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roosterforme · 7 months ago

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Vintage | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You love teasing your husband about his deep and unwavering devotion to his Bronco, but he's insistent that it would come in second place to you every time, and he intends to prove it. While you're away on deployment, he concocts a plan to get you behind the wheel of your very own vintage beauty.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, mentions of smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

"Sometimes I swear you love that thing more than you love me."

Your voice startled Bradley as he ran the wet, soapy sponge along the hood of his vintage Ford Bronco, pulling him from his thoughts. That was something you frequently said to him, jokingly claiming that you were the second love of his life. But you both knew it wasn't true. Especially not tonight.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered, coaxing you closer to him as he tossed the sponge back into the bucket. "Come here."

The setting sun painted your face with orange and gold, and he noticed the sadness in your eyes. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans and then held them out to you, and you were in his arms in an instant. "Bradley," you mumbled against his chest as he squeezed you, getting your shirt a little damp in the process. But you didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to miss you."

Detailing and cleaning what used to be his dad's 1973 Bronco had become a way for him to relieve stress. He would get out the soap and turn on the hose when he needed a few minutes to himself. It was easier to be alone in his head, processing his thoughts and worries when he was washing the light blue masterpiece he'd spent so many years and a lot of money preserving. He always found himself in a better headspace to deal with whatever was troubling him when he spent some time with the Bronco. And today was no exception.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

Sometimes it felt like the nearly five years you and he had been married were just spent alternating deployments. First he would be gone on an aircraft carrier for months on end, and then it would be your turn. You'd be sent abroad with the Navy before returning to him, and then the cycle would begin anew. Everything felt harder when you weren't around, and maybe that's why Bradley was out on the driveway right now instead of helping you pack for your early call time tomorrow morning.

With your cheek pressed to his sternum, you cried softly. "It's only two months this time. And I'll have access to my phone. And I'll even be home in time for our anniversary. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional about this."

He pressed his lips to your hair and whispered, "It's not like it gets any easier. You know that. I know that. It's going to feel like two months of hell on my end."

You sniffed hard then looked up at him with a little smirk. "At least you'll have the Bronco to keep you warm."

Bradley groaned and started to walk you backwards toward the house. "I mean, she's pretty and all, and I've definitely spent a night or two curled up around her gear shift, but I never gave her a diamond ring."

Your lips and your soft laughter against his neck sent a jolt of physical pleasure through his body, but he didn't want to rush this. He needed this to last, to hold him over for two months without your touch. Both of you tripped along to the bedroom where he smiled and whispered, "Let me show you that you're my number one girl. Let me prove you always will be."

Bradley was meticulous. He knew every inch of his Bronco, inside and out, but he knew you better. The sounds you made were prettier. The way you clung to him as he brought you pleasure was unparalleled. Your fingers laced with his as he connected his body with yours in the most intimate way, and it left him breathless.

"I love you."

-----------------------

Two days. He'd only been alone for two days, and he was already halfway through binge watching a season of a show that wasn't even that interesting. When he got home from work, he eyed up the couch and TV before ultimately changing into some sweats and heading back out to the driveway. He looked over the Bronco from hood to taillights, making a mental list of what she needed: new wiper blades, two new tires, and an oil change.

When he took his phone out to order the parts from his favorite website, he must have typed something wrong. It rerouted him to a vintage Ford resale page that left him staring at a sage green 1975 Bronco in rough condition. Man, she was still pretty though, with her original chrome and hubcaps. She was just an hour away, and the price wasn't too bad...

He glanced up at the blue gem in front of him. An idea started to take shape. He wondered how you would feel about it. With a smile, he ordered the wiper blades and oil filter that he needed and went inside to make dinner. But he couldn't stop picturing that chipped, green paint, and the vinyl that needed to be patched.

If he knew he could get you hooked on a Bronco of your very own, he'd make this purchase. Two months to go. Shit, he might have just enough time to pull this off. He could practically picture you cranking the engine to life and waving goodbye as you pulled out of the driveway and took your Bronco for a spin. He wouldn't be able to say it with a straight face, but he'd say it anyway. "You love that thing more than you love me, Baby."

When he was stretched out on your side of the bed later that night, enveloped in your sweet scent that clung to the pillows, he closed his eyes and thought long and hard about what he wanted to do. It would be fun to prove to you once and for all where his loyalties lie. Or maybe it could just be a project that would keep him busy, and if you didn't like the idea, he could resell it after you got home. Either way, he drifted to sleep as he thought about you behind the wheel, and he knew it was too perfect to pass up.

----------------------

"Hey, Baby," Bradley said with a smirk as he answered his phone.

"Bradley! I miss you like crazy!"

"I miss you, too," he promised as he looked at the rather beat up, green Bronco before him. He got it for a great price when he offered to pay cash, and the tow truck just dropped it off a few days ago. Half of the engine was taken apart on a tarp at his feet, and it was currently jacked up so he could replace the oil pan. But he thought it was gorgeous. "I have a little surprise for you when you get home."

"A surprise?! Tell me. You know I can't wait that long."

"Nah," he said, kneeling down to check the wiring for the headlights. "I think I'll make you wait this one out."

"Rooster!"

"What?" he laughed, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he slipped his work gloves on and pulled at the loose wire. "You know, this is what you get for always giving me a hard time about my dad's Bronco. I love you so much, Baby, I'll make you wait for the surprise. It'll be sweeter that way."

"You're the worst," you groaned playfully. "Now I'll be thinking about what it could possibly be the whole time I'm gone. I'll be wondering what you have up your sleeve."

"As long as you're thinking about me, I'm happy," he rasped, and your pretty sigh in response left him a little breathless.

"I'm always thinking about you. Promise me as soon as I get back, we'll go for a long drive? Up along the coast? Late at night?"

He loved that idea. It would just look a little different than you were probably imagining if he could get this thing up and running again in time for your return. "We'll make a night of it," he promised. "I'll pack some blankets, and we can sit in the back and look out at the ocean. Can't guarantee I'll be able to keep my hands to myself though."

"Mmm. That's what I'm counting on."

----------------------

After about two weeks of watching a lot of YouTube videos posted by professionals, Bradley finally had the engine rebuilt. He was just waiting for some parts to arrive before he could put it back in place. "You're a needy one, aren't you?" he asked the green Bronco. "Nothing like her. She's a saint." He nodded his head toward the blue one before kneeling to replace the taillights.

He was quickly realizing that the money he saved on the cost of the actual vehicle was being eaten up in the expensive, vintage parts. He was lucky he knew how to do most of this himself, even if it took twice as long. Today he was replacing the brakes and listening to a Motown playlist, and he fully realized that he felt calmest when he was with you or a Bronco. He snorted at how ridiculous that fact was as he scooted under the vehicle, but it was true. And having you tucked away in the back with the tailgate dropped, all wrapped up in a blanket while you turned him on just by existing.... well, that's when he would be happiest of all.

As the weeks wore on and the project progressed, the day finally arrived when it was time to try to start her up and take her for a little drive. Everything smelled like new rubber from the tires he'd just put on. The vinyl seats were still in bad shape, but when he slipped the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine purred to life.

Bradley's head tipped back as he groaned softly. "So fucking pretty. My god." He tapped the accelerator gently with his foot, enjoying the rev of the engine. He smoothed his hands along the steering wheel and the dashboard before he adjusted the rear view mirror to accommodate his height. Then he flicked the chrome switch and turned on the radio which he was surprised still worked.

My Girl by the Temptations poured from the speakers as the station crackled to life, and that felt like a very good sign. "Let's get out of here, Sweetheart," he whispered before shifting into reverse and leaving the driveway and his toolbox behind.

She was smooth and steady and everything he was hoping for. Would it ever fully compete with Goose's Bronco? Probably not. Was it worth the investment anyway? He'd find out next week when you got home. There were just a few things left to do before he dropped it off to be repainted and have the interior patched, and then she'd be good as new.

Bradley's phone rang in his pocket, and he smiled when he saw it was you. "Hey, Baby."

"Bradley! I miss you so much. I swear, if this thing was longer than two months, I wouldn't make it. What are you up to?"

"Oh, I'm just out for a little drive."

--------------------------

After eight weeks of nothing more than a few scant phone calls, Bradley was more than ready to have you home again. Maybe you and he could take a few days off from work. He'd help you catch up on some sleep after initially keeping you up all night. He already had some blankets ready to go as soon as you said you wanted to drive up to Carlsbad and watch the surfers at sunset before making love in the back of your Bronco.

Your Bronco. His wife's Bronco. It would take some getting used to, but it already made him smile every time he thought about it. With his hands on that familiar steering wheel, he drove toward the Naval base where both of you spent so much of your time. He waited, leaning against the light blue hood until you came running toward him in your uniform with your bags.

"Bradley!" you shrieked as you landed in his arms where you belonged.

"I missed you," he promised, finally kissing your lips again after so many weeks. He felt your bag hit his foot, and he smiled as he tilted your face up for better access to your mouth.

"I missed you, too," you moaned softly, and he was already making the move to get you back home and remind you what you meant to him. But you dug your feet in outside the passenger door.

"Where's my surprise?" you asked as you tucked your fingers into the top of his jeans and grinned up at him. "I've been thinking about it nonstop. Is it you?"

"No," he replied with a chuckle as his gaze drifted toward the Bronco. "You'll see soon enough."

You glanced at where he was looking, and you rolled your eyes before kissing his chin. "Did she keep you company while I was gone? She looks pristine, like you spend some time working on her."

Bradley kissed your forehead. "Just get in, Baby," he rasped. "The sooner we get home, the sooner your little surprise will make sense."

He knew the routine by heart now. The short ride home would start out with you holding his right hand and playing with his fingers while he drove. Then your hand would migrate to his thigh when the Bronco was about five blocks away. Then as soon as the tires touched the driveway, you'd unbuckle your seatbelt and make your way over to his lap.

The routine was important to him. He loved it. He loved taking you inside and directly to bed before coming back out much later to get the bags. He thrived on the return to normal life that was triggered by the routine. But today, he knew you weren't going to end up on his lap, and that was more than okay.

When your hand settled on his thigh exactly five blocks away from home, Bradley smiled. Your fingers crept up inch by inch as you leaned closer and whispered in his ear that you had their fifth wedding anniversary all planned out for the following weekend. You were playing with the zipper of his jeans by the time he could see the house, and he just waited for it. He was not disappointed.

"What the fuck is that?" you gasped, both hands going to the dashboard in front of you as you leaned to check out the freshly painted green Bronco as he coasted into the driveway. "Bradley?" you asked, glancing at him with wide eyes as he shifted into park.

He smiled and leaned over to kiss your softly parted lips. "This is your surprise. You're always joking about how much I love my Bronco, but I'll never love anything more than I love you."

You pressed your lips to his once before pulling away, shaking your head slightly. "So you got me one of my own?" you asked, jerking your thumb toward the green one.

He nodded and pulled his key from the ignition before pressing it into your palm. "Yep. She's all yours."

"Wait," you whispered, your brow creasing in confusion as you looked down at your hand. "This is your key."

"No, it's your key. The key to the green one is in the house. That's my key."

You gaped at him as your eyebrows shot upwards. "You're giving me your Bronco?"

"Yep."

"But," you whispered, turning to look out the window, "I can drive the other one."

"No, I bought the green one with myself in mind," he replied, taking your chin gently in his hand so you were looking at him again. "This one's better. She's sweet. Like you. She's yours."

"Oh my god, Bradley."

He was wrong; you did end up in his lap. Right where you belonged. His hands settled at your hips as you kissed every inch of his face while he laughed.

"I want to take her for a spin," you whispered, nudging him out of the driver's seat with your knee. "Go."

He smiled as he walked around to the passenger side of the blue Bronco, and he barely had the door closed before you started the engine and shifted into gear. "Pretty soon you'll love this thing more than you love me, Baby."

---------------------------

He gave you his Bronco. The green one was for him. That's how you know he loves you. I hope they do some nasty shit in the green one to break it in. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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ozzgin · 7 months ago

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Yandere! CEO Headcanons

Just a little idea I had some time ago of a rather bizarre dynamic: a CEO with no time to spare, introduced to a young student his wife befriended. Perhaps he does have a moment, after all. (I need to dump my preference for a cultured older man somewhere)

Content: female reader, age gap, older yandere, NSFW, dating the wife is optional

[Original works masterlist]

Yandere! CEO who is in his mid 40s and terribly invested in his job. So much, that he and his wife agreed on an open relationship many years ago and barely interact anymore. Not a gloomy business by any means: she gets to meet new people and he can enjoy his work and hobbies in peace and without guilt.

