#and came over and asked to delete it RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW!!

[hyperesthesias]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Character

summary: Simon "Ghost" Riley makes the mistake of intervening on the behalf of a woman stuck in an abusive relationship. The only reason it's a mistake -- he has six months of leave, and he's falling for her. When he ships out, he promises that if she's ever in danger again, to call him and he'll come running. Ten years later, he receives that call -- only to find it's her daughter who's asking for his help.

author's note: this idea came to me while i was falling asleep, and it bothered me all night until i could write it today. i apologize for the chicken scratch. it's really just three ideas in a trench coat. i love this idea so much i might turn it into a book at some point. if that happens, i will probably delete this. but for now -- enjoy!

content: unformatted & not proof-read; references to past sexual assault; references to torture; abusive relationship (not perpetuated by Ghost); graphic sex; kidnapping; canon-typical violence; PTSD.

words: 10,692.

if you'd like music while you read, these songs are what i wrote this to: whiskey sunrise by chris stapleton // just pretend by bad omens // vore by sleep token.

He is on leave. He is attempting to assimilate into the usual crowd of a parking lot, but no matter how aware he is of his gait, or how many times he looks over his shoulder, he can't shake the feeling that he is inherently out of place. He's been home three weeks, back on English land, where the sea and river air feel damp on his skin, and he realizes home is an idea, not a place. He'll never feel the way he did all those years ago, when he was once a person he no longer recognizes.

He is content to stock up on the regular supplies: alcohol and caffeine -- caught in the perpetual sedative-stimulant cycle. He can make do with whatever else he has at his flat; it's sparse and barely furnished, but he's certainly had worse. He doesn't want to think of worse right now. He wants to think about getting a couple of six packs, and sitting in that in the living room chair that's too soft, and that's too difficult to get out of, he wants to think about putting his feet up, and pretending to watch football. He wants to pretend to be normal, if only for a few hours, until night falls and sleep waits in the corner for him.

But he's too observant for his own good -- it's always saved his ass, but sometimes, like today, it's a curse.

He sees a man in the far end of the parking lot, with the distinctive glint of a blade in his hand. He's growling behind grit teeth something Simon can't hear clearly. The man has gotten out of his car, and is slashing the tires of another man, who's trying to stay as far away from the sharp end of the knife as possible; there's a woman seated in the passenger's side of the aggressor's car, she's still as stone, terrified to move.

Simon swears under his breath, knowing he's not obligated to do a damn thing while on leave -- and knowing he's more than obligated, despite. His appearance is still obscured, he's wearing a black surgical mask, with a black aviators, and a cap; he looks like someone pretending to be tougher than they are. But no one needs to know otherwise.

He intervenes in the situation, trying to deescalate as quickly and as quietly as possible. Using a light pole and the position of the two cars as cover from the security cameras in the parking lot, he places himself between the aggressor and the victim -- who is now taking photos of the tires for insurance. Simon has one eye on the girl inside the man's car, and the other on the shaking hands of the coward in front of him. After his attempts to talk him off the ledge fail, Simon easily disarms the man and sprains his wrist as he twists the hilt of the knife out of his palm. He lands a punch into the man's gut, and tells him to stay down as he doubles over onto the pavement. When he doesn't obey, Simon kicks him in the head to make sure he doesn't wake up for a while. He briefly glances at the man whose tires were slashed, but he only turns a blind eye, still preoccupying himself with his insurance photos.

Simon makes his way to the passenger side, still avoiding the cameras, where the woman remains paralyzed from the violence that has occurred in front of her. He leans one arm on the roof of the car as he peers into the window, and ushers her out.

"You could do a lot better than him, you know," he says.

She looks her behind her to the man on the ground, then to the one who is standing above her. She doesn't say anything, but follows the instruction to exit the car.

"My advice --" Simon says, without prompting, "take this as a win. Leave him behind. A man like that will only bring you down."

It takes her a moment to register what he's said, but ultimately she agrees. She half expects him to be gone by the time she looks back at him -- like a vanishing stranger clad in all black -- but to her surprise, he's still there. He's standing beside her, looking at his smartphone. "Th--Thank you," she says.

He gives her half a look as he continues to fiddle with his phone. "Don't mention it."

She takes it as a command, rather than a pleasantry.

"I can call you a ride," he tells her, and hands her his phone -- a burner. "Put your address in, and I'll make sure the bastard doesn't start coming to."

She shakes her head. "I live just down the block. I'll just...walk home."

"He know where you live?"

"Yes," she answers, a cling of shame to her voice -- for a reason she can't quite discern.

Simon deviates from his plan, and instead puts in an anonymous tip to the police about a man causing a disturbance at the grocery’s address. The victim with the slashed tires isn't going anywhere any time soon, and would still be there to give a statement. "He won't be bothering you for a few days, at least. Long enough for you to get somewhere he doesn't know about." He walks her home.

She introduces herself as Cecelia, and all he replies is: "Simon".

He never got that beer. The next day, he goes to a different store, hoping he doesn't run into another moment of conscience.

The next week, he makes the misguided attempt to check on her. He debates for a while on whether or not it would come across as predatory that he remembered where she lived. He never vacillates in the field, but every time he remembers he's not in the field, he questions whether his decisions are appropriate for 'normal' life. He's made peace with never being 'normal', but for a moment, he'd like to not feel so unfit for human society.

Cecelia answers the door, and a part of him is disappointed -- disappointed that she wasn't far away from her ex-boyfriend, and disappointed that now he has to actually speak to someone.

"Simon," she welcomes him, to his surprise.

At her bidding, he steps inside her flat; he checks the corners around the door and the foyer, a habit of which he's painfully aware. "You always invite masked strangers in?"

She chuckles at the oddity, and closes and locks the front door. "You would be the first. But I don't consider us strangers -- not after your help last week. I am grateful."

"You able to find somewhere safe?" he asks.

"They're keeping him for now. He can't afford bail."

He nods and looks around at her apartment, that prickly feeling of being out of place starting to get worse, and more intense at the forefront of his skin. She has houseplants, a warm, well-used couch, paintings hanging from the wall. There's an electric tea kettle on a breakfast bar, with a lipstick stained mug sitting next to it. Her home looks like something out of a dream he had on occasion as a child -- after watching too many sitcoms on television. Everything always looked happy, everyone always laughed and got along. It was just as well it was on television, nothing like that could be real. Until it is, and until he's standing in the middle of it -- ill-fitted.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he says, hoping for a quick and quiet exit. "Just wanted to make sure he hadn't come back to give you trouble."

"Please -- can't I offer you tea?"

She had the good kind in a glass jar on that breakfast bar, and his well-engrained comforts gave him a moment of pause. It was just enough of a pause to let her move from him to the kettle, where she was already making him a cup. She tells him it's the least she can do for him. He waits until she takes a drink of hers first. It is damn good tea.

She tells him her ex's hearing will be in a couple of weeks. Simon tells her he'll check on her then.

Over the next few weeks, he keeps in regular contact with Cecelia. Every time he comes over, she makes him a cup of tea, updates him about the case against her ex, and then they sit in silence. It's become a routine. After two months, he starts coming to her house even without cause from her ex's case. He starts to feel like those feral cats she feeds on her patio. But the silence is nice. Sitting in the warmth of her living room, instead of his own -- cold and rigid -- it was a pleasant change. There's a subtle, subconscious thought that he's afraid to let come to the surface -- that in a way, she has saved him as much as he helped her that day.

"When do you go back?" she asks one afternoon, breaking the silence between them.

Immediate suspicion grows within him, and he doesn't answer for a while, he only stares at her.

"It's not a difficult assumption that you're military," she explains. "I had a brother in the Navy." She pulls out a gold pendant necklace from beneath her sweater and shows it to him, hoping the display of vulnerability might help him feel more comfortable to answer. "This was the last thing he gave me. He sent it to me while he was overseas. He never stopped worrying about me, even while he was in active duty," she smiles, but it's a sad smile.

The stiffness in his shoulders softens only mildly, and he breaks his gaze from her. "I ship out in four months."

She only nods. A part of her was hoping that it'd be longer, that they'd have more time to get to know one another. The mystique was enticing, but the comfort she felt sitting in his company was something she hadn't felt in a long time. She would miss it when he was gone.

"What happened to your brother?"

"He was killed," she answers. "In a training exercise. That never sat right with me, though. I always felt they weren't tell me the whole truth."

"Probably weren't," he says.

"I don't know whether or not that's a comfort or if it just makes it worse."

"Whatever the truth is, probably worse. Better to take what they give you."

"You always take what they give you?"

He looks at her again. This time, not with suspicion, but with guilt. Guilt of following orders, guilt of not. The weight of betrayal. The heaviness of killing the people who were meant to have his back -- the people he was meant to trust. The anger and despair that he keeps caged somewhere just below the surface of being double crossed by those meant to guide him. It's a long time before he answers: "No."

They don't speak again for the rest of the afternoon. He leaves, as he always does, but this time he washes the mugs before he goes.

Another week passes, and in the middle of the night, he's startled by his phone ringing. It doesn’t wake him, but it disrupts the cycle of blended thoughts and memories that blanket him at night. He has half the mind to let it go to voicemail; it's just his burner phone, no one important has that number -- besides Cecelia. The static of worry crawls beneath his skin, and he looks at the caller ID. It's her.

"You alright?" he answers.

"Simon --" panic is set into her voice. "I think someone's trying to break in."

"Lock yourself in the closet. I'm on my way."

He's armed to the teeth when he gets to her flat. The glass patio door has been jimmied open, and her apartment has been tossed. The paintings are broken and hanging crooked on the wall, the soil from the plants is spilled and pressed into the carpet by footprints. Simon stalks from room to room, until he hears Cecelia scream from her bedroom. He raises his weapon and pushes open her bedroom door -- the ex is pulling her out of her closet by her hair, with a baseball bat in his other hand.

"Drop it!" Simon demands. It surprises her attacker, that his grip lightly loosens from her -- she's trying to wriggle free from his hand beneath him. "Drop it, or I drop you."

"You! -- You bastard!" he yells back. "This is your fault! Look what you've done, huh! Look at it!"

Simon doesn't take his eyes off her attacker, but he can see Cecelia clawing at the man with every might of strength she has -- she's pulling blood from his arm. "Let her go. I'm not telling you again."

The man releases Cecelia's hair, and grips the bat with both of his hands. He lunges at Simon with full force. Simon deflects the bat with one arm, feeling the impact of the wood absent of any armor. He follows his hand around the bat and grabs its handle, flipping it out of the attacker's grasp. He holsters the gun -- wanting to draw as little attention to himself as possible; and in that same sentiment, he refrains from hitting the man in the head with his own bludgeon -- regardless of how much he wants to. With a powerful swing, Simon cracks the bat against the man's tibia. The bone snaps audibly and the man collapses to the floor, wailing in agony. Whether out of the assurance of safety, or out of the flame of revenge, Simon takes one more pass with the bat and breaks both of the man's kneecaps.

He once more calls the police, and her attacker is taken to the hospital for his injuries under police escort. Simon encourages Cecelia to be seen by the paramedics, even though she insists she's fine. But no matter how many times she refuses, Simon tells her she needs to. They take her to the hospital for a concussion. He makes himself scarce.

He debates visiting her the next day. Much to his chagrin, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, he's grown attached to her. He knows it's not inherently a negative thing, but it is a liability. Regardless of how much of an asshole her ex was, Simon couldn't help but feel there was some truth to what he said: that if he hadn't intervened that day, nearly three months ago, that none of this would've happened. He tries not to think about the long term consequences of his actions.

He visits her in the hospital anyway.

He brings her flowers in an awkward gesture -- though it’s no less heartfelt.

"You have someone you need me to call?" he asks.

She's lying in her hospital bed, scraped and bruised, still mildly concussed, but grateful her injuries weren't worse. "No. It's just me."

"No friends?"

She sighs. "Not anymore. He made sure of that."

He nods, knowingly. His own father isolated his mother, Margot, as much as he could, until she'd had no one left. "I heard the doc say he’s gonna release you later today."

"I wish I was happier to go home."

"You don't have to be happy," he says.

As cynical as it sounded, it relieves the pressure from her shoulders of having to put on a front. "I could use some clothes, though."

"I'll get 'em for you," he tells her.

He returns to her flat and packs her an overnight bag. Her flat is a wreck, and the doors are still compromised. When she is discharged, he brings her to his place instead.

"You take the bed," he tells her when they step through his door. "I'll have the couch. I'd offer you tea, but it isn't any good." Even when he's joking he never sounds like it.

She's gotten accustomed to this timbre, and looks at him with a smirk. "I guess I'll have to settle for a beer, then."

She can't see it, but he's returning the smirk. At his place -- which he doesn't call a 'home' -- he takes off the black surgical mask, and the cap; he takes off his gloves, and puts them all by the front door. It's one of the rare times she's seen him so bare.

He helps her get settled, and gets her the beer. She's seated on his couch and he joins her. "It's as cold as it's gonna get."

She stays with him for a week; the patio door is being repaired by the insurance and the landlord. She doesn't mind, she feels safer at his place anyway -- even if it is lacking warmth. He's always awake before her, and every morning, she's woken by the scent of coffee. When she comes out of the bedroom and into the living area, there's always a cup waiting for her on the table.

Simon adds reinforcement to her front and patio doors. "Don't tell anyone where you got this," he tells her as he installs the locks and alarms for her. He helps rehang her paintings, and scrub the carpet. It takes his mind off of other things that try to come to the surface. His mind is emptier of its evils than it has been in a long time, and he's acutely aware that this is temporary.

When Cecelia is settled in her place again, she asks him to stay. He doesn't want to say no.

So he doesn't.

It's a whirlwind romance -- one they both know will end in only a few months' time. Despite the fact that he's only known her for a brief period, he can't recall feeling so comfortable. He won't say safe. He'll never say safe. Because he never is. He won't say at peace. And he won't say happy. But he is comfortable. It's a foreign feeling, one that he distrusts if he thinks about it too long. But when he's lying next to her at night, the brutal images in his head are less vivid, the screaming voices are quieter, sometimes he even sleeps.

They haven't had sex. It's not a subject he's even broached, and neither has she. When she lies beside him, the most contact they have is her hand on his chest, and her face nestled into his side.

She kisses him on the cheek once, and it takes him a moment to process it. He's still and quiet, his eyes are downcast as he's contemplating it. She asks if she's done something wrong. He tells her no -- not at all.

One evening, when he's staying at her place — as he often does — they're on her couch after a couple of drinks. They were at one point watching television, but they've since been ignoring it -- talking, and in between whispered words, soft kisses. One thing leads to another, and she's sitting on his lap, his arms are around her, and he's kissing her deeply. He forgot how to kiss like this -- he didn't think it was still possible within him. That there was still some form of passion and intimacy that was in his spirit. He's hungry -- and with every kiss he's getting hungrier. She's laughing and enjoying herself. The way she feels on top of him feels good, it's just enough movement and pressure to turn him on. It feels good -- until suddenly it doesn't.

Simon immediately pulls away and stops. The passion in him is walled up, shut up, and where there was once heat beneath his skin, it's now cold, concrete.

Cecelia stops and looks for his eyes. "Are you alright? What happened?"

He tries to get himself to talk. But nothing comes out. He's not supposed to talk. He's not supposed to say anything. He's trying to squirm away from her now, and she takes the signal quickly. She gets off his lap, and sits beside him, still trying to figure out what happened. She gets them ice water instead of asking any more questions. He looks like he's still dissociating by the time she comes back, and she has to prompt him to take the water.

Simon goes back to his place that night. He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, until the nightmares come.

He's startled awake the next morning by a sound that doesn't exist. It takes several minutes for him to catch his breath -- his heart is in his throat, and he can't focus on anything in front of him. Eventually, he's able to discern his own sheets, he's able to tell he's in England, that he's nowhere near Mexico — his captors. He's still shaking by the time he finally reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

There's a text from Cecelia. He opens it, expecting the worst: that she never wants to talk to him again after what happened last night. That his rejection of her was insulting, and that he was less of a man for it. It was for the better, he thinks. It saves him a messy departure later.

But the text is very different than what he thought:

She apologizes. She thinks his reaction had something to do with her.

It couldn't be further from the truth.

Cecelia was indescribably incapable of the evil done to him. He just doesn't know how to explain that to her.

Well, how to explain it to her and still maintain some kind of dignity and confidence.

It would be easier if he doesn't reply, he thinks. Again, it would save him a messy ending with her. If he ghosts her -- no pun intended, he thinks to himself, but fitting regardless -- he never has to explain himself. He never has to tell the truth. Even to himself.

But that would be cowardly.

He's a lot of things. But a coward isn't one of them.

He doesn't reply.

Instead, he's on her doorstep later that evening. Just like one of those feral cats.

Cecelia answers the door, and he can't look her in the eye. "I come in?" he asks, his head still on a swivel, both out of instinct, and also to provide an excuse as to why he won't look at her.

She agrees, and closes and locks the door behind him. She doesn't say anything for a minute, waiting for him to make the first move, but instead he's standing in the middle of her living room, awkwardly -- like a video game character in the loading lobby.

"I didn't think I'd hear from you," she says. "I hope I didn't --"

"It's not you." He cuts her off. "You didn't do anything." He takes his hat off, and runs a gloved hand through his hair as he tries to figure out what to do with himself. He still won't remove the mask. He needs something -- some kind of barrier.

"I'll put the kettle on," she says. It's going to be a long night, she can feel it.

It's been years, it's been a lifetime ago. But some things don't stay dead. Like memories. All those weeks under Roba's influence of torment, retreating into ugly corners of his mind to escape the evil being done to him at the drug lord's hand, and all those under Roba's command -- viscerally having his body and mind being used and crushed in the attempt to break him. He hasn't talked about it, except in veiled mutters under his breath -- only once -- to Price. Even then, he wasn't entirely sure he understood, Simon made no effort to clarify.

He doesn't go into detail with Cecelia. She doesn't deserve to hear about the gore, the blood and violence. But he gives her clear implications, with bullet points of what transpired after he clawed his way out of Roba’s torture, out of Vernon's grave: the deaths of his mother, his brother and sister-in-law, his nephew.

Hours have passed since he showed up without warning, and yet their time together has been mostly silence. His words few and far between, he said most of what he meant without speaking. She didn't interrupt him.

At last she asks: "Did you get them?"

He looks at her, for the first time since he arrived. But he can't hold her eyes long, and he nods. "I got 'em."

"Good."

The next week, they're on her couch again -- two drinks in, with the television mindlessly on mute -- and this time, he lowers her onto the cushions, where he settles on top of her.

Foreplay last for several days. He gets to a point where he can be shirtless, or have his pants unzipped, until he backs down. He lies on her chest instead, and falls asleep as she runs her hands through his hair. She tells him more than once he doesn't have anything to prove. He knows, he tells her, it's something he wants to do; his mind and body need to do some catching up, is all. She waits.

It's the weekend, and she's invited him to stay over the next few days. She'll make them dinner. He comes by with a six pack and some fresh bread. There's a box of condoms in his back pocket, but he's not going to tell her that -- he doesn't want to promise anything and then not deliver.

But it happens. And it happens because they're not trying to make it happen.

They move to the bedroom; he has half his clothes off by the time she follows him. She's in her bra and panties as she gets on the bed -- she regrets it's not the matching pair, but it doesn't even look like he notices. At his request, she doesn't sit on top of him, she sits beside him as she rubs her palms into his chest, down his abdomen, trailing every outline of his body with a single finger.

She has a cute nose, he thinks -- it scrunches as she smiles, and she hasn't stopped smiling since they ran to the room like teenagers trying not to get caught. He cups a hand on her face, tracing her nose and the lines of her smile. He leans to put a kiss on her mouth, her hands taking his jaw gently. Every movement is gentle and deliberate. She moves her lips from his, down his neck, where they follow his sternum, his stomach, to the trail of soft hair that leads beneath his briefs. With his help, she removes them, and puts them with the pile of clothes on the floor.

He's already getting hard, and she wraps her hand around his cock, gently pumping him to help him along. She feels him twitch as he takes a deep breath, and when she looks at him to see if he's alright, he brushes a lock of her hair behind her ear. She dots gentle kisses along his tip and frenulum, and his hand moves from her hair to twist into the sheets beneath him. She laughs as she takes him into her mouth, and the vibration of her laughter onto his cock makes him swear.

Simon takes another breath and watches as she bobs up and down his length, now fully erect. As she feels his body tense, she stops and returns to putting kisses along his shaft.

"You're teasing me," he says.

"I'm warming you up," she laughs again.

He reaches for the box of condoms on the floor, and rips open the package to use one. He sits up and pulls her close, onto his lap. He buries his face into her the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent.

Cecelia takes him, inch by inch, as she sits on his lap, and the moan that escapes her sets his mind on fire. He pulls her closer to his chest, and grabs the pile of her hip as she starts to rock back and forth against him. She's whining as he tenderly bites into the soft skin of her neck -- leaving a pleasant mark behind in his wake.

He starts to feel unsure of himself, unsure of the position they're in, when Cecelia stops and nestles her nose into his hair. She puts another kiss on the top of his head, and they sit there for a moment -- barely moving, except for the rising and falling of their breathing.

Simon initiates the next movement, where he begins to thrust into her. One hand behind him among the pillows to balance him, the other holding her hip to keep her steady, he's looking into her face as she puts her hands on his shoulders. She begins to rock back and forth again, finding a rhythm with him, and as she does, she puts her hands behind her head, fanning out her hair as she seems to dance on top of him.

He has a brief moment of feeling foolish -- in believing she looks like some ethereal spirit, or a nymph. Like one of those paintings that he's seen on the walls of great leaders. But his doubts are drowned out by her leaning on him and putting her mouth on his.

They stay in this rhythm for some few moments, until he gently turns her on her back, and settles himself between her legs. He takes one of her feet and kisses it, before he wraps her legs around his waist.

He keeps a steady pace into her, the feeling of pleasure wafting through his body with unfamiliar electricity, his appetite suddenly whetted, and his thrusts become harder. Her moans and whimpers getting louder, more intense, as she touches herself. Simon reaches his hand to massage her sex, and her whole body tenses -- her core grips around him in soft waves. He comes -- intensely, and at the feeling of her, at the sight of her lost in the pleasure of him. A gasp sputters from him at the sensation of satisfaction that takes hold of his mind and body.

She reaches up to him and takes his face in her hands again as she puts her brow to his. His breathing is heavy, and it washes over her damp skin, sending a shiver of cold throughout her.

He lies beside her again that night, as she puts her hand on his chest, and her face into his side. Except this time, he turns to her, to see her -- face on. He usually tries to obscure himself as much as possible, but just for this moment -- just for the time he has left with her, he wants to be seen. Just for now.

Simon lives at her flat for the remaining weeks he has left of leave. He tries not to lean into the fantasy as hard as he wants to -- but when she invites him to the market to get ingredients for dinner, he can't refuse her. He's on edge the entire time -- searching the crowd for anyone who might become a threat, the sinking feeling of waiting for a detonation to occur when there isn't one keeps his eyes fixed on the periphery of the farmer's market. He briefly loses track of her, and he's ready to pry her from the arms of an enemy that isn't present -- he finds her picking fruit from a basket at a vendor's stall. It's the moment he knows he can't ever have a normal life. It's something he's always known, but the image of its reality is materialized as he watches her smell peaches from a distance.

His recall date is approaching faster than he wants it to. As strong as he is, he can't slow Time. Every night when he lies awake in bed, he watches her sleep. With the images of her bedroom, and of her living room, and the breakfast bar with the kettle and well-worn mugs upon it, with the image of her sleeping peacefully, cuddled beneath her blankets beside him, he builds a new place in the dark corners of his mind. Somewhere into which he can retreat when the night gets ugly. When the job gets uglier.

