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writer-in-theory · 2 months

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you're gonna go far, love — spencer reid.

“I’ve been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn’t think to ask you where you’d gone.” —Noah Kahan (Orange Juice)

Summary: After Spencer relapses, he takes the first flight out of Virginia with no plan other than to get a fresh start. Or, my take on where he was for Evolution. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gn!Reader (not the focus, but it's there) Category: Hurt/Comfort WC: 2k Content Warnings: Discussions of relapse, Mentions of alcohol, Slight spoiler for the ending of Evolution S1 (despite the fact I still haven't finished it myself) Notes: This is for the New Beginnings challenge hosted by @imagining-in-the-margins and based on a prompt from @foxy-eva , so thank you so much to you lovely people. This fic comes 2 years after my last CM fic, and a few months since I've written anything at all, so thank you for the inspiration 💜

Spencer booked the first flight out of Virginia five days after it happened.

The person at the counter may have said the destination, but it floated straight past his ears and was carried far away. Within hours, everything he’d spent the past two decades building was left thirty thousand feet below him.

Emily would be hurt. Everyone would be, as each of them heard the news as they one-by-one came into the office tomorrow. But it would be Emily, who was the first to notice the cracks in his once carefully crafted facade all those years ago, who would feel the most betrayed by his sudden escape.

You should’ve at least said goodbye.

It was what Spencer had been most upset by when Emily had faked her death. After everything they’d been through together, after all of the joy they brought into each others’ incredibly stressful lives, all Spencer had needed was the chance to say goodbye and know that she was out there, somewhere, happy.

Hopefully, she’d understand why he had to leave now, though.

Everyone in the BAU had figured out by now that the Spencer Reid who walked out of prison was not the same as the one who’d first stepped into it. Some piece of him—and even now, he wasn’t sure how large that piece was—had been laid bare and morphed beyond even his own recognition. The loss of that part of him ached in the way that losing a loved one did, that sharp stabbing sort of ache that would appear so suddenly that he didn’t know how to handle it.

There was no way to explain it to the rest of the team, though, no matter how supportive they tried to be. The fact was that none of them had ever nor would ever go through what he exactly had, and for not the first time in his life, Spencer began to feel like a rip current was sweeping him away from the steadiness of shore.

It wasn’t until he was far enough away from shore that he couldn’t see the relief of the sands that his mind recalled that he’d been prescribed painkillers several months prior.

It wasn’t the same as what Tobias Hankel had given him so many years ago, nor was it the alternatives he’d managed to find in the months after, but it was devastatingly similar enough that he’d tried to convince the emergency room doctor not to order it in the first place. ‘Pick it up anyway, just in case. No one can recover from a gunshot wound without pain relief.’

He’d almost flushed the amber bottle’s contents the day he’d gotten them, but the bone-deep feeling that had eased with time but never truly gone away kept him from fully eliminating that option from his life. Why should one thing that had happened to him years ago deny him proper pain relief now, should he need it? So they’d sat untouched, locked away in his gun safe for months.

Until five days ago.

After well over a decade in recovery, Spencer knew this was always a possibility. He’d seen friends go through the same thing and had been there to support them in whatever ways he could because no matter how many times it happened the initial feelings of shock, shame, and overbearing grief could be just as overwhelming as the first.

A day after, when he’d woken up and realized just what had occurred, Spencer had walked himself to the nearest NA meeting. Like he was on auto-pilot, he moved through every piece of advice he had gathered through the years—the stories of success and the stories of forced learning serving as guides to him. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had relapsed (a word that still struck fear in him to even think about), nor would it likely be the last time he was forced to confront this part of his past.

Still, this was the first time Spencer walked out of the building, packed a bag, and made a silent escape from the city he called home. There was something different about this time, though he had no idea where to even begin considering the specifics of why.

He ended up in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In all the years he’d been with the BAU, they’d never once been called there. It was like every other city Spencer had been in in many ways—the buildings towering above him as he walked, the river that bordered the city mirroring the home he’d just left, even down to the FBI headquarters that was quiet now in the middle of the night. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though it were completely separate from everything he’d known before, because the melancholy Spencer had been sitting in for the last five days had suddenly turned comforting amongst the atmosphere of the city.

He ended up in a bar, of all places. It was the kind that only served nonalcoholic drinks, the kind of place where people like him could sit without feeling outside of the norm. Music was playing softly in the background, and though it was busy there was only a gentle rumble of conversation in the room.

“You’re staring at that glass like it’ll kill you. It’s safe, Scout’s honor.” The teasing voice surprised Spencer out of the careful contemplation he’d fallen into. It came from the bartender, who was busying themselves with wiping down a few glasses, stood just on the other side of the bar in front of him.

“You know, that only works if you were actually a scout,” Spencer returned, though raised the glass to his lips after. It was sweet—a little too sweet by his standards, though it was a comfort now after the week he’d had.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the bartender said back. They looked comfortable here, like this sober bar were an extension of their own home. At one time, the BAU office had been the same for him. “You look like you could use a friendly face, and that just happens to be my favorite part of the job.”

“Part of the job…?”

“Oh you know, bartenders are the therapists for the lonely, or something like that.” They were comfortable, and more open to an effective stranger than Spencer ever thought possible. It was refreshing in a way, to be able to talk with them without having to worry about what case information he could get out of them. It wasn’t often, anymore, that he could relax and talk to someone just to talk to them. “What brings you to the Queen City?”

“I moved here,” Spencer answered automatically, looking down sheepishly at his glass before adding, “today, actually.”

“Oh, congrats then. New job?”

“More like a new start.”

It was quiet for only a moment before the bartender asked in a softer voice, “How long had it been?”

Spencer almost asked them what they meant, until he met their gaze. They had their full attention on him now, glasses left abandoned on the inner part of the bar. They’d been kind from the start, but the look they gave him now was the sort of pure understanding that made Spencer realize all at once what they were referring to.

“How did you know?”

The bartender sighed, though there was no sadness to it at all. They pulled something from their pocket, sliding it gently across the bar so Spencer could see. A metallic chip was place between them, silver on the outside and filled in with a green-blue color and a “V” engraved in the middle of it. It was different from the ones he’d used, but he recognized the meaning of it all the same.

“I opened this place because the day I relapsed, five years ago now, I’d had nowhere to go after. There wasn’t anywhere people like us could go and relax without having to answer the tough questions, like why I drank orange juice instead of ‘what all the other adults were drinking’. It seemed silly at the time, but I think I was just looking for somewhere I could feel normal.”

“My family were the ones who helped me get sober, and sometimes they still forget and will ask me why I’m not drinking.” Spencer returned the sentiment with a light laugh. He loved everyone in the BAU, and even though it had only been a few days he already missed them terribly, but it was nice to have someone there who understood what he was feeling, what he was going through now.

“Exactly!” The bartender said, following Spencer’s lead and letting out a laugh of their own. “Though I can’t say I ever moved to a new city because of it.”

“It was the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done,” Spencer admitted. “I…really needed a fresh start. I needed somewhere noone knew who I was, somewhere I could get a completely different job and…I don’t know, figure out who I am.”

The bartender nodded. “Sounds about right. This family you left behind, are you gonna go back to them?”

“Eventually. We’ve worked together for so many years. I spent more time with them than I’ve actually ever spent alone, and I think I just need…”

“Something new,” the bartender finished, “I’m starting to catch on. What d’you think you’ll do?”

“I’ve always loved teaching. Maybe that?”

“You know, I have some friends who work at UC. Depending on what you wanted to teach, I could see if they could get you an interview.”

“Just like that?” Spencer asked, wondering only briefly if there was going to be a catch somewhere down the line.

The bartender shrugged. “Why not? I never up and moved cities, but I’m no stranger to new beginnings.”

“I wouldn’t recommend moving cities without thinking it through,” Spencer laughed then. “I have no plan for what comes next.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay, at least?”

Spencer only winced, which he was sure was answer enough for them. He was expecting some kind of sympathetic response, but he never expected the bartender to shrug again and say, “Well, how about I be a little impulsive too. I’ve been looking for a new roommate, why don’t you stay tonight and see how it goes?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure. You seem decent enough not to be some secret axe-murderer or something.”

Oh, the irony.

Spencer didn’t really know this person except for the limited conversation they’d had so far. It would’ve been safer, and probably smarter, for him to just find a hotel room for the night and come up with a plan later. But something was telling him that he should agree, that there was something more to this person that he wanted to get to know.

So not for the first time that day, Spencer trusted his gut and nodded. “Okay, let’s try it.”

It wasn’t a fix for everything. The changes would come slowly, so slowly that sometimes Spencer himself wouldn’t even notice them happening. It would take time to get to a place where Spencer felt okay again, and a large help in that ended up being his new roommate who seemed to just get him in more ways than one. As time went by, Cincinnati truly began to feel like home.

And two years after he’d left, when Spencer turned on the news and saw the BAU standing before a large crowd as they announced they’d finally caught the serial killer behind the shipping container murders, he finally felt the string tugging him back in the direction of Quantico.

His home was there in Cincinnati, with the person who’d become a friend and even more in the last two years and the professor job that he came to love, but Spencer knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that it was time to see his family again, too.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst

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callme-darling · 3 months

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take care of you

or; promising pierre a family after he worked so hard — partly inspired by this anon 🤍

word count: 1.5k

warnings: smut, fem reader, spoilers for ‘bloody milk’, cursing, p-in-v, riding, a hint of a breeding kink, porn with plot lmao, not proofread

a/n: y’all, this turned out so much softer than i was planning😭

“come to bed, dear.” you urge gently, voice quiet as you hook your chin over his shoulder.

his eyes were glued to the laptop screen, as if in combing through multitudes of official and unofficial documents would somehow grant him a miraculous insight he has overlooked previously.

he didn’t move, nor make a sound of any kind. his eyes remained focused, as if in a trance that allowed the rest of the world fall away. your heart ached for him, it really did. in one fell swoop, his livelihood was torn away from him, all despite his best efforts.

“pierre.” whispered, like an ancient beckoning—warm, promising, and void of the familiarity of desolation.

this time he hums, a noncommittal sound, but an evidence that he was present, at least relatively.

you bring your hands to his shoulders. start slow, you remind yourself. ease the burden from his shoulders, find the space to allow yourself to carry it for him, even just for a little while. “pierre,” you whisper again. “the room is cold without you.”

“in a minute.” he responds, dragging the cursor on the screen to click on an article he had already read thrice before.

your heart clenches as you watch the man you love try to make sense of the devastating lost. wordlessly, you step to his left. you’re mindful not to disturb him often, but tonight you felt the ache was almost palpable.

prompting his arm to raise slightly, you duck under his elbow and gingerly crawl onto his lap, your chest against his as you tuck your face into his neck.

you breathe in his scent, a mixture of his minty shampoo and him. he doesn’t shake away your touch, and you instead feel him slowly relax beneath you. taking that as a sign, you wrap your arms around his waist, your hands rubbing along the faint ridges of his spine and latiss.

“i love you, pierre.” you murmur against the warmth of his neck, the hair at his nape tickling your nose as you breathe softly.

his chest rises against yours with a deep inhale. then you feel warm palms on your hips, his fingers tickling your ribs as he holds you closer.

the embrace was what he wasn’t fully able to communicate into words yet. ‘i’m sorry, i’ll do better. i’ll figure this out. for you, for me. i’ll fix this.’

you lift your face from his neck, hands on either side of his head as the pads of your thumbs stroke the skin beneath his ears. “let me take care of you tonight… can i, please?”

he seemed almost taken aback by the sudden determination in your eyes. but his hands held you all the same.

“it’s okay, you don’t-“

“but i want to.” you cut him off. “i want to make you feel better, even just for a little bit.” when he doesn’t respond right away, you tilt your head slightly, pretty doe eyes blinking into his, “please, let me love you.”

“oh, honey..” his hands ran up and down the expanse of your back, fingers bunching up the material of your tshirt.

a soft smile started to crack through your lips, “is that a yes?”

he sighed, eyes searching yours for a quiet moment. “you could do whatever you wanted to me, and i would never object.”

you smile softly as you press your lips to his, finding a tender rhythm. you shift in his lap, knees pressed on either side of his hips. with smooth movements, you begin to softly grind against him, feeling the faint bulge beneath your core.

your hand finds the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair as he stares up at you, lips parted slightly. his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts as he brought his lips to yours again.

a subdued moan slipped into your mouth as you pressed down more attentively on his lap, your fingers tugging at the roots of his hair with a teasing gyration of your hips. you jumped faintly when a warm hand dipped into the back of your shorts, dragging the material down your thighs and revealing you bare.

“no panties?” he hummed, half to himself.

you grinned, teeth biting your lip as a quiet whine threatened to rise from the back of your throat. “figured i wouldn’t be needing them.”

“you little minx…” he sighed, bordering on admiration.

you could feel how wet you were, how worked up you were quickly becoming. a steady hand tested the waters as you reached between your bodies, fingers grazing over the growing bulge in his jeans. you felt it twitch under your fleeting touch.

pierre huffed as your featherlight touch quickly became more confident, assured. he head fell back against the chair, his adam’s apple bobbing. “fuck…” he cursed with a guttural groan, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

you press a trail of warm kisses to his throat, tongue teasing the skin every so often. “then why don’t you show me?”

as if to reinforce your words even more, you slide off his lap. he looked as if he was about to protest, but as he watched you slide your shorts completely down your legs, any complaints quickly died in his throat. you return to straddle him, but this time you worked the facet of his belt open. your mouth was on his as you slipped a hand into the front of his pants, moaning softly against his tongue as his cock twitch in your palm. you free his length from his jeans, the tip blushed a pretty red as you let your thumb run over the slit and down the length of it.

pierre let out a shaky breath. it’s been too long, you thought. too long since you’ve last had the chance to take care of your lover.

he helps line himself up with your entrance, both of you eager to satisfy that hungering lust.

as you sink onto him, your eyes flutter shut. his hands grip your waist tightly, fingers sure to leave bruises as you clench around him.

“easy,” he prompted softly. he shifts in his seat so that he’s reclined slightly, giving you a better angle. his blue eyes stared into yours as the pads of his calloused fingers gently began to massage your hips. “take it slow, yea?”

you’re mindful as you begin to find a rhythm, the small room quickly filling with the soft acoustics of breathy pants and whispered moans.

he could feel you clench around him sporadically, a telltale sign you were close. your forehead was on his shoulder, fingers gripping onto his biceps for stability. his hands fell to your hips. with an effortless grip, he took control of your movements, working you along his length with steadied ease. his lips pressed to your face, hoarse words warming the shell of your ear, “fuck- just like that dear, you’re so good-“you felt his teeth nip at your earlobe, “gonna make me come.”

you felt your breath stutter, whole body warm and alive with an all-consuming need. “in me,” you gasp out, “please come in me.”

his grip on you tightened, but his words were quiet with uncertainty, “you sure?”

“shit- yes, please pierre, please come in me.” you beg again.

the shift in his demeanor was evident as he fucked into you with a newfound vigor. “gonna fill you up, fuck-“ he growled, “so fuckin’ tight.”

you came with a pitched whine, eyes clenched shut and mouth agape. your body shook lightly in his grasp as you felt his cock pulse in your cunt, a new heat filling you from the inside out.

you both stayed quiet for a moment longer, panting softly.

his hands soon began to rub small, nonsensical shapes along your back. his lips pressed soft kisses along your temple as you brought a hand to the side of his neck, your fingers playing with the hair there.

his raspy voice broke the silence. “so.. is this your way of telling me you’re ready for a family?”

you could hear the smile in his voice. your own smile grew. “i just think that maybe.. it’s time for us to start a herd of our own.” you nearly cringe at your own words, but when you pull away to look at his face, any thoughts of doubt were stripped from your mind.

a lovesick smile tugged at his lips, his eyes searching yours with a warmth not found in words. he presses a tender kiss to your lips. “i think that’s a lovely idea.”

#♱₊˚✧ filth .#swann arlaud #petit paysan #bloody milk #pierre chavanges

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shadowlali · 7 months

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auto shop

COD - Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x fem!reader

[18+] wc: ~ 3.1k summary: Rudy fixes your car and you decide on a different form of payment masterlist

warnings: NSFW, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance, reader can sit in Rudy's lap, some proofreading, Rudy has a motorcycle (helmet is given to reader), oral (m! and f! receiving), size kink (kinda), unprotected sex a/n: inspired to write this after seeing @glitterypirateduck ‘s “10 days of Rudy Writing Prompt Challenge” (Prompt 2, 13). i’ve had this mechanic idea for rudy for a while and decided to finally give it a shot. enjoy :)

A perfect day for a drive you repeat to yourself angrily, hot tears rolling down your face as you look at your unresponsive car. Seeing only stretches of endless roads and no oncoming cars, you realize how alone you are.

You try your parents and then best friend on the phone but surprisingly no one answers. The signal bars on your phone fluctuate and you begin to panic, maybe the calls aren’t going through? Probably due to the anxiety, you barely notice the sound of an approaching motorcycle.

