#been doing laundry for the past six hours BUT!!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

osaemu · 8 months

Text

GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW

contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.

you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the money—it came with a shitty boyfriend too.

as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fucking laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.

you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.

hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.

you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.

humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.

on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.

you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were right—he was fucking other girls while the two of you dated.

a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with the help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mind—filthy.

you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.

you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.

it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is that shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.

satoru gojo's well-known in japan—not only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all.

you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies.

and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of a dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.

it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.

"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.

"no, i'm— wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone.

satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which are really fucking hot by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"

"i—" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."

satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"

you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either you aren't his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"

well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so.

"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them.

not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.

"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."

"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fu—

you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for his dad to know.

satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"

you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want you out of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."

satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"

it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgust—whether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.

just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane idea—one that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.

"you should fuck me."

oh my god.

satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"

you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, i—" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.

he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.

"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."

"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.

"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."

satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.

"shit, you're takin' me so good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like tha— fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.

he's big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching porn—unlike his lame excuse of a son.

"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"

when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expect every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because they aren't."

at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from.

it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throat—his eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.

"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.

"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."

and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's so fucking big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.

"g-gojo, i can't—"

"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin' hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"

"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shit— right there—"

satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentle—it's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.

you lose track of time easily—fuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll back—just a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.

as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to say—he's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.

"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."

you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situation—what was your ex's name again? does it matter?

"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.

"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."

he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores the hm? that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"

"wha— why'd you stop?"

satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.

"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."

your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling you kid and telling you it's time to go?

"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."

satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we did something in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes.

"hmph."

satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"

you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"

before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.

"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"

15K notes · View notes

jewelleria · 2 months

Text

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be.

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate.

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified.

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map.

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle.

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more.

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop.

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments.

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on.

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not.

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways.

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine.

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war.

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this:

I am a Jew.

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love.

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners.

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee!

Then they sent me this:

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die.

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind.

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake.

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired.

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people?

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews.

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like.

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for.

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war.

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why.

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be.

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

554 notes · View notes

swordsandholly · 11 days

Text

On the Mend

Ao3 | Chapter One | Next

Captain John Price x fem!plus size!reader

Word Count: 4.1k

MDNI | cw: referenced cheating, divorce, implied alcoholism, age gap, blood/minor injury

Summary: Following his divorce, John Price is adrift - strong armed into going on leave, he decides to use the time to renovate a run down family lake house. He finds himself drawn into an unexpected bond with his peculiar new neighbor who seems equally unable to leave him alone.

When John came home to papers and a set of silver rings on the kitchen counter he didn’t feel surprised. No sense of despair at the lack of shoes by the door or empty closet. No betrayal at the slight layer of dust covering the flat. A layer that had accumulated over the course of coming home two weeks later than planned. Just a a wave of numbness. That sick sort of relief when the bad thing you knew would happen finally does. Something that twists in his gut and hollows out his bones. He knew it was coming sooner or later.

Looks like sooner.

It started in the early fall - though, if he’s honest, he should have seen it coming long before then. Nearly a year of cold shoulders and whispers over the phone spoken in the other room during late hours. Passive nudges and snide comments. Nights spent alone more than together. New clothes and lingerie that he only spotted in passing on laundry day. All his time in the SAS and he didn’t see what was right under his nose. Five simple words that spelled out the end.

“I found someone else, John.”

That’s it. The grand finale to thirteen years.

Of course it’s never simple. What followed was weeks of arguing between - and during - his deployments. Months of lawyers sending information and communications back and forth because face to face talks were no longer getting them anywhere. It’s difficult to process so many years falling apart in such little time. It’s harder still to get over the hurled insults and accusations of stolen youth. The insinuation that he ruined her. The allegation that he never loved her in the first place. That this has been broken for a long, long time, John. How do you not see that?

How didn’t he see it?

At the end of the day, John is good at two things: compartmentalizing and work. It’s just convenient that those two qualities happen to go hand in hand right now. John lives on base full time - got out of that flat as soon as the lease ran out. It’s a waste of money sitting empty for most of the year. More often than that, really, considering he spends every waking moment - when not deployed - in his office or running drills. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t step past the threshold without feeling something shatter in his chest.

Now, six months since the final signatures, the walls John carefully built around the issue have started to wear. Coming loose at the seams - all crumbling brick and thinning mortar. He’s agitated. Frayed at the edges. You wouldn’t know it to look at him. John’s uniform remains crisp as always. His belongings placed in exact order - including the ever growing collection of liquor. His hair is perfectly kept. At a glance, he’s the same as always.

It’s those closest to him that can see it. That take the brunt of it.

Harsh, barking orders at Ghost that would have previously been calm instruction. Sharp reprimands that leave Soap jumpy and flinching. Both give him a wide berth when they can. His drills for the newer recruits became far more difficult with tougher punishments for any sort of acting out. Gaz has avoided his growing wrath for the most part - good at keeping his head down and following orders as needed.

Until today, it seems. An accidental, near deadly failure. The perfect boiling point.

While clearing a building currently housing a potential terrorist cell, one man managed to slip past Gaz. All of them, really, but it was his floor to clear. The man got a shot off on Soap after the Scot tackled him - luckily his vest stopped it. Ghost dropped the adversary and Soap won’t have more than a bruised rib and a couple weeks of rest but it could have been worse. Much, much worse.

Gaz knew he was fucked when the Captain went silent. John barely looked him in the eye and didn’t say anything more than necessary on their way back to base. A single grunt of “my office” and the sergeant’s fate became sealed.

“Sir.” Gaz prays that the quaver he feels in his voice doesn’t come through. He’s never been here before, standing stiffly across from the Captain. Not like this at least - waiting for the hand he’s about to be dealt.

“Donnae worry tae much, lad.” Soap had given him a rough slap on the back. “Price’s all bark an’ no bite.”

Right now standing across from The Captain, all he can see is a bite risk.

“You know why I’ve called you in, Sergeant.” It isn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.” Gaz shifts ever so slightly. “I wasn’t successful in clearing my floor-“

“And nearly compromised a teammate because of your carelessness.” John crosses his arms, a snarl in his tone. His nerves are fried - every bit of frustration and hurt that’s been pushed down and allowed to fester over the last several months bubbling up to the surface.

John can’t lose anyone else.

By the time he’s done with his verbal lashing Gaz looks like he wants to run for the hills and never come back. As good as the boy is at masking his reaction externally, just as any military man does, his eyes never hide anything. There’s a sheen over them that has John pausing, stepping it back and sighing heavily. He never raises his voice - doesn’t find it useful long term - but he has a skill for putting together strings of words that stab right to the heart. Gaz is an empathetic kid - a trait easily exploited to pour gallons of guilt on the sergeant.

“Don’t let it happen again.” John mutters, the fire gone. Doused out by the kicked puppy look Gaz wears. An itch of regret stings the back of his mind. “Dismissed.”

Based on the rhythm of footsteps the moment the office door closes behind Gaz, it really does sound like he’s running for the hills. John wouldn’t blame him. He doesn’t want to be around himself either.

John practically collapses into his office chair, finally letting his muscles relax. As much as they are physically capable of relaxing. These days his shoulders are always around his ears - hackles raised and hands flexing. He buries himself in the incident report - pouring hours into filling out bureaucratic red tape that he used to avoid at every turn.

The sun has set when a quiet but firm tap tap tap sounds at his door.

“Come in.” He grunts, knowing exactly who is about to walk through that door based entirely on the perfunctory knock.

“John.” Kate steps in, carefully shutting the door behind her before stepping forward.

“Kate.” He straightens in his seat.

“We need to talk.”

“I’ll apologize to Garrick tomorrow.” John waves her off, turning back to the files on his desk in a last ditch effort to make her leave. It’s a foolish attempt.

“You know that’s not what I’m going to say.” She crosses her arms.

“Do I?”

Kate stands over him, staring him down. It’s a position they find themselves in fairly often whether face to face or communicating from hundreds of miles away. There’s a new weight to it here. A far more personal tension than either are used to.

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’m coming to you as a friend - not a coworker. You need to take some time.”

The last thing John needs is to ‘take some time.’ He just needs to focus. Get into the new swing of things. He hit the ground running now all he needs is to find his stride.

“I’m fine.” John snaps.

“You’re not.” She fires back. “It’s normal that you’re not but you need to deal with it.”

“I have dealt with it. It’s been dealt with for six months.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

John sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. He has plenty of leave, really. About three months worth that haven’t been used. Months he was saving for a long vacation that won’t happen now. Ninety days that are wasting away on his employee profile - a fake number. It’s all bullshit anyway, right? The only thing that’s truly real is what he can accomplish here. Helping people and saving the world here. What good is he rotting at home for nine months?

He’s needed here.

John needs to be needed.

“John.” Kate sighs. Her voice is low - that of a disappointed mother. “Either you take your leave, or I get you sent on a mandatory mental health leave. I already have the paperwork drafted. You need to step away.”

The captain lets out another heavy sigh. Laswell has obviously made up her mind. There’s no changing it once she has the steel like gleam in her eyes.

“Fine. Give me a week to get things sorted.”

John doesn’t miss the slight quirk in the corner of Kate’s mouth. “Thank you.”

As usual, by the time he makes it back to his flat he’s completely worn through. Body and mind equally exhausted - just what he wants. John falls into his routine of pouring a glass of whatever he’s in the mood for, tonight it’s bourbon, apparently, and plopping onto the couch. Normally he’d turn on the television or grab a book or some other shite but all he can manage right now is a staring contest with the wall.

The hell is he supposed to do for three months? He can’t hang around here, that’s too pathetic. It’ll drive him mad. Could visit his mum, but she’s got a life of her own in that retirement community of hers. He wouldn’t want to disturb her peace for more than a week or two. That still leaves at least seventy-six days unaccounted for.

Somewhere during his wall-watching, he thinks it’s while taking in a particularly interesting mistake in the paint, an idea finally comes to him. A flimsy, probably stupid idea. John grabs his cell. It only rings once.

“Hey, mum.” John leans back on the shitty couch of his on base apartment. It’s minimal, but he doesn’t need much anymore, does he?

“Jack, love, how are you?” She says brightly. Always full of sunshine and excitement to hear from her only child.

“Fine.” He lies. As much as he hates lying to his mother and the acetic taste it leaves in his mouth, he just can’t handle her worry at the moment. John doesn’t need another reason to cry right now. “How are you?”

“Oh, lovely!” She replies. “I have the ladies knitting circle tomorrow - apparently there’s new developments about Harold and Linda.”

“Oh? What sort of developments?”

“The salacious sort.” She snickers.

John huffs out a laugh. The old gossip. “Mum, I was wonderin’… do we still have that old family home? By the lake?”

She hums, thinking for a moment. “Oh, yeah, we do. Though, technically it belongs to your Aunt Claudia - the old hag - love her dearly. It’s run down. No one’s been there in years.”

“Alright. Good.”

“Why do you ask?”

John sees no way out of giving into her prying just a bit. “I need a project.”

“A project?”

“I’ve been given some leave. Need something to pass the time.”

A short lapse of silence. “Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

He sighs heavily, swirling the glass in his other hand absently. The breath comes out shaky and there’s a stinging in the corners of his eyes. “I’m really fine, ma.”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Wish you wouldn’t call me on it.” He chuckles bitterly.

“You’re my son, of course I’m going to call you on it.” She scoffs.

“I’ll…” John sighs. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. You should talk about it, though. If not to me then to some friends.“

What friends? He wants to snap back. His ex-wife took all their mutual friends with her. The men on base aren’t his friends - can’t be with how he’s been treating them these past few months. There’s no fixing that. They’ll never trust him the same again.

Of course, he won’t tell her that. “I will, mum. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Goodnight.”

“Night.” The silence of the flat feels deafening as soon as the call ends. A reminder of all the things he isn’t - all the things he failed at. Nearly fourty years and nothing to show for it outside of his career. No one else is around to hear the poorly bitten back sobs and shaky gasps that echo through the bedroom until sleep finally overtakes him.

~~~

The home seems about as bad John assumed it to look when he pulls up. Bare patches where shingles have long fallen off spot the roof. The front porch has several posts missing from the railing and a few cracked boards. The steps creak worryingly under his boots but seem solid enough for now. John takes his time working through each room, just as he would on the job. Taking stock of damaged hinges and rusted pipes. At least the water runs and electric seems to be undamaged. Livable conditions even if it all needs a proper dusting and washing.

The interior is just as he remembers right down to the furniture. All family heirlooms with only a few updated pieces scattered throughout. Wicker chairs and heavy wood bed frames. The only truly new addition is the thick layer of dust and grime covering it all. If John were more poetic he may have something to say about that, but as it stands he is not and does not.

As he makes his way to the back, he comes across the majority of the damages to the property. The dock is missing a series of boards all the way down. The back porch has visibly rotting wood and most of the railing seems long gone. Weather battered and use torn. More shingles are missing from this side of the roof. The entire exterior needs a new paint job. Fixable enough with the right materials and some elbow grease. The perfect amount of work to fill the next ninety days.

As he makes his way through the overgrown back yard to look at the dock in more detail, movement catches his eye. A girl walking in the backyard of the house next door - a red, square little cabin that couldn’t house anything above two bedrooms at most. She stomps her way down the slight incline to the lake - carefully carrying a massive easel and canvas under one arm and a rectangular bag of what he assumes are art supplies under the other.

John isn’t sure what compels him to watch her. Maybe it’s the soft curve of her hips or the determined scrunch of her face - either way it takes longer than it should for him to tear his eyes away and head back into the lake house.

It’s easy enough to spend this first day busying himself with cleaning up the accumulated dirt. John ties a handkerchief over his face - more of a formality than a real barrier to keep from breathing too much in. He shouldn’t care. The man sucks down enough cigar smoke that even this dense sort of dust wouldn’t be more than a tickle. He sweeps and mops and throws some bedsheets in the wash. At least enough to last him until he can take the quilts outside and beat them properly.

Even as he climbs into the old but solid master bed he has lists running through his mind. Lists are good. Lists are a distraction. Sort of like counting sheep but more productive.

Needs a new hammer, nails, several lengths of screws. He’ll have to take into account the type of wood needed - might have to order the railing. The small town probably doesn’t have any that would match in person…

~~~

Even without an alarm John wakes at five am on the dot. After so many years of military life he has no hope of becoming a late sleeper. Even on lazy Sunday mornings, he’d wake first, stay in bed and wait for his ex-wife to wake. Often he would try to surprise her with breakfast…

John clears his throat and focuses on dressing for the day. Some old work jeans and a sturdy, standard issue t-shirt. He spends the morning finalizing his list, categorizing what he can most likely get in person and what will need to be ordered. He decides to get a calendar to plan out the repairs over the next three months, starting with the interior and working his way out. Methodical. Controlled. Just like he prefers.

Luckily the hardware store has more than he thought it would. Between the tools already in the lake house’s small garage and the few he needs to pick up, he should be well stocked for at least the first round of projects.

“New to town?” The older woman at the counter asks politely with minimal interest.

“Sort of. Fixin’ up a family home.” John grunts, dropping cash onto the counter.

“Ah.” She nods. “That’s good. So many places around here have been rotting away or getting bought up by vacation companies.”

John just hums in response. He doesn’t have much of an opinion on that. It’s not really his business what other people do. He shoves his change into the small tip jar on the counter and drags his supplies out to his truck.

He drives back in silence, opting to focus entirely on the empty country road. He hasn’t liked music much these days. John frowns as a figure making its way up the side of the road more into focus. The same girl from yesterday, the neighbor, pushes her bike along the side of the road. She’s limping slightly as she walks. Her legs and arms have a solid layer of dirt covering them. The front and back baskets of her bike are stuffed full of reusable grocery bags. She looks downright pissed as soon as he catches her face.

John slows when his truck finally catches up with her, rolling down the window. “You alright?”

“Fine!” You call back, obviously out of breath with a frustrated pinch to your face. You keep your eyes solidly forward. John glances down at your freshly skinned knees, wincing to himself.

“Y’don’t seem fine.”

“I am!” You turn up your nose, speeding up your walk ever so slightly. American. Interesting.

John lightly toes the gas to keep up. “Your knees look pretty banged up. I can give you a ride.”

You stop dead in your tracks. John barely has to touch the break to stop with you. There’s a fire in your eyes when you whirl on him - one that reminds him all too much of Soap when he gets the itch to blow something up. He takes you in piece by piece. He isn’t quite able to gauge how old you are. Younger than him, he thinks. Your face is soft despite the hard expression, body a graceful, continuously curved line. He snaps his eyes back to your face before you can catch him staring.

You raise your hand to point at him and then the little canister hanging from the carabiner hooked to your shorts. “I’m not going anywhere with you, old man! Try to make me and I’ll mace you.”

John blinks. Old man? He supposes it makes sense. To you he’s just a creepy guy trying to coax you into his beat up truck. “I, uh, saw you yesterday. Wait, wait! I’m fixing up the house next door. The blue one.”

That makes you pause your march again, turning to look at him slowly. You squint, eyes raking over the truck, the materials in the bed, and flicking around his face. A slow look of recognition dawns across your expression, the pinch of your lips changing into a gentle part.

“Oh. Yeah. I saw your truck.” There’s still a wariness in your tone, a shifting in your stance. Smart girl. He wonders if you can sense it. The things he’s done, the kind of man that he is. Does it roll off him in waves like he thinks? Would it surprise you?

“It’s still another five miles back. There’s room in the bed for your bike. Can’t be fun walking around all bruised up like that.” John nods to your knees again.

Your lip catches between your teeth, a sigh of defeat relaxes your shoulders. “Okay. I’ll still mace the fuck out of you if you get weird on me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John chuckles.

You huff and load up your bike into the back of his truck. You’re stronger than he expected, throwing the bike and groceries around like they weigh almost nothing to you. The midday sun gives you a healthy glow despite the cuts a scrapes from your earlier fall.

“There’s a first aid kit in the glove box.” John says as you load up into the cab with him.

“Thanks.” You reach for it immediately, grabbing some disinfectant wipes and a few large bandaids. They’re still bleeding pretty badly - dripping down your dirt covered shins.