The night before he's recalled, they make love again. He adds the blissful memory to that place in his mind. He holds her tighter, fucks her with an intensity and a desperation he couldn't speak in words; he keeps her as close as he can until the moment he has to give her up.

Cecelia wakes up early the next morning, before dawn, to see him off. His bag is already packed, the coffee is already made, with her mug, full on the counter, just as it always is.

"Will I ever see you again?" she asks.

He stops. He heard her get up, heard her come out of the bedroom, but even still, he was hoping to leave unseen. He doesn't have an answer for her.

"No," he says. He still doesn't look at her.

She stays quiet, but sits at the breakfast bar, where her cup of coffee is waiting for her. He's still in the kitchen, washing the dishes he used to make her breakfast. She sees him put his head down, thoughts flooding themselves behind his brown eyes. But still, he says nothing.

After he finishes leaving no trace of himself in her home, as he readies himself to leave, his duffle bag in hand, his mask and gloves fitted against his skin, he stops before he opens her front door.

"Come here," he tells her.

A part of her hopes that he'll change his mind -- that he'll say he'll be back whenever he gets leave again. But she doubts they will let him go for a very, very long time.

"Look at me."

Her eyes are wet, but she tries to hide it. She does as he says nonetheless.

"If you are ever -- ever -- in trouble..." he pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, "...you send this to this address." On it is written a word: 'MAYFLOWER', along with an encrypted email address. "I will come running." He hands her the paper and she takes it with a trembling hand. "Memorize this. Then burn it. Do you understand?"

She nods as she studies the paper. She tries to hold back her crying, but the harder she tries, the louder she sniffles.

Cecelia wraps her arms around his waist and holds him, just for a moment. Her tears stain his jacket, but she can't bring herself to care. When she lets go, she kisses his mask. She feels him return it, despite the barrier between them.

She watches him leave, before the sun is up. He vanishes from her life as quickly as he entered it.

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

TEN YEARS LATER

Ghost is preparing to ship out on an assignment to Eastern Europe with the rest of the 141 in two weeks. He and MacTavish are paired together to arrive first before the rest of the crew. They are currently both in England, going over the plans for the next assignment.

He sold his flat a long time ago, he no longer has permanent residence in England. He rents out places in cash when he needs a temporary place to stay. Simon and Soap are staying together while they prepare, then they will fly out to the drop zone.

As Simon prepares for the next assignment, he receives a transmission on an encrypted email. It is reserved only for emergent scenarios, usually used by his other teammates or superiors when an assignment goes sideways. As he opens the encrypted message, he anticipates that he and Soap will have to ship out sooner than expected.

The message reads:

'MAYFLOWER'

He gave this specific code only to Cecelia. No others have it. He remembers his promise.

In the ten years since their separation, he has not heard from Cecelia, nor has he sought her out in the time he is on homeland. But he thinks about her in moments when the dark begins to suffocate him. He thinks about her during the springtime, and when the world comes alive again. He shares this with no one. Not even Soap. Now, he might have to.

MacTavish sees Simon gearing up, as if he were ready to leave for the hanger at any moment. "You goin' somewhere without me, Lt.?"

Simon stops, and deliberates. A gnawing feeling tells him not to confide in a teammate again -- to not make the same mistake he did with Sparks and Washington. But when he turns and looks Soap in the eye, he knows that honesty -- even obfuscated honesty -- is what will help Cecelia in that moment. "You trust me?"

He tells Soap to pack as they talk, and he debriefs his partner with as little information he can get away with: he promised a woman a decade ago that if she ever needed help, he'd come running. She was calling in the favor.

"What's so special about this woman, then?" Soap asks.

They're driving to the location from which the message was sent -- a house in Manchester, that was bought under her name. She moved, then, he thinks -- from a flat to a house, he hopes she's doing well enough for herself. And whatever family she might have. It would be foolish to think she wasn't married with kids by now. It was just statistics.

"Lt.?"

Ghost takes a breath, as silently as he can, before he answers: "She helped me out. Just returning the favor." It's as close to honesty as MacTavish was going to get for now -- if ever.

The house is visibly disturbed by the time they get there -- the front door is broken, there are signs of a struggle in the living room. There are no police on the scene, neighbors seem to mind their own business. Simon takes the front of the house, while Soap takes the rear. Every room he enters is clear, the house is empty.

"You seeing anything, Lt.?"

"Negative," Ghost answers. "The house is clear."

"I'm doing a perimeter sweep," Soap says.

"Report back."

"Copy."

Ghost tries to piece together what happened as he steps through the chaos that transpired -- they entered through the front door, and tossed the entire place. Desks and dressers tossed; a file cabinet thrown on its side and emptied. The nightstand in the master bedroom rifled through, the closets emptied. There's a child's room adjacent to the master bedroom -- also tossed and empty. A child’s bedroom…It was just the statistical probability that she'd moved on, he reminds himself.

A noise comes from the secondary bathroom in the hallway, and Ghost raises his weapon. He pushes the door to the bathroom open and sees nothing. He prods at the shower curtain — nothing.

There's a linen closet. He raises the rifle, stands to the side of the door, and opens it -- waiting to hear a barrage of gunfire. But there was nothing. He sees the interior of the linen closet in the bathroom mirror:

A child is hiding inside of it, huddled with her hands over her head.

"Perimeter check," he radios Soap.

"Clear, Lt.. Converging on you now."

He checks her for weapons before he continues. "What happened here?" Ghost asks the child.

She's shaking and looks up at him with terror.

"Your mother called me to help."

"She -- She told me to c-call you."

"You sent the message?"

She nods.

"Do you know who did this?"

She shakes her head.

Ghost lets a silent breath, as he looks around the bathroom again -- even the medicine cabinet was tossed. "Whoever they were, they were looking for something." He lets his rifle fall to his side, and he helps the girl out of the closet. "Are you hurt?"

She shakes her head.

"Was there anyone else in the house?"

"No. Just me and mum."

"Is anyone supposed to come home?"

"No. It's just us."

Soap arrives at Ghost's side, surprised to see the girl. "Casualty?"

"Just shellshocked. Get ‘er a blanket."

MacTavish does as he says, and pulls one from the girl's room. "We're the good guys," he tells her. "Give it a minute, an' when you've had a breath, tell us what you remember." He leads her from the bathroom, to somewhere warmer in the house, careful that she shouldn't step on anything broken on the floor. "D'ye have someone we can call, then? Gram? Da? A friend from school?"

"I -- I don't know."

"Alright, it’s alright. Let's start with somethin' easier, then." He adjusts her blanket and helps her put on a pair of shoes that was left by the doorway. "How 'bout we start with your name? How 'bout that? What's your name, love?"

"My name is Margot."

Simon stops. He looks at the girl, he studies her. She looks much like her mother, yet a part of him thinks he saw a resemblance of himself. But it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, he insists. It makes no difference anyway.

"Margot. Pretty name, lass, very classy," Soap tells her.

"Call child welfare," Simon says.

"No!" Margot turns and stops him.

"It's only temporary -- 'til we find your mother," Soap tells her.

"No --"

“This isn’t a discussion," Simon snaps.

Soap looks at the Lieutenant, knowing him well enough to hear something other than the weight of the mission beneath the surface of his voice. He looks back at the girl, who keeps trying to take off her blanket, and ties it around her. "Like a cape," he tells her. "We're very good at what we do, lass. You'll be back with your mother in no time."

"You're not listening!" the girl finally says, she stands, facing Simon. "I don't know who they were," she tells him, still trembling, "but I know what they were looking for."

The girl doesn't seem to be intimidated by either him or Soap, and he finds it unusual. That sinking suspicion settles itself at the forefront of his mind, and he keeps it in check. "What were they looking for?"

"They said -- they said they were looking for something my uncle gave my mum." Tears are coming back to her, and she cowers at the feeling of guilt.

"The necklace?" Simon asks.

"But she doesn't have it. She gave it to me." She pulls out the gold pendant from beneath her shirt.

"Sir, can we have a word?" It's more of a demand from Soap, rather than a request and he turns to Margot. "Don't take off the cape." He pulls Ghost to the side, and speaks as quietly as he can, hoping not to scare the girl: "They're gonna find her eventually. I don't think child welfare is the best option for her."

Simon still hasn't taken his eyes off of Margot, he's still studying her -- her features, her nose, her eyes. She has brown eyes, but so does her mother. Even if his suspicion is true, it still doesn't mean anything, he convinces himself. He wouldn’t be able to be there for her in any way that matters, he tells himself.

"We can offer her better protection. We track the bastards, neutralize the threat, and get her mother back. We send her into foster care, she's a sitting target once they realize her mother doesn't have what they want."

He hates it when Soap is right.

Finally, he looks at his partner, and they mobilize. Soap helps Margot pack a bag out of what remnants of clothes and necessities are strewn all over the house. Simon is standing in the master bedroom, he tells himself he's looking for any sign of what the attackers were after, but he knows it's a lie. He wants to see what has become of Cecelia. But he knows he shouldn't linger.

They regroup at the house Soap and Ghost are renting. Simon asks Margot to hand over the necklace; she does, although she hesitates for a moment, a thought crossing her mind that it might be the only thing of her mother's she'll have left when this is all over.

"I'll give it back," he tells her.

She looks up at him, into his eyes -- he's still wearing that balaclava and all his gear. The greasepaint obscures the depth of his eyes, but she can see their glint in the low light of the living room. She's trusting him as much as he's trusting her. She gives him the necklace.

Simon holds it in the center of his gloved hand -- it looks no different than any other pendant one might find at a jewellry store. It was a plain circle, with no ornamentation, except for an asymmetrical raised texture in the center. He turns it over, there's no stamp indicating the carat or quality.

"All that trouble o'er a necklace?" Soap asks, looking over Simon's shoulder at the small thing.

"She said it was the last thing she ever got from her brother," Simon tells him. "She tell you anything else about him?" he asks Margot.

She shrugs somewhat, still clinging to the blanket around her shoulders. "He was in the Navy. But he died, though. I never met him."

Simon shakes his head once. "No, you wouldn't've. He died overseas, she said. Training mission gone wrong. MacTavish, check records," he tells Soap. "We find out what he was doing when he died, we might find out who's after this little bugger."

The adrenaline finally wears off, and Margot crashes. She's asleep in the master bedroom, curled underneath the blankets, still terrified, even in her sleep. Simon can see it -- her shoulders are tense, her head is tucked, her breathing is rapid. He wonders if every Riley is cursed with poor sleep.

Soap isn't having any more of his bullshit. They're talking in the other bedroom, while combing through personnel records and calling in favors to find out more about the 'training exercise' Cecelia's brother was involved in.

They haven't spoken in a while, which is unusual for Soap -- the air almost feels absent without his gabbing. But Simon knows he isn't being silent for courtesy's sake, Soap is irritated with him.

"Is she yours?" he finally asks, without looking up.

But Simon looks at him, unsure how to reply. Unsure of the answer -- but certain all the same. He doesn't reply for a long time, and Soap doesn't push him; even no answer is an answer.

Simon looks back at his laptop. "She's the right age."

They don't say anything for a while more. Simon is finding it difficult to concentrate, but he compartmentalizes, until Soap interrupts his thoughts again.

"You know I've got your back."

His other teammates, Sparks and Washington, said the same thing. Until they were taken, and turned. Until his family was all murdered in cold blood during Christmastime. He tries to tell himself it's not the same -- the present isn't the past. Yet, the past has a funny way of repeating itself.

He wasn't turned by the torture inflicted upon him, he tells himself. He'd like to think MacTavish wouldn't be, either, whether or not it's true.

"I know, Johnny," he says.

"You need your rest," Soap tells him. "I'll take watch and keep looking. You get some shut eye." He leaves the bedroom and sets up in the living room.

He tries to sleep -- he falls into a restless slumber. It feels like he's closed his eyes for only a moment, when Soap comes back into the room to tell him his watch is over.

It's still dark outside. Simon gets up. He checks on Margot.

She's still lying in bed, curled into a ball. But her breathing has changed -- he thinks she might've fallen into a deeper sleep, but he realizes she's awake, she's crying. He's tempted to turn and leave, to give her space, or to absolve himself of vulnerability. But he knows it's not the right thing to do.

"You should be sleeping," he says.

He hears her sniffle. She doesn't move for a while, until she sits up and looks at him. "I tried. I can't."

He sighs and enters the room, closing the door halfway behind him. "What's keeping you awake?" He sits on the edge of her bed.

"I keep...thinking." She wipes her tears on her sleeve.

"About what?"

She's trying not to look weak in front of him, but she can't help it -- she starts crying again. "All I did was hide. Mum told me to hide. But I didn't want to -- But I was scared..."

He doesn't think less of her. He sees a lot of himself in her, from when he was a boy. "Sometimes the best strategy is to hide. You're no good to anyone dead. Especially not to your mother."

Margot settles, taking hiccupped breaths until she can breathe again. "She said you'd come."

"I told her I would."

The crying has passed for now, she doesn't feel like she can anymore. But she likes sitting beside him. She wonders what he looks like -- he's still wearing that balaclava. "Do you sleep with that on?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"So people don't know what I look like. To protect myself."

"That must be annoying."

He scoffs. "Sometimes."

"Mum told me you wear a mask all the time. She told me a lot about you."

Immediate suspicion rises in Simon, and his mind interprets her words as a threat at first. But he proceeds with tempered rationality. "What'd she say?"

"You both loved each other, she said. You have a job that's really dangerous. She talks about you all the time."

It would've been better if Cecelia had forgotten all about him, it would've been easier for him. But to know that she kept him alive, in memory, somehow hurt worse than being forgotten. "She tell you anything else?" he's fishing, and he hopes Margot takes the bait.

She hesitates, she's thinking, debating -- unsure of herself, unsure of what he'll say. "She said...she tells me that you're my dad. Is that really true?"

He's never one to believe something without concrete proof, he's distrustful by nature. But he knows it's true. It's more than conscious, it's something visceral inside of him that knows something better than the doubt at the forefront of his mind. He only nods. "It's true."

Margot sits in silence, thinking.

"I'm going to find your mother," he promises her. "I’m going to make sure both of you are alright." He speaks to her, but also to the family he lost all those years ago: to his mother, to his brother. He has the chance to right the wrongs of the past. To change the future. "Get some sleep."

"What if I can't?"

He takes a deep breath, trying to find some kind of parental guidance to give her. "I don’t sleep good, either. A long time ago, I saw a shrink. He told me to relax your body -- from head to toe. And imagine you're floating in a canoe on a lake, with nothing else around. Don't think about anything else. Just you...in the lake, breathing deeply. Can you do that?"

She nods.

"I'll wake you when it's morning."

He leaves Margot to her rest and continues to search for reasons why Cecelia's brother may have been a target.

He wakes up Soap at dawn. "We've got a lead."

Simon explains that Cecelia's brother, Gabriel, was involved in a classified assignment to infiltrate a weapons dealer syndicate. He was supposed to eliminate the head of the syndicate, and destroy his compound. Gabriel completed his assignment, and eliminated the syndicate head, and burned the compound to the ground. However, the official report states that Gabriel was killed during the raid -- he was killed by his other teammates, for treason, and for turning on his superiors. Simon managed to find a buried statement from another teammate who had been on the mission, which said Gabriel was killed days after the raid, and his body was dumped at the compound after it was destroyed. Gabriel found that the officer in charge of his assignment was supplying a portion of the weapons being sold. The officer was using his team to clean up evidence of his involvement in the syndicate.

The officer buried anyone else who knew the truth. 

Simon and Soap conclude the necklace must have something else to it, that Gabriel had to have sent it to for a reason. Simon examines the ridge in the center; he finds that the circular pendant is made with two pendants flat pieces soldered together. He halves it with a knife, jimmying the pendant open like an oyster. Inside, is a micro-SD card.

"That's what they were after."

"Obair mhór, Gabriel," Soap mutters.

"Mum's necklace..." Margot stares at its pieces in Simon's hand as she comes out of the bedroom.

"It was for a good cause," Simon says.

"But why --" Soap asks. "Why after all this time? Why go after it now?"

"The good Admiral is up for a political promotion. He's trying to clean house."

"So the Admiral finds out that Gabriel had a contingency, and he knows that the last contact Gabriel had was with his sister. So he puts the pieces together, figuring she knows more than she's saying."

"We need to find her. Now."

They're holding Cecelia at an abandoned farmhouse. It takes them thirty-six hours to track her down, by nightfall Ghost and Soap are converging on the target. Margot is left behind, locked inside their safehouse, with the doors and windows fortified.

They're outnumbered, but they have the element of surprise. Quietly, they close in on the farmhouse from opposite directions, using blades to wound and eliminate the men in their way, utilizing the ignorance of their presence to its maximum capability. Until an enemy fires his rifle, and the secrecy is over.

Ghost breaches the front of the house, firing two shots into the guard at the other side of the door -- chest and throat. He pushes the body to the side, and crouches, hearing more men on their way. He takes cover against the corner of a hallway, and fires two shots into the face of the next assailant who charges him. He uses the bleeding body as a shield, and moves into the line of fire, feeling the impact of the bullets pierce the corpse in his arms. He fires around the body propped against him, and lands three bullets into the torso of the man in front of him.

He throws the corpse to the floor, and moves into the center of the house. There's a locked bedroom door, and he pushes his blade into the jamb to free the lock. He can hear Soap's bullets from the opposite side of the house.

The lock breaks, and Ghost stands to the side of the door as he opens it -- he enters with his rifle raised. There are no men inside the room.

Cecelia is tied to a chair in the center.

"I've got eyes on the target," he radios Soap.

"Copy, Lt.. Three more guards inbound on the east of the complex."

"Copy." Simon cuts her bonds, and helps her stand. "We need to move. Can you walk?"

"Yes," she says, panting.

Ghost has one arm around her, practically pulling her out of the house as he rendezvous with Soap.

Soap covers them as the two limp off the complex -- into the cover of a copse in the distance. Their vehicle is waiting for them there, and Ghost puts Cecelia in the back, pushing her head down beneath the seats. Bullets collide with the metal sides of the doors, and Ghost returns fire as Soap jumps into the driver's seat and finds cover in the trees.

"They won't follow us," Ghost says.

"You'd better be right."

"Margot -- Where's Margot?"

"I got her -- She's alright."

"I'm sorry --" Cecelia says, out of breath.

Simon shakes his head. "Don't be."

They get back to their safehouse, and Margot is holed up in the bedroom until she hears the door. Simon gave her a pocket knife, and she's ready to use it -- when she hears her mother's voice.

"Mum!" she runs out of the bedroom, into her mother's arms.

Cecelia holds her tight. Simon only watches, and glances to Johnny when he puts a hand on his shoulder. He feels that out-of-place sensation once more, seeing mother and daughter embrace. Cecelia is checking Margot over, holding her small face in her hands, wiping away her tears. Simon doesn't know what to do with himself. He leaves them to their reunion. He hides -- in the other bedroom.

Later, he's triaging Cecelia's wounds. She's scraped up, she's got a black eye. The sight of it sends a rage through him that he can't put into words.

"I wanted to tell you," she says.

"I know."

He's bandaging her wrist, but he can't look at her. It's the same dance between them as it was a decade ago. Somehow, it feels like home.

"I don't know what they wanted from me," she tells him.

"I do. Your brother was a smart man. He knew he couldn't trust anyone above him. So he sent the intel he gathered to the one person he could trust. You." He looks up at her.

"What are you going to do with it?"

He gently puts her hand in her lap. "I'm going to do...what I wish I could've done many years ago." He grinds his teeth, and swallows. "I'm going to expose the bloody bastard for what he is: a traitor."

Simon arrives at the Admiral's office the next day. The Admiral is not expecting him, but he is aware of Ghost's reputation, and it precedes him. The Admiral has no reason to suspect Ghost is behind the attack on his off-books operation the previous night. As far as he's concerned, Ghost is scheduled to ship out in less than a fortnight, and he believes his visit has something to do with the upcoming mission.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

Simon chooses his words carefully. Everything he wants to say -- everything he's endured at the hands of men without honor -- floods to the surface of his stomach, to the surface of his face, and he holds the man's eyesight with a sharp edge of hatred.

He's kneading his fists open and closed as he stands there, still trying to get himself to speak. "I want to know if it was worth it."

"I'm sorry?" the Admiral scoffs, bemused and insulted.

"You're not sorry now. But you will be. Before that -- I want to know if it was worth it. The money. The job. The commendations. How many lives was it worth to you?"

The Admiral now realizes it was him who attacked the farmhouse the night before. His face grows hard, and he narrows his eyes. "I'd tread carefully if I were you, Lieutenant. Your reputation can only protect you so far, before enemies in high places turn on you."

"Was it! Worth it!" Simon yells. "You pricks -- who decide who lives and dies, who decide who turns on who -- you pricks, who let the job lead you to believe that you're God," he points. His face burns, his throat hurts. Memories claw their way to the front of his mind, just like he clawed his way out of Vernon's grave.

"If you kill me, you will be hunted for the rest of your life."

Simon shakes his head. "I'm not gonna kill you. You're not worth my bullets. I'm going to watch...as the world tears you apart. As you lose...everything."

The Admiral scoffs again, and moves towards his desk, where his service weapon lies locked in a drawer. "I doubt that. Surely, you didn't think you could come here and threaten me, and get away unscathed." He loads the chamber, and aims the barrel at Ghost's chest.

Simon doesn't flinch.

"Where is the SD card?" the Admiral asks.

"I've already given it to the press."

Military police storm the office, and take the Admiral into custody.

Ghost and Soap are taken off their upcoming assignment, they're needed for debriefing on the scandal that is unfolding regarding the Admiral. Cecelia and Margot are also asked to give account of what happened. The doors of their home are repaired, and they're left to pick up the pieces -- figuratively and literally.

Three weeks have passed; the trial is still in preparation stages; Margot is back at school, and Cecelia has set up therapy for her. Simon encourages her to be seen by a shrink, herself. She refuses, and he pushes her, telling her he'll take her himself if he has to.

"This feels familiar," Simon says, as he helps rehang a painting in her living room.

"Let's hope it never feels familiar again."

He wants to laugh, but he can't. He just shakes his head, and straightens the frame. "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."

"Wait -- can't I make you a cup of tea?"

It's the offer that got his heart into trouble in the first place. But he still can't say no -- the pause he gives, gives her enough time to head to the kitchen, where she boils some water, and hands him a well-worn mug of tea. The good kind.

He stays with them for several weeks. Weeks turn to months. He tries not to give into the fantasy. Cecelia knows as well as he does, that he can't stay. Even if he wants to.

He wants to.

He has too many enemies. If he retires, if he gives into the dream, it will only put targets on their backs. Cecelia knows. She doesn't fight him on it.

"Just...don't let another decade go by...before I see you again," she tells him.

"I won't." He has her hands in his, pressed to his mouth. He's getting ready to leave, a new assignment is waiting for him on the other side of the door, and for the first time -- ever -- he feels human enough to wish there was nothing waiting for him. No assignment. No dossier. He feels human enough to wish — for anything at all. Even a family.

He takes a deep breath, and lets go of her hands. He pulls from his pocket an envelope filled to the brim with money, an accumulation of many years' worth of combat pay. "Use this. For her. Anything she needs -- anything at all. You get it for her, with this. Get her into a good school, get her an education -- don't let her do what I do. Promise me."

"I promise."

He kisses her, and turns to Margot's bedroom to say goodbye. She's holed up there -- she doesn't understand why he has to leave. He doesn't think she ever will. He doesn't understand it fully, himself.

Simon sits on the edge of her bed. He doesn't know what else to say.

"Will we ever see you again?" she asks.

"You can't get rid of me that easy, love."

She crawls to him, and embraces him.

