#ghastly anon
Note
Honestly? This was initially just an impulsive and sudden thought, him as a Millennial I mean.
Man is searching for himself like he's expecting to have a spiritual awakening in India or something, with a touch of edgy existentialism. Constantly moving around not only because of his criminal lifestyle but also to satisfy his compulsion to "travel to find himself"- like I know you rob rich people and all (including heavens arena- Lord only knows what the heck you do with those money, you sus excuse of an arachnid) but please save some money- If you'd save some you wouldn't have to go around and look like a greasy haired excuse Al Capone wannabe with your hair jelled back prolly by grime (Talking about the Yorknew arc, you cannot tell me he doesn't look like one of those fake-fancy junkies that go around in suits but forget to shower every week).I dunno He just gives me those vibes.
Like, I know you're traumatised and all but please stop psychoanalysing your troupe comrades after randomly coming across a Hoghwarts house quiz- do not fall into that rabbit hole- But the fact that I can picture this clearly is even more concerning. Boy prolly even started reading the books after that and started comparing/trying to seek himself in some characters like Tom Riddle or something, Sweet Heavens I cannot-
And- Ain't no way he didn't enter an alt-emo phase during his teenage years.
Man prolly used to listen to My Chemical Romance as well. And like, have you seen that one outfit he had in the Manga? The one with the weird hat that looks like a dead opossum and with that weird onion quilted jacket, yeah. If the pants he's wearing there ain't lookin' like skinny jeans, which scream millennial, I don't know what else they are supposed to be.
But I can clearly see why it'd be Canon for him to be of the 70's instead, I mean- Just look at his bowlcut in the flashback- horrid I tell you. An absolute social self-slaughter. And he also looks like he'd enjoy lame "dad jokes"/"gen X jokes", so yeah, I get your point-
I thereby bid thou these Chrollo slander crumbs
Ghastly Anon~
Ghastly anon my sweet you just violated everything this man is and stands for without batting an eye. I kid you not I laughed so hard at Al Capone that I had to take a break reading this. That man fears nothing except for your impromptu roasting that is completely uncalled for but always does the job of ending his career. Well done <3
And the Hogwarts quiz... I can picture that happening too. The troupe would take a BuzzFeed quiz of which cupcake are you and Chrollo would ask for everyone's results just to psychoanalyse their choices to get to know his friends better.
I don't want to judge his money spending habits but I don't think he spends the money he has for luxury. Despite being able to afford a hotel for his stay he'd still rather hang out at an abandoned church or ghost town just for the aesthetic. I don't think he bothers with luxury. He can make do with anything as long as he can sleep.
Also also!!! He didn't go through an alt emo phase. He is an alt emo phase. The skinny pants say it all
#chrollo being a dad joke enjoyer... yes i see it#you just violated this man on all levels except physical lol#ghastly anon#i am proud
23 notes
·
View notes
Note
on my knees for the hug between skug and ghastly when ghastly is done being a statue
Its a guy thing
#skulduggery pleasant#skulduggery pleasant fanart#ghastly bespoke#ghastly bespoke fanart#hug#send anons#stylus#nic stylus
145 notes
·
View notes
Note
1, 6 and 17 for saracen and dexter?
Yes I loveeeeee Saracen and Dexter :)
So Dexter is the better cook he cooks things like chilli con carni, (please don't come for me I can spell lmao) home made pizza, Sunday roast, spag bol. Where as Saracen only knows how to butcher the animals he killed, order from Dominos/papa John's, microwave pizza, jacket potato cheese and beans, but this is his redeeming quality he CAN cook mac n cheese. His is literally the best. When the have like a sort of dead men reunion (I'm basing this before lstdm) he cooks. Because everyone LOVES his mac n cheese. Ghastly ALWAYS gets to take home the extra because everyone loves Ghastly. But when Val comes along Ghastly still takes home the extras but Val goes to his to eat it with Tanith. Skug just sits there and watches his partner eat her meal. But the dead men only order papa John's/dominoes at dead men get togethers after Saracen dies because that's also something he used to do A LOT. But the air is filled with like sadness and of knowing they will never see their friend again.
Saracen is literally ALWAYS late. The Dead Men say he would be late to his own funeral. So once everything had calmed down after ute. Saracen does get his funeral. But Dexter tells everyone it starts at like 10 am but it actually starts at like half 11 because that's how late Saracen used to be. Its a nice touch but has like Dexter and Tanith and possibly Val and Milista Sobbing before the funeral even starts at the thought of one of their best friends.
Dexter and Saracen are both REALLY competitive but I think if I had to choose one I probably say Saracen. He starts shouting at the TV when his fave rugby/cricket team is loosing by a lot (he refuses football). Dexter kind of does too but not as much. He prefers to just laugh at his boyfriend stood up shouting at the TV. Dexter literally finds this hilarious and sometimes is laughing so hard he can't breathe. Saracen is just stoo there like WHAT WE'RE LOOSING HOW CAN YOU BE LAUGHING AT THIS DEXTER! FUCKING BREATHE ITS NOT FUNNY WE'RE LOOSINGGGGG! Which just makes Dexter laugh more. Saracen really doesn't see what's funny. Dexter never told him he was actually laughing at Saracen not whatever game they were watching. Dexter doesn't watch games anymore it's it all too quiet in the house after Saracen is gone.
#anton shudder#fletcher renn#ghastly bespoke#larrikin fetter#nefarian serpine#scapegrace#skulduggery pleasant#stephanie edgley#tanith low#thrasher#sorry this took so long I had to go to school then just kind of forgot about it#also sorry to the anon I for Chinaduggery i put so little on that#i personally don't ship Chinaduggery buy I'm proship so that's probably why lmao
8 notes
·
View notes
Note
DRAW UR OCS MORE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
realy .. i thought nobody wouldge care .... ouggggg
#hehe This is doin ghastly (<3) things 2 my confidence rn Anon ... dont make me stronger .... who knows what might happen ...#asks#not art#ocs
18 notes
·
View notes
Note
now RHCP must write a monsterfucking song for fairness
WHO IS THIS. WHO WOULD DARE SEND SOMWTHING AS FUNNY AS THIS IN ON ANON. OK
you're so right actually . need a monsterfucking song to add to this fics playlist .
#asks#anon#honestly purple stain is close enough . that bacterial infection is ghastly enough to be monstrous
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey, do you plan on updating the simpbur fic? no rush btw, i just miss our greasy lil simp!
I miss him too ;;w;; and i want to hopefully publish a chapter this weekend but! We shall see
#i love writing for him...#hes so greasy and ghastly and i would do anything to give him head#but my brani so dumb#anon asks#wipes answers
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
New wrio-tual: let's pray that the gauntlet's are only on when he uses his burst 🥲
-wrio leak anon
WRIO-TUAL PLEASE 😭 but i didn't even think about that. it's definitely possible! there could also be a function like what mika has to use his crossbow too!
0 notes
Text
she’s out of her mind
luke castellan x daughter of hades!reader
anon prompt: Hey babes! I saw your post about wanting prompts and I was wondering you could write Luke Castellan x Daughter of Hades! Reader where it's like sunshine (Luke) x grumpy (Reader) trope?
authors note: hello i am back with a small drabble for the cute prompt above! i got drunk off of applebees dollaritas and wrote this in 15mins so do with that information what you will. hope you enjoy! :)
title is from she’s out of her mind by blink-182. lyrics are a lil fitting.
warnings: none? i think? it’s just fluff, i think. sort of.
“Wake up, sunshine.”
You groaned low and deep, releasing a guttural sound full of pure agony. Rolling over on your (extremely warm, cozy, sleep inducing) bed, you came face to face with your boyfriend, Luke Castellan, who was currently opening up the curtains in your cabin.
Being the only child of Hades at the camp, the entire cabin was sparse and empty, save for the corner you called home. There was a bed with black sheets and blanket, a side table full of the few memorabilia you had to your name, and a dresser beside that which held your extensive collection of black clothing. The walls resembled the inner workings of a cavern; slick rock prodded with small bones and beautiful jewels encapsulated the bedroom areas. Sconces held lit torches burning bright with turquoise Greek fire.
Your favourite part of the cabin, though, was the specially-crafted blackout curtains that were typically drawn tight over the windows. Not even a sliver of light could penetrate the thick, black, velvet drapes. That was, until, your idiot boyfriend took it upon himself to draw them open. The harsh blades of sunlight violated your eyes, illiciting your pained groan. You hated it when people interrupted your sleep.
“Luke,” You whined, shoving your face into your pillow, hoping to evade the blinding light. “Let me sleep, please, for the love of the gods.”
“Fuck the gods,” Luke said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice without needing to see his (cute, devilishly handsome) face. “Anyways, it’s 9am! You’ve slept in long enough and I wanna have breakfast with you and your pretty face.” Luke flopped down on the bed beside you and flipped your body back over with ease, in a foolish attempt to force you into the world of the living.
Typical for a child of Death, you kept your eyes squeezed shut and pounded the bedsheet with your fist. “I will literally, genuinely, actually murder you without hesitation if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”
“That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend.” Luke said, pressed a small kiss to your nose. You swatted him away with anger.
Any other (normal, rational, smart) kid at camp would’ve soiled their pants and fled in terror from such a threat uttered by the one and only daughter of Hades. You were capable of a simple killing — you were graciously bestowed the gift of sucking out the souls of mortals with a mere flick of the wrist — and so it was only logical to fear such a ghastly claim. Luke, however, had realized early on in your Camp days that you were full of shit and would never hurt a fly. He took an opportunity to befriend you and you’d been dating for a few years now. You were (truly, madly, deeply) in love with him and yes, despite your immense hatred for morning sunlight, you would never actually hurt him.
“Come on,” he prodded again, cuddling up beside you and tapping your forehead mischievously. You mustered the courage to crack open one eye (barely) and saw him grinning down at you. “Wake up, baby. Let’s get breakfast and then spend the day at the docks. We can swim and sun bathe and have a picnic—“
“Gods, you’re ambitious today,” you grumbled, rolling back over to face the opposite direction of Luke (and, the open windows), allowing him to grab your waist and pull you up against his chest. “I hate being in the sun. You know this.”
“Yeah, but I like to try new things with you,” Luke said, peppering a few kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, squeezing his taut arm around your torso. “And I’m dying to see you in a bikini.”
“Perv,” you mumbled, but deep down you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing a crimson blush to bloom over your chest. “Give me another hour to sleep.”
“No,” Luke said, and now it was his turn to groan impatiently. “Please, now, for me? I love you and want to spend time with you.”
“I hate you and want you to leave me alone,” you replied, pulling your fluffy duvet back up over your shoulders. “Bed time.”
“Beach time,” Luke decided. He sat up slightly and ripped the blankets entirely off your form, exposing your body to the cold air of the morning.
You shrieked. “Luke, you asshole—“
Luke jumped out of the bed, smiling wide. He gathered up all the blankets up into his arms, much to your dismay, and held them away from you. You only wore shorts and a tank top to sleep last night, and the chill in the room froze you right to your bones. Luke bundled up the bedding into a ball and fired it across the room. “There, now you’re acclimated.”
“You’re dumb as hell.”
“You are a grouchy, sleepy demon who needs breakfast and vitamin D.”
“Ugh!” You exploded, finally shoving yourself out of bed in a fit of exasperation. Luke had the audacity to applaud you. “Okay, there, I’m up!”
“So proud of you, my sleeping beauty,” Luke remarked. He crossed the room to you and placed a tender kiss to your lips, making sure to nip at your pouty bottom lip.
“Sorry for being rude,” You murmured, after having kissed him back. “I love you. I just don’t love being woken up.”
“I know,” Luke said with a grin. “I actually think you’re cute when your grumpy, so I do it on purpose to bug you.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smirk from appearing on your cheeks. “Whatever. You promised breakfast and I’m starving, so let’s go.”
Luke mimicked your playful eyeroll. He took your hand, leading you out the door and towards the dining pavilion.
note 2: hi hi! if you read this and enjoyed it and maybe want to read more from me, i would super appreciate prompts and requests sent to my inbox! can’t guarantee i’ll write them all but i will for sure try my best! thanks for reading! :)
#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#pjo#percy jackon and the olympians#luke castellan#jemiswriting
377 notes
·
View notes
Note
First of all, I love 'From a previous life'. It's so well written and brings me so much joy to read.