Yandere! CEO who doesn't think much of it when his wife brings home a young student she befriended at a convention. He nods dismissively, returning to his papers and phone calls. At dinner, he just hums in acknowledgement and fiddles with the cutlery while the woman talks about you excitedly. "You know, (Y/N) reminds me a little of you." Nonsense.

Yandere! CEO with whom you scarcely interact: he's a borderline workaholic, and your relationship is cordial at best. That is until you're asked by the wife to retrieve some important documents from their ridiculously luxurious apartment. You quietly tiptoe past the office, but can't help glancing at the imposing library, stacked with books. The man's sudden arrival startles and you begin to mumble apologies, but he seems more interested in your curiosity than anything else.

Yandere! CEO who can't believe you both like the same authors. He discreetly removes the folder from your hands, tasking one of the assistants to deliver it to his wife instead. There are more important matters at hand. Have you had your coffee yet? Oh, you must stay longer. What's the hurry?

Yandere! CEO who has become awfully perceptive whenever your name is mentioned in conversations, innocently probing for more details. Naturally, he wouldn't mind meeting you again, but it's not...a need, per se. He was just pleasantly surprised to find someone he could so easily engage in conversation with. Hell, you're old enough to be his daughter. Don't be ridiculous, he'll scold himself sternly whenever his mind wanders too far.

Yandere! CEO who begins to feel like each encounter is a flirty tease. Is it just wishful thinking, or are you becoming cheekier by day? The way you bat your eyelashes, the way you cast your eyes down whenever he looks at you. The next time you're alone in the apartment, he's too far gone in his delusions to act rationally. How unusual for him to act so nonchalant. Unbuttoning your shirt with haste, trailing your neck with hot kisses, lifting your leg and pressing you against the wall. He never considered himself the type to fuck a much younger woman out of raw lust.

Yandere! CEO who loves taking you on dates despite his busy schedule. Art museums, theatres, the Opera. He is eager to introduce you to his interests and will answer any question or curiosity you have. Who would've thought everything is better in two? Of course, there could be other factors involved. Like the added bonus of watching you squirm in your seat and biting your lips to be quiet while he fingers you at the peak of Act 3. Then smirking to himself when everyone stands up for applause, and you have to rearrange your dress to hide the wet mess underneath.

Yandere! CEO who worries about you when he's on work trips, so he tasks his right-hand man to look after you and keep you company. If you ever get lonely, you can rely on his assistant to take care of all your needs. Now, he's not one to share, despite his marital arrangement. As bizarre as it sounds, he just sees the employee as a mere toy, an idle occupation who can temporarily entertain you in his absence. What he does perceive as a threat is swiftly taken care of. It's enough for you to mention another student flirted with you, and you'll never see that person again. You have to understand that he doesn't play around with his assets. One he has something, he holds onto it with ironclad strength. And he's never been more desperate to keep something in his possession.

Yandere! CEO who makes sure to remind you why dating him is your best (and only) choice. You would've wasted your time with boys your age. He can offer you the world and more, all you need to do is ask for it.

#female reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere ceo #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader #older yandere #tw age gap

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moonlight-prose · 19 days ago

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For the touched starved scenarios maybe Logan with "hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters ^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt"?? I think it would be so cute with logan finally breaking his own barriers, reaching out to the one he adores (or*cough* is very much in love with *cough*) bc HE doesnt realize how touch starved he is and becomes slightly nervous at initiating contact at first😫

how it lingers

a/n: have i shoved this into the small world i made with the previous ask from this list? probably. but they're just so cute and i'm in love. plus just the fact that reader is also probably really timid to initiate contact with him physically. but logan finally reaching out for touch (cause he's so starved for it), and getting a response such. just let this man be happy and in love.

summary: when affection is coupled with pain logan learns it's not worth asking for. what does he need with it? but a difficult mission has him seeking the warmth of a lover in the arms of a friend.

word count: 0.7k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: fluff, blooming romances, the start of a relationship, soft logan.

It happens after a mission gone wrong. Tension hung thick in the air when the X-Men entered the front entrance, their suits charred and ripped, faces lined in pinched frowns that said far more than they wished. Logan hung back on the porch, smoking the cigar to appease the growing anxiety building in his chest. He'd never been a fan of the crowd this group accumulated—especially not when kids were involved.

But somewhere in the throng of people stood you, waiting with hope in your chest and a light in your eyes that beckoned him closer. Charles held your attention for a moment, Jean meandering over to explain in grave detail what exactly happened. You did your best to cling to every word. Even as your mind wandered to the man still stuck outside—his hands curled into fists and eyes shut to the rest of the world.

"We aren't sure what happened," Jean mumbled, a dazed expression glossing over her eyes. "If it wasn't for Logan well…Scott and I wouldn't be standing here."

The echo of his name shot through your heart—his pain bleeding into your veins the longer you stood there listening to Jean explain what happened. He saved them. He was the hero. So why was did he remain outside? Entirely separated by the people who would happily welcome him in—the ones he silently considered family.

"Is he hurt?" you asked hesitantly, entirely aware of his healing capabilities.

Nothing could hurt the Wolverine.

Not physically anyways.

Jean shrugged, fatigue settling over her face in a darkened cloud that might take days to pass. "He's…Logan."

Which meant he was taking this time to shove away emotions he didn't want to feel—things that would wreak havoc on his mind. He pushed down things he didn't want to feel; the parts of himself that left him with the bitter taste of fear on the back of his tongue. So he smoked to distract himself and left everything else up to the rest of the team.

He found it was easier to mull over his actions alone. Safer.

You tuned out the remainder of the conversation, eyes catching on the subtle shift of the crowd as Logan finally made his way inside. He clung to the wall in the hopes of going unnoticed. A familiar act of self preservation he often grew fond of at times like this. He never liked being the center of attention—why would that change solely because of one mission?

“I’ll meet you guys later.” Their responses went directly over your head, your body drawn to the man who attempted to vanish into the corner beside a plant desperate for more water.

“Bub,” he greeted, arms crossed at his chest—face turned away from your welcoming smile, from the warmth you tried offering to keep the darkness at bay.

“They said you saved them.”

He grunted, eyes flicking back to see your shoulder slump forward an inch. Barely noticeable to others in the area, but Logan clung to every slight shift of your body. Each look and half hearted smile. He tucked them into his chest in the hopes of one day wiping them away. All the stress of being a professor, of choosing to get to know a man who barely spoke more than a few words at a time.

His hand tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan softly. Barely a brush against your arm, but the grin you gave in return lit a fuse he didn’t know resided at the back of his heart. Over the years he understood what connection meant. How to form them, why he should. But staying in solitude favored him best; he couldn’t hurt anyone if he avoided them.

Until you offered him a smile bleeding enough warmth to soothe his aching heart.

A silent agreement passed between your eyes, loud enough to echo in the back of his mind as your arms curled around his neck. And with a blissful sigh filled with contentment, he melted into your touch, hands clasping around your back—arms tight and strong across your waist. Logan hugged you with his whole body, a swathing blanket of heat that poured out of him and enveloped you in love.

“Thanks bub,” he mumbled into your shoulder, head ducked as he shifted back to the corner—still tightly wound around your body.

You smiled, burrowing your face in the soft leather of his jacket. “Anytime Logan.”

#this has been sitting in my drafts for too long #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #my writing

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erwinsvow · 9 months ago

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𝐫𝐜 - 𝟐:𝟏𝟏𝐩𝐦

you slept at tannyhill every night now.

it was commonplace to see you making breakfast in the kitchen, by the pool with sarah or inside watching some silly movie with wheezie. that was only sometimes though, since all your time was usually spent with rafe.

he liked having you around at tannyhill all the time—he thought it was cute. you wait for him to get back like a little housewife, looking pretty and pampered and tan, like he wants.

he doesn’t like waking you up early when he’s leaving for the day. you used to set your alarm to get up and drink coffee with him but he’s started turning it off—you don’t have any reason to be up that early.

sweet and always compliant, you do as he says, sleeping in. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead in the morning before he leaves, day filled with meetings and business things that he doesn’t always tell you about in detail. you just know that he’s gone.

“stoppin’ by barry’s and then the club with kelce. we’re playing golf with-” you listen to rafe while he puts on his watch and his rings, but you drift off half way through. you feel the warm press of his lips on your skin and the sound of him saying goodbye.

you’re not sure when it happened—you used to get up early and get ready for the day, filling your summer days with friends at the beach and your books by the pool and never going more than an hour alone. but now that you’re with rafe, it’s so easy to sit around and wait for him. you don’t even want to see anyone, you just want the hours to pass until he’s back.

maybe it’s not healthy. you don’t really care much even if it’s not.

you fall back asleep, and wake up when the sun is pouring in between rafe’s dark curtains. you stretch and debate going downstairs to eat something, but after brushing your teeth you crawl back into rafe’s bed. the sheets smell like him and you stare awfully long at the pillow he sleeps on. shifting the pillow to lay on it, you fall back asleep, not waking up until you hear the door to his room open.

rubbing your eyes, you glance up, hoping it’s not ward looking for him since you’re just in one of rafe’s shirts and nothing else, but the shape in front of you gets closer and clearer.

“what’s this? been in bed all day, kid?” you yawn again.

“what time is it?” you question, laying back down against rafe’s pillow.

“two in the afternoon.” he comes and sits by the edge, stroking your hair while you melt into his touch. “got any plans to get up today?” you shake your head.

“your bed’s comfy. and it smells like you.”

“that’s cute, kid. gotta get up eventually.”

“you’ll have to make me.”

“that can be arranged.” you giggle, lifting yourself up to give rafe a hug, head resting on his shoulder. "but i like you like this. don't have to lift a finger, do'ya?"

“no," you agree, nodding your head. maybe you could get used to this. "missed you.”

��i’m back now. nothin’ to miss.”

“i still do.” rafe presses another kiss to your forehead, and you nestle in further. “i could fall asleep like this.”

“yeah, no.” in one motion he scoops you up, placing you on your feet. you yelp in surprise, fighting against his grip.

"i'm still tired! i thought you wanted to spoil me, this isn't spo-"

“shut up. c’mon, we’re gonna go shower.” that shuts you up right away.

“okay,” you sing sweetly, suddenly compliant.

“yeah, i knew you'd get out of bed for some dick. little freak.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #time series

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princessbrunette · 10 months ago

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feel like bunny!reader would get so deep in subspace cause rafe was gone all day that she is BEGGING HIM to put the pink bunny tail plug in and he’s just like 😟😟

౨ৎ🐰 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

rafe is instantly on edge when he arrives home and hears you sniffling.

he had been handling business all day, going from investor to investor, meeting to meeting. he didn’t like that he had to leave you alone, and not because you missed having eachother around, no — he was a grown man, he could handle that. he didn’t like not being around incase something happened to you. he’d get so paranoid that sometimes he’d even send topper, or someone of the same genre to check on you, make sure everything was okay at tannyhill.

the sound of you sniffling sadly made alarm bells ring in his head, and he set down his briefcase of money and pushed his way into your bedroom— nearly jumping when you ran straight into him in the doorway, manicured nails struggling to keep ahold on his shirt.

“hey, talk. why are you crying?” he pulls you back urgently, needing to get to the nitty gritty of the problem so that he could fix it as fast as possible. if someone had made you cry, he would be out that door in a moments notice.

“couldn’t— couldn’t do it!” you warble, now pressing your wet cheek to his chest for comfort. he peels you away, hands on your shoulders as he frowns.

“do what? i need details here, kid— m’not a mind reader.”

you let out another cry and force yourself to stand back, pointing pathetically towards the bed. on his sheets lays your buttplug, the pink fluffy tail of it a lonesome puff on the large sleeping space with the metal end lubed up, sat alone. “want it in.” when you speak next, your voice rasps brokenly, projecting you no more above a whisper. his shoulders relax as he exhales, the slight panic of seeing you so upset leaving him.

“you know you really scared me, dumbass. get on the bed. on your belly.” he flicks his arm out in a point before pinching at his nose bridge, letting you scramble to lay on your front with your dress flipped up. he lazily drops onto one knee on the mattress, your body bouncing slightly with his weight and he yanks your dress higher. “you couldn’t get it in? that’s the problem?” he lifts the plug, inspecting it before pulling your ass cheek apart, tapping your thigh. “c’mon, open these.” he adds in a murmur and you oblige, still sniffling as you spread your legs on request.

