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trippinsorrows · 1 month ago

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looking through your eyes + nineteen

authors note: this one has....some surprising twists and connections. that's for sure....

cw/tw: angst, fluff, and characters using dark humor to discuss mental health

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist + story playlist + taglist request form

words: 8k

Roman’s never been the type to really push things off. Not important things, at least. And seldom in his life has his to-do list ever really consisted of non-essentials. There’s always something to be done, a task to be handled, body or bodies to drop.

But always at the top of the non-essential list has been his appointments with Dr. Michaels. They’ve always been more annoying than anything, annual routine check-ups that are required with his role as the Tribal Chief. To make sure he’s healthy and equipped for the job. Appointments the Elders are sure to stay on top of, which is also a large reason he hates them.

The Elders tried so hard at the beginning to stop and prevent him from taking his rightful place at the Head of the Table once he turned 18. Questioning his readiness, his eligibility (largely to him being afakasi), and even more, his capability.

To be honest, it’s a major reason as to why Roman will never really respect them. For men who are supposed to uphold tradition, they seemed to throw that out the fucking window and jump through every available hoop to prevent him from fulfilling his father’s role. To stop a generational dynasty.

It’s largely why Roman was so focused and dedicated at the beginning of his reign to prove them wrong. To prove them all wrong.

Something he continues and will always do.

A knock on the door is followed up with the entrance of the man Roman could go the rest of his life without seeing. “Well, congratulations.” Roman maintains his bored expression, mentally going over the next items of his to-do list rather than entertaining his doctor. “You have the sperm count of a man in his twenties.”

That’s another annoying thing. The yearly tests to continue to monitor his ability to reproduce. Something he, like most things in life, passes with flying colors.

“I’m sure the Elders will be thrilled to hear that.” Probably. Not that Roman gives a flying fuck. “What I’m not pleased with is your blood pressure.” Roman is slightly more present and engaged in the conversation at that. “Your numbers came back even higher this time, Roman. And while you’re not in the danger zone just yet, you keep this shit up of not taking this seriously, you will be.”

Yeah, the attention is fully present and focused now. Roman maintains a leveled voice while asking, “what the hell does that mean?”

Dr. Michaels sighs heavily, moving to sit on his stool, explaining carefully. “You have hypertension. It’s chronic, so it’s not going to go away by avoiding it. You have to take your medication as prescribed. That’s the only thing that will keep it managed.”

Roman looks away, rolling his shoulders. “It’s not that I don’t fucking take it.” And that’s the truth. When Roman remembers, he does. Or when he actually cares enough to, he’ll pop the pill in his mouth and down it with one of his energy drinks.

“Every day?” Roman doesn’t bother with a reply, growing irritated at being scolded like he’s a fucking child. “Continue to fuck around with this, and you’re putting yourself at high risk for heart disease or stroke.”

Those two things seem almost impossible, like they shouldn’t even be used in the same sentence or paragraph as him or anything related to him. Roman is in excellent shape, works out at least twice a day, eats relatively well, doesn’t smoke or do drugs. Rarely drinks. All the good shit.

All the healthy shit most medical providers recommend. Isn’t that enough?

It’s like the old man has uninvited access to Roman’s thought process, adding, “Hypertension is hereditary. Your dad had it. Your uncle had it. So, it only makes sense, especially with who you are and what you do, that you got it as well.” Jaw clenching, Roman refuses to comment on that. Refuses to discuss anything regarding his family. “You were technically in the prehypertension stage before, hence why I put you on meds to keep it from progressing. But, now you’re in the stage one hypertension range. Do you really wanna know and see what stage two would look like?”

Thankfully, Shawn doesn’t wait for a reply, continuing his long ass spiel. “You take such good care of yourself physically, but this one thing seems to be an issue for you?” When Roman still says nothing or even makes eye contact, Dr. Michaels goes for a different angle. “If you’re not going to do it for you, at least do it for that wife of yours.” That is when Roman’s sharp gaze lands back on his doctor. “She was a nervous wreck that night you were shot. Imagine what something happening to you that was avoidable would do to her.”

Damn him.

For all intents and purposes, Roman does an excellent job at hiding the fact that Dr. Michaels found it. Found the thing that truly catches Roman’s attention. Solana always worries so much about him, especially this high blood pressure shit. He doesn’t even want to think about how she would react if she knew his numbers had gotten worse, that he’d slacked off a bunch on medication adherence since she’s been gone, since everything went down.

She’d freak the fuck out, be an emotional mess, and it’d be all because of him.

Roman can’t have that.

He won’t.

With a newfound purpose and reason to actually switch this topic from irrelevant to relevant, he relents, “fine. I’ll take the damn medication.”

“As prescribed?”

Smiling without an ounce of humor, Roman nods, reminding himself that it’s probably not a good idea to kill the doctor he’s had since he was 14. Michaels can be annoying, but he’s effective and hasn’t been a problem for the Tribal Chief. For the most part, at least. “Yes.”

Dr. Michaels chuckles. “Thank you.” He then stands up, looking down at his tablet and starts tapping around. “Unfortunately, because your numbers have jumped as much as they have, I need to up your dosage. I’ll send the script over to the pharmacy and make sure they have it filled today so you can pick it up today. Start tomorrow morning. Not next week. Or next year. Tomorrow. Alright?”

Not bothering to reply, Michaels walks over to him, smile almost sympathetic. “Good seeing you, big guy.” Roman scowls with borderline disgust at the light pat on his shoulder. “I’ll follow up with you in a month.”

Roman’s irritation spikes again. “A month? Why so soon?”

Hand on the door, Dr. Michaels shrugs and explains. “Gotta start monitoring your numbers more closely now.” He smirks a bit, taunting almost. “See if you’re as good at following directions as you are at giving them.”

It’s when the door closes that Roman releases the heavy sigh. Always fucking something. Yet another thing added to his list.

Of course.

Roman stays annoyed, even as he’s escorted back into his office, the only thing keeping him from being completely vexed is the reminder that pops up on his phone.

Visit with Sol

He’s scheduled to drive down to the treatment facility and spend the evening with Solana this evening. Something he’d never openly acknowledge to anyone other than her that he’s been looking forward to all week.

Today marks two weeks since she transferred to residential treatment, and despite much more lax policies regarding personal items and even visitation, this will only be his second time seeing her.

And not because he hasn’t wanted to.

No. Solana herself requested they stick to visits once a week versus more. Citing she wants to do this “on her own” as much as possible. The initial wording concerned him. He never wants her to feel like she’s alone in anything, but her follow up explanation provided him clarity on just what she meant.

“You believe in and support me” A light shrug of her shoulders and gentle gleam in her pretty brown eyes as she adds with a determined nod. “I have to believe in and support me too.”

He checks in on her throughout the week, of course. And she keeps him updated on things like her individual and group therapy, even sharing photos of art she creates during down time. It helps that she’s allowed her phone this time around. Not that it would have made a difference if she wasn’t. There’s no way in hell he would allow her to be that far away without a way to directly communicate with him. Sure, Bautista is there, but still.

Not enough.

But, it’s as Roman walks back into his office, any excitement at the thoughts of seeing his wife in person, being able to hold her and kiss her is dashed away.

Replaced with well-hidden shock and irritation.

“What the fuck are you doing here?

There are two people in his office. Two uninvited people. One sits in his chair at his desk. The other sits on the edge of his desk. He recognizes one of them, but not the other. It takes a second for that recognition to dawn. It’s been years since he last saw him. He looks older, obviously, but outside of that, not much has changed.

Including his disrespectful ass disposition.

A broad smile appears on the bearded face of the man who just doesn’t know today is the absolute wrong day to try to surprise Roman. To surprise a man who hates surprises in the first damn place.

“Good to see you too, capo.”

There is nothing good about this. Roman already has seven million other things on his plate. He doesn’t need anything else thrown at him.

Especially this.

“Why are you here?” If there was anyone to come and pop up from the Cosa Nostra, he would have bet any money it would be Dwayne. And that would be a much better option than the bastard before him.

The woman on the desk chuckles. Roman can at least acknowledge her beauty. Breathtaking. Her features are almost too perfect to be real, her deep complexion free of any markings. A fine woman. Not Solana. Not in the slightest but still beautiful. She looks over at her co-intruder and speaks in Italian. “While the resemblance, physically, is undeniable. Personality wise is where it stops. Thank God. His bedside manners leave a lot to be desired.”

If she wasn’t a woman, Roman would have her laid out by now. To speak ill of him is one thing, but to do it in front of him is entirely different. Truth be told, if he wasn't already having a shitty day, a small part of him might be impressed at her balls. But, it’s not a good day. Far from it, so now he has to push back thoughts of murder.

Glare focused on her, he switches to Italian. “You have 1 minute to get the fuck out of my office, or else the only way you’ll be leaving is in a body bag.”

“Careful, Roman.” Matteo’s voice is light and surface level calm, but Roman knows better than that. Knows that it’s also a warning. If only he cared. “This is my wife.”

“What makes you think I give a fuck?” Is Roman’s leveled reply. “I want her gone. Now.” Roman can’t decipher why this man would bring her in the first place. This doesn’t concern her.

Matteo is smart, whispering something to long legs as she kisses his cheek and plops off the desk. Her smirk pisses him the fuck off as she walks past him, completely unbothered, remaining silent even as the door closes behind her.

Smug ass, prissy bitch.

Roman doesn’t waste any time jumping back to the topic at hand. “Answer my question. Why are you here?”

Matteo sighs and sits forward, shaking his head. “Some things never change, huh?” Roman is just about to lose his shit at having to repeat himself when Matteo smartens up. “Dwayne sent me.”

Roman eyes him. “What?”

Matteo sighs, shrugging and rolling his shoulders. Roman’s mind quickly travels back to his last conversation with his cousin just a few weeks ago. Outside of the usual asking when he’ll fly out to Italy, he gave no indication that something was wrong.

And yet Matteo, who Roman hasn’t seen in years, who is second to only Dwayne and lives in Italy full time, sits before him saying he was sent.

“It’s as Dwayne has been telling you. The Administration grows restless of a leader who lives in a completely different continent.”

This is nothing Roman hasn’t heard before a million times, but each time, his already limited patience continues to wane. “Is the business not successful?”

That’s an easy answer. “It is.”

Well then. “So why the fuck am I needed there?”

“Because they’ll do and find anything they can to delegitimize your reign.” A sort of frown falls on his face as he adds in a lowered voice. “To create a case.”

Roman’s gaze narrows, his nose snarling as he catches on to what’s being shared. “They want you to clock me?”

Matteo nods, asking, “you remember our cugino, Luca?” Roman also nods, still trying to settle his anger that these bastards actually have the audacity to want him followed. “Well, he’s not that same scrawny punk anymore. He’s older, stronger, clever. Sadistic. They think he would be better suited to lead.”

It’s not that Roman cares, he’s just trying to get into Matteo’s head, see where his thoughts are. That’s the only reason he asks, “do you?”

Matteo doesn’t appear to think about his answer, which Roman finds a bit surprising. It’s almost as if he’s being honest. “No. Not at all. He doesn’t have the strategic mind to be capo. He leads with his emotions. Is irrational and strong headed. Even more hot headed than you are. He’ll run the business into the ground.”

It’s been years since Roman has spoken or interacted with his cousin, but the description provided seems aligned with everything he’d already pegged. Luca isn’t fit for this role. The weight that comes with being the boss.

He would most definitely ruin the empire.

“How long are you here for?”

“Not sure.” Matteo shrugs, running his hand through his hair. “That’s why I brought the wife and kids.”

The wife thing briefly took Roman off guard, but the kids thing especially surprises him. Not that Matteo is even remotely close to being someone he’s close with, it still stuns him a bit. Then again, most men around their age have a family of some sort by this point. So, it really shouldn’t be that much of a shock.

Matteo must catch on to Roman’s expression. “Three of them. Set of twin boys and a girl. Not exactly something I broadcast. Safety reasons and whatnot.” And that, Roman most definitely gets. Matteo looks down, an almost bitter scoff leaving his mouth. “We both know how they feel about us mixed breeds.”

Another thing they can relate on. In more than just the obvious way. Roman’s mother’s racist ass side of the family hated his father being Samoan but ‘accepted’ him, arranged the union solely because of who he was. Because of the Bloodline. But, Matteo’s Turkish father, an essential commoner, never stood a chance.

His mangled, tortured remains that were pulled from the bottom of a lake was an outcome that was always bound to come.

Roman shakes his head. “And you wonder why the fuck I don’t want to be around any of them?”

Matteo chuckles darkly. “Not at all.” He grabs a paper weight on Roman’s desk and starts tossing it up and down. “You should be lucky it’s me here and not someone else. Dwayne had to fight tooth and nail for them to select me to spy on you. As I’m sure you already know, yet probably don’t care about, there aren’t many on the Administration who are exactly…..fans of yours.”

“And they never will be.”

Matteo lifts his chin, calmly adding. “Of either of us.”

Silence.

It’s not uncomfortable. Not comfortable either. Just….silent.

Until Matteo places the paper weight back down and stands up, slowly walking over to Roman.

“Roman…..” Right away, the Tribal Chief knows he’s not about to like wherever this conversation is going. “I know….I know we’re not close for a lot reasons, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we are brothers—”

Yeah…..as always, he was right.

He doesn’t like this shit at all.

“We are nothing,” Roman snaps, practically growling, Matteo managing to tap into such deep rooted insecurities and so carefully tucked away traumas. “Sharing the same mother makes us biological siblings, but it does not make us brothers.”

For the briefest second, there’s something that flashes in Matteo’s brown eyes. Something akin to hurt. But, it’s quickly pushed away, shoved to the back of the bus. He lifts his head and instead takes a step closer.

“Whether you believe me or not, Roman. My loyalty is to you. You are the rightful capo. The Capo di tutti capi, and I will fight for and with you to the death.”

Roman says nothing, because he has nothing to say. Nothing he wants to say, at least. The statement lays heavy, joining the other pile of weights that have seemed to settle and make themselves comfortable in his head.

And his heart.

Matteo extends a hand, placing it on Roman’s shoulder, giving an almost comforting squeeze.

“You are mio fratello.” The word being repeated, however, is enough to make the Tribal Chief ready to resort to violence when Matteo, wisely steps back. “As I’m sure you’ve figured, while I’m here, I will need to be present for any and all meetings or discussions regarding the Cosa Nostra.”

Yes, Roman’s not a dumbass. Of course he has to. He needs something to report back to those bitches. It’s just how much of the actual truth will get relayed that he’s unsure about.

Roman continues to stand there, anger and twenty different other emotions boiling as the older man walks toward the door, readying to leave, but not without one final departing statement.

“See you tomorrow, brother.”

—-------

“Is it true he’s packing an almost 10inch dick?”

Solana nearly chokes on the water she was in the midst of downing at the most unexpected, wild, flabbergasting question she’s almost ever received.

And her expression of complete and utter shock is shared with the other two women who sit with her.

Cam is the first to speak though, instantly chiding the other woman, “Mickie!”

“What?” Mickie, however, doesn’t seem to see the issue. Pulling one leg up on the sofa, she shakes the bottle of nail polish and starts applying the pretty lilac color. “Remember my ex-friend Layla? She fucked him one time and said it was the biggest one she ever had. That he could barely fit it in.”

“Mickie, for the love of God, shut up.” Melina cuts in, her voice less shocked and more irritated. She motions to Solana with her free hand, the other one in Solana’s lap as she designs the butterflies for her. “That’s her husband.”

“Well, she has to know he’s a hoe. Or used to be?”

Cameron shakes her head, finishing up her own nail polish application to her short nails. “Seriously, Mickie, you’re out of line.”

“It’s okay.” Solana finally decides to make her two cents known as she caps the bottle and places it back on the sofa beside her. “I—I know he….he had a reputation.” That seems like the nicest way to say it, the nicest way to acknowledge that her husband has probably slept with more women than she’d like to ever know.

“That wasn’t an answer tho—ow!” Mickie winces when Melina punches her in the arm. “Bitch.”

Melina just chuckles, focus back on Solana as she jokes. “You see why we’re all here?”

It makes Solana smile.

To anyone else, the scene would be quite difficult to fully understand. Four young women chatting and joking amongst each other like they’re not all currently admitted and receiving treatment at a residential facility for women. They should be sad, moping, disconnected, unstable. And they have been all of those things, hence their current placement.

But, they’re also so much more than that. They’re human beings who hurt and feel like everyone else. They’ve just been hurt a lot more than some other people and have not responded or processed or even healed just yet.

Emphasis on yet. Another thing Solana has picked up in therapy.

“Did you guys do your assignment for Lilian?” Solana asks, partially wanting to redirect the focus from off herself and Roman’s…..anatomy, but also genuinely curious about their experiences completing the homework provided in group therapy.

Cam is the first to answer, shaking her head. “Yeah. It was…..not the best time.”

“Agreed,” Mickie chimes, shrugging her shoulders. “I mean, I tried to not be too depressing but ….considering I’ve tried to, as the kids say, unalive myself three times now, there wasn’t a lot to go off of.”

Solana winces. This is something she’s still getting a bit used to, if she ever fully will. How sometimes dark humor is so easily weaved into conversations. She’s seen and realized it’s a type of coping mechanism, but it’s still a bit difficult, nonetheless.

The assignment being discussed consisted of the ladies being tasked with coming up with at least 10 chapter titles to represent their lives. Five from the past and five for the future they hope to have. Solana can agree that the ones for the past were a bit challenging and definitely sad, but her future ones managed to feed that hope she’s determined to not lose this time around.

“I kind of cheated and used song titles for some of them,” Melina admits with a chuckle.

“I used songs for all of them,” Cam counters with a small, sly smile. Of the three women, Solana seems to relate closely to her. They’re the same age and have the same quiet disposition that’s only shed away ever so slightly once they become more comfortable.

Which, clearly, has already started to happen.

“Have ya’ll ever heard Mama’s Hand by Queen Naija?” Almost everyone says no or shakes their head to signify no being their answer. Melina goes on to explain, “it’s this really pretty song she wrote about her son. I used some of the lyrics for my titles for my son.”

Solana, who was just about to switch to a different skin marker to start on the next butterfly, pauses. “You have a son?”

Yes, they’ve all grown rather close over the past few weeks, starting with their simultaneous hospital stays to where they all now room only doors down from each other in residential treatment. However, Melina having a child is news to Solana.

She nods and pulls the arm back that Solana was drawing on to reach in her back pocket, pulling out a folded photo. Considering Melina only reaches it to her, Solana takes a guess that Mickie and Cam already knew. Makes sense.

A smile naturally falls on her face at the sight of the curly haired little boy playing in the sand.

Melina also smiles, though hers is clearly weighed down with sadness. “I took that just two months ago. We went to Isla Mujeres to go visit Santos aunt. She lives down there.”

“He’s beautiful, Melina. What’s his name?” The mention of the island also captures Solana’s attention. “Roman and I were just there not too long ago, actually. He took me for my birthday.”

“Santos. Go figure.” She rolls her eyes, as Solana giggles. She thinks it’s actually cute he was named after his father. “And really? It’s so beautiful.”

Breathtaking. “It is.”

“Thank you.” Melina’s smile deepens as she takes the photo and tucks it back into her pocket. “We had a good time there. It almost feels too nice to be unreal, huh?”

Solana nods. “My mom used to tell me about it all the time, which is why Roman took us. He bought us a house there, so we can go back and visit.”

“Damn, what’s it like being married to someone so rich?” Mickie almost moans, head thrown back for a second before she gasps. “Could we do like a girls trip there or something? You know, assuming we don’t all get locked up again on grippy sock trips for trying to kill ourselves.”

Cam rolls her eyes but admits, “outside of the suicide joke, that does sound kind of fun.”

“We can stay at your house,” Mickie suggests to Solana. “If Roman is okay with that, of course.”

Solana thinks about it. Something tells her he wouldn’t protest. Not if she really wanted it. He’d probably stay somewhere else, not wanting to be around a bunch of women, but she can’t see him saying no. Matter of fact, it kind of aligns with the idea she had brought up to Roman before the incident. An idea of a girls trip with Naomi and Bayley, who she still needs to talk to actually.

She hasn’t interacted with them since that night. And not for any reason other than wanting to make sure she’s emotionally ready for that, no doubt, heavy ass conversation.

There will definitely be a lot of tears.

“I could talk to him,” she finally answers, looking over at Melina. And she will. It could actually be really nice having all of her now friends together for a nice getaway trip. “You should bring your son too.”

Melina looks surprised by this. “Really?” She then looks down, chuckling sadly. “That’s if Santos trusts me enough.”

Given that their rooms are right next to each other, both here and at the hospital, Solana has found herself talking with and to Melina more than Mickie and even Cam. Melina is also Mexican, fluent in Spanish, which allows them to sometimes converse in the language only the two of them understand. But, in some of those conversations, they’ve gotten deep, which is why she’s slightly surprised this is the first time she’s hearing about a child.

Melina had disclosed a lot of her relationship with Santos Escobar. How they’ve known each since they were kids, shared some of their best and worst moments with each other, how he’s loved her through it all.

Solana can still remember the heartbreaking look in her teary eyes as she shared, ‘he just wants me to love myself as much as he loves me’. And Solana related to that so deeply. It made her think of Roman and how he could never love her back most likely but how the way he cares about her and takes care of her probably feels just as good.