“What happened, anyway?” He asks as he starts down the old dirt road once again.

You hiss at the sting of the wipes. “My - ah fuck - bike chain snapped. Threw me off.”

“Y’don’t carry a back up?”

“Usually, but that’s the one that just broke. Piece of shit. Hadn’t gotten around to replacing it yet…” You keep your eyes down and pick at your confetti nail polish, obviously embarrassed.

John hums. “I might have one laying around the house. If not I can drive you to town to look for one.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that!”

“It’s no problem.” He chuckles. “If you don’t mind an old man driving you around, that is.”

“Y’know, on a closer inspection you’re not that old.” You grin. “Just the old-timey beard.”

“I’ve been told it’s distinguished.”

“That just means old.” You snicker.

A comfortable silence lapses between you - the only sound being that of the truck puttering down the dirt road. There’s a prickle on John’s skin and he glances over only to see your eyes dragging across his arm holding the steering wheel. You think you’re subtle, he’s sure, with the way you keep your face mostly forward and only look out of the corner of your eye. It’s hard to fool a SAS officer.

Who’s the creep now? John smiles and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from blurting it out.

You turn away to watch out the window as he pulls up just between your houses. A two hour walk reduced to all of ten minutes. “Glad to see that house finally getting fixed up. It’s depressing watching it decompose - even if it is kind of cool.”

John nods. “My family is small. Hasn’t seen a lot of use since my cousins and I were kids.”

“Just you?” You tilt your head, staring up at him with big doe eyes. “No wife or kids?”

“No.” He grunts, wincing internally at the harshness of it.

You don’t seem phased. If anything your smile gets just a hair wider. “Well, thanks for the ride. Glad you’re not a kidnapper.”

“Anytime.” He snorts, climbing out of the truck after you. “I’m John, by the way. John Price.”

“Oh! Didn’t even think to introduce myself.” You laugh and hold your hand as you give your name. It’s so much softer and smaller than his. He almost doesn’t want to let go.

Christ, is he really that fucking touch starved?

John clears his throat and sets his hands on his hips. “Need help carrying that in?”

“I can manage.” You look him over again. John can’t help but wonder what you see. Whatever it is, you smile and wave politely before disappearing into your cabin.

He’s still thinking about that as he gets ready for bed, staring at himself in the mirror. All he sees are the bags under his eyes and scars littering his torso. The grey hairs beginning to salt his beard and hair. The rough callouses on his hands from rougher work. A tired, grizzled officer with only work to look forward to. What did you like enough to stare at? He’s strong, sure, but no more than the next guy that works out or does physical labor.

John downs the last of his drink for the night, brushes his teeth and falls into bed. For once, there’s a relative peace as he falls asleep to the sounds of nature outside. No sounds of base to keep him awake, no itching sense of duty. Just frogs and crickets.

A/N: I know I have other stuff to work on but the brain worms are wriggling thinking about sad, lonely John Price.

#captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #john price x reader #john price x you #price x reader #fem reader #cw alcohol #plus size reader #fat reader #cod #reader insert

334 notes · View notes

writinground2 · 8 months

Text

The Past Doesn't Always Stay in the Past

Leah Williamson - Reader

Based off a prompt for Angsty Leah. Y/N's past resurfaces. Slight trigger warning for very mention of abuse, nothing detailed.

Leah’s eye kept darting to the door, their film session having started 20 minutes ago, and Y/N had yet to arrive. Y/N had abruptly left the lunchroom, and no one had seen her since.

Finally, 10 minutes later, Y/N settled herself in the open seat next to Leah. The blonde rolled her seat until the arm rests bumped Y/N’s. She rested her hand on Y/N’s knee where it bounced anxiously. The motion caused Y/N to jerk her leg away, slamming it harshly against the table while she pushed herself further away from Leah. The defender withdrew her hand quickly, hovering it in the air in surrender.

Y/N mumbled apologies to the room as everyone looked back at them, shrinking herself as much as she could into her chair. Jonas quickly called attention back to the front of the room, continuing his film session.

Leah did her best to focus on what Jonas was talking about, but her eyes continued to stray back over to her girlfriend next to her. Y/N’s eyes were staring forward, but it was obvious she wasn’t paying attention to anything being said, nibbling absentmindedly over her thumb, both legs bouncing again. Occasionally her eyebrows would knit together, and her jaw would clench, whatever thoughts going through her mind not being good ones.

The blonde gently tapped the table next to Y/N’s arm, doing her best not to startle her again. The meeting finished and everyone left, but Y/N hadn’t made any motion that she knew that. Y/N’s eyes rapidly blinked while she came back to focus, looking around the room to see everyone gone.

“Hey,” Leah spoke softly, hoping to avoid startling the younger woman.

“Hey.”

Leah could see the woman working to put up her defences, preparing to defend that she was alright before the blonde could ask how she was.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

Y/N breathed out in relief at not having to confront anything yet. Nodding, she followed the blonde out of the room.

Leah consciously gave Y/N her space as they walked, pointedly keeping herself slightly in front of her, making sure Y/N could see all her movements. Glancing behind her to make sure Y/N was following, she could see the way Y/N’s eyes seemed to dart everywhere, stumbling into the blondes back when a door shut loudly from behind them.

Y/N nibbled on her thumb again as she stared out the window on the drive home. Leah tucked the hand not on the wheel under her thigh to avoid reaching over to Y/N.

Leaving her kit bag in the backseat, Y/N darted from the car and to the house before Leah could even get the car into park.

Hearing the shower running when she walked in, she made her way to the laundry to drop off both bags. She worked on emptying them in the wash, tossing a few other items in to fill the load.

Absently wandering the house, working to keep herself busy while she waited for Y/N to finish.

Leah sat the kitchen island picking at a bowl of berries when Y/N made her way in. She forced herself to keep her eyes on Y/N’s face and not scan her body like she wanted to.

“Umm, a lawyer called me today,” Y/N bit her lip while she shuffled in place.

Leah nodded, encouraging Y/N to continue.

“I have to go to court next week. He, uh, he, Rick might get parole,” she furrowed her brows, bringing her thumb back to her mouth, ripping the abused skin off, “good behaviour or some shit.”

The was the closest to emotion Leah had seen from Y/N since she entered the meeting room hours earlier.

“He was supposed to have 10 years! It’s only been six! And because he was a good little boy, he gets to get out early? It’s fucked!”

Y/N started to pace the kitchen.

“Found God or some fucking bullshit. She didn’t even get any time and now he gets out early? It’s fucked up. And I have to fucking see both of them!”

Her voice grew louder the more she spoke.

“So, I have to go be the same scared little girl I was six years ago. I need to see both those monsters again! Because if I don’t, he’ll get out.”

Leah wished there was something she could do. There was nothing she could say to make Y/N feel better. She wanted to pull Y/N in her arms and tell her nothing bad would happen but knew that would be a lie. Y/N wasn’t in a place to be touched right now, the blonde had learned that the first time Y/N had spoken about her past and had a panic attack when the blonde tried to hug her.

Y/N had told Leah of her past before they started dating. Some rude rookie wouldn’t stop questioning Y/N about the odd shaped scars on her back. Leah harshly told the rookie to mind her own business she brought it up again on a night out.

Cigarettes Y/N mumbled to the blonde when the rookie finally walked away. Cigars if he was in a good mood, she said it so casually the blonde almost thought she was kidding, but seeing her face, she knew Y/N wasn’t.

When Leah sat gapping like a fish, Y/N just said she had it a little rough growing up and left it at that.

A week later, Leah snapped at the rookie again when she commented to the team that it was weird Y/N never changed in front of the group, always choosing to change in a bathroom stall. Leah had hoped Y/N hadn’t heard, but unfortunately, she walked out as the rookie rushed out properly scorned.

She had found Y/N leaned against the hood of her car when she went to leave. The younger girl just saying she owed the woman an explanation to the person always coming to her defence.

That night, Y/N explained everything. How she had grown up in the foster system, some houses were good, most weren’t. The last ‘family’ being Rick and Sheryl; a be seen and not heard type of house. That being seen meant being punished. She laughed that Rick claimed he struggled with his anger, but the reality was that Rick loved the fear in the kids’ eyes as he stood over them. But what he loved even more, was Y/N begging him to take it out on her instead. Sheryl pretended she didn’t know what Rick did, but really, she was just too drunk to notice.

She told Leah how it ended when she had collapsed at a football practice. The doctors had seen the bruises in varying states of healing along with the crudely bandaged laceration on her hip where Rick’s belt buckle had struck.

Y/N flinched when Leah unconsciously reached out to touch it.

Everything moved quickly after that. The kids were removed and placed in different homes. Y/N was left on her own, petitioning for emancipation. She was awarded that, along with a large settlement from the system for the years of abuse she had attempted to report countless times. After a whirlwind of meetings and court appearances and trials, Rick was in prison, Sheryl was given a fine and Y/N was left on her own.

It felt like overnight, but now she was 22 playing professional football, dating a fellow footballer, and doing well. All for It to seemingly come crashing down by a phone call.

“It was supposed to be ten years until possible parole, not six! They were just kids, fucking kids!”

“You were just a kid too,” Leah whispered, heart clenching when she realized Y/N still prioritized how the other kids had been treated over herself.

“I was just a kid,” Y/N finally broke down completely, collapsing against the wall and sliding to the floor, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees, “I was just a kid,” she whispered helplessly.

Leah quickly made her way next to Y/N, sitting next to her, but keeping space between them. Only moving to wrap her arms around Y/N when she said it was alright.

They stayed on the floor for hours. Y/N soaking the chest of Leah’s t-shirt where her face was pressed. Leah didn’t offer any empty platitudes, only rubbing her hand soothingly up and down Y/N’s back. She only encouraged her to move when she recognized Y/N beginning to drift off against her.

Leah gently tugged her to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, promising she would feel just slightly better after performing both actions.

Once in bed, she stayed on her back, waiting for Y/N to decide on her own if she wanted to cuddle into her side or not. Y/N didn’t hesitate before settling herself into Leah’s side.

“Do you want to say anything to the team?”

“They would want to be there for you,” she tried to encourage when she felt Y/N adamantly shake her head no.

Leah sighed. It was a lot for Y/N to take on without much support.

The next day, Y/N apologized to Jonas for her behaviour the day before, telling him she was going through something personal and requested to miss training the next week for court.

Leah discreetly made her way to the manager’s office, requesting the day off as well. Refusing to let Y/N handle the experience on her own again.

Y/N did her best to focus on the team for the rest of the week, putting in extra time on the pitch and the weight room. She was quiet and withdrawn, Leah was quick to shoo anyone away who asked too many questions, she didn’t care if she seemed like a chihuahua barking at nothing, she wasn’t letting anything further upset Y/N.

The parole hearing came too soon for Y/N. She wanted it over with, but she wasn’t ready to see either of the people again, she never would.

“Go to training Leah,” Y/N told the blonde when she realized she was pulling on dress pants instead of track pants, "you are not coming with me.”

“You’re not doing this alone.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you aren’t.”

They stared each other down, neither willing to back down.

“Those people took everything from me when I was younger, they will not take anything from me now. You will not be anywhere near those people,” Y/N growled out, “you are staying here.”

Leah refused to back down, “you had to do everything alone last time, you don’t need to do it alone this time.”

“I don’t care about me or being alone, I care about them seeing you. That man got off hearing me talk about it during trial, if he sees you with me,” she trailed off, “you are not coming, end of discussion.”

“You do not make decisions for me!” Leah took a breath to settle herself, she wasn’t trying to fight or make this day worse for Y/N, “I’ll wait in the car.”

Y/N shook her head, “I’m not fighting you on this Leah.”

Leah wanted to argue that waiting in the car shouldn’t be a problem, but ultimately offered a small nod, switching her dress pants for her joggers.

“Thank you.”

“Call me, as soon as it’s done,” she hugged Y/N as tight as possible before slipping out the door.

Sheryl looked older than someone her age should look. Y/N smiled to herself, good, she thought bitterly. The older woman perked up in her seat when the door opened, and Rick was led out in shackles and a body belt. He too looked far too aged; prison had not been kind to him.

She felt his eyes combing her body as he was shuffled to his spot, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

Parole Denied

The words continued to ring her mind only an hour later. The decision was made almost immediately after she spoke and described who the man was and what he was capable of, that he repeatedly attempted to contact her.

Sheryl had been carried from the room when she attempted to run to her husband. But Rick’s eyes stayed focused on Y/N, she ignored him while she smoothly made her way out, not giving him a hint that she was uncomfortable.

She waited until she was safely in her car to let out a shuddering breath. No tears fell though. She didn’t even realize she was shaking until she tried to enter the combo to her phone.

Leah answered on the first ring, puffing out a breath, clear she had sprinted to get her phone from the staff holding it during training.

“Parole denied,” she spoke before the blonde could say anything.

“Oh, thank god.”

“Because he lost this one, he forfeited his chance at 10 years, he has to do the whole 10 years.”

“That’s amazing Y/N! How are you doing?”

“I don’t even know if I have words for it right now. I’m so happy. But I hate that it’s all brought back up.”

“Just come home to me, darling.”

Y/N felt like she could breathe for the first time in days. She had won. She would be leaving here and going home to someone who was gentle with her and loved her.

Leah had all but begged Jonas to let her leave training as soon as the call disconnected, needing to be home for when Y/N would be there.

The blonde was ready for Y/N as soon as she came through the door, letting her collapse into her before the front door shut. Leah kicked a leg out to shut the door while her arms held Y/N tight against her. Y/N shuddered and allowed Leah to guide them to lay on the couch.

“You should be so proud of yourself,” Leah spoke softly.

Y/N trembled and shook her head against Leah’s chest, not wanting to hear any other soft words. Leah nodded, understand she didn’t need to say anything, simply running a finger single up and down Y/N’s spine.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine

515 notes · View notes

seeker-of-stories19 · 4 months

Text

Autistic Ghost Headcannons

- Intentionally ignores social cues

- Scowls all the time at everything and everyone but usually not on purpose

- Takes full advantage of his ear defenders and balaclava to avoid sensory experiences he dislikes

- Incredibly restrictive eating, often chooses to go hungry rather than touch something he dislikes

- One of his favorite stims is smelling Soaps hair

- Gets overstimulated by certain things but is also very sensory seeking in other ways

- Wears tight gloves and sleeps under four weighted blankets because he likes the pressure

- Stims by making a tight fist, chewing his lips, scratching, hitting himself, leaning against things, rocking, pacing, rubbing the seam of his balaclava, tapping his ear defenders

- One track mind, he hates switching tasks and never does more than one thing at once unless it’s a hundred percent necessary

- Wears a mask largely to hide his scars and identity but it has the added benefit of keeping him from having to worry about making the correct facial expressions

- Very prone to dissociation

- Violent meltdowns, tends to have a vicious temper and destroy everything around him, hurting himself or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross his warpath

- But eventually when he’s in private he ends up just curling into himself and crying and rocking like he did as a kid

- It makes him feel incredibly vulnerable and he goes to extreme lengths to avoid the meltdowns which is a huge part of why they’re so bad

- Only Johnny and sometimes Price can calm him down

- Everyone else just thinks he has an explosive temper for no reason

- Ties his boots dangerously tight to get more sensory input

- Thrives under military routines but ignores rules that don’t make sense

- This definitely caused problems with COs in the past but Price is way more understanding and generally the 141 gets a lot of leniency on rules because of the type of work they do and the specific value of their skill sets

- Soap sleeps on top of him and always squeezes his hand a little too hard

- Hides in his room when overstimulated and shuts down completely, will literally disassociate for hours until Soap finds him

- Obsessively neat, nothing is ever anywhere other than where it’s supposed to be

- Doesn’t mind loud sounds but hates multiple sounds at once

- Explosions and gunfire are usually fine as long as he has his headphones but people talking and eating all at once in the mess makes him want to cry

- Absolutely despises crowds and will get very agitated and pissed off before eventually checking out until Johnny can get him back to a quiet space

- Soap letting him have the best vantage point when they go out because of how bad Simons PTSD and sensory issues are and he trusts Simon to watch his six

- Drinks but never to the point of being drunk

- Has the shittiest temperature regulation ever, gets so overheated but can’t figure out why and would freeze to death if it wasn’t for Soap making him put on layers because he’s basically immune to the cold

- Other than keeping his space clean which is mostly because it’s been beaten into him by his dad and then the army to the point where having a messy space will send him into a panic attack he’s a disaster. He never remembers to bring his dishes over to the tiny kitchen in the 141s rec room and routinely stares at things for days unable to complete simple tasks until he gets so pissed he ends up crying

- Price used to get annoyed by it and they’ve all three harassed him about it but once they realize that he’s genuinely struggling all three of them step in to make things easier for him, helping clean up his stuff in common spaces and wash dishes

- Soap definitely helps him with his laundry but only at 3am when he suddenly has the urge to do his own because ADHD

- His interoception is appalling, he’ll be furious and yell at recruits or just look at people like he wants to kill them on missions until Johnny leans over to subtly remind him that he hasn’t gone to the bathroom or eaten anything in eight hours

- Is fluent in BSL and uses it to communicate with Price when he’s in a verbal shutdown

- Soap and Gaz ask Price to teach them secretly and when they start signing to Ghost one day he’s absolutely shocked

- Generally he gets by with everyone else by grunting and scowling, people are too scared of him to call him out

- Most of his masking relies on peoples fear of him even though it often makes him feel even less human and it’s a vicious downward spiral

- Soap not being afraid of him was a really big deal because of this but also lead to him being really freaked out and unsure how to handle his prying

- Soap just finds him impossibly endearing and loves all the hidden little movements and noises he makes when they’re alone

- Lets Simon use his hands to fidget under the table during meetings

- Even though Soap isn’t the best at social cues himself he takes up explaining things to Ghost subtly whenever he can

- When Simon comes to his room to ask him about something someone said for the first time he’s ecstatic and considers it a great victory

- While a lot of Simons stims are more subtle or at least misinterpreted Soap will absolutely get hyped up when he’s stimming and start jumping or rocking or flapping his hands eagerly

- Soap sends him adhd x autism memes all the time and encourages Ghost to send back anything that interests him even if he thinks Soap won’t like it

- Is shocked to realize how strong Ghosts special interests are as his phone turns into a constant flood of articles and artwork about things Ghost loves

- Included but not limited to guns, puzzles, animal anatomy and bones, flowers (specifically the meanings of flowers) and many others

- Taking things apart and putting them back together, usually his rifle but will generally do it with everything from pens to knives

- Hoards weird things like old ink cartridges and bullet casings

- Has an unbelievable memory for details of old missions, can remember building layouts from over five years ago

- Soap’s room is so chaotic they barely spend time there because of how much it stresses Ghost out

- Generally they just balance each other out well with Simon being aggressively introverted and Soap being just as extroverted

- He pushes Simon a bit outside of his comfort zone and helps him socialize while Ghost reigns him in

- No one else really gets how they operate in the field except each other

- Soap was professionally diagnosed in school while Ghost was professionally diagnosed after Roba under a fake name with Price’s help so it’s not officially on his military record

- Ghost is actually very okay with how his brain works because it’s made him who he is and allowed him to surpass the regular limitations of a soldier

- He struggles more in his personal life but being around Soap heals a deep part of him that he’s buried since early childhood

- They understand each other like no one else ever has

#autistic simon ghost riley #soap mctavish has adhd #call of duty #soapghost headcannons #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #cod mw2 #soap cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish

352 notes · View notes

notsosturniolo · 3 months

Text

Duke — Matt Sturniolo x Reader (ft. Chris and Nick platonically)

Contains: Mentions of death/death of a pet/mentions of not eating/angst/hurt and a little comfort

—

Two days, sixteen hours, thirty minutes, and fifty-six seconds. That’s how long It’d been since I’d seen Duke. Well seen him in person, I’d seen pictures on a crappy online memorial page that my mom put together. Not to mention that I couldn’t stop replaying videos.

