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lxvsiick · 7 days

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THE STARS ARE ALL ASLEEP | HAN TAESAN X READER

PAIRING: idol! han taesan x non!idol! fem! reader

SUMMARY: The loss and regret Taesan feels, trying to hold on to the memories of Y/n despite the pain

GENRE: angst, breakup, taesan is kinda an ass, imagine, short story

WORDCOUNT: 5.9k

A/N: ngl, did i procrastinate during my lecture to write this? yes . . . i wrote this after listening to 星星都睡了 by PPlin x Zhen Li -- I'm basically giving you guys song reccs to listen to -- the song is really good!... enjoy the story!

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

I can take care of myself, you don’t need to keep worrying about me.

I don’t smile anymore.

The clock on the wall ticked away the late hours of the evening as Y/n sat curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, staring blankly at the TV. She wasn’t really watching, her mind too preoccupied with the events of the day. Work had been a disaster. Her boss had been harsher than usual, throwing out unreasonable demands and critiques that left her feeling drained and upset.

She sighed, glancing at her phone. No messages from Taesan. It wasn’t unusual—he was busy, always on the go with rehearsals, interviews, and performances. Being a famous idol meant long hours and even longer nights. Still, they shared this apartment, and she always tried to stay awake to talk to him when he came home.

Her heart lifted slightly when she heard the soft jingle of keys at the door. The lock clicked, and Taesan stepped inside, his hood pulled low over his face, slumping with exhaustion as he kicked off his shoes. He barely glanced in her direction as he made his way into the living room.

She straightened up on the couch, hoping for just a moment of his attention. “Hey, you’re home,” she greeted softly, forcing a small smile. “How was your day?”

“Long,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes as he walked past, heading straight for the kitchen to grab a drink. His tone was flat, his movements sluggish.

Y/n watched him, her heart sinking. “I had the worst day today,” she said, trying again to start a conversation. “My boss was being such a—”

“Not now,” he interrupted, his voice edged with weariness as he leaned against the counter, rubbing his temples. “I’m tired. I don’t want to talk.”

She froze, the words hanging in the air between them, heavier than she expected. She had been waiting all day to tell him about what happened, hoping he would listen, hoping she could find some comfort in his presence. But his dismissal felt like a slap to the face.

Her throat tightened as she swallowed her emotions. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Okay.”

The silence stretched out uncomfortably as Taesan took a sip of his drink, still not looking at her. She tried to keep her disappointment from showing, but it was too late. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak, and the weight of the day, combined with his coldness, felt suffocating.

She stood up quietly, wrapping her arms around herself as if to shield against the sudden chill between them. “I’ll... leave you alone, then,” she murmured, backing away toward the bedroom. She didn’t wait for his response. He didn’t offer one.

As she turned, her steps slow and deliberate, her heart ached. This wasn’t how she imagined the night going. She had wanted to vent, to share her frustrations with the one person who mattered most to her. But now, she felt more alone than she had all day.

When she closed the bedroom door behind her, the click sounded louder than usual in the quiet apartment. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands, wondering if he even noticed how much she needed him right now.

Back in the living room, Taesan let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as the weight of the day pressed down on him. He hadn’t meant to be so cold, but he was just too tired. Too tired to think, to listen, to be anything but worn out.

But in the silence that followed, something gnawed at him—a faint sense of guilt that he couldn’t quite shake, knowing she had wanted to talk, knowing she had needed him.

And he hadn’t been there.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I don’t want to think about you all the time.

We tried our hardest to hurt everything between us, and now it’s impossible to repair.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, orange glow over the city streets. Y/n sat on the bench at the bus stop, nervously checking her phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Her heart was filled with a mixture of excitement and impatience—today was supposed to be special. Their anniversary.

Taesan had promised to take her on a date after his interview, a rare moment in their hectic lives where they could celebrate together. She’d dressed up, her heart racing with anticipation, hoping for some time alone with him. But now, as the minutes dragged on, she couldn’t help but feel the growing sense of unease.

She scrolled through her phone again, the unanswered messages staring back at her: "Hey, interview over yet?" "Are you still coming?" "Let me know if you're running late."

No response. No calls. Nothing.

She sighed, biting her lip and glancing down the empty street. The buses came and went, passengers getting on and off, but there was still no sign of him. Her excitement slowly deflated into something more like dread.

A cold breeze picked up, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being stood up, but that couldn’t be true, right? He wouldn’t just forget their anniversary. He wouldn’t break his promise to her.

In an attempt to distract herself, she opened her social media, scrolling absentmindedly through the feed. That’s when she saw it—a post from a fan page featuring Taesan and his group at some event. There he was, smiling and laughing with his bandmates, dressed in an outfit far too formal for just an interview.

Her heart sank. The caption beneath the photo read, "Surprise appearance at the event! BOYNEXTDOOR looking dashing as always."

She stared at the screen, the image of him so happy, so carefree. She felt a knot twist in her chest, anger and sadness mixing together. He wasn’t just late—he had gone somewhere else entirely, without even telling her. He had time for an event but not for their anniversary.

Her fingers hovered over the phone, wanting to call him again, but she knew it wouldn’t change anything. He wasn’t coming.

With a heavy sigh, she stood up, her heart feeling heavier than her feet as she trudged back toward their apartment. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it, knowing it wasn’t from him.

The walk back felt longer than usual, her mind replaying the excitement she’d felt that morning—how she’d looked forward to tonight, how she’d thought this anniversary would be a rare moment where they could be like any other couple. But instead, she was left alone, walking home in the dim light, her hands stuffed in her pockets to keep warm.

Finally, she reached the front door of their apartment building. Pausing for a moment, she glanced back at the empty street, a small part of her still hoping to see him running toward her, apologizing for being late. But the street remained empty, quiet, just like the unanswered messages on her phone.

With a deep breath, she entered the building and climbed the stairs to their apartment. As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the stillness of the apartment felt colder than the air outside. No flowers, no candles, no sign that today was any different from any other day.

She sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the wall, the weight of disappointment settling in her chest like a stone. All she wanted was to be with him, to feel like she mattered, like they mattered. But tonight, she felt more alone than ever.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You never cared about trying to get my forgiveness.

Don’t let us be covered in scars.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. Y/n sat on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest, hugging a small black cat stuffed animal that Taesan had won for her on one of their early dates. Her eyes were red-rimmed, tears brimming but not falling. She stared blankly at her phone, an article open on the screen, the words blurring in front of her.

The jingle of keys at the door signaled his arrival. The door creaked open, and Taesan stepped in, exhaustion heavy in his posture. He looked worn from the day, his hair disheveled, still in his stage clothes. He let out a deep sigh as he kicked off his shoes, glancing toward her, not immediately noticing the tension in the air.

"Hey," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "I'm home."

Y/n didn’t respond, her gaze locked on him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she clutched the stuffed animal tighter. Her chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid.

He finally noticed her silence, his eyes narrowing in concern. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice more annoyed than gentle. He was too tired for this—whatever this was.

She didn’t speak at first, just held out her phone toward him, the screen illuminating her tear-filled eyes. He frowned, walking over to take it from her hand. When he looked at the screen, his expression immediately shifted.

It was a news article—another baseless rumor. His name splashed across the headline alongside another female idol, the two of them speculated to be in a relationship. There were photos from a backstage event, carefully cropped and captioned to imply intimacy where none existed.

He groaned, already dreading the conversation. "You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

"Is this why you’re never around anymore?" Y/n finally spoke, her voice small but laced with hurt. Her eyes, shining with unshed tears, held a mixture of frustration, sadness, and fear. "Because of her?"

His jaw clenched, frustration quickly overtaking his fatigue. "What? No. It’s just a rumor," he snapped, throwing his hands up. "You really believe that crap? I told you not to pay attention to those things."

"But you’re never here anymore!" Her voice cracked as she stood up, still hugging the stuffed cat to her chest. "You’re always too busy, too tired, or too... distant. And then I see this and—" She broke off, shaking her head, tears spilling over now. "How am I supposed to feel? Am I supposed to just ignore it when you’re gone all the time?"

"I’m working!" he fired back, the anger rising in his chest. "I’m busting my ass for this career, for us—but you’re here, worried about some stupid tabloid story? Where’s the trust?"

"Trust?" she repeated, incredulous. "How can I trust you when you don’t even talk to me anymore? When you don’t make time for me at all? Do you even care about this relationship?"

Her words cut deep, but his frustration was too overwhelming to process the hurt beneath them. "Of course I care! But you’re suffocating me with all these doubts. Every time I come home, it’s something like this. You worry too much."

"I worry because I care!" Her voice broke, raw with emotion. "Because I love you, and I feel like I’m losing you—like you’re slipping away and I can’t do anything about it."

The silence that followed was deafening. They stood there, staring at each other, both breathing heavily from the intensity of the argument.

Taesan rubbed his temples, his voice lowering but still tense. "This is ridiculous. It’s just a rumor. I’m tired, and I don’t want to do this right now."

"You never want to do this," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, her chest heaving as she tried to control the sobs threatening to spill over. "Fine."

With a quiet, bitter laugh, she turned and walked toward their bedroom. "I’m done with this conversation. Go sleep at your dorm or wherever it is you’d rather be."

His eyes followed her as she disappeared down the hallway, her door closing softly behind her, though the emotional slam still reverberated through him.

He stood there for a long moment, his anger simmering down into guilt, exhaustion pulling at him from all sides. He didn’t want to fight, but it always seemed to end up this way. They always ended up like this—torn apart by his career, by misunderstandings, by everything he didn’t have time to fix.

With a heavy sigh, Taesan grabbed his jacket and keys, heading back toward the door. The silence of the apartment felt unbearable now.

As he stepped out into the cold night air, he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked toward his group’s dorm, his mind filled with everything left unsaid, wondering how they had come to this.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

When the stars in the sky all sleep, I feel so dark, my body feels inexplicably cold

The night air was heavy, thick with a silence that seemed to press down on everything. The small park near their apartment was a place once filled with memories—their late-night walks, quiet conversations, stolen moments—but now it felt distant, like something from another lifetime.

Taesan stood at the edge of the path, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his breath visible in the cool air. He hadn’t been back here in weeks, not since he’d started staying at his group’s dorm. It felt strange now, almost foreign.

His eyes shifted as he saw Y/n approaching slowly from the other side of the park. His heart clenched at the sight of her, though he couldn’t quite place why. She looked…different. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow, the dark bags beneath them evident even in the dim light. The spark, the warmth he always loved in her eyes, was gone. She looked like someone who had been carrying the weight of the world for too long.

She stopped a few steps away from him, the space between them feeling like a chasm.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked, his voice quiet but carrying an edge of tension. He already had a sinking feeling in his chest, but he wasn’t ready to confront it.

Y/n looked at him for a long moment, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out at first. She shifted her weight, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.

"I’m tired," she finally said, her voice flat, void of emotion. "I’m tired of waiting for you. Of waiting for us to feel like it used to." Her eyes met his, and the emptiness in them hit him like a punch to the gut. "I can’t keep doing this."

His heart stuttered in his chest, but he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, trying to process her words, hoping this wasn’t what he thought it was.

“I’m done,” she continued, her voice firmer this time, as if she had rehearsed these words over and over in her head before finally saying them. “I don’t want to have to keep waiting on you, waiting for something to change. I feel like I’m always waiting.”

The silence between them was unbearable now, but he couldn’t find the right words to say. His throat felt tight, like any response he tried to form would only come out broken.

She wasn’t crying—there were no tears. She wasn’t angry. Just…done. It made it worse somehow. He would’ve preferred her to scream at him, to be angry, to throw something, but this quiet resignation was shattering him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“You’re not the same,” she whispered, her voice barely audible but sharp enough to cut through the air between them. "I don’t recognize you anymore. And I know you’re tired too. Tired of me, of this... You don’t need to say it. I can see it every time you walk out the door and don’t come back until late or not at all."

He wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong, that things could be different, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because a part of him knew she was right. He hadn’t been present—not really. His career had consumed him, and in the process, he had let her slip away. He let them slip away.

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes momentarily glancing down at the ground before meeting his gaze again. "I loved you," she said softly. "I still do, but I can’t keep holding onto something that’s already gone."

His chest tightened painfully, and he took a small step forward, as if to reach for her, but stopped himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t even know if he could.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, though it was unclear if she was apologizing to him or to herself.

And then, she turned around, her figure illuminated only by the faint glow of the park’s streetlights. She didn’t run. She didn’t storm off. She just walked away, her back to him, her shoulders slightly hunched as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

He stood there, frozen in place, his heart breaking with every step she took. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He could only watch as she walked further and further away, her silhouette fading into the distance until she was nothing more than a distant memory in the night.

The cold settled into his bones, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He felt numb, like everything inside him had shattered and there was nothing left but the aching emptiness where she used to be. The night stretched on, and the only sound that filled the silence was the faint rustling of leaves in the wind, as the world around him continued on, unaware that his had just fallen apart.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I don’t need the hottest and best car.

I don’t need to be the best pop star.

I want to express myself, but I messed up.

What’s there to lose! My heart’s already half empty.

The studio’s lights were harsh, reflecting off the mirrors that lined the walls. The steady beat of the music thumped through the room, filling the space with energy, but Taesan’s movements felt sluggish, disconnected from the rhythm. He was usually so precise, so in sync with the choreography, but today he couldn’t seem to get it right.

"Again," the instructor called out, clapping their hands sharply, frustration seeping into their voice. "You’re off, Taesan. Focus."

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow, though it felt like the sweat wasn’t the problem—it was the weight pressing on his chest. They started the routine again, but halfway through, his steps faltered. His foot missed the mark, his body off-beat. He felt his group members glance at him in concern, but he kept his head down, trying to push through.

"Stop!" the instructor barked, cutting the music abruptly. "Take five. Taesan, get it together."

He didn’t respond, just stood there, panting, his hands on his knees. The others slowly moved to the sides of the room to grab water or stretch. Taesan didn’t move. His mind was spinning, but not about the dance. His thoughts kept drifting to her—Y/n. The look on her face when she walked away, the sound of her voice when she said she was done, the quiet resignation in her eyes. It haunted him.

It was all he could think about.