Something flips inside of him, feeling her arms around him. His own child -- the bone of his bone, the flesh of his flesh. A weight sinks into his heart, and he takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling like it's the first and only breath he's ever taken. He puts a kiss on the top of her head, and they linger there for a long while.

When he, at last, pulls away to leave, she follows him. "Goodbye, Dad."

It's a searing knife wound to the center of him. But he turns and touches her face. "Goodbye, love."

Simon leaves, seen off by the two at their doorstep.

It's a home he can return to. Over, and over again. A feeling, and a place -- people who welcome him. Where his bed is always warm, where arms wrap around him and the blood washes down the drain. And where December never hurts as much.

[supaastarii]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY FIRST "MINI-SHIFT" !!

: : in only 4 shifting attempts. : : S T O R Y.

+ DISCLAIMER: VERY VERY DETAILED.

+ send anons! not just advice anons, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ask me about my DR and shifting experiences pretty plssss

+ DISCLAIMER: I highly disagree with the term "mini-shift" because I know I fully shifted I just stayed for a very short period of time (3 hours)

so, I've thought about shifting 3 weeks ago. you might be wondering "freya, why do you only have four shifting attempts? It's been 3 weeks dumbahh" uhm.. Let's just say: procrastination, always adding more to my script, phone addiction, never feeling ready.

yes. I never felt ready, because I'd think : "okay freya. clear your mind, make sure you're really empty-headed.. be blind and deaf to this current reality and visualize and feel it as hard as you can. and then I'd binge watch youtube videos and feel like my mind is too noisy, so I wait it off but just end up consuming more content. I'm so self-unreliable it's insane. so when the night comes, I'm too tired now. I need to zone out in bed a bit to calm down, then I sleep.

I get it. why would I procrastinate over quantum immortality, the ability to live thousands and thousands of realities I can script, the people I'd meet, the euphoria I'd feel, right? that's always been in the back of my head. I was obsessed with my first ever DR, I'd stay up til 1-3AM writing whatever I want to script last minute. because I found something there worth living for. I had two siblings that I was suddenly so mysteriously attached to "as if they're real" (we'll get to that in a moment), I had a soulmate, heck I even had a shifting group with me, him, his sister, and my childhood best friend named Jasper (I never knew Jasper was a name I probably heard it somewhere or something but it just came to mind) because heyy it would make life so much easier.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ WHERE IT ALL STARTED:

I reinstalled TikTok one morning and was determined to make it really really positive and summery, so I was always following, liking and reposting only traveling videos that showed a lot of oceans and beaches. I was obsessed. I'd be so envious of people living these kinds of lives, and at the same time, Avatar edits (especially the way of the water) would pop up in my fyp and the comments would ALWAYS ALWAYS say "I wish we could live here - born to be na'vi, forced to be human - the life I've always deserved" and I'd think to myself: "hah. none of you know about reality shifting." cuz tumblr is FULLLL of reality shifting that I just got to learn it. I BELIEVED it. Fully. Y'all kept repeating it anyway.. I just thought "mehhh too much work I don't think it's for me, I highly doubt it." Yes. A lot of self-sabotage. But the whole week of constantly doomscrolling on TikTok, I noticed how I'd always always always feel jealousy for anything. A pandora edit, jealous. "I wish I was an avatar, I hate it here." , a tiktok about traveling in beaches, "in another reality ig", LOVE : "well congratuf*ckyoulations"

Then. The breakthrough. Family issues. No I will not be explaining anymore.. I'm just going to say that I live in a good enough family but ofc there's so much issues that makes it hard to enjoy living on earth sometimes, that's all. So I was crying in bed, scrolling on TikTok and all these happy people and I was like "yeah I think I should reality shift." then I was scripting. It became my escape place. scrolling on TikTok by day, scripting myself to sleep at night. I searched up lot of things like safety things (high pain tolerance, endless supply of __). As if. Eventually, since TikTok was meant to have that algorithm, the videos weren't enjoyable and showed such stupid random content instead that I just gave up and deleted it but started binge watching on YouTube since I had nothing else to do. Noisy mind. Noisy brain.. But I started to feel attached to my script. I thought about siblings and wanted a younger brother and younger sister, 6 and 4 years old while I stayed my age (13). I started thinking about the name, Mian.. (I NEVER HEARD THAT NAME EVER LIKE I NEVER HEARD IT ANYWHERE I SWEAR IT JUST CAME OUT OF ME FOR NO REASON!! CALL ME CRAZY BUT MIAN? THE ONLY SOUL IN MY UNIVERSE WITH THAT NAME.) And when I was jolting down his personality.. It was so easy. It was effortless. As if I already knew him. As if.

Then my family. Their names even came out easy. My mother's face claim is literally Taylor Hill cuz that was just the first thought in mind.. I was scrolling on Pinterest to find the best lookalike of my dad.. Their personalities were something I always knew.. As if. Literally, I was just laughing at myself because I thought "Yeah.. As if." But I was so into it. I was daydreaming.. Well, for short periods of time because I cannot control my thoughts I'd think about such stupid things like a cactus growing an apple for a flower, idk. Then my friends, my cousins, my life.. And then my S/O. His name is Cassian.. Someone I'll meet soon and we'll be childhood best friends until I turn 18. And for funzies, I scripted that he's my soulmate in every other reality and that he's also a shifter. Mhm. It was like I was permashifting, because I even made a WHOLE PLANET. Named Eutopia, society is called Utopia. Why? No, I didn't make it up in scripting because ever since I was like 10 years old, everytime I complain about school I always think of a perfect world with a different school system so I just added it in. Yay, Utopia! I just wanted to create the most happiest version of myself ever. And then I went all out, in the future I'll be a celebrity.. I literally scripted my album names. What the eff.

And there she was. Gia Cleovi Rhodes.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY THREE SHIFTING ATTEMPTS:

1. (TWO WEEKS AGO): guided meditation: guide yourself in your desired reality.

What happened? Nothing. I was numb. Uncomfortable. In bed. Didn't complete the whole thing but I tried to.. I was traveling with family that time in Cebu, so I could only at least try meditating before traveling, and one in the van when we had a long ride.. What happened? I FELL ASLEEP. Welp. I'm not saying it doesn't work.. It just didn't for me. But I enjoyed the meditation so much.

2. (LAST WEEK): guided meditation: shift on easy mode.

What happened? I WAS SO CLOSE!! So, I laid down in bed, and I actually found it very easy since I think I cracked the code.. That it was all in just THINKING of your dr, not the method itself. And boom. One of my favorite parts were when the guide said "it is incredibly hard and impossible to get out of this state" which made me lock in. no more passing thoughts, I stopped caring and therefore paying attention to the background noises outside. So, to walk you through it:

FIRST OF ALL: the method involved sinking into a dark void and seeing a red light in your heart and hands, and feeling some sort of sting in your fingertrips because they have power to create and then you create your DR reality around you. My first symptom was feeling my body relax, and I was feeling my hands sting and completely numb out to the point where I didn't feel like I was touching anything but only on that area.. Cuz I assume that the hands are the easiest part of your body that can detach from the physical surroundings. Then, I got to the visualization. My second symptom, it was so trippy but I'd see white flashing lights that would stop, definitely because I stopped focusing on my DR and focusing on that symptom and would ground myself back to my physical surroundings because they felt annoying. Sounds, my back, and the fact that I still had my physical senses. So "I didn't shift." My third symptom was soo so trippy but, I first felt like I was in an ocean wave cuz I was rocking side to side.. Then I literally felt like my body was getting rotated to a degree. Idk why. Idek that was a symptom.

3. (4 DAYS AGO): guided meditation: ultimate julia method

I thought about shifting to my home reality instead of the utopian reality I was more attached to.. I quitted half way because I was getting bored, zoning out, didn't care.. And I was also moving a lot. Advice: stick to one DR.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ MY FIRST SHIFTING SUCCESS!!

(LAST NIGHT): guided meditation: ultimate julia method

so. I would journal on this journal app that comes with the IPhone about shifting.. I knew the weaknesses: don't focus on the symptoms. Be blind and deaf to this reality, just stop caring as if you're zoning out (which I always do), imagine, stop stressing, just think about the DR and nothing else.

First symptom: Felt relaxed.. Then numb. On my hands. Then on my legs.. Then my back was also numb.. I just felt like I was on nothing. No physical surroundings, nothing. But I was aware. My brain was still there.

Second symptom: so it would be hard for me to visualize and it still also wasn't that vivid but I felt more locked into it... And eventually I started feeling those "waves" again and felt more out of my body, I felt like I was floating just because I had no physical surroundings I was ever aware of EXCEPT my DR. So, the only thing I could describe it was that I was still asleep AS my dr self.. Like Gia is still sleeping. And so was freya (me). I was in between.

Third symptom: flashing lights. I made sure to ignore them this time and kept thinking of my DR. uhmm.. The flashing lights helped my visualizations become more vivid, like you know when you flash a light at a dim room so there's more detail to be seen? Yeah. But then the flashing lights BLINDED me as in I could only see white and my brain could not care less to think about the blue bedsheets in between that. It was SCARY. Like scary.

Actually in: so not to brag but I'm a really really bright person and I scripted that "I forget for the first 5 minutes of waking up that I shifted" and "I cannot shift back to my CR until an hour has passed." so, I remember I woke up, and just rolled around in bed because duhh I just woke up.. And then.. Suddenly. I blinked and I was like "I'm here." and I jolted upwards.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ BY THE WAY..

I would read shifters that say "yeah when you shift it feels normal IN there because you've been there your whole life" and I would actually read those stories and think "ohh I don't want that to be my experience" so I scripted that I would get memory flashbacks that are either so vivid or I feel like I physically live them out so I don't miss anything and also have a heightened sense of self awareness to my emotions because I really want a euphoric shifting experience.

and I got that experience but I had to hold in my tears to not look out of place to anyone and I ended up leaving after crying for like half an hour in my room because I was so happy and also so bitter over.. The earth. And my life. so if anyone wants this, just script that you're good at holding tears.

I now I promised something fully detailed, but I'll just do a part 2 so I could have the energy and refreshed mind to write something MORE detailed but I stayed there for 3 hours, 11:11AM to 2:11PM because.. I got so emotional I cried.

Shifting is possible!! And easy!! And instant!! And so worth it!! <3

[floofanflurr]

Violetthepixie

Yes. I am full (user) naming you @violetthepixie. You know what you did. Where's the decency? The humanity? ...Monster-anity? The Dadster and the Sanster universes must never interact.

This is sheer cruelty for all the characters involved! The embarrassment! The horror! It's terrible! Awful! An absolutely brilliant idea!!!! I love it!!! Let's get to it! :D

For anyone that's curious, I'll break down the AUs Vi mentioned and some background after the cut before I get into how they would interact!

The following content contains spoilers for my fics and series. Warning: The following contains mention of Sanster (Sans/Gaster) between two unrelated adults. They aren't even the same species. However, it may reference: Abduction, de-humanization, abuse, and other unsettling topics.

Sea Glass: Upon consulting with Vi (the one who asked) I will be replacing this Gaster with How To: Gaster, as Sea Glass Gaster doesn't really exist. And not in the "yeeted from the universe" way, and more in the "I literally have no backstory for him" way.

How To: Underfell Gaster. He's a hardass, but when you get past his prickly exterior, he's actually a good person. He disguises all his acts of kindness with insults, and hired Sans so he could keep a better eye on him and Papyrus. He never got the chance to adopt his Sans and Papyrus before he fell into his creation, but he sees them as his sons.

You can see more information bout him in this ask. We'll call him "Boss."

Pirate!AU: The former royal scientist and retired pirate captain who now lives with his hot tavernkeeper boyfriend and their raccoon. He adopted his sons, Sans and Papyrus when they were kids, and they are now the ones that are in charge of the Sail la Vie (his former ship). There was never a barrier in this world.

You can read more about him here: [1] and [2] (this is a oneshot about him and Grillby.) We'll call him "Pyre."

Heart on the Table (HotT): An absolute softy, and canon-compliant Undertale Gaster. He adopted his sons, and while he was clumsy with parenting at first, he loves them with his entire soul. He fell into his creation when Papyrus was still a kid and Sans a young adult.

However, his story didn't end there. A large portion of his soul actually got trapped outside of the barrier where he roamed, unable to be seen or heard or touched. ...Until he met Frisk! Whom he immediately adopted. As of right now in the series, he's trapped outside the barrier while Frisk is Underground. (well... at least most of him is trapped out there.) For the purpose of this ask, it will take post-reunion (with minimal series spoilers regarding how that will happen)

You can read more about him in the Finding Home series. We'll call him "Wings."

Lamiatale (Aka "Mr. Snake Smoocher (bald edition)): And this is where the problems start. This description is going to be longer to the others because there is no content posted for it yet on my tumblr or ao3.

All the other Gasters so far are good people. This Gaster... is not. He's a human scientist with a craving for knowledge and recognition.

He runs and operates Ebott Zoo - the only zoo in the world to boast a magic exhibit. Sure the lamia and the sirens eat people on occasion... but what the media doesn't know doesn't hurt anyone!

He's fully aware that the lamia and sirens are as intelligent as humans - but until they're willing to talk with him and negotiate, they'll be staying right there in the zoo. Too bad Sans, the oldest of the lamia at the zoo, has no intention of cooperating with the man who betrayed him. And where Sans leads, Red and Fell follow.

But despite everything... Gaster is still in love with Sans, and is consistently found begging with the prideful skeleton to just give him a chance. That if he just helped, things would go back to how they used to be when they were young and in love.

We'll call this Gaster "Doctor."

Now lets get to it!

To start with - all four of the Gasters will be investigating the situation first, before they even really think to talk about themselves or make idle chit-chat. They'll be fascinated by the fact that one of them is human, and vice versa, but after taking note of that, and establishing that they are all, in fact, Doctor W.D. Gaster, they'll be back to theorizing about why they're all together all of a sudden.

Pyre and Doctor will be the most confused, as neither of them were... well. Voided. Boss and Wings will be trying to figure out why the void has suddenly crossed dimensions.

Theories will fly around the room, incomprehensible calculations and math... they're all quite happy to find an equal level of intelligence.

It's only when they've finally figured out that there's... well. not much to figure out, that they'll sit down and actually start chatting with each other.

Wings and Boss will probably pair up to talk at first, since they both come from startlingly similar universes and situations. They quickly realize that they had near identical upbringings, and quickly deduce that their timelines diverged after they ended up underground.

Wings is fascinated and horrified by the picture Boss paints of his home - one where cruelty goes rewarded and kindness punished. He's also... uncomfortable with the lack of mention of any sons, but not suprised. In such a cruel world… would he have given a second thought to Sans and Papyrus? Would he have even known they existed? He doesn’t like thinking about it.

For his part, Boss shares most surface level things, but like any fell monster, he keeps what he really treasures close to his chest. He doesn't mention his Sans or Papyrus, and he doesn't consider that Wings may also have met them. Things are different - the world kinder - surely in Wings's world, Sans and Papyrus were never orphaned in the first place?

That's until Wings's starts talking about his world. It becomes clear to both of them that Wings's is a shut-in, who only really knows much about his own corner of the world. ...And about his children.

When given a chance, Wings will do what Wings does best - and that's talk. You can't ever get this skeleton to shut up about anything, and one of his favorite topics is his children. He's going to sing all sorts of praises about his kids - how funny and clever Sans is, how proud he is of him for taking a step back and relaxing. How intelligent and driven Papyrus is, with a strong sense of integrity to boot. How determined and kind his little Frisk is, so small but getting bigger every day now that everyone is healthy.

Boss is going to get very very uncomfortable, though he won't show it. Mainly because jealousy is now simmering through him so hotly that he burns with it. Because that's the life he always wanted. Sure, maybe Wings still suffered, but he got his sons. He eventually got out of the void. Boss doesn't even like humans, but for the sheer principle of it, he's jealous of Wings for Frisk, too.

In Boss's world, Frisk is Papyrus's child. Perhaps... maybe... if things had gone differently, they would be his grandchild. But they aren't, and those boys aren't his. They're his employees, and maybe he took on a more parental role than a boss normally would, but he'd wasted his time. He hadn't adopted them when he still had a chance, and now he never would again.

When Wings presses and Boss finally (reluctantly) admits that he thinks of the boys like his sons, Wings... pities him, though he tries not to show it.

Wings never wants to think of his life without his children.

Aaand on the other half of the room!

I imagine Doctor and Pyre will pair up to start talking at first, as their universes are more similar. There's no barrier in either of them, and both men live on the coast. Doctor will be utterly enthralled with the fact that every other version of him here is a skeleton. Pyre has no love for humans, but neither does he have a large bias against them, and so he will eagerly sit with Doctor as they discuss the differences between their worlds.

Doctor is completely enchanted with the skeleton across from him, and he wonders if that's why he's so drawn to monsters - because apparently, in every other universe, he is one. Meanwhile, Pyre is sitting back and spinning tales as he is wont to do - he's quite the entertainer.

That is, of course, when Sans's name comes up.

Immediately Doctor perks up and presses Pyre for more information on the skeleton. Some of the questions are... overly familiar. Pyre is using Sans's name to talk about him - he hasn't said "my son", and so neither of them quite realize exactly what's going on.

Until, inevitably, Doctor asks something that's too familiar, and inappropriate, and Pyre sputters.

"Why the hell would I ever want t' know about me son's sex life? I taught 'im how t' be safe 'n dat's all I care t' know! I don't want t' details!"

"Your SON?!"

Immediately the room goes silent, and Wings and Boss are moving over because there is SOMETHING going on here, and they aren't sure they like it.

Pyre is sputtering.

"Yes, me son! What else would he be? Ye! Tell me Sans and Papyrus are ye sons, too?"

Pyre drags Wings and Boss into it, and Wings immediately confirms, though he also adds on that he has another child, too - Frisk. Boss hems, haws, and mentions that Frisk is Papyrus's child in his world (of which Pyre agrees that Frisk is Papyrus's in his own as well - they're his grandchild). But eventually Boss is too curious about what's going on to really deny it, and admits that they were his children in everything but legality.

They're all facing Doctor now, who is staring at them in utter fascination.

"Children? I imagine you are older than them in that case, by a fair bit."

They chime in with their ages - Boss and Wings are nearly the same, though Boss is a handful of years younger. Both are in their 900's though. When Pyre admits that he's 148, (though that's firmly upper- middle aged for him - his life expectancy is around 200) both Boss and Wings tease him for being a baby.

Of course, they then find out that Doctor is in his early 40s and while they partially expected it - he's human after all - it's still an odd shock.

Doctor then hums and says that Sans is the same age as him, and (very carefully, without admitting the details of what happened to break them up - Doctor's not an idiot, and admitting to kidnapping and putting monsters (and an alternate version of their son! how fascinating!) in a zoo when he's clearly outnumbered is a terrible idea for his health.) He casually admits that Sans was his lover.

Needless to say, Pyre, Wings, and Boss are all very uncomfortable with this information, though logically they figure that there's nothing... truly wrong with the relationship. They aren't related, and there isn't even an age gap.

Still. They're all feeling very squicked out. They'd really rather remove this knowledge from their skulls, actually.

From there... well. That's about it. None of them really hate each other, though they're all vaguely uncomfortable around Doctor. They just put that on the whole "he was his Sans’s lover" thing. Pyre, Boss, and Wings, get along pretty well, both Boss and Wings taken by Pyre's stories of the high seas. ...And his stories about the raccoon he lives with (both Wings and Boss discard these as rubbish, and Pyre bemoans his fate of never being believed.)

Doctor's crimes may very well never come to light. He’s actually quite clever and tricky! He’s not going to freaking admit to what he did. Let’s say… the topic of how they got their scars came up. Doctor would simply say he doesn’t like thinking about it and is uncomfortable with it. He’s incredibly closed lipped, and while the other’s may find themselves increasingly uncomfortable around him, Doctor will not admit to anything incriminating.

But Doctor deserves some good old fashioned justice, so lets just turn this into a full on chaotic, random crossover and dump both Lamiatale Sans (and lamiatale Frisk in order to give him some incentive/motivation) in the void with ‘em.

Boss, Pyre, and Wings are all immediately VERY curious of the fact that he’s—well, half snake, and Sans and Frisk are about to be bombarded with well meaning questions. Sans and Frisk, on the other hand, are going to be very slowly backing up. …Actually this would be a mess for more than one reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen this to be the way Doctor’s crimes are revealed… Cuz like. Sans would immediately grab Frisk and hide them behind himself and puff up in a threat display, and Frisk’s fear is going to be so palpable, the Gaster’s would be idiots not to see it. They’re probably about a second away from fainting. …Fear of Sans, that is, NOT anything else. (Frisk and Sans have a complicated relationship :) )

Ummm I could turn this into a whole mini fanfic, but to show restraint for your sake and not derail too much from the gasters, I shall refrain. Let’s just say, one thing turns into another, with Frisk’s presence, Sans isn’t able to hide his voice, and it all eventually comes pouring out.

Er. for purposes of this ask remaining gaster centric, I’ll also say the void is preventing Doctor and Sans from physically interacting. Meaning Sans can’t just. Kill him and be done with it. Sans will (eventually) realize that the other Gasters are VERY much on his side (which… they’re monsters too. yes. that makes sense. He still doubts their INTENTIONS, but at the very least they wouldn’t be harming him in the same way.) and when he realizes someone might actually be willing to deal justice on his behalf… well. He will tell Frisk to cover their ears and then begin to describe, in depth, what Doctor had put him and the others through.

Now then. Let’s get into the gasters again. Furious doesn’t even begin to cut it. And Doctor is, by FAR, the least powerful one there. He’s just… a human. He doesn’t even really have the advantage of INTENT, because Boss and Wings have literally already been dead and scattered and can’t be killed like that. In Pyre’s case, he’s quite practiced at killing much more trained humans than Doctor.

Pyre and Boss have both killed humans for way less, and with Sans THERE, they aren’t feeling particularly merciful. This may not be their son, but he LOOKS like him, and acts like him… it’s enough for both of them to be very VERY protective.

Wings will be concerned with making sure Frisk can’t hear or see what’s about to happen… but once he’s reassured their eyes and ears are covered, he’ll be turning right back to copious amounts of violence.

He probably won’t actually take place in what’s about to happen though.

Don’t get me wrong—Not a single one of these Gasters are pacifist people. Not even the softest of them. Wings would gladly tear a man’s head off for hurting one of his kids. But, eh, torture doesn’t settle right in his stomach. To take part in. He won’t stop it though, and he’ll gladly get a couple kicks in before retreating to distract Frisk. (Sans does NOT like the man’s proximity to Frisk, but he’s doing a better job at distracting the kid than Sans is, so… not much he can do.)

Boss and Pyre on the other hand…? Yeah. Uh. They have nothing against actual, drawn out torture. Doctor is going to WISH he were dead by the time the void releases them all.

Doctor doesn’t even blame them. He, too, is possessive over what he sees as his, and he just sees this as the monsters staking their claim. He sees much of himself in them.

They do not like hearing that. And Doctor is the one to suffer for it.

(All of them are going to be reexamining themselves after this and fearing that they are horrific abusers. Boss is going to be the one who spirals the most as he draws comparisons. It’s not going to be pretty mentally.)

Aaaaand I think that’s about it?

TLDR: Wings, Boss, and Pyre would get along swimmingly, though Boss and Wings would have an odd, jealousy based relationship.

All of them would be uncomfortable around Doctor, and if they found out what Doctor did, they would have his guts and also beat him up. A lot. It would probably end with his death, unless the void interfered in this.

THANK YOU FOR THE ASK I HAD SOSOSO MUCH FUN. terribly sorry it took so long!

[tenrose]

So in the end today might have started with a breakdown and me saying we should kill all men but I redirected my rage pretty well. Bow tomorrow I will have to say "ok one or two men can live and humanity has like two good aspects (food and books, and food again), sorry about yesterday"

[seumyo]

yearning drunk!husband ushijima wakatoshi.