She knows what it’s like to be with someone who thinks the world of you when you can barely find reasons to justify as to why you even exist.

They relate a lot in that regard.

It’s why Solana reaches a comforting hand and places it over Melina’s hand, voice soft but sure. “You’re gonna get better, Melina.” She looks over to Cam and Mickie. “We all are.”

There’s a comfortable silence among the group that is welcomed and moving. A silent agreement between women who were once strangers and now friends. Sisters, even.

Mickie caps the bottle of nail polish and carefully places her foot back on the ground while reaching for Solana’s water bottle, lifting it up as if giving a toast. “To mental stability and finding rich men with big dicks to spend the rest of our lives with!”

“Mickie!”

—-----------

“You’re quiet tonight.”

Solana’s soft voice manages to snatch Roman away from that sunken place in his head where he’s sat deep in his thoughts for a variety of reasons, largely all due to the unexpected things that have been thrown at him.

He’d tried his best to put all of that into his visit to Asylum where he continues to extract his gruesome vengeance against her family and rapists. And it did help. A little, but clearly not enough where he’s able to hide the fact that he has a lot on his mind.

“Come here.” Roman motions her over from where he sits propped up in the middle of her bed and she stands at the edge of the bed, notebook in hand. He watches the almost nervous way she places the book down on the bed and climbs over to him, Roman helping her straddle him. Kissing her exposed shoulder, he murmurs an apology into her soft skin. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes shut when she moves her hand to his hair, fingers almost massaging his scalp. “You want—do you want to talk about it?”

He can’t help but chuckle. The irony. “Isn’t that a bit counterproductive?”

She shakes her head, continuing to provide him soothing relief like nothing else can. “No. I—I told you before, you can talk to me too.”

It’s strange. If the situation was different, if he wasn’t still cautious regarding her mental health and the state of it, he might….he might take her up on it.

The Matteo situation though…..it’s complicated and layered and messy, and she doesn’t need any of that.

“I know.” Roman moves his hands to her hips. “But, I’m fine. Just a long ass day.”

Her eyes light with something. “Wasn’t your appointment today?” Shit. “How did it go? How’s your shoulder? What did he say about your blood pressure?”

Roman hates lying to Solana. He really does. She’s probably the only person in his life he’d prefer to not keep secrets from. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s been through more than enough shit to not deserve it.

But this…..he has to lie.

Roman can’t think of one good thing that’ll come from telling her the truth. Solana seems to be doing well at this place, gradually improving day by day. Laying this on her will only hinder that progress and make her freak the fuck out. He doesn’t want that for her.

He refuses to contribute to any type of regression.

Thus leaving him with only one option.

“It was fine, Sol.” To lie. “Shoulder’s practically healed. Numbers were fine. I’m good.”

That last part isn’t a lie, because Roman is determined this time around to actually do what Michaels said. To take his medication as he’s supposed to.

For Solana.

He owes her that much.

She sighs, clearly and visibly relieved. “Good.” Roman feels like shit lying to her, but it’s for her own good. “C–can I show you something then?”

“You can show me anything, Sol.” Anything to take them off this damn topic is more than welcomed.

He’s also reassured by the relieved smile on her face as she reaches back for her notebook, opening it, clearly looking for a certain page while talking. “One of the things I’ve been working on in therapy is goals. Like….setting goals for myself that are attainable and doable.”

“Okay.” Roman doesn't really know where she’s going, but right off the bat, whatever she needs might as well already be done. He’ll make it happen.

“I…..” She trails off, biting down on her bottom lip, most likely trying to figure out how to say it. “I made a list of things I want to do when I get home. Some….some sooner, and some later.” Handing him the notebook, he starts reading off her neat handwriting, slightly taken back by the first thing on the list.

Get back into training

“Solana…..”

Roman is not opposed to Solana continuing to train. He thinks she should. Believes it’s been good for her. He just doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that it’s the number one thing on her list. Her mental strength, in his mind, should be the priority.

She must detect and pick up on his hesitancy, eyes traveling to meet his. “He tried to take my life, Roman.” She cuts him off, her voice much lower and quieter than before. “In….in more than one way.” Roman can tell there’s another story there, but he won’t push it. Just keep it in mind the next time he’s hacking into her piece of shit father’s body. “He told me that because—because he wanted to break me, but I won’t—” She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. “He didn’t. I’m not going to let him take away all the progress I’ve made. I know I—I regressed, but I am going to get better. I am better.”

He respects that. Respects her so immensely. It hasn’t been the easiest thing for Roman to see her go up and down as much as she has over the past month. She’s had her highs and her lows, the lows being so much heavier than most people’s.

And that’s just been for him. He can’t imagine how it’s been for her having to actually deal with all these things.

So, while a part of him wants her to just focus on her mental health, if she truly believes getting back into training will help aid that. He’ll support it.

“Okay.”

She smiles, adding on, “did you—did you find a man for me to train with?” He did. In fact. He just hadn’t thought she’d want to jump right back into that either. “Also, I—I wanna learn how you do that thing you do.”

It’s the way she words it, the almost nervousness in her voice that makes him smile a bit. “Thing?”

She nods, shifting a bit on top of him. “You did it at WarGames. When you like…..ram into people. You knocked out whoever that was unconscious with one hit.”

It’s the added sentence that makes him realize what she’s referring to. “A spear?” And Solana nodding only widens his smile. Her innocence at the whole thing is adorable. “Baby, who you trying to spear?”

She shrugs, pushing some of hair back, cheeks reddening. “I don’t know. It just….it just seems effective.”

“It is.” When done correctly and done with proper training. It’d take her a while to get there, but if it’s what she wants, he’ll support it. “If you really want to learn though, I’ll teach you.”

Her smile is genuine and appreciative. Roman stealing a second to take it in, take in her happiness in this moment before moving onto the next one.

Host welcome home party

At this second goal, Roman frowns, emitting a giggle from Solana. He looks up at her, clarifying, “does this mean you want people at the house?”

She playfully rolls her eyes. “Yes, Ro, I do.”

It was going so well. Training. He could get with. A bunch of people at his house though? Hell no. “Who exactly do you want to invite?”

“Jimmy, Jey, Naomi, Bayley, Melina—”

“Who the hell is Melina?” So far, there’s not a person listed that he’s in agreement with. “Baby, you know I hate people—”

“I know, but…..” She moves her hand to the bottom of his shirt, crumpling it while trying to plead her case. “They’re our friends….our….our family, and that….that means a lot to me.” Fuck. She’s too good at that shit. Tugging at his heartstrings. “Gail has been teaching me a lot about trauma and how it works. How connection is the way to heal. And that….that makes sense because you have been the biggest part of my healing, my connection with you, my—my love for you.”

Roman closes his eyes. Of course. Of course she would drop that word on him. The love word. The word that he can never voice to her and about her but feels with everything in him.

Taking in her heartfelt words, he nods, slowly. “Okay. Just…tell me when you want to do it and what you need. We’ll make it happen.” Thinking about something else, something important, he stipulates. “Jey’s not bringing them bad ass kids though. Or Nicki.”

Solana rolls her eyes again. “Ro…..”

“Solana, I’m not about to have those failed Plan B’s destroy our house. And Nicki is a fucking arsonist. She’ll burn the place down.”

His wife pouting almost as she crosses her arms would make Roman chuckle if not for the fact he’s thinking about the last time Jey brought all his mistakes over to the property. Those little assholes caused over $50,000 in damages. Sure, it was of no financial consequence to him, but it was annoying as fuck to have to have people in his house doing the repairs.

But, of course, his sweet saint of a wife lives up to her reputation. “Roman, that’s mean. They’re just….they’re just kids.”

“No, they’re vermin.” And he means that with everything in him. But, the minute Solana leans over and lays her head on his shoulder, a soft, desperate ‘please?’ leaving her mouth, it’s a wrap.

Damn her persuasiveness.

Or maybe it’s just his lack of resolve that seems to disappear when it comes to her.

Sighing against her, he mutters, “you know I can’t say no to you.”

Solana giggles, hugging and kissing him on his cheek. Meanwhile, Roman makes a mental note to have a shit ton of them kid leashes and fire hydrants ordered ASAP.

Roman grunts as Solana murmurs a ‘thank you,’ and he moves onto the next one.

Get tattoos

This shifts the conversation a bit as he asks, “really?”

Nodding, she gestures to her inner right forearm where the colorful butterflies remain. Something she seems determined and focused to keep up. “I want to get the Hummingbird. For my mom.” She ghosts her fingers over her truly impressive artwork. “Butterflies. And….a semicolon.” Roman is grateful when she explains the last one on her own volition. “It’s….it’s for people who’ve survived depression and trauma and….and suicide.” She swallows, adding. “Something comes after a semicolon just like something comes after our darkness.” And before Roman can even comment on that, voice his agreement, she continues. “I want a lotus too. That’s for….for sexual assault.”

She doesn’t say anything beyond that, and he doesn’t push it. Just brings her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “Just tell me when.” He’ll reach out to his tattoo artist and get her scheduled the same day if that’s what she wants. Whatever she needs.

Solana smiles, licking her lips. “I—I want one for you too. I just—haven’t figured out what exactly.”

She’s just full of surprises tonight. He understands all of the desired tattoos that she’s listed thus far. They all have such deep, profound meanings, so for him to be included in that list feels almost wrong. For her to want to put something permanent on her body for him seems wrong. “Solana, you don’t—”

“But, I want to.”

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. Everything else she described was fine and made sense, but this one is a struggle for him. Regardless, he doesn’t push it further. Doesn’t question her.

He just continues to read through the list, the rest, for the most part, presenting no major issue. Things like continuing to work on her confidence, going back to Isla Mujeres, taking up pole dancing (he definitely wants the backstory on that as well as see if it can be moved up the list), moving all of her journals and books into the home library, etc.

However, Roman is a bit confused when he reaches the last numbered item that’s written in Spanish. She knows he doesn’t speak or understand practically any of it.

10) un bebe o una bebe

His confusion is evident, and it grows slightly when Solana almost gently takes the notebook from him and carefully places it on the bed beside them. She swallows, eyes focused on him as she moves her arms around his neck. “Roman…..I….”

Seeing her trepidation, he moves his hands to her hips, holding her. “Solana, talk to me.”

The reassurance seems to help, as she nods and blows out a deep breath. “Just…..promise me you’ll think about it before you give me an answer?”

This, however, doesn’t help him much. It only makes his curiosity grow at just what she’s talking about. Still, he won’t deny her request. “Okay.”

She moves even closer, gaze falling down to her lap. “When…..when I get better and….and more stable, I—” She lifts her eyes, voice steady and soft. “I want to have a baby, Roman.” Fuck. “I want us to have a baby. I—I want to be a mom.”

Of all the things to come out of her mouth this evening, some more than surprising, this has to take the cake. It’s the last thing he expected to hear her say.

Ever.

“Solana….”

“We have to make an heir anyway. I know….I know you’ve been taking care of that for us, but—but we can’t take forever, and—I’m ready. I know I need to focus on my mental health, and I am. I will, but…..Roman, I really want to have a baby with you.” She adds on, almost desperate and needing him to have all of the information so he can make the best decision. “And I talked to Dr. Stratus. She said all of my medications are safe to take while pregnant. We might have to change something if I decide to breastfeed, but she said that won’t be a huge issue either.”

Well, shit. Roman finds himself asking in a low voice. “You already talked to someone about this?”

She nods, almost nervously. “I just—I needed to know what she and Gail thought. If….if I’m stable enough for it.”

“What they say?”

She looks down, chuckling a bit, eyes watering. “They think I’d be a good mom.”

There’s something almost sad about the way she seems almost surprised by this. Like she didn’t think she’d be good at it until receiving their approval.

When, in actuality, he thinks she’d be the best damn mom a kid could ask for. But, she’d have to be…..with him as the father.

Roman is not….he’s not built for that life. He doesn’t know or understand the first thing about kids other than they need and deserve all of the things he can’t and doesn’t know how to give. That’s why he’d have to lean so heavily on Solana, on her soft and gentle nature. And how would that be fair? To give her a child that she more or less would have to raise by herself because any overt involvement from him would probably increase the chances of the kid ending as fucked up as Roman is.

“You would, baby.” He finds himself agreeing, voice still low, gentle almost, even in the midst of such self-loathing thoughts. There’s so many things Solana is insecure and self-conscious about still, but this shouldn’t be one of them. “Amazing.”

The way her expression softens so deeply does something to him. “Really?” Her eyes watering is the icing on the cake as she grabs his hand, tracing the lines on his palm. “Y–you really mean that?”

He’s not sure he’s ever meant anything more. “Of course.”

Solana throws another curveball at him with the next soft admission to leave her mouth. “I think you’d be an amazing dad too.”

Fuck.

Keyword of the day it seems.

Because just what in the hell is he supposed to do with that? How does he tell her that she’s wrong as hell? That someone like him really has no business being anyone’s father. That he’d just fuck up any kid of theirs. That despite recurrent dreams he’s been having about this, about fatherhood, that Roman in the dreams has to be someone else.

Can’t and could never be him.

He’s good at a lot of things, maybe more than the average person, but that?

No.

Just…..no.

But what difference does all of this make when Solana is right about the fact that he has to have an heir. A child needs to be produced, whether he wants to or not, and this discussion is making him realize that while he’s spent his whole life feeling indifferent to fatherhood, the entrance of Solana, of having her be the mother to his kid, has thrown a wrench into everything.

He doesn’t know what the fuck to think now.

So, he expresses as such with as much carefulness as he can.

“I just…..I gotta think, Solana.” About more than just this. About everything. This day has been….a lot, to say the least.

“Of course.” She nods. And if she’s disappointed by his answer, she does a great job at not showing it. Roman welcomes her when she moves her body to lay on top of his, her face pressed against his chest. “I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

It’s a statement that stays with Roman for the rest of his visit, oscillates in the back of his head as he sits in the middle of the SUV while being driven home.

Everything feels like it’s all been happening at once, almost too fast, like the speed is something he’s somehow unable to keep up with. Newfound territory for the man who’s always prided himself at always being so in control.

But, he’s not.

He’s not in control of damn near all the things right now, his emotions, namely. And it’s fucking miserable.

His love for Solana that he can’t act on because he doesn’t know what the fuck that would even mean.

Not being able to help her to the extent she needs and not being there for her when she needed him the most. Not being there to stop her the night she tried to kill herself.

Not telling her the truth about her father and leaving her to find out in the most traumatic way.

Now there’s the matter of his health, his blood pressure that he once thought was insignificant, now a moderate to major issue.

Couple on the unexpected reintroduction of his mother’s firstborn re-entering his life.

And to top it all off, Solana wants to have a baby.

With him.

Fucking hell.

It’s not until mentally listing all of these things that Roman becomes aware of a tightness in his chest, a sensation he hasn’t felt in years. Not since….not since his last panic attack.

Fuck.

Realizing what’s about to happen, Roman rolls down the tinted windows and uses the passing, speeding cars as the source of distraction. He picks the color red and starts counting how many he sees, and when that’s not enough, he switches to cars vs SUV’s, mentally listing those off.

He continues to do that until that dastardly feeling entirely dissipates. But, it’s only when he rolls up the window that he punches the headrest in front of him.

This can’t happen again. Roman has too fucking much on his plate and stands to lose way too much. He can’t experience his own kind of regression. But, that’s exactly what’s happening. The thought of which allows him to acknowledge for the first time, in a long that, that he’s overwhelmed.

Roman feels overwhelmed.

It’s just too fucking much. His head is cloudy as shit, and he needs to just get away from it all.

Grabbing his phone, he puts Rikishi, Jimmy, and Jey in a group text and types out a message.

Roman: I’m going to see her this weekend.

Less than two minutes later, the phone dings with a reply.

Rikishi: I’ll make the arrangements.

Expecting that answer, he moves to the next part of his messages.

Roman: Jimmy, I need you and Naomi to keep Dulce for me. I’m gonna put you and Jey down as emergency contacts if something happens with Solana while I’m gone.

Roman: And if it’s not in regards to my wife, don’t fucking bother me.

Roman switches to his thread with Solana, uninterested in anything else anyone has to say right now. He just needs to communicate with Solana.

He can’t tell her the truth, of course, but he does need her to know he won’t be as readily available.

She deserves that much.

Roman: A work situation came up, so I have to go out of town this weekend. I’m going to leave Dulce with Jimmy and Naomi. If you need anything, call me, and I’ll come back home.

Roman places his phone on the seat beside him and tilts his head back, running his hand over his face.

Then his phone goes off.

Solana: Roman….

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t have to do that. I’m safe. I’m….I’m feeling happy again. Just focus on yourself. You have so much on your plate right now. I can tell. I wish you would talk to me, but I get it….

Solana: Just please take care of yourself. Be careful.

Roman reads over her texts at least three times, really honing in on the ‘I wish you would talk to me.”

He’s starting to wish he could too.

He really is.

Solana: I love you. ❤️

Another ding, and he swallows. It’s getting harder and harder to have her be so vulnerable with him and not be able to reciprocate that. It feels cruel to ignore her, to say nothing when she tells and gives him everything.

It’s why after going back and forth in his head for a good two minutes, he eventually says fuck it and sends out a simple but telling reply.

Roman: ❤️

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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consciouscarrot · 1 month ago

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flufftober day 2 - “i’ve got you,” [ rhysand ]

rhysand (acotar) x fem!reader (i do not support sjm)

content warnings; angsty fluff, hurt/comfort, aftermath of night terrors from sexual assault related trauma (rhysand), non sexual nakedness and bathing

note; no actual sexual assault or those memories in this, just vague mentions. be gentle with yourselves <3 i liked this one a lot :)

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

you were awoken by thrashing limbs, murmured pleas and heavy breathing. ever since under the mountain, this had become a routine for your lover- he never managed to go a night without waking up in a panic, plagued by memories and moments that could’ve been if amarantha still lived.

you rolled over towards him, assessing the situation before deciding it was safe to touch him. you’d learnt from previous experiences not to go straight to physical affection, as he was prone to forgetting where he was, and could sometimes get violent. rhysand still felt guilty about those times, but you continued to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, and that you should’ve been more careful.

gently placing a hand on his shoulder, a neutral place that wouldn’t have any sexual connotations if he were to wake up, you applied light pressure, knowing that he responded to this the best.

you muttered loving praises, begging him to wake up. you couldn’t bear the thought of him having to relive it all, wishing that he had never gone to that wretched place in order to protect you all.

suddenly, he shot up in bed, crying out in terror. his arms flailed as he tried to gain his bearings, tears falling down his reddened cheeks. his wide eyes landed on you, chest heaving as he whimpered your name.

you crawled over to him, letting him pull you into the safety of his lap. he wrapped his arms around you tightly, as if holding onto you was the only thing that could keep him breathing. you gently guided his head to rest against the top of your chest, and he breathed in your scent, beginning to calm down.

you continued to whisper to him, hoping the distractions and praise would help him. you were still learning how to navigate these types of situations, where he was so scared and traumatised from memories you were yet to learn about. you would always be patient with him, and would never push him to tell you anything he wasn’t ready to talk about yet, and he was eternally grateful. he had been half worried that you’d be disgusted by him on his return, trauma twisting the logical part of his brain into something else. he knew now that you could never think of him like that, he had started to unravel all of the lies of betrayal that amarantha had fed him about you, myths of you moving on and forgetting about him, about him not being worthy of you.

having finished crying, breaths steadier and hands beginning to loosen their grip on your back, he pulled his face back, looking up to you before pressing your foreheads together. you slowly lifted up your hands, not wanting to startle him out of his newfound calm, and softly wiped away his tears, brushing his hair out of his damp face.

you waited for his next move, wanting everything to be on his terms, and when he pulled back again, faces close enough for your breaths to mix with each others, you knew that the two of you were in for a long night. his lids drooped, exhausted but too scared to be able to sleep again. he hesitantly pressed a kiss onto the tip of your nose, before moving down to your soft lips. he held the kiss for a while, not moving, just light pressure and having eachother close.

“bath?” you asked quietly against his lips, knowing how he felt about cleanliness and that the warm water would help soothe his tense muscles. he nodded into you, retightening his hold on you and carrying you through to the bathroom. he let you pamper him, running the bath and pouring in lavender bath soak, before grabbing towels for the two of you afterward.

you approached him when the bath was ready, placing your hands on the waistband of his boxers, watching his reactions and waiting for him to give you permission to take them off. he nodded again, understandably not up to speaking yet. he observed as you pulled them down his thighs, maintaining eye contact the entire time. you gently grasped his ankle, encouraging him to step out of the fabric. when you stood up, he nudged your (his) sleep shirt, and only when you muttered your approval did he return the favour.

you helped eachother into the bath, and he refused to stray far from you, nuzzling his nose into your neck and holding your body close to his. the two of you stayed that way for a while, just enjoying each others company before eventually moving on to washing one another. he moaned when you washed his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp for longer than necessary. usually he wanted to be the one to take care of you, but this time he just closed his eyes and leant into you. maybe that would be a silver lining to all of this, that he’d let you look after him more.

you scooped water out of the bath, cupping a hand over his eyes to protect them before carefully rinsing his dark hair. rhysand looked so content like this, that if you couldn’t still see the tear stains on his cheeks, you could never have guessed what had been going on an hour ago. you applied conditioner to his hair, detangling it with your fingers delicately, trying your best not to pull on a knot and disturb his peace, before rinsing that out too.

you took your time washing his body, stopping to check in with him occasionally and ask permission to continue. you rubbed at any sore muscles, cleansing away all the sweat and tears. you couldn’t help but stare at him, you loved him with everything that you were, and you were so thankful that you’d gotten him back. you hadn’t been coping very well in the last fifty years without him, relying mostly on mor or azriel to keep yourself together. it still didn’t feel real sometimes, him being home, and you refused to ever take another moment with him for granted.

feeling your staring, he unhurriedly peeled open his eyes, finding you on the verge of tears.