He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to clear his head, but it was no use. The more he tried to shake it off, the more the memories flooded back. The last argument, the tension that had been building for months, how he had shrugged her off when she needed him most.

“Hey, man. You good?” Jaehyun asked, cautiously approaching him with a bottle of water in hand.

Taesan shook his head slightly, forcing a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the tightness in his voice said otherwise.

“You’re not,” Leehan said bluntly, walking over with the rest of the group. "You’ve been off all day. What’s going on?"

He opened his mouth to respond with something dismissive, something to brush them off like he always did when things got too personal, but this time, he couldn’t. His chest ached too much. The guilt, the regret—it was all bubbling up inside him, and he couldn’t keep it down any longer.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he quickly looked away, swallowing hard. He hated this. Hated feeling this vulnerable, especially in front of them.

His group members exchanged glances, clearly worried.

“I miss her,” he finally whispered, barely audible.

“What?” Riwoo leaned in closer, frowning.

“I miss her,” he repeated, louder this time, though his voice wavered. “I miss Y/n… so much.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the usual energy drained as his words settled in.

“I screwed up,” he said, his hands trembling slightly as he raked them through his hair. “I didn’t realize what I had until she was gone. And now—” He paused, his throat tightening, the memories of their breakup flashing in his mind. “Now it’s too late. I hurt her, I wasn’t there when she needed me, and she left. I don’t blame her.”

His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

“I regret everything,” he admitted, his voice strained, raw. “Everything that led to us falling apart. I pushed her away, I was so wrapped up in my own life that I didn’t see how much I was losing her.” His hand clenched into a fist. "I thought I could balance everything, but… I couldn’t. I failed her.”

His group members stood in stunned silence. Taesan was always the one who kept things together, the one who didn’t let his emotions get the better of him. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable, so broken, was a shock.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t think I can. She’s done with me, and I can’t blame her. I’ve been a terrible boyfriend… and a terrible person.”

Sungho stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he said bitterly, looking down at the floor. “I still love her. I never stopped. But she’s gone, and it’s all my fault.”

“You’re human, Taesan hyung,” Woonhak said, his tone gentle. “People make mistakes.”

“Not like this,” Taesan muttered, shaking his head. “She waited for me. She was patient, and I took her for granted. I should’ve been there for her.”

His group members shared worried glances, unsure of what to say. They had never seen him like this—so lost, so regretful.

“It’s not too late,” Jaehyun offered hesitantly. “You can still reach out to her, talk to her—”

“She’s done with me,” Taesan interrupted, his voice flat. “She said she’s tired of waiting, and I can’t blame her. I would’ve left me too.”

He slumped down onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall, his head in his hands. The silence stretched on for what felt like forever, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioning in the studio.

His group members sat down around him, unsure of how to help, but unwilling to leave him alone. They could see how much pain he was in, and it hurt to see their usually composed, confident friend in pieces like this.

“I’m sorry,” Taesan whispered again, more to himself than anyone else. "I’m so sorry, Y/n."

And for the first time in a long time, he let the tears fall.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Through the whole night, you’re no longer in my sight.

Maybe everyone feels the same, but time goes by too fast.

The air backstage was charged with excitement, a low hum of activity as the staff rushed around making final preparations. Taesan sat quietly in a corner, his hands resting on his lap, staring at the floor as the muffled cheers of the crowd reached his ears. The energy of the arena was palpable, but inside, he felt a familiar weight pressing down on his chest.

It had been a few months since the breakup. Since the day she’d said she was done. He hadn’t realized how hard it would hit him—how much he’d miss her. Even now, the thought of her still tugged at his heart, the hurt still raw even though time had passed.

"Taesan, you good?" Sungho asked, breaking through his thoughts as they finished a huddle nearby.

He glanced up, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, I’m fine."

They’d asked him that a lot lately, and every time he said the same thing. He had to be fine. He had no other choice. Being an idol meant putting on a perfect face, no matter what was going on behind the scenes. It was all part of the job, and he owed it to his fans to give them everything he had. But the truth was, no matter how much time passed, she never really left his mind.

A staff member approached, headset in place, clipboard in hand. "Five minutes until showtime."

His group gave a collective nod, standing up to stretch and prepare. Taesan rose to his feet, brushing off his outfit, and took a deep breath. He could feel the adrenaline starting to build, the anticipation of the stage waiting for him. This was his world now—his stage, his music, his fans. He had to focus on that.

But as his mind drifted back to her—her smile, the sound of her laugh, the way she used to wait up for him—his chest tightened again. The ache that hadn’t fully healed throbbed beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

"Focus," he whispered to himself, closing his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t let this affect him now. Not here. Not when the world was watching.

The fans were already screaming, chanting their names, and he knew the second he stepped onto that stage, he had to be the idol they all adored—the one who smiled for them, who gave them his all, no matter what was happening in his personal life.

A deep breath. He opened his eyes as the staff gave the signal.

“It’s time,” one of his group members said, nudging him gently. "Let’s go."

He nodded, shaking off the last traces of his wandering thoughts. Putting on his best smile—the smile that had charmed millions—he stepped in line with his group as they prepared to walk onto the stage.

The music swelled through the speakers, and the moment the curtains parted, a wave of sound crashed over them. The roar of the crowd, the flashing lights, the sea of fans waving lightsticks—it was everything he’d worked for, everything he loved.

He couldn’t let them down.

As they walked out, the fans’ cheers grew louder, the energy electric. He felt it surge through him, pushing the heaviness of his emotions to the back of his mind. The stage was where he belonged, and for now, that had to be enough.

But even as he smiled, danced, and sang, giving his all to the performance, a part of him still carried her with him—her memory, her absence. He knew he had to move on, but it wasn’t that simple. She had been a part of him for so long, and the love he had for her didn’t just disappear. He was still learning how to live with that ache.

As the music thumped in his ears and the fans sang along to every word, he forced himself to be present, to let the performance carry him. But every now and then, between the beats, he could feel her shadow lingering in the back of his mind.

And when the concert was over, and the adrenaline faded, he knew she’d be there waiting in the back of his mind—just as she always had been.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Finally, the wounds have scabbed over, but am I still thinking about it?

The room was dimly lit by the slivers of moonlight that slipped through the half-drawn blinds. The quiet hum of the air conditioner was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. Taesan lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a contemplative expression. The shadows cast by the moonlight danced across the walls, but his focus remained on the blank expanse above him.

He was in his shared dorm room with Woonhak, who was already fast asleep, snoring softly. Taesan had been lying awake for hours, his mind racing through thoughts he couldn’t seem to quiet.

It had been five months since the breakup. He had made significant progress—he wasn’t as heartbroken as he once was, and his days were filled with the busyness of his idol life. But despite all that, thoughts of Y/n still occupied a corner of his mind.

He wondered about her often. What was she doing now? Was she happier without him? Was she moving on with her life, creating new memories, and finding joy in things that didn’t include him? The questions lingered, and even though he tried to push them away, they always seemed to return.

He remembered their last conversation, the look in her eyes when she had ended things. It wasn’t anger or resentment but a calm, resolute sadness. He had always wished he could go back and fix things, do better, be the person she deserved.

Turning his head slightly, he glanced over at the small bedside clock—it was well past midnight. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shifted uncomfortably. The ache of missing her wasn’t as sharp as it once was, but it was still there, a gentle, persistent throb that reminded him of the love they had shared.

He recalled the little moments they had—walking in the park, sharing secrets, the way she used to laugh at his jokes, the sparkle in her eyes when she listened to his songs. Those memories were bittersweet now, tinged with the sadness of knowing that those times were in the past.

He wondered if she ever thought about him. Did she ever look back and remember the good times? Did she ever miss him, even just a little? The curiosity gnawed at him, but he didn’t have any answers. He had made the decision to give her space, to let her heal and move on, but it didn’t make the longing any easier.

He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to see her again, to talk to her, to hear her voice. He hoped that wherever she was, she was happy. He hoped she had found the peace and joy that they both deserved.

As he lay there, the weight of his thoughts became a little heavier. He had learned to live with the separation, to accept it as part of his journey, but that didn’t mean it was easy. The nights like these were the hardest—when the world was quiet, and the only thing he had was the memory of what once was.

Eventually, he forced himself to turn away from the ceiling, pulling the covers closer as he tried to settle into a more comfortable position. It was a futile attempt to silence his racing mind, but he knew that some things would take time to fully resolve.

For now, he would focus on his work, on the present, and try to hold onto the hope that things would get better. And maybe, just maybe, someday he would get the closure he needed. Until then, he would carry on, living his life while cherishing the memories of what they once had.

He finally drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of her slowly fading into the background, though never completely out of reach.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

I realize I can live without you, but I once decided to grow old with you.

How much loneliness and struggle remain pierced in my heart.

The crisp autumn air was cool against his skin as Taesan and his group members strolled down the street. Their faces were concealed behind masks and sunglasses, a necessary precaution to avoid being recognized. Despite their disguises, the atmosphere was relaxed, and they enjoyed the rare chance to go out incognito.

They chatted casually, their conversation punctuated by laughter as they approached a quaint café they had heard good things about. The cozy little place had a warm glow that contrasted with the chilly evening air.

As they reached the entrance, Taesan was the last to go inside. Just as he was about to cross the threshold, the door swung open and someone bumped into him.

Startled, he looked down, his heart skipping a beat when he saw who it was.

It was her. Y/n.

She looked different—brighter, happier. Her hair was shorter, framing her face in a way that seemed to enhance her natural beauty. And her eyes—those eyes that used to be so full of sadness—were now sparkling with a joy he hadn’t seen in a long time.

They locked eyes for a split second, and he felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite place—hope, regret, longing. He stood frozen, caught between the urge to speak and the overwhelming surge of emotions.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and apologetic as she quickly stepped back. She didn’t seem to recognize him, her focus more on the minor collision than on the person she bumped into.

“No problem,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

She flashed him a quick, polite smile before turning and walking away, her figure gradually diminishing as she moved down the street.

Taesan stood there, watching her retreat, his heart pounding. The moment felt surreal—seeing her like this, so changed, so content. It was as if the universe had given him one more chance to make things right, and he wasn’t sure if he should let it slip away.

“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” Riwoo called out from inside the café. “Let’s go!”

Still reeling from the encounter, Taesan snapped back to reality. He turned towards the café, where his friends waited, but something inside him urged him to follow her—to find out if this new version of her was truly as happy as she seemed.

Without a word, he pulled his mask and glasses off and turned on his heel, rushing out of the café. His group members called after him, confusion evident in their voices, but he ignored them, his focus entirely on the woman who had just walked away.

He sprinted down the street, glancing around, his heart racing as he searched for any sign of her. The sight of her figure, walking away with a spring in her step, seemed to guide him forward, pushing him to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

Every step felt heavy with anticipation, each breath a mix of excitement and anxiety. He didn’t know what he’d say or what he hoped to find, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a chance he couldn’t let slip by.

Finally, he spotted her again, standing on the corner, waiting for a bus. With a deep breath, he approached, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Y/n!” he called out, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

She turned, a look of surprise crossing her face as she recognized the urgency in his voice. Her eyes widened as they met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything around them seemed to disappear and it was only them there. Y/n’s look of surprise turns into a smile, her sparkling eyes meeting him.

“Hi.”

★🎸🎧⋆｡ °⋆

PART TWO VER.1 -- VER.2 | MASTERLIST

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teatreeoilll · 8 months

Text

The first time you brush your hand against Yuta Okkotsu’s arm, he feels a shiver rush up his spine, followed by a deep blush burning on his pale cheeks.

It’s an accident, he thinks; hardly any reason for you to touch him when you’ve merely greeted each other in the hall.

By the second time, he’s curious - the light touch of your fingers lingers on his palm when you reach - quite deliberately - for the same pot of coffee on the counter, inciting a brief ‘No, please, you go first’ back and forth interaction before you finally wrap your fingers around the coffee pot’s handle.

But maybe his head is just making things up, depraved of touch for so long that he thinks it means something.

The third time takes all doubt off his mind; your warm palm lays flat on his as you sit next to him at a stranger’s party, listening to some guy babble on and on about current affairs, nodding so often your neck hurts. Slowly, you lift your hand, leaving one finger to trace letters on his palm, his eyes honed in on the way it moves against his skin, ‘O’, ‘U’, ‘T’, and a squiggle to pose as a question mark.

The fourth time, he’s the one who reaches hesitantly for your hand as it rests against the porch rail, rubbing small circles against the back of it while muttering softly over the music still playing inside, “It’s cold, isn’t it?” Feeling you draw closer to him, humming in agreement as you lean a head on his shoulder.

#yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #jjk x you #yuuta x you #yuuta fluff

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aealzx · 1 year

Text

“You want to know why we didn’t think to ask you for help? It’s because we never had to ask anyone. Not when it really mattered. When we really need him, dad’s just there. And you’re not.”

Leo had a point. And while Draxum was half marveling at how he didn’t have a comeback towards a teenager when he would have before, he also realized Leo still didn’t like him. And it was probably going to take a lot more than words to change that. Luckily for them others had heard the yelling and came to break up the fight. It was happening less often, but Leo still felt guilty that it did. Especially when Splinter did so in this manner.

“Leonardo?”

Splinter’s voice was soft, questioning, and far from the usual scolding tone he got when the boys were being noisy. It caused Leo to flinch and grip the crutches in his hands harder. He had it under control. They didn’t need Draxum. There was nothing mystical going on this time. Mikey was fine. They didn’t need him.

“...Leo,” Splinter called again, noting how Leo was deliberately looking away from anyone. Moving over quietly, Splinter reached out to rest his hand on Leo’s, keeping it there even when Leo flinched again. “Come with me, Leo,” Splinter directed, turning to leave the kitchen, but not actually moving until Leo started to reluctantly follow him.

Leaving Mikey to deal with Draxum, knowing that Mikey was still the best for that next to Raph, Splinter led Leo back to his own room, raising his hand to Leo’s back as they moved. Leo was tense, and probably expected a scalding lecture. Even when they reached the room and Splinter closed the door behind them Leo remained standing at the entrance, pointedly not looking at anything.