Lately, I had two on repeat, there was one that had always made me laugh, I took it three years ago when Nick, Matt, and Chris were walking him, he went off leash at the park and Chris chased him around for hours, he’d flail his arms around to stimulate him and chase him through the grass. The second video was me and him, I was sick, just a common cold, but he knew, he always knew when I was sick. So he climbed up into my bed (I was too tired to protest the mud he spread) and he sprawled out on top of me, providing me with his warmth through my fever. It was nice.

Duke, my dog of fifteen years, is gone. Nobody really knew besides my mom and the vet, I didn’t want to tell anyone, I just wanted to rot in bed all day, shut off my phone, and listen to sad music because that seemed like all I was capable of doing.

My house didn’t feel warm anymore. It felt dull and gray, I had to pack up all his toys that were scattered around the floor because seeing them ached.

I stopped going out two days ago, hell I stopped functioning two days ago. I don’t think my phone’s been off since he died and I don’t know when I’ll turn dnd off. Right now it feels like never.

I sigh, closing my fridge door, and slug back to my room. There was nothing in the metal box I could stomach, the first thing I saw when I opened the door was the cheese sticks Duke loved, that was enough for me to close the door and never want to open it again. I palm a Diet Coke off my nightstand and pop the lid. Taking a sip and wince at the bubbles fizzing down my throat before cozying in my bed. My bed that’s missing my dog.

I’d washed and deep cleaned my apartment from head to toe, vacuumed all the carpets, and done all the laundry, the one thing that still smelled of Duke was my throw blanket. It was traced with an unforgettable musk, his musk, and no matter how disgusting it may seem it’s the only thing I have left that smells like him. And the only thing that smells like him that I can bear to see because I need it too.

I sip on my Diet Coke once more before placing it back on my bedside table, it makes a ‘clink’ sound as it hits the glass. Then I shuffle Evermore. It reminds me of him but in a good way, because I got him in the fall plus, he always liked Dorothea.

I can’t get comfy before my doorbell rings. It’s a foreign feeling hearing the ring of the bell but not my dog going ballistic to accompany it.

Begrudgingly I sit up, slowly.

I trek to the front door in a mannerly pace, I’m in no rush to do anything right now.

Groggily, I open the door. I’m suddenly hyper-aware of my appearance when I open it to see my boyfriend… and his two brothers.

I wipe my hoodie sleeve over my cheeks, wiping the remnants of salty tears off my slightly puffy face.

“Y/N!” Nick exclaims, shoving past Matt and Chris to stand closer to me, “You’ve been full ghost for almost three days, where have you been?!” He chides, reprimanding me in a motherly manner.

I sniffle, trying to compose myself but their familiar faces make me want to crumble. Chris looks like he got dragged along with the two, Nick is waiting on my response, and Matt, my boyfriend, is leaning on the doorframe, his eyes scanning me sympathetically as if he can sense my sadness.

However, Chris, who is definitely in a world of his own speaks up, “Where’s Duke? Is he at the groomers or something?”

I shake my head ‘no’, twice, feeling the lump of sadness return in my throat.

Realizing I’m going to cry, I pivot on my heel, not wanting the boys to see me in this state, let alone bring their moods down too. I gesture in a pushing motion towards the door, trying to shoo them out. “its not a good time right now, you should come back later,” I say, but my heart just feels heavy because I feel burdened with an impossible task, one that shouldn’t be mine alone to deal with. But it had already been dealt with so not all that was left was agony. Agonizing sadness.

Before I can promptly close the door Nick’s hand stops it, “Y/N, you’re obviously not okay, let us help you.”

Matt's face softens, “Just start with the reason you haven’t been returning texts.”

“I-I um,” I stammer, trying to find words for why I’ve been a.w.o.l. It’d be wrong to tell them everything while they’re still in the doorway, so I back up and gesture for them to come in.

I start walking to the couch, swallowing harshly and rubbing my sleeve over my face again as I try to compose myself. It’s hard.

Matt sits down before I do, crossing his legs to make a spot for me to sit.

I comply, sit on his lap, and inhale his scent. Just his body wash and citrusy deodorant but it calms me. He wraps his arms around me and the blue fresh love hoodie that he’s wearing is warm to the touch. He leans forward and pressed a kiss to the back of my ear with a small hum, “Baby, what's wrong? And where’s Duke?”

It’s as if I felt everything crumble, feeling Duke’s name off Matt’s lips. I hear a worried gasp from Nick as I start heaving with sobs, clinging to Matt as I cry.

Nick shuffles towards me and Matt, kneeling near my feet, and rubs his palm with encouragement back and forth on my thigh. “Sweetie, what's wrong?” Nick frowns.

Matt hugs me tighter as I try to compose myself, but my throat burns as my body racks with tears shaking as I cry and let out all the emotion I’ve been feeling for the past three days.

“D-duke d-died,” I gasp out through sobs. Letting the words fall off my tongue and then turning into Matt, hiding my face in his sweater and letting his hands console me.

I can sense the energy in the room drop. The boys loved Duke, Chris who’d make endless videos with him, Nick who’d give him treats upon treats, and Matt. Matt who’d go on late night walks with me and him, sleep in bed with him at the foot, feed him if I was tired.

I hear Chris let out a deep sigh, the impact of the news isn’t light.

Matt rubs my back in circular motions to try and soothe me, it works more than not.

My sobs turn to cries and my cries turn to sniffles, leaving me clinging to Matt sadly with tears dripping from my face every now and then.

“Y/N It’s going to be okay,” Nick says, his voice soft.

I let out a dry hum in response. “I know,” I croak, “But, it feels weird and different and I don’t like it.”

“Time will help.” Chris chimes in from his spot behind the couch.

I groan, “Time takes too long.”

Matt stops running his palm over my back and moves his hands up to cup my face. “We’re going to help you.”

He kisses my forehead and hugs me tightly.

“When’s the last time you ate?” He asks.

I pause to think, “Just like this morning I think,”

Matt frowns. “Okay, we're going to fix that, do you want takeout?”

I nod. I cuddle further into Matt while Chris taps away at his phone.

“Thank you guys.”

The triplets all nod, almost simultaneously. “You’re our best friend Y/N of course we're here.” Nick says, “Whether you like it or not.” Chris adds, finally joining the three of you on the couch.

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff

169 notes · View notes

lethalchiralium · 1 year

Note

Hi!! Can I request ghost one shot abt the reader having an abusive relationship (without ghost knowing he has a secret crush on her or smt), and when they are on a mission she tries to hide the bruises by saying that her bf is just drunk...thank u have a nice day!!

Innocent | Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

a/n: i do not condone domestic abuse - or any abuse at all. If you are in a situation like this, you are not alone. There are a lot of resources that could help you get out. Please stay safe.

a/n: sorry if it sucks, it took me a while to even finish this.

warnings: DOMESTIC ABUSE, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. I’M SERIOUS. cussing, mentions of violence, injury, bruising, domestic abuse that involves mental and emotional manipulation, simon just wants to help, he is crushing but also wants to kill the man who touches you.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | MAIN MASTERLIST

It was the dead of night on the second day of the mission, Artemis laid in prone position with her sniper dug into her shoulder. It was swelteringly hot, even with the moon rising - she took another quick glance in her scope and deemed the area clear before sitting up. She sighed out the dormant breath, stretching her arms outwards before pulling off her short sleeve to gaze at the long sleeve underneath it.

She looked over her shoulders, making sure the rooftop was empty before pulling back the tan sleeves, gazing at the brownish-black bruises in the shape of handprints that littered her forearms near her elbows. Her fingers barely grazed the skin, staring at the vicious outlines. The ice had done nothing to help them go away and she couldn’t ice them for that long anyway, she was gone in a mission six hours later. That’s why she found herself on the rooftop on watch, questioning why her boyfriend kept doing it if he loved her.

She pulled her sleeves back down, nails found her teeth as she stared out into the treeline. It had been quiet for the past four hours, no one had even dared to venture up to the roof to talk to her - she was thankful for it in some aspect. Gave her time to contemplate, time to just breathe. She hadn’t been relaxed since… well… before this stuff had started with her boyfriend.

She was convinced that he didn’t mean it, of course he didn’t, he couldn’t. He bought her flowers every Tuesday she was home, he cooked dinner every chance he got, he folded laundry when she did the dishes - he was perfect to her for the past two years, except for when he got drunk. And of course, he was an incredible lightweight, so if he went past two beers, she knew she was in for it. She had finally gotten him to stop going for her throat, only grabbing at her arms and legs, punching whenever he felt like it.

She was humiliated by it. A Special Forces Sergeant being beat up by her boyfriend every time she goes home was embarrassing, but she couldn’t leave him. She loved him, she was convinced that he loved her. Wouldn’t he come to his senses one of these days?

She yelped in pain when a hand grabbed her forearm, she ripped her arm away as she looked up to see the familiar skull mask above her. The hand moved away quickly, she moved away from his feet as he spoke, “Not on your game, Sergeant.”

“Sorry, LT.” She mumbled, instinctively tugging down the sleeves even if they were grazing her wrists. She sat back a little, watching as Ghost settled on the ground beside her.

“Gettin’ tired?”

“No, sir.”

He didn’t make another sound, pulling the rifle from her stand and taking a look at it. “Did you hurt your arm earlier?”

She didn’t answer, only staring at the ground.

“Show me.”

Her head moved up so fast she thought it was going to fly off, she babbled, “What? No, it’s fine, LT, I promise-“

He grabbed Artemis’ wrist, she squawked as he pulled up her sleeve, seeing the purplish-black outline of a hand print. And he was damn sure it wasn’t her hand. She tried to pry her wrist from Ghost’s grip, but he looked up at you. “Tell me what happened.”

“It’s nothing, I promise-“

“Please don’t make me order you.” His voice grew soft, the grip loosened and she pulled her arm away, eyes staring into the ground. “Was it one of the muppets back at base?”

“No.”

“One of the boys?”

“What? No, no- Ghost, please.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“No no, it was my fault, I was annoying him and he was drunk-“ She mumbled, feelings tears sting at her eyes as she pulled the sleeve down again. “He just gets drunk sometimes, that’s all.”

“Are you serious?” Ghost’s voice was low, his hand resting on his thigh. If she looked now, she could see how his hands curled into fists, notice the small difference in how his jaw was clenched so hard, he thought he might crack some teeth. But she didn’t. Kept her eyes on the floor, looking away from her lieutenant.

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing, love.” He murmured, opening a hand and pressing his palm into his knee, forgoing trying to reach for her like his frozen heart wanted to. “No man who loves you should put his hands on you, ever hurt you.” He took a short breath. “Even if he’s drunk. That’s not love.”

“He loves me.” She spoke immediately after, her hands clenched into fists. “He brings me flowers, he cooks for me- he waits for me after every mission…” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He proposed. He doesn’t ever mean to hurt me.”

He watched her with bated breath, letting her continue.

“We’re planning on kids. He told me he’ll get sober.” She felt the tears as they raced down her cheeks and onto her cargo pants.

“Would your kids deserve that kind of love?”

She froze. It took her a moment to turn and look at Ghost, his eyes out on the tree-line.

“What?”

“No kid ever deserves a father who beats ‘em, beats their mum. Doesn’t matter if he’s sober, love,” He settled the rifle back onto the stand and looked back at her. “He’ll always get violent. It’ll boil over ‘til he gets just mad enough that he puts one or both you and your kids in the hospital, even if he’s sober. That’s not fair.”

She sat there, stunned. Tears felt cold now as they dripped from her chin.

“Speaking from experience?”

He looked away, back to the treeline before lowly saying, “My father deserves to die. Haven’t gotten the chance to put the bullet in his head for what he did to my mum and brother.”

Artemis reached her hand out, placing her hand on his fist - his head turned to her. His brown eyes were wide, but she could barely see them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stay with that fucker. It’ll only get worse, it‘ll never get better.”

Her hand didn’t retreat; but her head lowered. “I don’t think I can leave, he always joked that he’d kill me if I tried to.”

“Sergeant, I really rather not see you in a civvy body bag ‘cause I wasn’t able to help you.”

She looked at her hand, his other hand gently settled on top of hers.

“I mean it. Let me help you, Missy.”

She looked to her lieutenant, a smile on her face. “What?”

“Your name is Artemis. Mis? Missy?” He answered, before continuing, “I’m not saying that you’re not good at aiming-“ He flustered over it but she just turned and looked up at the stars.

“Missy. I like it.” She nodded before looking back at him. “Only you can call me Missy, though. Letting Soap use it might go to his head.”

“Oh, didn’t know he had one.”

She laughed a little while Simon smirked under his mask. She looked back at the sky again, drawing the constellations in her head before she spoke, “Thank you, Ghost.”

“For what?” He asked, his eyes couldn’t move away from her, even as she kept her gaze at the sky.

“For being here for me today. And the other day.” Her voice wavered a little bit, yet she kept her gaze steady. If she could, she would’ve counted all of the stars in the sky - but she couldn’t. The tears were brimming at the side of her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can go with you.” He spoke quietly, eyes back on the tree-line. “In case he gets physical.”

He felt as her head rested on his shoulder, hand still sandwiched by his.

“I still love him.”

Ghost sighed, moving the hand from underneath hers to settle on her knee. “I know.”

“All of my future will go out the window.”

“I know, love.”

“What will I do?” Her voice wavered, more tears fell from her eyes. “Where will I go?”

“I’ll help you.” He whispered, eyes still on the perimeter, making sure they were safe. “You can stay with me at my flat.”

“I can’t ask that of you, LT.” Her hand squeezed his knee, he patted her hand.

“I’m offerin’, you won’t be a burden. I can guarantee that no one will put your hands on you again.” Ghost spoke it into existence, promising the universe that would kill for her. He looked down to her, meeting her eyes again and he wished he could’ve moved closer, feel what her lips felt like on his like he did in his dreams. “I’ll off the bastard if you want me to.”

She gazed at him, tears slowly stopping as she whispered, “Okay.”

“If you don’t, I won’t. I’ll make sure he’ll stay away, but know that he will get a bone broken for every time he ever put his hands on you.”

“Don’t hurt him.” Her voice was small, he could almost feel her tremble.

He shook his head. “He already crossed the line, love. My fists are called payback for a reason.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x f!reader #lethalchiralium #lethal chiralium #simon ghost riley mw2 #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley request

1K notes · View notes

everybodyhatesmiddleschool · 6 days

Text

It has been six excruciating days since I was plunged into the Bridgerton fandom against my will.

I was minding my own business, watching YouTube compilations of the best kisses in TV history, when I unwittingly clicked on a video about Colin and Penelope, and I was immediately down so bad for them.

Let me be clear: Bridgerton was not part of my life before I clicked on that video. I wanted nothing to do with it; I had no intention of ever watching or reading that smut. And then, without warning, it swept in and took me in the night, much like Colin Bridgerton in the back of a carriage.

To say I have been lost in the sauce these past six days would be a gross understatement. The carriage scene is literally ruining my life. I haven’t gone to sleep before 1 a.m. since Sunday, and I have been over an hour late to work every day. Why? Because I cannot stop consuming that godforsaken scene — watching gifs of it over and over, reading y’all’s hilarious takes and memes about it, watching it with the audio descriptions turned on (🥵), watching it with the music removed (🥵🥵), watching Luke and Nicola on their press tour, watching, watching, watching.

Have I started actually watching season 1 of the show? Of course. Did I check out the large-print version of the first book from the library since it was the only copy available? You bet. But I do not care about these other characters and storylines. I want it to be Colin and Penelope on the screen and the page in every sentence and every scene.

And either fortunately or unfortunately, I don’t even have to be looking at a screen to be distracted by them — my daydreaming has never been as maladaptive in my life as it has been this week. I can hardly think of one ten-minute stretch in the past six days in which some imaginary scenario has not been taking over my brain. I want to be part of their world so bad — not just Bridgerton, but Shondaland. As is the case for 90% of all of my daydreams, I want these actors to know I exist. I want them to look at me with just as much awe and love as I look at them. So I might be staring at my computer screen in my cubicle, but in my mind, I’m on a press tour of my own that intersects with theirs. (I’m never the desperate fan with no life in my dreams; my idols always see me as their equal). I might be driving my commute in my car, but in my mind, they’re congratulating me about my own novel being optioned by Netflix. I might be brushing my teeth in my bathroom, but in my mind, we’re laughing together on Graham Norton’s couch.