“i love you,” you whispered to him, voice thick with emotion, thumbing tenderly at his hairline. his brows rose slightly in the middle, focus flitting from one of your eyes to the other.

he lifted a hand out the water, cupping your cheek as you lean into his touch, his other giving a squeeze to your waist.

“i love you too, darling,” he rasped, voice still hoarse from crying. his thumb stroked over your face, slowly up towards your eyebrow, brushing over the corner of your eye, before moving back down, feeling the softness of your skin beneath him.

you bend forward, kissing his lips again, long presses of love and care. you wished that you could spend the rest of your lives like this, close and gentle, loving and content, but the water was starting to cool, rhysand being too tired to magic it warm again, and you could feel his fingertips pruning against your cheek. you kissed him once more, more of a smushing of your faces together rather than anything more, but it was all you needed, and all you could really muster up the energy to do.

eventually, you both managed to make your way back to bed, slipping under the covers and intertwining your bodies together, arms wrapped around backs, heads resting in the crooks of each other’s necks and legs tangled together until you weren’t sure who’s limbs were who’s anymore.

you were glad that the two of you had decided on no clothes, happily laying against him and feeling so close. being like this, you weren’t really sure how you had managed when he was gone at all, and you know that you would give up anything just to feel like this forever. there was no feeling like being skin to skin with someone you love like this, nothing that you could possibly compare it to. everytime you were away from him, it’s like your whole body ached to be closer to him, even if he was just a couple of paces away. you could never really give something or someone your full attention if he was near, even if you tried your body just decided for you that he was the best place to be.

eyes slipping closed, you both began to drift back off to sleep, feeling safe and comforted in each others hold. you’d discuss it more in the morning, but for now you just wanted to live in your little bubble, at least until tomorrow night, when his nightmares came back to agonize him again.

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand fluff #acotar #rhysand acotar #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst to fluff #kinktober #kinktober 24 #flufftober #flufftober ‘24 #my work #my works

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shalotttower · 7 months ago

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To Make a Home Out of Bones

Title: To Make a Home Out of Bones

Fandom: BTD2 (Boyfriend to Death 2)

Characters: Ren Hana x Reader (female)

Summary: You were free. Free for real, and you couldn't believe that, staring at the open door. And then, by some twisted scenario, decided to keep him. It's tragic, really.

Word count: 2300+

Notes: yandere!Ren Hana, captivity (past Reader and finally in present not Reader :D) Reader is sensible though and there's nothing crazy going on on her part apart from the captivity scenario, mostly tired vibes/attempts to process what happened, unhealthy coping mechanisms, past torture, past manipulation, possessiveness, past dubious consent, past non-con, Reader doesn't know about Strade.

You don't talk. You never talk nowadays and it feels almost liberating, not having to converse. Ren doesn't look as intimidating as he used to. Maybe it's because of the collar, or maybe it's because he doesn't wear that damned jacket anymore, the one which seems to change his whole being into something unhinged and cheerfully vicious whenever he puts it on.

Is this what he felt, watching you tied to a pole?

No, hardly.

There was a very tangible sense of power in your captivity.

You, however, don't feel powerful at all.

You feel like an old tree: splinters, rotten wood, and bark waiting for the storm to come and snap the trunk in the middle.

Freedom is strangely anticlimactic.

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You don't know how long you've been here, stopped checking a wile ago because it didn't matter ─ to be dragged back from the basement on Wednesday or on Saturday. Days became a sequence of events, not dates, once you realized Ren planned to keep you indefinitely.

Have breakfast, tell him it was good. Do the laundry. Watch TV, let Ren cuddle up to you, ignore the presence of another in the same room. Smile every time he says something nice and expects to hear it back. Let your eyes glaze over during sex, try to remember what it felt like to have someone touch you without making you bleed. Wake up to a sleepy fox curled up on top of you. When Ren dreams his ears twitch.

It takes approximately five minutes for him to settle for sleep, tangled limbs and pointy nose buried in the crook of your neck, and he's surprisingly light for a grown man. With how tough Ren seems (or wants to), there's some sort of innate clinginess about him that contrasts so much with the image in your head: smiling through bloodied teeth while nailing your leg. At first you thought being nice was a way out of this, but kindness is a double-edged sword here: soon you realized how utterly you misjudged him ─ and how truly screwed you were.

Because Ren, while cooking you tasty meals for "being good" and letting you watch TV, likes kisses and hand-holding, and cute things. But Ren also likes the way you sob no less, and that's where the miscalculation happened. Being nice only guaranteed with some unsteady sense of security that he wouldn't kill you yet. That was all. He's sweet, snuggly, affectionate until he isn't, and no amount of good behavior or praise will stop him from breaking your fingers if he feels like it.

Your routine had been simple for months. Easy. Unbearable.

And now all the world which was limited to one single house for god knows how long expands again, but you don't really feel it, even after reaching the small front gate.

You could leave him there, you think. In the basement, and no one would ever know. Lose the key, never come back, just-

Not go back. And all of this will be behind you. You'll never have to see him again, never have to smile for him, never have to hear that shaky sound he makes when he cums, or witness his face turn from carefree to confused, and then to understanding, then to annoyed.

A death like this seems fitting for him. Cold concrete and silence; starvation is an awful, terrifying way to go. You noticed that Ren doesn't really like to be alone, and there's almost poetic justice in leaving him in the basement to slowly rot away.

Your fingers curl around the iron handle and with something akin to astonishment let go of it, then fall limply to your side. You're free, yet you stay rooted to the spot, because frankly speaking where does one go from here? Your rent must be long overdue, and your face is probably everywhere, plastered on missing person posters.

'Hey guys, I'm not missing anymore', you imagine saying to your co-workers, 'sorry for disappearing, I guess. Do you still need that Excel sheet done?'

Your employment contract had probably been terminated. The bank account should be fine, Ren took you right before the paycheck, and there's mom's house to crash at until everything goes back to normal, but that surely means cops getting involved, and lawyers, and media. Just the thought is exhausting.

'How did Mr Hana treat you? Were you intimate? Yes or no? Please, tell us more, miss. How do you feel? What about Mr Oleander, did you know him?'

The wind picks up, blowing leaves and ruffling your hair.

Ren will go to jail. Obviously — kidnapping and killing people equals prison time. The problem is that it doesn't bring you any kind of satisfaction. You don't want Ren here, but you also don't want him peacefully living his sentence while you pick up the pieces of your old life. There's no closure in that, but again...can there be any?

You sit down on the porch; cold wooden boards creak under your weight. Ren has a nice little suburban house.

What now? You have no fucking idea, just vague notions of an unclear future, and nothing substantial.

What now indeed.

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He fed you regularly, that's true; you stand at the basement door and watch him eat.

Ren allowed you free roaming within the house premises, an access to TV, books, hygiene products. Reading manga together felt almost domestic, yet...you keep him there. In the basement.

It's strange, seeing him like this, but he doesn't look surprised at the new turn of events, he looks almost resigned. A mirror of yourself in a sense, you think with a finger hovering over the button. Ren's ears are flattened, tail tucked between his legs, a submissive, harmless thing. You could let him out, allow him roam the house freely just the way he did. But you don't.

It sounds straight off foolish, and what's more important ─ scary. There're so many possibilities. That the remote won't work, that you'll be too slow to react, that he'll sneak into your room at night. Ren can be very quiet when he wants to. So you keep him there, and avoid him like plague unless necessary — feeding duty twice per day plus bathroom visits.

No chatter, minimal contact overall, but Ren starts talking anyways.

"You look tired," he says cautiously in between the bites.

He does it a lot, tries to gauge where you two stand every day or what's on your mind, and you suspect it's the result of past experiences, something that's hard to unlearn. Something connected with that body in the freezer. Upon finding it you initially assumed (not without a reason) that the corpse was his doing, but when Ren undressed before you for the first time, realized that it might not be entirely true.

The cuts, the burns, the marks and deep, jagged lines formed a familiar pattern. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into giving him those.

"I could make coffee. Or tea."

And that's another thing. He doesn't fight you, or attempt to lash out. Instead he makes those little offers here and there whenever you come down the stairs — dinner, help cleaning the dishes, washing clothes. He has been compliant and eager to please to the point of it being almost unnerving.

You don't reply, and that seems to bother him, judging by his expression. Understandable: silence is normally a bad omen, especially in situations such as this one.

"Are you going to-" he starts again, but you cut him off.

"Push the tray over."

Ren's ears twitch at the command and you briefly wonder if he expected something different to happen. The tray makes a metallic screech over the concrete floor, stopping right in front of your feet.

"Thank you," he says.

'Thank you for breakfast, thank you for lunch, thank you for dessert.' 'Thank you for the nail gun, thank you for holding my hand while I screamed, thank you for fucking me after.' You hate the words now, the way they used to roll off your tongue (thank you, Ren, thank you), because they never meant gratitude at all and felt bitter, like a moldy fruit.

Ren's eyes are trained on your face. There it is again: the strange uneasiness which settles in your chest whenever he stares with focus sharp enough to burn holes through flesh itself. His gaze travels lower to your arms exposed by rolled up hoodie sleeves. You had no clothes here except for cutsey underwear and pajamas which Ren insisted you wear, but those are long thrown away somewhere in the trash, so the only things available are his. There's also...other stuff you found in the locked bedroom on the second floor: cargo pants, combat boots, tank tops, all neatly folded. Far too big for you both.

"Is it mine?" Ren asks and leans forward.

"Is there a problem?" you ask back, then regret it.

Questions mean opening a door to unwanted dialogue. His cheeks turn a little pink.

"No. It looks good on you."

Your stomach churns in discomfort at the compliment and the carefully concealed delight Ren won't voice out loud, but drops indirectly from time to time. Not only this, but the familiarity, the implied "you're used to wearing my things by now" which, in essence, is true. It's either that or walking around naked. Ren must notice your reaction, because he quickly averts his eyes to the floor. Silence settles over the basement like a thick, heavy blanket of snow.

Stop feeding me with submissive bullshit, you want to say. I know what you'd do if not for the collar, I've seen it from the first row. Stop pretending to be harmless when we both know you aren't.

Ren fiddles with the hem of his shirt. The change is so drastic. He was a little scary at first when you met, then downright terrifying, and now...now he's just a whole another person.

You pick up the tray without a word and leave. Ren's ears droop once he realizes the conversation for today ended before it even started. But there will be tomorrow. And the next one after, and the next one, and the next one. He'll keep trying to talk, and you'll keep ignoring him until he finally stops.

You don't know what to do with him. You don't know what to do with yourself either.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

There's no distance wide or far enough to allow you proper sleep. You toss and turn under the covers despite exhaustion pulling at your eyelids and eventually settle for a late night movie or two. Ren's DVD collection is...well, to put it bluntly, weird for someone like him. Cheesy and romantic movies take around thirty percent of his library, while the remaining seventy is filled with horror flicks and anime. You go through the titles: Sailor Moon, Cardcaptor Sakura, Tokyo Mew Mew. Some of those you watched together, curled up on the sofa, others Ren had recommended enthusiastically whenever he caught your glances.

'It's really good! I think you'd like it.'

'This is my favorite.'

He remembered the details about each series, all the names, plot twists. A die-hard fan to the point you wondered why didn't he try cosplaying himself instead of dressing you up. He'd pass as some sort of a fox/cat character easily. Maybe he did cosplay before, who knows? It wouldn't surprise you.

The clock ticks 2 AM. Your mind goes back to the basement door and what lays behind it.

Ren knows that you sleep terribly. You know he does too ─ that's one more trait you two share except for the scars.

You click on the first episode of "Arcane Moon Whispers". The opening plays through the old speakers — happy, cheerful music; you wonder if he can hear it downstairs. The basement is soundproofed, but Ren has sharp hearing. It became clear early on, in the way his ears would twitch towards the noise of your footsteps when you still wore the collar.

The plot unfolds in front of your eyes: a magical team fighting evil with the power of friendship, love, and hope.

'They have an entire arc dedicated to time travel,' Ren explained while showing you the box sets, 'it gets a bit confusing halfway through but it's fun!'

It's been three weeks now. Three weeks since your freedom began and yet Ren lingers in your head as strongly as ever, like a ghost haunting your dreams and waking hours alike. It's frustrating to say the least: having him locked away yet seeing him everywhere — in the kitchen cabinets full of sweets he likes, in the bookshelf full of manga he read out loud sometimes until you couldn't bear it anymore and had to tune his voice out, and in the drawer you pull open every morning.

Ren is like a stain.

It makes you sick, actually. It makes your chest ache with something that feels dangerously close to guilt but can't be it. You're not guilty for what you've done, keeping him there is reasonable, understandable, and Ren...he deserves everything after what he put you through first.

You tried so hard to be nice to him.

You were nice.

But nice isn't enough when someone wants you hurt. Isn't enough to stop a knife. Nice is a useless commodity.

A few more episodes later you're still wide awake.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #btd2 #btd2 fanfiction #ren hana #ren hana x reader #I wanted to make it longer #it was longer in fact #but I really disliked the way the rest turned out #dislike is a weak word tbh lol #freaking hated it #so after like three days of trying to write an ending and deleting stuff #just gonna post it like this

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latenightdaydreams · 5 months ago

Note

Hi!

What about a pervert!König that finds a tiny!reader? Like small. Doll size? But König is sexually attracted to her and wants to keep her as a little toy? AHHHH sorry if it’s dark I just can’t stop thinking about it🤦🏾‍♀️

I love your writing! Thank you💛

Thank you!!💖

König x Doll Sized!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, power difference, masturbation, voyeurism, confinement, non-con.

1.6k word count

Once König retired, he purchased land in the countryside of Austria. His new goal in life is to live a life of peace and comfort. Near his home, there is a small stream next to a field of colorful wildflowers. It’s like a little slice of heaven on earth; especially when he found you.

König found you walking in the field. He nearly stepped on you the first time. You’re tiny, like a living Barbie doll. After a few visits, you trusted him, coming closer to him to talk to him. You show off your little crafts that you make with what nature gives you.

You’re precious and have become somewhat of an obsession for König. Every day, you’re the first thought on his mind. To hear your tiny voice, see your eyes sparkle, just to be in your presence is a gift.

Today he packs a bag with doll clothes he recently purchased for you, a few sweets that you always request and lunch to share with you. This is his daily routine, eventually hoping to get you to trust him enough to willingly enter his home.

König arrives at the field and sits, opening up a picnic blanket before setting things out. In no time, you show up. The giant man stares down at you with a cheerful smile, moving over on the blanket to make room for you.

“Hallo, y/n!” König can’t control his excitement with you. “How have you been since I saw you last?”

“König!” You return the warm smile. “I’ve been well. How about you?”

His eyes travel up and down your body as you were a purple doll dress he gave to you yesterday. You’re so tiny, yet so curvy. He fantasizes about what you would look like with no clothes on nearly every second of every day. Do you look like a human woman?

“Well…” His gaze lingers. “I went shopping for you again.”

“You’re so sweet.” You smile while watching him dig through his bag.

König turns to you, holding a doll's bikini and another dress, but pink this time. You squeal with excitement as König hands them to you. He studies you, wishing you’d try them on in front of him.

“Do you like them?” He asks while handing you the bag of sweets.

“I do!” You pivot your attention to the sweets, tiptoeing to peer into the bag.”

“Can I show you photos of something I’ve been working on for you?” König asks while taking his phone out.

“Yes!”

He opens his photo app to show you photos of a dollhouse that has been transformed to look like a modern, cozy home. König has been working hard to make it a lure to get you interested in a visit. As you look at the photos, he watches your face closely, trying to read your reaction.

“You did this? For me?” You gaze up in awe at your kind giant friend.

“All for you. For whenever you want to visit, you can have your own space to not feel overwhelmed.” He says so innocently.

“Wow…I would love to see it sometime.” You gaze at the image of the small closet with clothes he’s picked out for you. “All that’s for me?”

“Well, you are the only Fae I know.” He chuckles.

“Fae?”

“Like… tiny person. Not exactly human. It’s a compliment. They’re beautiful, just like you.”

A small blush appears on your face when he calls you beautiful. He’s your first human interaction. For centuries, you’ve been told to avoid them, but König has shown you that not all humans are the same.

König lets the silence linger in the air for a brief moment before testing the waters once more. “Like I said, anytime you want to come over. I’d be happy to have you.” And he means have.

You look around at the flowers before turning back up to him. “I’d like to go now. For a short while.”

König’s eyes light up. He tries to suppress his excitement to not scare you off. With haste, he packs up his bag again. One of his large hands opens up on the blanket. “I can carry you since it would be a long walk for you.”

There is a look of hesitation in your eyes as you gaze down at his large calloused hand.

“I promise, I won't drop or squeeze you.”

With his promise, you sit in his palm. The feeling of your warm miniature body resting on his palm felt…his mind began to wonder what you would feel like sitting on other parts of him. Once you are comfortable, he stands, pulling the blanket up too.

Each step is taken with the utmost care to make sure he doesn’t trip and drop you. You look down from over his fingers and feel nervous being so high up. König’s heart is thumping in his chest at the thought of finally capturing you. Months of getting close to you have all paid off.

Inside his home, it feels massive to you. He closes and locks the door behind him, the latch making a loud clicking sound. “This is my home.” König speaks softly as he walks you around the first floor before bringing you upstairs.

“This is my office,” he opens the first door for you to look into, “then right over here is the bathroom.” König stalls in each room to let you look around. He watches as you look around in wonder.

There is one more door at the end of the hall that he opens. “This is my bedroom.” It’s simple but neatly organized. König isn’t a very materialistic man and it shows. He walks into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. You can hear the sound of the lock again, but think nothing of it. He walks to his bed and places you on it.

The soft surface under you is comfortable as you let yourself fall back onto it. A laugh comes from König as he watches you enjoy his bed. “This bed is so comfortable.”

“Then you’ll love yours.” König holds his hand out to grab you. Once you sit back down on his palm, he turns, opening his closet door. The closet looks more like a small bedroom, even complete with natural lighting. You look around, eyes falling to where the doll house sits in the corner. Slowly and gently, he sets his hands on the floor for you to get out and walk to it.

König stands back up and closes the door behind him as you rush to the dollhouse and explore it all. You run up to your own bedroom and look into the closet at all the clothes. “Why don’t you try some on?”

Without a second thought, you strip from your purple dress exposing your body to König for the first time. König would feel his cock instantly harden. You look beautiful, exactly like a woman. As your attention is focused on picking out an outfit, König shoves one hand into his pants and leans back against the wall. He grabs his cock and strokes it as his eyes are glued to your breasts bouncing and ass shaking. What does your pussy look like? Taste like?

You hear a loud huff coming from behind you. Slowly turning around to see König in the corner masturbating to you. You rush to put your dress back on, but he steps forward.

“Nein, stay like this.” His voice is shaky from pleasure.

König can sense that you’re uncomfortable. He kneels down and undoes his pants, quickly pulling out his cock. His other hand reaches out to try and touch you, but you recoil.

“Don’t make me get the jar.” König’s voice deepens.

A shiver runs down your spine. The jar? You look at him and realize he is exactly like every other human. All the stories about their perversions are true.

König watches as you just gaze up at him with an untrusting look. His breathing gets heavier as he looks at you. “Lay on the bed.”

You stand for a while before deciding to comply, his eyes following you like a hungry dog. As you lay down, he looks over your body with an intense gaze. “Touch yourself.”

For a moment you think about it, maybe if you just play along, he’ll let you free and then you can just hide from him forever again. You spread your legs open and begin to circle your clit. König watches in awe as his moans get louder.

Your body is perfect. If you were human, you'd be his perfect woman. He wants to run his tongue all over your body, touch every inch, but that can wait. For now, he will accept this...for now it's enough.

“Y/n.” He whispers before he sits up and cums on you.

Thick warm globs of sticky whiteness fall on your stomach and breasts, also scattering along the floor and bed. The smell overwhelms you, it’s repulsive. König looks at the mess he’s made and it only arouses him further. You look gorgeous soaked in cum.

König stands up and puts himself back in his pants, leaving you in there for a moment. He comes back with a towel and begins to clean the floor around you. “Clean yourself with the blanket, I’ll wash it.”

You comply and clean up, getting dressed again in your purple dress. Acting as calm as possible you smile up at König. “This house is beautiful, thank you again. I think I’d like to go home now.”

“This is your home.”

“No—”

“Ja, es ist.”

Your stomach churns. “König.” You say in a pleading tone.

He stares down at you with a serious glare. Without a word, he slowly stands up and turns away, walking out of the closest and leaving you trapped within.