NOTE. contains a bit of alcohol content—though nothing too explicit or anything concerning <33

It always started the same way—kind of like an inside joke that grew wings, feathers, a tab, and Ushijima’s name on the reservation list.

Ushijima never initiated going out drinking with his Schweiden Adlers teammates. In fact, he rarely said anything about it at all. It was always someone else who mentioned it after a game. Always someone else who slung an arm over his shoulder and declared, “C’mon, Ushiwaka, we have to celebrate,” even though Ushijima had never once expressed interest in alcohol, bar food, or drunken conversations.

Still, he always went.

Because it’d be rude if he didn’t at least stay for a few minutes, he thinks.

Sometimes he showed up in his team windbreaker, sometimes in a long, dark gray coat that made him look like a trench-wearing monument of silence. And he never said no, even when the clamor of celebration was already grating at the edges of his patience.

Tonight was one of those nights.

They’d won by the skin of their teeth—an overtime set against a grueling opponent, the kind of match that made even the benchwarmers feel like champions by the end. So of course Heiwajima had started the round-up in the locker room. Hoshiumi had shouted over everyone about their lucky bar down the street, and within twenty minutes, the entire team had found themselves in their regular private suite.

Ushijima sat at the end of the table, his back straight, a glass in front of him filled with alcohol he didn’t particularly like. His teammates were loud and loose and chaotic—laughing at Sokolov trying to arm-wrestle the bar’s bouncer, clapping every time someone dropped a fork, and yelling across the table in at least three different languages.

“A thousand yen says he’ll ask about his wife in twenty minutes,” Hoshiumi said quietly, leaning toward their captain, Hirugami Fukurou.

“You’re giving him way too much credit,” Romero replied, fondly grinning. “He gets wistful around minute twelve.”

“He gets wistful the moment he sits down.”

Ushijima was unmoved. He stared at his drink, took a single sip, and let it rest in his hand. He didn’t participate in the yelling, the toasts, or the story someone was animatedly telling about a missed serve from three seasons ago. He just existed—quietly, stoically—as a satellite to the chaos.

Except, of course, they all knew he was waiting.

He always was.

There was a pattern to the transformation. First, he’d sit there like stone. Then he’d blink a little more slowly. His brows would draw together—not in anger, but in vague confusion, like he was lost in a thought he couldn’t solve. His fingers would move against his glass, not to drink but to fidget, just a little.

And then…

“Has anyone seen my phone?” Ushijima asked, barely louder than the buzz of conversation.

Hoshiumi slid it across the table immediately. “Right here, Ushiwaka. Sorry! We took a few pictures here and there.”

“Thank you.”

He looked down at the screen. It was still lit with the last message from you from earlier that day: Good luck, baby. Don’t forget to stretch your left shoulder. He’d never replied—he never did, not when he was already in headspace—but now, he stared at it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

“You want to text her?” Hoshiumi asks, lightly teasing, which Ushijima didn’t catch onto.

Ushijima didn’t answer. He opened the thread and typed a few letters. Deleted them. Typed something else. Backspaced. Then just stared.

And then finally: “She hasn’t replied.”

His teammates laughed.

“There it is!”

“It’s only been seventeen minutes! I win!”

“No, you cheated. I said ten, and he didn’t even check his phone until minute twelve!”

“Shh, shh, look at him—he’s pouting.”

“Wait, is this the pout phase? I thought that came after the silent brooding phase.”

“Technically we’re entering pout-brood overlap. It’s a dangerous time.”

Ushijima didn’t argue. He simply set the phone down again and folded his hands in front of him. Kageyama leaned over.

“You want me to call her for you, Ushijima-san?”

Ah, yes. Kageyama was too nice for his own good. Trying to enhance his socialization and trying to lessen his awkwardness with his teammates when the conversation didn’t revolve around volleyball.

Ushijima nodded. Just once. Immediately. “Yes.”

...

“Amazing! He’s not even trying to hide it.”

“Can you imagine being that in love?”

“He just wants his wife. Look at him. He’s a whole sad poem in one sitting.”

“She’s gonna get here, and he’s gonna light up like a lantern.”

“May this love run me over.”

Kageyama stood and walked a few paces away from the table, already dialing your number. Meanwhile, the others watched Ushijima sip his drink again—not because he wanted it, but because it gave his hands something to do. His eyes were glued to the screen even though no new notifications had appeared.

Romero leaned in conspiratorially to Hirugami. “Do you think she talks to him in, like, soft tones? Calls him ‘baby’ and stuff?”

“I think so,” he shrugs. “I think they’re sweet like that.”

“Aw, young love.”

The teasing continued, but it softened. Because underneath the jokes and the laughs was a sort of awe.

Their teammate—so serious, so focused, so unreadable on court—was completely and utterly soft when it came to his wife. Not in a loud way. Not in any way that could be easily teased, really. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

When Kageyama returned, he had a pleased expression. “She’s on her way. Said she just got off work and is driving over.”

Ushijima gave another slow blink.

“Thank you.”

Kageyama nods. Somehow they manage to have conversations even if they just continue nodding to each other.

As soon as Kageyama said it, his phone buzzed with a new message. He didn’t even need to open it. He could tell by the way his entire body relaxed by a single, barely noticeable degree.

Sorry, hun. Just got off work. Are you okay?

He replied.

I’m okay. I miss you.

And then he set the phone down and folded his hands again, this time with more calm. More certainty. You were coming. That was all he needed to know.

The others noticed the shift immediately.

“He smiled.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“He did! Don’t argue with me; I saw it. It was micro. But it counted.”

“He’s already halfway out the door with his heart.”

“Watch, the second she walks through that door, he’ll go full puppy mode.”

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, the door opened. A gust of cold air followed you inside, along with the soft jingle of the bar’s entrance bell. You spotted them easily—your eyes landing on Ushijima before anything else. And his entire body seemed to change shape.

He stood up—not quickly, but instantly, with a kind of gravity no one else in the room had.

You smiled as you approached, slipping out of your coat and brushing off the cold that nipped your nose softly. “Hi, love,” you greeted softly. “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said, already reaching for his jacket.

As he shrugged it on, you turned to the table. “Hope he wasn’t too much trouble?”

Hoshiumi leaned on the table with a grin. “[Name], your husband is the definition of ‘not trouble.’ We’re just grateful you came to collect him before he sighed himself into the carpet.”

“Tell them what he said!” someone shouted.

“He asked if anyone had seen his phone like it was a national emergency.”

“And he didn’t pout—he brooded. Like a man out of a romantic novel.”

“I think I did,” Ushijima just nodded at their comments about him.

He then stood by quietly, waiting for you to finish your goodbyes. When you looped your arm through his, he leaned ever so slightly toward you.

As they left, Romero raised his glass.

“To [Name]’s husband,” he declared. The table cheered.

Outside, as you two walked toward the car, you glanced up at him, fingers tightening around his arm.

“You really okay?” you asked.

He hummed. Then, in that low, steady voice only you ever got to hear, it softened—

“I missed you,” he said again. “They were loud. I wanted to see you very much.”

You smiled and gave his arm a firm, loving squeeze. “Well. I’m here now.”

And... yeah.

That’s what he’s been wanting to hear all night.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[freyaphoria]

Hello! Since I can't save the writings in my drafts and your request is currently stuck in my drafts, I have to post it this way. I hope you can see your request T_T By the way, I wrote this 4 times, and the universe prevented me from writing it. Normally it was over 2k words, but most of it was deleted and I forgot what I wrote. Anyway, Love u!♡

Look Like a Freak

tw: nerd!Seonghwa x fem!reader, oral(giving mentioned, receiving), squirting, slapping, fingering, vibrator using, degradation, bondage, overstimulation

wc: 1.5k

taglist: @aim-blossom @matzrionette

“Seonghwa, are we really going to do it here?” It was too late to ask now. He made an approving noise as he abused your pussy between. To your surprise, he could hear you and respond. Normally, after tasting you, Seonghwa would be pussy drunk and wouldn't hear or see anything.

Seonghwa's room was the most virginity room you've ever seen. There were more Star Wars figures and Legos than you could count. And what is it? On the top shelf of the display case, on top of the Star Wars legos, there were colorful house legos and animals next to them, which you might think were related to animal crossing which might attract the attention of 5-year-old children.

You and Seonghwa went to the same university and met at the dance club. When you first met him, he was very quiet, buried in his book with a book by an unknown author in his hand and he was wearing the metal-framed glasses he was currently wearing, not communicating with anyone. Even though most people avoided communicating with him, you felt his potential in his eyes under those big glasses. You had initiated the first communication and asked him something about the star wars lego keychain hanging on his bag, and before you knew how the things had developed, he had pulled you into the back storage and made out with you. After a while, you started fucking after every dance lesson and became addicted to each other. You were nothing but a fuck buddy, but you'd still meet up at his house every once in a while to build Legos together like cute couple, and as you can imagine, your night would end up in his bed, trying to recover, with his cum dripping down between your legs.

Same thing today, you met at his house to play his favorite game, the two of you lying in bed while Seonghwa was playing Animal Crossing on his Nintendo. But you had made him horny without knowing why, and Seonghwa stopped his game, which was an unexpected move from him, and started eating you. Animal Crossing, where you played with Seonghwa, was still on on the TV and calm music was playing.

"Can you at least turn off that game? It's ruining the whole mood-" You were cut off by Seonghwa shoving your panties into your mouth. "Don't tire that beautiful mouth of yours by talking, you will be tired enough when I put my dick down your throat."

Who would believe that someone as nerdy as him could make you this wet? If you told your friends who knew him, they would all think you went crazy. But right now, you were in his bed with your legs wide open and you were dripping, Animal Crossing in front of you, Star Wars figures next to you, and a nerd Seonghwa losing himself between your legs.

When Seonghwa started using his fingers as well, you realized you wouldn't last long. He was eating you out and fingering you so professionally that you were seeing stars every time, your legs shaking uncontrollably and squirting on him. And so it was, the moment you felt his fingers inside you, curls them up and abusing your sweet spot while his tongue stimulates your clitoris, you couldn't hold back that ball that was growing in your belly any longer and you came into his mouth. Your voice came out as a muffled moan through your underwear in your mouth. "Oh but I couldn't hear you clearly, looks like we're going to do it again." He pulled the fabric from your mouth and kissed you hungryly. Since he still didn't remove his fingers from you, you continued to spasm uncontrollably around his fingers and began to squirm from the overstimulation.

"What is that? You got tired a little early for a slut like you. Open your legs." As you tried to close your legs, Seonghwa forced them open. When you closed them again, you were startled by the sound of him slapping your thigh hard. "You want to be a brat? Okay then." He let go of your legs and headed towards his desk. He opened his drawer, took the rope next to a lot of Animal crossing cards, closed the drawer hard and turned towards you. You held back your laughter when you saw the colored cards. He adjusted the thin metal-framed glasses that fell on the tip of his nose, found the end of the rope and started wrapping it around your wrists.

"Hwa, I'm getting rope burns, haven't you found that furry handcuff yet?" He tied the rope tightly around your wrists, he bent your leg towards you and brought your ankle closer to your hands and tied the rest of it to your ankles. "No I couldn't. And if you stop squirming, you won't get a burn." After tying your other side in the same way, he checked its strength and made sure that it was not loose. He looked at you, his masterpiece, from head to toe, then he spanked your pussy that you had forced open and exposed for him, and he moved towards your upper body. You let out a small scream at the sudden feeling of pain. He tied your upper body by looping the rope around your chest and tying it over your arm; so it stabilized your arms and prevented you from closing your legs.

"Now, what should we do with you?" You felt even wetter with the feeling of being restricted and having all your control in his hands. The feeling of emptiness inside you was becoming unbearable and if he didn't fuck you soon, you would start crying and whining from frustration. "Just fuck me already."

The left side of his mouth lifted up and laughed slyly. A deep chuckle escaped his throat. "No no, I won't give you what you want that easily." This time, he opened the drawer where he kept your toys under the previous drawer and took out the pink vibrator with remote control. When you think about what he did to you with it, your heart starts to lose its rhythm and the adrenaline in your body begins to tickle your pussy waiting to be filled. The vibrator that he play with you for hours and eventually makes you squirm from overstimulation and cry and beg him to stop...

"How about this? No coming until I finish my new lego set. If you come, I won't fuck you tonight. Understood?" "Wait, at least let me suck you." He moved the toy in his hand over your folds before inserting it inside you, collecting your wetness on the toy. "Are you that much of a cock slave? Is there a day you don't spend without sucking me? Can't that little belly of yours do without taking my cum?" Your face turned red because of his dirty words. Yes, there wasn't a day without sucking him, but there wasn't a day without him eating you either. You were considered equal in every way. After all, you were a fuck buddy and that was your purpose. "Please just let me take you in my mouth" He balled up the panties he had just taken out of your mouth and put it back into your mouth. "Just deal with it for now. You can do it, right? It shouldn't be too hard."

After laughing sarcastically, he moved the vibrator over your folds for the last time and put it inside you. You gasped at the sudden feeling of being filled. The fact that you didn't know when Seonghwa would start the toy and when he would stop it made you nervous and excited. After licking his fingers, which got wet because he inserted the vibrator inside you, and tasting you again, got up from you and took the lego bag next to his wardrobe and placed it on his desk. "Which one do you think I should do?" He took out the Lego sets one by one from the paper bag and showed them all to you. The hilarity of your current situation and the Animal Crossing music playing in the background almost made you laugh. You were thankful for the fabric over your mouth that prevented you from laughing.

"Oh that's it!" He took out the 1394-piece Ghost & Phantom II set from the bag and placed it on the table. When he took the remote control of the vibrator and started to turn it on at medium level, you first lost your breath and started to squirm in your place. But he tied the ropes so tightly that you couldn't move much.

"Remember, no coming until I finish this set." He opened the box and placed the contents on the table, looking at you who began to tremble slightly. “You look like a slut.” And you look like a freak you thought.

[bbokicidal]

Not a Need, but a Craving | Loser!Perv!SKZ

Warnings: Chris is lowkey a creep here lol, Perverted behavior; Panty stealing, slapping of tits/ass/face, hair pulling, up-the-skirt pics, one-sided masturbation, meandom?Jeongin Pairing: OT8 [individual] x Fem-implied!Reader Genre: Suggestive but not smut (well.. sort of. 18+) Notes: Based loosely off of this perv!skz post I did a while ago. <- read this first!

방찬

Relation: Trainees

❥ Chris tells himself he'll delete these pictures every time he takes them, but he always ends up adding them to the the album specifically curated towards you and your -- well, the panties he deemed so cute and so sexy, enough so that he needed the pictures on his phone or he'd die. It was the only thing that he could get off to at this point; Women just didn't ever seem to want to come home with him so he could actually get some pussy, so...

❥ He's almost... proud of himself with how slick he's gotten; Taking pictures up your dress at the club when you're dancing against him, sneaking a photo or two up your skirt on the train while you wait to get off, or even up your nightgown when you're in the kitchen making breakfast for him after he stayed the night because the ride home was hours long and you had too big of a heart to let him go so late in the night.

❥ And of course he knows you can never find out. You're pretty, popular amongst the trainees and he's -- yeah, he's been there a long chunk of time but he doesn't have a ton friends or go out with people like you do. If you found out, if anyone found out, he'd be kicked out of the company and he'd never see you - or your pretty pussy and cute lacy panties - ever again...

리노

Relation: College students

❥ Minho is always touching you. When he can, at least.

❥ It started all because you sat next to him when studying. He was there to help you, but you insisted on moving closer to look at the textbook he was gesturing to and the moment your thigh brushed against his own it was all over for him. He'd tensed up and choked on every word that tried to leave his throat, ears bright pink. He could even smell your perfume from where he sat.

❥ He knew almost immediately he needed more, so as he came over more often to help you with classwork - because that's all he was to you, a tutor - he would let you sit close or even ask you to come sit beside him instead of across the table so he could have you right there. He would think about it later, too; The way your hand lingered on his arm when you patted it and bid him goodbye that evening, the way your fingertips brushed over his own as you eyed the textbook together.

❥ Maybe he was a bigger loser than he thought, getting off just from the simple touch of a pretty girl he shares a class with. (Not that he'd ever admit to you that sometimes he comes in his pants when your thighs touch his own under the table...)

창빈

Relation: Gym buddies

❥ Changbin was... still shameless.

❥ But even less so, now. He'd begun asking you to come to the gym with him all three times of the week he went - his schedule a bit busier than normal these days - and every single time he would go home and right away hop in the shower to tug on his cock.

❥ He'd started doing this... thing. He swore it was so that at the end of the year, you could create a video that showed your progress over every day you spent together at the gym working hard - but really, Changbin took photos of you two together at the end of your workouts just so he could use them while he got off later that evening. The sight of your hair all messy, you in slightly damp workout leggings and a sports bra, skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat...

❥ He knew it was a little gross, using your body to get off like that. Especially when you were sweaty in all of the pictures - But he preferred it that way. He could hear your heavy breathing in his ears even hours after you'd parted ways, the way your chest bumped his arm as he flexed and you held up a playful peace sign and smile. Call him gross all you want - He knew what he liked, and what he liked was you.

현진

Relation: Friend of a friend

❥ The collection was growing day by day and Hyunjin was getting more and more bold with every move he made. He never got the real thing because girls just weren't interested in him with his long hair, glasses, and pretty round eyes; so this was the best he'd get.

❥ He'd started sleeping over more often, using Felix as a reason to even be there in the first place. You two were close, he was close with the Australian - so he was automatically invited too, right? Right! And when he was over at your house and you were distracted playing a game with Felix, well - what was Hyunjin to do but go through your drawers and find something to take home with him?

❥ He's got favorites, of course. Anything pink is by far at the top of his 'I want this' list, stealing a lacy pair the first time he came over - then two more pair, one set seamless and the other covered in cherries, the next time he visited. Luckily for you, he doesn't stay the night at your place too often, or you'd be running out of underwear constantly with how he's stealing them left and right.

❥ But Hyunjin swears he's seen you stealing glances at him here and there, so... maybe if you knew he was using them to jerk himself off every night or sleeping with them curled up near his face so he could rest with your scent right beside him, you'd be more open to just handing him a pair to keep.

❥ It's only a matter of time before he starts taking the used ones.

한

Relation: College Roommates

❥ Jisung can't help the way he's just so... submissive? Around you?

❥ Let me explain. Jisung's developed a real bad habit of acting like he needs help from you when you're around because if he needs help, you'll touch him. He'll eat messier than normal so you'll wipe his lips clean for him - and yes, he'll practically come in his pants at the feeling of your thumb so close to slipping in his mouth - or he'll almost act as if he doesn't know how to do something so you'll hold his hands while you explain or hold onto him as you help him learn how to do something. Even if he's just faking being a bit of a himbo so you'll help him.

❥ And one of the reasons he gets away with this ^ so easily? Is because he's a known loser around campus and he's constantly teased for it. And you..? Well, you're the pretty girl who takes pity on him.

❥ His favorite is when you come to check on him at night or peek in to see if he's sleeping before you shower. He'll hum out that his head hurts or that his back aches from training all day or working out - and you'll comb his hair through your fingers or rub your hands down his back until he's falling asleep under your touch. And while, yes, it does help him sleep in the long run - it also makes him rock hard. The moment you leave the room after he 'falls asleep' he's rutting his hips down against the mattress and whimpering your name into his pillow.

필릭스

Relation: Best friend's brother

❥ Felix is affectionate with everyone he's close to. But you -- you're beautiful, and soft, and your tits are just so...

❥ Call him a loser if you want - he knows it's what he is. A desperate, shy, sweet angel who's booksmart and tries way too hard to be cool, who hangs around the pretty, popular girl because she's his sister's best friend. Just the precious little brother who sees that gorgeous girl once or twice a week at his home and takes it as an opportunity to hang around her; Hugging onto you, burying his face in your neck, cuddling up close during movies.

❥ And you let him cling to you because 1) He's hot, and 2) You know it's the only touch from a woman he'll ever get. And you suppose you don't mind the way his hands wander over your body when he swears he's just cuddling close and getting comfortable. You're pretty sure he doesn't realize you know he's feeling you up and groping every curve of your body, but. Ignorance is bliss.~

승민

Relation:

❥ It starts as an accident.

❥ Seungmin's hand caught in your hair when he laid it on your back and as he pulled away, his ring caught and pulled. He'd moved away so fast it had been enough to make your head lull back, a gasp and yell of pain and laughter falling from your lips as you reach to push his arm away.

❥ And Seungmin... -- God. He's weak in the knees. He spots the way your mouth falls open, your nose crinkles and eyes close at the feeling of your hair being pulled. And he knows in that moment that he needs to see you like that again.

❥ So he does it as a joke; subtle and cautious about it at first. You'll play fight or bicker about anything and Seungmin will pull your hair, fingers fisted tight in the strands until his hand was so close to your scalp that he had full control of your head. On one instance he had pulled you close until his face was inches from yours, cocking a brow and listening to you whine about how tight he was holding onto your hair - and another, you'd dropped forward into his lap in laughter while he was still holding onto you and he swore he almost shot a load in his boxers. That was the closest a woman had ever been to his hips - And if you didn't feel the way his cock twitched against the side of your face, it would've been a miracle.

아이엔

Relation: Close friends

❥ Jeongin loves being a little mean to you because you're the only woman in his life who will let him get away with it.

❥ You're one of his closest friends, even if he's kind of lame and everyone looks down on him for being the youngest in his group - and you're the one who openly bickers with him, teases him, and he does it all back to you and you take it, which surprises him a little bit. You let him pull on you and wrestle with you or cling to you when he's tired, even if he's all sweaty and gross. But sometimes the wrestling or bickering turns to pushing and pulling on each other until you're both on the floor and he's holding you down while you're kicking to be free.

❥ The first time he spanks you, all he remembers is the way you cry out and feeling of your ass against his palm. He plays it off by laughing because that's what you do, completely disregarding it and brushing it off before spanking him as well in retaliation - and he lets it happen. Not because he's into it, but because he's too distracted with trying to figure out how to hide the fact that he's so hard it hurts.

❥ He's going to need more of that feeling in the future. He knows he does - so he does it again to test the waters and when you, once again, laugh at it and take it as play-fighting, he dares to go further. These days the two of you are always slapping at each other's arms and thighs and ass - but if he's feeling really bold he'll slap your tits and sometimes, your face. Gently, of course, little taps here and there when it comes to your cheeks. And each time you take it in stride with giggles and slapping him in return, while he gets off to it later that evening in the bathroom stall after practice, remembering the way you feel under his palms when he spanks you.

❥ And that's how Jeongin discovered his impact play kink.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @felixleftchickennugget @byeon-bae

[pathologicalreid]

what goes bump in the night | s.r.

in which Spencer's struggling with violent nightmares after prison, and you find yourself on the receiving end of his tossing and turning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: reader gets whapped in the face. don't like don't read, please. blood, prison arc, black eye, a lot of guilt. therapy. word count: 1.89k a/n: (this wasn't a request but shout out to the anon who told me i had to repost this after i deleted it) this is some dark shit but i have to admit i do think about the possibility a lot. take care while reading my loves.

Several years in the BAU had inadvertently trained you to wake up at any slight movement or noise. While some might call it paranoia, you considered it to be a finely tuned skill.

Spencer didn’t sleep talk before prison, and even now, he only mumbled in his sleep when he was having a nightmare. Normally, he didn’t move, he just tossed his head around and begged for whoever he was seeing in his nightmare to just hold on. Tonight was different, he sounded like he was pleading for someone to leave him alone, and he was thrashing more than usual.