“s’too hard.” you continue to cry, frustrated with your attempts.

“okay, okay. relax, yeah? you—you got me now, daddies here.” you feel the cool plug press to your puckered hole and you squirm with a mewl, not expecting it. “relax, i said.” he presses a spare hand to your lower back and you do, but you cry all the same.

as soon as he pushes it in, you go limp— letting out a sleepy hum as he makes sure it’s in properly. “there. jesus, all that fuss for what, huh?”

you sniff, pushing up shakily onto your hands as you try and help yourself up. “just needed—”

“just needed daddy to get you right, yeah i know. do everything around here, don’t i?” you hear his tone lighten up just a tad, pulling your elbow so you wind up on his chest, head resting beneath his chin. he doesn’t say anything for a bit, just lets your breathing regulate.

“gotta stop scaring me like that, alright? when you cry i—i don’t know what to think.”

“sorry, just can’t think properly when i miss you.” you slur, rubbing your cheek against him as if collecting his warmth.

“mm,” he hums and the rumble is deep against your ear. “thats that fuckin’ bunny brain right there. right?” he taps the side of your head with the back of his knuckle like he’s knocking and you nod. “lucky i do all the thinking for the two of us so shit always works out.”

౨ৎ🐰 ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

#anon #rafe cameron prompt #bunny!reader

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darknight3904 · 1 year ago

Text

You're a Liar

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋᴇʟᴇᴛᴏɴꜱ ɪɴ ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ' ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴛ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ / ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ / ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴄᴏʀɪᴏʟᴀɴᴜꜱ ꜱɴᴏᴡ (ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ʙᴀᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ)

ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ. ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴛᴅ ꜱᴏ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ/ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ ʙʀᴀɪɴ ʀᴏᴛ.

Mornings might just be your favorite time of day. The way the sun just barely peaked through the curtains and shimmered its way across the bedspread made your shared room with Coriolanus look simply divine.

Mornings might just be your favorite time of day. The delicious scent of bacon and freshly cooked pancakes wafted through the mansion and under your closed door. The promise of fresh orange juice and perfectly hot coffee was enough to rouse anyone from their slumber.

Mornings might just be your favorite time of day. Coriolanus is still asleep beside you. Curly hair is splayed on the pillow, free from whatever styling gel he put in it. His face is relaxed and peaceful as you run your fingertips across his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. The stress of being president is gone from his face when he sleeps and that's how you know, mornings are your favorite time of day.

"I can feel you staring at me."

His voice was still muddled with sleep, deep and scratchy as he batted at your hands trying to keep them off his gorgeous face.

"I'm appreciating the art in front of me," You smile as he finally opens his eyes.

"Your hands on my face are making my nose itch." He says grabbing your right hand and gently squeezing it as he sits up beside you.

You hum a tune of acknowledgment and take in his appearance. Coriolanus' pale skin was a wonderful sight to behold as the blanket slipped and fell into his lap.

"You're staring again." He says playing with your fingers

"An incredibly attractive man seems to be missing his shirt, can you blame me for staring?" You state a playful smile pulling on your lips.

Coriolanus lets out a snort and gets out of bed with a grunt. Long red scratches adorn his back as you watch your fiancee walk across the room towards the bathroom, ready to scrub last night's activities off himself.

Yes, mornings were your favorite time of day. You had warm sunshine, delicious food, and Coriolanus by your side.

But, most of all, mornings were your favorite because you weren't alone.

Coriolanus never truly wanted to leave the bedroom he shared with you. Even now as you groaned and begged him to just lounge around the mansion with you, he wished he could go back to when he felt your soft fingertips brushing the bridge of his nose. He had woken up beside you, cleaned himself, and eaten a wonderful breakfast, now the next step was simple. The next step was attending to his duties as the President of Panem and leaving you to your day in the south wing of the mansion. Despite the tempting idea of staying with you, he knew you'd be eagerly awaiting him, tonight at the dinner table, ready to listen about his day. It was the perfect daily routine and Coriolanus never wanted it to change.

He could feel the press of your lips on his lingering hours later as the newest Head Gamemaker listed detailed plans for the games that were two months away. Dr. Gaul's death had been a blow to the way the Hunger Games functioned as a whole. Now, Coriolanus wasn't sure if the new man chosen for the job was truly the correct choice, he didn't have any of the ruthlessness Gaul had. Sure, he could've stepped in but how would he run the country and dream up deadly traps and mutts for tributes. Sure, he probably could've but that meant so many hours of overtime and leaving you to sleep alone in those overly soft sheets you had hand-picked for your shared bed. This new game maker would just have to do, he didn't want to imagine your sad little face if he didn't sit down for dinner with you each night.

The hours after Coriolanus left you at the breakfast table were terribly boring. There wasn't anything for you to do anymore.Sure, you could've gone shopping or gone to a local park but you hated doing all those things alone. Coriolanus had convinced you that running your Father's weapons company would be overwhelming for you and managed it in your name. As far as you knew it was doing well and was providing many jobs for people in the districts. Everything else in the mansion was tended to by an army of maids and butlers, who were ready at the snap of a finger. So, here you sat in your sunroom that Coriolanus had built as a special place just for you.

You had taken up painting nearly a year ago but your long days of solitude had caused you to quickly run out of inspiration. Now, the paints and easel sat, awaiting your touch but your creativity was gone. You missed Coriolanus and he wouldn't return for another hour. Surely dinner was nearly ready and you wished you were sitting with him, listening to whatever he had spent his day doing. Perhaps you should start a new book before he returns. That'd give you something to tell him about when he did come back.

Maybe the extensive in-home library here would have a book about a lonely woman, wishing for her lover. Maybe there'd be a book all about her and how she spent her days without him and how to pass the time. Maybe, there'd be a book all about her mornings with him and how she never wished for them to come to an end.

It was during these long days that you felt like the loneliest woman in all of Panem. Moments like this made it feel like you were a delicate china doll, only removed from her case to be admired for a few spare moments before being placed back on her shelf.

Two Years Later

Watching. It was something you had gotten good at over the past few months, especially since Coriolanus stopped allowing you to leave the grounds of the mansion. You watched as the boy you grew up with and danced at countless galas faded from view. You tried to welcome the man who sat across from you eating his dinner but it was had more and more difficult as the weeks bled into months and months turned to years. Coriolanus even seldom kissed you now. It hurt even though you knew it was for your own safety. He had admitted it one night in the darkness of your room as he lay beside you. Poison had created sensitive sores in his mouth. You wished he'd stop using it, surely there had to be other ways to do away with enemies.

You felt as though you were withering away, your days were so tedious and you often found yourself eagerly waiting at the dinner table for Coriolanus. Your long days were spent in isolation and you rarely spoke to the staff of the mansion. That didn't stop you from racing to the dining room when the sounds of Coriolanus' return sounded through the halls. Some days it felt like you were a child waiting to tell their parent about their day.

Tonight, it was like your words were falling on deaf ears as Coriolanus was paging through a book while nibbling at the food that had been placed in front of the two of you. Your engagement ring was a dazzling silver as you played with your fingers, wishing he'd look up from whatever knowledge that book might've held.

"Coryo..." You began

"Yes?"

His tone wasn't what you had hoped for. He was annoyed that you were interrupting whatever was on the page in front of him so you didn't elaborate on what you had wanted to say.

Watching. It was something you had gotten good at since there wasn't anything else for you to do.

It was raining the day you found them. You had spent most of the day lounging around and working with the wedding planner Coriolanus had hired so you wouldn't have to do all of the work yourself.

It was nestled in an old shoe box, covered in dust, perfectly hidden behind Coriolanus' clothes on his side of the closet. At first, you had thought it might have been more of Sejanus' things that Coriolanus never gave back to Strabo. Instead what you were met with was worse than a dead boy's things. There, wrapped up in a silky orange scarf sat a single golden earring and an envelope. You swore you could smell lingering perfume on the scarf as you opened the envelope.

It felt like your hands were burning when you finally looked at them. Surely they weren't real. Right?

Two pictures sat in your hands. One of Lucy Gray Baird on some unknown stage, a black guitar in hand. Her pretty dark curls were pulled back and behind her a small group of blurry faces were muddled together, unrecognizable due to the poor lighting. You felt a lump of anxiety and anger swell in your throat when you moved on to the next picture. It was taken as if the subjects of the photo had no knowledge of the camera. Lucy Gray sits on a dilapidated-looking couch with your Coriolanus beside her. Her face was partially obscured as she pressed her lips to his cheek and Coriolanus was smiling, his one arm wrapped securely around her waist.

How long had it been since he smiled like that at you? Perhaps it was even before the reaping that had brought her to the Capitol. When was the last time you saw a truly genuine smile from the boy you grew up with? You wondered how you had missed the way his boyish smiles had transformed into those cruel smirks he donned when things went his way.

Jealousy and sadness burned in your stomach as your mind raced. How long had it been since these photos were taken? It had been nearly 7 years since her games. Coriolanus' head was clearly buzzed in the photo with Lucy which meant it was after he was forced by Highbottom to leave the Capitol. How many times after his return to you had he assured you that nothing had happened between them? How many times had you believed him and his sweet words and actions? How many times had he lied and betrayed you all for another girl who mysteriously disappeared?

Betrayal is what you felt as you pocketed the pictures and slid the box back into its spot behind his fancy coats. Tears were pricking at your eyes as you dressed for dinner, Coriolanus would be back soon and you would confront him about the pictures once he was seated across from you at that dinner table you had sat at hundreds of times.

Dinner is silent as you pick at the cut of steak that was placed on your plate. Coriolanus is talking about how he's on the hunt for another head game maker and how annoying it is but you just can't help but not care. The table that separates you from him makes it feel like a huge ravine has grown between the two of you as you tune him out.

15 years is how long you've known Coriolanus Snow. In those 15 years, you had never dreamed of doing what you were about to do as you removed the pictures from where they sat hidden under your pretty skirt, a floral pattern Coriolanus had picked for your 27th birthday a few months ago. Your heart ached as you slid them across the table to him.

"I found these today. In our closet. Wrapped in your mother's scarf with a gold earring."

You finally have all of Coriolanus' attention as he swallows his food and stops his complaining.

"I thought you said it wasn't romantic. You promised me it wasn't."

Coriolanus glances down at the pictures and reaches out to brush his finger across the one with him and Lucy Gray on that couch.

"You promised, Coryo."

Your voice was breaking. Damn it, don't cry!

"I know I did."

He finally speaks. You wondered what was going through that ridiculously complex mind as he fumbled for his words.

"Then why did you lie? I would've listened if you had just told the truth to begin with." You honestly say.

It's true, you would've heard him out. Maybe you wouldn't have taken him back but you would have at least listened.

"I wasn't thinking straight, okay," He says " I should've told you. I should've gotten rid of that stuff years ago. I don't know why I didn't."

"Yes, you do." You sigh "You love her Coryo. Even now, you're looking for Lucy Gray. That's why you keep me here, you're scared I'll run off like her."

"No, no that's not it. I just...want you to myself." He reasoned

"If that were true you'd let me leave."

"Why do you need to? Everything anyone could ever wish for is right here in this home." He points out, you don't miss the way his fist is clenching, his nails digging into his skin.

"I haven't left the mansion in two years!" You cry, blinking back tears "I feel like some prize you've won and caged up! You don't even let me attend galas anymore."

"You hated those galas. All the nosey reporters and their questions were something you hated. Do you want me to apologize for doing you a favor? I won't. I've done nothing but make your life easier." Coriolanus says

"Yes, you have made my life easier, you've eliminated all challenges I might come across by keeping me here, like a doll." You agree, tone dripping with sarcasm

"Look, if you want you can go to the next gala with me. It's in a week I'll get a designer here tomorrow morning to make you a nice dress." Coriolanus sighed, clearly tired "I don't want to argue with you about petty things"

"Good, then we can argue about these photos." You say, ready to finally hear what he had to say.

"I don't love her. Maybe I did at some point but none of that matters now, I came back to you didn't I?"

Maybe I did at some point.

Hot tears fell from your eyes as you looked down at your feet. How could you be so stupid? Why didn't you see it sooner?

The sound of Coriolanus getting up and walking towards you had you wiping at your face and unattractively sniffing as you tried to fix your runny nose. You didn't want him taking your tears as a sign of weakness. He couched down beside you and pulled your chair out so you were facing him.

"Stop crying." He commands placing his hands on your thighs.

Another fresh set of tears falls from your eyes and Coriolanus brushes them away.

"You're a liar." You say, your voice barely a whisper

"I'm not...I want to be here, with you. I'll let you go back out on your little shopping trips and attend galas, shitty reporters and all."