Part 2

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mythos-writes · 2 years ago

Text

My Ferrari

Toto Wolff x Ferrari principal (wife) reader

Plot: Toto and his wife use the grid as ponds in their plans to mess with each other... inspired by @pucksandpower Social Media AU cause I think it's so cute

Formula 1 Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: fluffy moments, Lewis and Charles getting 'kidnapped', google translated german + italian,

Lewis was walking by the Ferarri paddock, minding his business and preparing for free practice. His music playing in his AirPods, when he heard a voice trying to get his attention.

“Lewis!” a voice gets his attention. He takes out a bud and looks around. He sees (Y/N) Wolff running up to him.

“Hey, (Y/N), what can I do for you?” He asks, still clueless about her plans.

“I want to play with Toto a little, and I need your help,” she explains but keeps it vague.

“Ok, with what?” he asks, not noticing Charles and Carlos coming up behind him.

“GET HIM!” she yells. Lewis feels arms around him, and him leaving the ground. “What are you going?!” he says, trying to not giggle because he knows he won’t get hurt.

“You are going to be my ransom against your famous principal,” She says with a smile. They take him into the garage and to (Y/N)’s office. They place him on a folding chair and tie him up in some take they had found in the garage.

All Lewis could do is give (Y/N) a ‘why do you have to drag me into this’ look. Once the two drivers finished tapping up the other driver, they were giggling like toddlers getting a pass for bad behaviour. “Thanks’ you two, you guys are good to go,” she tells her drivers.

“(Y/N) what is all this for?” Lewis questions, knowing she couldn’t hide things from him. [Things that were non-racing related]

“I know your season hasn’t been the best, and I just wanted to have some fun. Even though we’re rivals, we’re also family and it hurts seeing Toto come off a race and just look frustrated and sad. So I’m trying to just have some fun,” she tells.

“ I appreciate that you’re trying to cheer him up…BUT… why do you have to drag me into this?” he questions, pulling at the tap a little.

“Oh, because you’re his golden child, and it would be easier to get Carlos and Charles to carry you than George,” she says while pulling her phone out. “And don’t worry, you’ll be out of the tap, just as soon as I get a picture, to send to Toto,” she states while getting a few pictures.

"Perfect, now I'm going to take the tap off, but you can't return to the Mercedes paddock just yet," she states. Lewis moves to the couch and lays out. "Yeah, I figured as much."

Toto was walking around the Paddock, looking for Lewis. He wasn’t in his driver's room, and he wasn’t with Roscoe, cause Angela took the pup on his paddock walk. He asked George and the other team members but hadn’t seen him. His phone pings, as he gets a series of texts. He sees his wife's name pop up and he feels a smile grow. But when he opens the texts, he tries not to laugh.

He is greeted with a photo of Lewis tied up with a nervous face on. The text that followed almost made him laugh...

Toto, I have in my possession I have your precious 7-time champion. If you want him back before free practice, you must meet my demands. If you bring yourself and some food from your catering to your dear wife. Then you’ll leave with your precious driver. If not met, Lewis will become a Ferarri driver

Toto looks up and he see’s Goerge talking to Alex Albon just outside of the paddock. He waived the two over.

“What can we do for you boos man?” Alex asks.

“Well you two, I had a job for you…”

Charles was getting ready for the practice and he was doing his normal pre-race routine. Because of this, he didn’t hear George or Alex sneak up behind him. George grabbed his hands and Alex grabbed his legs, and they started to carry him off to the Mercedes paddock.

“What are you two doing?!” Charles asks, he is confused about why he is being dragged into this. Before they could answer, Ted Kravitz spotted the ‘kidnapping’ of Charles Leclerc.

“We have just spotted Alex Albon and George Russell carrying Ferarri’s Charles Leclerc. George what is going on here?” he asks.

“We’re just working orders by the boss,” he replies as they walk into the garage.

By now, (Y/N) had untapped Lewis, and he was just chilling out in her office. Her phone pinged, notifying her that she had gotten a text. When she opened it, she was shocked to be greeted by a picture of Charles, tapped up just like how they had Lewis. A text followed the picture that read…

Two can play this game, Liebe. If you want your driver back, I suggest we make a truce and do a driver swap on neutral ground… in front of the McLaren paddock in 20 minutes. If you can’t meet these requirements, Charles will become the newest Mercedes driver this weekend... Also, bring some of Ferarri's catering coffee, you know how I like my coffee

She showed Lewis the texts, and he just started giggling at Charles's face. The two looked at each other, knowing the fun and games were coming to an end.

“Well, it looks like we need to stop at the coffee booth before we meet my dearest husband,” (Y/N) comments before getting ready to meet the Meracdes principal.

The end of the 20 minutes was closely approaching, and by now, the whole grid and paddocks knew what was happening between the two teams. So when they saw Toto standing with George and Charles, at one end, outside of the entrance of McLaren’s paddock. The other racers and team principals were standing outside, waiting for the Ferarri principal and the famous Mercedes driver.

“There they are,” someone yells out. Everyone looked up and saw the people of the hour come walking over, with a minute to spare. (Y/N), Carlos and Lewis stop and face off with Toto, George and Charles.

“Do you have what I asked for?” she yells across, they’re about 2 meters apart. Toto raised a bag, that was filled with her favourites from catering.

“And you?” he questions. She holds up the cup of coffee, made how he likes it. He walks closer, signalling she walks towards him. They meet in the middle and hand off their trades.

“Pleasure doing business with you, amore,” she says with a smile. Toto rolls his eyes, but he found this whole thing amusing. He brought her into a hug, causing the grid to burst out into comedic cheers.

“Come find me before heading back to the hotel,” he whispers in her ear. She nods.

“Does this mean we can go back to our teams now?!” Lewis yells. The two laugh at the driver’s antics.

“Yes, you can go back Lewis,” she says as the two drivers swap back to their right teams.

“May the best team win,” he says with his cheeky smile. “May the best team win,” she replies with the same smile. The FIA marshals come by and dismiss everyone, as free practice was about to start.

After free practice and they had their debriefs, (Y/N) made her way to the Mercedes paddock. She was ready for the qualifying race tomorrow. She notified some of the Mercedes crew to let Toto know that she was there. As she waited for him, she ended up finishing some last-minute emails on her phone.

“ Geez, and they call me a workaholic,” Toto’s voice breaks her concentration. She looked up to see him walking towards her. (Y/N) put her phone away and greeted him with a hug. Both teams performed well in practice and had a bright weekend.

“Come on, we have a long day tomorrow,” she says, just wanting to get room service and get some well-needed cuddles. They get into the car and made their way back to the hotel. It was quiet for most of the drive.

“So about the antic you pulled,” Toto broke the silence. She looked over at him in the driver's seat. “That was quite the start of the weekend,” he says, trying to stay stoic.

“Well, I know that this season hasn’t been the one you were expecting, and I hated coming home and seeing you so disappointed and frustrated. So, I decided to have a little fun,” she explains herself. Toto brought his hand to her lap and wrapped his large hand around her smaller one. He brought her hand up to his mouth and placed a soft kiss against the back of her hand.

“I appreciate that Liebe, and I must say, I did have fun today,” he says, remembering the way he recruited drivers to do his bidding. She smiles and returned the kiss he just placed on her hand.

“I’m glad that my plan worked,” she replies. Silence fell between the two, but it was a peaceful and comfortable silence.