“Leo…,” Splinter called once he had settled to kneel on his bed, flat on the floor where he liked it. After a stretch of silence, when he realized Splinter wouldn’t move or speak again until he responded, Leo slowly looked up at him. “Come here,” Splinter directed quietly, patting the bed in front of him.

Smothering down a sigh that halfway escaped, Leo hobbled over to the bed to drop down to his knees, setting the crutches aside and placing his hands on his lap. He was ready to get the lecture over with, but to his surprise Splinter’s hand reached out to snatch his upper arm and yank him forward. With a blink Leo went from looking at the quilt on the bed, to having to turn his head to look up from his dad’s lap instead of into his belly.

“Your shoulders are so stiff. And when did you get such dark bags under your eyes?” Splinter complained, focusing on things that seemed completely unrelated to anything that had happened lately while he poked at Leo’s shoulders and the back of his neck before slipping his bandana off and tossing it aside.

“Pff- Dad, what-? Wait, I have to go-” Leo sputtered a slight laugh, taken off guard by the completely different reaction to what he was expecting. He had to get up before he got too comfortable there. Things still needed to be done. Donnie needed looking after. Mikey could use help. Raph needed… something. Leo was sure he needed something.

But Splinter just rested his hands on him, gently keeping him in place. “You need a break, Leonardo,” he countered, releasing one hand to start rubbing Leo’s back absently. “Take some time here, in the quiet, and recover for a bit. I know your ankle is bothering you. It’s not good to be so stressed.”

Leo hadn’t been expecting to be told to take a break. Usually he felt like he was always being told to take things seriously. Stop messing around. He found he felt a little uncomfortable at the change. A little worried. “I don’t….”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Raphael will take over for now. That’s why both of you are leaders now. So both of you can take a break when you need it,” Splinter insisted, giving Leo a few pats before finally looking down to meet his gaze instead of examining everywhere else. “So rest. Papa is here.”

It was such a simple command and assurance, but Leo found that a lot of pent up emotion from recent events and events from over the past weeks he hadn’t realized he’d expertly shoved away bubbled over. And maybe he just noticed it more now, but his ankle seemed to take the chance to throb worse than before. Pursing his trembling lips together, Leo relented with the most pathetic noise of acceptance he’d ever heard from himself and shifted to bury his face in Splinter’s lap.

“There’s my Baby Blue,” Splinter just chuckled softly, cupping the back of Leo’s head and back and rubbing his fingers gently.

--------

Previous Next

____________________

I had to rush this a lil 'cause I wanted to get it up before running to bed for work X'DD lil papa love for Leo, 'cause he deserves it

also do you ever stop in the middle of writing and think "wait.... what happened before the part I started writing? 8 |" boy so stressed out in my head and I can't place why |D

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leo #splinter #hugs #fluff #long post #writing

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a-slut-for-smut · 1 year

Text

Filthy

“Gojo! What the fuck do you think you’re doing???” Utahime glares at him, the handheld showerhead positioned underneath her thighs to wash him out of her.

He frowned at that; stepping in and grabbing the showerhead from her hand, reattaching it to the wall and drawing the curtain closed without breaking eye contact once. He appraises her darkly, the same look as when he pressed her into the counter- his eyes demanding obedience. Compliance. Submission.

She swallows thickly, her eyes shifting to his equally if not thicker erection, and then back at him. “Gojo…” she starts, warily.

“I thought I could offer you a hand” he says with a cheshire grin, and before she could react he instantly has her back pressed against the wall, two fingers plunging deep inside her.

@nsfwgoutaweek2023 Day 4 "Dom/Sub"

*****************

As Utahime recovers, she aggressively grabs his shirt, pulling him up towards her. “Inside me- right fucking now! ” Her tone desperate and threatening.

He’s painfully hard and wanted to oblige her more than anything; it took all his willpower to ask- “But a condom…?”

“FUCK the condom Gojo, just fuck me already!!!” She's shouting, her eyes wild.

He didn’t need to be told twice, immediately stripped himself of his shirt and pants and burying the entirety of him into her aching heat. He sucks in a sharp breath from the sweet ache- nearing painful- of sheer ecstasy of finally being fully encased within her hot, naked walls. He let out a strangled moan in appreciation; she had always felt so good, but her bare walls were utterly divine . He doesn’t know if he could ever go back, he wanted nothing more than to tear down every possible barrier between them- physically and metaphorically.

“Gojo, what the fuck are you waiting for??” Utahime demands harshly, wiggling her hips in a bid to get him to move.

Her voice snaps him back into reality; her tone feeding a desire to annoy, no, to torture her to her breaking point. His eyes fall on the water glass next to them. A smirk spreads across his face, reaching for it to take a deliberately long sip which successfully served to add to Utahime’s impatience.

“Come on, you fuck!!!” She whined angrily.

“Have patience Senpai. I’m still thirsty even after drinking from you.” He takes another languid sip before eyeing her darkly, his tone hardening. “You know, you’re looking a bit warm yourself …but I think I can help you out.”

With his other hand he presses her shoulder down so she's lying flat on the counter; the dark shift in his countenance makes all resistance melt from her body, leaving only willing obedience.

“Stay like this.” He commanded. She obeyed, her arms resting beside her head, offering the whole of her body to him.

“That’s a good Senpai…” he praised, as he tipped the glass above her, spilling a trickle of water along her chest as she gasped, allowing the liquid to soak the material so it clung to her breasts. The coldness immediately pebbled her nipples, standing at full attention from the temperature shift.

Satisfied, Gojo set the glass back down on the counter before lowering his head to suck on each of her clothed peaks, grazing his teeth on her nipples so they stood more prominently against the soaked material. From her breasts he moves to the valley between them, languidly dragging his tongue up the course of her scar, lapping up the excess water that had pooled there. She’s a mess of whimpers and mewls, involuntary clenching around him- much to his delight.

“Gojo…please…” she pleads breathily, her eyes glazed.

His cock pulsates at her plea, the look of desperate desire on her face, the neediness in her voice. He realizes this might be more torturous for him than her, rising back up to grip her thighs against his chest while withdrawing before sharply thrusting back in. She gasps again, her breasts snapping up and down at the force of his movements. With all his eyes he inescapably notices how the material of her robe slid a few millimeters down to the side.

He grins darkly; repeating his movements progressively with more force, delighting in the ebb and flow of her bosom, with each thrust gradually increasing in speed, teasing the promise of further exposing more and more flesh until finally- the culminating climatic release as her breasts burst free from the confines of her robe.

The hypnotic dance of her naked breasts bouncing up and down was so visicerally intoxicating, he couldn’t tear his eyes away as they swung and rolled freely due to his thrusts. Fuck- he knew he was done for- his control rapidly unraveling as an aching heat quickly flooded in his groin.

“Fuck- Utahime- I’m…I’m gonna cum…” he choked out, his rhythm bordering on frantic. His eyes searched hers for direction, permission, anything- he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Utahime bit back a moan, her orgasm also fastly cresting but she steeled herself at his words, resolved to get back at him for his teasing, her response is ground out through clenched teeth.

“Yeah?” Her voice is strained and breathy, “So what, you gonna cum inside me kouhai? Or cum on my fucking tits?”

If scientific proof was ever needed that spontaneous combustion was possible based on a few trigger words, then this was it. Gojo shouted as his climax erupted through him, his hips still manically plunging into her, drawing her own shuddering orgasm which left her gasping for breath as she arched her back at the sheer intensity of it. He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, his lungs on fire.

They spent a few moments collecting their breath, basking in the afterglow before Gojo spoke. “You okay?” Gojo asked softly.

“Yeah…pass me that kitchen towel, will you?”

He obliged, pressing it to her core before withdrawing. She grimaced as she began to wipe herself.

She sighs. “Thanks for the full blown syphilis by the way. And the dozens of other diseases you’re riddled with.”

“SENPAI SO MEAN!” He lamented. “I’m clean, I swear! I’ve never not used protection, ever. You’re the first. I swear.”

“Sure you are. Well, at least you don’t have to worry about knocking me up, you're lucky I’ve been on birth control.” She replies over her shoulder as she waddles herself to the bathroom.

Gojo watches her go, biting his lip. Her words do something to him, awaken something primal, an unabating drive within him. His cock twitches, still hard and coated with himself and her slick. He decides he very much likes the idea of saturating her bare womb full of his seed, repeatedly, over and over again. He marches to the bathroom, the shower already running when he draws back the curtain with purpose.

“Gojo! What the fuck do you think you’re doing???” Utahime glares at him, the handheld showerhead positioned underneath her thighs to wash him out of her.

She swallows thickly, her eyes shifting to his very thick erection and back at him. “Gojo…” she starts, warily.

“I thought I could offer you a hand” he says with a cheshire grin, and before she could react he has her back pressed against the wall, two fingers plunging deep into her cunt, thumb viciously rubbing her clit. Utahime cried out from the shock of it all; the ambush, the intensity as he fucked her with his fingers, his heated gaze on her face as it twisted and contorted with pleasure.

“FUCK! Gojo, it's too much, it's too much!” she manages to gasp out, clutching and digging her nails into his shoulders.

“Oh yeah? It’s too much?” He swiftly twirls her around, facing her to the wall then ramming himself to the hilt in one fluid stroke as she cries out again. “How about that? Is that too much?” He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, ruthlessly pistoning in and out of her.

Water sprays down their bodies as she howls like a beast in heat, face and arms pressed against the tiles as he fucks her savagely; one hand gripping her neck and the other steadying her hips- his cock electrified with a singular goal, hell-bent on completing its mission.

Fuck shes so sensitive, so fucking sensitive she doesn’t even try to keep herself at bay as she cums hard - trembling, choking. Gojo doesn’t let up, in fact, taking her with even more speed and force. The change up breaks up her howling into short, staccato noises, she coming again almost instantly followed by a hoarse shout from him, but still he’s relentless, triggering subsequent rolling orgasms due to her sensitivity- she couldn’t stop cumming, she couldnt even fucking breathe .

She’s dry heaving and choking for air when the orchestra of sounds from their brutal joining finally reaches a crescendo as a loud, throaty moan tears from Gojo’s throat, spurting deep within her- his body is not his own as he crushes her against the wall, sharply rutting up into her- cock determined to coat every last inch of her with his seed.

The bathroom air is heavy with steam; the coda only comprising of the soft sounds of the shower spray and panting breaths.

Gojo, resting his chin upon her head, is the first to come back into himself and break the silence.

“See, Senpai? I told you I’d make it worth your while” he murmurs contently into her ear.

Utahime, face still pressed against the tile, growls in response. “Fuck Gojo, I’m not your little cum dumpster. You can’t just bust your nut in me whenever you want.”

He chuckles into her hair. “Hmm…I think I have a great new pet name for you”

“Go fuck yourself Gojo! I’m serious, you fucked me raw.”

He pulls back from her instantly. “Did I hurt you?” The concern is plain on his face.

“No, no I’m good…real good, actually. Just…tired. I think the heat from the shower is making me lightheaded.”

Gojo nods, shutting off the shower and reaches for her towel and begins to dry her. He then wraps in it, lifting her bridal style and carrying her to the bedroom where he sets her down gently.

“Better? Can I make you some tea or something?” he asks as he strokes her hair tenderly.

She offers a small tired smile, her eyelids heavy. “No its okay…I think I just need to rest for a bit”

Her eyes are already closed when he maneuvers himself to her side, on top of the covers. He figured he’d air dry as he pulled her close, spooning her. She murmured softly, settling into his chest contently. He listened to her deep breaths, the sounds soothing him as he struggled to recall the last time he had felt this happy.

He could not.

*********************

gahh these prompts are too on point i cant resist sharing 😅 more smut here 😇

#gojohime #gojo satoru #iori utahime #gouta week #gouta week 2023 #gojo x utahime #gouta #jujutsu kaisen #utahime iori #satoru gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #jjk utahime #gojohime fanfic #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk #smut

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sodamnradd · 1 year

Text

“Could I stay with you for a while?”

It’s a terrible idea. The two of them sharing a space again guarantees two things: sex and heartbreak. Followed by unbearable try-hard cordiality as they split off into what they label an 'amicable breakup’.

Only amicable because Draco can never say no to her and Hermione knows it.

She moves in the next morning.

Draco’s flat is spacious. A duplex with soaring picture windows and five spare rooms. Yet somehow Granger is everywhere.

Her books are stacked high on his once fashionably minimal side tables. A stockpile of produce has overthrown all the meat in his refrigerator, ‘cows are friends, not food, Draco’. (Riveting, her new diet.) His wine stash is near depleted. And there are ring stains all over his furniture because she is still incapable of using a coaster.

By day five, Granger has found a permanent place in his bed.

She sounds the same when she orgasms. His name parting her lips like praise. Her skin inconceivably soft when she’s flushed and sated, nestled in his arms.

Eventually, he simply can’t take his hands off her.

A swift kiss on the curve of her neck while she’s brushing her teeth. Seeking her out after an hour or two in another room, realising he hasn’t touched her in a while and he misses her.

Eleven days later, Draco is bleakly aware he's in love again.

Eighth-year love. All touch and teasing and taste and torment.

The sensations come rushing back. Being stubborn and seventeen and utterly obsessed with Hermione Granger. Convinced his heart was shrivelled up, only to learn it just needed someone to beat the life back into it.

Recently, he wonders if he ever stopped loving her.

One evening, over dinner and the last bottle of vintage, he quits ruminating and just asks her. “Remind me why we broke up?”

Her knife grates porcelain, cutting her cauliflower steak into bite-sized pieces. “I moved to Australia, and you had to stay here, tending to your mother and manor.”

She looks up at him, mouth twisting. “We got into an argument.”

“Oh.” He remembers now. “Weasley was going with you.”

“And Harry.”

He shakes his head, refusing to rehash it all. “You told me not to come.”

“Because your mother was unwell, and you had plans to sell your home. You had responsibilities, Draco. Just as I did.”

“Didn’t you know I would have done anything for you?” He drops his fork and knife, his appetite spoiled. “I even agreed to stay friends after you broke my heart.”

“We can’t abstain from one another’s lives,” she insists stubbornly. “It’s impossible for us.”

He sighs as an impending headache blooms at the back of his skull. “Why are you here, Hermione? Couldn’t you have stayed with Potter?”