But Lord, here comes that freaking carriage scene once again, inserting itself into my mind (pun unavoidable). I cannot get over it. I’m so stuck there that I’ve found myself wearing shoes I don’t remember putting on, carrying coffee mugs I don’t remember putting in my bag, driving a speed limit I don’t remember agreeing to as acceptable. There is laundry that needs to be folded. Bills need to be paid. Emails need to be deleted en masse without reading. But I can’t find the door that will let me out of this damn carriage.

I had a conversation with myself two days ago about how we might be able to adapt to this new living situation. After a few temper tantrums, I finally said, “Girl, if you’re going to watch this scene 1,000 times, you have got to find a way to make it a constructive part of your life.” So I did what any rational adult would do: I started writing a scholarly paper about why it’s so powerful — not just for me but, according to the internet, for a lot of women. And I have every intention of writing an entire paper about this … if I can find the time. I’m just so busy right now with consuming this damn scene.

Was starting to write that article enough to satiate my obsession with this scene, with this show and these actors? Of course not. So this morning, I started writing a spicy scene of my own, featuring not Colin and Penelope but two other vaguely outlined characters who I’m sure I’ll give names and personalities to later. I was literally sitting in my cubicle, hunched over my planner, writing down snippets of sexiness in as small a print as possible in case someone walked up on me and looked over my shoulder without me noticing. And I’m not gonna lie: this shit’s good. I’ve never written smut before, because I’ve never had enough spice in my own life to feel like I’d be able to do it justice on paper. But that imagination of mine — she’s a freak. And my mind? My mind has moved way past the gutter. It is now in the outhouse. It’s in the slop with the pigs.

It should have come as no surprise, but as usual, the act of actually writing down the jumble of mess in my brain has had the effect of breaking some of the spell. I was also forced to focus on work because of looming deadlines, and I currently feel calmer than I have since Sunday. But I am truly living in fear of June 13. I cannot go through this again, and I know that I’m bound to, because I know that what’s been shown so far won’t hold a candle to what’s coming. And if I get down bad any further, I will be deep enough in the ground for this to become my final resting place. I’m not ready to be buried, but it feels inevitable.

But somehow, despite my own wants and fears, and despite the fact that we haven’t even been introduced yet to the bedroom where Colin and Penelope are sure to end up, I am somehow already lurking from behind the window curtains in the corner, peeking out at them doing the deed. I know what I hope I’ll see: based on the excerpt I’ve seen from the book, they will be in front of a mirror — expressly because Colin wants Penelope to see herself in full for the glorious goddess she is, and she will look at her sexy, bare self with just as much pride and love as we viewers behind the screen will (but probably with slightly less lust than Colin, who I pray will be very loud about how hot she is).

I am dreaming about this scene, but I dread it. Because if it’s as good as the carriage scene, I will immediately be re-enscripted and sent right back to the trenches where I spent the last six days. I’m excited, but I’m scared. And I’m afraid of getting lost in the woods again, because I know that if I do, I won’t want to be found.

#bridgerton #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #bridgerton season 3 #maladaptive daydreaming #creative writing #send help #nicola coughlan #luke newton

126 notes · View notes

realmennnnn · 6 months

Text

With Connor away on his 5-mile hike, you thoroughly clean everything in sight. You start with his laundry, including each of the glorious socks he had worn over the past week. You give all of them a brief sniff before placing them in the laundry machine. While sniffing, you become terrified that you may not have a single item of clothing to sleep with that night. You pray that Connor will give you the clothes he wore on his hike or at least his destroyed Nike sneakers to sleep with. Next, you clean the entire home, scrubbing every room and organizing any out of place items, including Connor’s massive stack of dirty dishes. You also spend a particularly long amount of time in both his mudroom and bathroom, using your tongue to clean his muddy footprints off the floor as well as all of his pee off the toilet. Afterwards, you give each of his sneakers a good cleaning, yet again using your tongue with impeccable detail while savoring each blade of grass and splotch of dirt.

With the first load of laundry done, you throw all of his bedding in the washer. You iron and fold each clothing item and can’t help but stare at his XL sized shirts, shorts, underwear, and socks once they’ve been perfectly cleaned and pressed. You recognize how lucky you are to even be in the presence of these items.

By now, it’s been three hours, and you’ve heard nothing from Connor. You become nervous that something may have happened but neglect to reach out since it’s not your place to bother your potential alpha. Instead, you move outside, mowing the entire lawn and weeding Connor’s select number of plants.

With sweat running down your entire body, you head back inside to make Connor’s bed with his freshly cleaned and pressed sheets. Finally, you head out of the house on your way to grocery store, dropping the trash into the necessary bin on your way out. You hope you’ll be allowed to wash his car tomorrow since you weren’t given access today.

Halfway to the store, and nearly five hours after Connor left, you receive a message from your Lord. “Hey, faggy. The lads wanted to do some day drinking, so I’m out with them. I’ll be home in a couple hours. You better be keeping yourself busy. By the way, pick up some dog food if you make it to the grocery store.”

You have no idea why Connor would need dog food. He certainly doesn’t have a dog. However, you refuse to question your master. You’re certain that if Connor says he needs dog food, then he needs dog food. He’s an alpha after all, so he knows best! You’re just happy that you had anticipated Connor’s desire for you to grocery shop.

As you enter the store, you couldn’t help but look at every possible item. You needed to make sure that you bought every item Connor could possibly want. You pick up six varieties of fresh meat and fish, a large helping of fruits and vegetables, and several hearty grains. Finally, you make your way to the dog food. As you look into your cart, you realize that you were likely to spend more than $200 on Connor’s food alone. You hoped he’d share some of his scraps since you hadn’t bought anything for yourself. With finances in mind, you went for the cheapest dog food possible, made with purely synthetic materials. After all, Connor didn’t have a dog, so you didn’t see a point in overspending on this item - your mistake.

After checking out at a whopping $275, you walk home, carrying an obscene amount of groceries. With four bags hanging off either arm and a bag of dog food wrapped between them, your body aches by the time you reach the grocery store parking lot! You walk as fast as you can, making it back to Connor’s house in roughly 25 minutes. You breathe heavily the entire way and nearly start crying. You remind yourself that this is only true since you’re a weak, pathetic faggot.

As soon as your home, you start your final chore of the day, cooking Connor’s glorious Sunday night meal. You realize he could be home any moment, so you get to work rapidly. You carefully put together a salad and start cooking a box of pasta. Then, you cut up even more vegetables, making a batch of tomato sauce from scratch. You don’t dare prepare a subpar dinner, and you know you must have it done on time. Connor comes first after all! You race to the finish line, hearing keys jingling in the door nearly 40 minutes later. With only the food done, you realize the dishes will have to wait until later, and you pray Connor won’t be upset.

You run over to the front door and drop to your knees. You bow your head as anticipation grows within you. You hope Connor will be pleased with your housework and cooking. Even more, though, you simply cannot wait to see your 6’3” and 220 pound master as well as his glorious size 13s. Connor steps through the front door, and you stare down at his beautiful sneakers and socks. They’re caked in dirt, and their pungent smell hits your nose with gusto. You’re immediately enamored and begin showering each sneaker with kisses, taking great joy in their scent and appearance.

Connor stumbles a bit and leans back against the door. He crosses one foot over the other and flashes a devilishly sexy grin at you. With his balance back, he steps around your weak frame. You can tell that he’s wasted and, as a result, likely highly sadistic. He drops his bag on the ground and makes his way to the couch. With such a hefty bang, you know the bag is full; you’re happy to know that his shopping trip was successful.

He lays back on the couch and turns his eyes toward the football game you had turned on for him. His sneakered feet dangle beautifully off the side of the sofa. He lets out a huge belch, and you wish you were next to him, giving it a sniff. However, like a proper fag, you wait patently by the front door for further instruction. He pulls his pants down on the couch, leaving them hanging by his knees. You look at his beautiful cock, remembering that just two days ago, you were afforded the privilege of sucking and riding it. He calls you over, using his fingers to gesture as well. “I need to take a nap, but I want my dick to be well taken care of while I’m asleep. Come over here and hold my cock in your mouth until I wake up.”

You crawl over to the couch and kneel in front of his crotch. You look up and notice that his eyes are already shut. You wonder if it would be proper to remove his sneakers from his feet. You hold off since he hasn’t directed you to do so. You wonder how sweaty his feet will be by the time his sneakers finally come off.

You crank your neck into an extremely uncomfortable position and wrap your lips around his cock. Your knees already hurt from the wooden floors, and you can tell that your neck will be in immense pain within minutes. You know it’s going to be a long few hours, but you also know you won’t get access to his feet unless you do exactly what Connor tells you.

As soon as your lips wrap around Connor’s cock, he lets out an ungodly amount of piss, made up of 100% beer. You hear him snicker for a second, laughing at the fact that you had no idea that his piss would be flooding your mouth. He knows you’ll do whatever it takes to swallow every drop. And, he’s right; per usual, you diligently swallow every single drop.

When he finishes peeing, you keep his cock in your mouth, the taste of leftover piss and dick sweat rubbing against your tongue. You take his balls into your mouth, and the flavors grow exponentially. “Good boy,” you hear Connor say. With that, you try your hardest to get comfortable, knowing you’ll be kneeling here tasting his funk and piss for hours to come - just as he asked you to do.

Connor doesn’t wake up once during his three hour nap but somehow lets out several large farts. You take pride in knowing you helped coax and keep him asleep. You also take enjoyment in the flavor of his dick funk as well as the smell of his farts. You can tell that those farts were inspired by an immense amount of greasy food and beer. They smell wonderful.

As Connor finally comes back to life, your head and knees begin to wobble. You can tell that your neck will be in pain for days to come. He reaches for his phone and starts scrolling. With Connor awake, you continue to hold his dick in your mouth but now count down the moments until you’ll be allowed to move. The anticipation of potentially being allowed out of your current position makes the pain grow ten fold.

For the third time of the day, piss starts filling your mouth, and you hope this will mark the end of your time as a human dick pouch. The piss tastes even more stale than the one from a few hours ago, but you revel in every second of it. Maybe swallowing piss is not only a godly blessing but also the purest indulgence known to a faggot.

“Get your mouth off my cock, faggot,” Connor says abruptly with his piss complete. “Time for some of that sauce you got cooking. The pasta better be ready. I ain’t waiting. Go make me a plate.” You’re happy to know that you planned appropriately for this evening.

He begins to sit up from his nap and nearly kicks you in the face. “I told you to get moving. Chop chop.” You give each sneaker another kiss and crawl to the kitchen. You hope you’ll be allowed to enjoy the dirt from his shoes as well as the foot sweat from his socks as he eats. After all, you haven’t consumed a single thing all day.

You stand up and pull the pasta out of the fridge. You place a heaping serving on to a plate, adding your homemade tomato sauce and salad on top. As you get back down on to your knees, you place the plate on your back as well as a set of silverware and a glass of water in each hand. As you crawl back to his feet, you keep your back and hands as straight as possible, refusing to let any food or water end up on the floor. However, you wouldn’t have minded being forced to lick it up. Your stomach was rumbling louder and louder by the minute.

After approaching the couch, Connor takes the plate from your back and puts it on the coffee table. You hand him his water and silverware and then bow your head, so it is resting on his sneakers. You pray he’ll let you peel them off; the steam floating off of them is far too temping. Instead, Connor rises up from the couch unexpectedly, nearly kicking you in the face once again.

“Ay, faggot. Where’s the dog food? I can hear your stomach rumbling. It’s fucking annoying.”

It’s at this time that it clicks for you. The dog food is for you. You’ll be eating dog food in place of human food for the remainder of your life - should Connor allow you to serve him for that long. “Umm, Sir Connor, it’s in the pantry, my Lord,” you say with your head still bowed.

You hear the pantry door open and the big bag of dog food moved around. Connor grabs a bowl and starts filling it. “You know how much of this you’re supposed to feed a dog? I don’t want to underfeed you.” He pauses for a second, letting out a light laugh. “Eh, never mind. You’re a faggot. What would you know?” he snickers, dumping another serving into the bowl.

He makes his way back to the couch and drops the bowl of food on to the floor. “Aw shit, faggy. You just emptied my bladder. I ain’t got any liquid for your food.” Your head remains bowed, sniffing at your meal, but the only thing you can smell are his glorious feet. You hope that smell will help you get this treacherous dog food down. “Move your head, faggot,” Connor says. He works up a loogie and spits it into the bowl. “That will have to do I guess. Now give me a bark and show me how excited you are for your first faggot meal. I thought you’d enjoy this type of food given how much time you spend with the pups,” he says as he wiggles his toes within his sneakers. “Show me how serious you are about serving me. Remember, service doesn’t only include paying for my livelihood and doing all of the chores. It also includes finding ways to spend as little money on yourself as possible. By only eating dog food and drinking my recycled beverages, I estimate nearly $60 in savings each week! That money goes straight back into my pocket! Now bark, faggy.”

You immediately start barking, letting your butt wiggle back and forth too. He didn’t ask for that, but you thought it would play into the effect nicely. He lets out another laugh. “Alright, faggot, go ahead.” You’re happy to know that he enjoyed your act.

You dive your head into the bowl and enjoy your first few loogie-covered bites. By bite number four, all of the loogie is gone, and the flavor becomes progressively worse. You don’t slow down on eating, though; you’ve never felt this hungry before in your entire life. On top of that, you’d never wanted to please someone this much in your entire life. Maybe it was a good thing that Connor dropped you as your boyfriend and made you his faggot. You seemed to be far more productive that way.

Connor attacks his meal nearly as quickly as you do yours, his eyes glued to either the TV or his food the entire time. He lets out a humongous fart followed up by an even bigger burp as his last bite slides down his throat. You sniff at both as you try to finish up your last few bites, terrified that Connor may take it away if you’re not done within seconds of his own completion. As you take your final bite, you realize you’ll have to do all of this over again tomorrow. You pray you’ll get a decent piss to help the food down.

“Ayy, faggy. Good job. You ate all of your food! I am stuffed. That pasta was pretty good, maybe a seven out of ten. Two of those are pity points, though, since I’m sure you put so much of your faggotry into making it.”

Connor turns toward the TV just in time to see the game winning point. Yet again, he nearly kicks you with his sneakered feet as he stands to cheer for the Patriots. After lobbing off a few texts to the boys about the big win, he continues his monologue. “It’s almost time for the faggot ceremony. You’ve earned it. The house and yard look great, my meal was… good enough, and you’ve done a decent job supporting my various needs. I gotta take a shit, so get to cleaning. The kitchen won’t scrub itself,” he says, letting out another laugh. Connor rises from the couch, and you give his sneakered feet yet another kiss. You pray that this so-called “faggot ceremony” will include some foot worship, but you have no idea what to expect. Maybe if you scrub the kitchen at a rapid pace, it’ll earn you some time at his feet.

Look at you, faggot. You’re doing everything in your power to impress your ex-boyfriend, Connor. You’ll literally do anything it takes to sniff and lick those size nasty 13 sneakers, socks, and feet. Think about how pathetic you are! Doesn’t matter, though, you’re loving your new life. You can’t wait to make it official with the faggot ceremony tonight!

262 notes · View notes

pinkypromisepascal · 1 year

Text

𝙹𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜 (𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

request by @chloelouisejohnson: hi!! so boring and predictable but could we get a jealous dean x reader with plenty of angst and a healthy dose of smut?? mabye jealous over reader and sams friendship but sam and reader are only so close because deans a douche and constantly pushes reader away the second they start getting close?

summary: you are friends with the Winchester brothers and often help them with research for their cases, mostly working together with Sam because Dean always seems gruff towards you until you confront him about his behavior

content warnings: angst, jealous!Dean, swearing, smut [fingering, praise, p-in-v, unprotected sex], enemies to lovers I guess?😀

word count: 4.8k

author’s note: I really hope you like this one, I tried my best, wasn’t really sure about how their relationship would develop, but I think it turned out ok. Also, this is my first time writing smut, so be nice with me😂

/// this has only been proofread by myself ///

You had met the Winchesters about two months ago when they had been working on a case in your hometown. You weren’t a hunter yourself, but you’d always been a very curios person, especially when it came to things that didn’t seem easy to put into words, like emotions, some natural phenomena, or even the supernatural. Naturally, you had started working at the local library years ago after having worked a secretary job for what had felt like eternity, so you could bury your nose in the all kinds of literature you could get.

When Sam and Dean had been staying in a local motel for the case, you couldn’t help but do some research on your own. They had spiked your interest even more after showing up at the library to search for newspaper reports. Since you were working at said library, you had offered them to stay after closing hours if they needed to. Which had led to the three of you taking up a table for six people with what felt like one hundred books. You had talked to Sam about the case and had searched the library for more helpful literature.

Ever since, it seemed that you had bonded with the Winchester boys. You liked both Sam and Dean, but you sometimes felt like Dean wasn’t as easy-going as his younger brother. You figured he was just a more practical guy than Sam who wasn’t so much into digging through tons of literature, who preferred to just get the case done and head over to the next one. Which was completely understandable, theory tends to be the less exciting part. But Dean always seemed kind of on edge when he was around, and you just couldn’t grasp why. Sam and you spent a lot of time in the bunker’s library to gather information about the cases. You didn’t always need the books, you just really liked being surrounded by them. Dean never spent more than ten minutes around the two of you. He usually just came around to ask how the research was going and to get a quick heads up on the information you had gathered so far, only half-heartedly listening to you while sipping a drink.

But over the last few days, you felt like he distanced himself even more. When Dean was around, he didn’t really want to know anything if it wasn’t about a case. Sometimes, when Sam was gone, it felt like his eyes were piercing through you. Dean didn’t really talk much to you, he just… watched you do your stuff. You did try having small talk with him when you were alone, asking him questions about past cases or his family, which was a big mistake as you had noticed right after asking. “Alright, don’t you have something to do? You don’t have to force some small talk, ‘kay?”, he had spat. To be fair, you did know it would be bad idea to ask about his family, Sam had told you the most important things, but what else were you supposed to do? Another time after that, when you had offered to go take care of the laundry with him, he just told you get back to Sam and help him out. Was Dean annoyed by you? Didn’t he like you being in the bunker with them, although he had been the one who invited you to the bunker in the first place?