It's tempting, to agree and let everything perfectly mend itself. But as you glance at the pictures that fell off the table and Lucy Gray's face stares back at you, you feel your heart sink to your feet again.

"You're a liar." You say, this time your voice comes out strong as you push his warm hands from your face

Coriolanus gives you a hard stare but lets you pull away from him.

"You can't even apologize for seeing her." You point out

Coriolanus looks guilty as he disgests your words.

"What happened between the two of you?" You asked

"She ran off, I think. I also had some personal issues after Sejanus was killed. She offered for me to go with her, I almost did." He says

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgment as Coriolanus remains in front of you, on his knees, fiddling with the end of your skirt.

"I don't think I ever really loved her. I think it might've just been the idea of possessing her that I liked." He admits, eyes on the floor

"And how is that different than us now?" You ask

Coriolanus' eyes snap up to yours when the question leaves your lips.

"It's different because...we're us...We grew up together, darling. You ate Tigris' cabbage soup and gave me lunch when I didn't have money for my own."

You swallow the lump in your throat and stand up. Coriolanus immediately rises, not interested in being so much shorter than you. You know what has to come next but you're not sure if you're strong enough to do it. Your actions will close the chapter of a book 15 years in the making.

"Coryo...I think I want to go home." You say looking up at him, fresh tears pool in your eyes.

"You are home. You're with me." He says reaching out and taking your hand in his

"No, I mean...to my family's home. I want my mom, I miss her." You admit, pulling your hand out of his.

Coriolanus' face is confused as you look down at the gorgeous ring he gave you at his proposal. It looked so perfect on your hand when you woke up just this morning but now it felt like a death sentence as you sighed.

"I think you should have this back too..." You say as you slip it off and hold it out to him, "I'm sorry about things ending like this, but if you can't even apologize, I don't think I can stay."

Coriolanus' confusion quickly morphs into anger as he looks at the ring in your hand.

"Put it back on. I'm not letting you walk away." He says, upset

"Coryo, don't make this difficult." You say taking the ring and placing it into the pocket that sits just above his heart in his button-up shirt.

You begin to walk towards the looming archway that marks the entrance to the dining room but you're blocked by an angry Coriolanus Snow, tears in his eyes, fists clenched, and his mouth set in a cold line.

"You're not leaving. I won't let you."

Part Four

Series Masterlist

Taglist:

@10ava01

@i-dont-know-make-it-cool @bxtchopolis @anneliese500 @kitscutie @kiselasmetana @wpdarlingpan @miglielia @anneliese500

@taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese

@ajs-222

@ayyyeeeeidk

@noisymoisu @clintsupremacy @impeterporker @bl0ndelilac @threeinchminimum @starjane312 @ladyslytherin7 @inmyownlittlechair @eclipixels

@ffioncandy @marihoneywk @earth-to-lottie @julesandro @arzua10 @wotcherpeak

@imaybewrongbutidoubtit @luxebeautystyle @v1ennie @shev3nom @poemfreak306 @slyhersophia @xreaderbooksreads @popcornpoppin @peach97 @louweasleymalfoy @lizziebitch33

@hjgdhghoe @death934 @whore-for-pennywise @poppyflower-22 @callsignwidow @hey101010 @winuvs @iliveonteaandbooks

@powernutterbar @supersmexyandhot @dahlias-and-marigolds @literatureluster @spidermoony @lorarri @dilucpegg3r @forevermoremagcon @sarahskywalker-amidala @ms-longbeach@fictionalwhore123 @snowsgames

#the hunger games #fanfic #coriolanus snow smut #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #katniss everdeen #mockingjay #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #lucy gray baird #tom blyth #rachel zegler #coriolanus snow fluff #sejanus plinth #thg #tbosas #coriolanus snow x fem!reader

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robo-writing · 3 months ago

Note

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing.

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck.

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity.

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so.

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed.

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm.

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about.

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read.

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

#Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine angst #hope this was sad enough for you anon #graphics by strangergraphics!

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josephandrewstarkey · 3 months ago

Text

surprise!!

warnings: 18+ minors DNI!! smut, p in v sex, cussing

words: 1.3k

❦ drew starkey x actress reader

Drew stepped into the apartment, juggling a couple of grocery bags as he kicked the door shut behind him. My heart pounded in my chest as I stayed hidden just around the corner, watching him. He looked tired but focused, likely thinking about the premiere of ‘Queer’ coming up next week. My excitement grew, knowing he had no idea I was here.

As he set the bags on the counter, a small smile tugged at my lips. I’d been waiting months for this—planning everything down to the last detail to surprise him. Drew thought I wouldn’t be back for another month because of filming, but I’d lied. I had only been gone for three months, not four. All this time, I was dying to tell him that I’d be home in time for his big moment, but I wanted it to be perfect.

The moment he turned around and spotted me, I saw his face freeze in shock. His eyes went wide, his lips parting as if he couldn’t believe I was real.

“Baby,” I said softly, my voice warm and full of affection. “i missed you.”

The grocery bags fell from his hands, apples and cans rolling across the floor. But Drew didn’t seem to notice or care. He just stood there, staring at me for a heartbeat before rushing toward me in a blur of movement.

Before I knew it, his arms were around my waist, lifting me off the ground as he spun me around. The sound of his laughter against my neck sent warmth through my body. He set me down,“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion as his lips brushed against mine between words. “I thought you were filming for another month.”

I giggled, keeping close to him, letting my hands rest on his cheeks. “Yeah, I lied,” I admitted, seeing the surprise still dancing in his eyes. “I wanted to surprise you. You didn’t think I’d leave you alone on your big day, did you?”

“What?” He blinked, trying to process my words, still visibly shocked.

I grinned. “I’m coming with you to Italy! Luca and your manager have known all along. I planned it out with them. I couldn’t miss it, not for anything.”

For a moment, Drew stood there, speechless, his hands gently cupping my face as he pressed his forehead against mine. His gaze was filled with love and disbelief. “You…you did all this?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, my fingers lightly tracing his jawline. “Everyone knew except you. I wanted it to be a surprise. I wasn’t going to let you walk that red carpet without me.”

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded full of relief and amazement. “I was already telling everyone you weren’t going to make it,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “I was so bummed about it.”

I chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Well, you can stop telling people now.”

Before I could pull away, Drew kissed me again, deeper this time, his hands pulling me closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The feeling of his lips against mine was intoxicating, and I melted into him, my arms wrapping around his neck. His warmth surrounded me, filling the void that had been left during the time we spent apart.

When we finally broke the kiss, Drew kept his forehead against mine, his hands gently running up and down my sides. “God, I missed you. You don’t even know,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with emotion.

“I missed you too,” I whispered, brushing my thumb along his cheek. “I hated being away for so long.”

He glanced around the room for a moment, his eyes soft as they took in our apartment. “And everything’s already arranged? The flight, the hotel…all of it?”

I nodded with a smile. “yes baby all of it” i replied. “perfect” he muttered

— As we sank onto the couch, Drew’s hands roamed over my body with an urgency that spoke of the longing we had both felt. His touch was tender yet insistent, exploring every curve, every inch of skin that he had missed. I responded with a soft moan, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands as they slid under my shirt. as he started kneading my flesh “drew” i moaned

His lips traveled from my mouth to my neck, and each kiss elicited a shiver from me. My breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as his fingers traced a path up my back. I could feel the intensity of his desire in the way he pressed his body against mine, the heat and need palpable between us.

Our moans filled the space around us, mingling in a symphony of pleasure as Drew’s hands slid up to cup my face. He guided me into a deep, passionate kiss, our tongues dancing together as we lost ourselves in the sensation. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of us wrapped in each other’s embrace.

I felt him shudder as he explored the sensitive areas of my skin, and I responded with soft, pleading sounds. His fingers found the curve of my waist, pulling me closer as our bodies pressed together. The intensity of our connection grew with each touch, each kiss, each whispered breath.

I started unbuckling his belt, trying to get his jeans off. He laughed at my actions “You’re needy huh?” i grinned “shut up and take this off.” “anything for you baby.” he said while taking off his jeans, while i was undressing myself as well. He lined his cock at my entrance “Are you on the pill baby?” he asked “Yeah, got on it a few days ago.” i answered. “Good girl.” he smiled while slowly sliding into my cunt. I moaned— ‘Shit, baby you feel so good.’ he teased as he slowly started moving.

My hands gripping onto his biceps as he started going harder. “fuck— drew faster!” i screamed. He groaned at my words, slapping into me while rubbing my clit. “You like that baby, huh? You missed this dick?” he whispered in my ear. “Yes!” i screamed once again. “That’s what i thought, you gonna cum for me baby?” — i nodded, biting my lips while looking into his eyes. “Fuck—shit keep looking at me like that baby. Look at how i’m fucking this pussy”

I struggled keeping my eyes open. My mind fuzzy and head spinning— “I’m gonna cum drew don’t stop!” i screamed in pleasure. “C’mon baby cum for me.” he muttered while slapping my clit.

I screamed his name while i came, eyes rolling to the back of my head and my mouth falling wide open. Body numb while drew was still pushing into me making himself cum aswell. He pulled out, his seed dripping out of my pussy.

As Drew lay on top of you, your breaths mingling together, the room was filled with a serene silence. You gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, smiling as he looked up at you with a soft, contented expression. "That was incredible," he murmured, his voice tender. You nodded, running your fingers lightly across his back. "It really was," you whispered back, feeling a warm, comforting closeness as you both simply enjoyed the quiet intimacy of the moment.

@rafedarling you wanted some drew fics!! more coming up

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey fic #queer #rafe outer banks #my husband #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #drew starkey smut

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catsgut · 1 year ago

Text

FROM BUD TO BLOOM - GOJO

warning : incest, drugging, noncon

“we know you just turned 18, but we were your age once, you know. even if it was years and years ago,” you rolled your eyes and groaned, falling onto the couch. “we just know how kids your age think,” your dad said backing your mom up. they were leaving for a week for work and just broke the news to you that you wouldn’t be staying at your house alone. part of you could understand where they were coming from, but you had just turned 18. it was bullshit they didn’t trust you enough to not throw a party.

but somehow, someway, they trusted your immature and spontaneous uncle to hold the fort down while they were gone. you weren’t really close with uncle satoru, so it didn’t bother you any that he would be there, it was the lack of trust your parents had for you. it was almost insulting.

a loud knock on the thick wood of your front door brought you out of your thoughts. speak of the devil. “toru!” your dads voice boomed at the sight of his older brother, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pat on his back. “hey,” you heard a smooth voice follow before the sound of shoes on the floor. “good to see you again,” gojo said to your mom with a bow and his signature smile. you sat up and peered over at the three older adults in the entrance hall, looking over the man you rarely ever saw. you were surprised he even answered to the text your dad shot him about the favor they had needed. gojo’s predatory eyes wandered over to where you were sitting on the couch and smirked.

“hello, angel,” he spoke eyeing every inch you down as if he could see what you were thinking. “your babysitter has arrived!” his long legs brought him to stand over you, head leaning forward to get a good look at your face. it had been so long since he had seen his pretty little niece. you sighed, closing your eyes you laid back down ignoring the annoying comment, still feeling hurt by the lack of trust your parents had for you. “aw not happy to see your uncle, little girl?” he chuckled and looked back over to your parents. “you nothing to fear! i’ll make sure everything goes… smoothly.” they just nervously looked at one another before putting their bags in the car.

they said their goodbyes and you hugged your mom tight. “it’s not too late to tell him to leave,” you mumbled into her shoulder before she flicked your forehead. “nonsense. now be good for satoru,” she said before kissing your cheek. “we will be back in a week.”

honestly, the first few days went by fine. you hadn’t spoke to gojo much and just hid up in your bedroom playing computer games. he actually wasn’t so bad, usually watching tv, cooking something, or laying out by the pool. the one thing you did notice about uncle satoru was that he liked the ac on full blast. colder than what your parents usually keep it at. several times he has pointed out your clearly hard nipples through the thin fabric of your pajama shirt. “you cold?” he’d ask with a grin and you crossed your arms over your chest furiously. it was embarrassing, but you assumed it was because he was just as immature as when you were a kid.

even though he kept the house at freezing temperatures, gojo absolutely loved to spent time outside. he would stay out there hours laying in the sun. a couple of times you had caught yourself staring out your bedroom window at the shirtless man laying on the pool chair. although he was in his 40s, you could tell he was still very active for his age. your eyes traced down his abdomen, taking in every detail of his defined body before looking back up to his face. to your absolute horror, he was already looking back at you with a sky smile. you quickly sat back down on your bed feeling your face get hot.

after that you avoided him as best as you could. he probably thought you were some kind of pervert, and you hated yourself for it. his own niece looking at his body in that manner. god, you needed to get ahold of yourself.