Beneath the table, he senses a nudge on his ankle. Her skin is starkly cold and the look she gives him is all trouble as she strokes his leg with her foot.

Draco’s disappointment obscures, quickly drowned out by his heartbeat.

“Where did you learn to smirk like that?” Admiration bleeds into his voice.

“I had a Slytherin roommate once.”

“Lucky you.”

“Very,” she agrees, drawing lazy lines over his shin. “He had a way of surprising me.”

“Surprise you how?”

“By making me love him.” She rests her chin on her hands, looking up at him through long smoky lashes. “I loved him even after we broke up, and I love him now.”

“Hermione…” Draco swallows heavily as reality creeps in. “You’re only going to leave again.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Now, she looks positively devilish.

“What does that mean?”

“We fell in love like this, sharing a home.”

Something trivial, like hope, passes through his veins. “You’re not really waiting on a new flat, are you?”

She gives him a sheepish look. “Not unless it’s this one.”

He laughs so hard, Crookshanks startles off the counter and lightning-bolts across the room, yowling.

Draco jumps to his feet, drags Granger’s seat back, and scoops her up into his arms. “I get half the bookshelf space.”

“A third, but you can have the larger shoe closet.”

He pretends to deliberate, before sealing the deal with a kiss. “Fine.”

(705 words, prompt: amicable breakup)

#dramione #dramione drabble #sodamnrad #getting the nano words in #draco malfoy x hermione granger #draco malfoy #hermione granger #sodamnraddrabbles

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strwbrrykss · 2 years

Text

𝖍𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖓 𝖘𝖊𝖊𝖐 | 𝖉. 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗

{𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡} 𝐷𝑎𝑦 𝑇𝑤𝑜: Hide N Seek 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟: Dean Winchester 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: THIS IS AN 18+/MDNI EVENT, language, sub!reader, Dom!Dean(ish), teasing, sex in unconventional places, prey/predator type of vibes, oral (m + f), overstimulation if you squint, lmk if I missed anything!

[A/N: Day two babbyyy! This one is a little more removed from canon as I couldn’t think of any other way to make it happen, so it’s a little short, but nonetheless, here we go! As always, reblogs and feedback are golden and would definitely keep me motivated for this event - I’m always excited to hear what you think! - L]

-/-/-

At first glance, the abandoned mall was a bad place to play a game like this. However, it was the first time in months that there was no imminent danger for either of you.

“C’mon, darlin’... You can’t hide forever,” Dean taunted, his voice echoing around the empty walkways and storefronts. A giddiness took over you as you stayed put behind a staggered display counter. The sound of each approaching foot step sent butterflies to your stomach.

“But you know what’s gonna happen if I find you...” That was the thrilling part in all of this. What had started as a stupid What If had transpired to what it was now; leaving you playing hide and seek with Dean, with an added twist. For each time he found you, he could have his way with you.

The anticipation of hearing his footsteps gradually get closer had you squeezing your thighs together. You hadn’t hidden in a particularly hard to find spot, deliberately because the thrill of the game made you want to be caught.

With a shiver down your spine, you realised it had gone quiet. You took a deep breath in before a presence over your shoulder made you pause.

“Found you,” Dean stated with a smug grin. You shuffled around to face him, now kneeling on the slick tile floor. He stood up and forced you to look up at him, wide-eyed and giddy.

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh - oh no, sweetheart, it’s what you are gonna do,” he replied with a flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. You watched as he moved back towards a waist-high counter and steadied himself against it.

It wasn’t even like he needed to say anything, judging by the tent in his jeans already, you willingly shuffled across the floor to make yourself comfortable at his feet. With a cocky grin, he undid his belt and opened his jeans. You tried everything in your power to seem less needy than you were really feeling by taking a little more time, despite the fact that you couldn’t wait.

The low, drawn-out moan that came from the pit of his chest when you first put your mouth on him made your thighs clench. Despite wanting him, you decided to keep it slow and steady to begin with. Small, flat licks against the underside of his dick, moving up the shaft towards the head slowly.

“Goddamn, sweetheart -” he groaned and tipped his head back, another guttural moan had you whimpering around him in reply.

When he reached a hand out to cradle the back of your head, you knew he was now putty in your hands. The sounds you drew out of him were ones you tried to commit to memory, for those nights alone in seedy motels when Dean wasn’t there.

Using your hand to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth, you kept going, tears welled in your eyes as you did all that you could to pull his soul from his body. And moments later, you succeeded. His hips stuttered and for a moment, the air rushed out of his lungs, leaving him speechless.

“Holy shit...” Swallowing as much as you could with a Cheshire Cat grin, not looking away from his flushed, blissed-out face.

“How long do I have to hide?” Once Dean had caught his breath and done up his jeans and belt, he ran his tongue along his bottom lip again.

“Twenty seconds. Go.”

-/-/-

“Gotcha.” And within a matter of seconds you were against the changing room mirror, jeans pushed down to your knees, underwear with them. The only warning you got from Dean was the jingle of his belt before he lined himself up and rocked forward. Your legs almost gave out from under you and the noise that came from your mouth almost didn’t sound like your voice.

“Fuck -” you whimpered as he rutted against you again and again.

“Ah-ah, look at the mirror, darlin’,” he instructed when he noticed your eyes screwed shut.

“Takin’ it so good for me, huh? Bein’ such a good girl,” Dean drawled in your ear, earning a moan in reply as he hit that one spot over and over.

“Dean - I... I’m -”

“What? What’s the matter darlin’?” he goaded, knowing full well that you were struggling to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

“M’gonna -” And there it was. Release hit you like a breath of fresh air, leaving you fluttering and clenching around his cock with your eyes screwed shut and your mouth agape.

“Fuck, darlin’... Was it that easy?” Dean slowed down so each deliberate, measured rock of his hips pushed your further into white-hot bliss.

“You - Make me feel good,” you gasped as he reached around you and felt for that familiar bundle of nerves between your aching folds. As though he could tell that your legs wouldn’t hold you up for much longer, he pulled you backwards so he could sit on the bench and keep you in his lap.

“As soon as I’m done with you... You’ve got twenty seconds to hide...” he warned between hot, chaste kisses to the back of your neck.

And when he did finally let you go, on aching, wobbly legs you took off through the abandoned mall once more, Dean’s voice echoed behind you, counting down.

“Ready or not! Here I come!” he called out as you practically skidded into an old furniture outlet, under the half-drawn shutters. With your head spinning and your stomach aflutter with butterflies, you hurried into a vintage-looking wardrobe unit.

“I know you’re in here...” he taunted, though it was muffled at first. You kept a shaking hand over your mouth to quiet your ragged breathing, listening for any sign that he was getting too close.

“C’mon, don’t be shy... Especially not after that little stunt in the dressing rooms back there.” Heat flooded everywhere as he continued to taunt and tease, no doubt whilst aimlessly wandering the aisles of forgotten and ageing furniture.

“If you’re good, I’ll bend you over this desk right here -” It took all your willpower not to moan at the thought.

“- Or maybe on this table? I figure you’d look real pretty all spread out on this nice, varnished wood...” His voice was close now, perhaps only a few feet away. You couldn’t shift your weight from foot to foot without risking the whole unit creaking, so you opted to keep as still as possible.

“Sweetheart?” Cramp in your little toe made you change the way you stood and the wardrobe gave you up in an instant. You hoped against hope that he hadn’t heard it, but the smartass knocked twice on the door.

“Shit!”

“Now, now, play the game. I never chalked you up to be a rule breaker.”

-/-/-

@wintersoldierbaby @this-is-me19

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x f!reader #f!reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester imagine #supernatural #spn #spn smut #supernatural smut #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #kinktober 2022 #day two #strwbrry writes

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your-divine-ribs · 6 months

Text

How they like to go down on you…

Character headcanons for Red, The Devil Next Door, Forbidden (Prof Van and Prof Bond), Ice Cold and Dad Van (I might add some more of my characters later)

Words: 2k // there’s smut… as the title would suggest!

Character Headcanons Main Masterlist

Red

❤️ Van wishes he could spend an eternity between your thighs... regrettably that's a luxury that both of you aren't able to experience.

❤️ With the constant threat of being caught, every encounter you two share is secretive and rushed. The thrill of the risk and the sheer wickedness of what you're doing though just heightens everything.

❤️ You have to take advantage of those snatched moments of bliss, whether it's pressed up against the sink in the bathroom at parties or furtive hookups in the shadowy backrooms of gig venues.

❤️ Now you're making fuck-me eyes at Van over the breakfast cereals when he wanders downstairs with just a towel wrapped around his slim hips after his morning shower.

❤️ You've been trying so hard to be good, but the sneaky fucker knows exactly what he's doing to you by parading around in front of you like this.

❤️ You don't miss the deliberate way he rolls his tongue over his bottom lip as he meets your hungry gaze, your panties soaking through with thoughts of what you want him to do to you.

❤️ As soon as Larry announces he's heading upstairs to take a shower Van launches himself at you, dragging you out of your seat and lifting you up so you're perching on the edge of the kitchen counter, tugging the oversized t-shirt you'd worn to sleep in up around your hips.

❤️ "Oh my god Van," you hiss as you pull away breathless from a heated kiss, your heart pounding as he pushes your legs wide apart. "What the hell do you think you're doing? We can't fuck now! Larry's literally just upstairs!"

❤️ "Who said anything about fucking?" He smirks at you, nimble fingers hooking under the seam of your panties, pulling them to one side.

❤️ He sinks down on to his knees in an instant, never breaking eye contact with you as he licks a teasing trail up your inner thighs, his tongue darting out to swirl over your clit.

❤️ He eats you out like a starving man, his tongue making the wettest, sloppiest sounds that have you gripping his hair and biting down hard on your bottom lip to stifle your moans.

❤️ "Come on babe, you gonna come all over my face?" He mutters in between lapping at your bud and sucking it between his puckered lips, his eyes fixed on yours the whole time.

❤️ You fall apart for him right there and then on the kitchen counter, thighs clenching around his head as he smirks greedily against your wetness, licking up every last drop.

The Devil Next Door

❤️‍🔥 Van's spent so many nights dreaming about you... how you'd taste, the pretty noises that you'd make, the feel of you trembling under his touch as he held your bucking hips down as you came all over his tongue.

❤️‍🔥 It's his favourite fantasy that keeps him awake at night and if he ever gets the chance to turn it into reality he's sure as hell going to pull out all the stops to make you feel good.

❤️‍🔥 Basically, you're not leaving that bed until you've come at least four times. Anything Tom can do he can definitely do better.

❤️‍🔥 He's dreamt about tasting you in every conceivable position, flat on your back with his head between your thighs, slumped against the wall with a leg crooked up over his shoulder, on your knees gripping on to the headboard so he can spread your cheeks and eat you out from behind... but imagining you sitting on his face is his personal favourite.

❤️‍🔥 He wants to coax out the fiery side of your personality, the part that knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it. The one that's not afraid to use him for your own pleasure.

❤️‍🔥 All he can think about is you hovering over him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you grind yourself down against his eager tongue, your shaky moans and sighs filling the air.

❤️‍🔥 Fuck... he needs you so bad. He wants to drown in you. He knows he wouldn't be able to stop until you were whimpering and crying out from the sensitivity, anchoring you firmly in place with his strong hands wrapped around your thighs.

❤️‍🔥 "Just one more... just for me... please. God, I love the way you taste."

Forbidden - Prof Van

🖤 Just because he loves to tease and deny you it doesn't mean that he doesn't like to give you your pleasure... as long as you beg for it prettily enough.

🖤 Unfortunately for you... or fortunately depending on how you look at it... begging like a needy little slut is only going to land you in big trouble.

🖤 Thirty minutes later you're lying spreadeagled on his desk, your wrists bound and ankles secured to the desk legs to keep them apart whilst he brings you to your fourth shuddering high with his skilled tongue.

🖤 You're wet through with a combination of sweat, cum and saliva, the papers on his desk beneath you soaked with your juices.

🖤 "What's up baby?" He raises his head to coo up at you, long fingers still pistoning in and out of your wetness, making you whine. "You wanted to come didn't you?"

🖤 You try to tell him it's too much but you can't speak, your words choked by your panties which he's torn off you and thrust roughly into your mouth to stifle your sounds.

🖤 All you can do is whimper and writhe and take it like the good girl he wants you to be... and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Forbidden - Prof Bond

🧡 When Van's not around to influence him his gentle side comes out and he likes nothing more than to take his time with you and please you.

🧡 Soft kisses and gentle nips to your inner thighs over and over until you're trembling in anticipation, your hands buried in his dark curls, trying to manoeuvre and guide him to where you need him the most.

🧡 You whine needily even though you know it'll be worth the wait, laying back against his desk whilst he works you into a seething mass of desire with his teasing touches.

🧡 "Fuck... Sir! I really need you! Please..."

🧡 "Patience love, I've got you," he murmurs, his warm breath fanning over your hot, slick skin as he speaks, making you shiver.

🧡 No one turns him on like you. He swears he could practically come in his pants just from going down on you.

🧡 So when he finally gets to his goal he really goes to town on you, hot wet licks laving up and down your slit, pushing inside whilst his nose bumps up against your clit.

🧡 He really likes drawing it out, thoroughly running his lips and tongue over your most sensitive spots, slowly kissing, licking and sucking until you're shaking uncontrollably below him.

🧡 He loves to feel you pulsing on his tongue as you fall apart, the sensation of you clenching around his fingers as you grind against him, taking what you need.

Ice Cold

💙 Van may be a brutal cold-hearted killer, but there's a softer side to him that lurks underneath all that darkness that only you can draw out.

💙 The man worships the ground you walk on so he's sure as hell going to worship your body.

💙 Even though he likes to take charge in your sexual encounters, he never puts his pleasure before yours. He wants you to need him. You're his and his alone and no one else gets to make you feel this way.

💙 He has the fingers and tongue of a god, and you've never felt a pleasure so intense. He'll spread you wide open, the tip of his tongue circling your bud until your legs are shaking, then he'll move away.

💙 He likes to take his time with you, edge you until your moans and sighs turn needy, the sound of his name falling from your lips like the sweetest music he's ever heard, a soft plea he can't resist.