“Do you think Dean’s been acting weird lately?”, you asked Sam one day, both of you focused on the bright screens on your laptops. You were researching for a case about people disappearing in the woods a few towns over, and dogs barking at seemingly nothing. You had both thought about Ghosts, Rugarus or other flesh-eating creatures, maybe even a new one, some kind of hybrid, which would make it more difficult to kill. Sam was still absorbed in his notes and didn’t notice you asked him a question until you nudged his leg under the table and asked him again. “What do you mean? Isn’t he acting like he always is?”

“I don’t know. I feel like… I think Dean doesn’t like me. He’s never around when we’re doing research, he only shows up for food or drinks-”

“Well, Dean never really liked those research days, to be fair.”, Sam interrupted.

“No, I mean, yes, okay, but seriously. When you’re out to get groceries or something, he’s so… tense all of the time. It’s like he really wants to punch me in the face, but he tries to do that by staring holes into my head or something. He always seems so angry, it drives me nuts!” You ruffled your hair and groaned. “You know, I really like being here, and I’m so glad that we help each other out, but… you know? He was the one who suggested I’d come around when you guys got something going on, so why is he acting like he regrets that decision more than anything?” Sam told you that he didn’t really notice Dean had been acting like that, but he could imagine that Dean could act like that if something really got to his nerves. “Did you talk to him about it?” You cocked your head and furrowed your brows. “Of course I did! Well, not particularly about that, but I did try to have a normal conversation with him, but I think he’d rather poison himself than tell me about the stick up his ass.” Sam chuckled and shook his head. “Well, I don’t really know what to do about that, I doubt that he’ll tell me what’s wrong, he’s, uh… not a man of big words most of the time. Maybe he just doesn’t really trust you yet, even though it’s been months since we first met, but, um, yeah… Don’t know, sorry.” Sam gave you a sad smile. “He’ll come around, I guess. Maybe he just needs time. And maybe you shouldn’t think too much about it. If he doesn’t treat you how you wanna be treated, you can confront him or just ignore him. Give him a taste of his own medicine or something.”

You thanked Sam for listening to you and excused yourself to a little break. You went through the backdoor of the bunker’s garage, holding your pack’s last cigarette in your hand, fiddling with the lighter in the other. The whole situation just didn’t leave your mind. Should you try to talk to Dean again and apologize for anything you did, even though you couldn’t think of what you could’ve done to upset him so much? Or should you just wait for him to approach you? You took a drag of your cigarette and closed your eyes, trying to stop your thoughts from racing, feeling small rain drops cooling your skin. This is so stupid, you thought, so stupid and childish, my god, grow some balls, Dean!

Distracted by your own thoughts, you didn’t notice the Impala rolling out of the garage until the horn startled you. You turned around to see Dean behind the wheel, motioning at you to get out of the way. You just stared at him with wide eyes and spread your arms to the side in a what the fuck? motion, cigarette still sitting between your lips. Reminding yourself that he wasn’t worth picking a fight, you stepped aside, waving your arm to signal him to get going. As he drove off, you flipped him off, not really intending for him to see it, but still hoping he would. “Fucking dumbass”, you mumbled. You put out your cigarette on the nearest rock and headed back inside.

When Dean came back half an hour later with some fast food, you expected him to take his food and return to his room again, but to your surprise, he sat at the table with you and Sam. You and Sam exchanged looks, you tried to telepathically tell him that this was unusual compared to the last weeks, but Sam just shrugged. You didn’t expect him to do something about the tension between you and Dean, you just wanted someone else to see how weird it could get between you and him.

“So, uh, how’s the research going?”, Dean suddenly asked between bites, not specifically looking at any of you. “Well, we’re not quite sure what the case is about yet, we couldn’t figure out what creature might be causing the troubles, our best guess is something like a Rugaru, maybe a ghost that’s stuck in the forest for some reason, maybe even something like a Crocotta? You know, those things that can mimic human voices and lure their victims into traps. But, y’know, we’re not sure. Maybe looking for clues in the woods would help us out.” You shrugged and bit into your burger again. Dean looked at you and Sam. “So, that’s it? That’s all we’ve got so far? Man, we’ve been better before.”, he grouched, probably more to himself than to you and his brother. “Well, maybe we’d be faster if we had your help.”, you simply said. You immediately sensed Sam shifting in his seat and felt Dean’s glare on you.

“Come again?”

“Oh, you heard me, Mister I just sit in my room all day or drive around in my old car because I’m too full of myself to hang out with those boring bookworms.” Sam almost choked on his burger and mumbled a “Oh god, here it comes.”

You looked over to the older Winchester. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. “Someone spit on your burger or something? The fuck’s your problem now?”, he asked.

“My problem is that you’re complaining because Sam and I haven’t magically solved the case yet! We’re working hard to get as many clues as we can before we show up there tomorrow while you’re just ignoring us! You never show up, and now you sit here with us to eat and pretend like you haven’t spoken a word to me in days? The fuck’s wrong with you, Dean?! You were the one who invited me here and told me that I could help you guys out, and you’ve been rude to me ever since!”, you snapped, despite noticing that Sam clearly got uncomfortable at this point. That didn’t stop you from continuing your rant, though. “You make me feel like you just got me here so you can chill out or something, because you poor little boy don’t get enough rest! I get that your lives are tough, but that doesn’t justify you treating me like a stress toy you use to let your anger out on every once in a while. Sam clearly does a better job at making me feel welcome around here!”

Sam cleared his throat and before he could try to settle your dispute, Dean smacked his fist on his table. “I’ve had enough of you, y’know that? Yes, I did invite you to join us every now and then, but I knew I was taking a risk with that-”

“Oh, shut up, Dean, what’s that even-”

His fist came down on the table another time.

“If you don’t let me finish talking, I’ll make sure you regret ever coming here.”, he growled, his eyes turning a darker shade of green. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam shifting in his seat again.

“Listen close, alright? I’m not gonna say this again. You are allowed to be here because I allowed you to after you were really helpful for one of our cases. Right? Sam and I talked about that, and we both knew that it would be risky to let someone else in here, someone who’s not a hunter. You lack skill, alright? You can’t fight, you can’t defend yourself against other people, let alone monsters. If someone wanted our heads and tried to get to us through you, you’d be dead faster than you can name your favorite book. But we still took you in, because you were good to us, and we rarely get good company ‘round here.” Dean paused for a moment, but his eyes gave away that there was so much more he wanted to say.

“So, I’m just another face to look at until you get tired of it? You’re just gonna cut me out of your lives again when you get bored of me?” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was still shaking. You were bouncing your leg under the table and felt tears build up. “You don’t even talk to me Dean… at least not in a… normal way. I tried to have a normal conversation with you, and I know that asking you about your parents was a stupid mistake, but… every time we’re alone in a room, you just… stare at me like I’m a failure, like you don’t even want me here. You never even thanked me for all the times I’ve helped you so far.” A few tears quietly ran down your cheek. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked down on the table again.

Dean ran a hand over his face while Sam took care of the dishes. Uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen. You were the first to get up. You wiped the tears from your face and ruffled your hair. “I’m gonna go to sleep, I’m too tired to drive, but I’ll be out here first thing tomorrow morning.” None of the Winchester brothers answered as you left the room, but when they thought you were out of range, you heard Sam speak up to Dean. You couldn’t quite figure out what he said, he spoke too quietly for you to hear, but you could hear Dean loud and clear when he barked back, making you freeze in your spot.

“We both know she doesn’t belong here, Sammy! She shouldn’t be with us, she should be leading her normal life, you know how it ends when we like people.” Dean had gotten quieter towards the end, he sounded… torn.

This is too much right now, I really need to sleep, you thought and went on to the bedroom they had offered you to use. As you dropped onto the mattress after brushing your teeth and changing into something more comfortable, exhaustion took over quickly and you drifted into a dreamless sleep.

About two hours later you were wide awake again, joined by a pulsating headache. You groaned and rolled around in the soft bed. “The last thing I needed today.”, you said to yourself as you massaged your temples. Luckily, you always carried light Ibuprofens for such cases, but you still needed water, so you trudged to the kitchen again. After taking the painkiller, you rested against the sink for a while and recapped every moment between you and Dean that had to lead up to the depressing dispute that evening. You remembered one day where Dean had offered to go grocery shopping. You had wanted to join him and pay for the groceries as a thank you for the boys taking care of you when you were there. “I’m fine, just go hang out with Sam, you’ve gotten pretty good at that.”, he’d said. You hadn’t thought much of that, you were too taken aback by him brushing you off like that, but now that you thought of that moment again, something seemed to click.

Was Dean jealous? Could that be why he’d been acting so stiff around you? But there’s no reason to be jealous, you thought.

Dean’s deep voice pulled you from your train of thoughts. “You okay?” You shortly looked at him standing in the doorframe and then massaged your temples again. “Woke up with a headache in the middle of the night, but other than that…” You shrugged, “Fine, I guess… why’re you up?”

“Fell asleep in the library. I, uh, I took a look at your notes. On the case.” Dean cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, unsure what to do with himself. You looked at him with furrowed brows, and when he lifted his gaze to meet yours, you were surprised yet again by how green his eyes were. Because Dean had been avoiding you most of the time, you didn’t get many chances to take a close look at his pretty, chiseled face. But when you got the chance, you didn’t want to take your eyes off it.

“Listen, I, uh… I snapped at you earlier, and I’m… I’m sorry for that. I just- it just got too much for me in that moment.” Dean ran a hand over his stubble and cleared his throat again. After taking a deep breath, he continued talking. “Truth is, I don’t hate that you’re around, ok? I know I made you feel like that, and I get that you’re mad at me. And what I’m gonna say now will sound so cliché and shitty that you’ll wanna take another painkiller for your headache, but, um… I need to get it out ‘cause it’s been driving me insane.” Another short pause where neither of you knew exactly what to do. Should you take Dean’s hand to let him know that it’s okay? Should you hug him? Get him a drink?

“It’s just that… I love having you here with us, I love how you liven our life in here up. And I noticed how you and Sam were getting closer each day, because you’re both huge nerds who read books all day, so I- I thought I’d just leave you to it and not get in the way. It’d be too dangerous anyway. So I just… I don’t need to tell you what I did, you already know that part.” A light chuckle came from you. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. But I need you to understand that I was keeping myself from risking your life.” Dean almost pleaded. “Why do you always bring up that I’m weak, that I need protection or things like that? How would you be risking my life by treating me like a normal human being?”, you asked him calmly to avoid the situation escalating again.

Dean stepped closer, locking his eyes with yours again, resting his hands on the sink behind you, capturing you between his frame and the sink. “Because I don’t wanna just treat you like a friend. With the thoughts I’ve been having about you, I can’t treat you like just a friend. There’s so much more. But I’ve been stopping myself from acting on it because every single person I’ve ever cared about was taken from me. It makes me feel like I’m cursed or something. It’s like the moment I start liking someone, they’re doomed. And from then it’s just a question of time till I find them dead.” You couldn’t even focus on the last sentence he spoke, you were too startled. He was having ‘thoughts’ about you? Him? Dean Winchester? About you? Despite every encounter you two had had? It made no sense to you.

“Dean”, you started, not even knowing what you wanted to say to him. You looked into his eyes and took a deep breath. “Start fucking acting on it.”, you hissed. Dean cocked his eyebrow. “What?”

“You said you stopped yourself from actin’ on your feelings and thoughts ‘cause you were too scared and - apparently - jealous of Sam because we’re spending a lot of time together. Which is only because every time we have a moment to ourselves, you start acting like a complete douchebag. I like you, Dean. So please start doing what your mind’s telling you to do because I can’t stand douchebag-Dean anymore. I kinda hate him.” You started laughing at yourself and this whole situation. “Oh, you don’t want that, sweetheart.”, he just countered. “Oh, come on, think I can’t handle you, big boy?”

“I just think you underestimate me. I like your smugness, but I’ll rid you of that quicker than you think. Once I got you in my hands, you’ll melt.”, he purred. “And after that, you’ll be mine only. I’ll leave you just as obsessed with me as I am with you.” Dean’s right hand came up to your face, his thumb gently tracing your lower lip. “But I need your permission for that.”

Too frozen in this moment to form a sentence, you just nodded and before you could think of something else, Dean’s full lips crashed on yours, lightly biting your lower lip. You sighed as you opened your mouth, his tongue slipping inside, exploring.

Dean’s hands squeezed your waist and pulled you closer to him, your hands running up his torso to grab him by the collar of his shirt. He kept kissing you, making you hungry for more. Between kisses, you asked him if he really wanted to do this here in the kitchen. “Good point.”, he mumbled and picked you up bridal style in one swift motion. You shrieked in surprise, Dean shushed you immediately. “You’re gonna have to be quiet if you don’t want Sam to hear us. Walls are kinda thin here.”, he said as you entered your bedroom. Dean lightly dropped you onto the mattress, earning a chuckle from you. He climbed on top of you, kissing along your neck and jawline. “I wonder what other sweet sounds I can get out of you.” You fumbled at his button down to shrug it off his broad shoulders, but Dean seemed to have other plans. “Patience, sweetie.”, he said as he kissed you deeply again, “I wanna take my sweet fucking time with you, till you’re weak in every single muscle.” Him saying such things already made you almost see stars as waves of desire flamed through your body.

Dean’s arm went under your back and he lifted you to sit on his lap. “Now be a good girl and take that shirt off for me.” His large hands cupped your breasts as soon as your shirt was gone and slowly kneaded them, rolling your hard nipples between his thumb and index finger. “Look how good they fit in my hands.”, he murmured against your lips. You eagerly rolled your hips against him, feeling his erection under your core. Dean groaned and captured your lips again. “Your turn.”, you panted with a smug smile. “Why don’t you do that for me, hm?”, he chuckled. With no hesitation, you clawed at his button down, finally shoved it from his shoulders and then put your hands under his t-shirt, slowly pushing it up while he sucked on your neck.

Both of you were still wearing too many clothes, so you decided to drop yourself on the bed again, pulling Dean with you without your lips breaking contact, getting hungrier and more eager with each kiss. Dean’s kisses started traveling across your body, licking and biting certain spots he knew would drive you crazy. You shuddered when he reached your lower belly. His fingers hooked under the hem of your pants, he slowly dragged pants and panties down along your legs, making sure his lips would reach every tingling spot on their way down. Your eyes rolled back and you arched your back lightly, impatient, wanting to finally feel him inside of you. Dean lifted his head to look at you. “If only you could see you goddamn pretty you look right now.” He pushed himself up to kiss you again, one of his hands drawing slow circles at your core. “And you’re gonna look even prettier when I’m done with you.”, he mumbled as he carefully pushed his index inside of you, making you inhale sharply. “God, so wet for me already? Hm, what did I do to deserve this?”, he cooed, looking deep into your eyes. “You okay, sweetheart? Tell me if you wanna stop.”

“If you stop now, I’ll never talk to you again.”, you panted and rolled your hips into his hand as you felt him pull out to add another finger. “That’s what I wanna hear.”, he chuckled. Dean fingered you in an almost agonizing pace, enjoying how smooth you felt, knowing exactly how much you wanted him to do more. Your hands started fumbling with his belt and unzipped his pants. Dean sat back and quickly slid his pants down and threw them aside, now only in tight boxers. Your eyes fell onto the outline of his thick cock. Dean grabbed your face and forced you to look at him. “Eyes up here, sweetie.” He grabbed one of your hands and led it down to his crotch, making it wrap around his cock through the boxers. You slowly pumped him as good as you could, not breaking eye contact. Dean groaned huskily, leaning his forehead against yours. His hand found your core again, two fingers sliding in and out of you while his thumb circled your clit.

Soon enough, Dean couldn’t hold back much longer. Drawing his hand from you again, he slid his boxers down just enough to set his cock free and positioned himself between your legs. “Do you want this? I need to hear it.”

“Yes, Dean, please.”, you whined and bucked your hips. Dean carefully pushed himself inside, keeping his eyes on you to see your reaction. He intertwined your hands and kissed your forehead as he kept pushing. You felt yourself stretch around him, felt yourself adjust to his size.

He bottomed out with slow thrusts, trying not to loose control of himself. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”, he growled and picked up the pace a little, “Can’t believe I finally have you to myself.” Your hand was pressed against his chest, desperately searching for any contact it could get. “Dean, faster, please.”, you moaned. Dean took his hand from yours and used it to lift one of your legs up, putting it over his shoulder and leaning down towards you as he started pounding into you, slick sounds and skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you moaned loudly at him fucking you like this. Dean shushed you once again. “As much as I love making you sound like that, you should keep quiet if you don’t want Sam to hear this.”

You grabbed Dean by his neck and pulled his face as close to yours as possible. “I don’t care, I just want you to keep doing this, fuck.”

“How could I stop when you’re taking me so well? Like you were made for me.” Dean’s hand slipped between your legs, pressing down on your lower stomach and getting you closer to the edge. He started kissing your neck again, running his tongue along the pulsating vein and lightly sucking on it. On his way down to your breasts, he kept biting your sensitive skin just enough to hear those sweet moans from you, marking you as his with the bite marks.

“Dean, please.”, you whined, slowly getting overwhelmed at the feeling of his cock ramming into you over and over, “I’m close.”

His hand went to grab your face again and he almost completely pulled out as he gazed at you, his breath coming shorter. He was close too. “Beg for it.”, he demanded. “Please make me cum.”

Right as you finished your sentence, Dean pushed himself in in one hard thrust and kept this harshness as he picked up the pace like before. Your nails dug into his back and shoulders as you held him close to you, almost screaming when his thumb circled around your clit again. You were so damn close to the edge already, and got sent over it as Dean grunted, “Good fucking girl.”

You came undone around him, his lips catching yours to keep you quiet as he kept penetrating with your walls squeezing around him. Dean cursed under his breath and quickly pulled out before coming on your stomach. You rested your foreheads against each other, needing to catch your breath again, coming down from your highs.