Rudy spots you first, seeing your hands wrapped around your middle while you lean against a car. He pulls up and that’s when you finally notice him. He notes the tears in your eyes and the watery smile you give him. Quickly parking the motorcycle, he walks over to you while reaching for the handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

“Hey, woah. What’s wrong?” Rudy asks.

“It’s my car, I don’t know what happened,” you manage to suppress a sob and continue, ”And no one’s picking up my calls.”

You get the scent of cologne and leather as he hands you the handkerchief and asks for your name.

“I’m here,” Rudy softly says, ”I’ll call my family’s repair shop and see if someone can come pick it up. How does that sound?”

You nod yes and he takes out his phone to make a call. You know of Rudy and of Los Vaqueros, who in Las Almas doesn’t? This is the first time you two actually speak, having only ever smiled at each other in passing. You feel grateful that Rudy was the one to find you, the anxiety leaving your body.

“My dad is on his way,” he takes a look at your teary eyes before continuing, ”you want to wait here or drive up to the shop?”

“How?”

He smiles, ”On my bike.”

“Wait, I — uh, are you sure? It won’t be too much trouble?”

“No, princesa. Vente,” Rudy says as he gently takes your hand and leads you to his bike. [princess. Come here]

Your stomach does a little flip with the pet name he gives you, his big hand warm around yours. He places the helmet on your head and gives you instructions on how to get on his motorcycle. Rudy gets on the bike with ease, seemingly not worried about there only being one helmet.

“What about you?”

You feel bad, not only did he stop and call his family for help, but he’s also willing to give you his only helmet.

“I’ll be fine,” he says sincerely, ”no more tears, okay?”

You get on, swinging your leg to the other side of the motorcycle and hug him around the waist. Rudy adjusts your arms more tightly around him and takes off.

- - -

Rudy can tell it's your first time on a motorcycle by the way your thighs tighten around him. He doesn’t mind, feeling the heat of your body seeping through his leather jacket. He silently thanks the universe that he decided to take an afternoon ride on a different side of town. When he saw you standing alone on the secluded road, he feared the worst.

Despite being in a precarious situation, you still managed to give him a sweet smile when you noticed him. He knows who you are, never having the courage to start a conversation but always noticing the shape of your lips and the sound of your laugh. The hardplanes of his stomach flex when he feels your hands grip his shirt at a turn. Rudy tries not to feel disappointed when you let go, reminding himself now is not the time to feel attraction.

Before you know it, you're driving up to an auto shop on the outskirts of Las Almas. In big letters at the top you see ‘Taller Mecánico Parra’ with a drawing of a little car next to it. You get off the bike and hand Rudy his helmet with a soft thank you. You stand on shaky legs, the scent of his cologne all around you and your thighs warm from being wrapped around his body. [Auto Repair Shop Parra]

He takes your hand and walks with you inside the open garage door. There’s a few people working on cars or speaking to customers, and Rudy waves but continues walking. Through a short hallway, he ushers you into a small office with windows that peer onto the floor.

“This is your office?” you ask while pointing to the ‘Rudy’ nameplate on the desk.

“Sí, on my days off I come in to help my dad or work on my bike. Come here, sit.”

He points to the chair behind the desk and grabs a cold water bottle from the mini fridge by the couch. Rudy untwists the cap and urges you to take a few sips.

“Feel better? We’ll figure it out, no te preocupes.” [don’t worry]

You give him a smile, once again grateful that he happened to be driving and stopped to help you. His name is called out in the hallway and he tells you to wait in the office and relax. You move to the couch to see your car pulled in by a tow truck. An older man, with similar features to Rudy hops out and detaches your car.

For the next hour, you watch Rudy work. He’s since changed into black overalls that mold perfectly to the muscles on his back and arms. The way he moves with ease and looks so concentrated causes a deep pulsing to begin between your thighs. You try to ignore it, feeling guilty that you’re having these thoughts.

Rudy turns and catches your stare, his body heating as he realizes you were watching him work. He turns back to the task at hand after giving you a quick smile. Rudy gains a sense of pride once he’s done with the car, knowing that he’s the one who saved you from the desolate road and was able to fix your car.

Customers and employees eventually leave until it's just Rudy, his dad reminding him to lock up once he’s done. Rudy tries your car, the engine purring and the lights turning on. He gets out and motions you over, then walks to the sink to wash his hands.

You exit the office, joy running through your body as you see it on.

“I was able to fix it, it wasn't too difficult.”

You rush towards Rudy who’s in the process of drying his hands and give him a hug. He immediately wraps his hands around you, a soft you’re welcome murmured against your forehead. You pull back slightly and look up at him, Rudy’s breath hitching as he looks into your eyes.

You notice his eyes drop down to your lips then flicker to the soft planes of your face. In that moment you wonder what it would be like to be kissed by Rudy, his plump lips pressed against your own. Before either of you lean towards each other, the sound of voices outside startle you. You unwrap your arms around him and take a few steps back.

He clears his throat before speaking, “Uh – I was going to ask if you wanted to take it for a test drive.”

“Yeah, I – yeah that sounds good.”

You wait in the passenger seat, the car now sitting idle in front of the garage. Rudy quickly locks up, turns off the lights, and changes out of his work overalls to his jeans and white shirt. He wants to return quickly to you, wanting to make sure the moment from before wasn’t something he only imagined.

The drive is done in comfortable silence. You try not to stare at Rudy’s thick arms while he drives. One hand guides the steering wheel while the other hangs folded across the open window.

“Thank you, Rudy,” you say softly,” I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t saved me.”

He turns to look at you for a moment, brown eyes caressing your face before turning back to the road, ”You don’t have to thank me, I’m just happy I was the one to find you.”

Rudy feels lightheaded, the breeze outside bringing the scent of your sweet perfume towards him. Another turn and he’s back at the auto shop, the car in perfect condition. He shuts it off as you exit the car and he tries to think of a way to have you stay around a little longer. You grab your wallet from the back seat as he rounds the front of the car.

“How mu-”

“No.”

“Rudy, please. This was a lot of work and material, I’m sure. Just let me pay–”

“No. You don’t owe me anything, princesa. I wanted to help.”

“Is there maybe another way I can pay you?”

You thought the question would come out more playful, but your voice came out husky and the heated look Rudy gives you makes the pulse between your legs deepen.

“How?” Rudy asks.

Your breathing picks up and you grow bolder, placing a hand on his chest.

“Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” Rudy pauses, ” are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Rudy places hands on your waist, bringing you closer. He leans down and presses his mouth on yours, sighing once he feels you return the kiss. You inhale, running your hands across his broad chest and molding your mouth to his. His tongue teases the seam of your lips and you open up, wanting to taste him.

Neither of you seem to mind being out on the sidewalk where anybody could stumble across. Your mind is only on him. On the feel of his warm chest, his calloused fingers caressing the exposed skin at your waist, his tongue warm and sweet. Rudy’s the first to pull back, looking down at you with swollen lips and glazed eyes.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?”

You nod, Rudy quickly taking out his keys and unlocking the side door. The shop is dark, pockets of light entering through the windows from the illuminated street lamps. He pushes you to lean on the desk once back in the office and takes possession of your mouth again.

You run your hands under his shirt and bunch it close to his shoulders. Rudy breaks away from the kiss to take off his shirt and quickly helps pull off yours. His mouth latches to the sensitive skin on your neck while you fumble with his belt and zipper. You can feel the hard bulge and lightly palm his length through his jeans.

Rudy lets out a groan, his hands moving to unbutton your own jeans. You stop him, dropping to your knees and pulling down his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his hard and veiny cock. You lick a stripe from his base to the tip, leaving a wet trail of saliva.

“Fuck, you don’t need to do that,” Rudy says as he runs his hands through your hair.

“But I want to,” you whine.

You open your mouth and try to fit as much of him inside. His slightly salty taste and warm skin become intoxicating to you. Rudy throws his head back at the deep pulls of your mouth and the feel of your soft hands around his base.

More of his cock is swallowed down your throat and you begin a slow sucking motion, back and forth. Just like that, just like that he chants. You look up to see his eyes glossy from pleasure and chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“Look at what you do to me,” He groans.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes from the stretch of him but you don’t care. You keep sucking, loving the grunts he makes and the way his eyes rake over your body. You feel your panties soaked almost through your jeans. Rudy can’t take it anymore. The way your pretty mouth takes him deep and how you look on your knees has him stopping your movements.

“Get up.”

You listen, releasing him with a pop from your mouth. He helps you stand, lips pressing against yours while he unclips your bra. His hands are rough on your skin, calloused fingers pinching your nipples. You shudder with each tug from his hands. You don’t stop him when he unbuttons your jeans, kicking off your shoes then jeans and panties. He grips your thighs and sets you on the desk. Rudy sheds his boots and jeans quickly before dropping to his knees in front of you.

“No Rudy, it’s okay you don’t –”

“Did I do this?” He asks while gazing at your slick pussy.

You nod, unable to comprehend the beautiful sight of Rudy on his knees. And before you can really appreciate how beautiful Rudy looks, he stretches your thighs and swipes his tongue through your dripping folds. Your hands grip the edge of the desk and you throw your head back.

He’s starving. Rudy drags his tongue from your opening to your sensitive clit, moaning at your taste and the sound of your moans. He adds a finger, slowly pushing into your wet heat. You gasp and squeeze around him

“How’s that, princesa? Use your words,” Rudy says.

“It feels so good, baby,” You whimper.

He begins a relentless pace with his fingers and tongue. Rudy curves two fingers inside of you which elicits a loud whine to fall from your lips. He smirks, sucking your swollen clit in his mouth and doing it again until you're shaking and stroking his hair. You chant his name, the only thing keeping you from falling is Rudy’s other hand gripping your thigh.

Rudy would stay on his knees forever if you let him. He feels desperate, cooing encouraging words on your skin while you fall apart. He likes the feel of your hands running through his hair and the tightening of your thighs around his face.

You begin to rock your hips as you feel the familiar ripples spread from your core. Rudy playfully nips your button and you reach your peak. You fall backwards on the mostly cleared desk, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You keep rubbing your pussy on his face, everything too much yet not enough. He doesn’t mind, feeling you pulse around his fingers and splash his chin. He laps at your clit and thrusts his fingers inside of you until you're begging him to stop.

“Please, ple – please, Rudy,” you manage to stutter out between hiccups.

Rudy stops, wiping his face on your inner thigh and placing a kiss on your mound. He stands with a smirk on his face as he takes in your sweaty body and closed eyelids. You feel deliciously limp and suddenly empty. He caresses your thighs, bringing one to wrap around his waist before you get a different idea.

“Wait, Rudy. I want to try something… Will you let me?”

“¿Qué, princesa?” [What, princess?]

“Sit on the couch.”

He sends you a devious smile, understanding quickly what you’re about to do. You stand on shaky legs, watching him sit on the couch and pump his cock a few times from the sight of your body. You walk over, place a knee on each side of him and hover your wet pussy over his cock. After all, you want to give him a proper thank you.

One of your hands uses his chest as support while the other grips his thick length. You lower, teasing your entrance with his flushed tip. Rudy throws his head back on the couch, his eyes half open as they watch you. You sink down all the way, simultaneous groans escaping from both of you.

He can’t believe how swollen and syrupy you feel. Your walls flutter and pulse around him, drawing his orgasm closer. Rudy drags a hand to your hard nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. He watches your gorgeous face, entranced by the curve of your lips and the husky moans slipping from your throat. He doesn’t rush your movements, letting you go at your own pace.

“Gorgeous,” Rudy whispers,” so fucking gorgeous.”

Beads of sweat gather at your chest and hairline. You move faster, focused on the feel of Rudy filling and stretching you. Each bounce of your hips grinds your clit perfectly on his base. You squeeze around him and change the angle to thrust him deeper. You feel close again, rutting your hips and dragging your nails down his chest. Rudy keeps whispering sweet words to you, his fingers tugging your sensitive nipples.

“Rudy,” you whine,” I’m close, baby.”

“I know, princesa.”

Rudy wraps both his hands around your waist and begins helping you ride him. He thrusts up, meeting your hips with each bounce. You fall into him and mold your mouth to his soft lips. It's sloppy, movements too fast for the kiss to land perfectly but it doesn’t matter.

You feel the prickling at your spine and you clench around his thick cock. Your face moves to his neck and you cry out from the second orgasm. Rudy takes control, feeling you quiver and your movements becoming clumsy. He holds you close while he thrusts up, the sound of slapping filling the quiet office. He’s not far behind, the blow job you gave him earlier having him on the edge.

“Where? Where do I finish?”

“Insi– inside of me, Rudy,” you manage to stammer out.

He chokes out a groan and you feel his warm release fill you. He continues thrusting, crying out your name and rubbing rough hands on your lower back. You suck the sensitive skin at his neck and squeeze around him, making sure to drain him completely.

Rudy finishes, wrapping a hand around the side of your face to bring your lips to his. His thumb caresses your cheek while he gives you wet kisses and soft bites. Your hands wrap in his hair, pushing your body to his own.

“Think that was the best payment I’ve ever received,” Rudy whispers.

You laugh, ”Good to hear.”

Rudy continues," Is there anything else you need me to fix?"

You playfully roll your eyes at him.

"I'll let you know if anything else comes up."

He places another kiss on your lips and lightly pats your outer thigh.

“How about a shower at my place and then food? ¿Qué piensas?” [What do you think?]

You smile, ”Yes, please.”

#fall4rudy #rodolfo “rudy” parra x reader #rudy parra x female reader #rudy parra smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 x female reader #rudy parra #cod mw2 smut #shadowlali

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jamneuromain · 7 months

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Revenge Oh So Sweet

Steve Rogers x You (Agent!Reader)

Warning: Revenge (sort of), dick pics, bad language word, fluff? Clintasha if you squint.

Summary: For once, you decide not to put up with this shit anymore.

A/N: Based on the prompt from the bingo challenge. The inspiration came from @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates (a big smoochie) and my recent experience, there's another experience under the tag #why I hate men. So ... yeah, you get the gist.

Your life-long happiness seems to have been a mutual concern of every Avenger in the compound.

After two not-so-successful relationships and another couple of failed dates, everyone is eager to share their experience or their suggestions as to what could help you find a partner.

"Be yourself." Tony commented on your love life when he accidentally overheard you girls talking in the kitchen, "Trust me, that's how I got Pepper." He said with a smug smile on his face.

Natasha rolled her eyes as Maria tugged the corner of her lips and made a rude - you considered it not so rude, but Tony jumped and felt offended - face.

"Come on, Stark." Natasha huffed out, "That's because Pepper is loyal and devoted. And you can't live without her."

Wanda stayed quiet but nodded like a chicken pecking the grains right in front of her.

"I can introduce the guy working for the IT, nerd, but... cute." Natasha fished out the Instagram of said guy.

Tony grumbled something under his breath as he headed out.

And it was not long before almost everyone on the Avengers team started to give you advices on how to secure a partner/date.

You were nursing over a bucket of chocolate ice cream, your standard medication for sorrows of "not being able to find a boyfriend" the other day when Thor's voice boomed by your ear, "... I am SURE Asgardian warriors would be kneeling at your feet if you could swing the battle sword during a fight."

He smelt like Asgardian mead.

"Thanks, Thor." You appreciated his effort, nonetheless, raising your ice cream bucket for a gestural toast.

Tony snorted at the end of the coffee table, probably having way too much caffeine than he should, and patted Thor on his bicep, "She needs a boyfriend, Point Break, not becoming Arnold Schwarzenegger."

Clint plopped down next to you on the couch, nudging you with his shoulder, gathering your attention, and asked, "Look, why don't you just kidnap some hot dude? That's what Nat almost- HEY!"

He yelled when Natasha threw a couch pillow in his direction, hitting him square in the chest, succesfully shutting him up.

Clint shrugged and gave you a glimpse of sympathy, which you were 99% sure he meant "Sorry kiddo". He shrunk to the corner of the couch, taking a swing of his beer.

"Why not try meeting someone with mutual interest?" Steve carefully pitches his suggestion, he looks at you with a hint of thought, "Like finding someone who shares the same passion over some exercises in the gym."

"Except I'm not a big fan of gyms." You pouted slightly, "But yeah, I guess book clubs and stuff... could work?"

"Gym." Bucky sniggered without even trying to mask his amusement, "Such a Steve thing." After receiving a warning glare from Steve, Bucky moved slightly away from his best pal, and singsongingly added, "I'm sure a candidate is much closer than you'd think."

Sam shook his head. Leaning on the counter of the kitchen, Sam proposed his idea with much delicacy to you, chuckling, "Steve might have a point. You know, maybe get to know your coworker better." Sam said this almost suggestively, a knowing smirk lingering on his lips, "After all, we never frown upon office romance. Not a bad idea to date your coworker as long as they are nice decent people, while you get to have fun."

"Surely redhead is neither nice nor decent." Bucky pointed his finger towards Nat on the far-end chair, whispering loudly.

"Don't get me breaking all your fingers, Barnes. And I'm not only talking about the ones on your right hand." Natasha retorted back, looking as if she was ready to bicker with Bucky again.