That being said, I'm very excited to see you're taking requests.
Could we get a scenario where Cooper and fem, ex-vaulty reader find an almost abandoned vault when seeking shelter from an oncoming rad storm. After clearing it out- of most threats, they get comfortable and reader decides to give cooper a taste of the finer things in life. They could get power going, potentially shower (together?) Have a meal they didn't have to hunt, sleep in an actual bed, etc.
Could involve cuddling, smut, playfulness or whatever, I just love the thought of rough and tough Cooper getting all soft as he finally gets to indulge himself for the first time in over 200 years.
Please and thank you <3
What Happens Tonight
Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x Ex-Vaultie!Reader (fem)
Summary: You proposition the Ghoul whilst taking shelter during a radstorm.
Warnings: smut (18+), shower-sex, clothed sex (party of one), p in v, swearing, flirting, angst, canon-typical violence, mutual pining, rejection, emotionally stunted Cooper, slight mentions of appearance anxiety (Cooper), tiny hint at selling reader for vials (blink and you miss it)
Word Count: 4.8K
A/N: Anon, thank you so much for such a lovely, detailed request (my first!) I hope I've managed to meet your expectations, and thank you for the kind words on From A Previous Life, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I'd love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌
The Ghoul's voice echoed through the steel corridors of the vault as he fired off another round into the oncoming horde of feral ghouls. "So much for being abandoned!" he shouted over his shoulder, his words barely audible over the cacophony of growls and moans. His gun raised, he braced himself for another wave.
You reacted instinctively, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you kicked out, your boot connecting with the hanging jaw of a ghoul that leaped at you. The sickening crunch of bone halted it's advance momentarily, giving the bullet from your gun time to find its mark, silencing it permanently. Blood sprayed across your face, warm and sticky as it settled on your skin, but there was no time to dwell on it.
Fumbling with the bandolier across your chest, you frantically grabbed at a bullet to reload your gun. "I didn't hear you coming up with anything," you retorted, eyes wide as another ghoul descended upon you with alarming speed, its ghastly form illuminated by the flickering lights of the vault.
It swiped at your outstretched arm, the gun flying from your grip and landing with a metallic clash against the steel floor. The ghoul lunged towards you with a guttural snarl, its rotten teeth gnashing dangerously close to your neck, and you fell backwards under it's weight in a surge of panic. Your heart pounded in your chest as you grappled with the creature, holding it inches away from your face, your hand pressing desperately against its corroded neck.
Salvation came in the form of a single bullet piercing through the air, entering and leaving the feral ghoul's skull in a clean strike. The creature's movements ceased abruptly, its lifeless form collapsing against your grip. You exhaled a shaky breath, relief flooding through you as you begun to push it away, its decaying remnants staining your body and the ground beneath you.
"Well, I'm damn sure it would have been better than this," the Ghoul remarked, his voice tinged with irritation as he kicked the lifeless body away from you. He turned his attention back to the remaining two feral ghouls, his gaze hardening with determination. "Fuckin' steel tomb. Don't know why I agreed to this," he muttered under his breath, raising his sawed off rifle at the closest enemy.
Neither of you had been expecting the storm. After miles of trudging through the unforgiving desert, each step sinking into the soft grains like quicksand and your weary legs protesting with every movement, you had welcomed it. The sun's heat was relentless as it bore down upon you, slicking your skin with sweat as your lungs burned from the thick, humid air.
When the sky finally darkened, heavy storm clouds rolling ominously across the horizon, you had felt a sense of relief. The air crackled with a pulsing electricity, raising the hairs on your arms and sending shivers down your spine. You smiled, anticipating the rain against your hot skin, cooling it like a balm, but your glee ended when you followed the Ghoul's troubled gaze skyward. The once-promising clouds twisted into a menacing green hue, casting an eerie glow over the wasteland. As they churned and roiled overhead, you felt the Ghoul tug at your hand as you both fled.
You had struggled to keep pace with the Ghoul as he dragged you along the desert, his movements swift and determined despite the looming threat of the storm overhead. The sound of thunder grew louder with each passing moment, urging you forward towards the faint glimmer of hope on the horizon—the open blast door, rusted and weathered against the harsh backdrop of the desert rocks. Salvation.
"You didn't have much choice," you reminded him, now dusting yourself off as you rose to your feet and joined him at his side. With practiced ease, you reached for the pistol holstered at his hip, levelling it at the snarling feral ghoul before you. Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger, the blast tearing through the ghoul's face and sending it crashing to the ground.
"Not all of us are immune to radstorms," you continued, your voice firm as you glanced at him, a hint of a smile on your lips. "And you'd miss me too much."
With a grunt of acknowledgment, he dispatched the last remaining ghoul with a well-aimed shot to the head. As the echoes of gunfire faded, silence descended upon the hallway, the only sound a soft hum of electricity coursing through the ancient structure.
"Like a hole in the head," he muttered, his tone laced with grim amusement as he surveyed the aftermath of the encounter, slinging his rifle onto his back.
You rolled your eyes in response, holstering his gun back at his hip before bending to retrieve your own from where it had been flung during the scuffle with the feral ghoul. Blood smeared across your skin as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your hand, blinking away the remnants of the encounter.
The Ghoul scrutinized you with a critical eye, flicking at a piece of rotten flesh that rested on your shoulder. It hit the ground with a wet splat. "You look like shit," he remarked bluntly, his tone devoid of any sugar-coating as he took in your dishevelled appearance. "Smell like it too."
A wry grin tugged at your lips despite the grim circumstances, looking down at your bloody clothes. "I don't think ghouls concern themselves with personal hygiene when they're rotting from the inside out," you quipped, attempting to lighten the mood, though you quickly fumbled to apologize when you saw his expression falter. "Not you, you're different."
He kicked at the corpse with a spurred boot, a hint of bitterness tainting his features. "Debateable," he muttered, his voice heavy with a weight you couldn't quite discern.
Before you could say anything, he urged you forward through the dim hallway, stepping over the dead as you pushed deeper into the belly of the vault.
"The backup generator is running, but barely" you informed him, eyeing the flickering lights overhead. "If we find an apartment close to the power room, it might have enough for a hot shower. I bet there's still an old tin of cram or two hanging around, too."
He chuckled teasingly, his voice echoing softly in the corridor. "Feeling at home, vaultie?" he asked, a hint of amusement colouring his words.
You couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as you took in the familiar twists and turns of the Vault-Tec vault. It had been months since you left your own vault on a standard recon mission for the overseer. Memories of your first days outside the safety of your home flooded back, the naivety of not quite understanding your surroundings almost leading you to your demise. It was only through the intervention of the irradiated bounty hunter that you had been spared from certain death.
Despite the dangers of the wasteland, you had found a sense of belonging alongside the Ghoul, his gruff exterior belying a reluctant camaraderie that had formed between you. His initial frustration at your presence had given way to begrudging acceptance, and eventually, he had presented you with an ultimatum: he would guide you through the commonwealth in return for your assistance in retrieving his next batch of vials. What exactly your role would entail remained unclear, but you had agreed without hesitation, eager to repay the debt you owed him for saving your life.
"Let's try in here," you suggested, gesturing towards the apartment block as you led the way. Stopping at the first open door, you peered inside, finding the remnants of a life left behind. The apartment boasted a homely kitchen diner attached to an open-planned living room, but a thick layer of dust coated every surface, casting a sombre feeling over the once-vibrant space.
As you moved to step into the apartment, the Ghoul's gloved hand closed firmly around your wrist, halting your progress. "We should check on the storm," he advised, his tone cautious. "It could be passing quickly, and we don't want to waste valuable time."
"What's your hurry?" you chuckled, gently freeing your arm from his grip with a shake before venturing into the kitchen. "Don't tell me you couldn't go for a little home comfort or two," you teased over your shoulder, testing the tap and smiling when the first drops of water spurted from it.
The Ghoul stepped warily into the apartment, his hand hovering near his holstered gun as he scanned the faded space with caution, his senses alert for any signs of danger. Meanwhile, you rummaged through the cupboards with a sense of determination, your movements swift and purposeful.
Suddenly, you let out a triumphant "Aha!" The Ghoul tensed slightly as he turned his attention to you. With a proud grin, you held up your findings for his inspection. "Can I interest you in a fine meal of BlamCo Mac and Cheese, Mr. Howard?"
Your playful tone brought a rare hint of amusement to the Ghoul's features, his guard momentarily lowered in the face of your infectious enthusiasm. With a weary but genuine smile, he nodded in agreement. "Well, vaultie, I suppose it's better than nothing," he conceded, allowing himself to relax ever so slightly in the comfort of the unfamiliar surroundings as he stepped closer to the table.
"Better than spending hours hunting for a glimpse of mole-rat meat, that's for sure," you remarked with a chuckle, the sound echoing softly in the quiet confines of the apartment. You opened the E-Z pour spout of the box, decanting two portions of BlamCo Mac and Cheese into the pan on the stove. You wished for milk instead of the tap water as you added it to the mix, a small pang of longing for the comforts of home stirring within you.
As you stirred the pot, you couldn't help but notice the Ghoul's watchful gaze lingering on you from behind. Turning to face him, you observed the subtle shift in his demeanour, a hint of awkwardness marring his usually confident exterior. "Why don't you sit down, make yourself comfortable," you suggested, nodding towards the dining table that stood between you. Despite his initial hesitation, you smiled warmly when he slowly took a seat.
As you observed the Ghoul sitting at the dining table, his posture tense and his demeanour uncertain, you couldn't help but feel a sense of role reversal between the two of you. Here he was, a seasoned survivor of the wasteland, seeming out of place and unsure in the remnants of a family home. It was a stark contrast to the confidence and expertise he showed whilst guiding you on the surface.
Now, it was your turn to lead him through unfamiliar territory, to offer him a glimpse of normalcy amidst the chaos he'd known for so many years.
You served the steaming meal into two bowls you had found in the cupboard above, placing them gently on the table before the Ghoul as you settled into your seat opposite him. As he picked up his spoon and began to eat, you couldn't help but watch him with a soft affection.
He grunted in acknowledgment, a reluctant expression of gratitude escaping his scarred lips before he dug into the hot offering before him. You observed with a warm smile as he paused mid-mouthful, savouring the cheesy flavour that filled the air, his expression shifting to one of satisfaction as he gave an affirming nod.
"Not half bad," he said, then glanced at you with a glint in his eye. "Could do with a little rat meat."
You shook your head at his joke, savouring the familiar taste of the mac and cheese as you tucked into your own meal. A comfortable silence settled between you both as you ate, the only sound in the room the gentle clinking of spoons against ceramic.
Once he had finished his meal, the Ghoul leaned back in his chair, rubbing comically at his stomach as he glanced over at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight, the juxtaposition of this rugged, irradiated cowboy against the backdrop of a once-cozy family home amusing to you.
"You ever see yourself in a place like this?" you asked, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned forward, your elbow propped up on the table.
"Sweetheart, there ain't no place like this," he replied, gesturing around the room with a sweep of his hand. "This ain't real, just a lie sold to gullible folk who were desperate not to go out with the end of the world."
"I don't know," you countered, a hint of defiance in your voice. "Feels pretty real to me."
He shook his head condescendingly, a familiar tone creeping into his words. "That's 'cause you were raised by the machine," he said, his gaze steady as he met your eyes. "Reality is, you don't know your ass from your elbow."
You laughed softly, the tension easing from your shoulders as you shook your head in amusement. "Maybe not, but I think this, real or not, might be nice for just one night."
He considered your suggestion, his mouth pulling into a tight grimace as he followed your gaze to the far corner of the room where a door led into a fair-sized bedroom. From your vantage point, the queen-sized bed seemed to call out to you, promising a rare moment of comfort and respite that you hadn't felt since leaving your vault.
His expression softened as he caught the gleam of longing in your eye. "I suppose, just one night," he conceded, his tone gruff but his reluctance tinged with a hint of warmth. "You gonna wash that stink off before diving into that thing?"
You grinned at his teasing remark, then gestured to the remnants of feral ghoul clinging to his own body. "I'm not the only one who needs a shower," you pointed out with a playful smirk. "You're not getting in that bed without one."
He chuckled, his gaze momentarily dropping before meeting yours once more. "I'm taking the couch," he declared.