“The next time you plan to kidnap one of my drivers again, I’m just going to steal you and have Charles and Carlos come to rescue you,” he comments, causing her to erupt into laughter. Their relationship had its ups and downs, but right now it was the perfect relationship anyone could dream of.

~~~~~~~~~

google translate:

German: Love- Liebe

Italian: My Love- amore

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #toto wolff x you #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #mercedes f1 #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell #george russell x reader #chalres leclerc #carlos sainz fanfic #charles leclerc x reader

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peaches-cs · 5 months ago

Text

Expresso(John Soap MacTavish x Reader)

Summary: Johnny will be the first to admit that after years in the military he has a few screws loose. Or it might’ve been because of the bullet wound he took to the head. Sure he knows what he’s doing isn’t healthy. Call it obsession and delusion if you will. But, now he’ll do anything just to spend another second in your company. You belongs to him, you just don’t know it yet.

Warnings: John Soap MacTavish x reader, 18 +, Dark mature themes, unhealthy relationships, gore, violence, eventual smut(may have Non-Con), Dub-Con, kidnapping, stalking, creepy behaviors, death, F.Reader, Café AU but dark and twisted

Part 1

It wasn’t until recently Johnny has discovered just how challenging readjusting to civilian life would be. Of course such a drastic change would be difficult for anyone. Especially since he wasn’t supposed to be discharged so early. It was unexpected. The man is antsy. He hates sitting still, as he’s been forced to do since he took a bullet to the head. Between neurology appointments and physical therapy he’s been bound to his apartment for months. There’s an itch in his skin, the need to have some kind of busy routine to get through the endless bland and boring days of spring. His mum even came to visit him, helped take care of him after he acutely lost his ability to walk properly and speak in clear sentences. Even his memory was affected for a while.

Eventually his doctor gave him the okay to try finding employment. He’s gotten most of his functions back up to par, but sometimes he gets nasty migraines that make him want to vomit. As soon as he returned home from that same appointment, he grabbed his lap top and plopped down on his couch to begin job hunting.

It sounds perfect. Something to fill that empty void in his life even though he gets enough money due to military benefits and disability to let him live without a job. Being a Sergeant paid comfortably too. So, money is not truly a problem. After an hour of lazily searching with a glass of whiskey in his hand through different positions of different opportunities, he doesn’t find any that sounds appealing.

Johnny groans and sets aside his lap top, stretching his arms above his head before standing up. He scratches his stomach while walking lazily to the fridge. After tugging open the door, he narrows his eyes and huffs in annoyance at the emptiness inside of it. Time to go shopping.

After pulling on jeans and a basic black Tee, he takes the elevator down to the lobby of his apartment complex and exits the building. Swinging his set of keys around his index finger, he strolls down the sidewalk. He slows after spotting a quaint little café up ahead. He always passes it on his way to the shop. Except this time the now hiring sign catches his eye. Now that he’s retired from the military permanently, the man’s got a hell of a lot of time on his hands. So, he opens the door and enters, looking around curiously.

He strolls into the homey little building and is instantly hit with the smell of chocolate mixed with coffee. It’s cozy and warm, with windows that look out into the city and green plants in pots seated by them. The lights glow a warm yellow and the walls are painted a medium dark brown. It’s not busy, as expected due to the time of day being late morning. The early rush has clearly dissipated.

What really captures his attention is the lass behind the counter, busying herself with cleaning the counters in the coffee making area. When she hears him come in due to the bell at the top of the door, she turns around and meets his gaze with a smile that has his skin slightly flushing. She’s a pretty thing dressed in a black apron. He keeps his eyes on her face. Hell, he deserves a medal for not looking…lower.

“Can I help you, sir?” She asks in a sweet voice, using one of those higher pitched customer service tones. He gives her a lopsided grin and nods his head. Oh she could help him in a lot of ways, he thinks as he finally gives in and lets his eyes briefly flicker over her figure. The way the apron is tied around her accentuates her waist, tits, and hips. Such a bonnie thing she is.

Call it rash or dumb, Johnnys never been good at planning ahead- or thinking with his brain rather than his dick. Especially when cute little lassies like her are involved. She seals his decision in an instant when she looks at him with her pretty eyes. He points his thumb in the direction of the help wanted sign on the window.

“Aye, I’m interested in applyin for a job”

——————

Today was a usual day. Nothing special, nothing grand, morning rush was awful as always, and then you have class later after work. You hum to yourself as you clean up any spilt coffee beans or creamer by the machines. Finally, you get some peace now that the busiest time of day has passed.

Sadie, the old lady who owns this café and lives in an upstairs apartment above the restaurant, has trusted you to run pretty much everything by yourself. Well, you and Aiden whose a coworker of yours that became your friend that’s off today. You’ve been working for Sadie since…well your beginning year of college. Now you’re a senior, about to finish the spring semester.

Since her daughters and sons moved away, Sadie’s been alone. When you waltzed into her café, nearly begging for a job she took you in a heartbeat. She’s like a grandmother to both you and Aiden. However, you can never be here all the time and neither can Aiden, so you told her that it would be best to get another employee on board to handle things. Thus, this has resulted in a little help wanted sign being placed in the window of the café.

What was supposed to be a normal shift takes a turn when a nearly six foot hulking man built with bulky muscle and adorning an overgrown Mohawk saunters into the café. You’re not blind, he’s clearly attractive in a boyish yet gruff way. Some scars on his chin are visible. He’s got tan skin and beautiful blue eyes. He seems older than you. While you’re twenty two, he looks to be somewhere between late twenties, possibly thirty.

“Can I help you, sir?” You ask as he approaches the counter and you set down the cleaning supplies you were using. He gives you a playful smirk, one that gets your heart fluttering a bit. You stand in front of the register and get prepared to take his order.

“Aye, I’m interested in applyin for a job, '' He replies, scottish accent strong in his voice. You yourself have an American accent since you grew up in the states before deciding to move here to the United Kingdom. His words shock you for a moment, your lips pat in surprise.

“Oh! Got it, let me go grab the application paper for you to fill out” You give him a grin, relieved that someone actually decided to show interest for the barista position. Anyone would literally do. You’ve been waiting for the day someone came to apply and finally you’d get some extra help around the cafe. “I’ll have you fill this out and then I’ll just have a small interview to conduct after I give it a read” You tell him while snatching an application form off of the wall that’s clipped to a clipboard. After getting a pen from your breast pocket, you hand it to him.

Your fingers brush his for a moment when you pass him the pen and application. Something slightly uneasy though stirs in your stomach when his hand lingers against yours a little too long. You gently pull away.

“Yev got it lass” He responds and tucks the clipboard underneath his arm, holding the pen in that same hand. With his free arm, he extends it to you. The pure muscle rippling from underneath his tight shirt that stretches across his broad chest is crazy. “The names Johnny by the way, pretty lil place yeh got here” He greets. You place your hand in his and he shakes it gently, making you feel the rough calluses and collection of scars on his skin. His gaze flickers from your face down to where your hands connect.

“Oh it’s all thanks to Sadie, she owns this place not me” You explain while letting go of his hand. Your elbows rest on the counter as you stare up at Johnny, leaning over the counter slightly.

“Where is she at?” He asks while glancing around the empty café, running a hand through his Mohawk as he does so.

“Sadie’s at a doctor's appointment, I fear she is getting older” You sigh softly and glance at the ceiling where you know her apartment is above. You’ve been up there countless times to help Sadie with little things such as errands and carrying groceries.

“Ah, makes sense. Will I need to win her approval to get hired? Does she take bribes?” He jokes with a goofy smile that makes you giggle softly and shake your head. Your shoulders relax a bit.

“The only one you need to impress is me….and yes I do take bribes” You smirk slightly before turning around to finish cleaning up some things, your back facing him as he chuckles at your comment. “Have you ever worked as a barista before?” You ask while placing a new garbage bag over one of the cans hidden under the counter. A man like him coming to work at a tiny little café? He is the least likely person you’d expect to be interested in a job at a cozy hole in the wall like this.

“Oi has the interview process already started? I haven’t even filled out the application” He has a playful whine in his tone. You place your hands on your hips as you turn to face him.

“I lied, It truly started the moment you walked in and asked to apply” You tease.

“Well…ah suppose I’ve never been a barista in meh life, nor have ah worked in a café” He says as he glances down at the application, twirling the pen in his opposite hand as he holds the clipboard in the other. He glances up at you, eyes finding yours as he grins with his perfect white teeth. “But, I’m a very quick and…efficient learner lassie” He says that last part lowly, tone dropping an octave before he turns around on his heel and sits himself down in one of the chairs near the window to get started on his application.

—————

He watches her like a hawk, vaguely aware that he’s being a bit creepy by staring at her unblinking as she reads his application. Yet she’s so distracted she doesn’t even notice. He likes her already. Fuck. He swears his pupils dilate when she runs her tongue over her bottom lip while she focuses on her task. Makes him wonder how good she’d be with her mouth wrapped around his cock. God. He needs to get laid. Sure on base he wasn’t prone to Messing around with barracks bunnies or nurses from the med ward. And yes there are dating apps and shite specifically designed for hookups, but he hates going on those sites. He hasn’t been clubbing in a long while too. Needless to say his interaction with women has been…zero within the last six months.

Johnny is snapped from his thoughts after she gently sets the clipboard down with another bright smile. The interview was short and sweet, the basic questions were asked and he answered them. Johnny knows people. He knows how to work them. How to appeal to them. It all came with learning how to efficiently go undercover for certain missions.

“Okay, your charms have wooed me. You’re hired Johnny” She says and crosses her arms over her chest. He wonders why she said yes, especially since he has no experience whatsoever being a barista. But, he has an inkling that it had something to do with when she read over a particular question that asked what he did before he wanted to work at the café. Johnny was truthful, putting that he was medically discharged from special forces.

He noticed the slight frown on her lips and the way those pretty eyes were glazed over with sympathy for him while she read it. Pretty and nice, a lovely combination. Johnnys always gone for her type. Clearly studious from the textbooks lying behind the counter, medical related ones. A university student for sure. She’s a hard worker and he admires that.

“Thanks bonnie, seriously, thank yeh” Johnny decided to play up the part. He wants more sympathy points from her. He likes seeing her worried about him, makes his heart flutter at the thought of having a pretty lil thing like her concerned about his well being. “Life’s been pretty…hard since I’ve been discharged, wanted this job to make some money and have somewhere to actually be…homes lonely” He shrugs, a ‘sad’ smile on his lips.

“It does sound rough…I’m sorry'' She says and gets up from the chair, placing a hand on his strong shoulder. From how close she is he can smell her perfume and it makes him want to bury his face in her neck to get a better whiff. “I hope things get better, if you need anything tell me” She offers with a kind grin. He wonders if she tastes as sweet as she acts. “You can start with me for tomorrow's morning shift for training, sound good?” She asks him.

“Sounds absolutely perfect bonnie” He replies and leans back in the chair, eyes focused on the way her ass moves while she walks away to the back of the counter to start closing. In one afternoon he’s somehow managed to find a nice little job…and some entertainment too.

——————

You’re surprised when Johnny stays with you until close, yapping away as you put things away and clear off tables to clean them up. The café closes at 4 PM every evening. You’ve tried your best to get rid of him. He literally refuses to go and you’ve run out of excuses to get Johnny to leave. He follows you around like a puppy. Hell, even when you’re outside locking up for the night he stays standing right beside you. With only spending four hours with Johnny, you’ve learned a lot about the man.

While overwhelming…it iis sort of nice. Besides, you remember what he said earlier about adjusting to civilian life again. You feel bad…he must be lonely. He served his country, the least you could do is provide some company for him.

“So you don’t have any family here in the city?” You ask, bag slung over your shoulder as you yank the key from the keyhole in the door. Johnny shakes his head no.

“Nah lass, they all live on the countryside-on the farm” He sighs while shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“No girlfriend? Boyfriend? Friends?” You try to pry further. If he has no one to go home to, that just makes you even more sad. Well, while you own your shitty little apartment not far from your university, at least you’ve got friends to fall back on for company.

“Nope” Johnny says with a shrug. “All my friends are deployed lassie, I’m all alone-. As for a girlfriend…I’m taking applications if yer interested bonnie” His lips curl into a smirk. Your heart does a little flip at the boyish grin he shoots your way.

“Haha very funny, now go home you’ve been here for hours!” You tell him and cross your arms over your chest. Admittedly, your social battery is a bit low at the moment, especially considering you’re going to have to study until bed tonight. That thought alone makes you irritable and exhausted already.

“And not walk yeh home? The city is a dangerous place!” Johnny exclaims, dramatically looking at the alley ways in the immediate area. Despite being socially tired, Johnny's playful demeanor does make you crack another smile.

“I’m perfectly capable of defending myself” You assure while showing him the pepper spray connected on a metal ring that holds your keys for work and home. Johnny blinks at the sight of the tiny defense weapon before scoffing, raising a single brow at you.

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but Someone could easily snatch yeh off the street- that wee thing of pepper spray won’t do much, common I’m walkin yah” He finalizes and shoots down any argument you’ve begun preparing in your head. A frown forms on your lips and with a sigh, you begin walking in the direction of your apartment. As you brush past him, you’re acutely aware of the hand he hovers over your lower back.

The situation is weird. Johnnys nice and he hasn’t given you any reason to be wary of him…but maybe he’s being too nice. It begins to process in your head as the two of you walk down the street that you’ve only just met four hours ago and now he’s walking you to your apartment. He stayed with you an extra FOUR hours until close, just sitting there watching you and making conversation. Is that not a little strange or are you overthinking things?

Eventually you arrive at your apartment. Those little red flags are shoved to the back of your mind. He’s just being nice probably.

“Well…thanks, see you tomorrow morning Johnny” You smile and readjust your bag over your shoulder. Johnny looks elated at the moment. You wonder why, but don’t question it.

“Night lass” He gives you a wave as you start to enter the apartment complex you live in. Little do you know as you make your way up the stairs, he’s watching the windows to try to see what floor of the building you live on.

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap x y/n #John soap MacTavish x y/n #John soap MacTavish x reader #johnny

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gloomwitchwrites · 8 months ago

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical cursing, heavy suggestive themes, non-descriptive intimacy, domestic/soft/playful Simon, flirting, kissing, canon-typical mentions of violence, military-based discussions, brief trauma reflection

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: Part Twelve of Ink & Needle

You and Simon spend the morning in bed together. Amelia and Evie corner Simon in the kitchen. Price, Soap, and Gaz finally talk to Simon about the mission.

Chapter Eleven // Chapter Thirteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Tea.

Eggs—large, at least two dozen.

Bread.

Bulk butter.

Milk—full fat.

Flour.

Batteries.

Postal stamps.

Chi—

The electric kettle shuts off and Simon sets into routine, brewing his morning tea without a second thought. The hour is early, and the sun hardly breaks the horizon. Simon’s flat is almost completely dark except for the faintest bits of light that creeps in as the sun’s rays skim over the tops of nearby buildings.

Simon disposes of the tea bag and holds the steaming mug in both hands. Yes, it’s hot, but the warmth is comforting. It grounds him. Keeps his resolve from snapping and returning to a different warmth.

He starts over, listing all the things he’s growing low on.

Tea. Eggs. Bread.

You’re in his flat. In his bedroom. In his bed.

Naked. Flour. Asleep. Batteries.

Soft. Postage stamps. Bare beneath the sheets. Still slick between the thighs.

Fuck.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. He needs to get a fucking grip. Every instinct within him commands Simon to go crawl into bed, to wake you up, and to slide between your legs. To greet the day with you beneath him.

That can’t happen.

Not because Simon doesn’t want to but because he wants to do this right. You deserve more than a dirty couch in a club’s green room. You deserve more than a quick moment of passion. You deserve patience and attention, to have someone focus on you and only you.

You may already be his, but not entirely. Not completely.

Not yet.

But, when Simon makes it happen, when the two of you finally bind this into something solid and real, you’ll never want to him leave. Simon will make sure of it.

Lingering in the kitchen, Simon drinks his tea, allowing the vestiges of sleep to seep out of his muscles and bones. His fucking jaw hurts, but that hardly matters to him. Not after what he did last night, or how you bloomed like a flower.

Spread wide. Perfect. Open.

Just for him.

Only for him.

Bravo nudges Simon’s thigh with the tip of his wet nose. Absently, Simon reaches down and scratches between the dog’s ears. The German Shepard leans into it, his eyes closing slightly with contentment.

Sighing, Simon pats the top of Bravo’s head. Sauntering toward the bedroom door, Simon leans against the frame, arms crossed, one hand clutching his tea mug. He watches you snooze for a few minutes. Most of you is covered by the bedding, but Simon glimpses just a hint of bare arm and shoulder. You’re completely submerged under there, and if Simon listens hard enough, he can hear a gentle snore.

To him, it’s cute. You might not find it so.

Simon rubs the back of his neck as Bravo pads into the room, gently jumping up into the bed. He doesn’t disturb you. Instead, the black-furred dog circles three times before settling.

You’ll wake eventually and Simon isn’t wearing his mask.

Simon hasn’t put it on since he took it off last night. There, in the dark, he removed it, only wanting to taste you. Simon isn’t ashamed of his face or his scars. He doesn’t consider himself ugly. It’s just…habit to put the mask on. He was Ghost in the field. Now, he’s Ghost in his shop.

Mysterious. Different. Detached.

He was Ghost when he met you at Riot Room, and now he’s Simon. Just…Simon.

Running his tongue over his teeth, Simon turns around and heads back into the kitchen. While Simon is a tea drinker, he keeps coffee on hand. Simon isn’t one for smashing energy drinks or soda even though his sweet tooth can be a fucking fiend, but sometimes he needs an extra kick.

Taking his time, Simon measures out and drops the ground coffee into the filter. From there, he closes the machine lid, filling the carafe, turning the ancient machine on. It hums and it’s almost too loud. A little green light comes on, and Simon steps away, checking the fridge. There are still a few eggs and bacon. Flour is low but he might be able to scrape up enough to whip up pancakes.

His stomach growls softly and Simon shuts the fridge.

Back in the bedroom, you still snooze softly, and Simon takes this time to clean up. He can still taste you on him, but it is faint, nearly a foreign sensation. Grabbing a towel, Simon hops into the shower. He scrubs down, brushes his teeth, even dries his hair.

Simon tugs on the balaclava, wearing nothing else except black boxer briefs. Stepping back into the bedroom, Simon pauses, noticing tussled hair and sleepy eyes.

“Morning,” says Simon.

You stretch, the grey sheet covering your breasts slipping a bit, nearly revealing nipple. You catch it just in time, stifling a yawn.

“Good morning,” you reply, the raspiness of sleep still clinging to your vocal cords.

Bravo rolls over onto his side, oblivious to the two of you.

“Shower’s available.” Simon gestures with a shrug of his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom.

Your gaze follows and then promptly returns to Simon. At first, your face is blank, and then, slowly, it drifts into a sultry mischievousness that sends blood straight to his groin. Any more of this and Simon will come undone.

“I don’t want to shower,” you murmur, some of the bedding slipping from your fingers. It’s dangerously close to revealing all of you. Last night you were bare for him, but the two of you were in the dark, and Simon only saw pieces of you. It wasn’t nearly enough, and now it’s almost too much.

The thought of your naked body within reach, wanting him, saying so with words alone is enough to start to crack at his resolve.

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“What do you want?” Simon almost doesn’t recognize himself. What comes out of him is a needy groan.

The slow blink before your response sends signals to his feet to start moving. “I want you to come to bed,” you reply.

Simon stops right at the edge of the bed, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. All he has to do is tug and the bedding will fall away.

“And do what?” prompts Simon, the restraint within him oozing off him to slip between the cracks in the wood floor.

Bravo’s ears perk up and then his head. He glances between the two of you and immediately slinks out of the bed, hurrying away. Simon listens for the dog door and then places one knee on the edge of the bed. Some of his joints resist the movement, those old wounds making themselves known. But Simon ignores them all, his full attention fixed on the woman asking him to join her.

“Whatever you want, Simon.”

Whatever he wants? There are so many things he wants. Simon wants to make you his, to keep you here, to never let you go. None of those are options right now. No. Not yet. But he can still play.

Simon’s fingers curl around the topmost sheet. He tugs, ripping them out of your grasp and away from your body. You immediately cover yourself, legs crossing in front of you and your arms resting across your chest.

The moment the bedding is out of his way, Simon wraps his fingers around your left ankle to drag you closer.

“Simon!” you gasp, but it is all teasing.

“Come here,” he growls, using the natural weight of his body to propel him fully onto the bed and push you down on your back. Your arms and legs fall away then, opening for him, and Simon slots himself between, his mouth already seeking yours.

Simon kisses and touches until your soft giggles become moans. His mouth seeks lower ground. Lower still, and then those moans become shaky and limp legs with gasping breath. You reach for him, and Simon leans into your touch, allowing you to stroke and caress until his haughty, smug smile becomes something else entirely.

With his balaclava-covered face pressed against your neck, Simon inhales, wrapping his large arms around you. He helps your limp-limbed form slide out of bed, and somehow guides you into the shower. While you’re scrubbing away at your skin and scalp, Simon is in the kitchen, managing to prepare breakfast with the little he has.

It’s Sunday, and Simon has absolutely fucking nothing to do. It’s always been Dancing Faun, drinks, and then finding someone on his roster to have it off with. But Simon doesn’t need to do that. He doesn’t need anyone or anything but you. If you want it, he’ll spend his entire Sunday in your presence, partaking in whatever it is you’re interested in doing.

When you emerge wearing nothing but one of his shirts, Simon has to squash the urge to bend you over the table.

“Breakfast,” rasps Simon, grabbing a plate to distract himself.

“Please,” you sigh, approaching him and placing a hand on his lower back.

“Little of everything?”

You nod, giving Simon’s shoulder a quick kiss before walking over to the dining table. Simon’s body vibrates with happiness. He overloads your plate and his, bringing the coffee and a newly made kettle to the table.

“Plans for the day?”

You shake your head, yawning. “No. But I do need to check on Evie.”

Simon checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly the afternoon. “After breakfast I’ll walk you.”

When you go to change back into your clothes, Simon is handsy, grabbing at bare thigh and waist just because he can. You giggle through the whole thing, the two of you ending up on the floor with your limbs intertwined and your mouths meeting.

It takes forever for the two of you to make it out the door. The walk is short but slow. Simon drags it out, keeping you close to his body as the cool autumn air kicks up. His hand delves, teasing, keeping you playful the whole walk to Amelia’s.

You’re still fumbling with the key to the front door when Evie yanks it open. Simon promptly hides the view of his hand under your sweater. Simon isn’t fast enough because Evie’s grin is downright feral.

“Good afternoon.” She pointedly emphasizes “afternoon” by glancing in Simon’s direction. Her dark hair is piled up on the top of her head in a messy bun, and the robe she’s wearing is untied, revealing pink pajamas and a massive belly.

“Sorry, Evie,” you laugh, awkwardly shifting away from Simon to dislodge his hand.

Still glancing at Simon, Evie snags your upper arm, hauling you inside. Simon steps in after you. Bravo shoves his way in, navigating the cramped entry space and aiming for the kitchen. The German Shepard rounds a corner, and Simon hears Amelia greet the dog.

“Go change,” urges Evie, shoving you toward the stairs. “Take a shower too.”

“I did,” you snap with a laugh.

“Take another one. I can smell you.”

You flip Evie the bird and she gives one right back. Glancing over your shoulder at Simon, he gives you the slightest of shrugs. He doesn’t want to be left alone with Evie and Amelia, but he’ll deal with it.

The moment you disappear to the top level, Evie is turning that feral grin on Simon, her hands on her hips. Amelia appears like a phantom in the doorway where the entryway and living room meet.

“Made tea,” says Amelia. She’s wearing her gardening clothes. There are dirty patches on the knees.

“No thank you,” replies Simon.

“You’re having tea.” One of Amelia’s eyebrows arches like she’s begging him to question her.

Simon nods instead of refusing again.

Right. He’s having tea.

In the kitchen, Bravo is munching away on a small pile of dog treats. Simon sighs, watching the German Shepard happily chew them up one by one. He takes a seat at the table, the two women joining him.

At the center of the table are chicken salad sandwiches on plain white bread, an open bag of crips, and a bowl of mixed fruit. Evie starts piling her plate while Amelia distributes the tea.

“Hungry?” Amelia asks Simon, offering him a plate.

He’s fucking full from breakfast, but he’s not refusing this like he did with the tea. “Yes, thank you.”

Amelia plops a sandwich on Simon’s plate, scoops out a heaping portion of fruit, and shakes a mountain of crips out.

“Weather is expected to cool off in the next few weeks.” Amelia shrugs. “That’s what the forecaster says anyway.”

Evie places her hand on her belly. “Hopefully she’ll be out by then.”