Vision, on the other hand, was not comfortable with processing a large conversation with so many participants even though he was able to identify every one of them. However, it was customary for everyone to join the conversation, no matter how they contributed to it. After doing some research in his head, Vision spoke up with confidence, "May I suggest a less time-consuming approach?"

This certainly drew the attention of most people in the room as Rhodey walked in.

"I have been analyzing the data of Miss Y/L/N, and I have come up with a list of results. It is a list of possible partners of Miss Y/L/N." Vision gave some time for this information to sink in before starting the list, "On top of the list, data run came back with a 99.7% matching rate to a book named-"

"A book?" Tony almost sprang from his seat, "HOLD ON. Hold on, for a minute here." He raised his index finger shushing everyone in the room, "What's the book?"

After hearing his question, the room fell into a unison of grumbles. "Seriously Tony?" "You're interested in that book? There's something wrong with..." "Ask him to take another look at the data for Christ's sake-"

Tony rolled his eyes in the most elegant way, "Fine. Vision, would you please erase all lifeless forms of matching in your database and focus on possible 'human' partners?"

A few seconds gone with Vision processing the data in silence, before speaking up, "I have now entered the condition of 'human partner', and the first person with a 99.4% matching rate is Andy Barber, lawyer-"

Gasps and murmurs swirled over the room again.

"...he lives in Newton, Boston, Massachusetts. According to data, he is married to Laurie Barber. Being the leading character of the crime fiction Defending Jacob-"

You would prefer to be drowned in your chocolate ice cream than to have Vision pairing you with a fictional character - even if it's a fictional character that is played by a very handsome actor in the TV series.

That you probably watched more than a dozen times. But still! Fictional!

Rhodey murmured to Tony: "And that's why we still wouldn't apply AI to our weaponary program..."

You groaned in agony, "Vision, I adore you, really. But I really need you to stop-"

"Ya-Da-Ya-Da-Ya-Da-" Tony cut through your sentence, "Vision, no fictional characters, we need real men-"

"Or woman." Wanda squeaked, clearly more amused than everyone else in this room.

"Or woman. Thank you, ponytail," Tony cleared his throat, "Someone who is actually living on the planet right now-"

"Recalculating. Ari Levinson Kidron, former Mossad agent. He is 99.3% compatible. He was renowned for Israel's Operation Moses and Operation Joshua from 1984 to1985."

"Eighties?" Bucky chimed in with mischief sparkling in his eyes, "How old is he?"

"He is currently 78 years old. A movie based on him was released in 2019, starring an actor named Christopher Robert Evans." Vision replied, "Your Netflix history clearly shows a tendency toward strong powerful men with romantic gestures during dating."

You buried your head as deep as the ice cream bucket allowed, "Please, Vision, I'm begging you. Don't leak anymore of my browsing history before I decide to jump into the Hudson River."

Wanda shook her head lightly at Vision, the latter seemed to gain a hint of realization after a while, "Sorry. I have been intrusive. My deepest apologies, Miss. Y/L/N."

You waved your hand in the air to indicate "all is well", but your eyes were still staring into the brown-ish ice cream, which had started to melt.

Shit.

Wanda scooted closer to you, holding her phone in front of your face, she seemed optimistic about what had just happened (even though you were devastated and actually considering being single for the rest of your life).

"What about dating apps?" She showed you a few, swiping men's profiles for you to see, "It's definitely simpler than asking some random people. You can also tell them at the start that you are looking for serious relationships, rather than sex."

Actually, that sounded...

"Thank you, Wanda." You shot her an appreciatiating look.

That sounded like the most solid suggestion anyone has ever made. Especially with the match-making plan of Natasha and the nerdy guy didn't work out, you were willing to try Tinder. Or something similar.

Wanda gave you an encouraging smile, before hugging you on the shoulder and helping you start your own profile on some app. While Sam half-dragged Steve out of the living room, mumbling something about "bats".

After a couple dozen men who wanted "something casual, sorry" and a disastrous night, you scrolled through your dating app to see if anyone has messaged you last night.

You were on an all-nighter mission with your teammates. Due to an unfortunate incident, you had to chase the criminal for about twelve blocks. On foot.

Just got your phone back from your locker, you sagged down on one of the empty chairs by the mission dispatch center, and scrolled through your dating app.

Daveid757: Hi.

You clicked on his profile picture.

"Daveid" is a decent-looking guy with a thin beard and hazel-brown eyes. Tall and broad-shouldered, he held a few 10-foot-long fish in half of his pictures and his different fishing rods in the rest.

Not bad, at least.

You returned to the chatting screen.

[Daveid757 typing]

You should probably say hi back.

Daveid757 stopped typing.

And the next thing you know, a dick pic that took up almost half of your phone screen attacked you right in the face.

A dick.

A at-first-sight-it-was-five-inch-but-some-skin-and creases-are-repetitive-so-it-was-at-most-a-two-inch dick.

A naked dick and his naked thigh.

A tiny but photoshopped dick.

You began to wonder what should you reply at this point.

You sure it's not two inches? No. Basically harmless to a guy who sends dick pics.

Fuck off you prick. No. That came off too strong.

How about I've seen bigger? That could probably trigger his competitiveness, though. You were hoping for something that could make him as furious as how you felt when you received his dick pic.

The sickness of getting a genitalia photo, the rage of being disrespected by men, the grumpiness from your staying up all night, and the frustration of knowing that the "dating app" method was a bust, all united as one .

Although you knew your blood was boiling from all four emotions, they were helpful too, enlightening you with a brilliant idea.

You should get a Nobel Peace Prize for it.

You searched "dick" and selected a dick pic that looked significantly larger and thicker than the one Daveid sent you.

Your dick pic is smooth and pink, clean-shaven, and with a man's hand gripping the foreskin, revealing the angry red tip.

This one looked much better than his.

You looked at this dick pic fondly.

And sent it to him.

Daveid757: You fucking crazy motherfucker.

Daveid757 has blocked you.

His profile picture turned grey, just like the type of picture people will put in front of his casket during his funeral.

Out of nowhere, a surge of euphoria washed over you. Having you doing your best to maintain a calm presence. You try your best not to smirk or giggle, trying your best to keep your lips between your teeth, biting the inside of your mouth from hollering out laughter.

Yeah, you definitely like "your" dick pic better.

While the two dick pics stayed on your screen.

Peacefully. Paying each other respect.

"Hey Y/N," holding his first cup of coffee in hand, Steve emerged behind you in his full tactical suit. He still had an hour before his mission and he decided not to board the jet without a healthy caffeine dose at 5:32 am. He saw you from the break room across the hall, and he just had to say hello to you.

Professional. This is purely professional courtesy!

You seemed undisturbed, gazing into your phone, with a smile ghosting your lips.

Naturally, Steve trotted near, earning a peek to your phone - he didn't intend to be sneaky about it, he only wanted to know what was mesmerizing you - while sipping down some hot hot burning lava hot coffee and -

You're looking at dicks???

"Oh my - Steve! Are you alright?" Shoving your phone into your pocket, you found some Kleenex in your bag and put it into Steve's hand. He choked and coughed violently, whole face flushed red as he waved his hand, stepping away from you, continuing coughing his lungs out.

You were struggling to understand whether he means "No, I'm not alright" or "No, I don't need the Kleenex" or "No, everything is alright". Though you didn't know how the last one worked the way inside your head.

Steve calmed himself after coughing into his palms some more. Shaking his head but accepting your tissue paper: "Yeah I'm - EHEM - 'm fine." Dabbing his suit which now has coffee splatters over his chest, he muttered an almost inaudible "Thank you".

He didn't look you right in the eyes when he was busy cleaning up his mess, but he felt like he had to when he should talk to you about workplace ethics. He finally looked up from the ground with his baby blue orbs, and tried to sound serious with his ears and cheeks blushing: "Y/N, I'm not ... " he winced, "You know I'm not that type of person who ummm... tries to dictate what others do or don't."

"Like Tony?" You scoffed, but the scoff was more directed to Tony rather than Steve. God, you should know better than to let Tony participate in your love life, giving out advices.

Steve manages a smile witth difficulty, "I'm not, but ... I don't ... I would consider ... I uh - I believe genital photos are not workplace appropriate."

You choked out a laugh, fishing your phone from your pocket and showing him, "What, this?"

"God, please, Y/N." He blocked your screen with his leather-gloved hand, becoming visibly more nervous, blurting out but his tone appears to be more begging than commanding, "Not ... here!"

You giggled. The few hours of sleep you had while you were on the plane back from the mission had led you to an unstable mindset. It would be completely insane for the "normal" you to show Steve Rogers, a work fellow, dick pics. But right now? With all those emotions boiling down your veins, the lack of sleep (and apparently, the lack of clear sense) and the sudden euphoria of making Steve nervous, you were feeling bold. Audacious. Felt like you could conquer the world and slam a monster silicone dildo right onto Daveid's face.

So you apologized, though not with much sincerity, and told Steve why you were "watching dick pics" on your phone in your workplace.

"He started it!" After accusing Daveid of sending you dick pics, you whined like a grumpy child, which you definitely wouldn't, if you were not sleep-deprived, but Steve felt like the most trustworthy male person on the planet at that moment, so you spilt your guts and tried to excuse yourself out of the workplace ethics violation that Steve nearly had you reported to HR.

He almost would never. Report you to the HR. But he kept that to himself.

"And it's not my dick. I suppose it's not entirely my fault?"

Steve chuckled soundlessly. It was in fact, adorable for you trying and whining, "Even if it is your dick, you don't send him that until you're out of the compound, okay?"

"I don't have a dick!" You huffed out in a hush voice. Seeing his typical look, the look with the raising eyebrows that says "yes, and-", you put up your hands in defeat, "Okay-Okay. You have a point. No dick pics."

"More like no dating apps scrolling while you're at workplace, just in case." Steve was amused. He thought for a while before making amends, "Tell you what, there's a nice little place in Brooklyn. You free tonight at 7? I'll wine and dine you, and you can tell me about all the awful macho men you've encountered. Promise, no judging."

He looks at you, almost sympathetically, with his crystal blue eyes, making your breath hitch in your throat.

You lowered your head, pretending you need to find your bag before summoning up the courage and shrugging, playing it cool, "Deal, Captain. Be ready for some of the worst men you've ever heard of."

After some most amazing medium rare steak and two glasses of fine-aged red, you were beyond caring (about your little crush of the handsome blonde sitting across you) and exchanged laughs and giggles that were definitely way too loud for a decent date.

You attracted attention, being the most stunning couple in the restaurant (so the "couple" word maybe a little too "ouchy" for you, since you normally spent time admiring Steve from afar), and some glances from other customers were casually thrown this way.

You had to admit, watching Steve in a brown leather jacket and jeans, triggered something inside you that encouraged you to climb him like a tree and slam your lips over his.

Steve chuckled, covering his lips with his fist, temporarily blocking his seductive (and to you, sinning) grin, "I can't believe Daveid is actually nicer among all the douches you've dated. Being a long-term friend of yours, I'd suggest you not to pick up men from dumpsters."

You cast a sour look in his direction, raising the glass to your lips, taking a small sip from the third cup of wine, "I would if I could." Your glass landed on the table with a bit too much force. Faking annoyance, you groaned at the ceiling, "Men are just ... awful."

"Touche." He murmured over his glass, clicking it with yours before downing a big gulp. Feeling bolder than usual, he looked at you right in the eyes, hoping he would convey a message, a hint, anything, "Surely ... there are a few good men out there. But, 80% of them are plain stupid, you know? You gotta ... I don't know, it's not about trying harder, I guess, but ... open to other ... options?"

You snorted, leaning back onto the comfy chair, teasing him, dipping your toes in the water for a second, "Oh, you're spoiling me and trying to get me zero dates in my future since you raised the bar too high, Captain."

He looked more jumpy and edgy after your "captain" comment. His ears and cheek turned pink under the dim yellow restaurant light, "I'm certain that you can have a boyfriend in the future that would be ... nice, to say the least. Apart from your lapse of judgment on this guy," he couldn't help but let slip of his smile, "you have some good friends and I'm sure you'll go on a date with someone better than him, someone better for your relationship, and more deserving for you."

You feigned a gasp of shock, "Are you calling yourself "better"? So competitive, Captain Rogers."

His fluster-ness drained from his face all of a sudden, slightly narrowing his eyes to focus on someone behind you, "I think - Is that ...?"

"What?" You were bewildered.

"The ass who sent you the dick pic." He shifted his focus back to you, "Your four o'clock. Black suit, Caucasian male, 5'7''. He's not looking this way but I'm positive he's the guy."

You spared a glance at him quickly. He did look like "Daveid757" and his profile pictures.

"Fucking hell." You muttered.

"You know what would make him furious? Letting him see you're having the best time of your life." Steve placed his palm on your wrist, giving you warmth and support, "Letting him know what he has missed out."

"Flip my hair and giggle?"

Your words didn't mean to be sarcastic, but they sure came out this way.

"Or we could return to the compound to suit up." Steve kindly offers, "I'll beat his ass until he learns a lady is supposed to be respected."

You drained your wine, teasing him with a dash of liquid courage, "Revenge doesn't suit you, Cap." And I don't want you to get into trouble, even if it is a tempting gesture. You swallowed the latter half of your sentence.

And of course, you had a much better plan...

"Is he looking this way now?" You moved to the seat by Steve's side, making sure Daveid could turn his head and see you with little effort. "Accidentally" having your wine class clatter with your ceramic plate, you made a loud noise for the entire restaurant to hear.

"Yeah but-"

The rest of his words fell on deaf ears, as you cupped his chin and kissed him.

His lips were soft. Grape-flavored with a bitter taste of alcohol. The kiss was sweet, tender, careful even, as he reciprocated your small nibbling, threading his fingers with the base of your hair.

Your liquid courage burnt down faster than you had imagined. Burying your face into his chest, you were rid of all the strength you had to check Daveid - or Steve, for that matter, because on second thought, using Steve to get back at Daveid wasn't such a good idea if Steve misunderstood your feelings as a method to get even with the dick pic dude -

"I hope you haven't fallen asleep, because that guy looked like he could swallow his wine glass. And he broke his plate, dragging his date to leave but - oh ho, now the waiter is asking him to pay for the plate and the wine -" Steve sounded normal, unaffected, calm. On the contrary, you wanted to jump into the Hudson River right this second for kissing Steve and wash off all the embarrassment and nervousness.

"I suppose you need to get some air and not suffocate yourself in my jacket?" He joked, patting on your back almost in a comforting way, while you were still buried into his chest, "Don't worry, the Daveid guy made a bigger scene and now he got kicked out of this place."

Your hair must be awful. The move messed up your hair, and your lipstick no doubt. And ruining your make-up. And you couldn't face Steve knowing that you kissed him and this - you are going to be a joke to the whole compound within 48 hours.

"But if you don't say another word for five seconds, I'm going to presume that you are losing consciousness and perform CPR in front of the whole restaurant."

You sat up reluctantly, wiping the outline of your lips and possible lipstick smudge without a mirror. Pouting.

"Or how about being my fake girlfriend for five minutes and we will show Daveid that we are a happy couple?" Steve observed your expression, making yet another proposal.

He was sweet. He was really sweet offering all these choices for you and your pathetic dating app experience but all you wanted was - "How about being real girlfriend." You grumbled under your breath.

"Sorry?"

"Never mind." You shook your head and decided to put this delightful dinner time behind you, "Let's -"

"You mean it?"

"Huh?"

His crystal blue eyes searched your features, searching for signs that you wanted him, wanted this, wanted you two to be a thing. It was cliche and a chance in a million, having his friend -you falling in love with him, but so were myths and superheroes. He liked his odds.

"Would you," He spoke, painfully slow, "like to be my girlfriend? Not because of revenging. But because I want it to work. Because I love you and I want to kiss you. Because you feel the same way, and finally, you can help put my misery of seeing you dating other people to a stop. I want to date you," he thought for a small while before adding, "exclusively."

The sun must be rising from the west, or the sea must be pouring back into rivers, or the dead must be alive from their graves.

A most-amazing miracle was happening.

Because the next thing you knew, you nodded and he pulled you into his warm hug.

And offered you one of his many sweet, sweet kisses.

Bonus:

You sneaked back to the compound, holding hands, grinning like fools, feeling like the first day of being in love.

You walked past the living room with Vision in the corner still knee-deep in his thoughts, calculating, or searching.

"It seemed the most fitting human candidate is Captain Steve Rogers, with a 99.2% match." The sudden voice startled you both, but Vision raised his head and greeted you, "Ah. I see that my data is no longer needed. Congratulations on finding a perfect partner, and good night, to you both."

You whispered a "Night" as Vision drifted towards his chamber.

Turning around when you noticed Steve went silent, you saw him scratching the back of his head, just a little bit annoyed.

"I rank behind a book and two fictional characters?"

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america fluff #captain america fanfiction #agent!reader

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anyasathenaeum · 9 months

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Reader Goes Feral When Trigun Boys Get Hurt - Anya's 100 Follower Event

Pairings: Vash x reader, Wolfwood x reader (separately)

A/N: Thank you to all the lovely individuals who requested this prompt for my 100 follower event! I'm inspired enough to write a joint post with blurbs for this, so enjoy! Also, there are still slots open, so feel free to request something, friends!