Your smile faltered, disappointment evident on your face as you glanced over to the dusty couch. In your eagerness for a moment of normalcy, you had momentarily forgotten the harsh reality of your situation—the boundaries that existed between you and your companion.
"I think you'd like the bed much better," you suggested tentatively, but he shook his head in refusal when you looked back at him.
"You gonna make me tell you again?" he asked, his tone firm with warning.
Memories of a recent encounter flooded your mind. Just days ago, in the chill of the night, you had sought comfort in his warmth, curling up behind him on his bedroll in a desperate attempt to stave off the cold wind that whipped through the open shelter you had found. Of course it wasn't the only reason you had crossed that line, but you told yourself otherwise.
At first, he had stirred slowly, his initial reaction one of sleep-hazed confusion, but realization settled on him at the touch of your hand on his back. He had pushed you away, demanding to know what had gotten into you, banishing you back to your own bedroll, and in the morning he had made it clear that it was not to happen again—that you needed to get your head on straight.
With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to the reality of the situation. Memories of the ease of intimacy in your vault flooded your mind—the shared moments of mutual gratification with fellow residents that had once been commonplace. But on the surface, such connections seemed few and far between, leaving you feeling isolated and starved for physical affection.
Despite your initial recoil at the sight of the Ghoul, a newfound curiosity had begun to stir within you—a longing for the touch of another, of his rough hands, weathered by the harshness of the wasteland, tracing patterns across your flesh. It filled you with a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension. The mere thought of it sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that you struggled to suppress.
And yet, here you both were—plucked from your shared reality and forced to remain in this abandoned apartment until the radstorm had passed.
The confines of the room seemed to shrink around you as the tension between you and the Ghoul hung heavy in the air. Each passing moment only served to heighten the palpable desire that simmered beneath the surface.
"I'm going to wash this off," you announced, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart, as you rose from your seat and fixed your gaze on him. "You're right, none of this is real. Tomorrow is a new day, so what happens tonight is insignificant."
Before you could falter, you turned away and made your way to the bedroom where the en suite was located. Your skin burned at the implication of your words, at the possibility that he might ignore you and leave you feeling empty and alone in the harsh light of the morning after.
With each step, you braced yourself for rejection, for the inevitable fallout that awaited. But as you reached the door of the bathroom, a sliver of hope flickered within you—a small glimmer of possibility that perhaps, just perhaps, the barriers between you could be broken down, if only for a fleeting moment in time.
Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down on you, enveloping your naked skin in a welcomed embrace. With each drop, the dirt and grime of the wasteland melted away, leaving you feeling refreshed and renewed. Lost in the bliss of the water, you didn't hear the door slide open behind you until the Ghoul's deep voice cut through the steam.
"You missed a spot," he remarked, and you jumped, turning to face him with your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. Your heart raced as his darkened eyes roamed your body, their intensity sending a flush of heat rushing to your cheeks.
"Think you can get it, Cooper?" you asked after a pause, the challenge evident in your tone as you dared him to come closer, to see just how far he was willing to go now that he had stepped foot in the bathroom and laid eyes on your naked form. He shifted, making to step into the shower, but you stopped him with a hand pressed against his clothed chest.
"You're still dressed," you pointed out, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes as you gestured to his attire. His bandolier and hat lay discarded on the countertop behind him, both guns resting in their respective holsters beside your own.
With a resigned sigh, he shrugged out of his heavy duster and let it fall to the ground, the weight of his armour leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. But before he could make another move, you stopped him once more, your hand halting his progress as you met his gaze with determination.
"The clothes ain't coming off," he muttered, his tone gruff with a hint of defiance. "Take it or leave it."
For a moment, you hesitated, weighing your options as you stared into his eyes, searching for any sign of vulnerability beneath the hardened exterior. And then, with a silent nod of understanding, you stepped aside, allowing him to join you beneath the comforting spray of the shower, the barriers between you slowly beginning to crumble in the warmth of the water.
His frame took up the rest of the space, looming over you as you dropped your arm from your chest, exposing yourself to him fully. With a sharp intake of breath, he devoured you with his gaze, his eyes darkening with a mix of hunger and hesitation. The steam swirled around you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that felt separate from the harsh realities outside.
You reached for his gloved hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you lifted it and guided it to your breast. The sensation of the rough leather against your skin sent a shiver through you, your eyes never leaving his as you encouraged him to touch you.
For a moment, he remained still, his eyes searching yours as if seeking permission one last time. Then, with a slow exhale, he closed his hand around your breast, the pressure firm but careful, as if afraid to break the fragile connection forming between you.
His thumb brushed over your nipple, the leather cool and abrasive against your sensitive skin. A gasp escaped your lips, your body arching into his touch as desire flared within you. His eyes, still locked on yours, softened with a mix of awe and uncertainty, the vulnerability beneath his hardened exterior laid bare in the steamy haze of the shower.
You wondered if, during the centuries he had roamed the wasteland, he had ever experienced this intimacy. Had he taken a lover? Had he sought solace in another's arms, despite the shame that made him hesitant to do so? You wondered if he had felt the soft, smooth skin of a woman since being transformed into this stoic, dangerous mutation, and it made you determined to give him the comfort you felt he so desperately needed.
Emboldened by his touch, you leaned closer, pressing your body against his clothed form, feeling the heat radiating from him even through the layers of damp fabric. Your hands moved to his shoulders, sliding down his arms as you whispered, "You won't break me."
He paused, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "What if I want to?" he asked, his voice low and searching. His gaze bore into yours, seeking an answer.
His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken longing and raw vulnerability. This was as open and honest as he had ever been with you, his desires laid bare for the first time. You could see the conflict in his gaze, the struggle between the hardened exterior he presented to the world and the tender emotions he kept hidden away.
"Go ahead," you said softly, your voice trembling with anticipation and the weight of your own feelings. You pressed a hand against the hardness of his clothed cock, squeezed gently as if urging him on.
His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both delicate and demanding. His hands moved over your body, exploring and caressing with a reverence that took your breath away.
Suddenly, you were pushed backwards against the cold tiles of the shower cubicle, his body consumed you as his lips left yours to nip and suck at your neck before moving fervently down to your breasts. You gasped when his teeth grazed your nipple, your hands resting on his shoulders, holding him closer to you. His own hands clawed at your thighs, lifting one leg to rest on his hip as you reached for his belt buckle. He gritted his teeth, anticipating your touch. You undid it slowly, your hand grazing his clothed abdomen before sliding down to squeeze his cock.
"Fuck," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with desire. You could feel his hardness pulsing against your palm, its size and thickness surprising you, sending a surge of excitement to your core. His textured skin pressed against yours, igniting a shiver of anticipation at the thought of him inside you. With a tentative thrust, he tested your grasp, letting out a guttural moan when you responded with a tug.
You guided his cock to your entrance, teasingly tracing the tip along your slick folds. The air crackled between you, every touch, every movement igniting the tension. He claimed your lips in a fierce kiss, teeth clashing as he effortlessly lifted you with practiced skill. Legs wrapped around his waist, you held onto him tightly as he pushed into you. You felt overwhelmed you as your walls stretched to accommodate him, a fiery sensation coursing through you as he filled you completely.
For a moment, you both stilled in the intensity of the connection, breathlessly panting in the humid air. Then, with a slow, deliberate rhythm, he began to move, his thrusts deep and forceful, each one igniting waves of pleasure that surged through you.
His gloved hands kneaded and squeezed at the soft flesh of your behind, his head dropped into the crook of your neck again as his licked and sucked the skin raw. Your fingers slid between your bodies, tugged at the buttons of his wet shirt in a vain attempt to feel him against you. He grunted, pulled back from your neck with a scolding look as he slapped your hand away.
"I just want to feel you, Coop," you told him, voice tainted with a whine.
"You're feeling me just fine," he said, his voice low, as he thrust his hips deeply, pushing his cock further inside you. Tears welled in your eyes from the stretch, and you leaned your head back against the tiles while he smirked. "Just fine."
You yielded, deciding that if this was how he chose to give himself to you, then you'd accept it willingly.
He took your silence as obedience, thrusting into you forcefully, driving his cock to the hilt over and over. You moaned as your body responded, clenching around him, your eyes squeezed shut. With a smirk, he pulled back slightly, his gaze fixated on the point where your bodies joined, observing intently as he continued to pound into you with a steady, unyielding pace.
A gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid between you, his fingers encased in leather, pinching your clit with a pleasurable pain that sent waves of sensation through your body. The coil of tension inside you tightened, your muscles yearning for release as he expertly flicked and rubbed at the sensitive bud.
Your nails dug into his shoulder, leaving marks on the leather vest as you thrashed against him. His eyes, now dark pools of desire, remained fixed on your hungry cunt enveloping him as you matched his relentless rhythm. With each bounce, your bodies collided, igniting a primal passion between you and driving you both towards the brink of ecstasy.
Your orgasm ripped through you with a cry of his name, intense and all consuming, stealing your breath as your muscles clenched around him and your juices flowed over his throbbing shaft.
His fingers continued their assault on your sensitive clit, relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. He fucked into you mercilessly, seeing you through to the end of your release before focusing on his own. His primal grunts filled the air as his hips faltered, and you seized him in a bruising kiss, your hand wet against his warm cheek, sucking at his tongue with desperate need to convey your bliss.
You felt him begin to pull away, and in a panic you tightened the hold you had around him, your legs locking almost painfully around his waist as he tore his lips from yours.
"I can't," he panted, desperately trying to pry you from him as he stopped his movements, but you grinded down onto him, imploring him to continue with a moan. "Fuck, don't make me."
A second passed and then as if succumbing to a battle of his own will, his hips resumed their painful snapping motion, driving his cock deep inside you with a frantic pace. Then, they faltered, stuttering, and he pinned you hard against the tiles as he came inside your swollen cunt with an animalistic growl.
With his face buried in your neck, you held him close, your hands gently stroking his back, as the last spasms of his release faded. His warm load filled you completely, trailing down the inside of your thigh.
The small space fell back into silence, void of the rhythmic sound of skin slapping against skin, now filled only with the heavy breaths from both of you and the trickling of the water that had long since chilled and ceased to flow. His hands moved to your thighs, roughly prying your legs from around him and lowering you back to the floor with a finality. His softening cock slipped out of you, leaving you empty and sore, eager to feel it again.
He avoided your gaze, busying himself with tucking himself back into his pants and adjusting the damp fabric before turning to leave the cubicle. You reached out, attempting to hold him back by grasping his bicep, but his eyes remained fixed on the wall ahead.
"Wasn't so bad, was it?" you asked, trying to inject a hint of levity into the heavy atmosphere, but he only grunted in response, pulling his arm away from your grip.
"Get some sleep, we leave at first light," he ordered, swiftly gathering his discarded belongings before exiting the bathroom.
A chill settled over you as you tried to steady your shaky breath. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked into the bedroom, feeling a mix of disappointment and resignation when you saw the Ghoul had retreated to the living room. Damp and regretful, he had chosen the dusty couch over spending the night with you.
With a sigh, you approached the bed and picked up the bottle left for you on the spread. The red and yellow capsules clinked against the rust-coloured glass, the chemical smell of the Rad-x filling the air as you unscrewed the lid. It was naïve to expect anything more than an awkward departure after what had happened between you, yet you couldn't shake the heavy pit of defeat that settled in your stomach, despite your earlier promise to him.
What happens tonight is insignificant.
#cooper howard x reader#the ghoul x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul x you#fallout#cooper howard smut#the ghoul smut#fallout prime#fallout fanfiction#cooper howard#the ghoul#fallout x reader#fic request
384 notes
·
View notes
Text
one last time ft. vinsmoke sanji!
a/n: continuation of my time travel series as asked by anon!!
sanji, lost you when you were both 27. now, three years later, aged 30, the cook travels back in time and sees you again. *cue angst*
not proofread, im so sorry for mistakes!
warnings: none!! just my crappy attempts of writing angst tbh
"it makes no sense" nami mumbled, peering down intensely at the old cook as if examining her personal lab rat. the alleged thirty year old had materialized in the main room of the going merry through thin air; and nami had almost knocked him out with her staff.
"nami-swan let me-" the man tried to speak but the red-head cut him off, "you ate a devil fruit and you traveled back in time?"
