, giggling.

“Terribly.”

He groaned, letting her out of his hold. “Very well.”

Y/N couldn’t help but wince as she watched him peeled off his shirt. “Let me help you.”

“I can do it-” She glared, and he gave in immediately. “Fine, fine.”

She nodded, carefully untying the top before lifting his shirt. Her cheeks grew bright red, his torso still as muscular as the day they were married. Throwing his shirt on the ground, her breath caught. His eyes were piercing hers once more, drawing her in. She smiled, kissing a cut on his chest gently. “Does this hurt?”

It was his turn for his breath to catch. He shook his head, words failing. Another cut, another bruise; she followed the trail until it stopped at a cut on his lower lip.

“My noble boy.” She kissed his lip lightly, sending shivers down the brave knight’s spine. This time, when he gave her that look, she couldn’t resist it. She placed her arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. “I missed you so.”

He groaned, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “I’m so sorry, my darling. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. I was acting a fool.” She sighed as he nipped down her neck. “Gwayne, the bath…”

“I promise you I will bathe, but if I do not have you this instant, I will simply combust.”

They stumbled over to the door, locking it haphazardly. “Take me to bed.”

“I will, I will, but first…” He turned her around, undoing her laces quickly. He groaned. “Good god, woman, how many laces can a dress have?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “Woman?”

“Forgive me. My lady, light of my life, darling, love-”

Now she was fully cackling, and turned around, smothering his face his affection. “Let us retire, please.”

He nodded, the laces finally coming undone. She stumbled backward, drawing him in with her spell. He tapped his chin, tilting his head. “I was about to do something.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I believe, lord husband, you were about to ravish me.”

He grinned, stalking towards her. “Thank you, my lady, for reminding me.”

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #team black #team green #alicent hightower #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #x reader #fanfiction #got fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fluff #hotd #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #literature

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