💙 So he gives in to you, his own personal kryptonite. His tongue laves hungrily over every wet inch of you in hot, searing strokes whilst his slender fingers fuck into you at a torturous pace, making your eyes roll.

💙 You're so wet you're leaking all over the sheets, your hips rising and falling like a wave as you ascend to a heavenly high, crying out as you climax.

💙 "Baby, I swear I could die right now a happy man," he mumbles into your skin as he kisses his way back up your body, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

💙 You feel dazed as he rises up to hover over you and you push his hair back to clearly see his face, taking all of him in.

💙 He looks so pretty like this and he takes your breath away, all his hard edges softened, his eyes clouded with lust and his red lips glistening with your arousal.

Dad Van

💗 You'd thought that having kids would dampen the passion that you and Van shared, that maybe he'd see you more as a mother than a desirable partner.

💗 Turns out you didn't need to worry, in fact watching you birth and nurture his children has just strengthened your bond, not just emotionally, but physically too.

💗 He can't keep his hands off you but you're always wary of the kids catching you, especially your daughter Grace who's a terrible sleeper and has a habit of wandering into your bedroom to get into your bed when she's had a bad dream.

💗 "Not tonight Van," you sigh, trying to twist out of his arms as you hear restless whimpers emanating from the room next door. "Can't you hear Gracie? Sounds like she's having one of her nightmares again."

💗 He pauses to listen but not for long, distracted by how beautiful you look bathed in the moonlight filtering in through a gap in the curtains. "She's still asleep love, we'll be fine."

💗 You go to protest, but your words catch as he dips his head to scatter kisses up and down your neck, sucking gently at your pulse point which he knows drives you wild. "C'mon babe... just a little taste... please..."

💗 And who are you to deny him when he makes you feel so good? So you let him duck under the duvet, rucking up your silky slip and dragging his lips softly over your skin until he settles himself between your spread legs.

💗 He starts off slow, little kitten licks concentrated on your sweet spot, building your pleasure nice and steady, breaking off every once in a while to press featherlight kisses to your inner thighs whilst you catch your breath.

💗 "Ahh Van..." you gasp, hands fisting at the bedsheets as he increases his efforts in tune with your body, wetter, firmer flicks of his tongue on your swollen clit when your body begins to twitch and your hips start to roll.

💗 It feels so damn good you want to scream the house down but of course you can't, screwing your eyes shut and biting down on your lip as the blinding pressure builds in your core...

💗 "Mummy! Daddy! I can't sleep! It's the monsters again!"

💗 Fuck! The urgent cries precede the patter of tiny feet as Grace bursts into your bedroom, eyes wide and brimming with unspilt tears. You scrabble to hoist yourself up awkwardly in bed, knocking Van away in the process.

💗 "It's okay sweetie, there's no monsters, it's just a dream!" You reach out to her but she hesitates, frantic eyes darting away from you and all around the room.

💗 "Where's Daddy?"

💗 Van emerges from under the covers, hair dishevelled, lips swollen and glossy, cheeks flushed scarlet. "I'm here angel! I was just... err... just helping Mummy with something..."

💗 You're in hysterics on the inside as you reach out to give your daughter a comforting hug, watching Van slide carefully out of bed and side-step to the en-suite bathroom to conceal a massive boner.

💗 "I'm just... errr... just going to... umm... take care of something," he mumbles as he goes.

#character headcanons #van mccann x reader #johnny bond x reader #au fanfic #vanfic #smut

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monsterspet · 10 months

Text

Just a Little Lie: Prologue

Think about it: Imagine a reader that meets the boys of 141 as a “civilian”. They don’t want to run off yet another man that finds them intimidating because of their military background. So they act dumb, assuming they can keep their career secret at least long enough to make a go of this new situationship. Until it gets them into trouble once they’re assigned to a new taskforce.

A/N: I know Ghost and Soap only show up from MW2 onwards - just let me have this!

Keeping this deliberately vague until character specific chapters start. Think of it like a dating sim where you choose your route after the prologue I guess 😛

Also I can almost guarantee setting up the context for this here in the prologue is going to be so much longer than chapters going forward - I apologise in advance darlings!

*All* Y/Ns in my fics are GN! unless requested otherwise - pet names inbound but nothing specifically gendered. Slow burn - eventual smut. Canon Typical Violence starting from Chapter 1.

Word Count: 3925

MINORS: DNI (I swear to god)

—-

It had been going on for maybe three or four months now. And almost a month at least of back and forth banter over text, of coffee dates and dinners when his schedule allowed. A month of thinly veiled flirting and touches that could almost be taken as friendly as you got to know each other. Or, as you got to know him anyway. He’d been upfront that his work was in some way attached to the military (most likely an active service member), and while you knew he couldn’t really discuss more - he didn’t know you knew that. So with a look of awe and confusion you’d been innocently fishing. Purely innocent of course.

When you initially met at the cafe round the corner from your flat you didn’t know he was a fellow soldier. Which is precisely how you had gotten to this point. Perhaps if you had known you could have avoided the pretence and half truths you’d fed him with a head tilt and a smile. You couldn’t find a man within your own unit, that was beyond unacceptable for multiple reasons. And far too often you found yourself opening up to someone new when on your brief stints of leave only for him to go quiet and disappear once he knew you could handle a knife. Or a gun, or even a grenade if need be. Completely understandable in hindsight - though no less disheartening in the moment once you realised messages were either being left unread or in some cases blocked from delivering. So you found yourself wanting to get to know this new guy first, at least a little while before dropping the proverbial bombshell on him.

He was well built, that’s for sure, and held himself in a rigid posture that you should have noticed right away from your own days standing to attention in front of your captain. But his eyes caught yours instantly when you met - a startling intensity that held you rooted to the spot as you both reached for the same cup sitting on the counter that afternoon. You hadn’t been paying much attention in fairness. Far too caught up in a conversation that was clearly going nowhere fast, and somehow too in your phone to even realise that you weren’t the only patron waiting for your drink in the quiet shop. Hands collided and you found your eyes darting from the cup up to his face, apologies rushing out of your lungs as you lost your breath suddenly, barely managing a pathetic “Oh”.

“Sorry Y/N, machine is acting up - still waiting on your shots.” you vaguely heard from the older woman behind the bar, sounds a little muffled against the sound of your own heartbeat.

“No, not at all! Was away with the fairies I think.” a quick glance back to the mystery man in front of you “Apologies sir”.

“No problem, Y/N was it?” The last part came with a chuckle that sent an embarrassing tingle down your spine, barely contained by the tension you were still holding in your shoulders.

You couldn’t remember quite how the conversation had gotten started from there. But you did learn that he was also a regular to this little spot as you took up a seat near the draughty doorway. It was frankly surprising how you’d both missed each other up till this point really. It was a totally friendly chat about the quality of the cafe for the low price, and some of the other places to eat and drink around the local arena, but it was nice. Comfortable even. If you hadn’t received a call from your captain to check in on you while you were on leave you’d have stayed longer. You honestly didn’t expect to see him again as you stepped out to take the call, and it seemed he had places to be given the way he looked down at his own phone. Yet there he was when you walked in only a few days later. You aren’t even sure now who joked that you should swap numbers if you were going to keep bumping into each other like this, but you’re glad it happened.

—-

And that was how it started. A quick message from one of you to say you were out and about that day, and a reply from the other to suggest either your cafe or somewhere else to catch up. A text to say you’d gotten home safe after seeing him for an hour or so (at his insistence), followed by at least a dozen texts talking about the fun you had seeing each other and how you needed to do this again. Questions asking when you’d each be free next - and total understanding that work got in the way and you might be away for a few days from you both. You were purely on a first name basis, and you were comfortable with that. Work began picking up again and you hadn’t assumed he would be anything but a casual friend. No need to get too attached in your line of work. Especially if your prior romantic endeavours were any indication.

A data analyst, that’s what you’d decided to tell him when he asked about your work almost a fortnight after meeting him. You were called into different places as part of a rolling contract so you were never sure exactly where you were heading next. And it wasn’t too far off from the truth in all honesty. You’d always been skilled with computers and your ability to notice patterns in seemingly nonsensical data sets had been noticed not long after you enlisted. While you were trained for the front lines, you quickly found yourself pulled back by your superior officers at the academy. A sergeant for sure, but you often found yourself behind a screen coordinating units and monitoring traffic from the other side. Not too much of a stretch to some sort of number jockey in an office somewhere you felt. And you were certainly starting to enjoy this new man’s company. No need to scare him off. Though as time went by you were quickly coming to the realisation that very little seemed to faze him.

You thought about telling him, truthfully. You had been sitting on an admittedly damp bench outside a kebab shop late one evening, both of you back in late from work and neither of you in the mood for anything other than quick and greasy food. He beat you to the punch though. And oh how it sent you spinning as you realised what you were getting yourself into.

“So, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he paused as he shovelled in another mouthful of donner meat with one of those crappy little wooden sporks, “about what I do for work I mean”. You were caught a little off guard, having been waiting for a moment to come clean yourself, your own spork full of curry covered chips halted precariously half way between the styrofoam container and your mouth.

“Yeah? You’ve been a little vague on that one” you murmured after a short pause, quickly blowing on your food and taking a bite as it threatened to fall off the disposable utensil. You got a small “hmph” and a nudge from his thigh for that one, a cheeky smirk falling into place for both of you. He had mentioned travelling for work himself, and combined with some oddly familiar tendencies he was showing, you had a gnawing feeling that you knew where this was going.

“Well yeah, I can only apologise for that. Didn’t really know how to bring it up.”

“You make it sound like you do something scary when you say it like that. What are you, some sort of assassin for hire?” The joke earned you a half-hearted glare and a full but playful shove from his shoulder, sending you too far to the edge of the bench as you slid across the wet surface. The size difference was most notable in moments like these - this wasn’t the first time he almost sent you flying in playful moments when he pushed you around.

“Oh shit, sorry” he linked a quick finger into the belt loop of your jeans and hauled you back next to his side with ease before you even had the chance to begin to topple over in what would have been a hilarious fall into a cold puddle.

“Really though, I didn’t want to scare you off when we were getting on so well, but I’ll be off for work again and gone for a while soon enough. Didn’t want you to think I was ghosting you or something.” The quirk of his lips as he mentioned that last part gave you the feeling that there was meant to be an inside joke there, but nothing you could place. “I’m involved in some military shit, and I’m shipping out in a few days. Only getting a few days break then back at it again.”

“Military?” You asked, hoping beyond hope that the surprise in your voice could be played off as you recovering from your near tumble, “Should’ve guessed I suppose. Normal guys aren’t built like you unless they’re in the gym 24/7, and I take up far too much of your free time for that” poking your spork into his upper arm as if to indicate what a brick wall it was. The joke seemed to disarm him somewhat as he broke into a wide open-mouthed grin, his tongue pressing against his upper canine in the way you had come to realise meant he was trying not to laugh.

“That you do Y/N. Between that and all the food we eat it’s lucky I fit in my uniform.”

“You suggested the kebab shop, I could have been convinced to cook tonight.”

“Oh? I could have had you cooking dinner for me tonight? I’m devastated.”

You turned your face away quickly at that, the way you always did when the flirting became a little too obvious. Internally though, your mind was reeling. Fuck. While he may have been a little vague on his profession he hadn’t outright lied, you had. The idea of admitting that to him felt like a terrible idea right now. The moment was nice, and you were hardly about to ruin it by telling him you were a soldier.

But the pieces were clicking into place. The way he stood ramrod straight next to you as you placed your order, shoulders back and chest out with his hands clasped at the small of his back. The way he kept his eyes moving around as he surveyed the drunken uni students stumbling into the kebab shop behind you. They way he almost jumped out his own skin when a car had backfired in the next street over as you found a place to sit, moving in front of you as he searched for the source of the noise, head practically on a swivel. This man had seen combat.

Not a part of your squad though. There was no way you would have missed him if you had spotted him out in the field or in the barracks. No way in hell. This was fine, wasn’t it? If you weren’t on the same team then nothing had to change, not really. Your work was classified, sure, but if you explained that then really nothing had to stop here. Couldn’t be counted as fraternising if you didn’t actually work together.

You realised you were being too quiet though, too caught up in your thoughts, and you could feel his hot stare on you as if expecting you to find a reason to bolt. Quickly turning back to look up at him and tilting your head in just the right way that your hair fell in front of your face you said, “I’m not sure dragging back an attractive military man to my flat for dinner is the best idea,” the way he froze in that moment had you quickly continuing “especially only a few days from shipping out. I can’t imagine giving you something to be distracted about while you’re meant to be working is the best idea.” That one was certainly a home truth. Far too often he had been in your mind at the most inopportune moments behind your screen lately. The pause felt like it was stretching on into eternity, and you really worried you pushed too far over whatever invisible line you had both drawn between the two of you.

“You say that like you haven’t been enough of a distraction already Y/N.” the softness in his voice had you breathless. His food sat on his lap, held so loosely in his grip that you were sure it was going to spill onto the cobbles at your feet. Fuck indeed. You could feel the words rising up in your throat the way a sob would, desperate to get out that you understood far too well what he meant. That your captain had been ready to pull you aside after one too many daydream towards the end of a meeting. But the words caught and you couldn’t say a thing, not when he went back to stabbing mindlessly at his rapidly cooling food. Not when he was already being far more open and raw than anyone else had been in such a long time.

There wasn’t much more said between you as you ate, stolen glances between you conveying more than words could in that moment. Something was brewing between you both tonight that was clouding the air, thick tension that seemed all too easily snapped if you so much as breathed too loudly. Something had changed in just a few words that was sending you down a new path in whatever this was. Casual friends didn’t find themselves staring at each other from the corner of their eyes, that much you knew. All too quickly you found yourselves finished with your food and walking down the road to your flat, and you had barely spoken more than a few words to each other in that time. Any chance you had of telling him tonight flew out the proverbial window and was replaced with a sinking thought that you should have done so earlier.

“Well then,” you hated the way that your voice practically croaked its way out of your throat as you stood outside the door to your building, “I guess unless either of us get called in early we’ll need to meet up again before you ship out.”

“Of course. It’s uh, it’s getting late though I suppose. Going to leave you here and get back to mine.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I had fun again tonight, by the way.” Practically a whisper against the wind. His hands twitched at his sides, the way they would as if wanting to reach out and grab something, stopped only by great effort if the way his jaw clenched was any indication.