"you're so gorgeous even when you boss me around-""
"sanji." nami cocked an eyebrow.
sanji sighed lightly, trying to reason, "well, i mean i actually ate like just half a bite of it. i don't think this time travel thing is permanent. i'll be out of your gorgeous hair in just a minute"
"no, you being here isn't the issue." nami corrected herself, "i think im just surprised is all. the idea that there exists something like this is just-"
but someone barged into the room before she could finish.
"what the fuck?" the swordsman looked at sanji, taken aback by the sudden blondie appearance, "he looks awfully like the shit-cook."
"it's nice to see you too, moss-head"
"ah-" nami groaned at the swordsman appearance, "well, i guess i'll explain to everybody. out on deck, both of you"
"why are you so tall?" zoro gave the older cook a nasty look.
"zoro, out."
"why is he so tall-"
｡･::･ﾟ★,｡･::･ﾟ☆
"so..." the younger, blonde man asked, "you're me but 30?"
the older man shrugged, "yes, pretty much."
"i cannot believe you committed to the bangs look for over a decade, sanji" you giggled, looking from the older version to the younger one.
"if you like it, then i can keep it for the rest of eternity, my love."
you laughed again, sending the cook an amused look, "sure, i like it."
while the younger cook was swooned at your words, sending you a love-struck gaze. the older was busy contemplating whether he wanted to hug you so hard till his ribs broke down and he disintegrated within you, or if he should keep his distance, saving himself all that hurt.
your hair was choppier and the strands moved gently in the wind, the tresses cashmere kisses against your sun-kissed skin. all the signs of aging were absent from your skin, all those signs of you and him together were gone, just like that. as if you and he hadn't existed at all.
there was no scar on your lips from the time you fell down in the dark while sleepy, no cuts on your arms and legs from battles long gone. every evidence of the life you and sanji had built together was gone, leaving a twenty-three year old you behind.
well, technically that life was yet to come. it would take you and his younger version another five months, 23 days and 6 hours till you both got together. atleast, if his calculations were correct.
it would take you another 9 years, 2 months and 4 days to leave him. he knew those calculations by heart.
and so, sanji held back the urge to ask you if you liked two sugars in your coffee right now too? and did you light up when the moon was out in all it's glory? did your favourite constellation stay the same as years passed you by? did you look the same when you kissed him awake? did-
instead, he said nothing and stared at you, transfixed.
when ussop shook the older cook awake, the blonde man gave the younger crew members a pained smile. and when luffy jumped up and down, asking whether the cook still cooked, sanji found himself laughing and offering to make a meal.
atleast, this way, he could resign himself to an old kitchen, boundless memories and endless suffering, away from your ghastly presence.
the door stood ajar and you slipped inside just as silently like you always did when you wanted to surprise him in the kitchen. he looked up from the chopping board, well-versed with every one of your silent exchanges.
"want some help?" you offered, walking over leisurely and standing opposite to the man on the kitchen island.
the man looked down, focusing on not cutting his fingers up, "uh- no, thanks."
"damn, did you change?"
"hm?"
"where's the added "my love", "mon cheri" or "darling" at the end?" you cocked up an eyebrow, giving him a confused look, "don't tell me you lost those with time, that'll be a real shame."
sanji looked up, dumbstruck at you.
ofcourse he didn't. how could he? how could he when you were all that and more to him. under breathy whispers, loud declarations of love and silent hums in the dark of the night, you were every stringed syllable in every language to him.
he must have been silent for too long cause you shook your palm in front of him, paranoia sewn into your skin, "i mean it's okay if you lost it. like, it's not that big of a deal-"
and sanji laughed.
"excuse me? it's not nice to laugh at a lady."
"you looked so adorable like that." he looked down at the chopped vegetables, hands skillfully adding the veggies to the heated pan. then he looked up through his eyebrows, skillfully avoiding your gaze fully, "you're quite cute, love."
"uh-" your ears went red and you looked away, "thanks? y-you too."
"how have you been, yn?" he looked back at the food, his voice was tender. every hitch of the breath was audible against the backdrop of distant laughs from the crew.
"oh?" you replied shocked. then you smiled, "good. i'm good."
"good?" he repeated, ever so slowly as if turning the word on the tip of his tongue to remember the way you said it.
"yeah, i've been good, sanji."
"i'm glad." he pursed his lips, turning his back to you under the lie of fetching bowls from the cabinet.
"what are you cooking?" you asked, leaning over and peering at the vessel on the stove.
even without turning, he said, "you'd lose balance, careful now."
you marveled at the simmering dish, looking at his back and smiling real big, "you're cooking hand-pulled noodles with broth?! i think its my new favourite dish! i tasted it like a few days ago and i've been dying to eat it againn"
sanji smiled, still turned away from you, "is that so?"
as much as sanji prided himself at his ability to identify you from lightyears apart, at his ability to hear you in the noisiest room, he must have not been paying attention.
because you had sneaked up behind him and pressed yourself against his back, giving him a hug. you smiled gummy against his back muscles, "thankyou! thankyou! thankyouuu!!"
sanji froze under your casual touch. after a second, mindlessly, he lay his bigger hands on top of yours, relishing in the way you felt under him. he closed his eyes, trying to etch the moment in his memories. then he smiled again, promising against the thin air, "i will make you this as many times as you ask me."
"really?" you beamed again, letting go and standing beside him, "promise me?"
"i promise you." he gave you curt nod, melting under every one of your happy dance moves.
"now i would bother you for the rest of our lives." you stuck out your tongue at the blonde man.
"i would rather not be bothered by anyone but you, my love."
"aww-"
"hey geezer." the younger cook stood at the door, eyeing the negligible distance between you and the older man, "get away from yn-chan, you fucking pervert."
"rich coming from you, mr. nosebleed" the older man gave the younger a dirty look.
"HEY THATS NOT MY FAULT"
"SAAAANJI" luffy whined from outside, "ARE YOU DONEEE? WE'RE STARVINGGGG-"
vinsmoke sanji, aged thirty, yelled back "YEAH LEARN TO WAIT SOME MORE."
"YOU'RE SO MEAN SANJI! I MEAN- OLDER SANJI? I MEAN SANJI??- alee? I MEAN THE COOK OF MY SHIP?? NO, THE COOK OF MY FUTURE SHIP-"
"JUST SHUT UP LUFFY." the two blondes yelled in unison and you laughed one last time, lighting up the kitchen on fire.
oh wait, no. that is just the smoke due to the burning veggies in the pan.
well, fuck.
atleast you were laughing. and sanji would have killed entire nations to see that sight again, so, what were a few vegetables for the sacrifice?
#one piece#opla#op#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#sanji angst#one piece angst#one piece fanfic#sanji fic#x reader#vinsmoke sanji x reader#one piece sanji#sanji imagines
429 notes
·
View notes
Note
"The way of adulting" is already going to work the day after you broke your pinky toe and limp your way un the middle of a crowded festival with people who don't pay attention and could step on your injured foot, cause you still need to do commissions.
This while still looking iconic and fashionable IF you're fixated on always being well put together.
This makes me think. How would Chrollo and some other yanderes react to a s/o who legit would be able to break their arm while falling off a couch, or a pinky toe while accidentally tripping over a slightly opened drawer, and after the initial panic after a while being like "this is fine" and not even limping at first but directly and casually walk their way to the nearest hospital with their bone/body part still twisted in a weird way cause adrenaline is going feral?
Legit the S/O returning during the late evening and being all chill cause they had a nice day-off work at the hospital and had time to read a 1000+ pages book during the waiting line. However, deciding not to stay home from work for a few other days cause well the s/o really doesn't see the point of it as they genuinely think it's nothing too severe so they don't mind.
(This before the kidnapping of course ig)
Ghastly Anon~
Me who has broken an arm by falling off a couch and double fractured my pinky toe by running into a door just narrowly escaping bone surgery: mhm yes
I feel like this is a mix of clumsy and workaholic. Honestly? It's absolutely adorable to the yan. Look at their cute darling <3 Look at their lovely little s/o who goes through life with so many hardships.
Wouldn't it be nice if someone could take care of you? You don't deserve to have to work so hard, even if you don't really mind it. Let them show some love.
All in all, it's just another reason for the yan to justify their infantilisation. You easily hurt yourself. Let them re-arrange the furniture. You cut your hand with a knife easily. It's best if you let them cook. It starts out slow. Gentle shoves for you to rest while they take care of things. The chores come first, your financial independence second. In case you have a job, why? Why work so hard when there's someone happy with taking care of you?
The day you start blindly trusting everything is the day you've been completely trapped.
#sorry for responding so late#i put this post on schedule for august and forgot about it my bad#ghastly anon#ask#yandere brainrot
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello! So you know about those like music boxes with the ballerinas on top? what if reader has a plain music box and decides to put a mini painted simon riley on it and reader gets caught playing with the custom music box
Please and thank you!
There you go, anon! Hope you like it!
———————————————————————
You recline on your assigned bed, head cradled in one hand while the other fiddles with the box in front of you. Work has been sluggish lately—a good thing, considering the nature of your job. Yet, despite the break, your hands ache for the action they’ve been accustomed to—pulling triggers, disarming bombs, rescuing comrades and civilians. Now, they remain idle, bored, and without purpose.
For that reason, you finally decided to address a long-delayed project you’ve postponed for ages: restoring your grandmother’s worn-down ballerina music box. Time has taken its toll on it, with splinters jutting from the once-smooth surface. The paint, once vibrant, had either chipped away in places or surrendered entirely, leaving bare patches to the sides and on the lid. Even the ballerina inside, once gracefully twirling, had been frozen in time. It begged for your attention and care.
And that’s exactly what you did.
You fixed the mechanism inside, stripped away the original paint, sanded the box down and diligently repainted it, using whatever colours you managed to salvage—some leftover black varnish that had been used to paint the fence around the base, green paint from the mechanics who use it for the military vehicles and a ghastly olive hue colour you have no idea of its purpose, nor you want to know.
As you turn the key, the music box releases its familiar melody, drawing your attention to the figure twirling within. Gone is the ballerina’s delicate face. Now it’s replaced by a meticulously painted skull balaclava closely resembling Ghost. The once pink bodysuit has transformed into a scaled-down tactical vest with detailed features, mirroring the real deal—knives, magazines, and even a tourniquet secured on the shoulder. The ballerina’s bare legs now sport camo leggings, and her ballet shoes have been upgraded to sturdy combat boots. The tutu couldn’t be removed since it was part of the ballerina’s body, so you left it as it was and painted it black.
You turn the key again and let it go, watching the lieutenant twirl. Your gaze is fixed on the figure as you find yourself entranced, occasionally poking at the lieutenant’s hand to halt the motion and releasing it to begin twirling again.
And as you do it one more time, the door opens, and the real, life-sized lieutenant pokes his head through the opening. He scans the entire room until it settles on you
“Is it you making that noise?” he asks.
“Noise?” you ask back. “That’s Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky.”
“I don’t care what it is,” he replies. “Either turn it off or turn the volume down.”
“Well, I can’t turn the volume down,” you say, pointing at the box.
“I gave you two options if I remember correctly,” he says, tilting his head to the side. He narrows his eyes, now focused on the box, and approaches the bed with his hand extended towards you. “Give me that.”
“No!” You retort and hug the box close to your chest. “Why should I give it to you?”
“Because I said so,” he whispers, pointing with his finger. “Now. Give. Me. The. Box.”
You sigh and roll your eyes but comply with his demand. You close the box, which triggers the music to stop and hand it over to Ghost.
He holds it to his side for a second, then lifts it to his eye level. He looks at it all around and, with a swift motion, lifts the lid.
The music starts playing again, and the mini-lieutenant resumes his little dance. Ghost stands there with the box in his hands, watching the figurine until it stops moving. He looks at you, then at the box. He turns the box towards you so you can look at the figurine and points at it.
“That’s me,” he states, triggering three nods from you.
“I was bored,” you explain, shrugging, “so I decided to refurbish my grandma’s antique ballerina box with whatever I found at the base.”
“I can see that,” he whispers, turning around the box. “Maintenance support didn’t have a colour closer to fuchsia?”
“Unfortunately, no,” you reply, following his sarcastic tone. “They ran out.”
“Poor grandma and poor ballerina,” he says, pointing again at his mini-self. “Why did you turn her into that?”