Dean leaned down to kiss you carefully, almost as if you could suddenly break apart beneath him. “We really just did that.”, you said to break the silence. Dean chuckled and nodded, “We sure did.”

You both sat up and Dean helped you get cleaned up. After a short trip to the bathroom, you both laid down on the bed again.

Dean grabbed your hips and made you straddle his lap, looking deep into your eyes, taking in all of your details. You caressed his face with your hands. “You know this wasn’t a one-time-thing, right?”, Dean asked, “I mean, I’m taking a big risk here, but fuck, the things you make me wanna do to you. I’m not gonna let you go.” “Easy, tiger, I’m not going anywhere.”, you chuckled, “I mean, I do have to get back for work soon, but… y’know. I think I’m gonna like being here even more from now on.”

#dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean being mean #smut #dean winchester smut #supernatural smut #first smut #request #dean winchester x female reader #jealousy

1K notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 2 months

Text

Mayday Mayday Chapter Three: Bravo in the Green

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Six of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Themes Wordcount: 3.6k Tags: Slow Burn, Whump, Blood and Injury, Active Combat Scenarios, Teammates to ??? to Lovers, Angst, Banter, Flirting, Heavy sexual tension, Mutual pining, The mask comes off Warnings: Descriptions of blood and injury

Wanderers of the desert, you push onwards.

Your team is not pursued, and for that you count a needed mercy against the litany of misfortunes that has beleaguered your team within the past hours. A column of acrid smoke burns up into the stars behind you, the wreckage of the exploded chopper smoldering. With it lay the fallen forms of your would-be pursuers, their comrades limping back into the hills from which they came. Your team hikes further away from the site of the crash, collecting broken forms of your injured brothers between them. You strain under the weight of exhaustion, of your gear, of the shoulder of the injured man beside you as he stumbles up towards the shelter you all seek.

The village is absent of life- and seems to have been for some time. The wind howls between the small collection of buildings, what looks like was once a farm or homestead. Now it is abandoned, the doors creaking as they swing wide in the breeze, desert weeds growing wild against the fences. You can see evidence of lives that once were, interrupted by some great cataclysm. Dishware sits on the rugs, tattered laundry hangs from lines, evidence of some sudden departure you do not know the mystery to.

The team takes shelter in a house up the hill. The marine sergeant takes one of his corporals up to the roof to set up a sniper position. With them goes the comms specialist, and you hear the radio gargling with static from below as you help the wounded inside the dark shadows of the house.

The remainder are left to you. The injured are taken to the side room, and you quickly take in the survivors. Most seemed to have survived the journey well, and the few that didn’t you quickly work on setting to rights with the scarce medical supplies you have left. Their fellows, the ones that carried them half a click east, rest beside them, catching their breath and drinking from the precious water supply with measured sips.

Through some miracle, you don’t lose any more men.

The adrenaline crash kicks in right as you stand to inspect your work on the co-pilot, who you’ve managed to stabilize after he started flagging during the journey. He’s still unconscious, but occasionally you see his head move as he slowly tears himself away from the grave. You sway on your feet a moment, feeling the low ache of fatigue pull at you and settle in your bones. The poison of exhaustion slowly begins to leech into your veins as you wobble a bit towards somewhere a little more private, needing the darkness to cover you as you collect yourself away from your comrades.

You miss the words said to you by the soldier at the door, but they sound grateful, comforting. His hand on your shoulder is that of a friend.

It’s in the shadow of the house’s exterior that you finally collapse, lay your head against the exterior and breathe a deep sigh of relief. Your feet ache from the distance traveled, with you helping support one of the men on one shoulder, and the weight of your weapon in the other. You rub at your neck, trying vainly to relieve some of the ache there, groaning before scrubbing at your face, feeling the scent of blood cling to your fingers along with the grainy sand of the desert.

You’ll probably get a medal for this, you think idly. You try to bring yourself to care past the ache of your spine and dryness of your throat. Of course you’ll have to answer to the base commander about the exploded chopper when you get back- not to mention Price, though you know he’ll have fewer objections, given the circumstances. He’s always been a man of ingenuity and drive, and you know when you give him the mission report he’ll find a way to overlook one exploded helicopter compared to the lives you saved.

The thought of sitting through the paperwork regarding your impromptu escape plan has a weary sigh dragging from your chest. You’re so tired you think you could sleep for days. Now that you’re no longer pursued, and safe at shelter, the possibility of getting home and getting this shitstorm over with has never looked so promising. If you think about a hot shower a little too hard, you can feel your lip wobble a bit.

Just a few more hours, you whisper silently to yourself. Then debrief, which may take hours but at least will be back in the green zone, then a shower, a meal, and then hopefully twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. The thought alone has you smile for the first time all night, and you cling to it as a lifeline against the temptation of crashing too hard down into exhaustion.

Footsteps approaching, and before they get close you already know them by the stride.

“Any news?” You ask as Ghost approaches and leans on the opposing corner of the house, the edge of him a dark shape in your periphery.

“Bird is waiting for clearance, but we’ll be clear by 0600.” Ghost offers flatly. You nod at that, taking in the good news with a quiet sigh of relief, until a gloved hand enters your vision.

“I don’t smoke.” You tell him as Ghost offers the cig towards you, and Ghost shrugs.

“You should.”

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

“So will helicopter crashes.” He drawls, and you huff a small sound of amusement despite yourself.

That’s true at least, and without much else to say you take the cigarette and lean towards the light Ghost offers you, eyes darting up to watch the orange shadows that dance over the white of his skull mask. It’s been a while since you dropped the habit you picked up in training, but a few puffs in you feel your shoulders drooping with ease as the buzz begins to settle over your brain.

“Not going to have one?” You ask as Ghost doesn’t move to light himself one in turn. You know he smokes, you’ve seen it. In the same way you catch glimpses of his chin and the slant of his mouth when he lifts bourbon to his tongue, you know the shape of his face under the mask, the scar that snakes towards his eyebrow and across his upper lip.

“Not tonight.” He tells you simply, but doesn’t make to move from where he stands.

Guarding, you think. Quiet, profound in the stillness.

When you look up at the sky, you can finally see the stars.

You think about the way the flicker of the lighter caught the browns of his eyes.

The billow of smoke curls away from you as you silently puff the cigarette, Ghost as a silent omnipresent shadow beside you.

“Tobacco isn’t good for concussions anyways.” You offer after a long few minutes of silence, and you think you hear Ghost make a mildly displeased sound. Yet when he doesn’t speak, you go on: “I saw you miss your shot.”

With the truck barreling towards you both, bullets pinging off the metal as the team desperately tried to stop it. You thought Ghost would take care of it- only for his own aim to bury itself deep in the soft, sloping sand.

Ghost never misses his shots. Especially at close range like that. You know him better than that.

Ghost stays quiet. He doesn’t offer excuses to you, and you know he’s not the type. More than that, he knows you won’t believe them.

“I’ll get it checked when we’re back at base.”

You frown at that, finally standing and flicking the remainder of the cig into the dirt, crushing it under your boot.

“Why?” You ask, brow drawing with disapproval. “I can check it out right now.”

Ghost watches you, shifting imperceptibly as if he expects you to close in on his space.

“Told you I’m fine.” He tells you again, voice a little lower in warning.

“Fine enough to miss shots.” You retort, and you can tell even in the dark with his mask on that Ghost frowns at you.

“Watch your tone, sergeant.” Ghost warns, voice low and eyes narrowing, and though instinctively you bite your tongue, you don’t step away from him.

It takes you a moment to realize why he’s being so stubborn. At first you think he sees your insistence as another usurpation of his command, a chance to deem him as unfit to lead and take over as CO. You could, in theory. When it comes to the well-being of the team, you outrank even Ghost. You learned your lesson from earlier though, and you thought Ghost would trust you to not try again.

Then, you blink.

The mask.

“Ghost.” You try again, softer now. “Just let me take a look. Won’t take but a minute. The others can’t see us here.”

Ghost is rigid with defensiveness, a novel expression of hesitation in his eyes. When he speaks, his voice is tight.

“I’ll check into medical after debrief.”

That bullshit and you know it. You can count the number of times you’ve seen Ghost in medical- and only ever for injuries he can’t tend to by himself. Short of a broken bone or bullet wound, Ghost would rather set his wounds by himself in the solitude of his room.

Like you, in the worst of ways you suppose.

You take a step forward into his space, and relish the brief flicker of surprise in Ghost’s eyes.

“You’re going to trust some base medic more than me?” You ask bluntly, resisting the urge to prod a finger against his vest. “Let some random soldier see your face when I’m right here?”

Ghost doesn’t move, his dark eyes boring down into yours as you glare.

“You said something a while back.” You go on as the voice of the past rings hollow in your ears. “Something about putting myself in danger trying to do everything by myself, right?”

In the hallway. Blood soaking your shirt. Your stitches torn as Ghost loomed dark and furious above you, cradling you as you begged him to look away from the things you couldn’t handle on your own.

How are you any different?

You want to accuse him of a double standard just to hear his defense, feel it engraved inside you how he’s different, better than you are- capable of taking care of himself where you aren’t. You want him to say it if only to feed the dark festering thing inside you filled with unjust comparisons, looking towards him as a north star you’ll never reach.

But this night has never been about hypocrisy. It’s been about trust.

Ghost stares at you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. He doesn’t speak. You don’t move.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost grunts at last, and reaches up to unbuckle his helmet and NVGs, a murmur of frustration running through the line of his shoulders. “Be quick about it.”

You do just that as the helmet drops into the dirt beside him, reaching upwards and realizing you can hardly touch the top of his head.

“Sit.” You motion to a crate beside him, and you don’t need light to see the way Ghost sours at the order but complies, begrudging in a way that veils his discomfort.

“I won’t take long.” You try, unclipping your flashlight and holding it up towards his face just as he pulls the mask away and-

Oh.

You feel your breath stutter in your chest.

Ghost...Ghost is beautiful.

You’d dreamt of this moment. You’d dared to dream for months about what Ghost looks like without his mask. You’d let your eyes linger on the slope of his mouth when he smoked, or the way his tongue ran across his lips to savor the taste of bourbon. You’d imagined the taste of him, had dared to wonder what it would be like to feel his lips on yours. In the quiet solitude you’ve been haunted by the glowing amber of his gaze, dark like embers, burning with secrets yet unknown to you.

You’d wondered about the scars you couldn’t see, thought perhaps they’d look familiar to your own that dwell inside you.

Now, illuminated by the fluorescent light of your flashlight, you see him bare for the first time.

He has a strong jaw, and along it there’s the barest graze of stubble that you itch to scrape your fingers through. Your eyes trace the deep, jagged scar that snakes from under the collar of his shirt upwards, grazing the corner of his mouth before veering towards his eye. It looks deliberate, cruel, placed there by someone who rejoiced in their ability to inflict horrific memories upon his flesh. It joins a myriad of others, flicks of a knife and a burn mark just above his brow- and you know that these are not the scars of a man who earned them. They were given to him without his consent, his skin torn asunder by those who took his freedom away.

You feel something inside you tug in familiarity.

His lashes are blonde. As is his hair- buzzed short, a dusky dark color that looks almost like honey. Blood wets a spot at the top of his head, dyeing the color a rusty sort of red as it dries. A drip of it curls down towards his temple, and your eyes follow it back towards his eyes- focused on you with a stare that’s no different from when the mask is on. Driven, dangerous, and in them you somehow see yourself.

You stay there a moment, wound forgotten as you drink your fill of him, trying to engrave inside you all the details you can, wondering if this will be the first and last time you see more of him than you dared to dream.

“Looking respectfully, sergeant?”

You nearly startle at Ghost’s voice tearing you from your thoughts, face warming at being caught ogling him so blatantly. You avert your eyes, clearing the grit in your throat with a little cough, but when you glance quickly back at him you see Ghost is smiling.

It’s a wry sort of expression, the corner of his mouth tugging smugly as he watches you try not to squirm under his stare, and at the reminder of your poor attempts of flirting earlier on the helo. It has no right to be as disarming as it is, catching a glimpse of self-satisfaction flickering in his gaze as you remember to close your agape mouth.

“Very respectfully.” You manage at last, trying to sound professional but more winded than anything. The smile has dropped from his face- there and gone in only a moment, but the syrupy, melting warmth of the expression wells low in your stomach and threatens to further weaken your already unstable knees.

Cheeky bastard.

You avoid his eyes as you look at the contusion on his head, distractedly hovering your fingers over his sweaty hair if only to feel how soft you think it is.

“How bad is it?” Ghost grunts, impatient.

“...You’ll do.” You tell him blandly, scarcely swallowing down the words you want to say. Then, with a hint of retribution: “Still think you’d look better in green.”

The unamused look Ghost shoots you, if anything, seems only to encourage you. You feel your mouth twitch with something close to a grin.

“Stay still for a moment.” You tell him, taking out a bandage and gently blotting at the dried blood on his scalp as he hisses at the touch. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He tells you, reaching up to hold the flashlight as you work. Briefly, his fingers skim across yours as you release the hold on it, and it takes a heavy yield of focus to not let your ministrations cease as your chest flutters.

True to your word, you try to work quickly, cleaning off the blood and as gently as you can trying to apply a smear of antibiotic ointment from your precious, limited supply. At last you secure a bandage to the contusion, and lean back to admire your handiwork.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you should get checked out on base just in case.” You declare softly, and Ghost nods only once before he’s reaching for his mask again, stealing away the vision of him before you have a chance to look one last time.

“and-” Ghost pauses as you speak, knuckles still grasping the bottom of his mask as he regrettably finishes pulling it over his face once more. “I promise not to tell anyone you’re a blonde.”

Ghost doesn’t move. Hardly even breathes, and after several long minutes of silence you begin to wonder if you’ve pushed him too far.

“Can’t have Gaz and Soap thinking I’m getting special treatment, after all.” You force yourself to laugh, busying yourself with tucking away the medical supplies. Ghosts eyes burn into your back. He’s quiet even as you zip up the med kit again.

“Is that what you call this then, Fix?”

You freeze, shoulders stiff, fingers clasped onto the zipper and thanking heaven you’re faced away from him so he doesn’t see the agape, nearly scandalized expression on your face.

“I-I’m just doing my job.” You stammer after a moment, and regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. “...Sir.”

You’re almost thankful when Ghost hums as if he doesn’t quite believe you.

You turn to him, hoping the darkness conceals the utter bewilderment and wild hope in your expression. You feel unsteady on your feet, lost in this constant push and pull you’re both caught in, dancing just out of reach and never sure about the others intent. You blame it on the exhaustion when you sway a little on your feet, not expecting Ghost’s gloved hand to shoot out and balance you by your elbow.

Your eyes land on it, travel the path of his arm up to the dark swirl of his irises behind the mask and feel your breath catch and hold in your chest.

Ghost doesn’t speak, doesn’t let go, and in return you find yourself entirely absent of the words you wish you could say.

You want him closer, closer than this. You want to feel the frame of him bracket you against the wall, that same hand traveling up to grab your face as he kisses you. You want him to take the mask off so you can see his mouth again, the pink of his lips that haunts you in your waking daydreams. You want him to say something, anything, that might confirm this isn’t just a dream, that you aren’t creating illusions within your lovesick mind.

You want him so much it aches to not have him.

“Ghost.” You whisper at last, barely audible in case the others somehow hear. Ghost stares at you, dark eyes unblinking, unreadable, until he seems to come to a quiet conclusion within himself.

“Steady on your feet, Fix.” He murmurs carefully, and when his thumb strokes just once on the inside of your elbow, you shudder.

He lets go then, almost reluctantly, and draws away. The absence of him leaves you even dizzier than before, forcing yourself to stand strong as he quietly paces away.

“Get some rest, soldier.” He offers, shouldering his weapon once more and making for the rooftop. “You deserve it.”

You wait until he’s gone to sit heavily on the crate beside you, the one that still has a bit of his warmth from where he perched. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, skin too warm under your loadout and mind reeling.

The softness of his voice, the wry smile, the lilt of his voice when he teased you, the mere touch of him has you leaning back and blinking dumbly at the sky, trying and failing to think through it all.

You deserve it.

It’s the closest thing you’ll get to praise in all this, but it matters little compared to the image of Ghost with that wickedly handsome grin that you know will haunt you for weeks to come.

Heaven help me.

You think all the sinners and the saints can’t help the way you’ve damned yourself for him.

Eventually you force yourself to stand and make your way back to the team sheltered inside the house. You go through practiced motions of ensuring the injured are set, before finally slumping against one of the corners, where one of the marines makes room for you. He passes you a canteen, which you take gratefully, and when you hand it back there’s a smile that wasn’t there at the start of the mission- something that speaks of trust. Respect.

Above you, in the quiet, you hear Ghost’s voice rumble to the other marine sergeant. On watch, as he always is, keeping you in his six just as you keep him in yours.

You drift off to the vision of his smile, and awaken at dawn to return home alongside him in the chopper, his leg pressed against yours warmly. On the tarmac Ghost lingers as you rush with the others to the infirmary, and you feel his eyes look after you as he fades into the distance.

The phantom press of his stare chases you in the hours to come as exhaustion threatens to sweep your legs out from under you, wishing he was there once more to keep you steady, to hold you. You try to remember his face as best you can, the scar on his jaw, the blonde flutter of his lashes. You try and fail to keep the thing inside you dim, refusing to let the dalliance of hope from alighting it into a blaze that threatens to consume you.

When you finally do sleep in your own bed, you find yourself wishing you weren’t alone, and hoping someday you won’t have to be.

Tag List:

Please reply to or reblog this post with 'taglist' to be tagged in future updates. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, please DM me.