Simon glances at the spot where Evie’s hand rests. “You’re due soon?”

“Yes. Very soon. Due date is technically a week out but could happen any day.”

Simon nods, his tattooed fingers playing with the handle of the tea mug. He stares at the pile of food in front of him and frowns. Simon is so absorbed with his own thoughts, that it takes him a few moments to recognize the absolute silence.

He glances up only to find Amelia and Evie leaning back in their chairs, bemused expressions on their faces as they observe him.

“What?” he blurts, suddenly nervous.

Amelia and Evie exchange a look.

“You remember our conversation?” asks Amelia softly.

Simon crosses his arm, shifting in his seat. His phone digs into his thigh and he adjusts again. “I do,” he replies slowly.

Amelia nods. She glances down at Simon’s plate. “Haven’t touched your food. Something wrong?”

Fuck.

Simon pushes up the balaclava enough to shove a few crisps into his mouth. They’re cheese and onion flavored. It’s the wrong choice. The only sound in the room are the crunching crisps in Simon’s mouth. Amelia and Evie still stare at him.

He swallows, the half-chewed food nearly sticking in his throat. Simon hastily drinks his tea.

“How’s business?” asks Amelia once Simon sets the tea back onto the table.

“Busy.”

“I would hope so. Saw you on the cover of a magazine while shopping. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” says Simon, bit of heat warming the tops of his cheeks.

Evie’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s wonderful. What magazine?”

“UK Ink,” he answers. “Best tattoo artist.”

“Very deserved,” says Amelia, lifting her tea.

“You’ve never been in my shop,” chuckles Simon.

Amelia shrugs. “But I see you almost every Sunday, and Ben is always bragging about you.”

Simon shifts again in his chair from embarrassment. His phone digs into his ass this time. Frowning, Simon removes it from his pocket and places it on the table facedown.

“You’re being polite,” says Simon, attempting to push the praise off him.

Evie chews quietly, her gaze darting between Amelia and Simon. Over her shoulder, Simon glimpses a series of photographs. One of them is a wedding photo, a recent one. The woman he recognizes as Evie, and the man she leans against must be her dead husband.

Simon’s phone buzzes, but he ignores it. He really needs you to finish showering and changing your clothes. The phone ceases and Simon goes for some fruit this time.

Amelia opens her mouth to reply but Simon’s phone kicks up again. She promptly shuts her mouth and glances at the device.

“They’ll leave a message,” says Simon dismissively. Sometimes business calls are rerouted to his personal phone. During the week, it’s not an issue, but on a day like today, it’s annoying.

Amelia inclines her head, but Simon’s fucking phone won’t stop. It starts buzzing again.

“You should answer that.” Amelia nods toward it.

Simon stares down at the phone, all the food in his stomach suddenly solidifying. There are only a few people who would relentlessly call Simon like this. The cellphone stops, begins again, and Simon’s frown deepens.

He picks it up, turning the screen over to face him.

Price.

Fuck.

Simon lets it go to voicemail.

When the buzzing begins again, Amelia tuts. “Answer it or I’m chucking it into the garden.”

“Excuse me,” murmurs Simon, pushing his chair back and standing, heading for the living room. When Simon nears the entryway, he answers the phone, bringing it up to his ear.

“Price,” he says flatly.

“Simon.” Price’s greeting is polite but reserved. “Were you sleeping?”

“No.”

Price grunts on the other end. “Have you handled your business?”

He means you. Last night floods into Simon’s mind, bringing up Adam and the whole fucking mess of an evening.

“Yes,” answers Simon, though he hears the slight shake in the way he says it.

“Is tonight good?”

Simon silently swears. He wants to spend the day with you, not talk to the boys about their upcoming mission. But Simon made a promise to them, and he intends to see it through.

Simon licks his lips and sighs. “Meet me outside the shop.”

Price rattles off a time and Simon agrees, knowing that he won’t have much time with you between now and then.

Simon ends the call right as you come down the stairs. You’re already moving toward him and Simon instantly reaches out, seeking you. When your hand slides into his, Simon pulls you close. Placing your other hand on his chest, Simon leans down and seeks your lips for a kiss.

“You taste like onion,” you murmur.

Simon chuckles before drawing back a bit. “Amelia fed me.”

“She tends to do that.”

He adjusts his grip, drawing you into his side so Simon can wrap his arm around your waist. Over your shoulder, he notices Amelia and Evie dangerously leaning around the corner in the chairs, trying to watch from a distance. Even Bravo is poking his head around the corner.

“I have to go,” murmurs Simon, brushing a few damp strands from your face to tuck behind your ear.

Your smile faulters slightly and Simon immediately regrets saying anything at all.

“Right now?” you ask.

Simon shakes his head. “Not right now. In an hour.”

“Did something happen?”

No. Yes. Maybe? Simon has no clue what the boys want to talk to him about. They’ve never been shy about asking him for advice or looking something over for them. But rarely have they ever asked to come in person to discuss something confidential.

“You remember the men who escorted Adam out the pub last night?”

The middle of your brow scrunches. “Yes?”

“Our evening was…interrupted. Just need to finishing up with them.”

“I see.” You glance down and then back to Simon’s face. “My fault?”

“No,” he says, drawing you closer against him. “Don’t think that.” Simon kisses you for good measure. “Can we make plans for later this week?”

Your fingers tangle with the fabric of his shirt. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” Simon checks over your head to find Amelia and Evie still watching from their chairs. “They’re nosy, aren’t they?”

You laugh. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Simon inclines his head, knowing that’s true. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Need some help finishing the plate Amelia made me.”

In front of Simon is an empty whiskey glass.

It’s the first one, and Simon expects to have plenty more as the evening progresses. Ben, the owner of Dancing Faun strides over, removing the glass and placing down a fresh one.

“Might need this,” he says, the deep timbre of his voice like thunder. Ben places a half-full whiskey bottle down next to Simon’s glass.

Simon nods in thanks as Ben turns his back and disappears behind the bar.

This isn’t the evening for beer. Simon needs something strong if the three grim faces staring back at him are any indication. Johnny has a Scotch, Price has whiskey like Simon, and Gaz has tequila.

All hard edges here. Nothing soft.

Ben closed up Dancing Faun early to give them some space and privacy. The sun isn’t down yet but the light hardly makes it into the front window. The four of them sit around a square table, one to each side. Inside the pub, the lights above the bar and the one directly above their table are on.

Simon’s gaze darts to each of the men he knows as brothers. Price, who is always tired and complaining of heartburn, appears exhausted like he’s been awake for days. Gaz is subdued, his mouth turned downward into a slight frown. Johnny, who is always upbeat, is quiet and calm.

It’s fucking weird seeing them like this. It doesn’t sit right with Simon. Whatever is on their minds is eating away at them. Either something is completely fucked, or he’s about to hear something unpleasant.

Ben stays behind the bar cleaning glassware, taking inventory, and occasionally disappearing into the back. The man is discreet when he needs to be, and if he overhears anything, Ben won’t snitch or turn around to spread it to others.

Simon isn’t worried about that, but he is worried about Price, Gaz, and Soap.

“Why the long faces?” asks Simon, attempting to joke but failing completely.

Price sighs heavily. “He’s back, Simon.”

It’s such a vague way of putting it. He could mean anyone. Task Force 141 made plenty of enemies while Simon was part of it. Hell—Simon made plenty of enemies just from working in SAS. He’s executed so many missions they’re almost a blur to him.

“Who?” prompts Simon. “Makarov?”

That would be a fucking joke if that wanker got out. Simon would certainly need to be on alert but not overly concerned. It’s not like Simon is in the way anymore.

Price shakes his head while Johnny and Kyle exchange a look. “Makarov is still in prison. Securely. Last time I checked.”

“And when was that?”

“A week ago,” replies Price.

“A week is a long time.”

“It’s not Makarov,” interjects Kyle, his fingers tapping the side of his glass.

Simon glances in Kyle’s direction. The frown is still there but his eyes tell him enough. It’s a sad sort of pleading. An apology but not because Gaz has done anything wrong. Simon has seen this look before.

Pity. It’s pity that Simon sees in Kyle’s gaze.

Price clears his throat, shoots his whiskey back, and then pours himself another from the bottle Ben set down on the table. “Kyle is right. It’s not Makarov, Simon.” Price lifts his glass and stares into the amber liquid. “When I say he’s back, I mean him.”

Simon’s stomach is toxic slime. It bubbles there, brewing, waiting to eat away at flesh and bone and blood.

Him. Him.

From the nightmares. From the scars. From the wounds that never healed properly.

No. No no no. Fucking no.

“You’re lying,” growls Simon, his hands forming fists under the table.

“Simon—”

Simon slams his fist against the tabletop. Everything rattles. “He’s fucking dead, Price.” Simon points at himself. “I put a knife in his chest. Watched him fall.” He gestures to everyone at the table with a sweep of his hand. “We all saw his burnt corpse.”

Johnny is the one to speak, not Price. “A corpse so burnt it couldn’t be identified.”

There is pity in Johnny’s gaze too, and Simon fucking hates it. He hates how they’re all looking at him right now. If he’s back, that means all the therapy, retirement, and all the pain is absolutely bloody pointless.

Nothing. Just air. Dead confetti wasting away on concrete.

“I didn’t earn these injuries or have retirement shoved on me just for you to come back here and tell me he still lives.” Simon’s tone is cold. Broken.

Price sighs again, crossing his arms and resting them on the edge of the table. “You think I wanted to come and tell you this, Simon?” Simon removes his fist from the table, dropping it into his lap. “I didn’t want to say anything at all. But I’m out of options. And things are going to shit fast.”

Simon understands. He doesn’t need to ask because he knows why Price, Soap, and Gaz have all come. This man they’re hunting, the one that Simon believed he killed, the one who gave Simon the burn scars along his upper arms, back, and shoulders, is walking around somewhere, returning to what he does best.

“You were the one who got close to him. You know him better than any of us,” continues Price. “And we need your help.”

Simon does know him better than they do. He got close enough to get into his head.

Kit Walsh.

Simple, isn’t it. Unsuspecting.

Evil people aren’t born with evil names.

Kit Walsh who grew up in Manchester just like Simon. Attended school there and even lived in a nearby neighborhood from the one Simon grew up in.

Kit Walsh who radicalized himself by talking to likeminded individuals in private chatrooms on the internet.

Kit Walsh who, as he got older, decided he wanted the rest of the world to look and think just like him.

Evil people always start somewhere, and sometimes they’re not rooted out until it’s far too late for everyone else.

Simon flexes his fingers, stretching the joints before forming a fist again. “Help how?”

“You don’t have to do this, Simon.”

Slamming back his whiskey, Simon reaches across the table to snag the whiskey bottle.

The worst kind of evil is always domestic. It always starts at home.

Of course, Simon has to help. The whole reason they got as close as they did was from the work Simon put in during his time with SAS.

“Where is he, Price?”

Price sucks his teeth and then rubs his temple. “It’s complicated. Messy.”

“Then explain.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Price removes a stack of photos. Sorting through them, Price removes two, tossing them across the table toward Simon. Picking them up, Simon examines them. Both photos are of Walsh in a mega church. He’s posing with men in nicely tailored suits, but it’s not like Simon knows who these men are. Walsh, Simon recognizes, but he’s changed his hair and put on a few pounds.

“Those were taken a week ago in Texas.”

Simon glances up from the photos. “He’s in the States?” Price opens his mouth but Simon laughs. It’s short and clipped, but high. “You’ve fucking lost him.”

Price frowns but Simon continues. “Last time he bounced between here and the Continent. If he’s gone to America, you won’t fucking find him.”

“Laswell already knows.”

“I’m sure she does.”

Kyle leans forward. “Are you hearing what they’re saying over there? The idiotic shit coming out of people’s mouths?”

“They say shit like that here, Gaz,” snaps Simon, anger lacing his tone. “They say it in Germany. In France. In Russia. Everywhere. It’s just wearing different faces for the same thing.”

Kyle’s frown deepens and his stare could slice glass. Simon immediately swallows down some of that irritation. His anger isn’t with any of them. It’s the fact that everything Simon went through meant nothing. All these scars now covered up by ink are just reminders of his failure.

“You know how he works, Simon. Everything we have on him we have because of you. I know it’ll be difficult now that he’s jumped the ocean, but I’m desperate, Simon. Give me anything.”

Simon stares down at the tabletop. The dark wood stares back. His priorities have changed during retirement. He’s no longer active military. He doesn’t have to help them at all. Simon has his shop, his new career, and Bravo.

Now, there is an addition to the mix. You. You are a priority now.

“He’s killed someone. Or had someone do it for him.”

Simon glances up from the table to stare into Price’s stern expression. “Walsh has killed a lot of people. Directly and indirectly.��

“Someone important,” interrupts Johnny, swirling his Scotch around in his glass.

“Someone important to certain people,” amends Price.

Simon adjusts in his seat, the chair suddenly becoming uncomfortable. “Who?”

Price fans out the pictures in front of him. A few seconds pass and then Price selects several, slowly pushing them across the table.

“Archibald Williams,” begins Price. “Also lovingly referred to as ‘Archie’ by friends and family.” The face staring back at him is a face he knows. He saw it just this morning in a wedding photo behind Evie’s left shoulder.

Simon’s tattooed fingers slip under the photograph, bringing it closer to him. There is zero doubt in Simon’s mind that this is the same man.

Price taps one finger against the table before selecting another photo and setting it closer to Simon. “On his great grandfather’s side, our boy here has a bit of Windsor in him.”

Simon’s head snaps up. “You’re bloody joking.”

Price shrugs. “Distant relation. At least a hundred would have to die before he’d even be considered for the throne.”

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, organizing the photos so he can see them all at once.

One is a photo of him with his football mates, all of them sweaty and smiling and dirty. Another is a massive family portrait. It’s the kind that the Royal Family or any aristocratic family enjoy taking with the immediate and extended family. Simon locates Archie amongst what seems like a hundred faces. Next to Archie is Adam, and Simon immediately frowns.

Moving those to the side, Simon picks up the next photograph. In this one, Archie poses next to three well-dressed young men. They’re all lined up in a row with Archie on one end and a stranger on the other. The two in the middle are no strangers. They’re much younger in this photo but the heir to the Throne and his brother are faces any Brit should know.

“You can see why it’s messy,” says Price after Simon sets the last photo down.

“Shambles,” mumbles Gaz before tossing back his tequila.

Johnny grunts but says nothing. Simon glances at him briefly but returns his attention to Price.

“Why him?”

Price leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “Rumor is that Archie here planned on relinquishing his titles. Running for public office. Wanted to make a difference.”

“That’s enough to kill him?” probes Simon, knowing there has to be more.

“Having political opinions is frowned upon for people like him. He’s supposed to stay neutral. Not take sides. He was being vocal. Donated tons of his wealth to different charities. Made lots of people uncomfortable.”

“Like Walsh?” Simon shakes his head. “That’s not like him. He prefers the long game. He’s not like Makarov. Makarov will look you in the face. Walsh will hide behind a wall of politicians.”

“I know,” says Price sadly. He rubs his temple again, sighing. “Williams left a wife behind.”

I know, Price. Sat at the table with her just this afternoon.

Simon says nothing. There is no reason to involve Evie or you in this. Price is only asking for advice. He needs some input into a vastly complicated situation.

“You looking for her?”

Price shakes his head. “No. Hadn’t been married long. Sad, is all.”

“It is,” agrees Simon.

“So, you’ll help us?” asks Johnny, drawing Simon’s attention away from Price. “Take a look at the files?”

At Johnny’s question, Price presents Simon with a small stack of file folders.

They’re just asking him to look. They’re just asking him for some advice.

That’s it.

That’s all.

Price holds them out and Simon reaches forward.

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270 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 1 year ago

Note

(●’◡’●)ﾉ, I'm in loove with your Oscar Piastri x autistic!reader series, it gives really beautiful perspective on navigating relationships while being neurodivergent. I was wondering if you do a imagine/headcannon for Oscar and reader and how they navigate sexual intimacy in particular, like do's and donts, emotions during it stuff like that. If ur not comfortable writing that then it's ok, I just thought it would be interesting ♡

Bedroom Procedures

Oscar Jack Piastri x Reader

Genre: spicy things ahead but not smut

Request: the way I ran to write this... send me more ideas like this please they are my favorite to write!

Summary: Oscar and Reader navigate through intimacy

Warnings: again... spicy things. However there is no real depiction of anything happening!

Notes: aight, so this is again how I navigate because that's what I know. This is not a depiction of how every autistic person is when it comes to being intimate. Remember that autism is a spectrum and everyone is different.

Masterlist

Being intimate with each other actually took a long time

At least longer than what is probably average

And that's in opinion

She wants to have sex with Oscar

It's just that it's difficultt and there are so many different feelings that is gets overwhelming quickly

It doesn't help she's trying to dive straight in whenever they try it

Oscar pays attention however

Her body language is how he can understand her feelings

So he knows exactly what he's doing even if she doesn't get it yet

The next time things get a little heated, Oscar slows them both down

"Why are you stopping? Did I do something wrong?"

"Absolutely not, just thought we would try something different."

In her head, different is strange because there is usually an order to these things, and it should become routine eventually

Oscar has other plans

He starts taking their intimate moments incredibly slow

Introducing her to different sensations and letting her tell him what she likes and doesn't

Soon, he has a comprehensive list of dos and don'ts

Like how sometimes she prefers to keep on a loose shirt because otherwise the skin on skin is to much

Not all the time

He always asks before they do anything if she would like to wear one of his shirts

Or how her biting him is usually a good sign because it means she's happy

(Something she does even when they aren't having sex)

Oral is a grey area for her

Sometimes, she'll suck him off for hours, and others, she gets overwhelmed just thinking about it

Oscar doesn't care, though, because he loves her no matter what she's feeling up to

One thing he was not expecting was for her to be relatively kinky

Experimenting is everything

Hard yes and no things but down to try before deciding

Oscar got a bit experimental after he got a general idea and their bedroom communication was good

Again... communication is a key point

He's always asking questions and reading her body just as she is with him

The fact that it's a vulnerable state and both of them are connecting in a way with emotions that even sex itself can't give is incredibly intimate

They don't even make it there sometimes because the emotional ties are just so deep that they simply spend time memorizing each other

Another thing is vocals

Oscar is usually composed and level-headed

Sex however is completely different

It's where he is able to express himself in ways he couldn't before

Also, listening to his voice is something that helps her know if she's doing okay

She also experiments with her voice

Vocal stimming during sex happens often, and it happens when she is on the edge

Her parroting is endearing ad well

Sometimes Oscar will moan or hum in a way and she will copy

A non-verbal agreement to keep going

Can go for maybe two rounds maximum

Maybe three or four but that's on a good day

Follows a routine of how things go down and there is definitely communication beforehand

Even if both parties are in the heat of the moment, he will not start anything without giving an idea of what will happen

It's like an unwritten rule so that she isn't trying to read the situation and get frustrated with herself if she can't understand what's happening

Clear cut yes and no

There is no maybe

All communication is cut and dry, and there is no beating around the bush

Because of her willingness to touch, but only from those she's allowed, Oscar is a teeny tiny bit possessive

If anyone touches her who she's not comfortable with he won't hesitate to bite her in reciprocation

She bites him, he bites her, it's a pattern they keep going because he knows its her love language

Also, it creates some fun on other places

Really the two are very good at setting boundaries and communicating

It makes things fun for both of them and there is never any feelings hurt

397 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 10 months ago

Note

Hello, Sunshine! Congrats on the 4000!! I'm honoured to count myself between those 🙌🏼

I would like to make a request, so I can join in the festivities. I've been thinking hard to give you something nice, and suddenly an idea struck me, so I humbly offer it to you:

Female reader/Tech (no surprise here, right?), pre-relationship, for some accidental reason (up to you) Tech touches her hair/skin gloveless, and he becomes fascinated by how soft it is (he is a soldier, but I'm sure he appreciates fine things), and I'm picturing him here with a slightly addictive personality, so he starts touching and petting her, kind of absent-mindedly while he is working, or she goes next to him (or at that same moment, tho, whatever fits you better). Reader starts getting flustered because those fingers, am I right. I can see a NSFW ending, but if it doesn't come to you, it's fine.

I would just love to see this idea played out in your style!

Thank you so much! And more than anything, have fun!

Just A Little More***

Tech X F!Reader

word count: 3k

Tech had never struck you as the touchy-feely type so why is it when he asks you to do repairs for him that he just can’t keep his hands to himself and how can you get his hands to move elsewhere?

warnings: NSFW 18+ only. Explicit sexual content and language, non established relationship, accidental caressing, slightly touchy-feely Tech but SFW, first kiss, skin kisses, Intercrural sex (thigh sex/thigh job), handjob, minor nipple play, friends to lovers. Not proofread.

authors note: Thank you for the request my beautiful @doublesunsets and apologies for the huge wait! Hope this is okay🤍

You're feeling perplexed.

Though, It's not necessarily an unusual sensation since joining The Bad Batch and adapting to their peculiar ways of living and combat. However, your current confusion reached a peak a few days back.

Tech had summoned you beneath the ship for repair assistance and out of nowhere, he began tracing his fingers along your forearm. You looked at him, then your arm, and then back at him as he remained absorbed in his task, and for some reason, you refrained from questioning his actions. You gathered that perhaps he was so engrossed in his task that he didn't realise he was touching you, and so you dismissed it as an accident.

Yet, it persisted. He continued seeking your help, tasks usually assigned to Echo, and despite assigning you a task, his hand consistently found its way to your arm, fingers casually brushing against your skin. It was peculiar but not entirely unwelcome.

This routine persisted for a week until the last occurrence compelled you to finally seek an explanation.

One evening in the confined space of your bunk, your face bathed in the dim glow of your datapad's screen when a message notification from Tech pops down. The request for assistance in the cockpit sparks a strange sensation in your chest – a mix of nerves and intrigue, perhaps. Without letting him wait for a response, you place the datapad down and traverse through the ship.

Upon entering the cockpit, the soft hum of the machinery surrounds you. But there in the pilot's seat is Tech, immersed in his own datapad, donned in his underarmour wear. The steady rhythm of his fingers tapping on the screen adds to the ship's ambient sounds and your footsteps echo softly as you approach.

Hearing your approach, Tech glances up, pushing his goggles up his nose with a subtle yet distinct motion. "Ah, there you are.”

"Here I am," you respond with your hands on your hips, a hint of awkwardness in your voice as a sudden wave of shyness washes over you. But non-surprisingly, Tech doesn't seem to notice.

He goes ahead and explains the task at hand—helping with wiring under the control panel. Following the usual protocol, you swiftly retrieve the necessary tools and gloves. As you slide on your gloves, you notice Tech doing the opposite, peeling his off, a recurring behaviour over the last few days.

With your curiosity getting the better of you after the last few days, you inquire, "What are you doing?" His confusion is evident as he looks at you, brows furrowed. When you gesture to his now bare hands, your gloved ones drawing attention, he seems momentarily flustered.

"Oh... I am not too sure," he mumbles, hastily putting the gear back on before moving toward the control panel, ready to slide underneath.

His genuine confusion hints that it might be learned behavior—perhaps he grew accustomed to the contact, and the lack of questions made it a norm. So, setting aside these thoughts, you join him under the control panel, observing his nimble fingers at work with the wires. Although his explanations might be slipping past your ears, you find enjoyment in watching him in his element. As you assist with holding the wires and passing over tools, a subtle but palpable shift in the air suggests that something feels different.

A subtle warmth builds beneath your clothes, and you attribute it to the close proximity to Tech, though the unfamiliar mix of nerves and intrigue from before confuses you even more.

The absence of his gentle touches leaves you feeling somewhat adrift, and a part of you yearns for that contact once again. It's a peculiar sensation, considering he seemed unaware of it all.

Caught in your internal questioning, Tech, too, is in a trance of his own. His nimble fingers have paused in their task, and instead, he's captivated by the scent and touch of your hair brushing against his cheek. With your head tilted to the side, loose strands cascade down, lightly grazing over his cheek.

He knows the smell.

It’s the hair care product you had begged him to add to the list of resources once in a supply run because as you once said ‘if I’m gonna kick arse, I want my hair soft, shiny and smelling good in the process’. And for some reason, he said yes. Maybe he was soft on you or maybe it was because you constantly asked and he was getting a headache.

He wasn’t sure but what he did know was that it was soft.

And shiny.

And smelt beautiful.

The moment holds a certain intimacy, yet neither of you seemed to notice eachothers reactions; both of you lost in your own thoughts.

Tech swiftly resumes his task, jolting into action after a subtle shift from you beside him, and a focused silence envelops the cockpit. You exhale softly, attempting to steady your breathing and cool the warmth beneath your clothes. Blinking, you glance away from his hands, awkwardly holding the small screwdriver he had asked you to handle a few moments ago.

As he finishes, both of you slide out from under the control panel. Surprisingly, you find Tech standing there with his now ungloved hand outstretched towards you.

Pausing for a moment, you look at his hand and then to him, a curious desire to test his reaction arising. Deciding to slip your gloves off first, the motion seems to momentarily freeze him. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and you seize the opportunity to slip your bare hand into his outstretched one.

His hand is warm, perhaps a bit sweaty, but the touch feels natural, fitting. With a gentle tug, he helps you onto your feet, but instead of releasing your hand, he continues to hold it. His gaze fixates on your intertwined hands, and his thumb lightly brushes over your skin, sending a subtle thrill through you.