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, reader being badass

Vash the Stampede

"(Y/N)! Run, now! Get somewhere safe!"

Vash's words echoed in your head, but all you could do was stare down at the blood staining your clothing. Vash's blood. You'd felt your heart drop to the ground as you watched bullets tear through Vash, who had done nothing but try to calm the ire of the townsfolk chasing after him.

Your skin burned where Vash's blood stained it, and all you could hear was the thrumming of your blood in your ears as a fire began to spread through your veins. You couldn't hear anything, and suddenly, the fact that bullets were whizzing by didn't phase you. All you could think about was making the people who had shot Vash pay.

They were going to pay for shooting Vash if it was the last thing you ever did.

The world moved around you as if in slow-motion. You felt yourself moving faster than your brain could comprehend, pulling out your pistol and firing off shots to disarm the townsfolk before they could so much as wound you. You watched as the townsfolk realized what kind of rage was coursing through you, you watched as the fear began to register on their faces, but not fast enough to escape the all-consuming fire of your rage.

"HOW DARE YOU?!"

The voice that bellowed those words was not one you ever would've recognized as your own, but you couldn't care less. It was filled with anger and hatred and malice, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself shooting to hurt, if not to kill altogether.

You found yourself watching as blood bloomed on people's clothes as your bullets found their marks, muted cries of pain and fear ringing out as the wounded slowly fell to the ground and as their fellow townsfolk began to flee, sprinting and stumbling away as best they could. You watched as some trembled in fear, begging and praying for you to spare them, while others dove for cover.

'Why should I spare them?!' Hissed a primal, vicious voice from deep within you, 'I should show them the same mercy they showed Vash!'

But, as your gaze fell onto the crumpled form of the blonde-haired man, curled up in the fetal position around the bullet wounds in his stomach, you suddenly felt a pang of horror and realization go through you.

This isn't what Vash would want.

Shaking and panting from your rage and exertion, you lowered your gun, looking around at the horrified townsfolk as they struggled to get away from you or patch their own wounds. Wounds you had inflicted.

Before the weight of what you had done could really sink in, you quickly turned and, using the extra adrenaline in your system, you gathered Vash as best as you could, supporting him and trying to be careful as you minded his wounds, lifting him enough to get him at least off the ground.

As you lifted him, Vash groaned, his eyes fluttering open weakly and looking around. Once his gaze settled on you, his eyes widened and a look of worry and fear crossed his face.

"(Y/N)? Why are you crying? Are you okay?"

You didn't even realize you had begun to cry, nor did you have energy to answer him, trying hard to block out the cries of the wounded townsfolk. As Vash began to take in the scene and connect the pieces, all you could do was readjust your hold on him and sniffle out before beginning to walk.

"Come on. I gotta get you somewhere safe."

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

This wasn't at all what you had expected to happen.

You knew that whatever solution Wolfwood had been drinking from those glass vials of him had to have some kind of consequence, but for Wolfwood's body to fail him in healing in the middle of a fight? It wasn't how you expected it to happen at all.

"Damn!"

You heard Wolfwood exclaim as he leaned back against a wall, ducking from the bullets being shot at you and him by the police, slumping down to the ground. He was panting heavily and you could see the dark blood seeping through the bullet wounds to his torso. He had already chugged a vial, but nothing had happened. Your eyes widened in fear.

"Wolfwood-"

"Yeah, I know, sweetheart!" He cut you off almost immediately, his tone sharp, "I don't need you to say anything!"

You flinched slightly, feeling the fear building up in you as you watched the blood patches growing bigger and bigger, and watching the light in Wolfwood's eyes get dimmer and dimmer. Then-

"(Y/N)!"

Wolfwood never used your real name unless it was a serious situation or a warning. This cry of your name was filled with panic.

"Hands above your head, or we'll shoot you both!"

You felt a gun barrel press up against the back of your head, and you slowly put your hands up as the officer had demanded. You watched as another three or four officers with weapons ran up, one of them snickering at Wolfwood's state.

"Not so brave now, are you?" The officer laughed, before proceeding to pistol-whip Wolfwood across the face.

All you heard was the impact of the pistol against Wolfwood's cheekbone before your vision went red.

"Nicholas!"

Before you could register your emotions, the officer holding the gun to your head was screaming in pain as you got his arm locked in your grasp and quickly jerked it in a way that the gun dropped from his grip and he clutched his arm in agony.

The officers around glanced over at you only in time for you to strike them hard enough to break noses and jaws, to give black eyes and drop them to the ground before they had time to comprehend the threat you posed to them. Within a few moments, the guards were unconscious or groaning on the ground, their guns out of reach and no longer a risk to you or to Nicholas.

When you came back to your senses, you were panting frantically and your arms were aching from the level of force you used. You glanced down at your hands and faintly registered that your knuckles were bruised and bleeding, some gashes now on your hands from dealing blows. Shakily, you looked back up at Nicholas, who was just looking at you with wide eyes.

"W-What?" You asked, your voice trembling as you tried to calm yourself down.

"Nothing," Nicholas replied, a small grin appearing on his lips as he tried to stand, "You're just scary when you're ragin', doll. Didn't know you could do that. Thanks for defending me."

#anya's athenaeum #trigun stampede #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #nicholas d wolfwood #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

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Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #Arthur shelby imagine #Thomas Shelby #Tommy shelby #Arthur Shelby x Heaven #Heaven Shelby #Arthur Shelby fluff

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cambion-companion · 7 months

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(I'm sorry for bothering, I read you were open to prompts... and I'm dying, since I found out about this, for Raph finding out a very, very stupid Tav who screwed up against Harleep. Like. A Tav who is so random she-or he- found her way into the HoH completely randomly, or thought it would be a good idea to surprise him there. Really anything, as you wish, if you can, if it inspire you, if it amusé you ^^ have a great day !)

Not a bother at all, my dear! I am indeed open for Raphael prompts, always ;)

Hickory dickory dock. The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hickory dickory dock.

"Oh shit. Oh shit." A chill ran up Tav's spine as they sensed a sharp atmospheric shift inside the House of Hope. The air thickened and grew laden with the scent of sulfur and musk. Raphael stepped through a whirling portal of flame, his human face set grimly in an expression of anger.

"I am disappointed to see you here, pet."

"Raphael, it's not-"

"An errant mouse wreaking inane havoc in my house."

"Raphael I promise I didn't-"

"Silence." His voice was a dangerous purr, holding the promise of tortures unimagined. "You're being here is in direct defiance of clause three section b of our contract."

Tav had never felt his presence carry such fury before. They stammered for a moment, desperate to avoid conflict with the cambion. "Raphael..." Tav tried once more, tongue heavy around their words. "It was an accident! The diabolist in Baldur's Gate sent me here."

Raphael, still frowning sharply, allowed Tav to speak. Incendiary sparks of ash still floated around his form, but he seemed to calm somewhat as they tried explaining their mistake.

"The diabolist and I got into an altercation. She serves Mammon...pretty sure I remember that right." Tav continued. "I didn't know she was going to banish me here."

Raphael tilted his head, listening to the desperate squeaks of his favorite mortal. When Tav began rambling about the state they had found his house in when they'd arrived, he held up a quelling hand. "Enough. I believe your being here was not by your own volition however..." His voice lowered again. "...you brought with you the wretched chaos of your own world into my home."

Tav hesitated, tucking hair behind their ear nervously. "Not to be...blunt, Raph. But your house was kind of, um, disorderly when I got here." They pointed down the hallway in the direction of the dining room. "Your dinner table? An utter mess."

Raphael made a long low noise in the back of his throat, Tav ceased speaking at once under his piercing gaze. After a long moment he spoke again.

"You have not done lasting damage, nor pilfered any of my treasures. I know everything that happens in my house, little mouse. Every movement, every whisper does not go unmarked." His cunning eyes now swept the foyer carefully, lingering on each soul column. "After all, when the cat is away the mice will play." In one stride he took Tav's chin between his finger and thumb and tilted their head side to side. "Someone gifted you quite the disguise, sweetling." He pulled, causing Tav to stumble a couple small steps toward him till their chests brushed. "Did it give you a morsel of hope perhaps?"

Tav winced guiltily, gasping slightly as Raphael's fingers tightened in response, his aura darkening again.

"I have been so generous with you, Tav. Over and again forgiving your wayward insolence." Raphael's nose almost brushed against Tav's as he lent down. "Am I to believe you agreed to help my little Hope escape her shackles?"

Tav bent away slightly, the color draining from their face. "Only so I could obtain the disguise, Raphael. I never intended to help her."

"You lied?" Raphael sounded almost amused now. "And Hope believed you? What a desperate little Nightingale. Her cage is well-appointed. You were wise not to meddle." Raphael almost sighed as he released Tav with a slight push. "I do love the delicious sound of a soul being stripped bare and broken. However, such will not yet be your fate if you agree to assist me."

"In more than retrieving the Crown for you?" Tav asked, a knot forming in their stomach.

"Oh yes." Raphael placed a careful hand on his hip as he gesticulated with the other. "Restoring precious order. First accompany me to the soul cages, to converse with our Hope. Second, I will escort you to your Material Plane and you will deal with the diabolist of Mammon so that none will trespass in such a way again."

Tav frowned slightly, but nodded, they had little choice. "Thought you'd be more happy to see me." They frowned slightly.

"Don't pout, pet, it's unbecoming." Raphael seemed much more his charming self now, amused at Tav's muttered reproach. "After your journey is complete and the Crown is mine, you will be welcome in my house at any time." His smile twisted and his eyebrows arched. "You have my word."

#mixed signals Raphael #Raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael x reader #raphael drabble #bg3 drabble #house of hope #no tav didn't have time to encounter haarlep in this #next time #also rip diabolist #and hope

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year

Text

Childish Love

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Modern!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader [Childhood Friends AU]

WORDS: 2,104.

SUMMARY: Growing up as childhood friends to lovers with Aegon ii would look something like this...

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, overprotective!Aegon, NSFW, smut, breeding kink, praise kink, slight innocence kink, p in v, female receiving.

A/N - to the incredible anon(s) that sent in those AMAZING asks/prompts about modern!Aegon, you have inspired this and it’s dedicated to you all!!! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the engagement, seriously <3

You first met Aegon as a shy, little girl, at the mere age of 5. He was a just few years older than you.

The story differs between Aegon and yourself, depending on who is asked.

He hates how you recount it, finding it humiliating, however no matter how hard he tried to deny it, your version is technically the truth.

It was a normal day on the playground, although today the swing set that you’d normally go to was already occupied by a boy, much larger in size than you.

You shrugged it off thinking it was a one time coincidence, and yet each day that went by he kept showing up on your favourite swing.

You had grown annoyed to the point you actually shoved him off with all your might, causing him to fall face first to the ground, a bloody graze on his knee.

No one else was close around to witness it unfold, and as he turned to see who it was that had abruptly pushed him off, he did not expect to see you standing there ever so...Innocently.

You remember the pure shock on his face as if it only happened yesterday, and from then you’d always tease him about it.

He didn’t get angry at you nor did he retaliate back: instead he watched as you seated yourself on the swing set, and began to slowly sway.

After that incident, he would always excuse himself off if you wanted to play, and any other child that tried to rush you, he would deal with.

And still, no words exchanged between you, so Aegon resumed his normal ways.

Although, you started to follow him around now mindlessly, like a lost pup. Constantly by his side, he never questioned you directly, although his school friends found it rather unusual.

They began to taunt you one day, only to be harshly shut down by Aegon himself. And following that, you found the courage to speak, just a faint whisper of a “thank you” escaped your mouth, though it was enough of a sign for Aegon to take initiative.

As you began to grow alongside one another, you both found that you were polar opposites, although most of the time it worked in your favours.

Aegon was quite social and popular, constantly invited to parties and gatherings, you on the other hand, remained reserved, studious and shy. Only engaging in some conversation with people more acquired to your tastes... Aegon’s crowd were not your favourite, and he knew this.

He admired that you did not force him to change, as you genuinely liked him for his natural, organic self, and vice versa.

His family would always remain in awe as to how he even managed to land a companion like you, always remained a mystery as to how your friendship lasted through the ages.

His family deeply admired you, always inviting you over for their own family gatherings, you were part of the Targaryen crew. Alicent and Rhaenyra considered you their own daughters, constantly on Aegon’s back that if he ever harmed or bothered you, they'd have his head (figuratively speaking, of course).

Regardless, Aegon took you everywhere with him (even if he was not permitted a plus one, for many of his friends knew that you would be the lucky girl), he did not care.

As children, Aegon did not think much of your appearance, however as you grew into the stunning, young woman at present, he began to see you in a very different light.

Ultimately, because of this Aegon grew to become very overprotective of you.

He noticed how guys looked at you, hunger flashed in their eyes, and it made him livid, he swore he could feel his blood boil, as his body tensed in anger.

Initially in the early stages of the friendship, Aegon’s feelings was limited to just friends, nothing more. And yet now, now he was desperate for you to be his, completely.

On the other hand, your feelings for Aegon as children was always a simple crush. As you matured, and caught the eyes of many young suitors, your understanding of attraction began to alter. Although undeniably, no man could ever come close to how dear Aegon meant to you.

No one in the world could nor would ever possibly amount to know you as well as Aegon did, and yet you never acted in your feelings, hesitant to be met with unrequited love.

Despite, becoming slightly more open and extroverted, with Aegon you always found yourself to be meek and shy, blushing and giddy whenever he showed an ounce of affection towards you.

Aegon would definitely instigate many confrontations and find himself in brutal physical altercations with guys that even made a pass at you: he even started one with a lad that he felt stared far too long at you for his liking.

You hated how battered and bruised Aegon would be following these, and urged him to have some self-control. You felt that Aegon had no right to intervene with whom you spoke with for whatever reason. Although the more you contemplated the matter, you felt he actually did. And if you were being brutally honest with yourself, you rather liked the attention he now gave you, convinced he no longer saw you as the same little girl in the playground nor as a ‘sister’, although something more.

Aegon did (secretly) love the attention from your part that he received, after such fights. The way you tended to his wounds, and went above and beyond, nurturing him and healing him back to good health. It made him feral to see you so maternal.

Aegon definitely loved to spoil you. His family were quite wealthy, so his gifts were often grand, materialistic and expensive, whereas yours generally leant towards the sentimental side.

You loved making photo albums, and making collages of your trips and adventures with Aegon growing up (definitely not planning to show your future children of their parents in their youth).

Aegon would gift you with identical, gold chains for your 22nd Birthday, yours had his initial ‘A’, whereas his had yours.

Aegon would even gift you a promise ring, and this basically confirmed to you his feelings, as you both openly talked about how you felt, into the long hours of the night.

You found yourself becoming more clingy and needy for him, always attached to him whenever you had the chance.

He did not mind nor was he ever irritated by it: he thrived off it.

The way you’d either play with the bulky, metal rings on his fingers or buried yourself in his arm, or held him from behind, as he spoke with his friends. You never engaged in their conversation, and he much preferred it that way.

Although, you had grown to dislike many of his female companions, for some you’d noticed especially at parties where Aegon was susceptible to being tipsy, would try to sway him with their ‘charm.’

You would always intervene in a timely manner, finding yourself comfortably seated on his lap, as you allowed him to indulge himself, whether he was nibbling your neck leaving a wet trail of soft kisses, or even a naughty hickey.

In the morrow or whenever Aegon would recover from his hangover, you would persuade him to ditch said friends, and he wouldn't question it. Whatever you wanted, you got.

Aegon struggled to say no to you.

Throughout these years, Aegon did try to contain his carnal urges of wanting to take some advantage of you. Although you always made it difficult for him, he was often torn between being good and decent or being fucking feral.

Though now that you were exclusive with one another, he could please himself whenever and however, although he made sure he was careful with you, and that it was special.

He knew he was your first (and last, as he decided appropriately), he was experienced and could tell by the anxious look on your face, that even though it was only him, your Aegon… You were nervous.

With the other girls in his past, he never grew any real attachment, nor did he ever commit to a proper relationship (he would fuck them whilst envisioning you in his mind, even go so far as to lose himself in the moment, moaning your name, he could care less).

He was very tender with you, although once he knew you were comfortable with sex, his true nature began to peak through.

He never before was into aftercare, although took pride in it with you. He was a bit uncertain of what to do, although he did what he could and overtime he improved.

Seeing your naked, bare body for the first time, was definitely a moment that took his breath away. You were perfect.

Even though he'd never actually been with you before, he knew his way around a woman’s body.

The way he held you, lifted you, pleased you, it was divine, although he could be sloppy and aggressive at times.

You guys would use protection, for the sake of his family, although Aegon always argued there was no point, for he knew he wanted to have children with you, so why not start now?

The boy loved to cockwarm you, always moaning how your cunt was made only for him, even though you struggled to take him all in.

His dick wasn't too long although it was very thick and girthy, always stretching your walls out, the pain was there although it was bearable and soon became pleasurable as he eased himself in slowly.