“You did?” A deep breath and a near shuddering exhale.

“I always do when I’m with you.” Your hand came up to rest on his arm, squeezing gently against his bicep as if daring the tension to break.

“Good.” Was all you got before he practically dove in, lips to yours with a searing heat that almost knocked you back against the door. His hands were on your jaw, pulling you into him, desperation practically rolling off him in that moment. Like you would slip through his fingers at any moment if he didn’t hold you right here. You broke contact for just a split second to take a must needed breath before kissing back with equal intensity, you weren’t entirely sure who made the “mmph” sound as your lips collided again. I have to tell him, you thought - pushing further into the kiss.

And as if the universe had planned to ruin the moment, you heard your phones ring. Both of them, with the insistent ringtones you both knew to be from your respective employers. The same employers apparently. He pulled back as if stunned, slapped back into reality by the shrill mash-up of your phones against the quiet of the late night street. Phones were pulled from pockets as you both stared down at incoming calls. A near hysterical laugh ripped itself from you as you slumped against the door behind you. Four months to get a kiss from the gorgeous man in front of you and you get a call right now?

“I have to take this-”

“Gotta take this call-”

A chuckle from him, and he steps back, the cold swirling up your front as his heat leaves you.

“Later?” He holds up the phone to you, you know he can’t just not take this. Neither can you to be fair.

“Definitely later.” He smiles then turns to head down the road to his own flat as you turn to quickly let yourself into your building, your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you fumble with the keys. You manage to get inside and answer your call before it goes to voicemail.

“Sergeant Smith? Is this a good time?” You get the main door closed behind you.

“Yes Captain Harrison, what’s happened?” Taking your stairs two at a time to put distance between yourself and the world outside.

“I know you were meant to be on leave for at least a week but something’s come up. We’ve had a request for a temporary transfer from the higher ups. They need a fresh pair of eyes on information coming out of the Middle East and your file was pulled. Just warning you now,” You were at your flat door now, key in the lock as you waited - your Captain took an uncharacteristic pause, “you’ll be receiving a call within the next 10 minutes from a Kate Laswell from the CIA to discuss briefing and your flight out.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been loaned out to another unit Sir, even if they were American. I’m not sure why you sound so apprehensive this time around.” You were inside your small flat at this point, jacket shrugged off and thrown over your duffel bags, still unpacked from your flight earlier today. Looks like they would be staying that way.

“I don’t know much about this unit, Sergeant, in all honesty. More of a task force from what I understand. By the sounds of it, it will all be heavily classified.” Well, if your interest wasn’t piqued before - it was now.

“What task force Sir?”

“141, under Captain John Price, SAS.”

—-

The next few days were a whirlwind. Briefings were had and official transfers were sought and approved. You barely had time to hit the ground running as you found yourself on a rather nondescript hangar base. Which, to be fair, was entirely understandable given the classified nature of task force 141 as you came to realise. You barely had time in all the madness to text your apologies to your man (your man?) that “later” would have to be once you both got back from whatever work you both had. He had been slow to respond, but knowing now that he was likely getting ready to go back out into the field you could understand. You really hoped he was as equally patient with yourself. Your access to your phone was going to be severely restricted once on base. Highly classified information and all.

You found yourself walking alongside Laswell following a quick but firm handshake, duffel over one shoulder and military assigned tablet under the other as you marched away from the helicopter that still had its engines running as it powered down on the tarmac. Soldiers were running across the field and between outbuildings. Whatever was going on had everyone in a rush, and that was never a good sign.

“You’ll receive a full briefing from Captain Price inside Sergeant, but just to get you up to speed,” her blue eyes squinting against the sun as she turned her head to you, “we lost custody of chemical gases in Verdansk less than a week ago. We have reason to believe they will surface again in the Middle East but there’s too much chatter in our communication channels to be sure where. You’ll be both here and in the field getting those chemicals secure before they hit friendly soil.”

“Understood - just tell me where to go to get set up.” She pointed her arm to a tent to the right of you, pace never slowing as she led you through the flaps. Inside were a group of three standard issue white folding tables in a “U” formation in front of a large screen, and you set your bag and tablet down on the one closest. You straightened as Laswell made her way to the front where a group of four uniformed soldiers stood huddled around said screen, shoulders back, feet apart and chin high. You could barely make out the hushed voices of the men ahead of you but held position, ever the good soldier. Ahead of you, you could see a tall imposing man in some sort of mask, though with his back to you it wasn’t obvious if it covered his full face. Next to him stood a man with a mohawk, his short sleeve shirt a major contrast to the full tactical gear of the man next to him. Off to the right stood a black man with short cropped hair, his baseball cap pulled low. Finally there was the man you assumed to be Captain Price, if the way the men kept turning to him was any indication, boonie hat covering the top half of his face and an unlit cigar hanging from his mouth.

Out of the four men standing ahead of you, you recognised one of them far too well for comfort, having had a good look at his back as he walked away from the door to your building only a few days ago. After he kissed you like he was scared to lose you, after he told you he was a soldier outside a crappy little kebab shop and you just sat there and let him keep believing you were just a data analyst. Shit. The rising panic in your chest threatened to bubble over into fear, and you found your knees beginning to shake. Not that you were given much time to think about the impending consequences.

“Captain Price,” the man with a boonie hat tilted his head in acknowledgment of Laswell as she reached him, “Sergeant Smith has arrived and is waiting for briefing.”

Four sets of eyes turned to you, but you only focused on one. Pleasant professionalism turned to surprise, then shock, and finally grave understanding as you stood there, near shaking like a leaf in the wind in front of him. You felt far too small in your standard issue boots, and your hands that were clutched to the front of your tactical vest longed to wrap around you at that moment. If the ground could have opened up and swallowed you whole in that moment you would have been more than happy. You could tell the colour had drained from your face, that you looked like you had just been shot, again, a more pleasant idea than the current situation you found yourself in at the moment.

“Y/N?”

Shit.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #task force 141 #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #call of duty modern warfare

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steelycunt · 2 years

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hii 1st one for the siken mini fic thing (if ur still doing it)

hi bab! of course! feel like this got away from me sorry in advance xx three cheers for james pov tho!!

They’re standing in the little kitchenette, all three of them, and James is making them tea. They’ll have to take it black, he tells them, because they haven’t got any milk in: Sirius hasn’t been shopping for twelve days. In fact, he adds, they’ll have to settle for coffee—there are no teabags, either.

Rain dribbling against the window. A thin, sticky quiet, stretched out like chewing gum. Here is Sirius leaning against the fridge, arms folded over his chest, and there is Remus in the doorway. James stirs a teaspoon clockwise, counter-clockwise, in zigzags, wonders if he ought to leave them to it.

“It would’ve been nice for you to let us know that you’d be getting back today,” says Sirius. “I never know when you’re supposed to be coming home. If you’re supposed to be coming home. Three weeks is a long time to not hear anything.”

His voice is deliberate, stiffened by some voluntary rigor mortis; it’s jarring against his bloodshot eyes, against the tell-tale tremor in his hands and James’ memory of turning up to the flat two nights ago and finding him in a drunken, inconsolable heap on the floor outside the bathroom, clad in boxers and Remus’ dirty, sweat-drenched t-shirt.

(The last three weeks have gone like this: Sirius, denouncing Remus as the traitor in a snarl of cigarette smoke. Sirius, weeping into the side of James’ neck, convinced Remus is lying dead, half-buried in a forest somewhere—where is he? Oh god, my Moony, where is he?)

Remus sways on his feet, scratches at the stubble marring his chin, jaw, cheeks. Dirt beneath his fingernails, dried blood gone rusty at his nose and streaked down the side of his head—he looks as though he’s being held upright by a yardstick tied to his spine, like the slouching plants in James’ mother’s garden. James wants, so fiercely, to hug him. The bastard.

“It all happened really quickly. I only got the instructions a few hours ago—got told I could come back. I didn’t know that they were going to—didn’t want to hang around to send a Patronus ahead,” Remus explains, sheepish. “I’m sorry. Really short notice, all of it was. I just wanted to get back. They don’t tell me anything either.”

The sentiment slides feebly off of Sirius. “Right,” he says, stepping towards him; James accidentally drops the teaspoon against the side of one of the mugs and for a split-second they both turn to look at him as it clinks.

And then Sirius is pressing his palm to Remus’ chest, over his heart, like a makeshift stethoscope. They watch each other for a very long time, and the longer they stay like that the more James feels himself turning to dust motes, to wallpaper. The more ruined everything becomes.

The palm curls into a fist. Briefly, James thinks Sirius could hit him. Something flutters across Remus’ face, moth-like, that suggests he thinks the same thing. They both would’ve appreciated a copy of the script.

“Are you hurt?” Sirius demands.

Remus’ smile, knocked crooked. Familiar. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so, not terribly. But I need—do need to sit down.”

Sirius nods, reaches around wordlessly to tug the rucksack off Remus’ shoulder. It’s at this point that James opens his mouth, and is distressed to find he no longer has anything to say. His friends share a strange, skittish devotion that can be rather frightening, sometimes. It seems to be eating itself. He finds it rather hard to think of it as love.

Three mugs of black coffee, steaming on the kitchen counter. Three dark, round pits. Sirius and Remus disappearing into the bathroom, hand in hand, and leaving James to stare into them.

#wow this is the first thing ive posted since otiofad in what. june? july? and i am surprisingly nervous lol. sorry if its uhhh. Bad xx #anyway!! sorry im so slow im always so slow at these im really sorry. but i will get to them maybe itll take me a little while but i WILL #they are so weird and fucked up everybody is side eyeing them....maybe they will fuck in that bathroom maybe they will kill each other #also james pov i love you so. ill find a use for you darling i promise i will #r/s #my fic #ridi drabbles

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bubacorn · 7 months

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i just think it's so funny that people sometimes flat-out refuse to listen to me but they don't even notice that they're tuning me out, cause it's so natural for them

like, a while ago, i asked about something to make sure that someone paid attention to it, then they said that it's not important, so i listened and ignored it, even though i knew i was kinda right, but i wasn't sure (it wasn't my responsibility and knew i would make everyone more irritated if i pressed on). then after about a month later that same thing came up again and i asked if i may have been right and then i got 'why didn't you say anything about that?', and told them that i did say something and they had told me to not bother with it. then they said some more things, and told me that 'they weren't saying it was my fault', and then i reminded them that they literally tried to blame me for 'not calling their attention to it' two sentences ago and they looked fucking surprised and couldn't reply. like. am i a joke? (yes, i know i am, it's a rhetorical question)

unrelated (but actually very related), i feel so uncomfortable when people deliberately make noise when they are doing something. like, obnoxiously so. i know it can be sensorily pleasing (and they might not realize that they are doing it for that reason), but for instance, i hate when people intentionally make loud steps barefoot on wooden floor, because it makes an annoying slapping sound, and why do you have to make everyone pay attention and be alerted of your presence? (i know why, rhetorical question again)

also, doing the dishes and consciously making the highest amount of noise you can when you stack them and literally bang them together and against the counter when you put them down. i know i have sensitive ears, i know i tense from loud noises, but i can't say anything, because they are 'just doing the dishes' and aren't doing anything wrong. also i hate it even more, because sometimes you can't tell when just regular loud sounds go over to 'i'm in a shit mood' loud sounds and then you're responsible for every shitty aspect of their day

once a roommate told me that i was so quiet one morning that they didn't even notice me leave (they were sleeping and didn't wake up as i got ready and left), and it stuck with me, cause of course i try to make the least amount of noise possible (and it's extra funny, cause that morning i accidentally made a little banging sound when setting my parfume bottle down on a porcelain shelf), it's obvious for me. i use coasters for my mugs because i don't like the sound of porcelain hitting the table and it's conveniently quiet that way when it needs to be. i shut doors quietly because i imagine no one likes a creaking sound. of course i get ready quietly in the morning, because no one wants to wake up early just because i have to

i make my presence quiet because others live around me and they might want to have a phone call, relax or just simply try to ignore that they have to exist in the same space with other people. yeah, maybe i'm too conscious of the space i take up and the sounds i make by simply existing. and i can't tell others why i'm like this, i know why, but i can't just say that to someone. so i smile and nod, and i'm happy that i'm not bothering them. happy that they literally complimented me for being invisible and easy to ignore and i desperately try to not think of it that way

#vent #ish #sorry about that

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wishingforatypewriter · 1 year

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The Fire Lord of Little Caldera

(Just a little snippet about my OCs, Sola—the founder of the Agni Kais—and Yuna—Yasuko's mother)

Sola had not been particularly sorry to see Kallik die. The man was a raging misogynist with halitosis and adventurous hands—hands she’d had to zap with lightning on more than one occasion when they strayed too close—but at least he’d kept the Red Monsoons out of her territory. The one who replaced him—this Yakone—had no such scruples. Yes, he was going to be a problem.

She blew out a long stream of smoke as she poured over a map of the city, then after some deliberation, drew a line through the center of the Dragon Flats.

“They come past Port Street, we go to war. If not, we leave them be—agree to coexist,” she said to the lieutenants who’d gathered in the back room of the club. She then fixed her gaze on her second-in-command, Kaito. “Deliver my terms.”

Aruna’s brow furrowed. “What if he wants war?”

Sola smirked and took another drag of her cigarette. “I’d wager he has more sense than that.” She glanced at her gold watch, and frowned. She’d be late if she didn’t get out of here soon. “We’ll continue this later,” she said and stood to take her leave.

She could have hailed a rickshaw straight to Yuna’s apartment, but she opted to take the meandering walk through Little Caldera, stopping in this shop and that on her way. When she finally arrived in front of the third floor walkup, she had bundles of sizzle crisps and chips wrapped in newspaper and an assortment of steamed buns.

“You brought snacks,” Yuna said with a smile when she answered the door. “You really are my favorite client.”

“I had no choice. All you have in that kitchen of yours is your potions.”

“I told you, they’re hair products,” she said, grabbing a sizzle crisp and nibbling on it. “Come on back, and we’ll get started. I can already tell you haven’t been taking care of your ends.”