“hey.” you heard a voice in your ear from behind. it was the middle of the night and you were making yourself a snack. startled, you quickly turned around to be face to face with your uncle. “hmm, are you avoiding me, little girl?” he cocked his head to the side. you groaned at the nickname he had decided to give you. “i’m not little anymore,” you rolled your eyes and turned your back to him, hiding your embarrassed face. why couldn’t he just leave you alone.

“that’s right! you’re 18 now… you feel any older?” gojo asked leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossing over his muscular chest. you shrugged and stared down at your hands. why was he talking to you so casually after what happened just hours earlier. “i remember when i was 18. had the girls alllll over me,”. he giggled and sighed as he reminisced. “of course, they still are.”

you stared over at him with a look of horror at his comment. “what? embarrassed? well don’t worry, i won’t tell if you won’t,” his big hand rubbed your shoulder before placing it on top of your head. “do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” you shook your head quickly feeling more and more uncomfortable. “never had one before.”

that seemed to get his attention because he raised an eyebrow. “never? wow… so you’re a virgin then right? damn, if i were your age i would have jumped at the chance.” you didn’t know how to answer that, almost feeling ashamed being called out for something that was probably weird for a girl your age. of course you were a virgin, never even having your first kiss.

gojo stared down onto you for what seemed like hours before leaning closer. “so what you’re saying is you aren’t really a woman…yet,” he harshly squeezed one of your cheeks before leaving you alone, standing there in shock. ‘was that normal for uncles to do?’ you thought. you tried to brush it off, hurrying up in the kitchen before running off to your bedroom for the night. did that really mean you weren’t a woman? is it really that obvious? it made you feel insecure and uncomfortable at the realization. little did you know, gojo couldn’t get the thought of his sweet little niece being a virgin. he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

on his third night over gojo had offered some alcohol after getting back from the store. he said it would be good for the both of you to drink and bond over a movie. not wanting to seem little, you accepted his offer, sipping on the mixed drink he gave you. it tasted fruity and made your face twist in disgust. did adults really drink this crap? you would never say it, but this was your first time having alcohol and so far you couldn’t say you were enjoying it.

but was it normal to feel this funny after a couple sips? ‘must be a lightweight,’ you thought, eyelids blinking almost in slow motion. alcohol felt weird… why was your body feeling heavier?

you looked over at your uncle who was watching tv a few feet from you. his long legs were spread and he was picking at a hangnail on his thumb, biting at it occasionally. you cocked your head to the side as you watched the man. you felt guilty at the fact your stomach was doing flips at the sight of him just existing. it wasn’t normal to have these thoughts about your uncle, but here you were thinking the nastiest things.

you watched his eyes flick over to where you were sitting, giggling to yourself with your legs crossed. “what’s so funny?” he sat up a bit and patted the spot next to him. “come sit by your uncle.” his long finger beckoned you over as you slowly crawled over to him, head running into the side of his shoulder from losing your balance. “woah there,” he laughed and wrapped an arm around you. “how you feelin’ kid?” his eyes stared at you already knowing the answer to his question.

truth is you could barley see at this point. “ish thisss… normal?” you mumbled, head rolling to the side. “just gave you a little something extra… to make ya feel good,” you heard him say under his breath before pushing your back against the couch. his words didn’t register in your brain, but you felt his big hands on your hips, massaging them. you felt his long fingers hook into your waist band, playing with it for a bit, before slowly pulling your pants down your thighs. everything was happening so fast yet so slow at the same time. “mmm what doinn’?” your question went unanswered as rubbed his pointer finger over your pussy, listening to the wet noises it made. you moaned and closed your eyes, lip being pulled in between your teeth.

he inserted his finger before a second and then a third. your body naturally reacted to the foreign feeling, back arching and hips lifted off the cushions of the couch. he chuckled and pushed on your lower stomach. you tried sitting up, but between whatever it was you had drank and your uncle pinning you down you were unable to do anything but lay there and take whatever he wanted to give.

“just stay right there pretty girl,” you barley heard him say, and after that everything went black. you didn’t know what was happening to you even if you tried to fight it, drifting off into sleep. the last thing you remember was hearing the sound of fabric rustling, not knowing it was gojo taking off his sweat pants.

“missed you,” you hugged your mother tightly, face burring into her neck. you really, really did.

after that movie night with uncle satoru, you had felt off. your lower body ached and your head was fuzzy. you chalked it up to lack of sleep, but something deep down told you it wasn’t…. you were missing something big that happened but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. maybe it was the fact you woke up in your bed in a different pair of clothes, or maybe it was the weird sticky mess in your panties. the whole situation was off.

“she’s been an angel all week,” he told your parents with a hand on your shoulder. your parents told gojo he was so generous and that they were so thankful for helping them out. he even offered to let you stay with him when you went to college! your parents were so very happy to hear that, telling you it would be an amazing experience. you knew they just wanted you out the house, but all you could do was smile, not knowing what to do or say, showing gojo he got away with his sins that took place that night. showing him that he would be able to get away with something far, far worse.

#SORRY FOR THE HORRIBLE ENDING #the past week was a lot #but i also had so much fun writing this hehe #tw.noncon #tw.incest #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader

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uwtloml · 2 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐄 - 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈

Ѽ 𝘤𝘸: 𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨), 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘷𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, (𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱)

The sound of talking and music filled your ears as you stood watching Mina and Kirishima play beer pong. Denki had barely left your side since the two of you arrived, always making sure to keep a firm hand secured on your waist.

You could feel him pressed up against your back, gently rubbing his hand on your hip. Suddenly, you felt his warm breath against the side as he leaned in towards you.

“Wanna sneak away for a bit?” he whispered into your ear. Without hesitation, you nodded. He smiled in response, “Come on.” Denki moved a hand to your lower back, and began to guide you through the crowd.

Your heart pounded with anticipation as he flashed you a mischievous smile, his eyes glittering with excitement beneath the fake fangs he wore. “Think they’ll notice we’re gone?” you asked, a playful tone in your voice as you glanced back at your friends.

“Not a chance,” Denki grinned, pulling you closer against him, and grabbing both of your hands to hold in his own. “Besides, I think we deserve a little fun of our own, don’t you?” His words sent a shiver down your spine, feeling your panties grow wet.

Away from the noise and the prying eyes, it was just the two of you, desperate for each other. You could feel yourself getting hot in anticipation. Denki led you through the dimly lit hallway, his fingers tracing light circles over your hand, making your skin tingle. The two of you passed by a few occupied rooms before you finally reached a secluded corner, a small guest room with the door slightly ajar. The faint glow of the moon seeped in through the window, casting soft shadows across the floor. It was quiet, the loud noises of the party now a distant hum, and the tension between you two was evident.

Denki turned to face you, his grin widening as he gently pressed you against the wall, his playful energy now mixed with something a little more serious. “You look incredible tonight,” he murmured. His eyes scanned over your costume, appreciating every detail, every curve. “I honestly don’t know how I’ve lasted this long without stealing you away.” He let out a laugh.

You laughed softly, your heartbeat quickening. “You’re one to talk. You look so fucking good as a vampire.”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing just beneath your ear, sending a shiver through you. “Guess it’s a good thing we’re alone now, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, and you could feel the electricity in the air; both figuratively and literally, as small, harmless sparks danced off his fingertips where they touched your waist. You could tell he was holding back, trying to be playful but eager all the same.

He quickly captured your lips with his own. The kiss was hot, sloppy, both of you equally as needy. He pulled away from your lips, moving down towards your jaw. You let out a breathy moan, feeling your pulse quicken as Denki’s lips trailed lower, brushing along your jawline. His hands, still sparking with faint electric sparks, slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer to him. You tilted your head back slightly, as he started to lightly suck on your neck.

“God, I love you” He murmured into your skin, opening his mouth to gently bite your skin. The feeling of his fake fangs your mind go blank, moaning even louder now. “Fuck did you like that?” The smile was evident in his voice. You grabbed his shoulders, pushing him off of you.

“I need you, now.” You grabbed him by his shirt, and pulled him towards the bed. The two of you quickly laid down, Denki positioned in between your legs.

“Let me taste you, please baby.” He begged, spreading your legs wider.

“Denki please.” You whined.

“That’s my girl, I’ve been wanting to see what’s under this costume all night,” sliding off your panties and pressing a soft kiss to your clit before wasting no time, beginning to lap at your folds. Your hands immediately found their way to his hair, lightly tugging on the roots.

“Oh my god.” You moaned in pleasure. His tongue moved quickly, fingers digging into your legs to keep them spread. Muffled groans could be heard spilling out of Denki’s mouth as he started to suck on your clit.

Your back arched off the bed, pressing your pussy against his face even further. His mouth felt unreal against your soaking core. Your pleasure was growing an overwhelming amount, fingers tugging even harder at his hair. “Denki, I don-, don’t know how much longer I can last.” You cried out.

“I know, baby.” He moaned out, face red and his chin covered in your slick. He brought his thumb to rub on your clit, shoving his tongue into your hole. “‘M gonna use my electricity.”

You barely had time to even acknowledge him before small sparks started coursing through your body. You let out what was almost a scream, as your legs started to shake uncontrollably. The pressure in your stomach was quickly growing “Cum for me please, please, please.”

He moved his thumb faster, trying to bring you to your high. His tongue was moving at a rapid pace, licking your walls intensely.

Your eyes began rolling back as you continued to let out moans. Denki gave one last spark to your clit. “Fuck, Denk-” was all you could let out before you started to orgasm.

Your vision was blurring as you arched off the bed. Denki let out a loud moan, before suddenly pulling away from you. Both of your bodies were covered in sweat as you began to breathe out trying to catch your breath. It remained silent as you came down before Denki broke the silence

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you could squirt.” Denki let out a breathy laugh.

You immediately shot up from your position on the bed, seeing your boyfriend smiling, fangs prominent, with your liquid covering his chin. You brought your hands up to your face, closing your legs. “Stoppp, don’t be embarrassed that was so hot.” Standing up, he made his way over to you and positioned himself next to you.

“No, that’s so embarrassing.” You whined, scooting away from him. He moved closer to you in response, running his fingers along your back.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I came in my pants.”

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charliemwrites · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 4

Content: Threats/Expectation of Torture, Dub-Con, Consensual Non-Consent Elements, Hurt/Comfort

The lines are getting thinner. Day by day, touch by touch. The parts of you that buck and bray against captivity begin to settle into the dangerous clutches of this isn’t so bad.

It’s exhausting to resist, especially when every part of you isn’t unilaterally aligned. The boundary between deep, dark desire and actual circumstance is narrowing into something you can’t discern anymore. Blurring into a strange delirium. Mornings with Ghost’s fingers inside you and afternoons warming Johnny’s cock. Meals prepared by hands that have snuffed as many lives as your own. A voice that once menaced you now lulls you to sleep.

Every interaction is a double-edged blade of seduction and condemnation. You moan at the tug of a collar you’re not free to remove. Johnny leans into the same hand that just bruised his wrist. A dozen scenarios that walk the line, never tipping either of you towards or away from Ghost.

It's things like Johnny waking in the dead of night, screaming. You know what’s going on even half-asleep; the same dream-memories lock you into burning paralysis. He’s clutching at his shoulder, fingers of the same arm spasming. Coughing on phantom smoke, seeing a night sky polluted by columns of flame instead of the ceiling.

“Kit! Kit!” he rasps, painful and terrified.

“Johnny, I’m here,” you call back, heart pounding. “Johnny, wake up! It’s over, we’re okay!”

You tug fruitlessly at the collar, at the chain. It’s useless, you know it is, but you can’t just sit there and watch him suffer again. Hate Ghost and this house and your own compliance with the same fire that nearly engulfed you and Johnny.

A shadow moves at the edge of your vision. Ghost.

You beg him to let you go to Johnny, to let you help. He ignores you for the moment, kneeling at Johnny’s side and rolling him onto his back. Speaks him back to reality, voice low and gravelly, reminding of details he has no right to know – how long you both spent in the hospital, the day of your mutual discharge, the months you two spent in physical therapy.

You want to cry, want to scream, want to be there with them. But Johnny’s finally calming down and you won’t ruin it all by losing your threadbare composure.