Aegon was obsessed with your tits, the way they'd bounce as you rode him, as he loved to see you on top occasionally, and he had a soft spot for your ass to, the way he could squeeze, spank and even bite them.

He always praised you in the bedroom, calling you his “princess”, how perfect you were and that you were too good for him, “I don't deserve you at all, but I’m never letting you go.”

You often joked outside the bedroom, calling Aegon “Daddy” as he always gave you instructions on what you can and can’t do, always so protective when it came to boys, that it seeped into the sex.

The moment it slipped out so sultry, with an innocent, sheepish look on your face when you called him “Daddy”, he pulled your face up to look directly at him, firmly holding you by the jaw as his thrusts became slower, more intense, as he tried to shove himself deeper.

“Say it again.”

Like mentioned previously, Aegon knew he wanted to have children with you. He craved it. The thought of you pregnant, tits large and tender ready with milk for the babe, as your belly swelled with his child inside, drove him mad. The fact that it would be evidence of him having defiled you, made his cock twitch with excitement.

“All in good time, my love,” You would innocently tease Aegon.

You guys often had talks of the future in bed together, as you laid naked against his chest, his arm wrapped around your warm, exhausted body.

Aegon usually was always tired after sex, although if you remained awake, he would too.

In the mornings, he loved waking up to see you in his clothes, and did not mind that you would occasionally steal his jumpers and t-shirts. He actually encouraged you to wear it publicly, to send a message that you were his.

In college, Aegon was always at your dorm or with you in the library, he never wanted you venturing the male dorm rooms. He lacked focus in his academic studies, although admired watching you.

You would definitely help him with assignments, notes and exams, and in return he would spoil you through material means or just some good sex.

He’d definitely would fuck you in the library: loved tormenting you, holding back your screams and moans, as you collapsed under his touch. If he got bored whilst you were studying, he’d even finger you under the desk, watching you vulnerably squirm, suppressing the urge to helplessly moan his name, wanting to beg for his cock.

HE fucking LOVES IT!

Aegon did not mind your friends (specifically the female ones), although they did not like him. They thought of him possessive and controlling, although you tried to reassure them countless times, that was not the case.

They struggled to believe it, although eventually surmised that you were genuinely happy with him.

Nonetheless, Aegon was destined to be yours as you were his, the moment you’d met in your childhood. Love like this was rare, and thus, you both pledged to cherish it forever with each other.

704 notes · View notes

h0unds-of-h3ll · 2 years

Text

Lover’s exchange

After submitting your final. Jonathan’s more than intrigued as to where the inspiration comes from.

Jonathan Levy x reader smut.

Word count: 8k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: fluff, smut, rough smut, VERY EXPLICIT, age gap, fingering, blow jobs, eating out, unprotected sex, gagging, anal play, ass eating, overstimulation, coercion, consenting adults, power control, breeding kink, recorded masturbation, explicit language & themes, dark themes, drinking, smoking, rough smut, hair pulling, scratching, Jonathan is not as innocent as he seems, teasing, porn? Porn, teacher x student, somnophilia, implied face sitting, sensory deprivation kinda.

A/n: I literally took the idea of him being a professor and fucking ran full throttle with it. Can be an au! I guess. Head empty just him. Just a disclaimer that I’m not in college and nor have any idea what consists there. I apologize for any misconstrued ideologies! Most is written in the 3rd pov.

“A passionate encounter, one that has never been replicated since. That is what I want you to write about.”

He rolls the sleeves of his cardigan up to his elbows. The few students scattered throughout the small auditorium. He knows they’re not listening, but he continues nonetheless.

“It can be with a spouse, a stranger, anything really. I’m giving you the freedom to express a feeling only you have felt so incomparable to anyone else.”

The electronic bell he’s grown to despise rattles. His students billow out into the side door, to their next seminar. He plops into the wheely chair with a long elongated sigh. He hopes it came across well, the prompt of their final. A feeling twists in his gut, not even half listening to him. He wants to help them prosper. He’s a lenient professor, one of the most laid back on the board. But there’s only so much he can brush past. Late work that’s a month overdue, students pleading for him to turn an F into a B- is exhausting. He takes his glasses off, hanging his head into his palms. He’s trying desperately to wipe away the misery that's clinging to his features. The soft sounds of shoes patting the ground. The loud chit-chat of the pupils communicating through the corridor. He fails to hear you sneak up on him.

“Professor?”

His head whips upwards to the chirp of your elegant voice. Your hands tied around your school bag. A gentle smile creasing your cheeks. Hair flowing like a drape of a veil. Easy going on his aging eyes. His brain inputs into hyper drive, admiring you. You’re the only student who cares about their work. Who asked questions, who listened intently to the subject he taught. He’s taken a kindness to you that he has given no one else. Rounding up those fives into one hundred.

Giving you that plus you didn’t need, but makes your transcript look more polished. You never spoke to him about subjects outside of education. But you always came to him to broaden your knowledge to keep your work proficient. You’re smart and charming. Pulchritudinous even. (A word that he came across in your work that means beautiful.) He feels immense guilt. Pushing his blurred gaze to the side of his desk. More suitable for the atmosphere. He shouldn’t think of you in such a way. He can’t help it now matter how hard he tries.

“Yes? What is it?”

His voice is short and snappy. Cutting the rope that he’s tethered to. He punches himself for how your smile drops to a vacant expression.

“I was wondering how uhm,”

You pause. Brows knitted on your smooth forehead. You look for the words that aren’t immature in the phrasing.

“How much vulgar use you would allow.”

There's that sheepish smile again. He chokes on his saliva, blind eyes widening. The long curve of his nose is where he pushes his glasses back. He sees your unmasked beauty, and he’s sputtering. An unknown speech impediment develops as he racks his dumbfound skull for an answer. He loses the suaveness of a preceptor and the eager man he truly is comes to play.

“I-, as long as it’s a salient contribution to the plot. As much as you’re comfortable with, I suppose.”

He applauds himself for coming off the slightest bit as composed. What do you mean by vulgar? Maybe you wanted to include paraphernalia or explicit language. But what if- you wouldn't, you are too put together to even indulge. But what if? You nod swiftly. Brightness swims in your eyes.

“Thank you, pedagogue.”