You knew there was a risk of waking him, but you reached out and gently shook his shoulder anyway. “Spence,” you whispered, not wanting to hurtle him out of his darkened dreamscape.

There was no response. No sign of him coming even close to waking up.

His thrashing became worse, and his mumbling became even less intelligible like something was covering his mouth in his dream. Reaching out from your side of the bed, you tried to grab his hand, hoping it would be something that he could use to ground himself. Gripping his hand, you said his name again, more forcefully this time.

The pain didn’t even register at first. The first thing you recognized was the sensation of having something stuck in your eye, a small twinge in the outer corner that sent your hands flying to the side of your face.

Oh.

With your uninjured eye, you looked up to see Spencer, awake. Breathing heavy, sure, but awake. Very slowly, his breathing slowed, but he had seemingly forgotten that he was sharing a bed with you until you felt liquid trickling from your nose and scrambled to the bathroom before you got blood all over the sheets.

His wide eyes followed your shadow through the bedroom, putting the convoluted puzzle pieces together as he came out from under his nightmare-induced fugue state only to find a different type of panic. You faintly heard him curse and rustle the sheets as you shut the bathroom door harder than you intended.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your right eye was tearing up as a result of the impact, and your nose was trickling blood down your face. Grabbing a wad of tissues from the box on the counter, you pressed them to your nose, blinking the tears from your eyes to the sound of your heart beating through your chest.

Spencer knocked on the bathroom door, followed by a larger thud that you assumed was him leaning his head against the door. “Can I come in?”

You tried not to sniff, hating the sensation of your nose being covered, you responded, “It’s your bathroom.” Your tone was far too blasé, and Spencer was going to see through it immediately.

“That’s not what I asked,” he told you, a slight tone of desperation ringing through. You knew what he wanted to know; he was asking if you were comfortable with him being in the same room as you – if you’d feel safe with him in the same room as you.

Leaning your head back, you took as deep of a breath as your body would physically allow you before you answered, “Yeah, you can come in.”

Before you had even finished speaking, Spencer had opened the door to the bathroom, letting the light stream into the bedroom, “Fuck,” he murmured when he saw you, “Hey, don’t lean your head back. You don’t want the blood to run down your throat.”

“Okay,” your voice quavered, watching him lift his hands like he wanted to guide your head down until he realized he didn’t know what to do with his hands – he couldn’t bring himself to touch you. Leaning over the sink, you let coagulated blood fall from your mouth, watching it go down the drain before you looked up at Spencer, who watched on in horror at the mess he had created. “Can you grab more tissues?” You asked him, giving him a job to busy his idle hands.

Instantly, Spencer grabbed a handful of tissues and held them out for you, within your range of motion. Still leaning over the sink, you took the new tissues and held them to your nose, haphazardly dropping the soiled tissue in the basin beneath you. “I don’t… What-“

Cutting him off, you spoke, “Do you still have those ice packs? The first aid ones from last year,” you made a new request, giving him a job to perform so that he wouldn’t apologize to you. He’d apologize until he was blue in the face, but you still wouldn’t know how to respond.

He nodded, crouching in front of one of the cabinets and filtering through a first aid kit, hoping to produce a disposable ice pack for you to place near your eye. With the timidness of a newborn foal, Spencer set the plastic on the counter next to you.

Your boyfriend watched as you carefully peeled the tissues from your face, checking to see if the bleeding had stopped, only to quickly replace the tissue when you noticed a trickle of fresh blood making its way down your philtrum. “Aren’t you supposed to pinch it or something?”

“Yes, you can pinch the bridge of your nose to staunch the bleeding,” Spencer said, grabbing your discarded Kleenex and putting them in the garbage bin. He watched intently as you reached up your free hand to pinch your nose, “Does… does it hurt?”

Giving him a quick shake of the head, you met his eyes through the mirror, “I don’t think it’s broken,” you told him, avoiding answering most of his question.

He loosed a sigh of relief, “Thank god,” he murmured, keeping an eye on you as you wondered how terrified he must have been to invoke the name of a deity he didn’t believe in.

Once you were finally able to drop the last of the tissues in the sink, you were faced with an even worse reality. There was no way of escaping the black eye that you already had forming, the tender skin would be further marred with time. “I think it looks worse than it actually is,” you offered meekly, reaching to your side and grabbing the ice pack off of the counter. You popped the center of it before wrapping it in a towel that Spencer had set out for you.

Holding in a hiss as the towel touched your face, you allowed your eyes to wander across the rest of your body. Your shirt had drips of blood on it, but the larger issue was red encrusted all over your face. With the urgency of a sloth, Spencer took a different towel from the drawer and ran it under the tap, wringing it out before holding it up, “May I?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, thankful for your newly cleared airway as you extended your neck, giving him the access he needed to wipe the blood from your chin and neck. “Spence-“

“I’m so sorry,” he interjected, his movements faltering as he let his hand drop to your shoulder.

You shook your head, crinkling the icepack in your hand, you blinked rapidly, hoping to clear your vision. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have grabbed you,” you told him, it was the truth. He had obviously been having a violent nightmare, and you grabbing him had likely triggered a fight or flight response.

Spencer sighed dejectedly, “I burst a blood vessel in your eye. I’m so…” his voice trailed off in the middle of his sentence, leaving you unsure whether he was going to apologize again or go off on a self-deprecating tirade. “I hit you,” he breathed, abruptly yanking his hands away from you, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you.” Setting the washcloth on the counter, he put his hands up in surrender and stepped away from you.  

Leaning against the bathroom counter, you wished for an inkling – anything you could say to him that would prevent his auto-villainization. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. Saying you hit me sounds so…”

“Wrong? That’s because it is,” he said harshly, and you could almost see the storm of self-loathing that was brewing in his mind.

Shaking your head, you adjusted your grip on the icepack before looking up at him, “but it makes it sound like it was intentional. You didn’t hit me, you… thwapped me.”

Spencer loosed a shaky sigh, “I’m not so sure that’s better.”

“Would you prefer bonked?” You proposed, looking at him and hoping for a small smile, but being disappointed when you were met with the same haunted expression. “It was an accident,” you insisted, reaching out your unoccupied hand and taking his hand in yours, “I am fine.”

He scoffed dismissively, “I should have had a better handle on myself.”

You frowned, “You were asleep, Spence. You couldn’t have had a better handle on yourself. It wasn’t on purpose, and you’re taking care of me now,” you told him softly.

“But you’re scared of it happening again,” he challenged you.

When he had come home, you knew he had been changed. Not necessarily for the better or for worse, but he was most certainly changed. You had heard everything in bits and pieces, what had happened in Millburn, what had happened with Cat, but nothing had prepared you for the harshness of your new reality. He was capable of harming others, but that didn’t mean you thought he’d hurt you again. “You’re disappointed in yourself, but you don’t believe you get to feel that way. You’re projecting onto me,” you told him, taking your hand back.

Spencer flinched back, “Don’t profile me.”

“You, Spencer Reid, would never knowingly lay a hand on me,” you insisted, you believed it. You believed it even if he didn’t believe it himself.

The two of you sat in an angst-filled silence before he stood up straight, gently starting to usher you into the bedroom. Handing you a t-shirt from your drawer to change into, you could see his internal struggle as he grabbed a pillow from the bed and made his way toward the door.

Despondently, your shoulders slumped forward, “Where are you going?” You asked softly, hating to watch him leave your shared bedroom over this.

“I’m sleeping on the couch. I’m gonna… I’ll try to set up a meeting with my therapist in the morning. I just…” his voice trailed off as he looked at you with wide, sad eyes, “You’re okay?”

Your heart ached at his voice as you nodded, opening your arms for him and letting out a sigh of relief when he returned to you for a hug. Reaching your free hand behind him, you rubbed his back comfortingly, “We’re going to make it through this, mark my words.”

He nodded in affirmation as he pulled away, “For my own peace of mind, I’ll sleep on the couch for a while.”

You accepted it, knowing that he needed to deal with this in his own way, he closed the door behind him, effectively leaving you alone. Laying back on the pillows with your icepack still clutched to your face, you sighed, wondering how long it had been since your boyfriend felt any semblance of peace of mind.

[wosospacegirl]

Nice try - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Alexia thinks buying Y/N clothes is a love language.

Word count: 1.9k

..

Y/n was on a mission.

A quiet, stealthy, slightly ridiculous mission that involved tiptoeing out of their house in a hoodie three sizes too big–Alexia’s, obviously–wearing the one pair of jeans she had left, which was now very much ripped across the knee and suspiciously breezy in the back.

She couldn’t let Alexia see her like this. 

If Alexia so much as sensed that Y/n needed new clothes, she would materialise out of thin air with a platinum credit card and the entire spring collection of three different Spanish designers. 

She had done it before. Alba had mentioned once that she liked a certain purse, and boom: three purses, delivered, and a casual “I thought this one looked better on you” from Alexia like she hadn’t just dropped €2,000 for fun.

So no. Y/n was not about to become the next victim.

She waited until Alexia left for training, counted five extra minutes–just in case she forgot her water bottle and came back, because that had happened before, too–, and then bolted.

Half an hour later, she was crouched behind a rack of trousers in a little boutique downtown, trying to decide between two identical pairs of black pants. Y/n could only afford one, and god forbid she buy two- otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to treat herself at the super overpriced coffee shop near her university."

She pulled out her phone to check her bank balance. She looked at the number and sighed. Maybe she could give some tutoring? She could make some extra money off of that.

Just as she was about to put her phone away, a text appeared.

Alexia: Where are you?

Y/n blinked. Hesitated.

Y/n: uni

Alexia: You don’t have any classes on Wednesdays.

Y/n: I do

That was weak. She knew it. Alexia definitely knew it.

Alexia: You left your location on, amor.

Y/n froze, eyes wide. Her thumb hovered uselessly above her screen. God, she was so bad at lying. She needed to delete Life360 or whatever tracker Alexia had installed under the guise of “safety.”

Then another text:

Alexia: I love buying things. Why didn’t you wait for me? I wanted to go too.

“Shit,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder like Alexia might already be walking in, designer sunglasses and euro bills in hand.

..

Y/n stood in the fitting room, staring at the two pairs of pants and two shirts draped over her arm like they weighed a thousand kilos. 

It felt indulgent. Excessive. Reckless, even. 

She’d been holding out for months–mending ripped seams, rotating the same three outfits, saying it was trying to create a minimalist approach to life–but now her last decent pair of pants had betrayed her with a dramatic rip, and here she was. 

Four items. Four. Her chest tightened like she had just maxed out a credit card. It didn’t matter that they were basics or on sale…Just the idea of buying more than one thing made her skin crawl with guilt. 

Alexia would’ve walked in and cleared a whole rack without blinking, but Y/n wasn’t like that. She could already hear her own voice in her head: 

This is too much. You don’t need all this. Put one back. Put two back. Hell, put all of it back and make peace with your tragic wardrobe.

Still locked in that mental spiral, Y/n approached the register like she was walking into a courtroom, bracing for judgment. The cashier scanned the tags with a chirpy rhythm that made her stomach twist, and then, just as she reached for her card, he smiled brightly.

“Looks like you’re all set. Mrs. Putellas already paid for everything.”

Y/n stared at him like he’d just slapped her.

“Excuse me?” she asked, blinking slowly.

The man at the counter, mid-30s, smiley, clearly unaware of the emotional warfare he had just triggered, tilted his head. 

“Mrs. Putellas has already paid.” He said louder, as if Yn didn’t hear him the first time.  “Isn’t that sweet?”

Y/n’s right eye twitched.

“She what?” she asked, her voice flat, her soul leaving her body.

He grinned, still clearly thinking this was a romantic surprise moment.

“She paid remotely. It happens all the time- oh, and she left a note! Said to tell you ‘nice try, amor.’”

Y/n’s mouth dropped open.

“I...” she muttered, absolutely seething. “Fuck Alexia.”

“Would you like me to pack it as a gift?” he offered weakly, now aware he may have stepped into a silent couple war.

Y/n took a deep, cleansing breath. Then she smiled, the type of smile that would have made Alexia very nervous had she been present.

“No,” Y/n said sweetly. “But do you sell running shoes? Mrs. Putellas gonna need them.”

..

Y/n didn’t slam the front door, but only because she knew Alexia had expensive taste in hinges.

Storming into the living room with her shopping bags like they were the physical manifestation of betrayal, she found Alexia exactly where she expected her to be: lounged on the sofa, one leg tucked under her, hair in a clip, and eyes glued to the TV where a replay of Barça’s last match played in glorious 4K.

Alexia barely glanced away from the screen as Y/n stepped in front of it, blocking the entire view. 

Her response? A contented little sigh and the casual press of a warm hand to Y/n’s waist.

“Hola, amor,” she murmured, gently leaning over and kissing Y/n’s belly over her shirt. “Can you just take one tiny step to the side so I can see Patri’s goal again? It was so clean–”

“No,” Y/n said, not moving an inch. “Alexia. What the hell?”

Alexia blinked up at her, all wide-eyed and falsely innocent. “What?”

Y/n lifted a shopping bag and shook it gently. “How many times have I asked you not to buy me things?”

“I didn’t buy you anything,” Alexia replied, with the slow, smug calm of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. “I just paid for them. It’s different.”

Y/n gaped. “It’s not different!”

“It is in my heart.” Alexia gave her a cheeky smile and tugged gently at her waist to try and coax her aside. “Also, you picked them yourself. So technically, I just… assisted.”

“You hacked the store’s payment system.”

“I used Apple Pay.”

“Same thing,” Y/n muttered, flopping dramatically onto the sofa beside her, pout on her face.

Alexia leaned in, voice low and teasing. “You really think pouting is going to stop me?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re welcome, amor”

Y/n buried her face in a throw pillow to muffle the sound, leaving her body.

The game carried on, with Y/n begrudgingly sinking into the sofa next to Alexia.

Every now and then, Alexia’s eyes would flicker over to Y/n, a smug little grin tugging at her lips, especially when she could feel the weight of Y/n’s tension beside her. 

But for the most part, they watched the game in comfortable silence–well, as comfortable as it could be with Y/n trying not to think about how Alexia had yet again spent her money on her.

As the final whistle blew and the game wrapped up, Y/n sighed deeply, finally leaning back into the sofa. 

She didn’t look at Alexia, didn’t even glance at her. The silence was only broken when Alexia’s grin widened.

“Amor,” Alexia whispered, urging Y/n to sit on her lap, which she did. 

Alexia’s hand naturally found its place at Y/n’s waist, then slowly moved up to her ribs, her thumb gently brushing over the soft fabric of Y/n’s shirt before it lingered on her breast.

Y/n gently took Alexia’s hand and placed it on her own lap, giving her a tired look. “No.”

Alexia’s grin faltered, her hand staying still on Y/n’s lap as she tilted her head in confusion. 

“No? Por que?”

Y/n sighed, shifting to face her, a soft but serious look in her eyes. 

“I don’t like it when you buy me things. I don’t want you throwing money at me like that. I don’t want you to do that, Alexia.”

Alexia’s eyes softened, brows knitting together as she reached out again, this time brushing a lock of hair from Y/n’s face. 

“Amor, I don’t… I don’t mean to make you feel bad. I just love you, and I want you to be comfortable. To have things you like. To have what you deserve.”

Y/n looked at her, her chest tightening, feeling the warmth of Alexia’s hand on her face.

“I know you do,” she whispered. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep doing this for me. I don’t need it. I just want you.”

Alexia leaned forward and kissed her–just a soft, grounding peck on the lips. Nothing flashy. Just presence.

“I hear you,” Alexia murmured as she pulled back slightly, eyes scanning Y/n’s face. “I will ease up on it”

“Ease up?”

“Yes,” Alexia nodded, ever-so-slightly proud. “I will not buy as many things.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Good.”

There was a beat of silence.

“But what if…” Alexia started, tone far too casual, “We settle on an amount of money?”

Y/n stared at her. “What?”

Alexia’s fingers danced lightly against Y/n’s side, like that might distract her. “Like, I’m allowed to spend up to a certain amount on you. Weekly.”

“…Are you giving yourself an allowance to spoil me?”

“Sí,” Alexia replied with a completely straight face.

Y/n groaned. “Alexia. That is not how allowances work.”

“It is now,” Alexia said brightly. “Like a budget. Very responsible.”

Y/n slumped forward and buried her face in her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Alexia! How can you be so stubborn!”

“Not stubborn, just full of love,” Alexia whispered, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s temple.

Y/n didn’t move. “What’s the allowance, then?”

“€1000.”

Y/n pulled back, eyes wide. “That’s a weekly allowance?!”

Alexia shrugged, totally unfazed. “It used to be unlimited.”

Y/n stared at her in exhausted silence.

“Would you like to negotiate?” Alexia offered sweetly.

“I’d like to remove myself from this financial arrangement.”

“You can’t, mi amor. I used my allowance to buy exclusive rights.”

“Alexia.”

Alexia grinned. “I like spoiling you. Not my fault.”

“It’s totally your fault,” Y/n said deadpanned.

“You’re like…my spoiled puppy,” Alexia teased, gently cupping Y/n’s jaw.

“No. No puppies, no allowances, no—stop looking at me like that.” Y/n pointed an accusatory finger as Alexia batted her lashes and tilted her head. 

“This is serious.” Y/n insisted. “You’re literally bribing me with clothes.”

“I’m investing in your happiness,” Alexia corrected smoothly.

Y/n squinted at her, voice low and dangerous. “I’m going to make you regret this.”

Alexia just smiled. “You’re so pretty when you’re mad, bebé.”

“You will regret this,” Y/n muttered as she stood, snatching one of the shopping bags. “Every time you see me wearing these, I want you to remember I almost bought them myself.”

Alexia watched her go, the proudest smirk tugging at her lips. “That’s my girl.”

Y/n turned back just long enough to glare. “And no sending me shoes to match!”

“I already pressed 'order,'” Alexia called sweetly.

Y/n’s groan could be heard from three rooms away.

Alexia just chuckled to herself, collapsing back onto the sofa.

“Worth every euro.”

[misstycloud]

Yandere younger secretary x older married GN reader

He sat at his desk, computer up and awake but the document before him was blank. It’s been hours and he still hadn’t put a single word on it- besides your name which he’d quickly erased before writing again and repeated the process of deleting it. The room was silent apart from the clock ticking on the wall. Time passed slower than a snails pace.

He took the freedom of glancing in your direction. You sat at your own desk, a few meters away from his, actually doing your job.

He knew it was wrong of him to lust after you. You were married for heavens sake and at least two decades older! Still, he couldn’t deny the ever growing feelings he harboured for you. Your age suited you well and you were good at your job, otherwise you wouldn’t have gained such a high position within the company.

”Can you come over for a minute?”

”Yes, of course!” He stumbled over his own feet in a hurry to get to you. You chuckled warmly at his silly display. Who knew your secretary would be so clumsy?

”Do I have any more meetings this friday?” You asked.

He looked over the schedule. ”Ehm..no, nothing more than the four ones that day.”

”That’s great!”

He almost jumped back at your overwhelming positivity. You were always radiant but even more so this time around.

”Do you have any plans?” Your secretary raised a brow in question. Normally, he wouldn’t have dared to pry in his superior’s life but you were different, you never got angry with him for any mistake he made. No, you were warm and comfortable- he felt really bad for those stuck with horrible and indifferent bosses.

Your whole face glowed, ”Yes, it’s my partners birthday. We’re going to celebrate with a nice dinner. The kids wanted fast food but we said it’s not their day and they didn’t get to decide, luckily we managed to bribe them with the promise of good cake afterwards. They’ll just have to sit through an ’adult food’- dinner this time.”

His content smile faltered. A bitter taste entered his mouth and he licked his lips in response. Right. Your family. On good days he almost forgot they existed and on bad days he couldn’t stop glaring on the large family portrait permanently placed on your desk- angled so he could see the entire thing. He couldn't tell how many times he's contemplated throwing the picture frame into the trashcan or out the window so he wouldn't have to suffer through the displeasure of having to look at it.

Why did he have to be born in the wrong decade? If his age was closer to yours, perhaps he would be the one smiling beside you in that photo. Then he would be your one and only. He wasn't fond of kids but if they were yours and his then he would be more accepting of their presence in your lives.

For now, he would have to settle for being your secretary. The only comfort he had was(due to your long hours) that he spent more time close to you than your own family did, something he knew your partner didn't like. One late evening when he came back from the bathroom did he overhear a conversation between you and them- over the phone, of course. While he couldn't really make out what they were saying he did however hear what you said and it wasn't hard to fill in the gaps.

They wanted you home with them and the kids which wasn't an outrageous request. You told them that you couldn't just cut back on so many hours without losing the comfortable lifestyle you all engaged in. Besides, it had taken a lot of time and effort to reach your position and you didn't want to throw it away. If they wanted, you could apply for vacation leave during the summer and you'd go somewhere warm and tropical. Unfortunately that didn't seem to be enough for them and your secretary had to listen to you getting scolded by the angry noises coming from your phone. He didn't know exactly what was said but he knew it wasn't good based on the torn expression on your face when he 'finally came back'.

That night you confided in him and divulged enough but not all the details of your troubles. He simply nodded in understanding and showed great empathy. He was very happy you felt comfortable sharing private things with him, it meant you trusted him. Your secretary gave you (misleading) advice which you took into thorough consideration and thanked him for.

He smiled to himself at the thought. If he played his cards right, you might start to feel more at home with him at the office than your own house- the one your shared with your (disgusting) family. Your spouse had already began complaining about him always being so close to you, making him shiver in delight. You had brushed it off as a ridiculous claim. He was simply young and ambitious, besides, what could he possible want from someone of your age? It was a bit cute how much faith you put in him. Soon he'll have you over at his house where you spouse will catch you- doing nothing indecent of course but it won't matter what you say, nothing would save you from that situation.

Then he'll be your one and only secretary forever.

[marvelstoriesepic]

If You Asked Me Now

Pairing: Photographer!Bucky x Wedding Planner!Reader

Summary: Years after separating for college, you reunite with Bucky while coincidentally working the same wedding.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: emotional yearning; unresolved feelings; separation and reconnection after time apart

Author’s Note: This did make me a little sad and it’s kind of bittersweet. It was such a lovely request, my dear! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy what I did with it ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

You haven’t seen him in years.

Years of quiet. Of near-misses and almost-texts. Of birthdays remembered but never acknowledged. Of photos in your camera roll you never deleted. The ache of what-if constricting your chest during long nights spent planning other people’s happy endings.

You arrived early at the venue. It’s a private estate nestled against the shoreline of a serene lake. It’s beautiful in the kind of way that makes you breathe deeper. Light filters through the canopy like it’s blessing your skin, and you set down your clipboard, your bag, your weight.

You were made for this. Checklists. Contingency plans. Love stories that bloom under your careful curation.

But nothing in your planner, your script, your color-coded schedule has prepared you for the moment you turn around and see him.

Bucky Barnes.

Yes, it has been years since you saw him, but the sight of him still floods your chest like an old song you thought you'd forgotten, all the lyrics rushing back in the shape of his shoulders.

He is older. Broader. The kind of handsome that takes your breath in one hand and never gives it back. He’s wearing black, of course. Camera slung over one shoulder, coffee in one hand.

Your name is still caught in his mouth. He hasn’t said it yet.

Neither of you prepared for this kind of reunion.

You stare at each other from opposite ends of the sunlit ballroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream curtains. Gold accents. Love dripping off the walls as if it’s something that can be bottled and sold.

You were just here to meet the photographer.

You didn’t know the photographer would have blue eyes and a constellation of freckles you used to trace with your thumb. You didn’t know the photographer would be him.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

The silence wants to say everything.

Then he smiles.

God. It’s not fair.

“Y/n,” he says. Just that. Soft, stunned.

And you’re trying to remember how to breathe around it. Around him. Around all the versions of him you’ve stored away in boxes you swore you’d never open again.