Sola rolled her eyes and followed her friend through the living room, where Yuna’s two daughters sat—Yui on the floor braiding hair on a mannequin head and Yasuko doing her schoolwork on a maroon couch. She handed each of the girls a steamed custard bun, earning bright smiles, before walking past the beaded curtain that led to the kitchen.

On the counters were a host of jars and bottles filled with sweet smelling concoctions. Yuna fiddled with a few before motioning for Sola to take a seat on the old wooden chair positioned in front of the sink.

With one deft motion, Yuna unclipped the gold dragon pin holding up Sola’s hair and the black tresses went cascading into the sink.

“Is there a guard posted outside?” Yuna asked as she let the sink fill up with warm water.

“No,” Sola said. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” Yuna asked. “I read in the Gazette that the new Red Monsoon boss is killing crime lords left and right.”

“Yes, the weak ones,” Sola said, her eyes drawing closed as Yuna started massaging her scalp with the contents of a jar that smelled like fire lilies and amber. “Don’t worry. It requires much more than a little bloodbending to take me out.”

“Hmm. Just be careful,” Yuna said, massaging Sola’s temples. “I don’t know what becomes of this neighborhood without you.”

Sola waved her off. “There are contingencies in place.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but be careful all the same.”

“How are the girls doing?” Sola asked.

“We just had parent-teacher conferences over at the school. Yasuko is at the top of her class, as always. Yui keeps getting in trouble with her teacher.”

“What for?”

“Gossiping during all her lessons.”

Sola laughed a little. “I wonder where she gets that from.”

“Hush, you,” she said, and tapped her head with a wide-tooth comb. “Anyway, how’s your new son?”

Sola sighed. “He’s not my son.”

“Uh-huh,” Yuna said as she continued to lather her friend’s tresses.

“Do you have any idea how many orphans the Agni Kais take in?”

“And how many of them do you train personally?”

“I’m just teaching the kid how to bend lightning properly so he doesn’t fuck around and electrocute himself.”

“If you say so,” Yuna replied, her voice lilting with incredulity. “Hey, if I asked you to burn down a bank, would you do it?”

Sola glanced up at the other woman, one eyebrow raised. “Is this a serious inquiry?”

“No,” she sighed as she rinsed Sola’s hair. “I’m just mad they turned me down for the loan again. I swear, my proposal was flawless this time.”

“I don’t know why you’re even bothering with them,” Sola said. “I told you I’d front you the money for the shop.”

“Sola, I can’t get involved with the Agni Kais. I have the girls.”

“Not the Kais, me personally. I’ll give you the money to buy a little storefront downtown, and you’ll pay me back when you can.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course. You’re too talented to still be doing hair in your kitchen.”

“Talented enough that you’ll let me give you bangs this time?”

“Don’t push it,” Sola said, as Yuna wrapped her hair in a soft towel.

#legend of korra #ocs #agni kai triad #sola #yuna

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eccentric-nucleus · 1 year

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so wildmender came out the other day (yesterday) and i've been playing it a bunch!

preliminary thoughts: it's decent. the mechanics don't come together in the way that i would think are ideal, but, i'm picky so it's probably fine. there aren't an enormous number of plants in the game, just like a dozen-and-change, which i'm a little disappointed by. the 'plants' tab in the game's journal has blacked-out silhouette squares for all plants, with the ones you've actually seen filled in, and let me tell you they are putting a bunch of things that are not plants in the plants tab. things like: a hedge wall that exists as a static object that doesn't grow or die. but it has leaves on it so we're putting it in the plants tab. etc.

anyway i am playing on 200% day/night length and 25% plant growth rate, which (since plant growth rate is in units of in-game hours) means i am effectively playing at 12.5% plant growth rate. i think it could go lower tbh. the part of the game where you plop down an acorn and a week later you have a full-grown tree struck me as a little too game-y.

anyway uhhhh it is a cutesy gardening survival game. you will in fact be doing a bunch of gardening. i am still enjoying the water flow systems, even if now in the actual game it's showing its limits a little. (clearly water isn't fully simulated across the entire game world at all times; when i leave the main oasis for a long period of time and come back later, it's locally "topped up" but then it clearly realizes i have the channels hooked up to flow into a big lower pond and it starts draining. this is kind of a degenerate case, b/c i noticed that all the springs are coded to stop producing water before they fully immerse themselves and responded by putting all my wellstones at the top of hills. but also the game itself gives you a bunch of springs on elevated pillars, so, idk. the real challenge will be seeing if it's actually possible to flood the dry canals in the salt flats.)

personally i would prefer something more deliberate, where the desert is actually a desert and it requires planning and forethought to strike out in an expedition across it. but my 'deliberate' is probably everybody else's "pointlessly punishing", so i definitely understand why they didn't. they currently do this more with drain effects (the other biomes drain your: heath, water, food bars as you spend time in them and require specific things to counter that; i'd prefer if they were draining just by sheer bigness.) still, i'd like map generation settings with "size" and "amount of dead vegetation" options, please

it's definitely doing a bit of the 'green-imperialism of approved environments over unapproved environments' (which i just happened to read like an hour before making this post) thing where you are tasked with getting rid of the Bad Biomes (deserts, mud flats) and replacing them with Good Biomes (full of nonthreatening and instrumentally-useful plants). tumbleweeds are plants too! deserts are vital ecosystems too; they're not just a blank-slate 'barren wasteland'! let me grow a horrible thorn bramble that sucks to navigate b/c that's the only good habitat for birds! more poison berries that are food for wildlife! accept that nature isn't actually super cutesy!!

anyway good game i am enjoying it and i will probably play a bunch more of it even if it only has a dozen-and-change actual plants in it and very simplistic biome mechanics.

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bllsbailey · 2 months

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The Man Who Police Gave Photos of Trump's Would-Be Assassin to Was Not Secret Service

United States Secret Service Director Kimberly Cheatle is expected to be grilled during her testimony before the House Oversight Committee. I have no idea what to expect, and it wouldn’t shock me if Cheatle catches ‘COVID’ or flat-out doesn’t show up. There is nothing that can be done to make up what happened on July 13, when former President Donald Trump was nearly assassinated by Thomas Matthew Crooks, 20, who was perched on an unprotected rooftop less than 200 yards from the rally stage. Trump turning his head saved him from a fatal headshot. The bullet missed by millimeters, instead grazing his right ear.

When the shooter was neutralized, police took photos of the body as evidence, later being given to a man in a grey suit. That man was not a Secret Service agent, highlighting the shambolic security apparatus at this event:

— johnny maga (@_johnnymaga) July 21, 2024

That’s not the worst of it.

In the aftermath, we’ve heard nothing from the Secret Service, who, like Biden, have scurried into the bunker-like scared wombats. The shooter was seen with a rangefinder before opening fire and reportedly flew a drone over the rally area. The Secret Service did not deploy a drone. The reason offered for not having a sniper team on that roof was due to a physical danger: the sloped roof. It’s a talking point that should have led to the entire USSS communications team firing for peddling deliberate misinformation—no one believed that lie. Cheatle should have been fired or resigned days ago, but she’s gal pals with Jill Biden.

Secret Service snipers had their sights on Crooks for two minutes before he opened fire, the agency itself knew there was a threat to Trump 10 minutes before he took the stage but allowed him to proceed; Trump says they never told him of the threat. The agency denied additional resources to protect the former president. The security lapses embody the incompetence and disarray of the Biden administration in anything they do. It almost got Trump killed. It did get Corey Comperatore, a firefighter, killed, being struck by gunfire as he tried to shield his family. Two others were injured as well.

The allocation of local law enforcement was also suspect, with local law enforcement now leaking that the agency never instructed them to safeguard buildings. The local cops who did encounter Crooks only did so after leaving their designated posts, which was traffic duty. Susan Crabtree of RealClearPolitics has more on the established inexcusable and inept security net that arguably could have plunged this nation into civil war.

After the assassination attempt, the Secret Service said it hadn’t denied repeated requests by Trump’s security detail for more help. It lied. Now the @nytimes and @washingtonpost have confirmed our reporting and vindicated @dbongino. What else is being covered up? pic.twitter.com/ZRy9hkA2g0— Michael Shellenberger (@shellenberger) July 21, 2024

🚨🚨🚨 BREAKING: Sen. Ron Johnson and his staff have written an initial report from his bipartisan investigation informed by whistleblowers who have talked to his office. I’ve obtained the 13-page executive summary of it. Some of this Sen. Johnson discussed with Fox News Morning… pic.twitter.com/dE58tcIXNr— Susan Crabtree (@susancrabtree) July 21, 2024

— Susan Crabtree (@susancrabtree) July 21, 2024

This is abject failure -- At first, Secret Service was not going to have ANY counter snipers at the Trump rally and were telling local law enforcement to be "sniper heavy" to make up for it??? A rally of 50,000+ attendees? The Secret Service then changed their mind late in the…— Susan Crabtree (@susancrabtree) July 21, 2024

She posted a series of damning findings over the weekend:

The Secret Service top brass, Cheatle included, hand out bonuses to mid-level managers who cut manpower, resources requests from those Secret Service special agents and officers on the ground in charge of protecting the presidents, vice president, former presidents, etc. There's a team of special agents or Uniform Division officers (counter snipers are UD, not agents) doing all the advance work on the ground to figure out how many resources are needed. That team includes the lead advance agent, the site agent, the counter sniper team conducting the initial survey of the rally or event venue. Then those agents/officers (counter snipers are officers, not agents) sends it to the LEAD ADVANCE AGENT -- who then send all their detailed manpower requests to the Assistant Director Protective Operations, or ADPO, back in Washington, a GS-14 or around that level of official, who reviews the plan, looks at all the diagrams, and they decide what kind of resources the event is going to get. There are almost always cuts, an notion of "do more with less," a source within the Secret Service community tells me. My sources tell me these GS-14s or around that level of manager, get bonuses based on how much money they can save for the agency based on the cuts. "They put it in their final reports to their managers, 'Hey, look how much money we saved this year,'" the source continued.. "It's really goofy, because they look a all the diagrams, and in their wisdom back in D.C. -- they're not the ones at the site -- how much, how many resources you're gonna get."

And then this:

Sen. Ron Johnson and his staff have written an initial report from his bipartisan investigation informed by whistleblowers who have talked to his office. I’ve obtained the 13-page executive summary of it. Some of this Sen. Johnson discussed with Fox News Morning with Maria this morning -- but here are all the details and the report itself. Key findings: 1.) Secret Service did not attend a security briefing provided to local special weapons and tactics (SWAT) and sniper teams the morning of July 13, 2024. Why not? --There was a 9 a.m. briefing on July 13, 2024, Butler County Emergency Services (Butler ESU) provided a security briefing for the local SWAT teams and snipers assigned to the rally. In addition to Butler County, local SWAT teams and snipers from Washington County and Beaver County were also tasked with security responsibilities. 2. Local law enforcement said communications were siloed and they were not in frequent radio contact directly with Secret Service. 3. Local law enforcement notified command about Crooks prior to the shooting and received confirmation that Secret Service was aware of the notification. 4. Following the shooting Secret Service was seen on the roof of the AGR building with local law enforcement; photos of the shooter were sent to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) for facial recognition. 5.) Secret Service was initially not going to send snipers to the rally, according to local law enforcement.

If Cheatle arrives, she better be prepared to get pummeled because she deserves it.

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dotcie · 1 year

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「2」 ━ you're the knife i turn inside myself.

》 PAIRING: simon 'ghost' riley x afab!reader 》 NOTES: no use of y/n, no mention of name, weight, hair style, or skin colour 》 WARNINGS: p-in-v smut | reader wears panties 》 CHAPTER: 3.6k | 2/3 [masterlist] | title is a kafka quote | posted on AO3

Simon realizes someone broke into his flat the second he opens the door.

The feeling makes him sick. That sort of dread that reminds him of his childhood; like waking up sweat-drenched from a nightmare. Like being Simon, and only Simon again—a tight, suffocating feeling at the back of his throat. He's immediately on edge, butterfly knife in hand. Ready to kill, ready to disappear again. Out of London, out of the country, out of reach to whoever was dumb enough to seek him out in this quiet residential part of Brixton.

He would have to get rid of them quietly, inform Price, and go under the radar for a while. It would be a challenge—a whole fucking carnival of problems he would rather not deal with on medical leave—but he could do it. Despite his injuries, he could do what he always does; survive.

It’s a professional job. Clean and barely noticeable. Simon can smell and feel the atmosphere of invaded personal space just as much as the hint of perfume in the air as he quietly steps inside. The light beam from the corridor illuminates part of the monotone living room that came pre-furnished. It's somewhere between the middle of the night and early morning. He can hear the muffled sounds of his neighbors' tv through the walls, and cars on the highway out west. There’s a rattling noise coming from the kitchen. A dog barks in the distance. Nothing seems out of place, he notes.

He moves along the empty hallway, stays close to the wall, takes the corner to the living room, tightens the grip around his combat knife, and—

"For fucks sake," Simon grunts out on the exhale, low and defeated, but you can tell he's pissed by the way his eyes narrow and his accent drips through. "Could have hurt you."

You're standing in the dim light of his kitchen; between clean counters, blank cabinetry, and undecorated walls. Your smile is weak, but the following shrug suggests a complete lack of shame. Simon can barely see both, because you are leaning back into the small freezer, rummaging around.

"Do you have anything remotely edible in here, Lieutenant?"

It’s been over a year since your mission in Sicily—three months since you last spoke to each other on the phone. Simon doesn't like the idea of you snooping around in his place; you notice too much. Everything is an evaluation, a fact-finding mission.

You can hear the click of his knife folding back instead of an answer. His lungs audibly expand, then deflate.

"How'd you find me?" he asks, the taste of ash on his tongue.

The freezer door closes with a thud, shutting out the cool air caressing your face. The feeling lingers—almost as cold and consuming as his voice. You lean your hip against the counter, cross your arms, and face him with a small grin tucking at the corners of your mouth.

"Price," you say with another shrug. "He asked me to check on you."

Simon lets out a huff, turning away to take off his leather jacket. He gives you the smallest, almost imperceptible headshake; his tension restrained but noticeable.

It's hard to read him like this—with the simple, black balaclava on—but you can tell by the way he moves that he’s in pain; the limited motion in his shoulder, and the way his eyes flinch when he hangs up his jacket in the hallway.