Your idyllic body pivots walking through the big twin doors. He lets out a heavy heave exit his lungs, one that he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans down, pressing his febrile forehead onto his desk. He’s stupefied by the title. Pedagogue, really? He praised himself for being benevolent and you thought that he was austere? A new, fresh hoard of scholars enter his domain. He groans, wanting to bash his cranium into the wood. He doesn’t know how to feel. But the only thing he can think about while teaching his course is feeding you grapes in a lavish room in Israel.

~~~

A week and a half later, Jonathan is sprawled out on his couch. A wine glass in hand, shitty cable on demand playing some nonsense. A pair of grey joggers low on his hips, a dark earthy tone sweater on shoulders. All wrapped together with a thin white chain with the Star of David draped on his sternum. He doesn’t really know why he wears it anymore. He doesn’t feel like he treasures his faith, cast from the religion. He doesn’t hold the practice to his heart. Especially not after the occurrences with Mira. The exact reason he sits alone in this big empty house.

Longing for Daughter’s presence. A distant glow of his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, pleading for him to do something, anything. His heart torn from the absent wishes of wanting his life to be different. Filled with artificial happiness. Loneliness puts him in a corner with no escape. He’s grown accustomed to the feeling, throughout his failed marriage, he knows it all too well. Ridden by the pain of it, something unfamiliar takes its place. Something stronger than isolation. Desolation. He’s felt like this for so long that he’d forgotten that there are other emotions. Like jouissance, similar to having a penchant for something. To have it for you. He knows deep down that it’s wrong.

Fuck he knows, he does and it will kill him. Shouldn't think of his student in such a desirous manner. But he can’t stop. Ever since you walked yourself into his class, he hadn’t gotten you out of his head. Daydreams he's living in with you. Different past lives he could’ve had with you. Every waking moment you’ve plagued him. Every off hand hungry exchange with Mira, he imagines you. He can’t get away from you. A deep breath emits from him. He scratches his forehead, lost in the thought of you. His laptop pings with a buzz. It seems that the universe has answered his prayers. He straightens his posture, setting the glass on the table before pulling the computer on his lap.

He adjusts his glasses; the glow glares off the glass spheres. His house is pitch black other than the distant television and the radiance in front of his face. He sets it flat on his lap, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. He uses the track pad and finds his notifications. You. You’ve sent him something, your email in his inbox. A pdf. Your semester final. You work his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t due for another week and yet you’ve already finished. He’s already gotten a few messages from other disciples needing the date pushed back, but you’ve completed it. His heart soars, resembling something along the lines of being proud? No, appreciative. He remembers the words you spoke to him the day he gave the prompt. Vulgar.

How lovely you looked that day, but in his opinion you always looked like that. Somehow you looked even better that day. Chipper and gleaming like a morning dew. The cursor hovers over the link. He clicks, opening the document. The black words on a white sheet were gifted to him. Your introduction and citations at the top corner. The title in the middle. Lover’s exchange. He scrolls to the first paragraph, with a heavy heart and high hopes he begins.

Act I

It’s midnight when they meet. A dark sky with twinkling stars. A lamppost with a spotlight they run through. An older man and a younger woman trailing after him. It’s forbidden among the laws of society because of the taboo. The way they dance through the night to his house. The two disregard the dirty looks. They only existed with each other in their world. They lied to one another, saying that the energy shared is just an exchange. An exchange of passionate encounters.

The feel of his salt and peppered beard on her skin, the marks he gives her after the exchange. In the end, it’s what they both wanted- needed. His prolonged fingers tied around her wrist, tugging. She sees his house. White picket fence almost as much as her tuition. In a diverse neighborhood with economic growth. The older man modeled an image of what an established man should be. Bittersweet. Reminds her of a family of four with a dog. Stability isn’t what this was. Unbridled lust is all it was. They go against the formal casualties of dinner. They run up the stone onto his porch. He fumbles with his keys to unlock his door. He’s nervous, twitching with excitement. He inserts the key, then he’s tugging her again. Into his home. The smell of spring and hominy hits her.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it into the distant living room. Turning to throw keys into a bowel. He pivots, his glasses glimmer with the faint light of the dark night. Concealing his dark eyes from her. He smiles, big and toothy. Imperfect teeth rewarded her. He curls a finger under her chin. His other resting on her shoulder. He tilts his head to the side, slotting his lips into hers. Rhythmic and precise. Walking her up into a wall, hands slithering under the jacket and peeling it off. He moves his head back, the coat that dwarfs her in hand. Long feathered lashes fan across his crimson cheeks. He puffs. His hands leave to discard her jacket. Only for one of them to wrap around her wrist to pull. Long strides bound her up his stairs, to the landing. She’s amazed how he didn’t trip and fall face-first into one of the steps.

He’s running up them and she’s trying her hardest to keep up. He barely opens his door before he pushes her inside. There’s no time for delicacies. He’s pulling at a ravenous pace at her clothes, her the same. They scatter like leaves throughout his bedroom. It wasn’t the first time this has happened and sure to be the last. But the way he looks at her is like a groom looking at a bride. Dopey eyed and filled with emotion. His fingers run up her arms, the hair standing up as he goes. The skin is as soft as velvet. She reaches, fingers touching his temples before removing his specs. He hates himself for gazing at her breasts. Watching the flesh, crease and undulate. The color of her nipples easily begins to fight for his favorite. She leans up on her knees, the bed pulling inwards by his thigh. She kisses the space between his brows.

His heart picks up at a speed a horse would gallop, and he begins to question everything. Such a pure girl is with him to do unspeakable things. She’s his first after the split. So why is he starting to develop feelings if all of it is just raw fucking and emotionless? But what if it wasn’t, what if he wanted something a little dangerous? Something he can’t bring up at those shitty dinner parties Mira dragged him to. The conferences among the board asking his marital status, he can’t and he won’t. His dirty secret in the hands of a younger untouched girl. In all honesty how can he not get attached? He remembers reading something years ago. An article about how the chemicals match and sync with the counterparts.

How it’s simply science to get attached. He shakes his head, dark curls painted grey moving on his head. He rids himself of his thoughts. One night a month, he has to make it good. The moon shines through the big window in the middle of the room. He lays her down, peppering kisses on her neck. Finding the places he knows she likes. She was so easy to him, he knew her like the back of his hand. Yet, he always seems to find something that he never knew. There were never fights or grudges between the two. They fuck like they actually like each other. His large hands grope at her sides. Making her squirm in his grasp. His knees pinch at the bottom of her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his long waist. His semi hard erection laid in the crevice between her thigh and mound. Her hands tied in his curls. Twisting and pulling at the follicles. She didn’t have to tell him what felt good, he can tell by the pulls. His nose skims across her skin, tasting and lapping at the saltiness.

Worshipping each inch with the utmost delicacy. He kisses down her sternum. Purposely avoiding her peaks. Down her stomach and there. He parts her thighs, crawling down her body. Wedging his broad shoulders between her thighs. His beard burning caresses into the inside. His curls are a soft contrast. His plush lips press a kiss on the few scars he can find. His hands go to the sides of her hips, under her thighs. He wiggles on his chest to grow closer to her wet heat.

She’s glistening, poor thing. He flattens his tongue from where her entrance is to her clit. Over her slit, not entering her folds. Oh. So he’s going to be a tease tonight. She can’t complain from the whimpers he’s getting from her. The jut of her hips grinding on his face. The soft shake of her thighs on the sides of his face. His hands come back to her cunt. His thick thumbs, coming to either side of her lips. Pulling them apart. He’s enamored, watching her contract then dampen. His breath fans over the expanse and she’s shivering.

Her grip on his hair tightening. His tongue snakes out from behind his lips. His nose brushed along the hood of her clit. He pushes the tip of his tongue onto her bundle of nerves. Kitten licking the bud. It’s so meticulous and thought out for no error that she knows he's planned this for a while now. This encounter was planned to a t with no spontaneity. His tongue pulls back and she whines. But his mouth doesn’t move, he shakes his head to plunge his head into her. He sucks through his teeth, pulling her clit up. The sharp pain makes her yelp, her back arching off his mattress. His chin digging into the lower half of her cunt. The wiry hair of his beard tearing into her sensitive folds. The hair most definitely being soaked with her arousal.

Her stomach churns and hot pleasure pools into her lower back. Her knuckles turning white, she’s only half sure that she’s pulling clumps of curls from his scalp. It’s just so thick and full of hair that she doubts anyone will notice. She’s close, too close. Been waiting for this moment since the last time she had seen him. Those tight khakis and the fucking cardigan she knows that are hiding stretched muscles. Toes curling into his sheets. One of his hands leaves, shifting his body to accommodate. Two fingers enter her rigid hole. She’s moaning high in her throat. Jerking her hips up into his stupidly sculpted face. Trying to leave his face only results in him lapping more feverishly. He just moves with such elegance that she’s hurting. Just from his mouth.

She’s bruised from his teeth never leaving her clit alone. He curls those protracted fingers in her cunt and she’s seeing stars as he pumps them. Her legs are tightening around his head. The thickness, the stretch of it all has her crumbling. Spasming on the coarse hair of his face, he coaxes her through it. Even if his jaw is cramping she doesn’t know, he just continues to drink from her. Spreading her open to devour farther. His fingers leave only to be replaced with his mouth. His tongue intruding her hole. Plugging her up with the muscle. He stays there until it seems she has calmed and she’s not scalping him. He shifts to pull up on his knees. His hands leave soothing circles on her hips.

Her eyes are closed and she almost looks like she’s sleeping but her panting chest he knows she’s in the sky right now. Like an angel, his angel. He lifts her, flipping her on her stomach. He lowers on his stomach. Pushing her legs apart. His fully hardened cock pushed into the mattress. He spreads the globes of her ass. Listening to that keen gasp. His lips part and a string of drool falls on her puckered hole. When his saliva meets the ring, she clenches and he’s groaning. His face meets between her cheeks to lick at the flesh. His nose went into the divot. His beard scraped her. The smell of her heavenly.

The feeling of being suffocated by her has him thrusting into the plush mattress. She fists her hands into the pillow by her head. Enthralled by the foreign feeling of his tongue digging into the forbidden part of her. He moves his face down to lick at her slit to bring it up to the dry hole. His tongue moistions his lips. He huffs before delving in once more. One of his hands is coming to knead her cheek. His thumb slowly pushed into the hole carefully. Drool runs down her face. She’s too tired to even move. The intrusion has her thighs slicked. He feels his cock pulsing when he has her take the first knuckle. He doesn’t care if she cums again, he's just eating to devour. Eating from the purest of fruits. His sac tightens up. A couple of shallow thrusts and he’s done. The stickiness caught between the sheets and his paunchy stomach.

He moans, his mouth leaving her. During his onslaught he didn’t realize that his thumb was fully inside her. His palm pressed flushed to the curvature. He’s amazed at the sight. Saddened when he pulls the digit out of her. He lays on his back by her, on his side of his bed. Skin damp with sweat. Dark skin filled with precipitation. He knows that he just committed a crime. That if someone finds out he’d be in a penitentiary. That he couldn’t go back to whatever the fuck normal was in his life. He couldn’t go back into the comfortable life of not sleeping with his student. So he ponders the question as to why it feels so good if it was such an incriminating thing. He comes to the conclusion that being a saint only lasts so long. And he has to admit that this feeling of being a sinner provides so much more exuberance.

Interlude I

Jonathan has to take a step away. He can feel his lungs closing in. He’s wheezing, his face buzzing under his glasses as he grows light-headed. Fuck. Why is his mouth so dry? He pushes his laptop to the cushion beside him. Lifting with the crack of gas between his bones. He walks into his kitchen, standing tall to grab a clear glass. He returns to his fridge, pushing the lip into the fridge’s mouth. The dispenser spews cold water. His chest heaves as he can’t breathe. Not now, please, not now.

His head hurts, his temples tingling. His vision waved in and out. He placed the glass on the island. Hastily pulling open drawers. Panic brews in his stomach. A stone dropping his heart to the ground. Fuck, where is it?! He curses himself for never leaving it in the same spot. His ego was too inflated to believe he needed to know where it was. That he didn’t need it to live. His hands blindly pulled junk out, throwing it onto the tile. In the very back of the sinks cabinet he finds it. He pulls the inhaler between his lips. Pushing the top down for ten seconds, inhaling. Keeping it in for fifteen, then exhaling. His frame deflates with the small thing in hand.

He smiles with sharp pearls up at his ceiling. Trying to push the feeling of a hysteric laugh boiling up his throat. Down to his belly. How fucking absurd this was! He almost went into an asthma attack because of some erotica. Reading erotica that you wrote. His eyes fall to the open drawer that pushes into the bone in his hip. He cranes his neck, finding the pack of cigarettes. Now it makes sense. The inhaler and smokes shoved into the back so an eager eye couldn’t easily find them. Even himself. He trades the inhaler for the pack. It hits the back with a thud. He flips the tab open, only finding two white sticks and his lighter shoved into the side. Thank fucking god. Taking one of the cigarettes between his fingers, he slots it onto the top of his ear.

His curls are trying to push it free, so he pushes it down. Throwing the pack that he’d go back to later on the marble. He’s so warm. Almost burning with sweat. His fingers tie around the bottom of his sweater. Lifting it over his head and tugging off the sleeves. He hisses at the cold air hitting his bare skin. His chain hitting his chest. He tosses his sweater onto the island. He takes the cigarette back behind his ear to his parted lips. Grabbing the lighter, he cups the flame; the embers alighting. He shoves the lighter in his pocket. Inhaling for ten seconds, holding it for fifteen, exhaling. The taste and the scent makes him wonder why he’d ever try to stop. Mira and his kid, but now that they’re both gone.

Leaves him with no excuses. He doesn’t have to half step out the door because of the pungent smell. Doesn’t have to hide his habits. His stomach contracts with each breath. His mind slowly easing into standby. He’s thinking about emailing you back. Asking how you came up with this explicit idea. Did you experience it first hand? Did you want to? He smiles, he thinks of himself as more than a willing candidate. He wanted to say that he absolutely seethed the fluids that you explained so beautifully. But he couldn’t. The way you painted the actions wasn’t humanly, it was mystical.

He’s impaired with his way of thinking. He’ll never think of such acts as he used to. The cigarette burns the pads of his fingers. He takes one last breath in before flicking it into the garbage disposal. The flame dies instantly. He sighs out a gust of smoke. Grabbing the glass of now lukewarm water and sitting on his couch. Almost groaning as he spreads out. The tv plays some superhero movie that he’s never seen. One of the Wolverine ones. He watches the claws swipe through what only he can presume is a villain. Taking a swig of the water his chest erupts into shivers. He places it by the wine. Rubbing his palm on his sweats, he attempts to regain his consciousness. With a deep sigh he grabs his computer by his thigh and reads.

Act II

The call rings on his computer. A loud pinging noise with an incessant buzz fills the room of his study. He nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s going to get caught by her invitation. Soon he accepts. It’s in the middle of the night and Mira is up in his room, his Daughter fast asleep. She was a mess that one, not willing to sleep if he didn’t act out her stories. He was a knight in tonight’s redemption. His heart hurts. Fuck, he’s going to have to be careful. Since Mira came back from her trip, he has been paranoid. He honestly didn’t give a shit about her relations.

He was too invested in talking to his inamorata. Because of Mira’s arrival, he hadn’t gotten to in half a month. Missing their encounters. Yearning for them. It’s driving him insane, losing contact. She smiles up at him through the viewfinder. It’s pitch black and he can only make out her face. The light from her screen is the only one emitting luminosity. She’s under a surface. A blanket? He smiles. How perfect. Such a rellrounded girl hiding like a child. Although, he pouts solemnly, craving to see her beauty forthright.

“You’re like Batman brooding in his cave.”

He stifles a laugh, biting his lip. Smiling wide he nods.

“Maybe I am. You can’t debunk it.”

She smirks, eyes lighting up at the playful banter. He’s missed this, missed the poking at each other to receive a reaction. He’s always surrounded by chaos and fighting. Being around her, it seems that such things don’t exist. Their world is a utopia, and he’s happy if it’s only them who survive there.

“Pretty sure that Batman isn’t a professor.”

He nods. She’s as quick as ever, keeping him on his toes. It’s a battle to make her not quirk a response. There’s always a reply. She’s just so responsive. He licks his lips, throwing in the bait to see her riposte.

“Pretty sure that Batman’s cock isn’t as big as mine.”

Ah, yes. He brings out the grotesque themes of their relationship. The meaningless fucking that has blossomed into a desire to see her. Kiss her lips and cheeks. Cradle her head into his chest, wondering if she can hear his heart soar. He needs to remind himself that he can’t mingle with her. Be treated like he's twenty years younger. Maybe his response is ludicrous and she will be turned off from the bluntness. She’s so detached from it all that she doesn’t even blink an eye.

She barks out an electronic laugh before clamping a palm over her mouth, eyes wide. Now he wants to know why his cock is growing at the sight. A fetish he didn’t know he had, most likely. He wonders if her roommate is there. The idea has him hardening instantly. Trying to keep quiet for him, like he is for her. He sees her shift, leaning over the camera to retrieve some earbuds she’s used in his class. Her breasts were hidden under a baggy shirt. He can see the outline however and he’s filled with out righteous lust to find that she’s not wearing a bra. She sits back on her thighs, inputting the wire into her laptop. Two white wires lead into one connected source.

“So dirty, old man.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Forearms broadening. His white tee hugging his muscles. The Star of David necklace wrapped around that thick neck. He quirks up a thick eyebrow on his forehead. Questioning her status. He takes quick notice of the way her eyes flick downwards on her screen. She’s never had a problem with his age before, and now she has something to say about it? He’s taken aback. He remembers her saying something that him being older was alluring. That she values the intellect he holds. He turns it onto her.

“Should be worried about what this old man is going to do to you, little girl.”

He says, voice dipping an octave lower. His arms uncross and a hand goes to cup himself over his clothed cock. Teasing himself. His hair pushed back carelessly. Not in his pristine style. It’s nice seeing him in such a way. Laid back and careless. Only wanting to talk to the girl he’s interested in. She bets he smells so divine. Like honey and milk. Her thighs seared with ripples of pleasure forming. The domestic life he's letting her glimpse into. It’s been too long since she’s last had him. She hasn’t even looked in any other male presence since him. She needs him to let her release the pent up frustration. But she can’t, not without his help.

“Such as?”

She pries. Sitting cross-legged on her twin bed. She moves the monitor up her body to her face. His mouth waters. One of her hands plays with the loose shirt she has on. She’s toying with him and he’s not stupid. He knows how the younger woman plays but he bites, anyway.

“I had this dream about you.”

She tilts her head to the side, hands skimming flat up to her breasts.

“Oh?”

She whispers and he wettens his lips. The hand that was cupping his length runs up his torso. Under the loose waistband of his sweats. Toying with the ribbon like ties.

“Yeah, thinkin’ about it a lot, actually. We were in Israel,”

“Israel?”

She asks, shocked. Eyebrows rocketing across her forehead. His hand follows downwards to the expanse of his plush thigh. Close to where he needs, but sweeps the thumb by the side of his sac. He refrains himself from rolling his eyes in the back of his head.

“Mhm. In Israel, in a mansion.”

“A mansion?”

She questioned again. And there’s that quick thinking he loved. Her lips perk into a smile as she rolls a bud in her fingers. A frown deepens on his face. His fingers scratched at the base of his cock.

“Yes, now shut up so I can finish.”

He spits out sternly. Not an ounce of jest in his words. Her mouth closes immediately, hips bucking at the tone. Similar to the one he uses at work when a student did something wrong. Fuck, she should do something bad that would make him use it more. He cups his balls, and he’s stretching the elasticity of his joggers. The head of his cock pushing up at the side, begging to be let free. He doesn’t reprimand himself.

“In Israel in a mansion. I and you, on the silk sheets of a bed. However, I was on my back and you were,”

His lips part as he pants. His hand wraps around the base, holding himself. His head leans back, and he sighs. He builds up suspension with his little groans. He knows that she’s hanging on every single breathy moan. On every word he’s ridding her of.

“You were dripping on my lips.”

His hips thrust up into his hand. Her eyes widen and she pulls at her nipples. Breathing fastening to where she’s gasping for breath. Oh. Then a thought runs through her pretty head. What if he was sleeping next to his spouse. Dreaming of her while he rests. Shivers run up her spine.

“I could smell and taste you, your thighs around my head. And pretty girl, fuck-“