“What do you mean ‘into that’?” you ask, pointing at the box. “That’s you.”
“Exactly!” he exclaims, turning the box around to look at the figurine better. “Plus, it doesn’t look like me at all.”
“Why?” you ask, wincing. “Is it the tutu?”
“No,” he says, slowly looking at you and tilting his head. “What gave you that impression?”
You chuckle at his response. “What is it then?”
He holds the box to the side so you can look at the figurine and himself.
“Look,” he says, spreading his other hand to the side. “It’s too skinny to be me.”
“Hmmm, I can’t tell from where I’m sitting…” you murmur, scratching your chin as you examine both of them. “How about you make a quick pirouette for me?”
“How about I make you pirouette all the way to the Captain?” He asks, as he lifts one eyebrow and closes the box.
He motions with his other hand at you to stand up. “Get ready for training,” he states and shakes the box. “This comes with me.”
“No, Lt.!” You shout, “That’s mine!”
“Well, it has my bloody face in there, doesn’t it?” He says. “Plus, I can’t have you playing that music in the base; it’s scaring the others.”
“Scaring the others?” You protest, and your eyes widen. “I’m scaring grown-ass men who kill for a living?”
“Not you,” he replies as he walks towards the exit and lifts the box in the air. “But that bloody Tchaikovsky is.”
———————————————————————
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x y/n#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon riley x gn!reader#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley x reader#call of duty#cod ghost#cod mwii#ghost cod#simon ghost riley fic#simon ghost riley fanfiction#simon ghost riley imagine
432 notes
·
View notes
Note
in your timelapses i see that you switch between your work and a pallet that i assume you made, would you be comfortable sharing that? if not thats perfectly fine! i love your work <3
Sure! There ya go :]
The funny bit about these is that I did the grayscale first, and it was wayy too brainnumbing to try and match the color to grey, so if you desaturate the file, the color greys dont match with the original grays haha
#grey or gray#both#anon submission#send me asks#skulduggery pleasant#color palette#stylus#nic stylus#should I tag all those characters#hhhh#fuck it#valkyrie cain#china sorrows#ghastly bespoke#tanith low#fletcher renn#kenspeckle grouse#finbar wrong#solomon wreath#caelan#mr bliss#gordon edgley#carol edgley#crystal edgley#anton shudder#erskine ravel#dexter vex#saracen rue#nefarian serpine#baron vengeous
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
HIII
if you're taking requests, could you write about reader trying to get off on those long pillows (a bolster) and jason/dick comes and helps out? tysmm (no pressure)
i would love to write for Dick but i need to read his comics. Luckily i have Nightwing 2021, just needa read it. so maybe expect dick content soon lol (maybe if im autistic enough for him idk though.)
Comic!Jason Todd x GN!Reader NSFW (ANON RQ)
thigh riding to dick riding (unprotected, hair pulling ((both ways)) praise, cum !! ermmm yeah.)
nicknames jason uses: hun, love, doll, doll-face, honey, sweetheart, darling, baby (JASON ‘GIVING PRAISE GETS ME HORNY’ TODD) (THAT GOES BOTH WAYS)
THE thin fabric of the pillow wasn’t enough. You’d gotten nowhere close to a fuckin’ orgasm, hole felt so god-damn empty, it left you a panting frustrated mess, head tilted back, sweat pooling at your poplit.
(THE BACK OF UR KNEE CALMMM DOOWWNN)
You jumped at the sound of the window promptly sliding open. Damn it. The whole reason you were using this thing, you wanted to get off before Jason came back. One, you needed to walk tomorrow, two, you didn’t wanna keep him up. Of course he could stay up for weeks on end, but that doesn’t mean he has to.
He slipped through the window and almost didn’t notice you. Jason reached down to start taking off his boots then his head shot up to look at you. Skin polished with sweat, heaving breaths, puffy eye bags, that pillow. Oh, he’ll throw that damn thing out if this is what it did to you.
“Darling?” He asked lowly.
You mumbled a string of words that loosely formed few sentences of how you didn’t wanna bother him, how you just wanted to get off— and oh, welcome back!
You know, he could’ve sworn he heard something about needing to walk but he’s not totally sure or anything so…
“Bother me?—“ He began stepping toward you while taking off his helmet. “— and have I done something to inflict you with such a ghastly thought?” he playfully tantalized you. But you could only whimper out a response. Jason cupped your face in his palms, he looked at your drowsy doe eyes and glossy lips, he pressed his mouth on yours tenderly. The little noise you let out made intoxicated him. Jason placed his hands on your hips and started pulling you off that damn pillow and closer to the side of the bed. He pressed sloppy open mouth kisses down to your neck, soft moans leaving his lips with each one.
He could’ve sworn he heard you say you needed to walk tomorrow in between puffy gasps, but, he wasn’t exactly sure. Jason pulls you up against his body while kissing you, his hand snaking to your back, tugging at your shirt. You pull the shirt off and Jason sits back onto the bed, only his legs touching the floor.
He guides you on-top of him while he hushes promises and dapples kisses over every part of your skin he wants ,
‘I’ll take care of you hun.’
‘You’ll neva’ need that thing again love.’
He pressed his thigh against your hole, you quickly started rocking yourself against him, ’ uh-huh, back n’ forth doll.’ His firm thigh muscle and the texture of this combat pants gave you everything that fucking pillow didn’t. Jason was barely jerking his leg up and down, but those little movements were knocking you over your edge. ‘Just like that? Yeah I know..’ Jason touched himself through his pants at the same pace as you fucked yourself on his thigh, precum eventually leaving its mark on the cloth. Every motion of your hips made your head tilt back a little further; mewling while grabbing at Jasons hair. Jason praising you throughout it, both hands following your thighs, ‘Thats it love, better then that—“ you pulled at his hair.” “ah— fuckin’ pillow huh?’ The vendetta he had against that pillow was crazy. Your grinding became more sharp, every jolt of his hips had your jaw dropping. Your hips trembled, back arching, sputtering out moans and gasps as you melted on his thighs. Jason kept rutting his hips for a few moments until you came down from your pleasure high. He took your fingertips and kissed them, then led your hand down to the wet spot on his thigh. ‘Made a pretty little mess out of yourself all f’me?”
He squeezed your face in his palms, holding your head still and watching you pant. He skimmed his bottom lip on yours, teasing you, seeing if you’ll bite. You did, hotly pressing your lips on his. Sucking on his bottom lip, biting at it. When you pulled off Jason slipped his tounge into your mouth. He barely got to huff out his sentence, being cut out by his own impulsive kisses,’Need—mmh—more doll?’
You pleaded for him, whining in his ear about how you needed him. He noted that you didn’t say you needed to walk tomorrow so. He pulled your hips up for a moment so he could unbuckle his pants and pulled down his boxers, his cock popping out of his pants. The cold steel of his belt skimmed at the back of your plush skin. He reached over to your nightstand grabbing the lube and quickly pumping his cock, even if for just a few moments the sound was obscene. He pushed two fingers into your hole, ‘Gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good..’ he panted as he lubed your core, stretching you out as much as he can with his calloused hands. Jason popped his fingers back out and guided your hips onto him, slowly pushing into you. You couldn’t even be gritty about the slow stretch of his dick, he knew every part of him felt fucking good and of course he was gonna use it. Once you were fully on, he grabbed your plush hips, choked out sobs leaving your mouth while Jason talked filth as he started grinding his cock into your wet hole. He grabbed your hair and directed your head to look at him ‘Thas’ it, let me see how good im doin baby.’
Once Jason was sure you were all stretched from the fucked out eyes you were giving him and the way he effortlessly pushed through you, he trailed your hips up and down his dick. You started moaning for him to go faster, oh who would he be to deny you? Jason started pumping his cock into you while purring how ‘he’s got you,’ and to ’let him handle it will you?’ and fuck he did. Rhythmically pounding all those spots that he had memorized while sucking hickies into your neck, he had you seeing stars. The metal of his belt chiming with every motion of you two, coldness slapping against your soft skin. Your body melting against his while he thrust into you, hips jolting as he started grabbing at your ass. Cries leaving your lips with every feverish bounce of his cock. You shuddered as your walls spasmed all over him, letting your body go limp as you spilled on his dick. He continued fucking you through orgasms until the only thing you could feel in between your thighs was his pulsating cock and the wet mixture of sweat and cum.
His grip on your waist tightened, sure to leave little crescents of his nail marks. Louder grunts and curses choked out of his mouth as he rutted into you. ‘M’ making you feel good right? Better then that pillow right?’ You took notice on how his voice was getting more whiny. He wrapped his arm around your waist as he buried his face into your neck . ‘Jason let me see you’ you whimpered out. He didn’t move, still focused on that feeling of his cock as you pulsed around him and the slick noises of your twos bodies. You took your hand and harshly pulled at his black locs so he’d look at you. He let out a pornish moan when you rocked his head backwards, eyelashes fluttering as he frantically bucked his hips up while cumming. His eyes rolling to the back of his head, grip tightening with every pulse of pleasure that rolled down his spine. He looked up at you, cursing weakly as he stared at you with tired pleasure filled eyes. Breathless gasps leaving both of your mouth as he comes down from his high, he slowly grinds his hips into you while you both fall limply into each others necks. He rubs circles into your skin, only having the energy to murmur ‘I love you’s’ while weakly pressing kisses onto you.
fuck that pillow (jason thinks about humping it)
this was fun to write it just took me way to fucking long, i had like four ideas for this shit man.
#jason todd x gn!reader#jason todd x you#jason todd imagine#jason todd x reader#jason todd smut#red hood x gn!reader#red hood x reader#red hood smut#red hood imagine#krash responds to u
411 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey do you take requests for Timothee Chalamet? if so I'd love one where he's sick from eating too much chocolate on the Wonka set and the female reader takes care of him
PAIRING Timothee Chalamet x fem!reader
A/N I love Timmy sm, hope you enjoy it!!!
WARNINGS mentions of vomiting/over eating. Shitty dialogue.
There were groans coming from the bathroom, waking you up from your sleep. You rubbed your eyes tiredly as you reach over and grab your phone from you bedside table. Turning it on, you winced at the light, quickly turning down your brightness. Once that was done, you checked the time.
4:27 am. A ghastly time for anyone to be awake. You turned off your phone and went to go snuggle back into Timothee, only to realise that he’s not there, which causes you to also realise the reason why you awake.
Another groan came from the bathroom. You sighed as you stood up out of bed and curiously walked toward the ensuite. Opening the door, you were once again, blinded by a light. Blinking away the brightness, you looked around the bathroom only to find Timmy leaning over the toilet.
You suddenly felt more awake, and you immediately kneeled down next to him, pushing his hair back. Timmy groaned again before vomiting once more. You rubbed his back in sympathy, “it’s okay baby, let it out.”
Timothee groaned as he pulled his head out of the toilet, “go back to bed, Y/N/N. I’m okay.”
You rolled your eyes. You knew Timothee had an issue with letting people help him. Being with him for 3 years, you can’t count the amount of times you tried to help him with things and him denying the help.
“Timmy, your obviously not okay. Please just let me help.” You tell him as you cup his face with your hands. He puts his hands on top of yours as he nods slowly, before gagging and throwing up in the toilet once more. You stand up and walk over to the sink to wash your hands. After you do that, you grab a face washer from one of the drawers and wet it.
You walk back over to Timmy with the washer in hand. He looks up at you and you almost cry with how much pain he looks to be in. You give him a small smile as you wipe his face. You flush the toilet, and stand up once more. “I’ll be back in a second, okay baby?” You tell him, only receiving a small nod in return.
You walk out of your guys bedroom and into the kitchen to grab a bucket. When you return, you see Timmy leaning against the bathroom door with a frown on his face. You give him a small smile before placing the bucket next to his side on the bed. “Did you brush your teeth?” You ask him and he nodded, crawling into bed with you. He snuggles his face into your chest before wrapping his arms around your waist.
“When did you start throwing up?” You question.
“I don’t know.” Timmy tells you. “I first threw up yesterday morning, but today my stomach is just not agreeing with me. I threw up twice before you came to help me.” He says.
You rub his back in sympathy. “Maybe it’s from all the chocolate you’ve been eating. I noticed you only had dinner on Monday but go through like, several packets of chocolate.”