“Hey,” you say. It cracks on the way out, as though your voice wasn’t ready to time travel.

He walks toward you slowly, as if he might look at an illusion. And your feet stay planted, but your heart is already halfway across the room, tumbling back through years of memories that never got the closure they deserved.

“You’re the planner?” he asks, stopping just short of touching distance. His voice is warmer now. Familiar. It scrapes against the softest part of you.

You nod. It’s a little slow. Disbelieving. “And I assume you’re the photographer.”

You were seventeen the last time he looked at you like this.

As if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right shape for it.

Back then, it was rooftop talks and shared playlists. Passing notes between classes. His jacket draped over your shoulders when the gym got too cold.

And then came college. Different states. Different lives. The slow collapse of something you thought might survive anything.

You tried to move on.

You even believed that you had.

But now he’s here.

And everything you’ve buried rises as if it’s been waiting for air.

A beat.

A laugh.

Of course. Of course, the universe would do this.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter than it was in high school, but it still curls a little at the ends when it rains. You remember that. You remember too much.

“God, you look great,” he notes, voice quiet, reminiscent.

You take a breath long enough to gather the pieces of you that almost shattered on the spot. “You do too,” you state, voice quiet as well. And he laughs again. Softer. Sadder.

You’re supposed to be here to talk centerpieces and lighting, to walk the venue, and decide where the bride and groom should take their first look photos.

Instead, you’re here suppressing all the words you wanted to say many years ago.

Instead, you’re here looking at him like you used to - like maybe, if you just held eye contact long enough, he’d kiss you again and this time he wouldn’t stop.

But this isn’t about you and him. This is about someone else’s love story.

Still, he looks at you as though maybe it could be.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer,” you state, your voice too light, too casual, as though it’s not balancing on the edge of something steep.

“I didn’t know you were a wedding planner.”

Touché.

He grins. God, that smile. The same crooked thing he used to flash at you during chemistry class when he didn’t understand the homework.

“Guess we both ended up in the business of love,” he says with that smile on his face.

You laugh. And hate how much it sounds like home.

He exhales profoundly, sweeping his eyes over your form and not even being subtle about it.

“I thought I might never see you again,” he says, and the words punch your ribcage. “I didn’t even know you were back in the city.”

“I wasn’t for a while,” you answer, trying to keep your tone casual. “But I guess weddings pull people back.” You laugh a little, though it’s rather breathless.

His grin is going to kill you. You remember it melting behind cafeteria tables and prom night lights.

“You always loved weddings,” he says softly.

You shrug, but there is heat running along your spine. “They’re honest, I guess.”

His eyes fall down to your hands. Again, not at all subtle. “Are you..?” His voice is rough. It seems he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

“No,” you answer quickly. “Just me. Just work. You?”

He shakes his head. There is relief in his stance. In his shoulders. In his voice. In his eyes. “Nah. Don’t really have the time.”

And then the silence comes back. Not heavy but waiting.

You move toward the nearest table, brushing your fingers along the edge of the centerpiece, needing to touch something, needing to start working.

You hear the click of his camera powering on.

He raises it, almost instinctively, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you. “Can I?”

You blink. “What, take a photo?”

He nods. “I just- I want to remember this. You. Right now.”

You smirk just slightly. “So you’d forget without proof?”

Bucky’s eyes widen a little, but there is amusement glinting in his eyes. “No,” he states quickly. “‘Course not, doll,” he adds, and it seems there’s more he wants to say but he holds himself back with a bashful laugh.

But your breathing stops.

Doll.

The word falls from his mouth as if it never left. As if it hadn’t been said in years. As if he’s been saying it to ghosts all this time. As if your name has always tasted like that in his mouth - sweetened, softened, spun from golden-hour sunlight and inside jokes.

It doesn’t feel like a nickname. It feels like a door. Like a memory with a heartbeat. Like a piece of you just came home.

Because he used to say it all the time. In the hallways. After school. In the backseat of his beat-up car when your knees knocked together and the radio was too loud to hear your doubts. Hey, doll, you gonna come over tonight? Doll, you wanna split this? Come here, doll, you’re shiverin’.

He used to say it as though it’s something only you get to keep, only you get to hear. As though it’s the punctuation on every sentence you didn’t know how to finish.

And now here he is - older, broader, a little more worn in the eyes - but the word leaves his lips just the same. As if no time has passed. As if yesterday was senior prom and you were still dancing around the fact that you were in love with your best friend.

You want to say something clever. You want to laugh. Tease him. Pretend the name doesn’t matter. But it matters.

Because you’re standing in the middle of someone else’s love story, watching yours try to resurrect itself with just one syllable.

He raises his camera again, and his focused gaze cracks you right open. They’re not just blue. They’re saturated with something so much more. Like time. Like regret. Like the gravity of everything you both lost. “So, can I? Please?”

He takes a step closer. You don’t move. He’s so close you can smell his cologne now - clean, familiar, like something that never stopped lingering in your hoodie pockets long after you separated for college.

You should perhaps say no.

But the way he’s looking at you is not passive. It’s not casual.

It’s not I used to love you once.

It’s I never stopped.

There’s something so naked behind his expression it almost hurts to look at. Not just nostalgia. Not just old affection brushed off and made shiny again.

It’s hope. Hope with teeth and longing with roots and a trembling determination that seems like a vow unspoken.

You stand there, still in your wedding planner blazer and sensible shoes, and you let him see you again. Through the lens. Through the silence. Through all the almosts that never turned into certainties.

The shutter clicks.

And somehow it sounds like a beginning.

****

The couple is everywhere.

Their laughter echoes through the venue like a ribbon tied to the air, fluttering in the spaces Bucky and you fill with silence. Their fingers never stop finding each other. Their glances are magnetic, drenched in the kind of affection that dares you to look away.

They’re in the garden now, tangled in rosebushes and evening light, whispering to one another, words you’ll never know but feel anyway - like music under your skin.

Bucky photographs them while you hold the bouquet just out of frame. You try to steady your hand but your fingers are trembling. Your heart won’t behave.

And Bucky’s beside you.

He smells like pine and memory and the warmest part of the past.

You catch him smiling at the soon-to-be newlyweds through his lens and feel something strange twist behind your ribs. Because he’s good at capturing love and he does it with care. As if love is art and he’s always believed in it.

And he’s looking at them the way you used to look at him.

Then he looks at you.

And the moment snaps - clean and quick like a shutter - but it leaves an imprint.

Like film exposed to light.

Like maybe you’re still visible underneath all this distance.

You turn away too fast. Pretend to fix the placement of the aisle candles. Pretend you’re not sweating under the weight of all the things left unsaid. Pretend your heart didn’t flinch when he said doll as if it belongs to you again.

You tell yourself this is just work.

That you’ll be working with him for the next six weeks.

Six weeks of tasting and timelines and floral arrangements.

Six weeks of sharing air and avoiding eyes.

Six weeks of watching someone else’s love swell and bloom while yours sits quietly in your chest, half-buried but not dead. Never dead.

You’ll have to stand in the middle of it all.

The wedding dress fittings.

The first dance rehearsals.

The vows.

The goddamn vows.

And all the while, Bucky will be there. Photographing every moment. Documenting devotion while you wonder what it would’ve felt like to have it with him.

Because how cruel is it to work inside the machinery of love? To build it for others, beautifully, meticulously, while your own version sits on the sidelines, full of maybes?

How cruel is it to be surrounded by all this promise, all this soft forever, while the only person you’ve ever really wanted to say I do to is standing three feet away, adjusting his camera strap as though it isn’t slicing into your heart?

You breathe. You swallow down the pain. You make a note in your planner.

Tomorrow: cake testing. With the couple. With Bucky.

More love. More smiles. More of him.

God, how do you survive this?

And then you look up again and Bucky is already watching you.

Not the couple.

Not the shot.

You.

As if he is wondering the same thing.

As if maybe he’s not surviving this either.

[agentlizardofowca]

"Bubbles"

May I get a drabble about Perry having to kiss Heinz to either protect his identity or just keep Heinz quiet?

Thanks for reading! Feel free to delete for whatever reason ♡

Hiiiii, Thanks for the nice asks and thank you for your patience. That time Perry and Doofenshmirtz bumped into Major Monogram and Carl in the supermarket was bad enough. Now, imagine Perry’s frustration when Heinz dragged him along to the supermarket again, this time to buy nougat and toothpaste. He was just minding his own business, trying to convince Heinz to buy a nicer shampoo than the cheapest one, and reading the ingredients on a bottle when a very familiar voice rang out behind him.

“Perry?” 

It was Linda.

Perry turned, lightning-quick, and came face to face with Linda and Candace, who were looking at him in surprise. 

“Hi.” She continued, eyeing him up and down in his work outfit. “My, don’t you look professional today.” 

He barely had enough time to do a nervous little wave before Heinz caught on to the conversation behind him, and he turned.

“Perry? Do you know these people?” Heinz asked, and Perry turned to him vaguely aware that he was PANICKING. NOT GOOD. HEINZ AND FAMILY. BAD. VERY BAD.

“Hello?” Linda said politely. “Do you know Perry?” 

Candace hadn’t seemed interested in the situation initially, but her uncle didn’t seem to know anybody. Him being in the supermarket with a stranger was perhaps the most exciting thing Perry had ever done in his miserable and boring life.

“Do I know Perry?” Heinz repeated thoughtfully, unaware that his nemesis had stopped breathing. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“Oh, well. Nice to meet you,” Linda said, extending one hand for Heinz to shake. “Although.” She looked at Heinz curiously. “Have we met before?”

Heinz accepted the gesture and shook Linda’s hand. “I have to be super honest with you. I am horrible with faces.” He explained. “I even forget Perry’s face sometimes. Only very rarely! But it has happened once or twice.

Despite his shock, Perry couldn’t help but crack a little smile. One of twice, his secretive ass.

“And how do you know Perry?” Linda asked conversationally, but she and her daughter both had matching curious expressions.

“Oh, you know,” Heinz explained happily, not aware that was was about to ruin Perry’s life forever. “Perry the Platypus is my secret-” Agent. The next word was going to be agent, Perry realized. He had to do something and he had to do something NOW! There was no time for a plan, he had to act. So, Perry prepared himself and followed his instincts.

Perry jolted as he suddenly sprang to action as if he had been shocked by a bolt of lightning. With both hands, he grabbed Heinz’s face, pulled him down to his level and firmly and confidently smushed their mouths together right there in the middle of the super food stuff mart.

In a sudden wave of clarity, Perry remembered that sometimes INSTINCT. BAD. Like right now. There he was, mouth to mouth with his nemesis with no further plan. He could release Heinz, but then there would be many, many questions from Candace, Linda AND HEINZ.

So, since his instinct got him into this mess, his instinct could get him out.

Still kissing, Perry dragged Heinz around the corner to the next aisle, leaving Candace and Linda right there. 

Stupified, they watched him go.

Over in the deodorant aisle, Perry released Heinz’s lips with a smack and placed him upright as Heinz stammered and stumbled, too confused by everything to speak coherently.

“I- eeh? Oh? Uh! aa.” He exclaimed.

Perry took Heinz by his slanted shoulders and shook him lightly.

“This is the weirdest dream I’ve had since that time I dreamt a tiny alien force-fed me watermelons. No. Wait. This is still stranger. Perry the platypus what was that about?!”

At least Heinz seemed to be coming back to his senses. Perry, unsure of how to explain, dug through his pockets and pulled out a pamphlet with the title “So you’ve found out your uncle is a secret agent. What now?” and pushed it into Heinz’s hand. 「Read that.」And off he went, back to the toothpaste aisle.

Linda and Candace were exactly where he had left them. Their mouths were still vaguely open in shock.

Perry smiled as innocently as he could as he jogged up to them. 「Whoopie」 He gestured at them.

Linda stared at his hands and blinked. “Whoopsie?” she repeated.

“What did you just do?!” Candace shouted. “And with him!” she gestured at the end of the aisle, where he had dragged Doof off to.

「Couldn’t help myself.」 Perry replied hysterically. 「What a stud, right?」

“... Right,” Linda replied, confused but supportive.

“NO!” Candace replied, because she was 15, always honest, and convinced something was wrong with Perry.

「Got to go!」Before he left, he grabbed a tube of toothpaste, and then he ran. Luckily for him, they didn’t even try to follow him.

Heinz was still busy reading the pamphlet when Perry returned and snatched it back. He presented him with the toothpaste, forced him into the next aisle, and refused to explain anything.

By the time he returned home to the Flynn-Fletcher residency, Perry was exhausted. But when he stepped into the kitchen he came face to face with Lawrence and Linda, who seemed to have been waiting for him.

“Oh, there you are Perry,” Linda said, and she turned to him. “Me and Lawrence are a bit worried about you.”

[maidragoste]

Someone has to take care of you

Ex Husband!Cregan Stark x Reader

pt 2

I have to confess I'm nervous because this is my first time writing for Cregan. I actually started writing this in a different way and deleted everything and rewrote it.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. If you do, please don't forget to like, leave a comment, and reblog because that always motivates me to keep writing 🥰💖💖

If you have any ideas, questions or headcanons you want to share, my inbox is always open 🤗💖

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I wish you a good read!

You felt like your head was going to explode and someone ringing your doorbell didn't help.

“Just a minute,” you tried to shout, instantly regretting it because of the pain in your throat. After taking care of whoever was at the door, you would drink some water and try to go back to sleep until it was time to pick up Rickon from kindergarten.

The headache definitely kept you from thinking clearly, because normally you would have looked through the peephole before opening the door.

“Cregan? What are you doing here?” you asked, confused. You were sure your fever hadn't risen enough for you to be hallucinating about your ex husband, so there must be a reason why he was here instead of his home in the North.

“Rickon told me you were sick,” he said, looking at you intently and you regretted not having tried to get ready a little before leaving but you had woken up startled by the sound of the doorbell. You must look like a mess.

With you and Rickon living in King's Landing and Cregan living in the North. Your son couldn't see Cregan all the time, so instead you called each other every day. Rickon probably told him you were sick last night while you were cooking dinner.

“You took a plane and came here just because I'm sick?” you asked, still not believing it.

“Yeah, someone has to take care of you,” he said as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and your silly heart raced. It wasn't fair. How were you supposed to get over him when he did things like this and always looked at you with warm eyes?

“I’m sure I can survive a cold on my own,” you said, but you still moved away from the door to let him in. You only did it because it would be rude of you to refuse his help when he took the time to come all the way here, and because Rickon would be happy to see his father, not because you wanted to spend time with Cregan.

“I know, but you don’t have to do it alone,” he declared, noticing how nervous you were getting because your eyes instantly flicked away from him, so he quickly changed the subject. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, all I've done since I dropped Rickon off at kindergarten is sleep,” you admitted, somewhat embarrassed, but you were so tired you hadn't felt like cooking anything.

“I brought some things to make you soup,” he said, making you notice the grocery bag in his right hand and his duffle bag hanging over his shoulder.

And that was how you ended up sitting watching Cregan cook for you—of course, you had offered to help him but he refused and sent you to rest until the food was ready and this time it was your turn to refuse because you didn’t want to leave him alone—while you two talked like old times. The conversation flowed naturally—the only interruptions were when Cregan reminded you to drink water—you talked about work, Rickon’s latest adventures—how he tried to steal the neighbor’s dog and you died of embarrassment—and you were telling him about how your family and your group of friends were doing.

Of course, for a moment you couldn't help thinking it was just like a normal day as if you two were still married until you remembered that before, you could hug him from behind, and he'd always turn around and kiss you before continuing to cook. But now you didn't have the right to touch or kiss him.

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[okaylikeschaewon]

Future

~6.5k words, KAMPFyre Part 3, smut

“Where’s your phone?”

Responding was barely a possibility for you as you gasped for air, your chest heaving up and down as you lay on the couch. Without saying anything, you motioned generally towards your pants which were haphazardly thrown across the room in a mess on the floor.

“Code?”

“That’s… a secret…” you huffed, slowly regaining your breath.

Karina walked across the room and held your phone up to your face.

“Hey, that’s cheating,” you whined while making no effort to stop her.

She ignored you and started typing into your phone.

“You don’t have a girlfriend do you?” she asked, pausing and looking up from the screen.

“I feel like that’s something you should have asked earlier,” you laughed as you slipped your shirt back on.

“Do you?” Karina snapped at you. “I’ll delete my number right now if you do.”

“No, really, I don’t,” you chuckled, reaching for your underwear.

Karina held your phone up for a second as you were about to put on your underwear before she started typing into it.

“Did you just take a picture of my dick with my phone?”

“Yeah, I needed to send myself a message,” Karina replied nonchalantly before holding your phone out to you. “Don’t worry, as long as you didn’t lie about the girlfriend thing, no one else will see it.”

“You didn’t actually send it, did you?” you pressed as you slipped your underwear on.

“Of course I did.”

“Delete it.”

“No,” Karina laughed in your face. “Here, since you’re being such a baby about it,” she added after seeing your expression. The girl held your phone up and posed for a selfie. “There you go, the picture you got is worth way more, trust me.”

“What am I supposed to do with your number?” you asked, catching your phone as Karina tossed it to you.

“Oh my God,” Karina paused, shirt in hand, staring at you with mouth agape. “Did I just fuck an idiot?”

“Ha ha very funny,” you rolled your eyes and gestured towards your pants. “You know what I mean.”

“Well,” Karina replied while picking up your pants and handing them to you. “Depending on how tonight goes, maybe I’ll reply when you text me.”

“Tonight?” you inquired, a bit too excitedly.

“Awh, look at you,” Karina teased, staring at your crotch, not missing any opportunity to give you shit. “You’ll have to wait until we’re back at the hotel, unfortunately I’m in a bit of a rush and don’t have time for another round.”

After you slipped your pants on, you patiently watched Karina dress herself. She checked herself with her phone’s camera, clearly unhappy with the state of her hair. Despite her frustration, she settled with pulling her hood up before walking over to where you were sitting. Without any warning, she straddled your lap and stretched the neck of your shirt over your shoulder.

“What the fuck!” you shouted, almost instinctively throwing her off you as she bit into your skin.

“Something to remember me by,” Karina giggled as she stood up. “We’ll continue this at the hotel,” she instructed you while walking towards the door.

Naturally, you began following her when she stopped and turned around.

“You can’t come with me you idiot,” Karina said, looking at you in disbelief. “I swear you’re as dumb as Winter.”

“Why not?”

“Obviously because if anyone sees us they’ll start dating rumors,” Karina tutted. “Especially if they see that mark I left you.”

“How am I supposed to know how this shit works?” you countered. “I’ve never had to deal with dating scandal bullshit.”

“And to keep it that way, you’re going to arrive separately,” Karina instructed in a sarcastic over-the-top sweet voice. “Neither of us wants to deal with that, trust me.”

As soon as Karina closed the door behind her, you pulled out your phone and were about to delete the text she sent. Your plan changed, however, when you opened your phone and were greeted with the selfie she took; It definitely came as a surprise to see the selfie included much more than her face.

—

“You didn’t tell me you were sharing a room,” you whispered as soon as you heard the sound of the shower running.

“Oh fucking relax, you’re very familiar with her already,” Karina entered the hallway and closed the door behind her. “After I’m done with you, maybe you can convince her that your magic nut will make her skin glow or something.”

“It’s Winter? Wait then why are we leaving?” you joked as you followed Karina down the hallway.

“Ex’ fucking ‘scuse me?” she stopped and turned on her heels, glaring at you. “Go.”

She glowered at you, arms crossed, daring you to push the joke further. Part of you considered it, but you decided against risking it. Not an easy choice, not when Karina looked so fucking sexy when she was mad - a great combination when paired with her very short temper.

“That’s what I thought,” she turned back around and continued walking.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you said while catching up with her. “I don’t have the keycard.”

Without missing a beat, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out, tossing it on the floor as she kept walking. She definitely let out a smug chuckle after she heard you pick it up and keep following her; The rest of the walk was silent until the two of you arrived at your destination - the rooftop.

“Wow,” you muttered as soon as the doors opened. “This is gorgeous.”

In front of you was the most luxurious and magnificent rooftop pool to have ever blessed your eyes. The dark blue water was dimly lit from underneath. Around the pool were a number of lounge chairs, also dimly lit by lamps. The whole scene was overlooking the city below, creating the most surreal atmosphere.

“I assume you can swim?” Karina asked, looking over her shoulder as she stepped out of her pants. “Hello?”

While the rooftop and everything was beautiful, you were at an absolute loss for words as your eyes fixated on Karina. Your brain didn’t even register that she had just asked you a question, all you could do was stare at her perfectly shaped ass in the dim light. Karina giggled, shaking her head before slipping off her shirt and bra, tossing them to the side, giving you a view of her toned back. She took just two steps before jumping into the pool, disappearing under the water.

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” you asked as you walked up to the side of the pool. “Anyone could come up here.”

“That’s the point,” Karina replied, pushing her hair out of her face. “I woulda brought you into my room otherwise, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh I’m sure there would be a lot of fun in that,” you began stripping down. “Maybe when we’re done here we can confirm?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Karina scoffed. “Who says I’d want you in my room after?”

“Who says?” you repeated her words before pretending to hold up a phone. “What’s taking so long, I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow, hurry up.”

“Oh shut up,” Karina laughed, splashing water at you before swimming to the middle of the pool. “Coming in or what?”

Of course you were, that wasn’t an offer to refuse. You quickly stripped down as well after taking a quick look around to make sure the roof was still empty before jumping into the pool - luckily it was heated, a marvelous blessing. You swam over to where Karina was playfully spinning around in the water.

“Are you always this wild?”

“That’s for you to find out,” she teased, moving her body closer to yours and turning around so that her back was facing you. “Don’t be shy now.”

Exactly the words you wanted to hear from this completely drop-dead gorgeous nude girl. You wrapped your arms around her body, under her arms, and grabbed two full handfuls of Karina’s beautiful tits. She leaned back against you, her ass pressing against your cock while you squished and squeezed her soft chest.

“You’re by far the hottest girl I’ve ever touched,” you whispered into her ear.

“Yeah? Tell me more,” she replied, pushing her ass back onto you.

“You also have the best tits I’ve ever held,” you breathed into her neck before kissing it.

“Careful,” Karina spun around so that she was facing you. “Can’t have you leaving any marks on me.”

“Like the one you gave me?”

She smirked as she placed her hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing where she bit you earlier.

“Does it hurt?” she teased, pressing down on the wound.

“Yeah it fucking hurts,” you answered while your hands grabbed her ass under the water and squeezed hard.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” she smirked playfully. “Didn’t I make it worth it?”

“You’re still making it worth it,” you answered, giving her ass another rough squeeze.

“How about you stop treating me like a sex doll and tell me a bit about yourself,” Karina suggested, gently floating away from you.

“It’s tough when you look so much like one,” you teased back before moving your hands up from her ass, resting them on her hips instead. “Alright, what do you wanna know?”

“Anything,” she replied, her arms dangling on your shoulders now as she walked around the pool with you. “Other than your magical vocal cum, I really don’t know anything about you.”

“Well, I graduated last year, since then I’ve kinda just been trying to find a place for myself.”

“And you feel that place is working events?” Karina inquired.

“Nah, that was a part-time thing,” you replied. “Partially for the money, partially because I was bored.”

“How come you didn’t go into whatever you studied in college?” Karina continued. “Don’t tell me you have some useless arts degree or something.”

“For a singer, I figured you’d respect the arts a bit more.”

“Fair point,” Karina chuckled. “What was your major anyway?”

“Some bullshit in a field I’d never want to work in.”

Karina cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Not that I’m judging you for it, but then why…”

“Because I was lost coming out of highschool, didn’t know what I wanted to do.”

“I get that,” she said sympathetically. “It’s not an easy decision to make, especially at that age.”