As he starts to fist himself, finally jerking himself off at a rapid pace. He’s lost for words, utterly and completely. His thumb traces over his head and he’s almost crying. God, he misses her. Not just her cunt that’s too tight, but the smell of her. The softness and linen smell of her. The taste he can’t have. He lifts his hips up, pushing his sweats down his broad legs. Encompassing her a view, he knows she’ll be appreciative of. She always praises his cock. Always wants to have it in her, near her. He didn’t know if he corrupted her to be such a filthy girl or if she already was. He doesn’t know, but he mumbled praises about how good she looks.

“I miss you.”

He moans heavily, almost where his scrupulous voice lives. One of her hands travels under her panties. Quickly rubbing short little circles on her clit. Her head hits her wall with a soft thunk. He wants to know why he wants to kiss it, to say that she’s okay. Treat her like a child. The muscles in his thighs draw up and he’s whining.

“I miss you most. Making me stay in this hell.”

She gripes. He should’ve known she would say something like that. The college was below par, to say the least. The people were insane. People desecrate in the halls, let alone fornicate. She was close to finishing, about a semester off. So she shut her mouth and lived through it. He made it less horrible, worthwhile. But without him there, it hurts more so than she wished to admit. He was her saving grace, and he wasn’t here, so who was going to save her?

As much as she hid the yearning feeling, he knew and felt similar, if not intensified. If he could do it without being expelled from the system of education, he would take her away. Move out of this godforsaken place and start fresh, with her by his side. But the world wasn’t promising. His eyes soften from the cold black coffee to a warm, hot chocolate. Swimming in remorse behind the clouds of glass. His throat tightens up as he yanks languidly at himself. He feels like shit and it was hard to tiptoe around Mira. He wants better for the young girl in front of the screen. She deserves better than him. He swallows the boil down his throat.

“I’m sorry. I really am, sweetheart. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

He sees the way her body grows stiff. The way she usually does when she is close to her orgasm. The calm before her thrashing chaos. His hips buck instantly at the sight. He can feel his cum rolling down his fingers, getting caught in the webs of his fingers.

“Oh, yeah? How’re you going to do that, old man?”

He sighs, shaking his head. Hiding a smile. She tears him up through and through. Done to the bone. That sharp mouth of hers makes his skin crawl. Every time he lives in fear of her response. He thinks of his answer. How was he going to make it up to her? Before he knows it, he’s babbling.

“Next weekend, the paperwork will be served. You can ngh-“

A specific tug has him on the verge of flying head first off into his peak. The fantasy of her in his house parading around in one of his sweaters that is no doubt too big for her has him rolling. He pants furiously, in need of his inhaler.

“Y-you can stay with me until graduation.”

Time freezes as his voice gravels out those precious words. Her heart picks up and the world swirls around her. Such a funny thing, this occurrence. Her huddled under a blanket, laptop sat on a tiny bed that barely fit her. Earbuds tangled, and her voice was barely audible trying to keep quiet to not awaken her roommate. But she’s fingering herself, hand grabbing at her tit. Her shirt rose on her waist. And him. Hiding from his not so secret family. In his den, half curled over, biting his fist as he cums so hard it’s spurting onto his white tee. Her saving grace has offered her salvation. Out of this horrid place. For a limited time. She can’t think straight, but she’s jumping on the promise.

“Deal.”

His heart grows too big for his chest. His tawny cheeks burned red. He only half thought she would agree. The haven he's going to reside in with her has his cock twitching. A few pearls leaving his tip. He watches her face turn into a masterpiece. Eyes closed, mouth open, fingers curling. Legs parted wide. He tugs off his shirt. Careful to not let his face touch the dampness on the surface. Brown skin with defined lining, tufts of dark hair across makes her cross-eyed. Legs spasming closed and a harsh bite onto her bottom lip to stifle the too obscene whimper. He wipes himself off with his once white shirt, tugging up his sweats. He smiles, a crooked grin. His index points at her half-lidded eyes. Her fingers pulling out as a pool forms under her hips. He pushes an eyebrow on his forehead. Pointing a finger at the screen. In his authoritative panty dropping voice he says.

“Under one exception: you can’t call me old man unless it’s under adulation.”

Act III

The first night was torture. He didn’t even cum, just toyed with her body into the multiple she’s given him. She’s a rag doll at this point. Her body is limp to where she can’t even lift a finger without her pussy fluttering. After she physically could not give him anymore of the high. With eyes dumb and cunt sore, she laid there.

He kissed her forehead, whispered sweet words, and left. Leaving to grab a washcloth, made sure the water was warm, not hot. Pressed it between her thighs that had dark sores where his beard had been. Carefully swiping up and down to capture the essence of her. He threw it into the hamper beside his bed, opening a drawer to grab a fluffy blanket. The soft material made his palm tickle. He guided her to lift her hips up so she wouldn’t have to lay in a puddle. He didn’t have the heart to make her stand on wobbly legs. If she could stand. By the way, she’s wincing at his touch. He’s not so sure. She turns on her side, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Whining when he leaves but shortly falling asleep after. Her face to the side of the bed.

Mouth parted, eyebrows pinched as she dreams. He raises the duvet onto her scorching hot skin, tucking the hem under her chin. There’s nothing sexual about it but his heart bursts. He smiles to himself before walking into the bathroom. Shutting the door the quietest he possibly can. He opens the shower door, turning the faucet on. The pellets hit the tile with a heavy splatter. He takes his glasses off; the steam fogging them up, anyway. Putting them by the sink before stepping inside. He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth. The dampness on his skin exudes now being cleansed. He doesn’t know why he feels like it’s necessary, why he’s obligated to bathe after. He just feels the need to. He can’t have her lingering on him; it'll drive him crazy. Even the aftershocks he gets after eating her cunt stay in his beard for weeks after. It’s almost haunting him. Taunting him with her absence. But if he could, he would live between her thighs. The cloth in his hands starts to soak up the grime off his chest. The suds of his soap coats him, making him glimmer with bubbles.

After he’s imagined what he’d do if she was occupying the small rectangle with him, he turns the faucet off. Stopping to grab a towel, dabbing over the falling droplets. Running the fabric over his crevices. He wraps it around his long torso. One hand holds it in place, while the other grabs his glasses. He pushes his wet hair off his forehead, a few straggling curls stay sticken to his face. He looks fucked, to say the least. Streaks of red run down his chest, to his lower stomach. Just a few inches away from his cock. He knows it’s worse on his back. He can feel the welts as he moves. His beard glistens with the water that’s still captured there. He’s enamored by how lean he’s gotten. The muscles in his body are growing taut. He’s astonished since he hasn’t done anything out of his regimen. The only thing he has change was the amount he’s been fucking her. With his now ex spouse out of his house he can do whatever he pleases whenever he wants.

The only thing stopping him is himself, the salt in his hair isn’t just for the looks. His libido is high but his body can’t keep up with him. With one more quick glance he strides out of his bathroom. Seeing the soft inhale and heating her snore does something to him that’s inexplicable. That thing makes his cock harden. A tent forms in the towel and he rolls his eyes. Maybe his body was intact with his drive. His grip on the towel grows. The fucking things this girl makes him do will be the death of him. He walks to the side she’s sleeping on. Cherishing her beauty to mind. A strange idea comes to his head during this viewing. He slips his glasses off his face, precipitation stains the glass. He pauses, thinking momentarily before slotting them onto her face.

In his opinion the thin wired frame with the hazy specs suits her better. They’re awkward with how they’re perched since she’s asleep but he likes the look of it. She shifts and her mouth falls open wider. He’s a bad man, he tells himself as he drops the towel to the floor. His cock in hand, he works himself. His eyes blurry without his prescription, nonetheless he focuses on her face. He runs his thumb over the tip and he’s groaning. He leans forward slightly. Positioning himself over her lips. He rubs the ruddy head over them. Smearing his pre-cum on the bow. He bites his lips, brows furrowed as he pushes in. He’s only sitting in her mouth, unmoving. So much for that shower.

He ruts his hips so half of his length is laid out on her tongue. She’s asleep, he reminds himself. But with the way her lips are curling around him makes him think that he’s wrong. His hand remains wrapped around the hilt. Trying to restrain himself. He pushes small thrusts into her mouth, half in, half out. His other hand pushes her hair from her face. He loses himself and finally pushes his length fully into her mouth, and down the back of her throat. She gags around him and pulls back startled. But surely she’s awake by now. She’s sputtering around him and pulls his sloppy wet self out of her mouth. Her eyes blink dreamily up at him under his glasses, her eyes magnified. He smiles, only one of the sides of his mouth peaking up.

“Mornin’ pretty girl.”

She looks at him, still disoriented. Her head whips to the window. Dark as ever.

“It’s not?”

His head tilts downwards as a nod. Agreeing with her.

“I know. Just go with it, yeah?”

She bows her head. Smiling up at him. He walks over to his side of the bed, laying down by her. He scoots until his chest is pressed against her back. She can feel how hard he is on her ass. His arms wrap around her waist, under her breasts. Hands flat and fingers spread. She pulls a hand up to his hair, scratching her nails lightly on his scalp. Her fingers damp from how saturated his curls are. She wonders if he’s making a wet spot on his bed, similar to hers. He nuzzles his face into her neck, his beard brushing her. He kisses along her shoulder, craning his neck.

“I honestly don’t know how you can see.”

He snorts a laugh. He can’t really. Without them, he can barely make out distant shapes.

“With practice makes perfect.”

She scoffs as one of his hands travels down her stomach. Playing with the short hair on her mound.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

He thought about his answer for a moment. Before nodding into her shoulder. His fingers cupped her thigh to lift it over his hip.

“Can I kiss you?”

He asks softly, almost a whisper. She grants him his wish. He lays flat on his back, pulling her to his chest. Her legs were on either side of his waist. Her face to his. Noses brushing.

“Hi.”

She smiles widely. His hands cup the side of her face before kissing her. Long and slow. Full of insecure thoughts and emotions. He still hasn’t come to terms with how he feels about her, but all he knows is that he cares deeply about her well-being. And if he makes her happy, then he’s glad to be of use. He doesn’t want to say he loves her, because the word doesn’t match with how strongly he adores her. What he thought was love with Mira was the complete opposite of his flower. Every breath, every beat of his heart, belongs to her. He’s not a sap, but if it were to ever come to it, he’d die for her. His beard scratches against her face.

He simply lives for her. He feels her fingers in the wefts of his hair, massaging the thickness. He pouts everything he feels about her into the kiss. He hopes that she’ll understand, and the grinding of her hips. His work is being taught. As her tongue touches his, she can taste him. Marlboro cigarettes and coffee that he probably brews himself. The scent floods into her. Cinnamon and lavender, she wonders if that’s from his soap or his cologne. His hands flatten over her back, pushing her down to him. Her breasts are full against his chest. He’s kicked into a part of his brain that’s primal. Eyes locked on her nipples that barely peek out from beneath her. She pulls away, both parties huffing for air. The glasses slipping off her face.

“How do you do anything with these?”

She pulls herself up on his chest to slide them up the bridge of her nose. He tilts his head to the side, admiring her. She’s just so alluring. The way she holds herself to the divots in her skin. He loves all of it. She lifts an eyebrow, confused.

“What?”

She asks, and he shakes his head. Wet curls swaying.

“Nothin’, you just look beguiling.”

She rolls her eyes, scrunching up her nose. She slaps his chest, laughing. He smiles.

“You think I’m deceptive?”

He blinks cluelessly. Her face snapping into a pout.

“That’s mean, ya know, calling someone a liar.”

His lips twitch up into a ghost of a smile. He tries to hide it but she’s so adorable when he gets under her skin.

“Remind me to never compliment you.”

He mumbles, he pokes fun at her, and she groans. Exaggerating an eye roll.

“Could've said gorgeous or something.”

He shakes his head. In an instant, she’s on her back, and he’s hovering above her. His cock seated over her core. It quivers by the touch. She’s more stunned at how hard he is. It seems that he’s never soft.

“Those don’t suit you, little cherub.”

His nose nudges into her jaw as he kisses her neck. Sucking the marks he wanted for the past half year so she can’t hide it. What spurs him on is the thought that when the questions arise as to how she got them. She can’t say the older professor who fucks her until she can’t walk. He wonders what her answer will be. He kisses down her neck.

“I enjoy beguiling. Bewitching even.”

He kisses her collarbone, nipping. Before licking the skin.

“Body and soul.”

He grins when she hits him on his shoulder.

“What a fraud! Stealing from Austen.”

He sighs, laying his head between her breasts. He wraps his arms around her. She massages his back. His breath fanning on her chest.

“I can’t win, can I?”

He sighs, kissing the side of her tit.

“Afraid not, poet.”

He leans up, his forearms on either side of her head. She pulls her legs up and over his hips.

“If I’m a poet, then you shall be my muse.”

She nods, agreeing.”

“So it shall.”

The end of her sentence turns into a breathy whine as he enters her. The ruddy head splitting her open. His length is halfway before he moves out, then pushes more. His face pushed into the side of her neck, continuing to mark her, then soothe her wounds. She’s crying, loud yelps and pleas for him to fuck her. To use her. He rolls his hips subtly, long languid strokes. Never pushing into that spot deep inside her. He doesn’t need to with the way she’s contracting around him. Her cunt gulped him up with the loudest squelch. The hair around the base of him scratches along her folds.

“So noisy, neighbors are going to hear.”

She cries louder, and he smirks. Slotting himself fully into her, all the way down his shaft. His balls up against her ass, her legs crushing him. And then he moves. His hips lifting back, the only thing in her pussy the tip. He rams his hips back into her. Pushing her up the bed. She yelps, clawing at the bruises on his back. It was hot and electric, bounding the two. Emitting a currency shared. Pulling and taking. He lifts himself on his hands, flat by her head. Pulling his knees under her thighs. He pulls her ankle to his shoulder. Holding it between his shoulder and neck.

His hair hides his eyes, but she’s sure that they’re wild with lust. His hand wraps around the bones in her ankle. He thrusts deeper and shallow into her. He can feel her walls convulse around him, signaling that she’s close. The cacophony of the clap and shared moans has him nearing, too. His mouth was hot and soaking on her ankle. When she cums, her already abused cunt pushes his cock out. He stills, sitting back on his calves, waiting for a reaction. He lets her leg fall. He watches her cum pour onto the blanket and between her thighs. She pushes a hand to his abdomen, telling him to wait. Her pussy fluttered.

“You want me to stop?”

He asks, running the crown of his cock over her folds.

“No.”

She whimpers, and he growls. His glasses on her face a-skewed.

“What do you want, pretty girl?”

“For you to cum.”

He pistons his hips into her in one fluid thrust. Buried himself in and out of her rapidly. He bends her leg to her chest. He kisses her as he floods her pussy. His lips leave as he pants for air. He mouths at her jaw, his eyes closed. He fixes the position of his glasses on her nose. Letting your leg to fall to his side. He doesn’t pull out; he lets the fluids sit in her. Marinating in her womb. He lays his feverish forehead on hers. Breathing her in, basking in the feeling of her. Afraid that if he moves, he won’t have her anymore. So he stays, cock inside her. Body collapsed like a weighted blanket on her. She plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. As he kisses the bruises on her neck. He knows he is a sick man, hoping that her reproductive system takes.

Interlude II

Jonathan takes his glasses from his eyes. Staring blankly at the last sentence. Trying to wrap his head around. What exactly did he just fucking read? There’s an italic at the end at the bottom. His stomach churns and twists disturbingly. There’s no way you didn’t write this about him. Most of it was unnervingly accurate, things he hadn’t told a single soul about. But you did. You knew everything. Was he really that easy to read? Before he can even recoup, his fingers are typing in a three digits of one hundred. In the suggestions, he writes:

“Meet me at the coffee place on Broadway at ten am. I’d like to discuss your afflatus.”

And with that, he shuts the brim of his computer. His head tilted to the ceiling. Dreaming of what he was going to talk to you about in the morning.

The end?

#jonathan levy #scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy x reader #Jonathan levy x reader smut #Jonathan levy x reader fluff #Jonathan levy x reader angst #Jonathan levy x you #Jonathan levy x y/n #oscar issac x reader #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac x reader angst #oscar isaac x reader fluff #oscar isaac x reader smut

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queers-gambit · 1 year

Text

Creepy Crawlies

inspired by this image by @applegin

prompt: Aemond and Helaena witness how deep your fear goes.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader featuring: bestie!Helaena

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: cursing, spoiler FREE, author has arachnophobia and projects in this, spiders (it's a warning to me), generally pretty docile. oh, and, i'm def pretending Aemond's just strong enough to carry a human, so, use a bit of your imagination.

#WhyPayForTherapyWhenYouCanWrite

In truth, you're not sure how or why it happened. Some said it was the Will of the Gods, others claimed it simply made-up, while others said it could've been your own mind playing tricks. Either way, every which way you turned, someone was there to discredit your fears.

It's not like you asked for this kind of humiliation! Honestly! Did people genuinely think you did this on purpose? Did they think you liked this? Being this way? As if it wasn't enough to have fear in general, but tenfold when nobody seemed to understand nor validate the way you were engulfed in anxiety.

Over all, the creepiest, fucking eight-legged, eight-eyed crawlie around. Something you regarded as Hell Spawn, others might call a spider. Either way, you despised the wee creatures - and though you understood boot crushes the little guy, the idea of being so close to one that you could kill it sent you into overwhelming panic.

Ah, fucking spiders.

Again, you're unsure how this fear developed but it was as if you woke up one day and couldn't stop screaming at the sight of the little creature sent from the depths of Seven Hells. Your older brother became the official "Spider Killer" of the family since you spent most of your time with him, but after getting married, your husband now assumed the role.

Years ago, both your mothers had agreed to a marriage arrangement to ensure loyalty from your House (should the time come), and six weeks after your 17th nameday, you were reciting vows to your white-haired lover. He held no quarrel with your fear, and in fact, he was the first to ever not make you feet at fault for it.

It wasn't Aemond's place to ridicule you. He's seen you with a sword, with a bow and arrows, hell, even with an axe - and sometimes, doing all of that while on horseback! He understood you to have no fear, and yet, when a spider comes in your vision, it was as if any and all rational thought vacates your mind. He's seen you throw-up from your anxiety, so, he quickly understood his role and never once complained nor belittled you for it.

Aemond didn't mind killing spiders for you. He could understand that you needed "proof" of their vanquish, showing the squashed bug on his boot, and only then would you breathe easier. However, if around his family, Aemond knew his sister, Helaena, would become upset by him harming - like alone, killing - any insect. She'd prefer them to be set free outside, and as compromise, Aemond would simply escort you out of the room to leave his sister time to collect her buggy friend. He'd walk you to the kitchens, fetch some water, watch you crack your neck, and then venture back to whatever gathering.

You always hesitated before returning to events. Most times, wherever you saw the spider is the exact place you avoid - almost as if there was an invisible fence keeping you away.

Aemond would pause you, slowly pick up his sister's jar, and show you the little fucker was safely inside with a screwed-on-tight lid. You didn't like it, Aemond knew that, but you both made an effort to actively not upset Helaena.

One day, when a thick hurricane ravaged the city, Aemond found you in the middle of lessons and decided to seek out his sister - never seeking Aegon out unless for family matters. His sister, as usual, was catering to her collection of insects, smiling when she saw him, and inviting him over. She mindlessly explained who was who to Aemond, telling him what they did or what their purpose was in an ecosystem.

He listened.

He asked questions.

He was a perfect brother.

And he didn't think you'd know where to find him on such a day, because the moment Helaena handed over a spider to Aemond, bidding he be gentle and not let Aegon near the creature (who had been in and out all day), there came a squeak by the door.

"Oh," Helaena frowned, seeing your frozen form. Her brother had told her of your fear, thinking she'd understand the best. "I-I can introduce you, if you want? Wi-Will that help? Will that help you feel safe?"

You paused, heart melting at her words. "Um... Uh, I-I don't, I, uhhh... I just don't know what will help."

"It's okay, darling," Aemond soothed, nodding at you, hands turning over to let eight-legs carry the spider around.

"Here," Helaena nodded, waving Aemond after her as she approached you. "Why don't you just watch, say hello? No touching," she promised, standing slightly behind you as if you block your exit.

"Um... I don't know..."

Aemond took slow steps, eye never leaving your face. You gulped as he took another step, and from here, he could see a sweat glistening on your forehead - so he took another step.

"Wait! Wait, no!" You begged, feeling Helaena's hands on your upper arms from behind. Aemond was too close now, and you couldn't look away from the arachnid crawling around his flesh. The same flesh you touched, the same flesh that worshiped you nightly, the same flesh that warmed your own in the night. "NO!" You sobbed, backing up so forcefully, you almost tripped over you sister-by-law. "No, Gods, please, no! NO! Just no! G-Get away from me!"

Helaena gasped your name, but your eyes were blown, hands shaking, throat swelling, stomach churning. Aemond spoke your name softly, frowning, but you could only pant as you leaned against the chamber wall beside the door. "We're gonna put her back now, okay?" He spoke softly, nodding slowly at you.

"Please, please, just kill it, jus-just get it gone!" You begged,.