Timothee looks deep in thought before agreeing with you, “your probably right…”
“I always am.” You tell him with a small laugh before getting comfortable yourself. “Maybe you should lay off chocolates for a few weeks.”
“Yeah, probably.” He mutters. You can feel Timmy’s body start to relax before you hear small snores from him. Leaning over, you turn off your bedside light, before falling asleep yourself.
A/N call me Bill Denbrough cause I dont know how to end a story!!!! 🤙
hoped you liked it though anon 💕
#bethsvrse#fanfic#timothee chalamet x reader#timothée chalamet#x reader#reader#anon ask#anonymous#willy wonka x reader#wonka#wonka 2023
244 notes
·
View notes
Note
That Keegan post you made had me clutching my PEARLS! Your use of words was so masterfully done! I really loved the new vocab I learned while reading your work.
Your depiction of the relationship was also so so nice. Very loving and attentive and just so sweet. I could tell they loved one another and had already established boundaries that they knew they shouldn’t cross. The ending was lovely as well, a great way to tie things up.
Thank you for writing it! I’m excited to see what else your lovely brain comes up with!
-🧢
Whispers in the Woods: A Stranger's Shelter ft. OfftheGridCowboy!Keegan Russ
Sypnosis: When Keegan finds you petrified, running for your life from creatures unknown to you in the Haunted Appalachia trails after sundown, he takes you in for the night. Things get a bit crazy...
Warning(s): Mentions of Sexual Content, Violence, Petnames (?), Blood, Supernatural Horror (?), Eventual Smut, Barely Proofread, Reader is 28 and Keegan is 30, Reader is also AFAB
Word Count: 7.5k (enjoy keegan lovers ;)
Author's note: Blue cap anon thank you so much for inspiring me to write for Keegan. Honestly, I really love how this fic turned out and I hope you do too. I am so sorry I took so long to reply to you but you seriously warmed my heart so sosososo much when I read your message. I did not mean to put you on the back burner for this long/ Just know I have put so much effort into this to provide you a solid work so I hope that is a good enough excuse to have such a delayed response. Also so glad that you learned some new words LOL that really tickles me tbh, but I want to work more with the relationship that reader builds with Keegan in general or with any character x reader I write. So please enjoy this :)
edit: i think it's lowkey not living up to my expectations but ummm fuck it we ball
Sparks fly as the firewood in the pit crackles, casting an orange ember over you and the stranger sitting in front of you. His eyes, reminiscent of the cool, blueness of winter are lingering on you, and his heavy, leather jacket drapes over your shoulders to shield you from the chilliness of the early April evening. With his black cowboy hat slightly tilted upward, you note the black bandana covering most of his face, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.
"You really shouldn't be out here." His voice edges a precarious tone, though you cannot determine if it's toward you or whatever lurks in the abysmal woods. Maybe it was both. Your fingers curl around the distressed tanned hide, fiddling with the stitching of the material. A shudder careens through the columns of your spine, goosebumps trail over your skin, and the fuzz across your neck rises briefly.
"Don't look. Don't even acknowledge it." He instructs, steadying his gaze on you as he tinkers with the butterfly knife in his gloved hand. "W-what?" You gasp out, eyes reaming as your quivering vision sets on the embers of the pyre. A sinister presence harks over your convulsing body, heart palpitating out of your tightening sternum. But as soon as it arrives it departs and you're left heaving for the oxygen that was stripped from your lungs.
"I'm not gonna ask you again, what are you doin' walkin' around aimlessly in these mountains?" He repeatedly latches and unlatches the metal object in his hands, his gaze fixates on you. Truthfully, you were lost. When the engine of the old Dodge that you inherited from your grandfather abruptly cut out as you passed through a dead zone, it was all hauling ass from there on out. Classic damsel in distress situation.
Your father and he had both warned you about the Appalachian mountains. How apex predators inhabited the woods, preying on the innocent, ripping flesh apart on sight, or disappearing into the ghastly woods to never return. But, of course, you wrote it off as fearmongering. Never had you experienced the soul-crushing, harrowing existence of unidentified, cryptids lurking within the lacunas of the evergreens.
"My truck it—" You start to say, but the sound of him exhaling loudly cuts you off and you glance up at him with misery strewn across your features. Doe-eyes glimmering from the wetness that was welling in your oculars as your lips tremble. He outstretches his arm to the lantern on the perched log, "I've heard enough."
He begins to get up, extinguishing the flame, smothering it with what seemed to be a bag of salt and you felt fear creeping back into your system.
"Come on." As the pyre's embers fade, the lantern's switch emits a squeak, coaxing the oil flame to life, while the blood-curdling shrieks send shivers down your spine, ringing in your ears. And as if on cue, you cling to his side and he lets out a soft huff, feeling your arm coil around his.
The inferno acts as a bulwark from whatever is skulking around the both of you in the obscurity of the night as you move through the forest. You catch glimpses of shadows trekking about, seemingly running away from you now. A stark contrast from the previous frantic sprint through the woods in your petite, white frilly prairie dress that was now tattered at the edges and puffy sleeves. Now, you were safe. At least you certainly hope so.
A tiny light enters your line of sight in the distance, and you can only assume that that is his home. But you were still heeding the noises and images being molded in front of human eyes. It was as if the veil was lifted here, a supernatural existence in the vast mountains and woods of the Appalachia. You don't know whether to be terrified or fascinated, but you keep quiet as he silently leads you down the desire path to his home that is etching itself a little more into the horizon.
Approaching the home, you begin to notice the clandestine features of the house. A zephyr sweeps past you and the distinct smell of lavender and sage gently brims into your senses. You visibly shudder as the steps creak under your weight, your arm remains tucked into his own as he fishes out his keys and unlocks the door. Like a gentleman, he gestures to allow you in first and he follows closely behind, shutting it behind him.
"Shoes off at the door." He directs, treading past you as he tosses another piece of firewood into the lit fireplace.
What the fuck?
Is he just not going to acknowledge the paranormal manifestation that incurred upon them just now? The shadows of unearthly skinwalkers who infest the woods, who are prowling out there now as they barricade themselves from the outside? What is stopping them from forcefully intruding into his home?
You finally catch your breath for a moment, still feeling your heart hammering against your chest before you speak. "Are we not going to talk about what we just saw?"
"Nope." He simply replies, from another room and you blink back in surprise. Then it sinks in.
Of course, how could you forget? How can you forget the rules of the Appalachia, that were engrained into you as a child?
If you see something strange in the wilderness, no, you didn't.
If you hear something call your name, no, you didn't.
If you hear screaming in the Appalachian mountains, especially a woman's scream, no, you didn't.
If you feel something stalking you, do not run.
Never, ever, whistle at night.
Never go into the woods at night.
Never leave your windows open at night, even in the summer and honestly, the list dragged on and on and on.
Most of it falls on deaf ears never believing in the legends, and yet, here you are shaken up by things you never thought existed in a stranger's home who found it in his heart to shelter you until what you suppose would be dawn.
A wavering breath escapes you as you take a long gander at the well-maintained colonial home. The timeless and heirloom quality of the home becomes evident upon analyzing the vast array of paintings and framed photographs adorning the walls, each depicting individuals with strikingly similar features—dark brows, thick lashes, and mesmerizing steely blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. You can't quite make out the framed artwork through your muzzy vision, but it's eerie the way you can't quite pinpoint why the face was so recognizable to you.
Exposed wooden ceiling beams motion your eyes to the inherited items and the mounted deer skull above the hearth. The warmth emanating from it felt different, soothing, lulling your quivery limbs. You oblige and kick off your boots, padding behind him as he draws out his gun from his holster and places it on the mahogany table. He removes his cowboy hat, hanging it on the horseshoe hat rack adjacent to the fireplace revealing his tousled short black locks. As he begins to unmask himself, a small gasp leaves your lips, fixating on his newly exposed features. And he was goddamn handsome and unusually reminiscent of someone from your childhood embarked into the backlogs of your memory, but of course, you brush it off.
And although he hears it, he does not acknowledge it as one hand grips the wooden chair and the other runs over his dark stubble. He's pensive. The last thing he needed was some heretic woman living under his roof for Lord knows how long. At this point, he decides that you are his responsibility and he cannot shirk from that for that would be unbecoming of a man like himself and he was raised better than that.
He glances up at the painting of his father above the hearth and you take note of the reflective state. His daddy was the embodiment of a Cowboy. Gentlemanly, charming, nifty, and always genial, providing the best hospitality a person could provide. No way, he'd accept Keegan kicking you to the curb, leaving you out for those creatures to rip you apart. Plus, his father would simply rise from his grave and kick his ass.
"You hungry?" He pays no mind to your lingering, bewitched eyes as he moves to the kitchen and you like a lost puppy trailing behind him. "Got some leftover potato leek soup."
And as if on cue, your stomach growls and he glances at your hand over your tummy. You flush from the embarrassment of your stomach being that raucous. He cocks a brow at you and you can't tell if he's amused or annoyed. Probably both. "Go sit." He points his chin to the table by the fireplace and you pad back to the living room, the tempering sensation of the flames causes you to become drowsy. You loll your head to analyze his stature. His figure towers over all of the antique appliances in the kitchen, muscles flexing as he prepares to reheat the soup on the stove. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal his taut, tanned forearms to open the cabinet and pull out the loaf of handmade sourdough, slicing it evenly and efficiently before tossing it in the toaster.
His form becomes a bit hazy as you lay your head against the top rail of the chair, mesmerized by the allure of his broadened shoulders, and soft pink lips that all by hide the peeking tongue indicating his concentration in preparing you a homecooked meal. Keegan never has guests over, in fact, no one is ever daft enough to come running around this way anyways because locals know better and tourists are too scared shitless to even enter this part of the Appalachia. He likes it like that, away from everything and everyone, being able to maintain his family's ranch that was inherited by him at the ripening age of 18.
His mother moved out to the suburbs because the death of his father was far too devasting on her already weary soul to continue living her days out on the farm. But Keegan doesn't mind it. He handles the livestock with ease, providing care to the birthing cattle, and maintaining the operations of the facilities as a whole to keep his honest living thriving. It's all in a good day's work for him. So caring after you shouldn't be too much of a hassle right?
You're suddenly awoken to the soft clatter of the bowl being set on the wooden table, the savory aroma of potato leek soup, and freshly toasted sourdough bread. He sets a glass of water beside you before he pulls his seat adjacent to you with his food.
"Eat." He orders, waiting for you to take a spoonful of thick soup. You hesitantly lift the spoon before glancing up at him. He blinks back at you, realizing the weight of his indiscretion, and whisks the soup with his spoon before noshing on it as if to tell you that is not poisoned nor drugged. Your other hand takes the bread in between your fingers and he mirrors your actions, claiming a bite from his own and you visibly relax.
The soup is scalding to the touch, but you welcome the sensation when you get a taste of the heavenly whipped soup. Not a single lump, just the smoothest, most savory supping of such a simple hearty soup instantly heartening your disconcerting body right down to your unsteady hand.
"I'll fix your truck as soon as dawn breaks." He flashes a glance before breaking his bread and scooping it into his soup. "Make yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom." He gestures with his hand to the upstairs.
"Oh, I couldn't—" You begin to say, but he will have none of it.
"You're not going out there until the sun's out." He replies simply, as he lifts his glass of water and sips from it. You observe the way his Adam's apple oscillates under his stubbly throat and you swallow thickly when you realize he's gazing at you keenly.
Warmth spreads to your cheeks and your eyes are now following the pattern of the wood grain. "That's…very kind of you."
"'s just the human thing to do." And there is an emphasis on the word 'human'.
You begin to play with your soup, scooping it up and letting it fall back into the bowl. "Right." Your voice is soft as you try to block out the memory just moments ago.
He narrows his eyes as if to study you. "What's your name?"
You glance up at him, and you're almost a bit hesitant to tell him. You almost want to lie, but you decide otherwise. "[Name], and yours?"
"Keegan."
"Keegan what?" You press. He raises a brow at you as he chews on his bread.
"Russ."
Russ. An esteemed surname that was echoed throughout your household during your adolescence. Presley Russ was a handsome and genial man who appeared at your father's porch steps every so often, tipping his hat at you with that charming smile and those glacial hues that made your heart jump. He'd invite your daddy out for nights at the rodeo or sipping on Highland Gaelic Ales on the porch from the afternoon til midnight, biding his time between Maryland and North Carolina.