The first thing he asks when he’s got his breath, mumbling and fuzzy, “Where’s Kit?”

Ghost crosses back to you, unlocks the chain. You scramble to Johnny’s side in an instant, practically crashing into his chest as he reaches for you. He breathes deep when you gather him in, pressing his wet face to your neck.

“I’m here, I’m okay,” you whisper, shaky hands squeezing at his sore shoulder.

His own trembling, clammy hands paw your shirt up, press to the scarring on your hip. Assuring himself it’s healed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, “I never should have gone in—”

“You were doing your job,” you interrupt. Unwilling to relive the memory again or let him torture himself with it. “And I did mine.”

The cushion shifts behind you. Thick arms circle you and Johnny, guide you back against a sturdy body. Like this, Ghost feels more solid than the ground. You want to hate him. Could – should – blame him for Johnny suffering alone and resent that he comforted him first. You find yourself leaning into his strength and warmth instead.

“Not your fault the intel was bad, pup,” Ghost murmurs, carding fingers through Johnny’s sweaty mohawk.

Eventually, you and Johnny start to doze. Snuggling in with sleepy sighs and the reassurance of the other’s presence. You (or maybe Johnny) might even whine a bit when Ghost shifts as if to leave, clinging onto his sleeve. Either way, you wake the next morning to Johnny sandwiched between you two. For a man who doesn’t even let you see his face, it’s unexpectedly… intimate.

Johnny spends most of the next day in a mood about it – ends up forced to cum scraping his cock against the laces of Ghost’s boots by lunchtime.

And that should be the tipping point, right? Or at least one of them. The awful decadent violating addictive things he does to you two.

You stray too far one morning, thought you heard something in the basement, and he puts you on your knees in the living room. Forces your thighs apart with his boots imprinting the tender skin of your thighs. Grinds the tread against your crotch until you’re squirming and teary. It’s uncomfortable… but also makes you whimper for more, body on fire and apologizing into his thigh just for a bit of relief.

Johnny mouths off for the third time in an hour – was already warned twice. Ghost makes you edge Johnny for two hours, fingers in his hole and tongue flicking over his cock.

“Been gagging for the kitten to do this to you for a while, eh, mutt?” Ghost coos, pinning Johnny’s wrists above his head. “I know it’s one of your favorite fantasies.”

And then when Johnny seems like he’s at the breaking point, Ghost makes you milk his prostate until he loses his voice entirely.

And that’s just when Ghost is in a good mood.

He comes down one morning visibly irritable. Eyes dark, shoulders tense. All his movements are short and quick, almost aggressive. When you try to ask him if something is wrong at breakfast, he grunts at you to shut up and eat. And when Johnny makes a snippy comment about “bad manners,” Ghost forces his jaw open and lifts his mask just enough to spit in his mouth.

Then he storms out the door without another word. Johnny’s left flushed, awkwardly pressing the heel of his hand against the bulge in his joggers.

Ghost returns hours later and doesn’t seem any less moody. In fact, he seems worse now. You and Johnny exchange glances. He’s already cooking up mischief, you can see it from across the room. Never did learn when to leave well enough alone. All it takes is for you to subtly shake your head at his little smirk. That might as well be a greenlight.

“Well then, Ghost?” he drawls.

Ghost, who’s been aimlessly (peacefully) flipping through channels, stops. Not that he was fidgety before, but at the smarmy note in Johnny’s voice, he gets stony. You grimace and shoot Johnny another staying look. Mouthy little bastard you may be, you’ve always had a good sense for when to shut your stupid mouth. Your serial killer kidnapper being in a shit mood is one of those times.

“Ya done sulking yet? Gonna tell us who pissed in yer cornflakes?” Johnny continues, lounging against the wall with his first arms folded behind his head. “You gonna pack your shit in or keep being a bellend?”

You feel the exact moment that Ghost’s patience snaps. The room goes cold.

He drops the tv remote onto the cushion next to him, cracks his neck, and exhales deeply. Then stands and lopes across the room. Not to Johnny.

To you.

“Ghost—” you yelp, scrambling back. Don’t get far. He snags two thick fingers around the collar and jerks you away from the wall.

“Hey!” Johnny shouts. “Hey, yeah radge bastard! I’m the one that pissed you off.”

Struggling is no use, you know that. Still, you jerk and squirm, heart pounding. Draw your fist back, only to have it caught in an iron grip. It’s going to bruise, your bones ache.

“Fucking do it,” Ghost growls, lower and rougher than you’ve ever heard. Beyond the balaclava, his gaze is burning coal. “See what happens, kitten.”

When he releases your arm, you can’t bring yourself to follow through. All your strength is just in keeping your spine straight. The unspoken threat – his sharp-toothed, blood-hungry encouragement – leeches all but survival from your body.

No praise comes for choosing the wise path this time. You tremble in its absence.

The chain slithers away. Even if you thought running would do any good, you can’t collect your legs to try. Ghost doesn’t ask (or demand) that you do. Hand still hooked in your collar, he starts dragging you along, crawling on hands and knees at his side.

Johnny is still protesting, volume and desperation rising like a tide, flooding the room with impotent panic. You can’t make out individual pleas, the crashing waves of your own fear too loud in your ears. Ghost’s silence is roiling, violent.

You get halfway down the hall before realizing your destination. The inconspicuous white door looms ahead, sinister. You can’t swallow the scream that tears from your throat.

“No, no, Ghost you promised!” you cry, bucking and thrashing.

You manage to slip his hold and fall back, twisting and scrambling to escape. Just stumble halfway to your feet, about to cross the threshold back to the den. See Johnny’s huge, regretful eyes and blanched face, mouth parted as he strains towards you.

Then cruel arms circle your waist and yank.

“No!” you shriek, kicking at air. Ghost doesn’t even grunt with the effort of hauling you down the hall. “No, Ghost, please!”

The locks are open you realize as cool air rushes past. Your efforts double, but he easily drags you down a set of wooden stairs. All you do is earn a threatening hand around your hitching throat. You sob as shadows swarm, hiccupping that he promised over and over.

Your feet brush cold, flat concrete.

The basement.

He drops you onto something hard, flat, and wooden a few feet above the ground. Your legs hang over the edge, feet swinging. A table. Ghost’s black silhouette blots out the meager light daring to peek in from the hallway.

“G-Ghost,” you choke out.

You expect to be shoved down, tied prone and helpless. Wait for the bite of a blade, the prick of a needle, the cold kiss of a gun. Brace yourself for it, scrabbling for any of the stoic demeanor you once armed yourself in.

You nearly scream again at the touch of warm hands. Not a tight grip around your throat, or a brutal fist to your face, or even strong fingers breaking yours. It’s the firm (but not painful) press of a palm over your mouth and its twin spanning your hip.

“Take a deep breath.”

You peer through watery eyes, trying to find his. With the light behind him, even his gaze is obscured. All you have his voice. Low as it is, he seems… calmer than you expect.

You obey.

“Another.”

You breathe in slowly, exhale evenly.

“Good.” Relief makes you so dizzy that your eyes flutter. Ghost shakes you a bit. “Listen, little one.”

You blink up at him, take another breath, and nod for him to continue.

“I need to get some frustration out and the pup needs to learn a lesson.” He sweeps his thumb over the curve of your hip. You shiver, confused and still frightened, but still trained to react to his touch. “You just need to put on a good show, yeah?”

You try to speak, but his hand doesn’t move, so you settle for making a questioning noise.

“I’m going to torture you,” he explains, as casual as telling you what’s for dinner. “And you’re going to convince the mutt that you hate it.”

His hand slips from your hip to your groin, rocking meaningfully. Tentative understanding dawns with a golden ray of hope.

“The alternative is that Soap takes your place,” Ghost muses in your silence, mistaking it for reluctance. “I won’t be nearly as… humane with him.”

You protest wordlessly, shaking your head.

“No?” he mocks. “You’ll be good for me, then? Let me use you to teach that brat a lesson?”

You nod. Guilt gnaws at you for getting off (literally) so easy when Johnny is up there out of his mind on fear and his own guilt.

That sentiment doesn’t last long.

Ghost rips your clothes away with a growl, leaving them in tatters beneath you. You yelp, genuinely shocked. He moved so fast. There’s nothing teasing or seductive about him, not this time. None of the patience or measure from every previous encounter.

Sharp teeth scrape your jaw, beneath your ear, over your collarbones. Harsh fingers pinch and twist your pebbled nipples until you arch with a shout. He forces his big body between your thighs, grinding your quickly warming groin against unforgiving denim and the bulge hidden beneath.

“Stop, stop!” you cry, half-meaning it, head spinning. “Ghost, please!”

He doesn’t. If anything, your pathetic pleas spur him on.

Your underwear is discarded with another tear of fabric, exposing you to cool air and a mean man.

Ghost’s mouth closes around you, sucking hard, tongue flicking. You scream. High-pitched, wounded. Would jackknife right off the table if not for the merciless pin of your hips. Sounds claw up your throat and leap from your parted lips. You’re not in control of them, not with the way he’s slurping, growling, just the faintest hint of teeth to keep your voice octaves too high.

“No, no, please stop!” you keen.

He shoves two fingers in your gaping mouth, gags you on them until you’re coughing and gasping wetly. Awful, desperate sounds. You throb.

Those fingers circle your hole.

“Don’t!” you wail. “Please, Ghost, not that. I can’t—”

You shriek as one finger pushes inside. Nothing slow or gentle about it, a firm and unrelenting push. He doesn’t wait for you to recover or catch your breath. That single finger pumps in and out of your uncertain body, mechanical. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels dangerous. You squeeze your eyes shut and beg again for him to stop.

In answer, he pulls away long enough to spit directly on your twitching, sensitive hole. Then wedges the second finger alongside the first. This time your scream ends on a sob as his fingers pet your walls. It’s not quite painful, but it feels like it should be. It’s too much. Your body doesn’t sing, it screams for him.

Ghost has already mapped out all the places that make you shake and cry and beg. He seals his mouth around you again, and you’re gone. Bawling and kicking at air, he forces you over the edge faster than anyone ever as.

He works you through it, sticky wetness dripping down to ease the stretch of a third thick finger. Worse still, he doesn’t even slow, keeps going like you haven’t cum at all.

“It hurts!” you sob. “Please, it hurts, I can’t!”

He uses his free hand to toy with your nipples again, adding another layer of overwhelming sensation that melts your brain. The overstimulation almost burns, you can’t tell if it’s ice-cold or white-hot. Just know that your nerves are shot, and yet you’re still rocking into his touch just that slightest damning bit. Because it’s not just too much, it’s not enough. You’re stuffed with his fingers, but you ache for more, for…

“Please, Ghost,” you breathe, hushed and desperate. “Please, fuck me.”

He pulls away with a filthy pop. “Fuck you?” he repeats. There’s a malicious smirk in his voice.

“Please,” you confirm, “please, I want it. D-don’t you want to…?”

He doesn’t answer – not with words. A noise thunders from his chest that raises goosebumps, freezes your blood, and burns through you like wildfire. You don’t know if you’re afraid or aroused, can’t tell if you want to run or bare your throat. It wouldn’t matter regardless. Your body doesn’t belong to you anymore.

You yelp as Ghost slides his fingers out agonizingly slow, pressing against your walls the entire way. His shifts, tugging your ass to the edge of the table and bowing up over you. Sharp teeth nip at the edge of your collar as the blunt head of his cock rubs against your aching entrance. Anticipation and trepidation chase each other through your veins, leave you shaking so hard you’re surprised the table isn’t rattling.

“Relax,” Ghost rumbles in your ear, “or don’t. Won’t make a difference to me.”

There’s nothing gentle or gradual about it, no consideration for his own size or your body’s limits. Just a hot, unrelenting press. You keen as your poor, oversensitive hole yields beneath the onslaught. It burns, you can’t breathe, he doesn’t let you adjust even once the flared head is tucked snuggly inside. Just keeps cramming his fat cock deeper and deeper.

You’re lightheaded when he bottoms out an eternity later. It feels like all the air has been forced from your lungs, like there isn’t room for anything but Ghost. And then he rocks back and slams home again.

This time, the table does rattle.

You grip desperately at the sides, nails scraping. He fucks into you viciously, teeth glinting in a half-feral snarl. There’s no consideration for your pleasure, but he still sends your eyes rolling back with every thrust. You’re too gone, dumb on ecstasy, probably drooling.

A rough hand shoves your thigh back, bending your knee to your chest. His cock rams into your g-spot and your voice breaks on the wail that follows. He shortens his thrusts, half pulling out before plunging back inside, ruthlessly abusing that bundle of nerves, snarling as your walls flutter and spasm.