"We'll get it away from you, it's okay," Aemond agreed, his sister quickly opening her jar to let her brother lower the bug into the glass. "It's okay, love, look, just look here." When your eyes flashed to his, then to the jar, he made sure to move slowly and shake the little Hell spawn from his hand.

"I'm so sorry," Helaena frowned.

"It's not your fault," Aemond promised, watching you as you tried to regain your breathing. "It's not her fault either..."

"Um," Helaena looked at you with worry, "m-maybe you'd like to see the others? I have ladybugs, grasshoppers, too. They're nice."

You gulped, "I-Is the spider gone?"

She held up the jar, turning for her little work bench and setting the jar in a satchel - out of your sight. "Is this okay?" She made sure.

"I-It can't escape?" You squeaked.

"No," the girl shook her head. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"No, no," you assured slowly, "it's me."

"Can I ask?"

You eyed her for a moment, "I don't have an answer... I've been like this since I can remember."

She frowned, glancing at Aemond. "Why aren't you comforting her?"

"She doesn't like to be touched like this," Aemond whispered.

"My skin hurts when I'm having these feelings," you admitted with a frown. "I just... You gotta let me calm down."

"Come sit?" Aemond offered, gesturing to the furthest arm chair from the work bench.

"I-I think I should leave. You guys were having fun and - "

"No, no, I want you to stay," Helaena insisted. "We can do anything else!"

"I'm so sorry," you sighed.

"Don't apologize," Aemond frowned, slowly approaching you.

"Aht!" You warned with a finger to halt him. "You're not touching me after a spider!"

"Oh, sweetheart - "

"No, no, no, no, wash your hands," you snipped. "I can't touch you, please, Aemond... For me?"

He sighed, but turned for the wash basin as Helaena lead you to the sitting area. She showed you her ladybugs and grasshoppers, and soon, you were giggling as the grasshoppers just bounced around like a little spring was on their legs.

Aemond eventually joined you, but he could see the panic in your eyes from still being in the same room, knowingly, as a spider. He understood why you wanted them killed instead of set free, and he would've done whatever it took to ensure your comfort. However, it could mean putting his sister's comfort at risk - and nobody, but Aemond, cared about Helaena's feelings.

So, when you married Aemond, you both understood that you two were essentially Helaena's keepers. If that meant capturing spiders rather than killing them, so be it, but Aemond hated watching you suffer. So, he pretended he was needed elsewhere with you to make your escape, and only when out of the room did he swear you took a breath.

"I'm sorry I couldn't kill it," he sighed.

"No, it's okay... Thank you for getting me out of there."

"Anytime," he nodded with a frown. "I wish I could've helped more."

"You help plenty," you assured. "I should learn to knock before entering rooms."

Aemond chuckled, "Yeah, as if that would ever happen."

"Hush." But then, you admitted, "I wish I didn't have this fear."

"Then you wouldn't be you," Aemond eased, letting his hand slide around your waist. "It's okay to be afraid."

"Yeah?"

"'Course," he smirked, "because your husband isn't afraid of a thing and can easily take on the Hell Spawn."

"See!" You cried with a gasp. "You know they're devious little fuckers, too! Sent upon mankind to repent for our sins!"

"Maybe that's why you fear them."

"Hmm?"

"You sinned big time in another life and now the spiders are sent, seeking atonement."

"Oh, ha-ha. Thought I married a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, not a court jester."

"Perhaps, a bit of both?"

"You'd have to be actually funny to be a jester - OW!" You laughed when he pinched your ribcage to make you squeal. "Unfair advantage! You're so bloody tall and have an angle!"

"Hm," Aemond considered, shrugging with a relenting nod, and then stooped low to haul you over his shoulder as if a sack of flour - moving forward to your bed chamber.

"Aemond!" You squealed. "Put me down, this is not appropriate! You know I hate being man-handled! Oh, my God, please, love, there's people watching!"

"Then they can mind their own business, just like we are," Aemond grunted. "I am merely escorting my wife to bed so I can fuck the fear outta her all night."

"It's only past lunch, Aemond!"

"Then I know what I want for dinner," his other hand rose to give a playful swat to your ass; hearing you giggle as he turned the corner.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond fluff #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond hotd #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen fanfic

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bunwritesss · 8 months

Text

Ode to Sleep

Summary: You cannot sleep. Maybe because the bed in the cells are uncomfortable as hell. Maybe because you're scared. Or maybe because you got used to sleep with Daryl at the Farm, and you're not used to sleeping alone anymore. Whatever the reason is, a certain hunter cannot sleep either, and will make sure to make the night at least a little more fun for you.

Genre: Fluff 💕

A/N: Hiiii everyone!! 💕Here's another oneshot inspired by a Twenty One Pilots song, I'm really going to do both of my favorite albums by them I think! Tell me if you have any ideas for the songs from Vessel and Heavydirtysoul as Daryl x Reader prompts, I'd love to hear them <3

You were currently sitting on the awfully hard bed of your awfully small cell, knees against your chest and wobbly arms carefully wrapped around you, sheltering you from the rest of the prison. You had tried to sleep for hours, counting sheeps and trying to work on your breathing, but being alone in such a small room made you slightly claustrophobic. So you gave up, waiting for the sun to rise again. It was too dark outside to read.

'Can't sleep?'

A voice outside of your room startled you, Daryl's silhouette standing at the entrance of your cell. He did not enter it, careful not to scare you. You nodded, and then realized he probably couldn't see you, so you responded in a loud whisper.

'Yup. You too?' 'Wanna come outside with me?' He ignored your question.

You immediatly rose to your feet, happy to have a distraction. Daryl was one of your favorite members of the group. Although he did not talk much, nor was always agreeable, he always knew how to make sure everyone was healthy, and to show his affection to the people he loved. You noticed he stopped snapping at you as soon as he realized you seemed more affected by it than the others, and he often brought you a little trinket from his runs. The blue scrunchie you wore on your wrist, snapping it to distract yourself from the oppressing room, was one of those gifts. It was a fact, Daryl Dixon was a softie.

He waited for you to join him at the entrance, slowly walking to the entrance of the prison. The chill air of the court made you regret the sheets you used as a blanket, slightly shivering. You followed Daryl to a patch of grass near the building where your group set camp, and sat next to him. You watched as he lit himself a cigaret, not bothering offering you one anymore.

You stayed in silence for a few minutes, Daryl enjoying his cigaret and you enjoying Daryl's presence. Being outside made all of the tension in your body disappear, and you let out a sigh of contentment when you smelled nicotine in the air. The air smelled familiar now.

'I hate feeling caged.' You said, both for yourself and for Daryl. 'Me too.' He simply replied, toying with the cigaret.

Its burning orange end danced in the dark, hypnotizing you and your tired brain. As you were still shivering, you took your arms out of the oversized T-shirt you were wearing, wrapping them around yourself. The move made Daryl chuckle.

'We can go back if yer cold?' He offered kindly. 'Nah, being outside is what I needed, no worries. I'm feeling warmer already.'

And you weren't lying. As you rubbed your arms, you felt warmth coming back to your body. You felt every blade of grass, every blow on the wind on your body, and smiled. You needed this.

'How did you know I wasn't asleep?' 'Ya sleeptalk. And ya can't sleep sittin' down.' 'I sleeptalk?'

You felt your cheeks becoming red. He nodded, taking another drag of his cigaret.

'What do I talk about?'

He shrugged.

'Said ya talked, not that ya did make any sense.'

You snorted, relieved. God knows what you could have told in your sleep... You couldn't help but shiver again, and this time he hesitantly rubbed your back.

'Can I move closer to you? I swear you're like a furnace or something!'

He silently thanked the obscurity for preventing you from seeing the blush on his cheeks, and you felt him nod. So you cuddled at his side, arms still inside your shirt, as he brought an arm against your shoulders. Your trembling form slowly calmed down.

'Better?' 'Yes. Thank you so much.'

You smiled at him, although he couldn't see him, taking a breath in. He smelt like a forest. Forest and nicotine, and you instantly forgot the awful air of the prison. You closed your eyes, focusing on his heartbeat.

'Daryl? Why can't you sleep?' You asked him kindly, comfortable against him.

He shrugged.

'Dunno.' 'Is it because you feel trapped too?' 'Yeah, must be that.' He grumbled, and you nodded thoughtfully. 'It sucks.' 'Yeah.'

Feeling bold, as you knew Daryl would not have woken up anyone besides Carol or you, and eventually Rick, to share a night outside, you decided to take one of his hands between yours, and he surprisingly let you without any complaint. You toyed with his fingers, rubbed circles on his scarred knuckles as you both enjoyed the calm of the night. He seemed to enjoy what you were doing, his curious eyes squinting in the direction of your hands. His cigaret was now done, and he stuffed it in his pocket with his free hand, before putting his arm back around your shoulder.

'Daryl?'

You were now toying with your scrunchie, trapping both of your hands inside it, softly snapping it against your wrists. He did not respond but you knew he was listening. And you felt particularly brave, during this beautiful night.

'Would you be okay if we shared a bed, in the prison?'

You did not give him time to answer, immediatly rambling as to make his rejection easier to accept for you.

'I mean, you don't have to because now we have as many beds as we want, but we got used to sleeping together at the Quarry, and then at the farm, and I just... I don't know, I feel comfortable with you, but if you would rather sleep alone I-' 'Y/N.' He interrupted you softly, and you gave him your whole attention, a bit worried. 'I would not have woken ya up if I didn't want to spend time with ya.'

Your panicked state when you were afraid you were making people uncomfortable always made him chuckle. You always took everyone's feelings into account, and that was probably one of the reasons why it had been so easy for you to befriend him. He knew you did not fake your kindness.

'You mean you'd like to share a bed with me?'

He nodded, weirdly comfortable with the idea. And you beamed, your eyes twinkling.

'Then I would love for us to go back to bed, because I am freezing out there!'

You got up first, giving him your hand to help him get up. He took it, and you did not let go of it as you walked back to the prison, a small smile on both of your flushed faces. You were both convinced you would finally spend a restful night, now. And it felt amazing.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead imagine

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tessa-liam · 4 months

Text

Turning the Page

Now and Then

- Chapter 9-

Choices, The Royal Romance, AU

Series Premise: As Riley Brooks journeys through life as a single parent in New York City, an epiphany strikes as she contemplates the future for herself and her two-year-old son.

Turning the Page Series Masterlist

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Riley Brooks

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except William Brooks (Rys) and Matteo Magro, who belongs to this series.

Category: On-going series, contains angst/fluff/depression. Cross-over fic with Choices, Perfect Match.

Rating: M🔞Warnings - Series will contain crude language, NSFW material – not Beta’d - please excuse all errors.

Words: 2498

Now and Then – 9

Chapter Summary: Riley and William arrive in Cordonia

Title & Music Inspiration:

Now and Then, The Beatles ��

When You Love Someone, Gretchen Peters, Bryan Adams

Wherever You Will Go, The Calling

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.

A/N2: My submission for @choicesflashfics, Week#67, prompt #1 - “Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.”

A/N3: My submission for @choicesjanuary2024, prompt Day 25 - ‘Remembrance’ #choices monthly challenge @lilyoffandoms #choicesjanuary2024

A/N4: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard.

In Flight, Cordonian Royal Jet, above the Mediterranean Sea

Looking out over the vast expanse of water below her, and under the clear blue skies above the Mediterranean Sea, no clouds were in sight ... not a white cloud, nor a black cloud.

Riley gazed out the large passenger window of the private jet, in solace, with her memories. Everything felt calm; almost too calm. The flight from New York to Cordonia was eight hours in duration, and even though they left early in the morning, they would not arrive at the palace until late in the evening with the change in time zones.

Trying to and not getting any rest, her thoughts returned to the events over the holidays.

...Remembering when Liam arrived at her door, in New York on Christmas Eve, a short week ago. The expression of elation on his face as she opened the door for him...

[‘Hello, my love,’ he tenderly smiled; He was standing there with an exquisite bouquet of long-stemmed red roses, as uniformed delivery drivers from the toy store waited patiently at a distance behind him, as the Royal guard performed a security check.

Liam stepped over the threshold, leaning down to draw her in for a kiss on the cheek, as she accepted his gift. ‘Oh Li, these are gorgeous; thank you so much.’

At Bastien’s prompt, the delivery people entered the brownstone with prewrapped gifts and placed them under the Christmas tree, also filling the extra space in the living room very quickly.

Chuckling, Riley watched as Liam thanked them with a generous tip, as he closed the door after them.

“Our son will be so thrilled at what Santa brought him; wait till he wakes up tomorrow.”

Liam laughed, moving quickly to put his arm around her, pulling her to his side. “Who says all these gifts are just for him? Hmmm?” Riley turned her head towards him, as Liam bent to capture her lips in a passion-fueled kiss.

“Ah yes, your gift is right here.” Liam slipped his hand inside his coat to reveal a small box, wrapped in gold with a red ribbon. “This is for you.”}

Riley breathed out, shaking her head.

...Remembering wanting him so badly that evening ...as he kissed her forehead to say ‘good night’ before turning to the guest room; Leaving her feeling so confused, once again.

...Remembering how excited LiLi was when he saw his father again Christmas morning ... and the look of pure joy in Liam’s expression as he watched his son blissfully playing with his new toys.

...Remembering the look of adoration between Liam and his son; a private and sacred bond established between the two ... a bond only meant for them.

Riley looked down at her phone and smiled fondly at the picture of William. He was proudly standing beside his gingerbread house gift for Liam, alongside Daniel and Matteo, to smile at the camera. Riley marveled at how unequivocally her son loved his father, so quickly. As if two loose puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. There was never a doubt in her mind that William needed to be wherever his father was. The connection between father and son was undeniable.

...and with those thoughts, she agreed to return to Cordonia.

And now, she found herself on the Royal jet headed back, leaving behind her New York world for the place that shattered her ‘happily ever after,’ again.

Liam, being the new, ever-doting father was pointing out to his son the shores of Cordonia through the window. She saw the look of marvel in Liam’s eyes, as he watched his son’s reaction to seeing Cordonia for the very first time. They were sitting in seats across the aisle from her as she glanced over.

Catching Riley’s eye, Liam responded with a wink and a smile.

"Welcome home, love."

Riley smiled in return, as her heart skipped a beat.

Home...

It had been a while since she had felt this way about Cordonia. Another lifetime; so much has changed, and yet remained the same.

***

Damien Nazario, the Interpol agent who was now permanently assigned to be William Rys's personal bodyguard, was reviewing the Crown prince's dossier, and his duties to the Cordonian crown, his new employer. Bastien took a seat beside the young agent to answer any questions he may have, as head of the Royal guard, at the rear of the plane's cabin.

"So, Damien, any questions for me?"

"No, sir. I believe I have a handle on the situation.”

"Good, because you are now the official head of the security detail for Prince William, the future king of Cordonia."

"Understood, sir.” Damien was well aware of the complexity of a constitutional monarchy.

"Now, there's one more thing I need to discuss with you,” Bastien eyed the young agent.

"Yes, sir?"

"Madeleine Amaranth, the former queen of Cordonia. I have forwarded her updated dossier to you."

"Yes, I've read it through.” Damien paused, waiting for more information.

"Good, because she has expressed malicious intent towards Prince William and Lady Riley, should they return to Cordonia."

"Understood. I'll ensure her movements are tracked and reported inside and out of the country, sir."

"Thank you, Damien.”

"My pleasure, sir.”

Bastien, looking pleased, leaned back in his chair, checking the time on his watch, as he felt the plane begin its descent.

Cordonia, Capital

The jet touched down smoothly on the tarmac, as the engines powered down. The cabin door opened, and the stairs were lowered.

Riley could feel the warm breeze blow past her as she stepped off the plane.

Taking a deep breath, Riley looked around. The air was different here. It was fresh and clean. She closed her eyes and let the wind brush her cheeks.

Liam followed, with William sleeping in his arms.

"Is everything alright, love?" Liam’s brows were raised in concern, noticing her hesitation.

"Yes, I'm just taking it all in." Riley, looked down, unable to keep eye contact.

"Are you sure, Riley? You've been very quiet throughout the entire flight home."

"I'm fine, Liam. It is just a lot to process. I'm just a little overwhelmed."

"All right, I understand. Let us get to the palace, so you and William can get settled and rest ... okay?"

"Yes, thank you, Liam."

Liam glanced over at Riley with concern as he personally buckled his son into the car seat. It was quite easy for him to see and feel the apprehension in her mood. She could not hide her emotions from him as well as she always thought she could.

Riley had remained noticeably quiet during the ride to the palace as well, looking out at the passing countryside. Liam could not help but wonder if she was having second thoughts about returning to Cordonia, and/or to him.

As they pulled up to the palace gates, Liam looked over at Riley, noticing a small smile on her face.

"What is it, love?" Liam spoke softly, reaching for her hand.

Riley returned his touch with a squeeze. "This place...it's beautiful."

"Thank you, that, it is. Welcome home."

“William will be so excited when he wakes up.” Riley glanced at a still sleeping William as the SUV slowed to a stop.

"I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me.... to have you both here." Liam confessed.

"You're welcome, Liam. It's the least I can do."

Liam's heart sank at her words. He hated the distance between them. He wanted to take her in his arms and make everything right, but, for right now, he knew that was not the best strategy.

He had to accept that things had changed, and their relationship was different now. He had to be patient and give Riley the space she needed.

But he also had to make her see how important she was to him. He had to show her how much he had missed her ... that he wanted a future with her and William in Cordonia.

As the SUV door opened for her, Riley felt a sense of Deja vu. This was where she had started her journey with Liam in Cordonia all those years ago. And now, here she was, back again.

"Do you want me to take you and William to the guest wing, or do you want to stay in my chambers?"

"I would like to stay with you, if that's okay."

"Of course, Riley. I would love that."

It was surreal for Riley as she walked the pristine palace halls towards the Royal Chambers. Liam carried William, who was fast asleep in his arms beside her.

The memories of the past times she was here flooded her mind and her heart ached as she pushed the painful memories aside. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

As they reached the large double doors of the entrance to the Royal east wing, the guards opened the doors for Liam and Riley to enter.

Riley stepped inside; the same chambers where she had spent so much time before. The familiar scent of Liam's cologne filled the air, sending a wave of longing for a past time through her mind.

Walking into her room ... it was exactly as she remembered it. Everything was in its place, from the elegant chandelier hanging above the bed, to the intricate paintings adorning the walls.

Riley took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, taking in every detail.

She felt a pang of sadness as she remembered those past times.

After tucking William into his bed in the adjacent room, Liam came in and sat down next to her. He gently placed his hand on hers, and she looked up at him, their eyes meeting.

"What are you thinking about Riley?"

"I'm okay, Liam. I was just thinking about how much things have changed since I was here last."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close. "I know it's a lot, but I'm here for you, and I'll help you in any way I can," Liam whispered.

"Thank you, Liam."

He pulled away and cupped her face in his hands, staring into her eyes intently. "You're welcome, Riley. Always. Nothing could ever change how I feel about you.”

He moved in to press his lips to hers, and she melted into his kiss.

It was soft and gentle, and full of longing.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. "God, Riley, I've missed you."

"I've missed you, Li."

He leaned down and kissed her again, deeper this time.

His tongue swept across her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth to him.

Their tongues tangled together in a dance that was familiar and yet new.

They were no longer the same people they were when they had last been together. They were both older and wiser, and the passion between them burned even brighter.

Riley pulled away and put her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath her palm.

"Liam, I..."

"Shhh."

He placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say anything, Riley. Just feel."

His lips found hers again, and the world disappeared. There was nothing but the two of them, lost in each other.

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She moaned into his mouth as he slid his hands down her back and pulled her closer.

He broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

"Riley," he breathed. "God, I want you so much."

“Liam, I ...”

Liam pulled back and looked into her eyes, “stay with me tonight.”

📌All fics & edits: @ao719 @txemrn @queenmiarys @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @alj4890 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @harleybeaumont @busywoman @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @imjusthereforliam @lovingchoices14 @kyra75 @tinkie1973 @emkay512 @malblk21 @kristinamae093 @charlotteg234

📌Liam x Riley, OC: @emersyn-in-cordonia @mainstreetreader @belencha77 @walkerdrakewalker @iluaaa @mysticalfangirl @queenwalton @bascmve01 @umccall71 @choicesfrog @amandablink @ownworldresident

📌Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesflashfics @choicesjanuary2024

#tessa liam writes #liam rys #the royal romance #riley brooks #trr #king liam #trr fanfic #king liam rys #trr liam x OC #choices fandom #choices the royal romance #choices fic writers creations #choices flashfics #@choicesjanuary2024 #choices monthly challenge #turning the page

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