You never quite caught glimpses of his son when you were living out on the ranch before you moved out for college, but you did remember a time when you ventured out past sunset in the abandoned village in the Black Hills you knew better than to be in when your daddy had to travel to Wheaton for the grand opening of his old buddy, Presley's restaurant accompanied by his reclusive son who you never remembered the name of. But for God's sake, who was stupid enough to go treading alone around the same location as the filming of the Blair Witch Project?
But you were a skeptic at best until you heard the unrelenting repetition of your name being called which led you astray, causing you to stumble over your own feet and ultimately collide with a rock that rendered you unconscious. Soon enough, you felt yourself being carried back to your home in the arms of the Russ boy with the hardened steely gaze that intently stared down at the knot forming on your forehead. You had never shut your eyes so quickly and the sound of his soft chuckle, caused you to be even more embarrassed as you were being handed off to your worried parents who were more than relieved and thankful to have retrieved you.
Of course, you had to act like you were unconscious. It was already humiliating enough that you were old enough to know better, but being ferried by a cute boy like you were some helpless damsel in distress was just mortifying.
But that was long forgotten by you in hazy summer days during your teen years before you went off to college and moved out into the city. In reality, you had written it off as a dream, a hallucination concocted by that vivid and graphic imagination of yours. That was always the case with you and the Appalachia. Always the non-believer.
But part of you was hoping that maybe he didn't recognize you after all this time, and yet the way he is staring you down is beginning to feel like otherwise.
"Blair." He suddenly says matter-of-factly as he taps his finger at the table and nods again. "Blair." A small toothy grin creeps on his lips before he chuckles.
Your eyes reaming as your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"
"Black Hills, you're the daughter of the farmer right up in Garrett County."
You feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks. He knew. "I—How do you remember that?"
"Knew you looked familiar." He dives back into his steaming soup. "Was tryin' to figure out where I'd seen that necklace of yours." He juts his chin, pointing to the family heirloom that kisses your clavicle. It had been passed down for generations to the women in your family as a symbol of health, wisdom and longetivity. You feel for the 20k gold pendant with lilac and sage engraved into the soft metal.
He looks as if he's stifling another snicker. "Think you pissed yourself a little when I found you unconscious."
Now that gets you real flared up. The abrupt change in mood was beginning to wrack your nerves. You sigh knowing that at the very least you were in good hands. Familiarity begins to set in as he breaks the ice, creating a more comfortable atmosphere between you two.
"I did not!" You puff your cheeks out at him and he's tickled pink by your endearing, agitated reactions.
His gleeful grin only grows to his eyes. "Now, who willing goes into the woods by themselves when they know damn well what kind of activity breeds over there, hm? Gotta death wish if you ask me, kid."
You open your mouth to say something, but it clamps shut. You don't know whether to be abashed by the way his face lights up like the stars in the heavens above, or by the fact that he remembers that you pissed yourself a little through your favorite pair of khaki parachute shorts in a known marked area where people have gone missing. The stark realization of it being a tangible memory was mussing at your trepidation towards him. But he's teasing you now and it stirs a strange kind of desire in your lower belly as you uncomfortably shift in your creaky wooden seat.
Pushing your bowl away, you avoid responding by guzzling down your water and then calmly placing it back down.
"I'd like to get ready for bed now, if you don't mind."
He jovially raises his eyebrows as he munches on the last of his bread. The smirk still curled up on the corners of his pinkened lips.
He wipes the crumbs off his hands and thumbs either side of his mouth before he gets up, gesturing to you. " 'Course not."
You stand up and politely push your chair in as you track behind him up the croaking staircase. Your body is practically heaving with every step and by the top of it, you're feeling a bit winded. Keegan decides to keep his comments to himself as he ushers you down the grandiose hallway. The walls are painted ivory, and wall sconces are tapered candles on held-up aged tin nailed into the parapet. Hardwood floors are well kept, but the small divots in between the grain quickly reveal the age.
He jingles the knob to what you suppose is the guest bedroom, but it seems to be locked. His fingers fish into his pocket and you watch as he phalanges through the set and then finally picks out the antiquated rusty skeleton key. It's honestly a bit jarring that it requires a key to fasten the door, but at this point, if you're being kept away from the monsters lurking outside you'd be happy to be his little prisoner for now.
He pushes the door and it moans open, though much to your surprise it's polished and orderly. In the middle of the room is a wooden four-poster queen-sized bed, with a princess-like sheer white canopy that surreptitiously envelops the bed. The furniture is a bit more romantic with detailed carved patterns on the bookshelves that line up against the wall to the vanity that sat adjacent to the bed. The carmine curtains that drape over the large window, easily maneuver you to the balcony, and the soft calling of your name beckons you to open it…
A sturdy hand clasps over your shoulder and you jolt as you turn to him. He's shaking his head as he towers over you and you look so goddamn feeble with those damn bambi eyes of yours shimmering in the tiny sliver of moonlight that peeks out from the window. He tears his gaze away to tread over to the window, squeezing it shut with the velcro he sewed into the fabric and reinforces the window shut.
A sharp exhale leaves his nostrils and his eyes are on you again. "I totally can see why you ended up the way you did." He glimpses over your dirtied and frayed dress, skinned, bloodstained knees, and contusions running up and down your legs. God, he makes it so easy to feel self-conscious.
He licks his lips as he hovers his hand over the knob to his right, and signals you over. You begrudgingly stride over and you're just as impressed at the bathroom. From the massive mirror above the traditional wooden undermount double sink vanity to the wine-red clawfoot freestanding bathtub. Little golden trinkets pinstripe the rosy walls with the soft warm lighting of the hanging flowery ceiling light fixtures. You squint your eyes when he adjusts the radiance to a white glow with the dimmer light switch before he opens the drawers one by one.
"Towels, robes, spare clothes, toiletries. Gimme a shout if you need anything else."
You open your mouth to say something and his eyes playfully narrow at you. "—within reason, missy."
Your bottom lip reflexively juts out. You hate to admit it, but you were quite the spoiled child. Never receiving more than a gentle chide from your parents and always silver-spooned to the nines by your grandparents. The truck was an exception. More of a parting gift from your grandfather that was left to you for the sole purpose of memorabilia scored into every inch of the tarnished vehicle. You hope that Keegan is capable of fixing it since most parts were made by discontinued distributors and they were definitely not easy to come by as they were expensive.
"Christ, spoiled rotten, weren't ya?" He ribs, nudging you a bit and you frown at him.
"Was not." You childlessly retort, but the small smile on your face betrays your feeble attempt at contempt.
Fuck, she is so cute. Keegan thinks as he assimilates your hilly yet winsome appearance. Just as cute as he remembers when he was seventeen, ignorant of the malignancy that poisoned his father's lungs.
"Not as much as your daddy spoiled you." You shoot back and cover your mouth with your hands as his brows lift in half surprise and half revelry.
"Blair's got jokes now, huh?" The elicitive nickname indicative of your former years sends another rushing warmth to your face and you begin to shoo him out.
"I'd really like to be clean now, thank you." You cast a scowl his way and he's putting his hands up in surrender as he backs out of the bathroom followed by the bedroom.
"I take it that the lady needs her privacy now." He leans against the doorframe with his hands stuffed into his denim jean pockets that are dusty and darkened with wood ash and the smell of the campfire lingers on his skin.
"And her beauty sleep." You add on, folding your arms. His jacket is still resting over your shoulders and he chuckles at your Hello Kitty print socks. The way your hair was mussed up in the soft glow of the lantern lamp on the night table was starting to arouse him a bit.
Fuckkkkkk, you were so adorable. It might have taken every atom in his body not to bend you over the mattress and spank you for being such a dotty woman before pressing his cock past your velvety folds as he makes you apologize in the form of incoherent, dirty little whimpers.
But the thought is quickly dismissed as it's formed in the sullied cogitations of his mind.
"Good night, [name]." He murmurs in his husky voice yet there is a hint of mischief in his tone that sends a frisson up your spinal column.
"Good night, Keegan." You susurrate, as you slowly shut the door and his expression remains the same as your view of him narrows until it disappears behind the threshold.
"Christ." You mutter to yourself as you begin to get ready for bed, as you feel the rush of collywobbles in your stomach start to well up a craving for the cowboy. The time on your cracked phone screen reads 2:03 AM and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you at the realization. Had you really been out there for seven hours?
The warm water soothes your aching bones and forming scabs scattered across your body as you gently exfoliate your skin. Thankfully, Keegan had enough sense to drop off a first aid kit by your door before you slipped into the bath. You weren't looking forward to the sting of the antiseptic, but you were more than grateful to be alive and have all your limbs attached. As you close your eyes and let the sudsy bath take away your worries, a coaxing voice is entrancing you. At first, it begins as a hushed lull intermingled with what sounds like your name and a bit of white noise that makes your brain all fuzzy and warm, but it becomes audible. Forming coherent luring words that resemble Keegan's deep, raspy voice.
Drown, drown, drown.
And you promptly find yourself submerging into the tub and the stillness of the water is subduing, but something is instigating you to open your eyes. You push away the thought, taking in the tranquility, settling into the comforting sensation of weightlessness. And yet, the feeling is not leaving you. You internally sigh as you move your body to the surface, but you remain dormant. Your eyes shoot open and your blood runs cold.
Above is one of the most fear-inducing creatures that you have ever laid your eyes upon holding you down on either side of your shoulders with slender claws digging into your flesh. It resembles a caribou skull with elongated antlers but its eyes were a violent vermillion that penetrates your soul. Its body was dark, rickety, and harrowing. Bones astute against the matted onyx fur and its tongue hanging out of his jaw like it was ready to devour you. Panic surges through your veins as you thrash about but it drives its talons further into your skin and you shriek out in pain. Water enters your lungs, your heart is stammering at cardiac arrest speed and you're choking out for dear life. This is it. This is how you die and the worst part about it is, you couldn't even call out for hope from the man who saved you just moments ago.
But just as you're accepting your fate, the muffled sound of a gunshot pierces through the air and within seconds the skinwalker is incapacitated and then dead. Soon enough, you're being hoisted out by Keegan's strong hands, as you cling onto him naked, wet, and heaving for oxygen.
Water expels out from your esophagus and you're trembling even harder than you were before when he found you, grasping to him and he's immediately talking you down.
"It's alright, you're okay. You're okay." He soothes, one hand tenderly caressing your soddened hair and the other is gripping your body tight as he pulls you out of the tub. He wastes no time unplugging the drain and wrapping you in a large towel to cover your naked body. In all seriousness, Keegan didn't even take a second to gander at your naked form when he was gathering you out of the tub and he makes that clear that his sole objective was to eliminate the wendigo that trespassed into your sanctuary.
He could've sworn that he had locked up every single opening in the house as he does every single night. It was like clockwork to him ever since his father had shown him the ropes to the place.
"…Kee-keegan." You splutter out as you continue to clutch onto him and your body is saturating him with water. He doesn't care though, that was the least of his worries. Your eyes are reaming and glossy as you dare to peek down at the creature that was seconds away from letting you meet your maker, but there's nothing but ash on the tiled floor.
"It was—" You begin, peering up at his harking steely eyes and his jaw tightens.
"It's gone."
"I don't understand." You shake your head, trying to make sense of what just happened, but the soft clatter of the rifle hitting the bathroom counter delineates your scattered mind. "Oh. But—"
"Get dressed." He softly prompts and you shakily let go of his t-shirt and he hands you an eggshell-colored peignoir as he averts his gaze. He's cognizant of the post-distress and panic you're in, so makes no indication of reallocating himself away from you as you slip on the fabric nor does he provide an explanation for what just occurred.
And to be honest, you didn't want to know. There was nothing more disturbing than the encounter with death in the form of a mutated caribou that leaves you shaken up. Everything just seemed too difficult to wrap your little head around, so let him take care of you.
A fresh towel is on your head, soaking up the wetness tangled into your hair and you relax at his balmy touch.
"Thank you." You mutter as your eyes are cast downward, eyeing the imbued, darkened spots on his nightshirt.
He delicately hooks his index finger and thumb between your chin and lifts it upward as he dabs at your features with the towel. And then it lingers. His intense yet pensive gaze, his stout calloused thumb that is now brushing against your jaw shortly followed by your quivering bottom lip. His jaw ticks.