"He said you were in bad shape last time he saw you."

There is a deliberate pause sweeping into the space between you, standing in silence like strangers. It's somewhere between the middle of the night and early morning. The kitchen is dark and cool, dimly lit from the streetlight across. The air filled with a suspense that does nothing to dull the headache thrumming against Simons' temples. His pain meds are wearing off, and you are here, and he doesn't know how to handle the sudden proximity, so he stays quiet, alert; ready to bounce any second like a cornered animal.

He stares at you like you owe him an answer, as if it isn't obvious that you are here for him. You won't ask why you're still his emergency contact, or why Price thinks you never broke up in the first place. You didn't correct the Captain either—who else was there to call, except you? Who else would drop everything to check on him, when he's distancing himself from everyone again?

"I'm fine," he tells you, each word a knife.

"I didn't ask," you say back, matching his tone.

You expect a fight—nearly crave one—but he keeps completely still; fixating on you with half-lidded eyes, contemplating a thought. Like too much time has passed since you last saw each other, and now he can't decide if you’re friend or foe.

They say love is intensified by absence, and when you look at him, it eats you whole. He's the opposite; not good with letting people in—never has been. You can see the hard darkness in his eyes, pulsing with vigilance and rage. It's nothing new, you never know what side of him you'll encounter after a long time apart, and you're always ready to be devastated by it.

"Do you—" you begin in a tone that says you really don't want to begin at all. "Do you want me to leave?"

The question hangs heavy in the air, weighted down by the memories from the last time you saw each other; the kisses, whispered confessions, and all the time and space in between. His bloodshot eyes rank over you, and you give him the space to assess his feelings, letting each second slowly pass by.

"It would be easier if you did," he tells you slowly, each word deliberate.

"That's not what I asked."

"Doesn’t make it any less true, y'know?"

His arms cross over his chest while his eyes bore into your skin, deep and antagonistic. He looks out of place in the middle of this domestic scene, dressed in civilian clothes: a pair of jeans, a black sweatshirt with his hood pulled over the mask. You can see in his eyes that he's actively fighting a defensive response; watching him physically swallow back something vicious he is close to spitting out instinctively.

"Been a while," he adds after a moment of heavy silence.

"Yeah," you reply. "It’s good to see you."

There's another sharp pause. His eyes fixate on a spot behind you, almost as if annoyed.

He doesn't want to hear it.

His sleeve rides up his arm when he lifts it to pinch the bridge of his nose, and you find your eyes drawn to the familiar movement. Patches and bruises cover his arm, but that's not what holds your focus—it's the texture of his pale skin. The smooth expanse of his forearm, now lined with muscles and veins.

"Don't need you here," he says, eyes closed.

"I know," you coax, wishing he did.

You have been doing this dance for five years now. Feels like a lifetime, you think, not because you hate it, but because in the context of your relationship, it is too much and at the same time, never enough. Because his chin dips down at your words, because his eyes open and harbor regret. Because his shoulders sag. Because despite everything, he missed you.

Simon has never been good at letting things go; awfully bad at telling you no in the oh-so-human desire to be loved. His sorrow is palpable; it slips in the cracks of your teeth when you give him a sympathetic smile. It means: It's okay. It's okay. Take your time.

That night you crawl into his bed, in his shirt, under his sheets, and press your cheek against his shoulder. You don't talk. It is real and comfortable and warm; just like the rest of him. You can hear the thump thump thump of his heart, so very much alive and whole. Shadows dance upon the bedroom walls, cast by the flickering street lights that seemed to conspire with the haunting whispers of what-ifs and impermanence.

Simon murmurs something you can't understand, drifting into sleep. His breathing steadies as he squeezes your hand, pulling you closer, warm fingers sliding through yours. It's a calm and cool night, and you fall asleep soon after, curled and twisted together; clutching each other's hands like you fear losing another in the dark. It's not sexual, it’s not romantic—it just is.

Everything you want to say that night, you swallow.

In the morning, the silence between you feels warm and orange; deliberately unfilled. You know he's awake by the way his breathing steadies, so you trace your finger on the back of his injured shoulder, spelling out wishes you cannot bring yourself to say out loud.

When he slowly turns around—aching and panting from the pain of his injuries—you lift your fingers to his jaw, cradling the bruised over his cheekbones and broken nose; varying shades of purple, black, and sickly yellow merging over his swollen skin.

"You look rancid," you whisper, fingertips tracing across his jaw.

He hums in response, still somewhere else in his head.

"Like a mushed avocado."

Last night, he didn't want to take off his mask at first. It made you angry to feel denied, to feel like after all this time, he really thought you would accept anything less than the full picture. Now you run your thumb over his skin, and Simons' body betrays him in the dip of his chin—melting into your palm; pale eyelashes fluttering, slits of brown peering at you.

"Pretty sure the other guy s'missing his head," he mumbles. "Splattered the fuckers brain all over the wall."

His voice is hoarse, and there is a distracted quality to it; like his attention is split between you and a far-away thought.

"Gross," you comment unimpressed, pulling your hand away.

You want to get out of bed to get some water from the kitchen, but his hand grips the back of your shirt and holds you in place. He yanks you back, arms wrapping around you; pressing you back into his chest while his nose drapes the nape of your neck. You groan in protest, but don't put up a fight.

"Stay," he says, baring his teeth against your ear.

It’s not a question, not a request; just a word. You sigh a deep and bearing sigh, but the anticipation is there—and it builds. Both of his hands gently brush under your shirt, over your belly; rough fingertips pressing into soft skin. His palm trails down your abdomen, under the seam of your panties, and stops right over your pubic bone. His hand covers your mound and gently pulls up, making your clit throb at the movement. Rivulets of pleasure start to ripple across the nerves in your thighs—up along your spine, down into your toes. You inhale sharply at the feeling, leaning into his chest. Suddenly wide awake.

"Need you to want this," he whispers into your shoulder, lips barely leaving your skin.

"C'mon," you mumble, "Pity fucks have never been my thing."

You feel his brittle, split lips curl into something like a smile against you.

"If you want me to touch you," he begins slowly, words rolling off his tongue in a gravelling sound. "I need you to say it."

"Fuck you."

There is a quiet laugh rumbling through his chest behind you.

"That’s what you're here for anyway, innit?"

You still haven't talked about what exactly it is that you're doing here. After you called it quits about three years ago, you rather quickly ended up back together again and somehow, it just continues to happen. You were once more that what you are now, but you still care for him. Price was worried when he called, and so were you—heart still beating fast from seeing the Captain's name on your display. Face still numb from the quick pleas of: oh no, no, please. Please don’t tell me he's dead.

Simon runs his hand along the lower curve of your breast, trailing kisses down your neck. Goosebumps begin to form and you decide that for a little while longer, anything outside his bedroom might as well not exist. It's just you and him. You and him.

His fingertips trace across your sternum, over your nipples, and eventually rest across your throat, long fingers wrapping around the soft skin as you lift your chin. He stays like this; one hand in your panties, one loosely gripping your throat. Your eyes squeeze shut, and you contemplate if this is a good idea.

"You still into this?" he asks, voice deep and low.

You can't feel anything except his mouth on your ear, and his length pressing into you—and it's promising, so promising, that it's almost enough.

"Sometimes," you say, voice raspy. "Depends on—" Breathe. "Depends on whose hand it is."

He hums while his fingers lift from your throat, one after another, just to lay back down on your hot skin again. The thought of where this is going pools heat between your legs, and the words spill from your lips quietly, almost as if a confession, when you whisper: "I like it right now."

"Course you do," he says smoothly. "Always fuckin' starved for me."

The warmth of his chest presses closer to your back. Under different circumstances, his arrogance would annoy you, but all protest dwindles as you feel his thumb parting you, rubbing up and down, up and down with even pressure, until you are writhing under his touch. He spits in his hand and then begins massaging you with increasing pressure, rubbing and circling his fingers all over your wet heat. His touch beckons a subtle moan from you. The shivers run through you in waves. He's being mean; knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you squirm for him.

How to make you beg for it.

You almost forgot what it is like to be held and touched like this. The insatiability of it all—how intimate, how familiar it feels. The betrayal of your body is cathartic, your mouth forms a perfect O once he starts flicking his fingers over your clit.

"Oh," you choke out. "Fuck me."

You're not sure if it’s an expression of frustration or a direct request.

His grip around your throat tightens, holding you firmly in place—just the way you like it. Simon pinches both sides of your mound in response. He moves his fingers back into your heat, rolling his thumb around your clit without actually touching it while sliding a finger inside you. He pulls it out only to thrust in two, then starts to pump into you slowly.

"Fuck me," you breathe out again, but this time your intentions are clear.

Simon pushes you forward, grabbing your hip to move you into a good angle. His touch is not gentle, but you don't need it to be. You hear him fiddle with the heavy blanket and his briefs, while you wiggle yourself out of your underwear. It's frantic and hectic and so, so desperate, that you accidentally knock your elbow into his already bruised ribs—making him grunt out in pain.

"Sorry!" you choke out immediately, "Sorry. You okay?"

You try to turn around to take a peek at his face, but Simons’ hand is already in your hair—pushing you back in position, panties wrapped around your knees as he shoves you forward.

"S'alright," he says in a rush, teeth gritted together. "Just—fuck, keep still, yeah?"

"Charming."

"Shut up."

He gets the blanket out of the way and maneuvers himself out of his clothes, careful to not put too much pressure on his injured shoulder. His movements are hasty and rushed; a continuous reminder that he wants you just as much as you want him. Once you feel him close—the tip of his cock rubbing and sliding against your wet cunt—you reach behind and wrap your hand around his length, guiding him to you with an impatient noise.

Your eyes close, lips parting in a gasp as he pushes himself inside you.

"Fuck," he pants again, spreading possessive hands over your stomach, gripping your waist to pull you closer, "Thought about this a lot."

He moves his hips backwards, pulling himself from your wetness entirely, before guiding himself slowly back inside of you. You arch your back to push your hips into him, soft noises spilling over your lips. All you can think of is: Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck this out of me.

And he does.

For a brief moment, you are out of sync—then you settle into an even, lazy rhythm. You whisper how good it feels, words broken by another moan as he moves against a spot that makes you shudder. It sends electric pulses through you, every muscle between your thighs clenching as you hum in pleasure. You let him press you into the mattress—one hand gripping the soft flesh of your angled thigh. He ruts into you over and over and over again without any rush. It's sloppy and tired in the best sort of way; without much effort, just you and him fucking in the bright morning sunlight, familiar and warm. You press your cheek into the pillow, gripping the headboard to give him more friction while his hand pushes your t-shirt out of the way. It trails over your spine, your lower back, and comes to a halt at your hips again. You like him like this; dazed and fixated on you.

You both shudder when he starts pounding into you more frantically; skin damp where you press together. It’s a heated, gratifying feeling, and after a couple of harder thrusts, you reach between your legs to draw fast circles around your clit.

"Look at me," he pants, gripping you harder. "I want to watch you fall apart."

Your mind is blank, you don't think—instantly looking over your shoulder to meet his glassy eyes, and it takes you by surprise; the way he looks at you, the way your orgasm rips through every fiber of your being like a wildfire. His name falls from your lips and he is louder now, no longer able to contain himself as you tense in his arms. He holds you through it, sweat dripping down his temples and neck. You taste it when he presses his lips on the corner of your mouth until his orgasm dies its own, slow death.

Your ears are ringing. He kisses your neck, your cheeks, your shoulder, your hair, and you can't stop smiling.

For a moment, everything is just as you need it to be.

You take a shower together afterwards. When you get dressed, the bedroom windows are open, and a comfortable silence hangs in the air. Rain is batting down on London, and the air smells like spring, dirt and wet asphalt. Simon just looks at you from the bed, watching your every move. He's half lying, half sitting against the headboard, listening to the rain and basking in the quiet lull of the morning.

When you were still together, you used to spend many mornings like this. He always liked the lazy, quiet hours with you—seeing you bare-faced and relaxed in a way nobody else ever got to see you. Private, domestic, and so goddamn pretty. His throat goes tight at the thought.

"Maybe you should stay," he hears himself say.

You reach for his t-shirt on the floor, looking up in surprise.

"Why? I thought you don’t need me here."

You let your voice go deeper when throwing his own words back at him with a small grin, imitating his voice and accent dramatically bad.

Simon ignores the jab.

"Because," he starts instead, folding his arm lazily behind his head, "we are good together."

"We are horrible together."

"Naah" His disagreement sounds casual. "We take care of each other."

"Sexually, maybe. Besides—"

You pull the shirt over your head, and he watches your tits bounce in the movement.

"I was asked to come here because you should be in the hospital instead of playing civilian."

"I don’t like the machine sounds," he says flatly.

"I’m here because no one else puts up with your bullshit," you point.

"You're here because you can't stay away from me."

"Oh, fuck off."

You wipe some damp hair out of your face, loosely pointing a finger at him.

"I tried dating you, Simon. Didn’t end well."

"You’re standing right in front of me. In my clothes. Glowing from the way I fucked you 20 minutes ago, and I’m gonna make ya' some breakfast in a second."

He narrows his eyebrows, watching you with a half-lidded, statisfied expression.

"Can't be that bad, hm?"

"Well," you say, making a face. "You're emotionally unavailable, chronically avoidant, fucking bad at communicating, horrible at any conflict resolution that involves emotions, you smoke too much, don’t understand basic dating etiquette, never told me you loved me, push people away constantly, think a retirement plan is overrated—"

"I love you."

It’s a bloodless crime. Still, saying it out loud doesn't help his breathing, and it sure as hell doesn't ease the pain.

"Simon—" You sweep a hand through the air in a please-don't-start gesture.

He makes a sound like a laugh in the back of his throat.

"I know," he says. "It's fucked."

"You’re fucked," you say gently, tender; as if you are saying something much kinder.

It's incontestable. He doesn’t answer; Simon exhales a humourless laugh instead. He looks out the window, lets his eyes roam to the dark and stormy sky, and shakes his head in a silent gesture of acceptance.

It means: maybe you deserve someone else, but I'll always want you.

— NEXT PART. — SERIES MASTERLIST.

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