As your heart quickens and the warmth intensifies, your eyes remain fixed on his face, searching for clues.

Unable to wonder any longer, you break the silence with a whispered yet firm question, "What's going on, Tech?" His trance is broken, and he shifts his gaze from your hand to your eyes. With a clearing of his throat, he attempts to conjure an excuse to leave the cockpit, but as he moves past you, you grab his arm, pulling him to a halt.

"I don't think so. Tell me what this is about.” The air is charged with anticipation as you await his response.

"Well, alright," he starts, turning back to face you but struggling to meet your gaze. "Would you believe me if I said I did not know?"

You blink at him but offer a small smile, "Tech, I'd believe you if you said this whole planet was made out of cheese."

Seeing him relax, you notice a slight smile as he moves to lean against the control panel, folding his arms over his chest. "I suppose my only reasoning behind it is that I am not used to such contact. Nor am I used to touching something… soft."

You raise a brow, slightly amused, but a small flutter stirs in your chest at his words. "You think my hands are soft?"

"Yes," he admits, a subtle raspiness in his tone, "immensely."

The heat of the blush intensifies as Tech's sweet compliments linger in the air, leaving you somewhat flustered. Your attraction to him, always present, takes on a new depth as you watch him work up close and feel his touch.

His words almost make you crumble, and you find yourself at a loss for a proper response, opting instead for a playful comment about the soap bar you use.

"Ah yes, I have seen it in the refresher," he notes, his hands now behind him, gripping the edge of the control panel. His fingers strum somewhat nervously, creating a subtle melody in the air.

Nervously chewing on your lip, the action doesn't escape Tech's notice as his skin grows warm as you both stand in an awkward silence, unsure of the next move. It's you who takes the initiative, closing the distance with a step closer.

"You know, you can carry on touching me if it makes you feel better," you suggest, and Tech's eyes slightly widen.

"It is not an action that makes me feel 'better,' so to speak," he explains, visibly relaxing, "but it is just a sensation that I have been enjoying. If it made you feel uncomfortable in any way, you should tell me."

A soft giggle escapes you, and this time, you come to a stop directly in front of him. Gently reaching for his hand, you bring it into your own. "If I had a problem with it, I would've said. I also wouldn't be doing this."

The touch carries a subtle yet intentional message, one that surprisingly resonates with Tech. Not known for his overt emotional responses, he acknowledges the unspoken connection between you two. "I suppose not," he nods, standing tall. His fingers trace over yours, a silent exploration mapping every scar and freckle.

“They are so soft.” He mumbles more to himself than he does to you, seemingly in a complete trance.

You watch him, like you had done for the last few days and you can’t help but feel like you’ve read the situation between you both correctly. So, summoning your courage just above a whisper you say, “I’m pretty soft in other places too.”

He halts for a moment, meeting your gaze with wonder. “I can not lie and say that that did not sound arousing… and inviting.”

You raise a brow, a cocky yet enticing smirk on your lips. “Maybe it was an invitation?”

Tech has no words, he doesn’t know what else to say but instead watches as you take a step back from him and start to pull your shirt away from your body.

You stand in front of him, shirtless.

He didn't need Hunter's senses for this; he could smell you, almost taste you. Your skin had a glow amidst the dim lights of the ship, and his nostrils filled with the faint mist of your soap.

The subtle aroma encapsulated the moment, heightening the sensory experience as his eyes continued to explore the intricate details of your body. The air in the cockpit seemed charged with a connection that was too intense to deny.

“You are beautiful.”

Your eyes shine at his words and you naturally move back towards him, his hands instinctively moving to your waist where you inhale a sharp gasp, your skin tingling at his touch alone. “Do you want me, Tech?”

His fingers trail along your skin and you see him dab his lips idly with his tongue. “More than I have ever wanted anything before.”

Grinning, you nod for him as a go ahead as you lean yourself against the console as his hold on you tightens, dexterous fingers dancing against your skin until they land at the buckle of your pants, a teasing tug suggesting he wanted to see all of you.

“Go ahead,” you rasp, mouth salivating as Tech hums in approval and helps you slide your pants down to your ankles.

Cool air hits your skin followed by the warmth of his hand moving down to the curve of your arse, muttering something quietly to himself which has you giggling under his touch.

“Something amusing?” He quips, hands moving from your arse to your breasts, fondling them gently.

“This is the quietest I’ve seen you is all.”

Chuckling he says, “When I am in deep thought, experiencing my desires, I tend to fall quiet.”

“Desire, hm?” You purr. Tech slowly begins circling you, letting his trained hands, so often equipped with his datapad, tools, blasters now caress every single inch of your nude skin. With a grasp at your hips, your back is dragged to his chest, his hands on the soft skin of your stomach.

“Desire…fascination…lust…” he grins as you gasp, his hands cupping both of your breasts, your head lolling back into his shoulder.

“Tech,” you whine, legs trembling as his fingers brush over your stiffening nipples, pinching them between his fingers.

“Yes, dear? Do you like this sensation?” He breathes down your ear, lips brushing against your lobe before they move to your shoulder, a sweet kiss planted.

“Mm, yeah- s’good.” You wriggle against him, your arse pressed to his solid cock.

He sighs against you in pleasure, playing with your tits as you move your hands behind you, cupping him between his legs, heart racing as you gather how big and ready he was for you.

“I can help with that.” He grunts as he moves one hand away from you, tugging himself out of his pants so you can get a firm hold and as your hand grips his heated length he lets out a beautiful whine of his own.

“Fuck,” Tech ruts agaisnt your soft hand, everything he had been wanting to feel around his cock becoming reality. He finally spins you to face him, nearly knocking you off your feet as his lips crash to yours, desperate and full of passion.

“You’re wonderful.” His groan is guttural, lips moving from yours down your neck, over your collar bones until they latch to one of your nipples, sucking and ever so gently biting at the peaks before he laves his tongue flat against your flesh.

You curse, his pace slow and tantalising as his hand strokes your other breast, feeling its weight in his hand and thumbing your plump nipple.

Clit throbbing with an unmet need for attention, you cry out his name and he removes his mouth with a small pop, he places a tender kiss to your lips.

“Can I try something?” You are flushed against him, cock pressing to your stomach and you nod eagerly.

“Of course.”

He grinds his hips against you softly for a moment, there was no set rhythm and was based entirely on instinct and desperation alone. His hands bite your hips as he kisses your neck and shoulder, earning quiet, content hums in response.

His hands dug between his and your stomach. “Just let me—“ he takes a hold of his cock, wet and leaking, before pressing it between your thighs.

“Ah, fuck, so soft.” He choked, pushing his goggles up his nose which had fallen slightly down.

His hips start to thrust, dragging his dick against your thighs and more noticeably against your folds. “Tech…” you whimper in satisfaction, heart pounding against your chest.

“Just a little more, darling.” The whines, pants and groans that leave his throat are pure filth to the ears, his movement so erratic that you had to hold onto his shoulders to keep you standing as your thighs swallow his throbbing tip entirely. His grip on your waist tightens at every increasing pace.. “J-Just… a little more.”

He fucks your thighs beautifully, tip prodding agaisnt your clit with every movement. You’re pent up. He is definitely pent up as you both dive into another kiss and you quietly beg him for more.

“You can fuck me, Tech… you can have all of me.” You bite against his lower lip, earning a low growl and a harsh thrust in return.

“I’ll fuck you properly, I promise.” His words held, like he said, a promise but you knew he just had to fuck your thighs just a little bit more, you knew he had to feel the softness of your skin he had been admiring for however many days now. “I’ll fuck you so good I just… I just need to cum all over your thighs. Just this once.”

Your sex burns in desire and although you knew you won’t get what you crave, you had to give in to Tech. You had to let him slap his cock on your soft skin, sliding in and out of your squeezed together legs until he was panting and swearing.

Lewd sounds fell from your lips, a sharp gasp as Tech repositioned your legs just a tad so his cock nuzzled against the right spot.

Your eyes fell closed, threatening to roll back into your skull. One hand frees your waist but makes it way into your hair, fingers entwined with the soft tassels and fingernails massaging your scalp. “Such a pretty girl.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your orgasm building with every pressure added to your pussy and judging by Tech’s staggered movements, the shift of his weight on his feet you knew he was close too. “Ah- fuck, I’m going to-.”

His words fall flat as you feel a sudden warmth grow between your legs. A lewd squelching noise followed by his soft whines. “That’s it darling,” his words are slurred as he paints your legs with his seed but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he holds you close and cradles you in his arms as he feels your body twitch and whispers for you to let it go.

Your hands fly to between your legs, your fingers coating in his cum as you begin to strum your clit with vigour until you were shouting his name aloud, letting it bounce off the walls of the ship as you tremble on his softening cock.

You stumble back, but Tech catches you swiftly, cooing soft words of assurance as stars briefly blur your vision. "I have you, do not fret. You will not fall."

You laugh lazily, a drunk-like smile gracing your lips. "I trust you, don't worry."

His warm smile reassures you, and he announces his intention to return with a flannel to help clean you up—a pleasant surprise. Once cleaned up, he pulls you into his lap as he sits down.

His lips trail down your spine, fingers delicately dragging across the canvas of your back. It's a blank slate, a myriad of possibilities for designs he could plan, but for now, he simply savors the feeling of your beautiful, warm skin. The quiet intimacy envelops the two of you and you look over your shoulder at him to gauge his reaction to what just happened.

"So, that was something," you laugh softly, cuddling into the warmth of his chest. "I never thought I'd see that side of you."

"And I never would have thought you would ever experience that side of me. It's different from how I usually conduct myself, but around you, I felt as though I could be open. Honest."

It's a rare glimpse of Tech being open with his feelings, and you're grateful that even after a moment of intimacy, he doesn't shut you out. There's something unspoken between you both, a desire to explore this newfound feeling for another.

For now, you say nothing, letting him hold you, allowing his mind to drift away from battle plans, ship repairs, and survival. It’s the least you could do.

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ruris-world · 2 years ago

Text

｡･ﾟﾟ･ My sweet oblivion. ｡･ﾟﾟ･

➳ pairing: yandere!charlotte katakuri x fem!reader

➳ summary: you adapt to your new life, and your husband shows you his biggest insecurity, your reaction surprises him.

➳ content warnings: mention of previous non-con, male mastrubation, inappropriate use of devil fruit, uhh..voyeurism? dubcon,fluff, insecurity, kinda of dom!reader/ sub!katakuri, uhh, emotional breakdown [?? idk, lol ] ooc katakuri, err marriage kink?? [ i seriously don't know ], oh! a bit of a breeding kink, a smidge of a size kink [ i mean come on, he a big boii ], emotionally vulnerable katakuri doesn’t know how how to deal with feelings, a smidge of food play, I guess implied virgin!katakuri, reader is shy yet shameless, handjob, blowjob, pussyjob, no mention of aftercare, kind of rushed ending, also first time writing actual smut

➳ word count: 8.7 k [ 8,751 ]

➳ author note: i have katakuri brainrot, and he needs some love, so it's a win-win situation. also unedited and kind of a rushed ending. Please mention any warnings I missed. Inspired by this ask. English isn’t my first language, and I accept constructive criticism and any advice :)

»»———- ♡̩͙ ———-««

It has been a while.

7 months since the wedding, maybe.

you aren’t allowed out often, the few times that you are out you are attached to him, your husband, quite literally by his mochi.

you find it ridiculous, a power that is so powerful due to its user, you saw him fight once and it wasn’t a fair fight, if you could even call it a fight.

whatever…

days tend to blend in each other, especially if its spend in just one room, sure it’s a huge room even while not compared to your ‘normal’ sized body, but there isn’t one to really keep you company.

sure, servants come and go to bring you food, clean and organize, but they don’t speak

well, not to you at least

which you also find ridiculous, you find a lot of things are quite ridiculous.

the first month was spent crying, thrashing, and escaping, trying to at least, he would always find you, or one of his siblings would.

you stopped trying to escape when he emerged from a literal mirror

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the second month was just spent…existing?

you were, are scared of him, you just spent it in a haze, you guess, you don’t remember much but you do remember the time you almost caught him with his scarf off.

It was by accident really, but before you could even glimpse at what was hidden you passed out, and woke up with an aching head, and flowers with a bunch of donuts on your side of the bed.

you didn’t really care what was under the scarf to be honest, but after that incident you went out of your way to avoid him if you even thought his scarf was off.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the third month…, was when he ‘forced pleasure’ on you.

you guess he is a man after all….

he never did anything other than use his fingers, but even that was too much for you, if you would compare it, its like using a human cock.

well, that’s a lie…

he did use his cock once, just not his real one.

can you even consider a mochi finger shaped as one, a real cock?

you don’t want to think about it.

he never force himself at you, at least not in that sense, even when the budge in his leather pants looks so tight it may just burst.

he makes sure you are cleaned on clean sheets, then he gets off in the bathroom, and sometimes he doesn’t.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the fourth month, is when you got invited to his mother’s tea-party, it was…nice, to go outside that is, the party itself was chaos.

believe it or not, you tend to fall into routine once you are kidnapped and aren’t allowed to get out of the room being held captive in.

so it was a breath of fresh air when you were let out of your room, and into the tea-party, and yes his siblings are a handful, and you are scared half to death from half of them , but it’s nice.

nothing much happened during the month, you don’t expect much.

…except that one instance.

he makes sure to come back at night, no matter how late the time is, he is always back, and he always gets up early, his side of the bed messy and the distant smell of him still present in the morning.

most of the time you are asleep when he gets back, sometimes you are not.

it was in the latter end that it occurred.

it was late at night, can borderline be considered a morning, no one is supposed to be awake, but you are

you were on your side, glimpses of a well-rested sleep taunt you as the door to the room opens, you don’t get up, you already know who it is, and you’re too tired to entertain his bullshit.

when you hear him call out to you, you don’t respond.

you would’ve called yourself foolish, if not for the fact that he doesn’t use his future-something-haki when he’s with you.

evident by the time, someone walked in when he was pleasuring you, and you never saw that servant again.

there is a rustling present, and it almost lures you back to sleep, except that he calls out to you again

you are annoyed, and very much on the verge of snapping at him, but you ignore it since you aren’t stupid, that is until you hear it

“darling, fuck—j-just like that”

is he…?

he wouldn’t…

“ah—you’re s-so—shit—so good”

would he?

“mmhm, you’re—hah—so sweet f’ me”

what are you supposed to do? do you turn around? talk? pretend to be asleep? ignore?

his pants continue mixed in with a couple of curses and groans, most of them are stifled and you hate that his voice alone sends blood rushing to your face and awaken a second rhythm within you.

you shift to test the waters, he doesn’t make an attempt to stop based on his noises, maybe you shouldn’t…

you ignore that part of you that says you shouldn’t, as the ‘squelnch, squelench, squelench’ drowns your thoughts.

you just wanna see, peek at his tip, see what the obscure sound is, surely his hands and cock aren’t the only thing that can produce such sounds, and bring him such pleasure, right?

it should be fine, right?

you’re his wife, it’s ok, right?

right?

right.

you slowly shift your body, trying not to make such ruckus that you do stop him, and his pleasure from escalating any further.

‘fuck it’ you think as you lay on your other side, eyes closed and make a sleepy sound, you hope it won’t deteriorate him or the situation.

his grunts don’t last another second, as everything around you stills, and silence fill the air, the sound of your deep breaths, and his harsh ones are the only thing present, seconds pass by and then-

hands are on your head, they trail to you cheek, and you feel one of his fingers trace lines on your cheek, and then they let go.

you don’t feel or hear anything after that, and you worry that you caused him to stop, and not reach his end.

not that you should care if he does cum or not.

that thought is interrupted by the noisy sound of slapping of his skin against something that continues, only this time faster and louder.

you are afraid to open your eyes, but that fear disappears when you hear his next words

“i’m going—fuck going to b-breed, you, be -hah- be a good w-wife and take it” accompanied by a loud moan.

all caution is out the window, as your eyes fly open, and what you see leaves you breathless and dripping.

there he is, charlotte katakuri, sweet commander, cold, merciless, the perfect brother, the man who brought you here, your captor and husband, fucking his fist.

his mochi fist, that looks like a cushion and is suspiciously moving along with his hips.

you don’t dare look up, eyes transfixed on his hips moving in and out of the cushion, his cock looks so big and you can even see its imprint —despite the dim lighting— from inside the makeshift cushion, his other hand is gripping the mochi with a death-grip, and you can only imagine what his face looks like.

you hate what the image does to you.

you hate the fact that you can feel your slick drench your panties, even more and then it occurs.

“f-fu—ck!”

holy shit.

you think you can cum from the image of him cumming alone, his hips stall in their movement as he cums, his thighs tense, yet shakes, and his cum spills into and out of the makeshift cushion or fleshlight or whatever; no other thoughts enter your mind other than that you want that thing to be you.

you almost scold yourself for the thought, but then he starts moving again and he do so with a whine you can’t watch it, you wish you could but you honestly think you would cum if you would do, so you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

that night you sleep to the sounds of him panting, and wake up to the same messy sheets with no evidence of the night prior other than the drench in your pants and an almost un-noticeable tear in his pillow.

it’s also the month when he starts to become least present.

sure he sleeps at your chambers with you, but he doesn’t visit or stay or talk, not like he used to, and you find it ridiculous.

you find it ridiculous that he makes you crave his presence, you find it ridiculous that he makes you miss him, you find it ridiculous that you cry yourself to sleep twice a week because of him.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the fifth month, you snap.

he comes in one day, it's midday if you would assume, there are no clocks in your shared room so you have no way of telling, you are reading a stupid romance that can’t catch your attention, when the door open and the ‘clink, clink, clink’ of his steps appear.

you look up at him, as he shrugs off his jacket, and wanders to your shared closet.

you would have admired his back, if you weren’t so blinded with rage, you look at the mirror, think twice, shake your head then get up from your place.

you stalk towards the closet doors in the big room, and come face-to-face with his leg, oh what did you even expect?

you look up at him, as does he look down on you, he speaks first “darling? do you require anything?”

you stare, and stare and stare, a million thoughts rush into your head, a million more you want to scream at him, in the end just tears fill your eyes.

you sniff, gather all your strength and hit his leg, he may punish you but you don’t care, you are hurt.

“why did you leave?” another hit

“who do you think you are?” another hit

“you can’t j-just—just leave me like this!” another

“what? you can’t even spend time with me?” and another

“you’re so so…selfish!” another, and another and another, and then he bends down, and you break.

your eyes are closed, sobs recks your body and fills the air, your tears fall to the ground, and you probably look like a mess right now, but you don’t care.

your breath escapes in gasps, and you feel yourself being picked up, you’re so tired you can’t even yelp.

he brings you up to him, and when you open your eyes, blurry vision can barely see past his scarf, sobs, snot, tears, and even a bit of drool are falling all over his gloved hand.

god, you are so pathetic.

before you can wallow in more self pity, his other hand come to wipe at your face, and trying to save yourself from more humiliation, you go to help him, he doesn’t let you, and you don’t have the power to fight him.

your face is flushed, and you try to calm your harsh breathing that is broken by a few sobs.

once you have calmed down enough, he speaks, voice filled with an unknown emotion “I apologize darling, I hadn’t quite thought of how my actions may affect you”

you look up at him and hold his stare, after a few moments he pats your head.

you stare off at his scarf and decide to just spit it out before you chicken out “w-will you stay with me?”

his eyes soften, and you feel your heart flutter as the words “of course, my dear” are whispered into the air.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the sixth month is…messy.

your relationship is improving somewhat, there are still awkward moments, not that you are the one to blame; after all it's not like you asked to be kidnapped.

it’s the month he lets you out the most, he takes you on walks, and strolls, he combs your hair once, well at least he tried, he makes you sleep on his chest that month, you refused at first, but he didn’t care and either way you both know that you can’t do anything about it.

you think that his chest is warm and smells like mochi, and you had asked him to take you with him when he went to do his work, surprisingly he did.

he makes you a mochi bed thingy, which you quite enjoy as it is very comfortable and bouncy. You stopped asking for it though, since he would become red in the face almost every time you did ask for one, and would sometimes leave you alone in the room.

you find being left alone ridiculous.

you find the fact that you miss him, more so.

you find yourself catching feelings, the most ridiculous fact of all.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

the seven month, this month is…

you are in your room, getting ready for bed, he isn’t here, however you find comfort that he would be in the morning, after all tomorrow is your anniversary, and he had made sure that he got the day off, well half-a-day but it’s better than nothing.

you are in your nightgown, about to get under the covers when he enters the room, and locks the door, which he doesn’t normally do, unless he leaves you alone in his office.

something is wrong

the air around him is tense, you can tell from the frown present on his face, and the slight rigidity of his movement confirms your suspicion that something is wrong.

you are debating whether or not to ask him when he sit on the bed, you blink and tilt your head, the question lingers in the air, you ask nonetheless “is something bothering you?”

he looks at you, you hold his stare, your frown mirrors his, it deepens when he sighs, he looks to the side.

this is new, he is usually…well, straightforward, blunt.

you sit upright when he mumble a “it’s nothing”

“katakuri…, what is it?”

he looks at you, off to the side again, back at you, closes his eyes, then sighs.

“kata—”

“I may be a monster, but I will always protect you, you may find it unpleasant, many before you have, however that won’t deter my affection for you…”

you are confused as fuck.

his eyes are on you, watching you as if you’re the only one that matters, and in that instant you feel like you are.

“it’s an unsightly matter, I will not put the blame on you, if you may wish not to view.”

what the hell does he mean?

he stops, and makes his way into the bed adjusting himself so that his face is near yours, and then he continues.

“this mark of shame that is constantly on me, i will not be saddened if you may not require to view it, again…”

you can see the intensity of emotions in his eyes, and despite all the words spewing out of his mouth, you think that you can get lost in the pretty amber.

“after all it is the reminder of my failure, a-as a brother, my imperfection…”

his hands go up into his face, you feel obliged not to look away, as if you owe him this, grips his scarf with one large hand, stays there, waits.

his breathing is hard, like he has been waiting for this moment, knows how it will end.

…and in one swift movement the barrier between the both of you is broken.

his eyes scan your face, as you do the same.

you want to laugh, honestly.

scoff at his face, and laugh at him.

for thinking all of that, and making a speech over some fangs.

it’s laughable, but you don’t.

laugh that is.

what you do is scan his face, his lips are kissable, his fangs are nice, gives him a charm about him, you wonder how they feel, are they pointy? or soft? could a nip penetrate the skin? you want to touch them, no you want them to touch you.

you want to feel them, really feel them, want to kiss them, want to feel them running down your body, want them to go up and down, want to feel them between your legs, nipping at your—

his scar stretches all the way up to his ears, and you never thought a scar could looks so attractive before, you want to kiss it, every inch of it, you want to run your hand through it, you wonder if the skin feels different there? would the texture feel different than his skin, his lips? how far is he willing to let you explore him?

you intake a sharp breath, his eyes flicker to you, right now though, right now, with his heated cheeks, laboured breath and flickering eyes, he looks so, so…

“cute.”

he blinks, you do too.

a blush.

“you’re so cute, katakuri”

your hand goes to his cheek, his eyes follows.

your thumb runs over his scar, it does feel different.

not bad…, just different.

he blinks at you, you can feel the heat rising to his cheek, when you look at him, he holds your stare for no more than a second then immediately invades it, you swore you saw a glimmer of tears there.

a few more beats and breaths, his hand stops you from touching his fangs, his eyes still haven’t caught yours.

“s-stop, it’s not—you may hurt yourse—”

his words are cut off by your hum, you can almost feel his doubt, guilt, he’s nervous, anxious, and you never wanted him more.

you slip your hands out of his, you take a large hand into your tiny ones and begin pulling it towards you as your words fill the air between you both

“you don’t believe me, hm? well, you can use your whatever haki, or…”

your eyes goes up, up, up, as the hand that you captured goes down, down, down.

“you can check for yourself…”

until it reaches below your nightgown and presses his enormous fingers into the damp spot, leaves them there.

you take a deep breath, consider your choices, this man is the one who took you, forced himself on you, you feared him for the longest time, he left you alone multiple times, felt like you were abandoned, but…

his eyes speaks volumes, there are tears and disbelief present, and that speech that left his mouth still makes it so that he is open, vulnerable

you want to take care of him, eventhough….

ah, fuck it, you think and then speak.

one.

two.

three.

“…my dear husband”