@dankest-farrik @zwiiicnziiix @moondirti @sritashimada @ladiilokii @sandinthemachine @verdandis-blog @guyfieriiii @fan-of-encouragement @starlitnotes @rentaldarling @mockerycrow @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @tinykaka @dumb-djarin @homicidal-slvt @selinn777 @nachtcirce @jujubashow @mutuallimbenclosure @kkinky @trash-boi-4-life @scatter-mind001 @alittlefansthings @allaboutirem0 @keiva1000 @makariaspresence @achelois-is-here @nightingale-ghost-writer @altered-delta @thetimidsarcasticcat @nestaarcheronss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ghxstyops @whotfislynn @gazs-blue-hat @obi-wansorrow @liltofu99 @thatswhyilovetheghost @devilsfoodcake22 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @hlo-kty @children-of-epiales @definitelyanonymous @queenquazar @alicesfracturedmirror @stillinracooncity @paigetaylor628 @jinxxangel13 @enfppixie @itsnotmyfaultimdifferent @dustycrusty09 @cminoko @caitiecatastrophe @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @squidalapobre @idypia @astroponyo

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #Simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x ofc #reader insert #cod x reader #fic: shadow and bone #oc: fix #fic: snowblind #It's done!!#Finally!!#Now onto these two FINALLY banging each other and having feelings about it 😭

93 notes · View notes

jwirecs · 9 months

Text

RECOMMENDED SEVENTEEN FICS OF AUGUST 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my recs for seventeen for august! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Dare You || @dontflailmenow🔞💕✅💯

↳ One dare. One night. One creepy, people-died-here, dilapidated house. Two reluctant explorers. Of course it’s Halloween.

Keep It Quiet || @jaemified🔞💕✅💯

↳ you and seungcheol never liked taking risks, especially with 8 of his 12 roommates home. but, up until your self control couldn’t handle it anymore, you both found it was best to keep it quiet.

Laundry Room || @ikigaisvt🔞💕✅

↳ in which your husband is really good at cleaning - and he looks hot doing so.

Taking Care of Their S/O having Foot Pain From Their Heels || @wheeboo💕✅

↳ Anon Req: heyy there! your blog is amazing <3 i recently went to a party and wore a new pair of very uncomfortable 4in heels for like five to six hours ( ended up getting cuts and blisters :’)) so may I request svt members reacting to s/o who tortured their feet in heels for a party? tysm<3

Your Cherry Flavored Kisses || @hannyoontify💕✅

↳ as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

I Hate U, I Love U || @wonusite🔞💕💔✅

↳ After finally managing to escape the lifelong rivalry you once had with Yoon Jeonghan, you’re unexpectedly thrown back into the undesirable feud after receiving a scholarship to the most prestigious private school in the city. Despite your attempts to leave the past in the past, you discover too late that you’re the only one interested in letting the vendetta go. Years later, there’s a switch in dynamic when you’re the one unwilling to let it go.

The Very First Night || @shuadrive💕💔✅

↳ the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

Close Proximity || @chilligyu💕💔✅

↳ when she first met mingyu, she didn’t know what to expect. she was desperate for a roommate, he needed a place to stay. they were exactly what the other needed, in more ways than one.

Contusion Confusion || @seungkwansphd💕💔✅

↳ your clumsy lab partner left a bruise on you. seungcheol seems disproportionately upset by it, but it makes way more sense once you understand why.

Jihoon's Puppy || @rubyreduji💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ jihoon can’t seem to shake the puppy dog who keeps following him around or the teasing he gets for it

Kidult || @hoeforhao💕💔✅💯

↳ can trying to relive the childhood you never got to experience, through your daughter be the reason of your husband's irk?

Real Eyes, Fake Lies || @wooataes💕💔🔄💯

↳ What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

Willow || @wongyuuu💕💔✅

↳ seungcheol always knew that he was going to marry you, but things only get harder once he does (or in which seungcheol is just really dumb and doesn't know how to show his feelings)

Your Games Suck: Next Level || @onlymingyus🔞✅💯💯

↳ (no summary but just think, wonwoo and seungcheol???. yes please.)

I'm Dating Woozi || @jihoonotes💕✅

↳ y/n is in a public relationship w/ woozi of SVTZ and decides to make a twitter acc to support jihoon, but SVTZ fans seem to think they're delusional.

Pang! || @kkumawrites💕💔✅

↳ You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

Yearning || @jihoonotes💕💔✅💯

↳ for yn it was love at first sight, but for jihoon it was annoyed at first sight.. oops?

[Tales From The Pack] Soonyoung: Imperfect || @gamerwoo🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Soonyoung has always been desperate to find his mate, often going out into town at night to fill the void of imprinting that he craves so much. Then suddenly, you (quite literally) appear in front of him. He’d always dreamed and fantasized about what having his mate would be like, but the reality is nothing like he expected.

Do check out all of the other seventeen fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen social media au #seventeen werewolf au #seventeen established relationship au #seventeen enemies to lovers au #seventeen exes to lovers au #svt fic recs #svt recs #seventeen fic recs #seventeen recs

245 notes · View notes

monarcascension · 11 months

Text

a little sugar | s.m

summary: Living the life of an idol was hard. You couldn’t really do much without being in the public eye, and sometimes the pressure is just too much to bear. That’s how you met Song Mingi one faithful night three years ago. His absence in the recent years due to work, had left you with an unfulfilled void, but that would all change tonight.

pairings: mingi x idol fem!reader

tags: smoking, drugs, vulgar language, SMUT WARNING, MINORS DNI, oral sex, unprotected sex ♡

word count : 4.9K

You had never gone this long without sex.

Well, maybe prior to your debut. Physical contact or contact at all with any male that wasn’t part of your group’s initial staff was strictly off limits as trainees. It was more of a mandate than a rule— rules are meant to be broken, whereas if you break a mandate.. well. That’s your job out the window. You had been in the industry for six years now, your group was fairing well amongst your competitors and you were now running your victory lap through the streets of South Korea after a more than successful comeback. However, you were only missing one thing that made all of your success in the past worth it.

Him.

He had just finished wrapping up the first leg of his four month tour, only to return again early this year. Since you had an album to complete and a comeback setting on the horizon, you didn’t have much time for boys anyway. But you couldn’t lie, you missed him. He was probably the only male, outside of your laundry list of wreckage, that you actually had a soft spot for. He was sweet in a kind, and goofy way. He made you laugh even when you weren’t feeling your best, and always made sure you were well taken care of when you were together.

In many ways, it reminded you of the moment you met him three years ago that started this whole thing in the first place. A broken girl meets a broken boy in need of affirmation. One too many drinks led to a slip up that lasted the entire summer and shouldn’t have meant as much to you as it did.

Since you started sneaking around outside the company and had your bachelorette-style fun, pretending to not know the many men you slept with in public - if you happened to run into each other- was easy.

But having to stand in rooms with Mingi amongst your other idol coleagues and act like you didn’t want him to take you then and there was the hardest thing you ever had to do.

You kind of felt pathetic waiting around for him all these months. You could have had sex with anybody at that time, but you always waited for him.

It was torture. Damn you Song Mingi.

That would all change tonight, though. Mingi had finally returned to Korea and was in town for his Anchor in Seoul tour. He had texted you earlier and requested to see you after, saying that he would come and get you from the usual meeting place in the next hour. Hearing from him after so much time had passed brought a smile to your face. You felt like a high schooler with a crush, if you could even call it that. Hell, you didn’t even know if you loved him, he just made you feel good and filled a void better than any other man had over the years. You assumed that you felt something for him if you were this excited to receive a simple text message from him.

Like you said, pathetic.

Having feelings just weren’t your strong suit because the only thing they’re good for is getting you hurt.

You sat tucked away in your private studio. Your feet kicked up on the table in front of you as you scrolled aimlessly on your phone. You checked through your social media, seeing all of your fans commenting on your photos, especially the ones you took with your members and equally your best friends. Soo Jin, Yeong Si, Hei Na, and Ry. The five of you were as close as anyone could possibly be considering you spent the last eight years of your lives together, you were more like sisters than friends.

Which is why you felt bad lying to them even now.

When you and Mingi frequently saw each other in the past, you had to jump through countless hoops just to keep it secret. You would deliberately hold back details of your location from your group as well as staff—paying your security detail to withhold telling them anything if they were to ask. You made sure to take every precaution necessary to make sure they didn’t know or ever found out: concealing text messages and phone conversations and giving them the bullshit excuses as to why you couldn’t hang out for dinner. It was better that they didn’t know about your little escapades. It made things easier for you as the leader. You had to keep a standard in the group and you never wanted them to follow in your footsteps.

Keeping your “relationship” with Mingi under lock and key was the only advantage that you had on the public. It was the one secret in your life that you kept close to your chest and it stayed completely between the two of you. Your secrecy made it special, which meant no one else could invade it and ruin it all for you.

Checking the time on your phone, you decided to start getting ready to meet him. The concert was close to ending, which meant you had roughly thirty minutes to be ready since the drive from the arena wasn’t that long from the center of Seoul where you stayed. Good thing was that you had no prior engagements, so you didn’t have to alert your security to your leaving. Since you would be alone in this, you had to be discreet or your career would be as good as done.

Going to your groups’ message thread on KKT, you sent a quick message to them for your cover. Simply telling them that you would be working for the rest of the night and would be coming up to the apartments later in the night and not to wait up for you. Most of your members answered within seconds— Soo Jin told you to stop working so hard and to make sure you got rest as soon as you were finished. Yeong Si teased you about eating the last Pokémon bread in the cabinet knowing it was your favorite. Hei Na and Ry didn’t answer, which means they could be sleeping as they usually did or watching a drama. Either or was good for you.

You responded back to them with a cute emoticon, promising them that you’ll do well and return home soon. Quickly wishing a good nights’ sleep. The action was customary as you usually had conversations like this, so they would not think anything of it nor come looking for you. Which is exactly what you wanted.

Now all that was left was sneaking out. You were pretty much dressed already, wearing a strapless black crop top and a thigh length skirt to match. You grabbed your purse and stood up from your chair to fix yourself up in the bathroom connected to the studio office.

You pulled half of your hair up into a split ponytail, letting the rest drape over your shoulders. You lightly fixed your makeup to liven up your visibly exhausted face, adding lipstick, fresh eyeliner and mascara. You took some of your favorite roll on perfume and applied it to your wrists before rubbing it across the rest of your body, specifically in your neck and chest areas.

A soft chime from your phone alerted you. You walked hastily into the other room and pulled the device off of the table to read what message expanded across the lock screen.

송민기 -

Ended the show on time. Heading your way soon.

Don’t forget our spot.

If he was heading your way now, you only had about twenty minutes or so to get to your meeting spot. Walking there would take way more time, so you had no other option but to take a taxi. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous route of travel, but they usually tended to mind their business as long as you paid well and didn’t bring attention to yourself. So you had to act fast, flagging down a driver around this time would be a lot more difficult.

So, you didn’t waste anymore time. You gathered your things, shut down the control center to the booth and walked out of the room, making sure you checked your surroundings thoroughly. You were lucky that you had your studio built on the first floor, which meant that you could easily make your way out. Since it was late at night, most of the employees in the building had gone home by now, leaving probably the general security and a few janitors.

Before stepping out into the hall, you fiddled into your purse pulling out the shades that you kept with you just in case and put them on. You walked through the hall and into the main lobby of the building until you reached the front doors. You weren’t so much worried about the people inside, although you didn’t want to be seen by them either, you had to be cautious of the people outside. If even one person recognized you, you would make front news on every gossip page in the country.

However, as you hit the brisk night air. The darkness concealed you enough to get you as far away from the building as possible to catch a taxi. The sidewalks weren’t too filled with people, but being in Seoul, there was always someone somewhere. You kept your pace steady, not to seem too urgent and stood just at the edge of the sidewalk to get a better view of the road. Once you spotted a taxi, you immediately raised your hand and waved vigorously, hoping to catch his attention. Thankfully, the driver saw you in just enough time and pulled over to your side. You quickly opened the backseat of the car door and slid inside.

“Where to?” He asked flatly.

“Jung-Gu please. Buruttrak.”

“Pretty late for a lady to be going to that area alone. Will you need a ride back?”

You were glad you were wearing glasses to hide how strongly you rolled your eyes. “Not necessary. Just meeting a friend. Thank you though.”

He didn’t ask anymore questions and only nodded, pulling off into the rest of the traffic. You shot Mingi a text and told him you were on your way, hoping that the drive went quicker than it was anticipated to.

Thanks to the medium-light traffic, you made it to Jung-Gu in just under thirty minutes. The strip that was usually filled with people and bright lights had now dimmed as shopkeepers were starting to shut down for the night. The taxi stopped in front of the Buruttrak CD store, where you and Mingi had first met three years ago. You paid the driver handsomely for the long ride and thanked him for his service. You stepped out of the taxi and looked around as he pulled away, leaving you alone again.

No matter how many times you frequented this location, it always made you feel nostalgic. As a kid you would come here with your mom and pick out CD’s of your favorite artists to listen to for hours on end. Only to return ten years later and run into the man who changed everything for you. You stared into the window of the store, seeing the shelves still in the same spot they had always been, filled to the brim with the most modern albums from new artists like yourself. Who would have ever thought this is where you would have ended up in your life.

“You’re not getting all sentimental on me tonight are you?” A deep voice exclaimed from behind you.

You were forcefully pulled from your daydreaming, turning around quickly to locate where the voice came from, only to see the sly smirk accompanying the sharp features of Song Mingi, who was hanging slightly outside of the backseat window. A bright grin stumbled onto your face.

“That’s more your thing than mine.” You teased, giddiness present in your stride as you started towards the car, pulling your glasses free from your face.

Mingi popped open the back door of the black SUV, and reached his hand out to you to help you inside. You took his hand and stepped up into the platform vehicle, shutting the door behind you which concealed the both of you in darkness. The car moved instantly, barely giving you time to settle in your seat, which sent you almost falling over him. Thankful for his quickness, he kept you steady, holding on to your side as well as your arm to ensure you did not fall.

Your closeness to him brought back old memories almost instantaneously— like you had opened a time capsule from your school days.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

“More than okay.” You beamed in his direction and without even thinking you pulled him into a kiss.

Your hands cupped around his face, while his palms found purchase on your backside— gently caressing the exposed skin underneath your crop top. Mingi’s lips were just as soft as you remembered them, silky and plump; warping into the perfect comfort around your own. Your breaths intermingled with the other as he split your lips with his tongue, snaking it into your mouth. The embrace alone felt like the sweetest ecstasy. The void that his absence left inside of you, slowly being filled the deeper you kissed him.

Mingi’s free hand found the nape of your neck, his

digits slipping into your thick, dark hair and sinking you further into the embrace. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek and you were like putty in his hands. The tender feeling mixed with the passion of the moment made you giggle against his lips. You could do this for hours alone and be satisfied. Although, after months of not having him, there was much more on your mind.

Slowing down your pace, your kisses were filled less with hunger and more with a burning sense of longing— transforming into soft, trickling pecks. Mingi’s lips started to trail off of their original path, pressing against your cheek, your jaw, until finally clinging to your neck. You bit down on your lip, living for the feeling of his warm, pillowy, pair against your flesh. That part of you having been untouched for so long, it was almost ticklish making you chuckle softly against him.

“It’s nice to see you too.” You chimed happily.

Mingi groaned softly against your neck before finally coming up to face you again and sighed. “God, I missed that smell…I missed you.”

“I know. You didn’t have much of a choice anyway.” You adjusted yourself in your seat, finding your purse that slipped off during the intensity of your makeout session and dug through it.

“Did you brin-“

Before he got the words out, you pulled out a small baggie filled with pre-rolled blunts. “Never forget ‘em.”

“That’s my girl.” He cooed, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. One hand resting against your thigh, and gently brushing over your skin.

“Did you bring that candy I asked for?” You inquired.

Mingi reached into the pocket of his gray sweatpants, a loud crackling sound coming from it as he pulled it out and handed it to you. “Couldn’t forget. You kept bothering me about it.”

You squealed excitedly as you read the packaging of the Fruit By The Foot. It was the one candy that was only sold in certain parts of Korea and since he was closest to the one location that had it, you just had to get some. And you would need it especially when it came down to smoking. The car had just hit the inner city. Neon lights from outside shined into the vehicle and illuminated both of your faces. You pulled one of the joints out of the bag along with the lighter and handed it over to Mingi, while you partook in the snack that he brought you, enjoying the familiar mixture of berry and apple that satisfied your tastebuds.

“You’ve gotten even prettier since I’ve been gone.” He said, moving a loose strand of hair out of your face. “Remind me not to go that long without seeing you again.”

Your face flushed with color, thankfully not that he could see due to the dim light around you. You smiled sweetly at him, swallowing, before speaking. “Well, maybe if you didn’t go on eighteen tours in a year you could see me more often.”

Mingi chuckled, flicking his tongue against his exposed fang. “Ouch. Damn, well if it was up to me, I would have been here with you. You know how it is with work.”

“Sadly, you weren’t.”

He placed the blunt in his mouth and leaned over towards you for you to light it. The metal beacon popped open with a click; the flame flickered and ignited against the paper, filling your nostrils with that signature pungent scent. You were happy that this particular SUV had a partition section and it was concealed to the driver, leaving the two of you to fully enjoy yourselves without distractions and or consequences.

Mingi held the joint between his thumb and pointer finger, inhaling its contents deeply as the taste simmered in his throat until he puffed out a thick cloud of smoke that curled up into the ceiling of the truck. You snuggled up closer to him, watching him as he did so and fuck, was it the hottest thing ever. You hadn’t even realized that your lips had slightly parted in sheer awe at how sexy he looked.

He turned to face you, catching you staring. He chuckled lowly to himself and blew a stream of what he inhaled into your mouth, curling into a thick plume that you gladly took in. “So you’re saying you missed me?”

You rolled your eyes and took a hit of the joint, sucking in as much of it as you could — pushing the vaporized smoke into the air through pursed lips. “Would I have come all the way out here if I didn’t?”

“I’d rather hear you say it.” He fixed his attention towards you. The look on his face was hard to describe, bordering on him merely waiting for you to say what he wanted to hear, but you just couldn’t work up the words.

You sighed, taking another hit of the joint before letting him have his turn, placing the blunt in his mouth and holding it for him as he kept both of his eyes planted on you, while he inhaled the compelling flavor.

“Saying it is one thing, ..” You whispered to him, placing your hand on his stomach. “but showing you is another.”