“No, no, no, not again,” you babble but it’s too late.

The pleasure rapidly overflows into a mind-numbing orgasm, whiting out everything but the exquisite torture of Ghost pounding you through it. This time you can’t even muster the ability to plead or squirm. Even your body seems to surrender to his will, going limp and pliant through waves of overstimulation.

“Not yet,” he growls. “One more, and then you can pass out.”

He snakes his free hand down between your bodies. Tears stream down your temples. Helpless, wordless cries spill from your raw throat, high and sharp. Another orgasm builds frighteningly fast, crackling along your shot nerves until you blow like fuse. Blinding ecstasy cracks up your spine, envelopes your mind, and leaves everything dark.

You wake in the bathtub.

It’s a slow, reluctant crawl back to consciousness. The lights have been dimmed to something soft and warm, filtering through a curtain of curling steam. Like this, the bathroom is a dreamlike blur, all hazy lines and twilight shadow. Water laps at your collarbones, not quite scalding, just the way you like. It’s quiet save for the gentle swish of movement along the surface, and slow breathing by your head. Someone is drawing a cloth gently along your heavy body.

A low, gravelly voice coos, “Back with us, kitten?”

You roll your head, blink syrupy slow at the dark specter of Ghost knelt at your side. His sleeves have been drawn up past his elbows. One arm supports your neck and head, protecting you from the cold, harsh side of the tub. The other disappears beneath the surface of the water, working slowly back and forth. A reaper paying dues.

“Maybe,” you hum.

He makes an amused noise. Not quite a chuckle, but close.

“You can sleep again soon,” he replies. “I think the pup has suffered for long enough, though.”

You jolt, the cotton candy haze dissolving into bitter ash.

Poor Johnny, thinking Ghost was doing something awful to you. Hearing your screams and cries and begging, only for Ghost to bring you up some indeterminate time later, unconscious. Guilt threatens to swallow you whole.

“Easy now, precious,” Ghost soothes, a hand between your shoulders as you sit up. “Take it slow. I wasn’t gentle with you.”

That becomes evident as you abandon the weightless solace of the hot water. Aches immediately bloom throughout your body, concentrated around your hips and thighs. Your lower spine is sore, a muscle in your thigh feels strained, and your hole…

“Christ,” you whimper, nearly slipping.

Ghost catches you, scoops you out of the tub altogether, and waits for you to steady your fawn-weak legs on the bathmat. You lean into him heavily, soaking wet patches like blood into his sweatshirt. You’ve paid your way like this – imaginary cuts at Johnny’s expense.

You can’t look at Ghost’s egregiously fond gaze without nausea bubbling in your empty stomach. A yawning pit grows there, hollowing you out. You can’t face the mirror either.

Ghost doesn’t interrupt your flagellation. Buffs you down with a towel in silence, polishing the monument he’s built to his own deprivation. Couldn’t have shaped it without the raw material there though, could he? Statues don’t form without a block of unformed marble, can’t make granite of limestone.

He dresses you in one of his hoodies and fresh underwear before returning you downstairs.

The state you find Johnny in breaks your heart. Tear-streaked, puffy-eyed, lips bitten bloody. His hair is tangled and disarrayed, bruised hands limp in his thighs. Though his head is leaned back against the wall, there’s no ease in his body. His jaw is so tight you worry for his teeth, brows furrowed tight. A crumpled ball of tension and regret.

“Johnny,” you say, voice splintering. The shards rain down, popping the bubble of bleak silence suffocating the den.

His eyes fly open. You dart to him, throwing yourself into his arms before he can process what he’s seeing. Press yourself close and tight, eyes stinging at the exhausted tremble in his body. Johnny’s never been anything but fire and stone to you. Warmth and heat and energy, strength and support even with the cracks.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you warble. “I’m so sorry.”

He nudges you back to scan you with glassy eyes, like he’s seeing a miracle right in front of him.

“You… you’re okay,” he rasps, voice shredded to wisps.

You nod, bowing your head in shame. “He – we…” You can’t find the words to explain, don’t even know how to begin. His hands keep drifting over your arms and hands, eyes flicking from your face to your neck to your bare legs.

Ghost chimes in. “Told the kitten to put on a show or you would suffer.”

You want to wipe away Johnny’s half-dry tears, offer the comfort he’s been deprived of. Cowardice grips your arm, suspends it in midair, whispers poisonous doubts about your welcome.

But Johnny presses his cry-flushed cheek into your palm, shuddering through a dry sob. He leans his weight into you, and despite the fatigue, you stay the pillar you’ve always tried to be for him.

“You both need water,” Ghost rumbles, and turns for the kitchen.

Left alone, Johnny doesn’t emerge from the safety he’s found in the hollow of your throat. You cradle him with all the tenderness you can muster, sifting gentle hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” you whisper finally.

He lets out a sigh and hugs you closer. “Nothin’ to apologize for, Kit. Not mad at ya for protectin’ me. ‘Specially when I put you down there in the first place.”

“I don’t blame you for anything. I wouldn’t have blamed you even if he had…” You shake your head. “Well, regardless, it’s on Ghost for losing his temper.”

He doesn’t respond. You’re not surprised, but your chest squeezes. Johnny’s a proud man, but he’s got a guilt complex a kilometer wide – especially for people he cares deeply for. He’ll be haunted by this for a while.

“I’m just glad you’re alright, luv. Don’t care about a damn other thing.”

You tilt your chin to press kisses to the crown of his head – until he finally peeks out for you to trail more down his ruined face. The kiss starts gentle, warmth and love and reassurance pouring into him from your mouth. Johnny shudders in a breath, cups your jaw. His control slips, mouth parting on desperation and relief, lapping comfort from the edges of your teeth and curl of your tongue.

You only part when Ghost returns, nudging the two of you with his knee. He doesn’t insist on separating you far, though. Just enough to bestow you and Johnny with full glasses of water. You sip in measured doses while Johnny chugs to the bottom in a few noisy mouthfuls.

As he does, you note the awful marks on his hands. Bruised and bloodied knuckles, blisters forming on his palms. Your eyes dart to the wall – sure enough, red stamps like smashed grapes, centered around the wall anchor for the chain. You follow the trail back to his collar, spot the angry skin peaking past. At least there isn’t blood.

Ghost notices too.

“We’ll have to take it off for the night.”

To your surprise, something like reluctance flickers across Johnny’s face. There and gone again, but definitely there. You say nothing; you’d have the same reaction.

Ghost disappears again – this time you hear him rummaging in one of the cabinets. While you and Johnny wait, you exchange chaste, gentle kisses while you burrow into his side.

He returns with a first-aid kit. You’re surprised when offers you a roll of bandages. “A hand for each of us.”

You hum in agreement, get to work dabbing the split skin with antibacterial.

“Can I jus’ ask why, Ghost?”

Ghost doesn’t even glance up. “Why what, pup?”

“Why take it out on Kit? Why not just give me a thrashing and call it a day?”

You frown. Don’t like this line of questioning, or the guilt still staining his words. But Ghost answers without hesitation.

“Because you told me, yeah? Your worst fear is the kitty suffering for you again,” he explains. “No better way to punish you.”

That’s no shock to you; the sentiment is mutual. It’s been damn near written on both your faces since you woke up here, and Ghost isn’t a stupid man. He had you made long before then, you’re sure.

But Johnny’s sudden silence strikes you like a cord out of key. No mutters of annoyance or even snarky comebacks this time. Just a silence that drags your gaze from the careful winding of gauze.

He’s not looking at you, though. He’s staring at Ghost, abject horror graying his skin.

“Riley?”

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Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #scottish cabin in the woods #scitw #serial killer au #serial killer ghost #mind the warnings

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justadeadreaper · 5 months ago

Text

These are mainly fluffy headcanons with slight themes of angst due to the nature of long deployments with implications/references of a death that could happen.

One thing people tend to forget about König working for a private military company is that he can still go on long deployments/missions that can take months to even years to complete where he would not be able to see his beloved.

König may be an extremely cocky man, which is something no one can deny from his voice lines. On the surface level he may think that no other person is skilled enough to kill him, but deep down that is not the case. Even if his anxiety does not actively affect him on a level you would truly notice it is still rooted deep in his brain as it spews out harrowing ideas that he can not get rid of as they nip at him while being made bigger by his trauma and past experiences. This causes a deep-seated paranoia about the idea of him dying on the field and leaving you all alone with your last memory of him being a sad one haunts him, or even worse in his time gone you completely forget about him and move on to someone new that could fill the hole he left behind.

This leads him to make the day before his long deployment the best of your life while he puts together a surprise to ensure you always have pieces of him while he is apart from you.

The day before he makes sure you have the best date of your life so far. It first starts with breakfast in your shared bed after he lets you sleep in until late in the morning, it is all your favourite breakfast foods and some of his own as he lets you splurge a bit and have your favourite dessert items as well while he eats his waffles with pistachio and strawberry ice cream. He loves to cuddle you and just stay in bed with you for a couple more hours to bathe in your love and warmth as you brush your hands through his hair before massaging his scalp before gently kissing all over his face, paying special attention to his scars. Once you finally get out of bed he takes you on a little shopping spree through your favourite stores letting you buy anything you want without worrying about the price even if you have to go to the sketchy game place that smells of death and sweat so he can get more figures or knives or guns or mangas for his collection. To end your adventure he would either take you to an aquarium or museum of your choice later in the evening so that fewer people are there just so you could have your moment together that looks like it is straight out of a movie. Before you leave you drag him towards the gift shop and he buys you whatever gifts you want then he takes you home as he secretly calls your favourite takeout place so you can eat it together once it arrives as another surprise. Then to finish the day you spend the whole night cuddling and watching movies until you fall asleep.

On a more spicy note, if you want children and do not have any yet I can see him trying his best to get you pregnant that night as he feels and loves you one last time just so if you lose him you will at least still have a part of him with you to help you pass through the years before you are reunited again.

In the morning he probably leaves with no word to you at all as he would hate your last memory to be one of heartbreak. Only a letter on his side of the bed. The first few pages are him apologising for leaving without a goodbye with the explanation that he is going on a long deployment before detailing how much he loves you, then he explains how he took a few of your shirts to use as a mask so he could always have your smell with him as he battles and a photo of you that he keeps above his heart so you can still be close to him, and finally on the last few pages are a detailed scavenger hunt with clues that lead you all over your shared homes with each clue leading to a spot with the clue being based on an important memory that was in that spot.

The items he would put in these spots varied and each time changed (unless it was his last time) but it was always the same types of items every time even if the spots changed.

In the first spot would always be some of his shirts, jackets, or hoodies that smelled of him so that when you were around the house you could wear them and be comforted by his scent as they would always smell heavily of his cologne. Every time after the first time he did this he would put different clothes in his place so you never got bored of the options he chose.

In the second spot would be a mixture of letters and USB sticks. There would be a letter on top explaining that the letters with white lily petals on the front and USBs with white lilies painted on them were for if he died, they have a gold writing on top that labels which life event of yours it was for and if you had children they would have the same and even if you did not have kids yet he still made some for future potential children, and the letters with forget-me-not petals on the front and USBs with forget-me-nots painted on them were for when you missed in and were struggling to deal with your life and different emotions without him there, and USBs with pink carnations painted on them that were just recorded videos him talking about different topics just for when you wanted to hear his voice talking about topics he found interesting. He explains in the top letter that the reason he wrote the letters and recorded videos that he put on the USB was due to the fact that in the letters he had to be concise and direct so he could get to everything he wanted to say while the videos are for him to be able to express all his emotions and not be confined to what would fit on the page as you see him be himself in the photos. Every time after the first time he did this he would put new letters and USBs in the place of the old ones to add to the collection with new responses to situations, topics, and emotions he thought of.

In the third spot would be a bear from Build-A-Bear (specifically the Pumpkin Sparkle bear due to it being ginger like him) that has multiple voice boxes in it that has recordings of him saying “I love you” or different compliments or nicknames he would usually call you with a custom heart too that bumped in the rhythm of his heart. The bear would be dressed up in a mini version of his normal uniform he wears on contracts as it holds a bottle of his favourite cologne just for you to use. Every time after the first time he did this he would put new clothes you could dress the bear up in based on his other outfits he wears on his contracts or at home or from when he dragged you to conventions.