"I'll sleep in here tonight."
Your heart jumps rampantly against your chest. "What?"
"You almost died if it weren't for me."
"Yes, but it's not—!" You fall short of words yet again and you're tearing your gaze away from him. As dire as the situation was (and it was), Keegan cannot help himself from being just the tiniest bit entertained by your endearing little mannerisms.
"I'm not gonna sleep next to you in bed." He deadpans. Normally, he would let you stumble over your words, but exhaustion is seeping into his bones and even as a noceur himself he was in desperate need of some z's. "The armchair over there quite comfy."
You follow his eyes to the brown leather recliner that was beside the bed and then back to him.
"I'm tired, Keegan." You profess, leaning your head against his chest and he's absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of your back.
"I know."
Typically, you wouldn't be this comfortable with a stranger but given the unusual circumstances that were currently trying to slaughter your ass, you found yourself seeking solace in him.
"Let's get you into bed."
And soon he's leading you back to the bedroom, his hand is still on the small of your back as you walk on wobbly legs. He peels off the comforter and you sink into the mattress feeling like royalty in your crisp, clean nightgown, in your large princess-like bed, surrounded by plush pillows as the light in the lantern flickers. It casts shadows over his dashing features. The flame turns his glacial eyes into a soft apricot and an expression flickers over his visage—concern.
He's harping over your safety and the intruder that happened to bypass his heavily guarded home. No tripped wires, no movement detected on his cameras, and not to mention not a single sound was made until he heard your thrashing in his room across the hall. If he hadn't been there in time—
"You saved me, though." You drone, shutting your eyes as you tuck yourself into the cotton sheets.
His hardened glare softens at your words and how you look at ease now. A testament to your full, unshakeable faith in him. God, you were so quick to trust, it honestly scared him a little for you.
He scoffs. "How can you be so sure that I wouldn't hurt you?"
"Because your father would resurrect and beat the absolute shit out of you if you even dared to think about harming me." You state with a sly smirk on your face.
Keegan's expression briefly falters before he lets out a snicker, acknowledging the truth in your bold proclamation. "Crafty little critter, aren't ya?"
You giggle as shift under the sheets. It's almost a bit disturbing how you are seemingly fine and brushing off the situation. "Maybe."
He peers down at you for a moment and the welcoming feeling of your radiance starts to crawl into his chest. Almost like you were right where you needed to be, in his home, in his bed under his safeguarding. He wants nothing more than that. It's almost a bit perturbing how you are seemingly fine.
"Go to sleep." You mumble.
"You go to sleep."
"No, you first,"
"Who else is going to shield you against creatures of the night?"
You pause for a moment. "Good point."
He smiles as he walks over to the armchair, gun propped up against his left leg as he sits to face you. You're already curling up in a ball, and your chest rises and falls at a tranquil pace.
"Good night, Blair." He feels his eyes drooping as his vision becomes bleary.
You chuckle at the idiotic nickname. "Good night, Cowboy."
The remnants of tiny, foolish smiles are left on your faces as you drift off to sleep in your respective spaces. The last passing thought that crosses your mind is Keegan's tender gaze and his fingers brushing against your lips. Keegan wonders what is making you so giddy before the world around him fades out.
As morning breaks, sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. The spring breeze wafts into the wisps of your hair and your eyes flutter open. The seat in front of you is now empty and the balcony door is wide open, and yet you're calm as you rise out of bed. Birds are chirping and the incessant droning of cicadas buzzing loudly against your eardrums is merely white noise when you recognize the low rumble of your truck's engine pulling up. There is an urgency that surges within you and soon you're sprinting out the door, and the heat of the cobblestone stings at the soles of your feet but you don't care.
The engine cuts and Keegan climbs out of the truck, sleeves rolled up in his army green henley, and he's wearing a clean pair of relaxed, light-wash jeans that skim the leather of his Tecovas. He peers up at you with wintry hues, tipping his hat, and in that instant, you're transported back to your childhood—Mr. Russ, tipping his hat with those same eyes and that glorious smile that always made your heart race.
The resemblance was both striking and uncanny, but damn, you were totally not complaining.
"Mornin', little lady. You're up quite early." He puts his hands on his hips and he's no longer the stone-faced, vendetta-filled Cowboy that you met last night. He's your friendly Appalachian Cowboy who provides you the sweet, sweet southern hospitality with a charming smile and a bit of a North Carolinian twang that sets your groins on fire.
"Mornin', Cowboy. Fixed my truck, did you?" You lean against the French iron wrought railing with your ruffled hair and white nightgown, rippling in the slight draft that carries the healing scent of sage and lavender. The fabric forms around your body and Keegan notices how it traces the outline of your curves and how the sun is hitting you just perfect enough for you to look like a literal angel.
But it's still the unrelenting, disconcerting feeling that creeps up on him when he looks up at you so unbothered, airheaded with that buoyant grin on your face. Was it really just a facade?
"Fixed it good enough for you to get back on your way." He turns from you to the truck and then back to you. "By the way, where were you headed?"
"Back to the old man." You cross your leg over the other, waiting for his response. He watches as the skin of your legs peeks out from under the peignoir and it's a bit enticing.
"I didn't contact him if that's what you're askin'" His hand acts like a sun visor to block the light out of his sensitive eyes to take a good gander at you.
"I would hope not. Don't need to send him into cardiac arrest." You joke and you see his shoulders shaking a bit, suggesting a chuckle.
"Made you breakfast."
"Yeah?" You simper, leaning a little more against the railing.
He can't help the way his grin broadens as he peers up at your flirty form. "Careful now, can't have you comin' back home with a broken neck, can we?"
Shit. Shit. Shiiiiit.
Goddamn him and his pretty face. He's already heading inside as you're locking in on him, but Keegan isn't one to give you the satisfaction. He'll play the long game and he'll enjoy every minute of it. From the way you're sitting next to him at the table with your dress bunched up to your thighs to the way you sensually lick your spoon covered with cream and he's internally chuckling at the mess you've made on the corners of your lips, feigning gullibility to get a rise out of him. Admittedly, it's hot. He wants nothing more than to lick your fingers clean and sloppily kiss your sweet cream-laden lips.
Mmmm.
He doesn't say anything. Just enjoys his breakfast and keeps his gaze lowered like a gentleman. The company of a beautiful woman is enough for him on a fine Sunday morning like this.
You can only wonder what he's thinking as you act like a giddy schoolgirl who's trying to get the attention of her professor. Not that you had a significant age gap with Keegan, but in his original line of work there was a massive lapse. Being a retired Marine had probably mentally aged him over give or take 10 years would have been your best guess. And leaving the farm to his cousins in his absence probably impacted him even more, well, according to your gossip girl of a father at least.
He made trips down to NC every so often to check on his favorite, reclusive cowboy, sometimes tending to his facilities when need be. You never tagged along though. In your mind, you were a city girl who didn't mind dressing up as a cowgirl if she saw fit. So coming down from your city job, in the comfort of your sweet loft that overlooked the NOVA skyline didn't exactly make you miss the Appalachia trails.
Still, it is nice being back here with a somewhat familiar stranger in a home you had only seen the outside of because, for the majority of your life, you had so desperately tried to force out the rural in you. Call it toxic, but leaving the mountains always felt like the haze had lifted from your brain. It was unsettling to be here for too long.
"You're nervous."
You glance up from the runny eggs that you have been working on for the past twenty minutes. You give him a sheepish grin. "This place makes me nervous."
"Itching to go back to the city, huh?"
That elicits a small chuckle from you. "And what do you know about me?"
"Well, according to your father," He says in a knowing tone and you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a coy smile. "you love the city too much to move back."
"I don't think I'm too good for it. Here, I mean."
"Didn't say that. The Appalachia isn't for everyone." He butters his toast and then munches on it and soon it vanishes into his mouth. The night before is washed away from your memory, but Keegan loses track of his thoughts as he stares at the leftover jagged lines embedded into your skin from a creature that he knew you wanted to forget. A glance at his watch and he's up, wiping his hands and mouth with the serviette that was on his lap before he places it on the table. "You ready?"
"You got somewhere to be?" You raise your brows, not quite ready to leave yet.
"Matter o'fact I gotta date with an employee from Tractor Supply Co in about an hour, and it's thirty minutes out."
"New livestock?" You sip at your coffee.
A sad smile graces his lips. "Yeah, my last eldest cattle just passed away a few weeks ago."
You frown. "I'm sorry."
For a moment you swear you saw him get teary-eyed, but he quickly shakes himself out of the grief, grabbing his keys as he downs his glass of ice water. He stops himself for a moment as you get up to push your chair in and he can't help himself from tracing his fingers over the claw marks on either side of your shoulders. You shudder from the remembrance and his touch.
"[name]," He starts to express but your mood sours.
"Stop."
His expression falters and so does his hand as he lets it drop to his side. You didn't want to remember any of it. He notices how you clutch onto your necklace and he drops the subject.
"Your trucks waiting." He takes your hand and deposits the keys into your palm.
You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."
You begin to approach your truck and you feel relief washing over you as you run your hand over the tarnished, rusted hood of the Dodge before you open the driver door. As you climb in you notice that all your belongings remain untouched. Scattered cassette tapes, polaroids, and the little Hawaiian girl that swayed with every movement still plastered onto the dash. The leather seats seem to have abrasions, revealing the cushion beneath, but you write it off as a bear maybe deciding to try and access your vehicle after you had abandoned it.
"…[name], ….[name]….!"
You're snapped out of your stupor, recollecting your thoughts as you glance over at him leaning his body against your truck. "I checked the vehicle, it's all clear for you to go. Should make it back alright."
"Why wouldn't it be if you fixed the engine?"
The look you give him is blank, free from concern and any worry that may have been left on your face from last night.
He nods, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. "Right, well, it was nice seeing you all grown up."
That provokes a reaction. Heat is rising to your cheeks and Keegan is standing there looking cool as ever as he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his brow before putting it back on.
"Thank you." You say with more feeling, only your eyes acknowledging the horrors of last night. And that's enough for Keegan.
"You take care now." He tips his hat with a good-natured grin and you snicker at his little cowboy bit.
He waves to you as you back out of his driveway and you glance over from your rearview mirror as his towering figure disappears and so does any anamnesis from the evening prior. Or at least, you told yourself that.
And that was April. Months have gone by and Keegan doesn't exactly expect you to keep in contact. He's even surprised to hear a, '[name], says hello, by the way.' from your father during their weekly check-in.
And he definitely does not expect to see your truck in his driveway when he's coming back from milking his cows for the day with his new set of eyes that's in dog form, wagging her tail in anticipation as she sits.
"German Shepherd, eh? Suits you." You simper at him, leaning against the pillar of his home with glossy lips, and a cutesy red paisley swing dress that just barely covers your thighs. Your boots are hardly broken in as they dig into the grassy field and your hair is a little disheveled in an endearing way.
"Name's Miley." He peels off his gloves, shoving them into his back pocket. He's completely taken aback by your sudden presence, though he's not one to complain about a pretty lady showing up at his door.
"Hey, Miley." You coo, holding your hand to her and she's immediately reciprocating your energy tenfold as she jumps up and down, causing you to giggle and pet her soft fur.
Keegan doesn't even need to say anything as he glances down at the German Shepherd and she's already sitting on the ground between you two.
"Miss me?" You ask, coyly.
"Could ask you the same thing, Blair." He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you suspiciously. Something was off.
"I was just in town."
"Uh huh."
It doesn't take long before the act drops and distress is carving into your features. Lips are trembling in fear as your eyes begin to water.
"Something's been following me, Keegan." Your body naturally falls against his chest and his breath hitches a bit at your contact and the smell of your perfume wafts into his senses.
Fuck.
mini taglist: @keegansshark @soapsgf @milkteaarttime
#call of duty#call of duty imagines#keegan p russ#keegan p russ x reader#keegan russ x reader#keegan russ smut#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#cod ghosts#call of duty ghosts#call of duty smut#keegan x reader#cod keegan#keegan russ#keegan smut#eventual smut#alternate universe#cod au
202 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
skfa1008
Untitled
sinnersconfession
A Sinner's Playground
condraws
@ season three no spoil please
darktastemakercycle
Untitled