“You say that, but didn’t you make your decision when you were way younger? It’s something I read when I was looking you guys up.”

“True, doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Karina continued. “Everyone goes through their own journey, I wouldn’t ever discredit that.”

“That’s quite the mature stance.”

“What, you don’t take me as mature?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“I can’t tell if it’s the fact that we’re both naked,” you paused to look at her body. “But I feel some tension.”

“We’ll relieve all of that tension soon enough,” Karina smiled. “Tell me more about yourself, first. Relationships?”

“I told you I didn’t have a girlfriend,” you rolled your eyes.

“Stop being silly,” Karina giggled, flicking a few droplets of water onto your face. “Have you had any?”

“I ended my last one after my senior year,” you answered.

“Bad terms?”

“Not necessarily,” you replied. “She moved away, I wasn’t interested in long distance.”

“You weren’t interested in long distance or long distance with her?”

“I haven’t really thought about that before,” you pondered her question, it was an interesting one now that you had it in your mind. “Honestly, I want to say in general.”

Even in the dim light you noticed Karina’s face dropped just a tiny bit at that comment.

“But I’m not sure,” you continued. “I just haven’t done it before, so maybe with the right person?”

“It’s not easy, though,” Karina commented. “It usually doesn’t work out.”

“Maybe not, but I think for the right person it wouldn’t matter how difficult it is.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it,” Karina smiled at you.

“Who would have thought I’d be having a meaningful conversation in a setting like this tonight,” you chuckled. “You’re really just full of surprises.”

“Sometimes being vulnerable leads to good conversation,” Karina giggled. “So, what’s your next adventure?”

“I wish I knew myself,” you answered honestly. “I guess I’ll just see where life takes me.”

“Regardless of where you end up, I’m glad you decided to work the event tonight,” Karina again smiled warmly at you. “Somehow some way it led to where we are now.”

“Where we are now? You mean me having a bite mark on my shoulder?”

“Poor baby,” she mocked before pushing against your chest and swimming to the edge of the pool. She began climbing out, pausing with her ass facing you to look over her shoulder. “Come on, get your revenge then, I’m waiting.”

By the time you swam over, she had climbed out of the pool, standing there watching you as the night sky illuminated her bare body, hands on her hips. You climbed out of the pool and turned her around before slapping your palm against her ass, sending droplets of water flying in every direction.

“Oh yeah,” she cooed into the night sky. “Fucking punish me.”

“You done with your interview?”

“I guess so,” she responded. “Now let’s get to why you’re really here.”

The tonal shift of the night was music to your ears. She wanted it now, and that’s exactly what she’d get. You pushed her forward until she made contact with the railing at the edge of the roof, then you pushed some more until she was completely bent over.

It was the most beautiful sight. You dropped down to your knees and spread Karina’s ass cheeks apart before shoving your face into them. Your tongue made contact with her pussy, giving it a couple of deep licks before you slapped her ass and stood back up, grabbing your cock. Eating her out from behind was so tempting, but you knew you had to get on with it already.

“Come on, hurry up,” she gasped as soon as your cock rubbed against the entrance of her pussy, confirming what you already predicted. “Don’t make me bite you again.”

“You’re insatiable,” you moaned as your cock finally invaded her pussy.

“Fuck. Me.”

There was no easing into it, no point in taking it slow. Karina wanted your dick and she wanted it now. Really, it was your responsibility to deliver. You began thrusting into her pussy, spraying more water around as your skin slapped against her skin. Under your palms, her hips began shaking with each shove of your cock.

“Oh fuck yeah there we go,” she moaned. “Fuck me like your little whore.”

No matter how hard you slammed into Karina’s cheeks, the girl wanted more. It was absolutely overwhelming, this complete fuck-doll of a girl was absolutely breathtaking the way she took your dick. This girl left you esurient over her, forcing your body to try desperately to give her what she wanted - which was also exactly what you wanted.

“Harder,” she begged in desperation. “Fuck me harder.”

In an attempt to give the wanton girl what she wanted, you placed your hands on her shoulders, giving you better leverage. You started thrusting your hips even harder into her backside, each slap of skin on skin echoing into the night. Anyone with their window open would hear the wet smacking of your thighs into Karina’s ass.

Her pussy was gripping your cock hard, nearly cutting off circulation. She was incredibly tight, yet so easily fuckable. Not only did she manage to squeeze your cock hard with her pussy, she also gave you almost no resistance. Perhaps it felt this way because you were thrusting with all your strength - it didn’t fucking matter.

What mattered was Karina’s moans, her pussy around your cock, the warmth and wetness of her body combining with yours. Her pleasure became your pleasure. All the sexual tension between the two of you led up to this moment. Fucking her hard on this roof couldn’t be compared to anything else.

This was so much better than the post-show quickie from earlier. This time you had as long as you wanted. You could probably fuck Karina all night - she’d like that. Your body was the only thing holding you back, but even as you continuously plowed Karina’s soft body, you somehow found the strength to keep going as if stamina did not exist.

Your fingers squeezed her shoulders hard in an attempt to hold her steady. You couldn’t see them clearly, but even from behind you could see her massive tits flinging back and forth with each thrust. Her body was fucking perfect. Part of you wanted to reach around her and grab them again, but you weren’t capable of changing a thing right now. All you could do was keep the rhythmic thrusting of your hips going.

“I’m going to fucking cum!” she cried out, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the railing.

She deserved no reprieve, not that she wanted any. You knew exactly what she wanted, and you were going to keep giving it to her. In and out your cock went, destroying her pussy, pushing as deep as physically possible. Her body was starting to go limp, her legs starting to bed as she began depending on the railing to keep her upright.

Just as she was about to collapse, you let go of her shoulders and wrapped your arms around her body, holding her up for the final barrage of fucking. You drove as hard and fast as you could for what felt like minutes (but was probably just a few seconds) until a slurry of cuss words spilled out of Karina’s mouth in all of its orgasmic beauty.

Karina was practically sobbing as her body convulsed into a pile on the ground in front of you. She slipped one hand between her legs and began touching herself, her legs still squirming as her back arched towards the clouds above. With her free hand, she tried reaching up for your cock, missing entirely until you grabbed her wrist and guided her to your shaft.

“Fucking cum on me,” she panted, eyes still closed as she started jerking you off. “Wherever you want.”

Your cock was already itching to explode, and her repetitive ‘cum for me’ requests as she stroked your length had brought you as close to your own climax as possible. The possibilities quickly flashed before your eyes: cover her face, down her throat, on her tits, and anywhere else on that beautiful body of hers.

Ultimately, you didn’t even bother choosing, you simply enjoyed the sensation as Karina jerked you off. She opened her mouth, her eyes still closed at this point, and tried to feebly aim your cock towards it, but it was futile. As your cock began erupting, the initial massive spurts landed directly on her chest.

With any remaining consciousness you had left, you grabbed your cock and pushed it against Karina’s mouth until it entered her lips. She started sucking at your tip, letting the rest of your seed fill her mouth. The hand she had around your cock was now rubbing your cum all over her tits, leaving a glossy shine on her beautiful breasts. Her other hand was still working between her legs.

Once your cock had finally emptied itself, Karina opened up her eyes and looked straight up at you. With your tip still in her mouth, she began licking circles around it, coaxing out every last drop of cum until she was satisfied you were empty. Before letting go of your cock, she had already swallowed.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you moaned, sliding down against the railing to sit next to her.

“I’m also covered in your cum,” she commented nonchalantly before turning to you. “Oh sorry, I thought we were sharing obvious truths.”

Both of you started giggling.

“Where the fuck have you been all my life,” you sighed, staring up at the sky.

“What matters is that I’m here now,” Karina replied, turning her head towards you.

“You’re right, there’s no point in us wasting any time,” you responded, reaching your hand over and sliding it between her legs.

“Now who’s insatiable,” she teased, spreading her legs to give you easier access while she reached her own hand towards your lap, grabbing your semi-erect cock. “Ooh, still sensitive are we?”

“Give me a moment,” you moaned as electric shocks shot up your spine at Karina’s touch.

“No,” she giggled as she continued to stroke your cock, making you squirm in her hand.

It was too much for your body. You grabbed her wrist and forced her away, and before she could protest you had already pushed her onto her back so that she was lying beneath you. With one hand on each of her tits, you slid your face down her body until you were right in front of her pussy.

Karina placed her hands on top of yours, squeezing your hands into her tits as soon as your lips touched her pussy. Her breaths started getting heavier as your tongue probed at her clit. By the time you pressed your mouth against her pussy, she was panting. You went from licking all around her pussy to shoving your tongue inside her, tasting her from inside. She let go of your hands and grabbed your hair, pressing your face deeper into her delicious pussy.

Your own hands slowly slid down her body, smearing the cum on her tits all over her. You moved your face back and shoved two fingers into her pussy, watching her writhe in pleasure for a moment before planting your lips on her clit, stimulating as much of her body as you could.

“Oh fuck- please- fuck-” Karina gasped, incapable of forming any coherent sentences. “I’m- fuck-”

With your free hand, you grabbed your cock and gave it a couple of strokes. It was rock hard and ready to go, but you waited until Karina’s body stopped squirming so violently - depriving her of this pleasure would be an unforgivable crime.

“You’re making me fucking cum,” Karina cried out, almost pulling the hair off your scalp. “I’m…”

She calmed down suddenly, the energy draining out of her. The only movements left were the deep breaths she took and the little jolts every time your fingers moved inside her. Slowly, you withdrew both fingers and sensually ran them up her body towards her mouth. She opened her lips just wide enough for you to put your fingers into her mouth, sucking on them with any remaining energy she had left.

After giving her a few moments to compose herself, you got up onto your knees and positioned yourself between Karina’s legs. Your cock was throbbing at this point, begging you to enter her pussy again. You gripped the base and slowly rubbed it up and down Karina’s pussy until she opened her eyes and stared at you. Just as you were about to push into her, she shook her head.

“Stop,” she mumbled before sitting up in front of you.

Karina pushed you back with her hand until you were sitting with your back against the railing. The sheer sexiness she was emitting as she crawled forward towards you, her massive tits hanging down in front of her as she bent over you, had your cock ready to erupt already - and she hadn’t even touched it yet.

She held her mouth over your shaft, eyes looking down, parting her lips enough to let a glob of spit fall down onto your tip. Then, in one single motion, she brought her mouth down to your cock and slowly lowered it until she had engulfed your entire shaft, spreading her saliva evenly across your cock.

“Oh my fucking God,” you gasped as her tongue gently toyed with your tip. “Karina…”

Slowly, she brought her lips back up and sat up straight in front of you. She stared directly into your eyes with the most lascivious gaze you have ever seen in your life as her hand grabbed your cock, giving it a single stroke before she straddled your body. She already had your cock trembling and she knew it.

With one hand guiding your cock, she slowly lowered herself onto you. Your body entered her seamlessly, reuniting with that divine feeling of Karina’s pussy. She lowered herself all the way, letting go of your cock and putting both of her hands on your shoulders. She went up and down a couple more times, painfully slowly.

Each time she moved her body, you were scared she’d send you right over the edge. You didn’t want this to end - not yet. In an attempt to draw it out as long as possible, you sat still, closing your eyes tight. Steadily, she began speeding up just a bit. As you got closer and closer, she moved quicker and quicker.

“I’m really fucking close,” you moaned. “You’re going to make me cum.”

“Let it happen,” she whispered before grabbing the back of your head and pressing it into her chest. “Cum in me.”

That was too much for you. As soon as you heard her words and felt her soft tits engulf your face, you knew it was over. You were seconds away from exploding, nothing could stop you now. Knowing this, you reached your arms around her body and grabbed her ass with each hand.

With Karina’s tits still pressed against your face, you started thrusting your hips upwards. Each thrust pressed her tits harder against your skin. It only lasted probably ten seconds before you began unloading. You had no more energy to do anything but hold onto Karina’s body, you held steady as your cock launched cum deep into her pussy.

Each spurt of cum felt like a bullet with the force it launched out with. There was a lot, more than you thought possible considering all the previous events of the night; Your cock felt like it was never going to stop. Burst after burst of your seed painted Karina’s insides, overflowing as some of the warm mess slid down your shaft as well. Eventually, your cock did manage to calm down.

“Holy fucking shit,” you moaned, letting go of Karina’s body slowly.

She leaned back, smiling proudly at you before slowly lifting herself up. A gush of your cum spilled out of her pussy immediately, landing all over your crotch.

“How was that?” she slurred before bending over and licking at your tip gently.

It almost made you want to cry with how sensitive your cock was right now, but at least Karina was being gentle for once.

“Fucking perfect,” you moaned.

Karina played with the mess of cum, using her pinky finger to scoop some into her mouth before she went back to playfully licking at your tip.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” she suggested after giving you a few moments to gather your strength. She stood up and held her hands out for you.

The two of you rinsed off using the outdoor showers by the pool before grabbing towels.

“It’s getting kinda chilly up here” you said hesitantly, hoping the night would last forever.

“Down to come to the room for a bit?” Karina asked, equally hesitantly. “I know it’s late-”

“Yes absolutely.”

Her bright smile could have put the moon to shame.

—

“Winter is probably asleep by now, so just come out to the balcony,” Karina whispered as she carefully closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, Winter was asleep on the bed. The shocker, however, was the fact that half of her body wasn’t covered by the sheets. In fact, it wasn’t covered by anything, apparently Winter liked sleeping nude. The two of you carefully stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind you.

“What a night,” Karina sighed, leaning against the railing.

“I know right,” you agreed, taking in the beautiful view before you. “Wherever we end up now, I’ll never forget this night,” you muttered, staring into the night sky.

Karina took a step closer to you and leaned her head against your shoulder.

“I still don’t quite understand how things happened like this, but I’m glad they did,” she whispered softly.

It was oddly intimate - not something you expected from an arrangement born out of pure lust, but it felt nice. You stood there silently, simply enjoying Karina’s company, almost forgetting about the more carnal activities of the night. Seeing Karina’s sentimental side really put into perspective how unorthodox everything was.

Not that it mattered, this would probably be the last time you’d ever talk to the girl let alone see her again. To think, this girl who you didn’t know existed this morning, was now making your chest thump as if you were about to lose a significant part of your life. It was just one night, but why did it feel like so much more? It’s not like this was your first one night stand with a girl.

“This sucks,” Karina mumbled quietly.

“Well shit, my bad, I’ll leave.”

“Oh shush,” Karina lifted her head off your shoulder and turned to face you, leaning on the railing with you.

The amount of pure melancholy in her eyes was not something you were prepared to see. Carefully, you used your thumbs to wipe under her eyes before any tears fell.

“A girl my age…” Karina explained. “I just… I love sex, but it fucking sucks not being able to do this back home.”

“I hope I’m not overstepping with this, but why exactly can’t you?” you probed gently. “I only mean that a girl as beautiful as you… it shouldn’t be very difficult?”

“Ever since I became an idol, I’ve essentially been banned from anything related to guys,” she sighed, her breath filled to the brim with sorrow. “I love it of course, don’t get me wrong, I just miss this one part of my life from before.”

“Again, risk of overstepping, but why-”

“Why’d I do all this with you?” Karina finished your sentence. “I don’t know, maybe it was just seeing your cock out when I walked in the room earlier, maybe it was because Winter mentioned that you had no idea who we were, or maybe I’m tired of not getting any action.”

“I… don’t really know what to say.”

“I guess I just trust you, can’t really explain it,” she continued softly. “Probably why I took that picture on your phone.”

“Yeah I was gonna ask about that actually.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Karina laughed. “Even if you did post it somewhere, everyone would just think it’s fake.”

“I’m not going to post it.”

There was a moment’s pause between the two of you before Karina spoke up again.

“Come back with us.”

“What?” you couldn’t believe your ears. “What do you mean?”

“Quit your job and come to Korea with us.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” you chuckled. “As much as I wish I could just get up and move to Korea, I don’t know if I can.”

“How about you at least stay with us for the next week while we’re in the US?” Karina pleaded. “What’ll it take to make you quit your job?”

“Holy shit you’re being serious right now,” you responded. “I mean, working the event was a part-time job, this was my last night…”

“Great, so how about for just the next week you stay, and we’ll figure the rest out later.”

“Karina-”

“We’ll cover the costs, food, transport, whatever you need,” she continued. “Please?”

Before answering, you took a second to think about what to say.

“Are you sure this is what you actually want?” you asked cautiously. “We obviously just had a lot of fun tonight, but I don’t want that to influence you into doing something you’d regret.”

“Fuck’s sake, stop overthinking it,” Karina rolled her eyes at you. “Spend the next week sleeping with me, and if I get bored I’ll just kick you out.”

“When you put it like that, what’s there really to lose?” you laughed as her aggressive nature returned. “Alright, for one week your sweet ass belongs to me.”

“Belongs to you?” Karina’s head launched back as she burst out laughing. “That’s so cute coming from a glorified dildo.”

“Glorified dildo? I’ll take it.”

The two of you laughed together, simply enjoying each other’s company. The way her eyes, lit up by the scarce moonlight, shined through her squint. Those adorable upside down crescents were making your heartbeat just a little bit quicker. As the laughs subsided, she stared at you tenderly with a smile on her lips.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked suddenly.

After everything the two of you did tonight, one would assume this was an irrelevant question, but it was potentially the most attractive thing she did all night. You didn’t even answer her with words; Without a second thought, you stepped right in front of her and grabbed her face with both hands before tilting your head sideways and pushing your lips to hers.

She kissed you back, her arms wrapping around your back, pushing you closer to her. Her lips, so plump and full, felt absolutely perfect. The kiss felt perfect. She felt perfect. The sun could have come up for all you cared, nothing would make you want to end this moment - that was until you heard the door open behind you.

“I heard laughing,” a groggy voice came through the curtains.

Karina immediately stepped back from you as both of you turned to see Winter step onto the balcony, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you,” Karina pulled her into a hug, patting her back. “Let’s go inside, you’re not dressed to be on the balcony.”

It was very true, the girl who would sleep nude only bothered putting on a shirt before coming out to the balcony. You followed the two of them into the room where Winter slipped back into her bed and Karina sat next to her.

“So is someone going to explain what’s going on?” Winter asked, still in her groggy state.

“We were just chatting,” Karina started.

“About what?” Winter pressed before turning to look at you. “Oh also, hello! It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hey, likewise!” you responded warmly, waiting for Karina to take the lead.

“I was thinking,” Karina continued. “If you really felt like your arrangement with him worked, why don’t we keep him around until we have to go back home?”

“Do you really believe me now?” Winter asked Karina excitedly.

“I… do…” Karina faked a smile back.

Winter jumped up and pulled Karina into a hug, letting the bed sheets fall off her, revealing her bare ass to you.

“Thank you thank you thank you for this!” Winter cheered, any sleepiness from a moment ago completely absent. “This is an amazing idea!” Winter let go of Karina and turned around to face you, sitting on her knees on the bed. “And thank you for doing this for us!”

“Us?” Karina interjected.

“Yeah, you’re also going to keep swallowing loads, right?” Winter asked innocently.

“Of course she is,” you answered before she could say anything. “In fact, Karina was telling me something about it making your skin glow.”

“Really?” Winter gasped, covering her mouth. “I’d love to try that.”

She really made it too easy.

“How about tomorrow?” you suggested. “That way the two of you can rest up, it’s pretty late after all.”

“Great idea,” Karina replied from behind Winter’s back, shaking her head at your ridiculous plan. “I guess you might as well spend the night, like you said, it’s pretty late.”

—

Your brain turned on before your body. At this moment, nothing could get you to open your eyes and get out of bed, especially after that phenomenal dream. Maybe laying in the soft sheets would let you relive it some more, experience that vivid sensation of fucking this mystery girl named Karina. You let yourself relish in the state of bliss for just a bit longer before opening your eyes.

That’s when it hit you - it wasn’t a dream. In the next bed lay Winter, peacefully exhaling through her nose. You got out of the bed and then the next segment of reality hit you - you were incredibly sore.

“Fuck,” you whispered quietly to avoid waking Winter as you clutched your abs.

Once you stood up, you stretched as far as you could, reaching towards the roof. The curtain was left mostly open, letting in the morning sun. You walked over to close it, not wanting to disturb the peaceful girl sleeping. As you started walking towards the bathroom, curiosity got the best of you and you took a little detour to walk next to Winter’s bed.

Carefully, to make sure she didn’t wake up, you lifted the sheets and took a peek under them. Just as you thought, she was wearing nothing but a shirt. You gently put the sheets back as the reality was really starting to set in; Everything that happened last night was real.

After using the bathroom, you stood in front of the sink and splashed your face with water a couple of times to help wake you up. That’s when the next question hit you - Where was Karina? Maybe that part wasn’t real? Then you remembered something, you stretched the neck of your shirt over your shoulder and sure enough there it was, the bite mark she left. You let out a sigh of relief as you realized everything was real.

Your calmness didn’t last long as someone started slamming on the door.

“Are you almost done? I need to pee!”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you opened the door to see Winter standing there

She ran in and didn’t even bother closing the door. You quickly stepped out of the bathroom, giving her privacy. Once she was done, she came out into the room and stood in front of you.

“Can we try the skin thing now?” Winter asked innocently, not caring that she was still wearing nothing but a shirt.

“Skin… oh right, that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh, um, of course we can,” you replied. “Do you know where Karina went by the way?”

Almost as if she was waiting for you to ask, there was a knock on the door.

“I got it,” you quickly stopped Winter from answering it, gesturing downwards.

“Oh, right,” Winter giggled. “Let me put on some clothes.”

“You still have my keycard,” Karina announced as soon as you let her in. “I ordered breakfast.”

“You know you could have just called them,” you said.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” Karina replied, her cheeks tinted slightly pink.

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence in the room before Winter broke it.

“Is there something going on here?”

“Nothing like that,” Karina answered immediately.

“Okay, good,” Winter said cheerily as she jumped onto her bed. “I, for one, am very excited for my upcoming vocal lessons.”

“And a new skincare routine,” you added.

“Skincare routine,” Karina repeated quietly so only you could hear, shaking her head. “I can’t believe my life right now.”

“Get used to it, you’ve committed to a week,” you whispered back to her.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

---

A/N:

There we go, since the last part had such a phenomenal reaction and because I've really been wanting to write Karina, the not-very-long awaited sequel is here. As I mentioned above, this is the final part to this trilogy. HOWEVER, I'm not opposed to continuing this story in another fashion, perhaps a small time skip leading into another trilogy. I'll have to think about what exactly I want to do, but I have a strong feeling this won't be the last time I write this version of Aespa.

Hope you guys enjoyed, I wouldn't expect another update from me any time soon. I'm still working on my Dating Seraphs series, this was just a small yet fun detour, but I have no idea when the next update will be for it. Huge thanks to everyone who left a kind comment or message or simply just read and enjoyed the last part, it really helped inspire my "return" to writing!

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Cross My Heart, I Didn't Love You

Bangchan x Gn!Reader

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

The words left his mouth too easily. Too quickly. Too carelessly.

"I don’t feel that way about you."

There wasn’t a hesitation, not even a pause to consider the weight of what he was saying.

It was final.

A death sentence to the hope that had been blooming inside of you for years.

You knew you shouldn't have confessed. You knew, but knowing didn't stop the ache spreading through your chest like a wildfire you couldn't put out.

It took you a moment before you could swallow. Hard. "Oh."

Just that. Oh.

What else could you say?

You thought you'd cry, thought the ground would crack open and swallow you whole, but all you could do was stare at him.

At the face you had loved for so long.

The eyes that held galaxies but not you.

The lips that had spoken so softly to you, teasing you, laughing with you, making you believe- making you think - that maybe, just maybe, you had a chance.