he intake a sharp breath, and stills, you swear you could see his eyes darken, his fingers push where you left them, which makes a surprised moan leave your lips.

and then you pull yourself up into him, your hands are on his cheek, a few beats then he looks at you, a frown on his face.

you pay it no mind as your lips crash into his.

a beat, then another, and another, then he responds, and oh, does he respond.

its inexperienced, messy, your lips don’t mold together, but god is it satisfying.

you don’t think you have been kissed like this before, you don’t think you will ever be kissed like this again, and in that moment you don’t think you mind it so much.

at first it's slow, then escalates and escalates, and then there is tongue, and spit, and drool, and teeth, and fangs.

you find out that the fangs do break skin, well at least the ones on your lips.

a beat, and a second, then a third, your heart throbs against your ribcage, and escalates until you are almost sure that he can hear it, you want to stay there forever, trapped into an infinite kiss but alas you are a human and you need oxygen.

you pull back, he chases after you, trapping you again against him, you smile, pull back, want to tease him yet his hand pushes your head pressing into him, he wants more and more and more.

he is greedy.

he is insatiable.

he is selfish.

but only with you.

only for you.

you put your hand on his jaw, he jolts, you break free, with only a string of spit trapping you to him.

pants escapes you, making you breathe harder, and harder, he isn’t in a better state than you, in fact you would say he is in a worse state.

drool escaping from the side of his open mouth, face flushed till his neck, you can swear there are hearts in his eyes, along with unshed tears—your heart clenches at the sight.

your lips brush against his, and he almost captures you again, if not for the grip you have on his hair, one tangled in his now messy hair, another grabbing at the nape of his neck, he groans as the grip you have on him causes you to pull on his hair.

he presses his fingers into you, both of you are playing a dangerous game.

none of you mind.

“wait, kata…lay on your back.”

his eyes that were previously glazed with a haze clear a bit, yet there is a confused frown on his face.

“huh? b-but you—”

“shh, kata, let your wife take care of you for a split second, and relax.”

“come on, katakuri…” a peck on his lips, “be a good husband and lay on your back” another peck, this time near his fangs, “let me make you feel good” another peck, this time on his nose, his eyes flutter close at the contact.

with a groan he gets off you, and lays on his back on the bed, you follow after him, straddling his heaving chest.

your hands slowly travel along his abdomen, towards his pecks, slowly trace over each nipple, lingering there and then escalate towards his neck, to his jaw which is slack open for you, his eyes continue to follow each movement as your hands stay at his jaw a bit further.

you dully note that a past you would call you ridiculous, what you are doing is ridiculous, would probably shout at you, tell you that you shouldn’t do this with your kidnapper, the man who strike so much fear inside you, the man who hurt you for far too much, that you should hurt him just as much, and even if it was a lie call him ugly, disgusting, a monster.

you leave that part behind you whenever you press your lips to his jaw, trailing pecks over there, he jerks in your hands, you guess he is pretty sensitive there.

you hum, with a smile, and whisper in his ear “what’s wrong kata? did i hit a spot?” he shudders in response, and you get more wet at the thought that a man so big, powerful, and beefy is reduced to a shuddering and blushing mess with just a few touches.

Katakuri has no idea how to feel, or process the situation before him.

He didn’t expect your response in a million years, and the mere thought that you not only said those words but continued to mark him with your wet kisses and wandering hands makes his head spin.

and while surprise and bashfulness full him and heat his cheeks at the way you called him your husband—the tone, the hidden emotion, and the way you looked at him—he can’t deny that it turned him on, immensely.

perhaps he should feel more grateful for you and your reaction, however he can’t help feeling that maybe you do deserve to feel some level of disgust at viewing his face, that maybe you should have screamed, or that maybe you should have—oh

“Fuck”

“Hmm? now tell me dear husband of mine—” he almost whines “—where have i lost you”

he flushes more under your gaze that captures him feels like it will swallow him whole, it's lustful and full of want, he duly notes the effect you have on him, and that a past him wouldn’t be so appreciative that he is allowing himself to be weak and vulnerable.

but that’s ok.

because the past him doesn’t have you around.

because the past him doesn’t have you kissing down his tattoos.

because the past him doesn’t have you whispering hushed praises about him.

because the past him doesn’t have your lips kissing and licking down his body.

because the past him doesn’t have you willingly blushing and fumbling as you ascend his body.

because the past him doesn’t have you, just you, so tiny, and exposed to him.

his hands flex at his sides as you kiss down his happy trail, leading you to his prominent bulge that's straining against his leather pants.

you hum and look at him through your lashes, his breath catches in his throat, god he’s so weak for you, its almost pathetic.

Almost.

your tiny fingers go to his belt, trying to free him, yet as you fumble with the skull on his belt, his hands come to join you, he’s hesitant, you note “can you help me?” you encourage him and the blush is consistently increasing down his neck as he whispers a “yes”

you let go and watch in fascination the way his hands quickly and masterfully unbuckle his belt, then proceeds to remove his pants, your hands flies to his, “take those off too” you motion to his gloves.

he nodes then does as he is told, and you inspect them, you know how they feel, but seeing every little detail in them? appreciating how his hands are much bigger than yours? how are his fingers longer? knowing they could reach spots you never dreamed of experiencing?

god, they were pretty, looked calloused and rough, like they have texture, and the veins that ran down them, you could drool.

your thighs unconsciously rub against each other to gain some friction, but you remind yourself that this isn’t about you, it's about him.

“kata, kata, you’re so pretty..”

his closes his palms at that, and flexes them open, you can’t help it, your hands go to grab his fingers and bring them to your lips “can i?”

“yeah.” he says the word breathless, and you don’t wait a second before you put two fingers into your mouth, both of you groan at the contacts. Your hands goes to hold his hand and guide more of his fingers into your wet cavern, you suck on them and run your tongue under them, as response he presses on your tongue, weighing it down, you moan at the feeling, dragging his fingers backwards and forth, a few more times until you feel harsh breaths blowing into your face, you open your eyes that you haven’t even realised you closed, to meet amber ones.

Katakuri’s eyes were wide blown, watching the way your mouth sucks his fingers off like its a cock, and the way you seem like the simple act of having his fingers in your mouth has brought you pleasure, he couldn’t help it, he normally has enough self-restraint, but it was like his fingers had a mind of their own.

you are taken aback by the taste of a mochi-like substance that suddenly erupts in your mouth, and you stare at him yet find his gaze distracted at the way his fingers escape your mouth to make the liquid dribble down your chin and into his leather pants.

You swallow what you could of the liquid, and he watches with eyes of a predator as it gobbles down your throat, you lose yourself for a moment in his face, and once again you are captured by the beauty of the man infront of you.

Katakuri can feel the heat of your cunt on him, and the realization that he is the one who got you all hot and bothered turn him on more than he cares to admit, he can feel the weight of your gaze on him, and when his eyes flicker to you, he is stunned by you for a second, and just when he is about to be captured in your spell again its broken by your small “hi”, and he thinks you never looked more adorable than this, so flustered and tiny, cute little gasps escaping you, and the way you keep fidgeting around.

“Hey” his voice rumbles, a rare smile crossing his face, and the giggle that you let escape warms his heart a bit more.

The wholesome moment is yet again interrupted, by the gasp he lets out as you adjust yourself directly into his bulge, and the shocked expression, followed on by the smirk on your face lets him know that he’s in for real.

You continue your previous actions, and pull down your kata’s pants, he helps you by raising his hips and then continuing to pull them down further down, and yet again you are infatuated with the man below you. The way his thighs are flexing and twitching, they looked so muscular and you find yourself wanting to bite them, kiss them, and worship them, yet the only thing that you find more delicious is the way the now much larger bulge is wet, you’re not even sure if a man can spare that much pre, without cuming.

You wont lie, you are intimidated by his size, that isn’t fully revealed, yet you find yourself strangely aroused, you’re not even sure why, thus before you can back out, you pull down his boxers, and your jaw drops.

The way he almost slaps your face as he springs up, only to be hung down by the sheer weight of him, the way he has veins running up and down his shaft, the way he is continuously twitching and the way he throbs, the angry red tip that is all but leaking delicious pre, all that and more makes a second rapidly fast heartbeat in you awaken, and all you can think is that you want him i– no.

you need him inside you.

“Darling, y-you don’t have to do this if you–oh fuck” he is cut off by your mouth leaching on his tip, and sucking on him, you can’t fit him inside you, yet you hollow your cheeks and push more of him into you.

Katakuri is convinced he has died and ascended to a heaven-like place for monsters like him, not only is he feeling toe-curling pleasure, he is receiving it all from you, and katakuri has never felt more loved as he does now.

Laying on his back, with you pleasuring him, and both of you having such a vulnerable yet intimate moment, he would have never imagined this the day that you came into his life, not by the way you reacted at first, screaming and thrashing all around.

No, he was fully prepared to live all his life loving you while you hated him and despised him, you are his everything, and as he gasps at the way you littered him with kisses, all wet and sloppy, he can swear that he has never felt more loved and in love than in this moment.

You lick up the pre from the underside of his cock all the the way to his tip, where you kiss it, before smearing some on your lips, you lick your lips as you watch the way your hands continue to pump him, he’s so big, both your hands can’t even fit around him.

“You taste so good kata, like mochi” you giggle at the sound that escapes him at that statement, before going back to licking and sucking him, one hand goes to his balls, while the other sneaks its way to rub at your embarrassingly wet panties.

You close your eyes shut, as you hear the few groans that he lets out, his mouth otherwise covered by his hand, you would have told him to let you hear him, if you couldn’t feel that he was close.

You try your best to relax your throat, its painful you won’t deny but you know you will be rewarded with the sight of him cumming, so you push through, you force your muscles to relax, to fight the discomfort, you bring both hands to stroke his twitching length, you try what you know, your drool and his previous pre helps serve as lube.

Your eyes snap to him, intent on watching him climax, katakuri’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, his mouth is covered by one hand, drool escaping the side of it, his other hand gripping the pillow beside his head so hard that you worry about it for a moment, yet the best treat of all is his eyes, rolled to the back, and if the light focused just right you could see the tears mark down his flushed cheeks.

it’s all too much for you, and yet it proves the same for him as his hips suddenly jolts, with a keen moan–more like a whimper of your name–and then he cums, it’s sweet, yet thick and is too much, your eyes water trying to swallow as much as you possibly can, however it proves futile as after a few seconds you’re getting off him, choking and gasping for air, you try to get your breathing under control, and when you do, it’s when he just finished cumming.

Katakuri does not recall what happened the moment his orgasm has him, all he know is that the pleasure was too much, and then he was seeing stars, he barely registers the sound of choking, nothing but pleasure that he never has felt before registers in his veins, it’s as if every fibre of his being is experiencing it, and he thinks he passed out for a few moments, he cannot recall.

All katakuri knows is that by the time his eyes are opened again, he feels at easy yet so ridiculously sensitive for the first time in his life he doesn’t have the words to describe how he feels, only that he was feeling an after-glow of pleasure he can’t comprehend however that was contracting the look on your face, your eyebrows are crossed in a frown, and you had your hands holding the side of his face.

your thumb rubbing his cheek, which was a weird sensation, not unpleasant…just different; he feels exposed, like he is showing something meant to be a secret to everyone and everything around him, yet he never more close to you than at that moment, and he quite liked that, he liked having you and him alone, intimate, vulnerable together, to be able to indulge in each other like this has to be a blessing, or divine intervention to have an angel like you gifted to him.

“You’re drooling, kata”

He didn’t think he had the energy to blush even more, nevertheless you prove him wrong once again in the same night, yet the sound of your laughter makes it worth the temporary embarrassment, without him noticing a smile stretch into his face, he feels safe and content with you.

But then he remembers, “darling?”

“Kata” he can hear the smile in your voice, he takes both hands in his, and your smile flatters a bit, “what’s wrong? Did you not like it?”

He shakes his head, before pressing his lips to your palms, he’s careful not to graze you with his fangs. “No, i did, i enjoyed it quite a lot, frankly”

“Then what's wrong, do you-”

“Darling, rest, i just…”

“Hm?”

“Well, i–you, i want to return the favour…i need to make you feel good” he feels like a fool, stumbling over his words like that.

“...you don’t have to do that”

“No, I want to, I need to bring you pleasure, as the one you have brought upon me, only if you are comfortable with that too. darling , do you want this?”

“Yeah” it's breathless, the way you say it, just like he previously did and the way your lips are, it’s like every movement you make is to tempt him, tease him, it feels like a trap, and even if it was, he would gladly fall into one, if it's for you but now, now he wants to kiss you.

So he does.

You’re surprised for a moment, and he thinks that he did something wrong, before you respond back, with the same intensity. It's passionate, full of electricity and emotion, it's like two lovers have met after a long time. It's pleasant, but then it’s not. It quickly escalates, until it’s all drool, teeth and tongues clashing with each other, it’s like taking a bite out of a forbidden fruit, something that you know is wrong yet feels good, too good, both of you want more, so more you take of each other, until the moment you can’t go longer with oxygen is reached.

God, this must be the millionth time you kissed him tonight, yet you can’t get enough; you want to makeout with him forever, his lips are addicting, and the way his fangs feed that addiction is unmeasurable.

Somehow during that process katakuri managed to get rid of your nightgown, you don’t even notice until you feel one of his hands creeping up your back, and that sends signals down your spine.

The way his fingers are delicately running up and down your back, and fiddling with the strap of your bra leaves goosebumps down their path that you are sure he can feel, you would be too occupied with the thought of that if it weren’t for his lips that are moulding against yours.

You let out a gasp that is swallowed by his tongue, as he manages to get you out of your bra, he keeps a hand on your hips, holding you still with one and the other one goes to your cheek pulling you away but not before ending it with a peck on your lips, you try to deepen it drunk off the taste of him but he doesn’t let you, instead he chuckles at the whine you let out and the sound goes straight to your core.

“patience, pretty…” his voice is sharp, deep, and sends tingles all over your body, the ability of his voice and the entirety of him that has a hold on you can’t be denied any longer, no matter what you try it always catches up to you.

katakuri ‘s thumb rub over your bottom lip, teasing you, everything stalls for a moment, it's like there’s only you and him, he looks majestic like this, almost heavenly, the way his amber eyes are gazing at you, almost devouring you, and then the cold air hits you, and you realize your bra has abandoned you, almost instantaneously his eyes widen with an emotion your brain cannot decipher.

Your hands go to cover yourself, suddenly feeling shy and bashful under his intense gaze, he doesn’t say anything for what felt like forever, until he grasps both of your wrists in one broad hand, and rubs circles into the back of your hand.

The other hand still trapping you against him, almost like he needs you two to be close, intertwined with each other, desiring you, becoming selfish and indulging himself for once, and yet he will be selfish, if it's with you, never once daring to think of a warm embrace, a chance to rest, to be vulnerable with no judgement, he needs you, and you need him. It’s a simple fact, yet one that seems as a sin, and yet, yet…if a monster like him is to be able to serve you, bring you pleasure, will it be less of a sin?

“Darling, don’t hide from me..” he sounds almost hurt, as if the mere thought of you thinking you’re undesirable brings him pain, as if you’re anything less than perfect, the mere thought of you not seeing yourself as he sees you, not being treated like you deserve to be makes a flame lit inside of him, he needs to show what he sees through his eyes when he dares lay his gaze on you, and he starts by pulling your hands away.

The hand on your hips brings you further into his chest while the other lets go of your hands, not before placing a kiss on each of them, your hands land uselessly into his pecs, as his mouth graze the tender flesh on your breast, hesitantly he begins placing kisses there before taking a nipple into his mouth, the euphoria you feel from such a simple act causes your hands to press down on him, and such a simple act makes you feel a heartbeat raising under your touch.

He gains courage the longer he keeps nursing on you, one hand is already playing with your other nipple, teasing you as he rolls it in-between his fingers, he’s good at this, almost too good. A choked moan escapes you at a particularly hard twist accompanied by sharp fangs scraping your skin, it’s too much and yet not enough, your hands somehow found their way into his hair, pulling at him, and you feel rather than hear the growl that follows your actions.

“katakuri, please” your voice comes out more pathetic than you would like, yet you don’t have time to dwell on it, as he releases the bud from his mouth with a ‘pop’.

He leaves a wet kiss into your other nub before whispering against it “no one else likes seeing me like this” Your hands grips his hair harder, pulling him away from your chest, his eyes unhoded and hazed with lust takes a moment to adjust to yours, ignoring the way his saliva and cool air makes your nipples stand hard you took in a shaky breath to arrange your thoughts.

“…stop” you don’t know what else to say, this is the same man who kidnapped you, and took you by force, and yeah sure your feelings for him developed into something, but it’s complicated.

it’s within your right to be upset at him, you should curse him and after all the things he had done to you, be ingratiated to be within his vacenitg yet you can’t bring yourself to do it, you look at him and his eyes stare back at you.

There it is again, that look in his eyes, it makes you want to scream, why? why? why?

You can feel tears brim near your eyes, he blinks at that once, twice, “stop, just stop!” it comes out more than a sob than you would like, yet you can’t do anything about it, you don’t want this, you don’t—

Katakuri’s lips are on yours, his knuckles brushing against your cheeks, other hand on your back, pushing you more into him, fitting like two pieces of a puzzle, connected, pulling away just to whisper sweet nothings against your lips, apologizes spill from him, and continue doing so as his kisses trail down your jaw and into your neck, his fangs scraping along them, neither painful nor pleasurable, just applying pleasure.

You gasp as wet kisses are being planted into your collarbone and descending further downwards, yet not fast enough, large large hands busy themselves by pushing you into him, other hand hovering on your thighs, hesitant, before grabbing a handful of them.

“kata, please…” It's amazing how a couple of words can make your husband snap, as soon as these words are let out into the air, his grip on you tightens where it can almost be considered painful.

He drags you closer to him, and the feeling of countless hard years of training runs deliciously against your clothed cunt. Your moan is wet and full of sound as the first real friction of the night is received by you. Familiar fingers push your ruined panties to the side before proding against your entrance, they move slowly coating themselves in your juices before plunging into you.

The wanted touch of his makes your back arch, and suddenly your back hits the mattress, and his mouth is on your nipples again, it’s all too much stimulation, the way his fingers is constantly moving in and out of you, the way his tongue leaves marks and kisses everywhere, the hold he has on your hip bone preventing you from running away from his ministrations.

Too much.

Too much pleasure, it's almost painful.

And yet.

Yet you want more.

Need more.

Your thoughts are in a jumbled mess, and it takes way more effort than you would care to admit to speak, still you do; because as his desire for you is insatiable, so is yours for him.

“W-wait, wait, please stop!” his hands stall almost immediately, he detaches his lips from your body, and his hand is again in your cheek rubbing soothing circles into your cheek, which you lean into, before meeting his gaze.

It’s full of worry, his brows furrowed, a pout on his flushed lips—really all of him is— before asking in a whisper, as to not startle you “are you alright, darling? have I gone too much? Do you want to stop? We don’t have to–”

You feel bashful under his gaze, and the way he is so concerned for you, you try to regulate your breath, but you want it so bad, need it in you. “Hah- god no…no, no, I-I wanna cum on your cock…”

“Darling.., I–We can’t…”

Katakuri feels bad for the frown on your face, he doesn’t want to deny you it saddens him and as he watches a frown settles on your face, your lower lips wobbles, it pains him to see you like this and he is ready to apologize again, offer you another option to bring you pleasure as the one you brought him, yet his thoughts are interrupted again by you.

“We– you don't have to put it in…” your voice is small, mumbled but he is sure that he had heard you, he is confused for a moment before you say again, your voice wavering “you.., I can just rub it against me..” your hands immediately goes to your face.

He doesn't say anything, too stunned to say anything, his mind is running around trying to figure out how that will be possible.”We–we don’t have to do it…it’s ok, just forget I said anything” God, he really is terrible at this whole thing, however he won’t let his inability to express himself to you get in his way.

“Yes.” you sniffle and peek between your fingers to look at him “Whatever you want, just show me how to please you and I will.” The way he says those words makes your heart skip a beat and butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You whine as he pulls your hands away from your face, he kisses them as an apology, before his breath hits your face, “whatever you want…” he whispers, so genuine and full of emotion that you almost burst out crying, but you don’t, and the only thing that manages to slip out of you is a tiny “uh-huh”

He pecks your lips, and looks at you expectantly “lay back” he does as he is told, slowly manoeuvring his way so he is sitting with his back to the headboard. His cock is semi hard, laying on his stomach twitching every other second.

Katakuri watches you intently as you fix yourself on top of him, keeping a hand near your hips to support you whenever you need it.

Your hands go to grab his cock, coaxing a bead of pre from him, his groan makes you clench, impatiently wanting to have him against you.

“Hah, you can touch katakuri, help g-guide me” you say breathing harshly, it’s not like you can go around his whole length by yourself, you need some form of assistance.

His hands grab your hips, thighs spreading widely to accompany his size, helping you align yourself with his cock. Your clit is swollen and twitching, desperate for some sort of stimulation, his precum serves as lube mixing in with both of your juices.

Your hands are on his abdomen searching for stability before you make contact with him, an embarrassingly large moan a result of that

The drag of him feels heavenly, your eyes don’t tear away from the sight of where the both of you are mixed, your lips are spread open, you can feel every vein on his shaft, every throb of him, the entirely of him, you slid easily against him, the pre of him helping you in accomplishing that.

Your breathing is harsh, biting your lips to conceal your moans before wet lips press against yours, you gasp unsuspecting of your husband's actions, before reciprocating trying to shove and mold your tongue against him

He pulls away just just for you to chase after him missing the familiar warmth, he doesn’t let you, capturing your jaw in his hands, cupping them before breathing into them, you’re practically breathing each into each other and sharing the same breath.

“Please…” you’re not above begging and thus you find yourself with a thumb in your mouth and his dark voice whispers into your ear “don’t hide, darling, speak to me, let me hear you…” you don’t think, you just nod, desperate to have him against you again “i need to hear you say it darling…”

“I-I won’t hide…just please” He can never deny you, your head is thrown back yet you can feel his gaze on you, moans escape both of you—an indicator and reassurance of the pure bliss and ecstasy you both are feeling.

He guides your hips making you feel the drag of your clit, so puffy and desperate against his cock, feels like paradise to you, the only thing that would feel better is having him inside of you—but that’s for another time.

You’re enthralled to have him like this, countless nights you have been spending thinking of a moment like this, with him, charlotte katakuri.

Your husband.

You can feel the coil in your stomach reappearing, you won’t last long—that you know, yet as you look down on your panting husband you feel the need to hold off your orgasm a bit longer, in hopes of seeing him cum.

His face is concentrated, and all scrunched up, the warmth of your cunt against his frustrated cock is nothing like he had imagined, and he distinctly notes that he can’t go back to a mochi cushion after feeling you since he can never replicate the feel of your pussy, something so divine.

Any sense of rationality katakuri has disperse as he hears your voice, high pitched, whiny and desperate—so heavenly to him “I’m gonna cum, please, wan’a cum, fe—ah!—feels good”

Your hands dig into his skin, and his speeds up, frustrated desire accompanies him, intent on watching you unfold before his eyes, he can feel his end too, never imagining something like this could feel so good.

“Go ahead and let go” and just like that with a broken moan the coil in your stomach snaps, it feels beyond heavenly to be rewarded after such a long time, and katakuri keeps you upright with a hand while the other still stimulates you, makes you ride off your orgasm and he keeps going even your orgasm washes over you in waves, it’s too much stimulation for your brain and body, no coherent thoughts are present in your body “too much, ‘s moree pleaseee….”

“Fuck.” with a curse word that seems too improper for your husband, he manages to cum for the second time of the night, semen splattering all over his stomach, his grip on your is the only thing keeping you stable from falling into his heaving chest.

The afterglow of your orgasm basks you into sleep, you’re sure when you wake up in the morning your body will be filled with bruises and an ache in your muscles, but you can’t seem to focus on that with the way your husband’s voice lures you to sleep, baking you and consuming you whole.

“Darling, you did so good, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Was I too rough? Do you require a—“

“Mhmm, want you..please, don’t leaveee…”

“Never.”

“Mhmm”

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

current status: unedited

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