In the fourth spot would be a scrapbook of your life together next to the small journals he took on deployments or used when his insomnia overwhelmed him which made it impossible to sleep. The scrapbook would have photos of all your dates together and important dates such as birthdays, promotions, holidays, etc. with petals and small drawings decorating the pages while the journals would be filled with countless pages filled with drawings of you, poems directed towards you or wrote solely about you, and ramblings about how he felt about you and everything he adored about you. Every time after the first time he did this he would create new scrapbooks that could be paired with the old that shows off more of your life events together and more journals that are filled to the brim with you.

In the fifth spot would be two books he made himself, the first is a cookbook bursting at the seams where he has handwritten all of the recipes that have been passed down his family over generations upon generations but alongside it are also recipes of all the dishes you enjoyed together or recipes he knew you loved even if you had never had the time to share them together, while the second is a book of all the jokes and puns he has told you or he wanted to tell you or he wanted to use when he was finally a dad or the kids were old enough to understand. Every time after the first time he did this he would write down new pages of jokes or recipes that he thought of that could be added to the books.

Apart from the scavenger hunt I also imagine him doing other things for when he is gone. The second most prominent thing is the little glass animals that he has hidden all around the house with a tiny scroll wrapped around their body or neck with a cute ribbon that matches the colour of the animal to keep it attached; once the scroll is unrolled it reveals it is a note about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are or compliments in general or motivation just so you can be reminded everyday of how much he loves you as if he never left, like he was still there with you. Something that could be considered as condescending that comes from his cockiness, and the undiagnosed autism I think he has, is how he writes down instructions and reminders for everyday he is on deployment for you to use as normally each morning he writes a chore list for the day with reminders for both of you to eat and drink. If you showed him how an Alexa worked he sets up the Alexa to do the reminders too but for the next 30 years just in case he dies.

When he is on deployment he will try to send back letters at any opportunity he gets as he collects trinkets to give you once he gets home. If you did have cameras set up around the house, whenever he has free time he is watching them to see how you are and what you are doing, and you can bet that if a speaker and microphone is attached to the camera he is using it to talk and have conversations with you even if they are short due to the nature of his work.

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lxvebun · 8 months ago

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challenge accepted!♡

synopsis: you're surprised when you find out he has not had his first kiss yet, you're even more surprised when he lets you be the one to change that aka your first kiss with Satoru<3

content: Gojo Satoru x gender neutral reader. Fluff!. Written with the highschool arc/satosugu friendship in mind so you'd be in the same grade together, but you can read it however you wish♡ Detailed descriptions of kissing. Around 650 words. Eng is not my first language. Not entirely proofread, lmk if there are any annoying mistakes♡

Suguru version

He's the strongest around, the Gojo Satoru! He has everything he could want and he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone. He doesn't have to but he does enjoy doing so.

So when you and Suguru teamed up against him, giggling oh so cruelly because here he was spouting out dating advice, saying that Geto will turn into a "grumpy old man" if he continues to reject people's advances, when he hasn't even had his first kiss yet, he knew he had to fix that♡

⁎⁺˳✧༚໒꒱.*

"You don't have much of a say seeing as you haven't kissed, let alone dated anyone yet, Satoru.~" Suguru replies, voice still as gentle as always even when he's dealing with his best friend's nonsense.

You're not entirely sure why your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. Sure it's unexpected given Gojo's flirty nature and good looks, but it's igniting a feeling of something almost hopeful in your heart....you don't like him that, not at all, right? So why is the image of him pulling you in by your waist and dipping down to lock his lips against yours fogging over your mind?

You've gone quiet for a bit as you hoped to make sense of what you're feeling, not unperceived by your friends sitting next to you

"Y/n?" They speak at the same time. You miss the shared glance of concern

You're glad you can blame the afternoon sun for the sudden spark of warmth surging through your body.

"Sorry, yeah, I'm here" you reply a bit clumsily as you make the mistake of looking back at him and the words almost get stuck in your throat. he looks ridiculously handsome with the way his head is slightly tilted, enough to look at you over his glasses, blue eyes shining even brighter in the sunlight, and something as simple as that really shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

Just for a split second you see his eyes soften as he lets his gaze trace of your features before he nudges his glasses back in place and continues-

"You're supposed to back me up, you know?? Tell him!"

"There's nothing wrong with not having had your first kiss yet, Suguru" you say sweetly. Gojo visibly relaxes and that stupid infamous smirk forms on his lips as he nods along with your words. you stifle back a laugh as you continue, "Unless you're Gojo Satoru"

The flail of his arms is entirely dramatic and entirely in character. It's not helping that you can hear the snickering of Suguru beside him too.

He's quiet for a moment as he regains his composure, one of his arms now draped behind you along the bench. He takes his glasses off and hangs them on the collar of his shirt.

"Alright"

.....

"Alright?"

Your body registers it before your brain does, heart fluttering in your chest, a hitch in your breath as he leans in. He's close, but he doesn't close the gap just yet. You can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks and his intoxicatingly good, probably extremely expensive cologne envelops the rest of your senses, makes you a little dizzy as all you see, hear, and feel is him but he allows you enough space to back away if this is not what you desire.

Perhaps your heart already knew what you're mind was just trying to catch up to. You have fallen in love. Fallen in love with Satoru of all people.

You're sure that at least a minute has passed since he leaned in but he doesn't falter and patiently waits until you do finally give him the smallest of nods and then it's over for you, you've fallen too deep now and you cannot and do not want to come back from this, from him.

the kiss is sweet, almost too sweet if you didn't have a sweet tooth that could battle Satoru's. And for a first kiss it's quite heavy, a little deeper and longer than you expected and it continues to linger warmly on your lips when he finally pulls away, face a little flushed, eyes bright, and smirking like he just won the lottery

"Now, listen, Suguru" he begins but you tune it out. Too focused on trying to calm the racing of your heart, too enamoured with the memory of his lips on yours

Gojo doesn't remove his arm from around your shoulder but his other hand has intertwined with yours as he draws heart shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, silently letting you know this was more than him just trying to prove something, silently letting you know, he'd be yours if you'll have him♡

Thank you for reading, angels!<3

I haven't written for jjk in such a long time😩 but I started season 2 and I want them to be HAPPY

#gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x gender neutral reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk fic #jjk fluff

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guiltyc0nscience · 6 months ago

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐍’𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘,, c.sturniolo

summary: a couple years back you suffered from an eating disorder, where at one point you thought there was no going back but chris proved you wrong. fast forward a year later, you’re back in the same dark pit, but chris is there yet again to reassure you.

warnings: EATING DISORDER, crying, insecurities, comfort

a/n: i re-wrote this and decided to not go into as much detail just so it’s not as graphic to you all who suffered things like this. this is from personal experience, the plot is made up but all things mentioned are real so if you are going through any of that, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. reach out to anyone!

as you and chris’ relationship went on, you had developed an eating disorder. you had restricted yourself from eating, chris had noticed it after quite some time when you had lost a substantial amount of weight — he got you help and helped you through every step of the way and you were healthy again after a year and a half, but fast forward another year, you were secretly back into that dark hole, but all alone this time.

chris had went out to film a car video with matt and nick while you were at home, he thought you were studying for your exam, but instead you were looking at photos of girls chris follows on instagram who have such tiny waists and perfect features, not a single flaw about them.

you had been band into your old habits for about a month or two now. you had already lost more weight, your body changing drastically — your collarbones were a lot more visible, your chest had gotten smaller, your ribs were a lot more seen, your cheekbones were more defined, your jaw was incredibly sharp. it just didn’t look healthy or anything like you to anyone on the outside, but to you, you thought it made you look more like all the girls on instagram.

it was 1am and chris was due home soon and you were laying in his bed. he knew you’d be awake when he got home but he knew you’d be awake because you always waited up for him, but he wasn’t sure since you’d had a long day at college.

he quietly made his way to his room hoping not to wake you if you were asleep, but when he pushed the bedroom door open he saw you asked, sitting up in bed as you looked at your phone.

he gently closed the door behind him as his eyes glanced over your body — clad in a tank top and sleep shorts, your first time wearing something like this in a few months, but it was too warm to wear sweats and a hoodie. he noticed how much more tiny and petite you’d gotten over the last two months. he could slowly but surely see all the bones under you skin.

you could feel his stare on your body causing you to get self-conscious, you tried to cover yourself up with your arms as much as you could.

as you shifted with your arms, chris saw how unhealthily tiny your body was, he’d noticed it before, but for some reason it hit him differently now. he walked over to the bedside, sitting down by your side, he placed a soft hand upon your arm, stroking his thumb over your skin lightly, “you don’t have to hide from me, baby.” he mumbled, his tone gentle as he spoke.

you looked over at him and just stared at him, watching the knowing look fall over his face — he hand figured out that you were back into your old habits again.

his eyes held a hint of pain and concern as he looked at you, his jaw tightening as he glanced over your body again. his hand moved your arm and lifted up your shirt slightly, gently placing a hand on your waist, stroking the skin of your bare torso.

he could feel your body. he could feel your ribs through your skin, and it broke his heart.

“you don’t have to do this to yourself, you know?” he sadly spoke, the sentence leaving a bad taste on his tongue. his words were said with a saddened tone, as he kept his hand on your torso, feeling the small bones in your body. he swallowed the lump in his throat, a frown pulling at his lips as he glanced between your eyes and your body.

he couldn’t believe your gone and started starving yourself again.

you finally spoke up for the first time since chris had come home, “i didn’t mean to go this far again. i was just truth a new diet and this happened… it was an accident.” you sighed you, tears slowly filling your saddened eyes.

chris’ expression softened a little as he watched the tears form in your eyes, gently moving his hand that was on your torso, to the side of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“you said you’d never do this again. we got you happy, healthy, back on the right track — but now you’re back in this hell. baby, you know you don’t need some idiotic diet to get a ‘perfect’ figure. we went through this a year ago.”

chris’ words cut you deep, setting you into reality. you took a deep breath before talking again, not wanting your tears to fall just yet, “i know. i-i just don’t feel like i’m good enough, you know? i mean you see all those girls on instagram and they’re all perfect. they’ve got everything i want, it’s not fair, chris. aren’t those the type of girl you really want?”

chris’ heart broke more by your words, his frown deepening as he looked at your eyes, noticing the tears now slowly making their way down your face. he hated that social media had made you so insecure about yourself, when in his eyes you were flawless.

“i don’t give a fuck about those other girls, i have never once looked at them and wished you looked like them. you’re so perfect to me. i wish you could see how perfect you are. you don’t know how much this destroys me.”

you were a really guilty person, the minute something you did caused someone pain, you instantly felt horrible. you despised that doing this affected the people you loved. you never meant for it to turn out like this, ever. you don’t know how to change it because no matter how much help you get, you always end up going back into it, “i-i’m sorry. i never meant for this to affect you too, this was supposed to only affect and ruin me, not you too. in so sorry chris.”

“but you not realising how beautiful you are does affect me. you destroying your body like this for no reason doesn’t just affect you, it affects the people around you that love you. it breaks me seeing you starve yourself once again. it’d break me if you’d ever starve to the point of no return. how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t want some skinny, perfect girl with no flaws, you have to stop thinking that i do, please baby. for me?” he spoke with a pained tone as he looked at your body once again.

you had no words. you didn’t know what to say, because you felt like if you said something it would be the wrong thing and you didn’t want that so you just stayed silent, listening to what chris had to say.

chris watched the tears drip down your cheeks as he spoke, it stung him watching how you had hurt yourself to look like those girls online, those models that didn’t mean a single thing to him.

he took another deep breath as he continued to speak, keeping one hand on your torso, “you’re beautiful in every way, okay? there might not be a single spot on your body that you like right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to turn it into this. you’re perfect to me. even more than perfect, baby.”

when chris finished talking, you pulled on his shirt, pulling his body closer to yours. instead of talking, you put all your love and appreciation into the right embrace.

chris was taken back by the sudden action of you pulling him closer, a small gasp escaping his lips as he was pulled down against your body. he wrapped his free arm around your frame, holding you against his body.

he could feel every inch of your body against his own, it felt like he was holding a tiny, fragile bird.

“i love you, thank you.” you whisper into his shoulder as you nuzzled your head further into his shoulder — those were the only words you could muster up right now, not in the mind to think of anything else.

chris could feel a soft sigh of relief leave his lips when you mumbled those words, his heart skipped a beat as you nuzzled your head into his shoulder, his arm wrapping tighter around your frame, bringing you closer against his chest.

he held you against him, pressing a gentle kiss onto your head, “i love more.” he mumbled against your skin as he continued to hold you, his breath soft and gentle against your ear.

@sturnsreckless

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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