Chan shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "I-I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to-"

"You did," you cut in. Your voice was steady surprisingly, even though your world was crumbling. "You meant it. And that's okay. I just...I just needed to hear it."

Chan frowned, looking like he wanted to say something, but what was left to say?

What could he possibly offer you now?

Nothing much, if anything at all.

"We're okay?"

You nodded.

Chan couldn't think of anything so he blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

"Cross your heart?"

"And hope to die." You mumbled quietly, biting back the tears at the truth in those childish words.

You wanted to be swallowed whole. You felt humiliated.

But Chan couldn't do anything about that.

And you knew that.

So you did the only thing you could do.

You smiled. Forced. Hollow.

"It’s getting late. I should go."

He didn’t stop you. Didn’t reach for your hand or ask you to stay.

And that was how you knew.

There had never been anything to hold onto in the first place.

You didn’t cry until you were alone in your apartment, in the suffocating silence of a place that suddenly felt too big and too empty.

You had spent years orbiting around him, letting him be the gravity that pulled you in, and now- now there was nothing.

Just a vast, aching void where something warm used to be.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your phone, for the thread of messages filled with inside jokes, late-night ramblings, voice notes of him humming random melodies he was working on. You stared at his contact name, thumb hovering over the chat before you pressed down.

You’re still my best friend, right?

You deleted it before you could send it.

Because you already knew the answer he was going to give.

And a part of you realized that the answer he would have given, would just mess up your equation.

Chan...didn’t think much of it at first.

The confession, the way you left-

It was awkward, sure, but he figured things would go back to normal.

You were strong. Resilient.

You had always been able to brush things off, so he convinced himself you’d bounce back and your friendship would be back to normal.

But then you didn’t.

The next day, you didn’t reply to his texts.

The next week, you were suddenly "too busy" to hang out.

The next month, you started pulling away, and Chan- idiot that he was- thought it was just temporary.

That you just needed space.

Then came the excuses. The half-hearted responses. The messages left on read.

And for the first time, he started to feel something close to regret.

It hit him during one of the late nights at the studio, the kind of night where exhaustion blurred the edges of his thoughts, making everything feel heavier.

He had just finished mixing a track when he caught himself opening his phone, out of habit, scrolling to your contact.

He paused. The last message was weeks ago.

Hope you're doing okay. We should hang out soon. Miss you.

Unread.

Chan sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. He didn’t understand it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You two were supposed to laugh it off, move past it.

You two were supposed to still be us.

But you weren’t.

And he was starting to realize maybe that was his fault.

Maybe if I had tried explaining instead of just leaving Y/N to handle my rejection on their own...

He let himself fall back into his chair, staring at the ceiling.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach, twisting, tightening, but he shoved it down. He wasn’t sure why this was bothering him so much. You were his best friend. You had always been there, always been his safe place. He didn’t need you to love him like that. Why would you want someone like him to love you like that?

And why did the thought of you not loving him at all suddenly make it hard to breathe?

You forced yourself to move on. Or at least, you tried to.

It wasn’t easy. Not when everything reminded you of him. The coffee shop where you two used to sit for hours, him hunched over his laptop while you doodled on napkins.

The convenience store where he’d grab extra snacks just because he knew you’d steal half of his. The stupid, little things you hadn’t realized were stitched so deeply into your life until they were gone.

Until he was gone.

But what choice did you have? Staying in his orbit was only going to break you further, so you cut yourself free. It was the hardest thing you had ever done.

But it was also the only way you could survive.

Months passed.

Chan told himself he was fine. That you were fine.

But then, one night, he saw you.

Not through a screen. Not in passing. But there, across the room at a mutual friend’s gathering, looking different and yet exactly the same. Except this time- this time you weren't looking for him.

You weren't making a beeline to his side like you used to.

Instead, you were laughing at something someone else had said, eyes bright, lips curved into a smile that he used to think belonged to him.

And suddenly, he wasn’t fine.

He wasn't fine at all.

Because he realized, too late, that he had been wrong.

He did feel that way about you.

He had just been too blind to see it.

And now? Now you were gone.

Chan sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening around his drink as he watched you from across the room. He thought about going over, thought about what he could possibly say.

"Hey, remember when I said I didn’t love you? I think I lied."

He laughed bitterly to himself. Too late.

Too late for that.

He had told you he didn’t love you.

Cross his heart, he thought he didn’t.

But if that were true, then why did it feel like he was the one suffocating now?

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3x<3

[tsunodaradio]

unless you call tonight ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

THIS IS: FORMULA ONE, A MILESTONE EVENT 📀 lando falls for a busy woman and it ruins his life.

♫ starring: lando norris x pilot!reader. ♫ word count: 4.3k. ♫ includes: romance. suggestive content/off-screen smut, profanity. friends with benefits. @norrisradio requested busy woman by sabrina carpenter. ♫ commentary box: unfortunately, i will never be normal about anything tara asks of me. ever. all my lando's are hers and this is proof. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Lando stares at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. The chat is open— your name at the top, a string of texts below. Nothing crazy, just a couple of messages exchanged over the past few weeks. Enough to keep the line open but not enough to call it anything solid.

He exhales sharply and locks his phone again, as if that will stop him from thinking about you. Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

He unlocks his phone. Reopens the conversation. Scrolls up, reading over the last thing you sent. Been up since four. Dead on my feet. Talk soon. 

That was two days ago.

Lando flops back onto the hotel bed with a huff. He should text you. It’s not like you’d ignore him. Every time he’s reached out, you’ve answered, even if it’s just a short reply before you’re off somewhere again. 

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? 

He already knows how this will go. You’ll take hours to reply, if you reply at all. Not because you’re uninterested— at least, he hopes not— but because you’re busy. 

You live in the sky, chasing time zones while he chases apexes. He doesn’t even know where in the world you are right now.

You’d met briefly. One of those moments that should’ve been forgettable but wasn’t. He was waiting for his flight, slouched in an airport lounge, when you walked past in uniform, checking your watch. Someone had called your name, and you’d turned just enough for him to catch the hint of a smile. 

He knew, then and there, that he had to at least try. 

“Give me your number,” he had said, leaning against the airport counter, all charm and easy confidence. “So I can let you know when I land safely.”

You had laughed, shaking your head as you tapped your name and number into his phone. “Is that your way of saying you get nervous on flights?”

“No,” he’d grinned, locking the contact in. “It’s my way of making sure I see you again.”

“Don’t be boring,” you warned before handing him off to be handled by some attendant who had probably tried to flirt with him. He couldn’t be sure; he was so caught up with you that he couldn’t see past it.

Lando had planned on being anything but boring. And yet, here he is, stuck in his own head.

He drags a hand down his face, annoyed at himself, at the situation, at you for being so goddamn unavailable. Not in the emotional way. No, that would be easier. But in the literal, physical sense. 

It’s ironic, really. He’s the one in a different country every weekend, but somehow, you’re still the one he can’t seem to pin down.

Maybe that’s what makes this feel different. He’s used to things being easy, casual, within reach. 

You slip through his fingers before he can decide what to do with you.

He types out a message. u free?

Then he deletes it. 

Tries a different approach. what country are u in now? 

Lando deletes that, too. 

His fingers dance across the screen as he jams out yet another thing he won’t send, typed out with the belief that simply putting it out into the world might suffice. 

i miss being inside u, he types, and then he backspaces until it’s just i miss u, and then he just trashes the whole thing all together. 

Lando rests his phone on his chest.

And waits. What for, he’s not sure.  

It’s not like he’s asking for much. A conversation. A distraction. A sign that you might be thinking about him, too.

With a sigh, he locks his phone and sets it aside. 

Not tonight. 

The first time you slept together, Lando hadn’t really thought about what came after.

You’d been in the same city by coincidence. One of your flights aligning with his race weekend, just by sheer luck. The two of you had figured that out quickly enough, and from there, it had been easy.

A drink, a conversation that flowed too smoothly, a brush of your fingers against his when you took his empty glass from him. By the time you were both back at his hotel, neither of you had pretended it was anything but inevitable.

Lando had been more than happy to take his time with you, to let things build and stretch into the early hours of the morning. And, fuck, it had been good. 

You were the kind of person who made everything feel easy, like you’d known each other longer than just the past handful of hours. Like you’d done this before, even though you hadn’t.

So he’d fallen asleep next to you, pleasantly exhausted, fully expecting to wake up to a warm body curled into his.

Instead, he had woken up to the rustling of sheets and the quiet clink of a zipper.

Blinking through his sleep-heavy haze, he had turned over to see you by the foot of the bed, pulling on your jacket. Your bag was already slung over one shoulder, your phone in your free hand. The bedside clock read something ridiculous— barely past five in the morning.

Lando frowned. “You’re leaving?”

You glanced at him. “Yeah. I’ve got a flight to catch.”

“Right now?”

You huffed a laugh and adjusted the strap of your bag. “That’s usually how flights work, yeah,” you had shot back. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, still groggy, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you were actually about to walk out the door like this. “So you’re just gonna disappear before the sun’s even up?”

“I’m not disappearing,” you corrected, “I’m saying goodbye.”

Lando scoffed, unimpressed with the technicality. “Right.”

A brief pause settled between you. He could still see the soft marks of his fingertips on your skin, the messy imprint of the night before. He thought, just for a second, that maybe you’d hesitate. That maybe you’d crawl back into bed, let the morning stretch a little longer.

But you just smiled instead, already halfway to the door. “Good luck on your race.”

And with that, you were gone.

Lando sat there for a long moment, listening to the faint click of the door shutting behind you.

He wasn’t used to being left behind. 

He had finished on the podium that race. Everybody talked about his car, about strategy, but he knew he’d been fueled by spite and the glorious afterglow of a good fuck. 

A part of him had wanted to reach out and ask if you’d seen him win. He didn’t, of course. He liked to think he had some dignity. 

Tonight, though, Lando is convinced that all of his dignity will be damned.

He steps out of the bar, the night air cool against his flushed skin. The noise from inside spills onto the street— laughter, the bassline of some song he should probably recognize, the occasional burst of applause from a group in the corner. He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders as he leans back against the brick wall, phone in hand.

He shouldn’t be checking his phone. Shouldn’t be waiting for anything.

But he is.

He flicks his thumb over the screen, unlocking it for the tenth time in as many minutes. No notifications. No messages.

No messages from you.

His jaw tightens. He shoves his free hand into his pocket, tilting his head back against the wall. It’s stupid. You have a life, a job that doesn’t leave you glued to your phone, a schedule that barely aligns with his. But it doesn’t stop the frustration from simmering under his skin.

Then, as if the Universe is sick and tired of his moping, his phone vibrates.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ You good?

Lando exhales through his nose, half in disbelief, half in relief. He should let you wait, make you sit in silence the way he had. But he doesn’t. His fingers move before he can think better of it.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i was starting to think you forgot about me

The dots appear immediately.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Don’t be dramatic. Long flights, long days.

He runs his tongue over his teeth. Yeah, he knows. Doesn’t mean he likes it.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ am i so easy to ignore, hm??

A bit too honest. But he lets it sit.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Poor baby. Want a kiss to make things better?

A sharp laugh escapes Lando. He glances back toward the bar, but the thought of going back in— of pretending he’s not the happiest he’s been in days— feels unappealing.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ ure lucky i’m a forgiving man from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Oh, are you? to: little ms. pilot ✈️ wouldn’t be texting u rn if i weren’t from: little ms. pilot ✈️ And here I thought I was doing you a favor.

Lando scoffs, rolling his eyes at his screen.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ by what? keeping me on my toes? from: little ms. pilot ✈️ By giving you something to look forward to.

He shakes his head. You’re good— he’ll give you that.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u make it sound like u’re doing charity work from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Aren’t I?

Lando’s stomach tightens at the way you always manage to flip things back on him, like you’re the one indulging him instead of the other way around.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u r a menace from: little ms. pilot ✈️ You like it.

He doesn’t answer right away. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he exhales, glancing back toward the bar. He should go inside, forget about this conversation before it pulls him in deeper.

Instead, he types:

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i like a lot of things about u :)

A beat.

The dots appear. Disappear.

Reappear.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Careful, Norris. Sounds like dangerous territory.

He smirks. Gotcha.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ only if u make it out to be

No immediate reply this time. He waits for a second, then two, before locking his phone and shoving it back into his pocket. If you want to keep playing this game, fine.

But he won’t be the only one chasing.

Lando sees your name light up his phone, and for the first time in a long time, he considers not answering.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. The problem is that he does—badly. He wants to see you, wants to hear that teasing lilt in your voice when you make some offhand remark that he’ll spend hours thinking about later.

The phone buzzes again.

from: little ms. pilot ✈️ Layover in your city. Few hours to spare. Busy?

He stares at the screen, jaw ticking with impatience.

This is the moment where he should say no. He should have some fucking dignity, tell you he’s got better things to do than be at your beck and call.

But he doesn’t. 

Because Lando’s never been good at resisting things that feel good in the moment, and right now, there’s nothing he wants more than you.

He barely remembers the drive over, only that his knee bounced the whole way, his mind running in circles around the same thought: He should’ve said no.

When you open the door, it’s as good as over for him.

You're fresh out of the shower, hair damp, hotel robe tied loosely around your waist. You smirk when you see him, leaning against the doorframe like you already know he was coming the second you hit send.

Lando tongues the inside of his cheek. “You’re trouble.”

“And yet you’re here.”

You step back, letting him inside. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing the two of you in. He watches as you cross the room, and there’s a fleeting moment where he wonders if this will be the time it finally breaks him. If this will be the time he won’t be able to pick himself back up when you leave.

Then you tug him forward by the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss, and he stops thinking altogether.

Lando’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s trying to ground himself in the moment. His fingers press into the soft fabric of your robe, but it’s not enough. He’s desperate for more, for the feeling of your skin against his, the way you always seem to make him forget about everything else.

You laugh softly against his lips, a teasing sound that vibrates through him, and for a second, he thinks maybe you can hear the way his heart is pounding.

“Impatient,” you murmur, your voice low and smooth, as your hands slide under the hem of his hoodie, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath.

“You started it,” Lando replies, his voice rougher than he intended, his breath hitching when your fingers graze his chest.

You grin at him, and he can’t help but mirror the expression, even as he watches you slowly step back, eyes flicking between his and the space between you. It’s like you’re daring him to follow, to push this further— and God, does he want to.

Before he can take another step toward you, you pause, looking at him with a glint in your eye that makes him hesitate for a moment. “You’re sure you want this? You know how this goes, Norris.”

His throat closes up. 

There’s that voice again, the one that whispers that he’s being a fool, that he’s walking right into the same trap he always does. The same trap you’ve set so many times before, and he’s willingly fallen for it each and every time.

“I’m not going to regret it,” he says, the words tumbling out more firmly than he feels.

His eyes are locked on yours, searching for any sign that you’re not on the same page. But you don’t look away. You’re not pulling back. You’re watching him with an intensity that almost feels like you’ve already made up your mind.

You nod, slow and deliberate, and then you’re moving toward him again, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss that makes his whole body hum.

There’s no talking after that. No hesitation.

The next thing he knows, he’s pulling at the knot of your robe, hands shaking as he exposes more of your skin, his mouth following the trail of fire you leave across his chest. You tug at his hoodie, almost impatient in the way you’re stripping him down, until he’s left standing in front of you in nothing but his jeans and the fast-fading remnants of his composure.

At this point, Lando’s not sure it matters. Not with you this close, not with your hands tracing the lines of his body, not with the heat between you building to a point where it feels like he can’t breathe without you.

And when you pull him into another kiss, your lips just as desperate as his own, it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s no more thinking, no more wondering. Just the feeling of you, here, with him.

Lando doesn’t think about tomorrow. Doesn’t think about the empty space he’ll wake up to or the way he’ll check his phone, hoping— pathetically— for a message that won’t be there.

For now, all that matters is the way your breath stutters when he kisses down your neck, the way your hands press against his skin like you need him just as badly.

For now, he lets himself believe that you do.

Patience has never been his strong suit, and he sure as hell doesn’t have any left when it comes to you. It’s been— what? Two weeks? Maybe three? Since the last time he saw you, since you last texted, since he last even felt like he existed in your world.

And fine, he gets it. You have a life. You have a job that keeps you moving, that pulls you across time zones and continents with no regard for whatever flimsy thing the two of you have going on.

But it’s starting to get to him.

He’s been staring at his phone for the past twenty minutes, scrolling through old texts, checking to see if maybe you had responded and he somehow missed it. (He hasn’t. You haven’t.)

Before he can talk himself out of it, he taps on your contact and hits FaceTime.

It rings. Once, twice— he’s already regretting it.

Then, you pick up.

You’re in some dimly lit hotel room, the glow from your laptop screen casting soft shadows over your face. You look tired. You blink at him like you weren’t expecting the call.

“Lando?” Your voice is thick with exhaustion.

“Hey,” he says, gripping the edge of his couch. He hadn’t exactly planned what he was going to say— just that he needed to see you, to hear your voice, to remind himself that he still exists to you. “Where are you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. “Singapore. Just got in a couple of hours ago.”

He bites back the urge to apologize. Singapore. The other side of the world. Not that it should matter. Not that it ever has.

“You could’ve texted,” he says, and it comes out rougher than he means it to.

You frown. “I’ve been working.”

“For two weeks?”

You hesitate. It’s brief, but he catches it. “I meant to,” you say eventually. “I just— Lando, come on.”

“No, seriously,” he pushes, his grip tightening on his phone. “Do you even think about me when you’re gone?”

Your brows furrow. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah? Then why does it feel like I don’t exist as soon as you leave?”

That gives you pause. You glance away, like you’re searching for the right words. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Lando laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You could start with the truth.”

You inhale sharply, sitting up a little straighter. “Lando…” There’s something warning in your tone.

He shakes his head. “Forget it.”

A beat of silence stretches between you before you finally sigh. “I thought we were on the same page about this.”

There it is. The thing he didn’t want to hear, the thing he’s been trying to pretend doesn’t exist.

You’re not in a relationship.

You’ve made that clear from the beginning, in the way you never linger too long, in the way you leave before the sheets even cool, in the way you go weeks without speaking to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

But it’s not easy for him.

Lando swallows hard, forcing a tight smile. “Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

And then, because he can’t help himself, because frustration is curling hot and tight in his chest, because he wants you to hurt the way he does, he adds, “Must be nice, though.”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

“Not having to think about anyone but yourself.”

Your expression shifts instantly. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it must be convenient,” he continues, his tone sharp. “Keeping me on standby for when it suits you, for when you’re not busy. Must be nice to just disappear whenever you want and not have to deal with the mess you leave behind.”

Your lips part slightly, disbelief flickering across your features. Then, just as quickly, your face hardens.

“Lando,” you say, voice steady, firm. “I’m not doing this with you.”

His jaw clenches. “Doing what?”

“This,” you snap. “Whatever this little tantrum is.”

Lando opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance.

“You don’t get to act like I’ve done something wrong just because I don’t orbit around you,” you say, and your words cut deep. “I told you what this was from the beginning. If you thought it was something else, that’s on you.”

He flinches, but you’re not done.

“And before you ask— no, I don’t have a flight to catch.” Your voice is like ice now. “I’m ending this call because I don’t feel like listening to your bullshit. I’m too busy for it.”

And then, just like that, his screen goes dark.

TWO DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ yo

FIVE DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ look, i was an ass. i know that just... idk. lmk if i can make it up to u or something

ONE WEEK LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ u still mad? tbf i’d probably still be mad

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ sooo does that mean i shd wait longer before texting again

TEN DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ ok i’ve done some thinking. i’ve concluded i deserve to be ignored, but also i don’t like being ignored

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i feel like i shd at least get points for self-awareness

TWELVE DAYS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ just tell me u hate me so i can sleep at night

TWO WEEKS LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ alright. u win. won’t bother u anymore

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ unless u text first. then it’s fair game.

ONE MONTH LATER.

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ saw a plane today and thought of u

to: little ms. pilot ✈️ i feel like that should earn me AT LEAST a pity response

Lando tells himself he’s fine.

He throws himself into racing, into training, into anything that doesn’t involve picking up his phone and staring at a dead chat. He convinces himself that it’s better this way. He’s faster on track, more focused in meetings, less distracted.

At least, that’s the lie he repeats to himself.

But then, one afternoon in Monaco, he sees you at the grocery store. Every carefully constructed wall he’s built around himself crumbles in an instant.

You’re standing by the produce section, inspecting a bunch of grapes like they hold the answers to the universe. It’s almost laughably ordinary— no pilot uniform, no layover rush, just you in a sundress, vacationing like a normal person. 

And for some reason, that stings.

He almost walks past you, pretends he hasn’t seen you. But then you turn, eyes meeting his, and there’s no escaping it now.

“Lando,” you say, like you’re surprised to see him. Which is ridiculous, because this is his city. His home.

He swallows hard, nodding. “Hey.”

An awkward pause stretches between you, filled only by the low hum of the store’s music and the distant chatter of other shoppers. Lando clears his throat, gripping the handle of his basket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Didn’t know you were in Monaco.”

“I’m just here for a bit,” you say. “Taking some time off.”

“Right.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Guess you’ve been too busy to take a vacation before now.”

The words come out sharper than he intends. Your eyes narrow, just slightly. “That’s not fair.”

He wants to argue, to remind you of all the unanswered messages, of how he felt like a complete idiot waiting for a reply that never came. But what would be the point? You’ve made it clear before that this was never anything serious. That he wasn’t supposed to care like this.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “Maybe it’s not.”

Silence again. Then, you shift your basket higher on your arm. “I should go.”

Lando nods, watching as you turn on your heel and head for the checkout. That should be it. That should be the end of it.

But suddenly, he’s moving.

He doesn’t even think about it, just grabs the first bouquet of supermarket flowers he sees, throws some cash at the self-checkout, and jogs out the door after you.

You’re halfway down the street when he catches up. “Hey— wait.”

You pause, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s out of breath, which is embarrassing, considering he’s a professional athlete. He thrusts the slightly-crumpled bouquet toward you.

“Are you busy today?”

You blink, staring at the flowers like they might explode. “Lando…”

“I just— I don’t know,” he rushes out. “If you’ve got time, maybe we could—” He hesitates. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking. To talk? To fix things? To ruin himself all over again?

You exhale softly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. He watches you carefully, desperately, like a man on the edge of a decision he has no power over.

Lando lets out a breath, his grip tightening around the plastic-wrapped stems in his hands. “Look, I know I was out of line that night. And I know I’ve been acting like— like I don’t get what this is. But the thing is, I don’t think I know how to be casual about you.

“I’ve tried, and I’m fucking terrible at it. I want more, and I know that’s not what we do, but—” He shakes his head, his jaw working, like the words aren’t coming out right.

A passing car honks in the distance. The world moves on as if this isn’t the biggest thing happening in his universe.

“But I like you,” he says finally, voice quiet but firm. “I like you more than I should. And I know you’re busy, I know your job takes you everywhere, and maybe that means this doesn’t work. But if there’s even a small chance that it could—” 

He looks at you like he’s never wanted anything more. “Just tell me if I should stop.”

Your lips press together, and for a long moment, you say nothing. Lando’s heart beats in his throat. He braces himself for rejection, for you to tell him this was a mistake, for you to hand the flowers back and walk away.

Instead, you take the bouquet from his hands, inspecting it like you’ve never seen supermarket daisies before. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips, small but real, and you shake your head just a little before looking up at him.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur.

Lando’s stomach twists. “I know.”

You step closer, lifting onto the balls of your feet to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin burns where your lips touch, and he barely has time to register the warmth before you pull back, meeting his eyes.

“I might be busy,” you say, holding the flowers loosely in your hands. “But I think I have a little bit of time for you today.”

He’ll take it, he decides. 

Today, tonight, tomorrow— for however long you’ll have him. ⛐