You let your fingers slide down his abdomen, lightly caressing over the band of his pants. Looking back towards him to see the response on his face. He stared at you with thirsty, yet intrigued eyes. He quickly blew out the smoke and used the ashtray on his side of the door to ash out the blunt. The high was starting to kick into your system and your mind was going a little fuzzy, which meant all of your sensations were starting to heighten, especially the ones down below. You wanted him badly before, but you wanted him even more now and you felt that he was the same way.

“Is that right? What did you have in mind?” He was playing coy, but he knew exactly what was whirring in that head of yours.

That’s when an idea popped into your head. You giggled excitedly, reaching back to grab that same concealed bag of candy that he brought you. “Something a little more fun.”

He kissed you again. Tender, but wildly all at the same time. Your hand slipped inside the hem of his pants and you rubbed your palm across his girth— your hand just barely wrapping around the full width of him. He growled inside your mouth, his dick twitched in your hands alone, and you could tell he was just as horny and needy as you were.

Not wanting to waste the time you had, you started to push off his sweatpants and he assisted you, pulling his hips off of the car seat so that they would slip down easier, still never breaking the kiss you two shared until you pulled away. His length stood at full attention. The veins blanketing his shaft pulsed with the blood that raised his desire. The sight of him made your pussy tingle. Your tongue was eager to taste him after so long.

You looked back over to him and smiled. “Just relax.”

He was confused at your words, but interested and let you continue. Fully unwrapping the coil of candy from its packaging, you stretched it out a bit until you got a sizable length of it, tearing the white strip beneath it and wrapping it around the base of Mingi’s shaft. Once it was attached, you tore off what you didn’t want to use and put it to the side for you to get to work.

You re-positioned yourself, leaning the bottom half of your body off the seat while your top half laid across Mingi’s lap. You gripped onto him, hovering your mouth just above his tip and gathered what saliva you could muster, letting it drip down and coat his member in your fluids. He gave you a groan of approval, moving a piece of your hair out of the way so that he could watch you take him in full.

You opened your mouth and started lowering yourself onto him, the warmth of your breath sliding over his sensitive skin causing his own to hitch in his throat. Latching your lips around his thickness you started working his pole like no time had passed at all. The flavor of his dick mixing with the added taste of the fruit candy you wrapped around him, the taste swirling in your mouth while you sucked him off.

Mingi’s thunderous moans emanated from above you. His exasperated sighs and hollow groans filled the back of the car more than the smoke billowing over your heads. It was a beautiful sound, one you missed more than you should have admitted.

“Fuck, I love how you look with your lips wrapped around me.” He spoke. The deep tone of his voice drove you insane. He placed his hand on your head, helping guide you down his inches.

Tasting him was one of your favorite pastimes. You thrived in his flavor, twisting and turning your head in an effort to tackle every curve of his pulsating length. Mingi’s drawn out exhausts of pleasure were enough encouragement to keep you going.

You swallowed him almost completely, letting your tongue engulf his rod, stimulating his nerves with the slippery nature of your pink instrument. You intently kept your eyes plastered on him, watching his face churn at the pleasure he was receiving from the plush velvet of your mouth. It turned you on to see how delighted and eager Mingi was to see you bob your head down lovingly on his thickness, slobbering and sucking up a percentage of the saliva you used to sloppily slurp him up with. Your main goal was to make sure that he was pleased—not giving him a moment of mercy to ensure that both of their desires were fulfilled.

“Shit, that feels so good.” He grumbled under a soft breath and laughed to himself. “You’re so fucking nasty.”

You took the bulk of him down to the base of his dick before coming back up again for a breath; a thick string followed in the wake of the action as she slid her tongue down to his balls, fondling him with a soft suction.

“You taste so good..” You whispered softly to him, happy with the reactions he was giving you.

“Mmm, keep going baby...” Mingi was starting to buckle under your control. His chest rose and fell quickly and his abdomen started to tighten. He was getting close.

Mingi laid his head back and gritted his teeth, rubbing the palm of his hand down his face. “You suck this dick so good babygirl.”

Taking him in your mouth again, you slushed him around using the inside of your cheeks to squeeze him tightly pushing the sides of his pole against the wet cushion. The fruit candy you wrapped around him was dissolving more as you licked off layer after layer leaving only one band left to focus on. You took every bit of him that you could. The tip of his dick hitting against the back of your throat the lower you went. The sloppy, wet sounds filled your ears.

“Fuck…I’m gonna cum..” he roared. His breathy pants quickened. His moans picked up in frequency as your tongue flicked over his shaft relentlessly.

Mingi applied light pressure to the back of your head, and started grinding his hips into your throat from below, riding out the crescendo of his orgasm until he burst. His moan was thick and raspy, bordering on insanity as he came down your throat and onto your tongue. You winced at the impact of the clumpy, warm liquid sliding down your pipe, but took it all without hesitation.

With his head rested against the seat in a desperate attempt to catch his breath, he relinquished his hold on you. You sat up and coughed a little, swallowing the rest of his cum and wiping your mouth. You looked down to see your work and the candy had completely dissolved, but he was still rock hard.

Using what strength he had left, he wrapped a full arm around your body and pulled you up into his lap. “You had your way, now it’s my turn.”

You laughed a little, bringing your hand up to his head and gently caressing his hair. “You’re so needy, you know that?”

“Have you met you?” He teases. “I have to leave you with something to remember me.”

You both grinned at each other.

“Why would I ever forget you?” You kissed him softly, not as involved as before, but still showing your affection towards him.

Mingi caressed your thighs, working his hands up inside your skirt and snaking them down to your ass — grabbing a handful. He hooked his finger inside your panties and pulled them off to the side, wrapping his hand around his mass and positioning it at your entrance. Rubbing the tip of himself against your lips, you both moaned softly.

“Let me take care of you..” He mused, slowly sticking himself into your luxurious center. You lowered your hips down onto him, and settled yourself fully into his lap.

The feeling of him slipping inside of you again was euphoric in its own right. It was like a piece of you had been missing, but had finally reconnected with you. He holds on to your hips and slowly guides you up and down his shaft, letting you readjust to his size. Licking over his lips he stares at you with a look you hadn’t seen on him since that night three years ago. Your first night together. He looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. It shook you. You badly wanted to avert your gaze, but you just couldn’t look away. His eyes were so inviting, so honest, yet lustful and wanting. Lovingly. You could tell Mingi did not rush this moment and neither did you. You both cherished the time you spent together, and this was no different.

Your pleasured moans careened through the air beautifully, mingling with the smoke that drifted around the boxed-in backseat. You took him well, finding a steady bouncing pace that would get you both to your destination. Mingi held you against him, one hand holding your backside while the other moved into your hair whilst you grinded against him. Your hands were placed on the leather seats on either side of his head, your nails clawing at the fabric and helping you maintain your balance for a moment, before you lost strength in that effort— cupping his face into your palms once more.

It was the softest you had ever been in a moment like this. So sincere. You wanted nothing more from him but to just feel him ravaging every part of you with what time you had to left with each other. You rocked against him dutifully, your slick juices drowning his member and triggering the prettiest moans you had ever heard come from a man.

He stuffed you full of everything that he had to give, letting himself do a majority of the work while you rode him, meeting him half way until you met your end.

You both breathed heavily like you had just come from running a marathon. Nearing the tip of your long-awaited climax.

“Cum with me..” You beckoned, brushing the tip of your thumbs against his bottom lip.

“Fuuuuck- I’m cumming..” Mingi’s brow stitched at the words, pressing together the closer he got to bursting.

He started picking up his pace, fucking you like he had lost all of his remaining sense. You nodded your head, holding his face steady in your hands in attempts to soothe him. Your moans blended together in harmony and with a final blow, you held him close and released onto him as he did in you.

You both caught your breath. Fully emptying yourselves together, sticky with sweat and other fluids combined.

With a sharp breath, you collapsed into him, laying your head in the crook of his neck. You opened your mouth to speak—your words were shaky, but with a soft sigh you finally managed to collect the words.

“I missed you, Mingi.”

You could hear the smile forming in his voice as he replied. “I know.”

352 notes · View notes

alittlebitofloveliness · 24 days

Text

Outsiders Prompt Fic 4- I'm tired of this

This one is for @crow222 who wanted prompt 9 for Darry Curtis

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

Darry was starting to get annoyed.

The reno itself was going well. They’d made more progress than he thought possible after only three days of work, especially considering this was the gang converting the Matthews’ tiny garage into a room for Two’s grandmother instead of his regular work crew on a job. As it was, Soda was doing the trim while Johnny worked behind him punching nails so they could start puttying later this afternoon. Steve and Pony were working in tandem building window boxes and framing, getting along better than Darry thought possible. They were a well oiled machine, Steve calling out measurements to Pony who then marked and cut the boards, before holding them while Steve nailed them in place. He was almost afraid to talk to either of them for fear of breaking their tenuous peace.

He himself was working on assembling the cabinets Mrs.Matthews had bought at a rummage sale in the nice part of town a few weeks ago. The plan for her mother to move into their house had come after lots of discussion, but the trust was the old lady’s health was failing and Mrs. Matthews couldn’t afford to put her in a home, not when her nursing shifts barely covered rent and food for herself, Two-bit, and Susie. When she’d explained this to him, wringing her hands and saying she could barely afford the materials let alone a contracting team, Darry had rallied the gang and agreed to build it for her. Mrs. Matthews had always been good to them, had often looked after them when they were sick and couldn’t afford to go to a real hospital, and she’d been one of his mother’s best friends.

She’d been real good to them too, for all she couldn’t afford to pay them. She and Susie had made dinner every night the past three days- no small feat for a group of hungry, hard working teenage boys.

And all the while, while he sanded, while Johnny hammered, while Soda glued, and Pony measured, and Steve sawed, while Mrs. Matthew’s and Susie cooked, Two-bit lollygagged.

While Steve and Soda had been painting the walls, Two had cracked a beer and heckled them. When Pony and Johnny were putting in the floor he’d haphazardly hammered on the section he’d been assigned, leaving the younger two to pick up the slack. When he’d been sanding the doorways, Two had been nowhere to be found.

Even Dally, who’d only been around until noon on monday since he was working the rodeo the rest of the week, had done more to help than Two-bit had, and Darry was starting to get sick of it.

They were none of them strangers to hard work. He, Pony, and Soda had been raised helping Dad with his carpentry business, and Steve’s old man had taught him engines practically since he could walk. Johnny had worked odd jobs since he was six, since feeding himself was a burden he often had no choice to take on. Besides, living in the east side meant that if things broke you either needed to work to figure out how to fix them yourself or work even longer hours to hire someone to do it for you if you couldn’t. Keeping a house was no joke either- Darry had never realized how hard staying on top of cooking and groceries and laundry and cleaning was until he was left to handle it by himself. It was a lot to organize and a lot to keep track of.

So yeah, they all worked hard. Which is why it was all the more aggravating that Two-bit refused to.

He’s always been lazy- this wasn’t news. Even when he was in second grade and Two-bit in first, the guy had been loudmouthed and too unbothered to do any of his worksheets. It had driven Darry crazy back then. It still drove him crazy now.

Currently Two-bit was lounging around, leaning against the wall and jabbering to Soda without even once offering to help.

“I’m tired of this,” he stormed over, sure he looked a storm and not caring in the slightest, “Keith Matthews you better start working properly right this instance!”

Two-bit raised an eyebrow. “Geez Dar, chill out, I’m just takin’ a break.”

“You’ve had three whole days of breaks!” He thundered, “For shame Two-bit, your fifteen year old sister’s been workin’ harder than you! My own kid brothers and your other friends are workin’ to build this place, for free, for your grandma, the least you can do is help out!”

He turned on his heel and stomped away, sure than if he stayed a second longer he’d start swinging.

Going back to the cabinets he pretended not to hear the shocked silence followed by careful joking, the tension only dissipating once Susie brought them lemonade, and Johnny started teasing Ponyboy about how she wouldn’t quit checking him out as soon as she was back inside.

The next time Darry looks over, Two-bit is helping Soda with the framing. He doesn’t stop working for the rest of the day.

#the outsiders #darry curtis #two bit mathews #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle #johnny cade #dally winston #the outsiders prompts

32 notes · View notes

lovetowee · 4 months

Text

Mommy Knows Best (Pt. 1?)

- For a friend, per their request - @unpottytrainedtboy

By: MrMister

“I think you should wear one,” I said sternly looking at my girlfriend.

“I’m fine. There will be no issues. I’m an adult. I do not need to wear one of those.” She was referring to the pack of diapers I held in my hand.

“Well you’ve been having accidents lately, and I’d rather not risk it going to Tiff and Logan’s tonight.” Her cheeks flushed bright red as her eyes dropped to the floor. She knew I was right.

“It hasn’t happened very often,” she protested in a pouty voice.

“You’ve wet the bed three times. You’ve even had daytime wetting accidents. Twice, I believe, you wet your pants. Not to mention that one time you pooped yourself.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” she mumbled sadly. Katie was my girlfriend. She was younger than me by two years. I was twenty-six and she was twenty-four. I was the one who ‘wore the pants’ in the relationship. Little did she know that her accidents were mainly due to my influence. I’ve always had a thing for humiliating others. And nothing brought someone lower than watching them have an accident in public. I had been slipping laxatives and diuretics into her food and drinks for the past few weeks. On top of that I did things like take her on long drives. Or I had even drugged her with sleeping pills so she wouldn’t wake up when she needed to, resulting in an accident. The more she started to believe it, the more she mentally began to lose control.

We were going to our friend’s house for the evening for some drinks. She didn’t know that tonight she was going to have a major accident. I offered her a diaper so that she might have some dignity. Even if she steadfastly refused to wear the diaper tonight, she was having the accident one way or the other. She could have it in a diaper, or in her pants.

I had been working on weakening her control slowly. I finally believed she was losing muscle strength in her bladder and bowels. In the beginning when I spiked her food and drink with laxatives she easily made it to the washroom in time. Now, she was barely making it. I did the laundry in our house and I could see the brown skid marks in her underwear as proof. Her bladder was in real bad shape, she was actually wetting the bed unassisted most times.

“Look, I know it’s not your fault. But you’ll feel a lot better if you’re protected.”

“But it’s crinkly, they’ll notice,” she whined.

“I made sure to get the discreet kind. I promise no one will notice them.”

“Please, I promise I’ll be good.”

I knew she wouldn’t. “Last chance: if you have an accident would you rather you soak your pants, or have it hidden in a diaper? Then I can just come home and change you in secret. No one will know.”

“Fine,” she said resigned. She knew who the boss was in our relationship.

We had a few hours before we were going to head over. Only thing I had to make was dinner before we left. I was making Katie’s favorite: Chicken noodle soup and garlic bread – although her soup would have a little something extra in it. So we just hung out for the afternoon enjoying each other’s company. Soon the sun started to sink and I began dinner. It didn’t take too long before everything was ready. I poured the soup in bowls, and the garlic bread on two little plates. Then I added the special ingredients to her soup: a diuretic and a very strong laxative. I planned the doses so that hopefully they would take effect while we were at Tiffany and Logan’s.

I walked out and gave her the food. “Thank you, my Love,” she said. I gave her a kiss on the forehead and went back into the kitchen to grab my own. We ate quietly and watched TV together. After we finished I gathered the dishes and told her to start getting ready.

“Make sure your diaper is on,” I yelled as she headed to our room. “And make sure you go pee before we leave.”

“I will,” she said annoyed. I was smiling to myself while I washed the dishes. Tonight was going to be so much fun. Katie really had no idea. Poor thing. Once done with the dishes I went upstairs to get ready. Katie was checking herself out in the mirror when I entered our room. She wore a tight pair of jeans and a nice red shirt. Her hair was shoulder length and auburn. She was so cute, I just wanted her to be my baby forever.

“Can you tell I’m wearing a diaper?” she asked. I walked over and pulled her shirt up. I looked down at her butt and was genuinely surprised I couldn’t tell at all. That was excellent, she would feel more confident. I wrapped my arms around her from behind. I kissed the back of her neck. My hands played with the front of her jeans feeling the padding beneath that covered her. She moaned a little as I caressed her.

“I cannot see anything, You will be fine. Plus,” I said letting go of her, “you said you’d be a big girl tonight. So it’s just a precaution.”

“Yeah, I’m staying dry tonight.” I chuckled quietly to myself as I finished getting ready. Within the hour we were ready and in the car. The ride was only about fifteen minutes across town. So I started the engine and we were off.

We had barely started our trip when I could see Katie slightly fidgeting out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe the diuretic was already taking effect. I watched her a little more before stirring the pot. “You okay, Darling?” She just stared out the window trying to hide from my question. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Is there anywhere we can quickly stop?” she asked in a little voice.

“Why?” I wanted to make her say it out loud.

“I really, really, have to pee,” she whimpered.

“I told you to go before we left.”

“I did!” she turned to me protesting, “You know I went before we left.” It was true I had seen her go into the washroom. And I had heard her successfully go pee at home.

“Well, we’re five minutes from Tiff’s place you can go when we get there.” She had no idea it was completely out of her control. She was noticeably squirming now. Her hands were jammed between her legs. Finally as we turned onto the right street I hear my favorite sound: a small whimper.

“Oh no,” she whispered. I pulled into the driveway, and parked the car. I looked over at Katie whose head was hung low. I knew what was happening.

“I knew the diaper was a good idea. Finish going pee, then we’ll go in.” I turned the car off so I could hear the faint hiss of urine as she finished. We sat quietly in the car for a few minutes.

“Can I take it off?” she turned to look at me, her eyes wet with tears. I smiled reassuringly but ultimately said, no.

“Melissa please,” she whined, “it’s all swollen they will see.” I reached over and felt the front of her pants.

“I cannot feel anything,” I said, undoing my seat belt. “You’ll be fine. If that is the only accident tonight, no one will be able to tell.”

“Please just let me take it off. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“No, let’s go,” I said firmly. “You had an accident like a toddler and you can stay in it.” I got out of the car and she slowly followed me. I grabbed her hand as we walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell and whispered, “You’ll be fine, Love.” Tiffany answered the door and ushered us in.

“Hey guys, so glad to see you,” she said hugging me. “Logan they’re here!” She gave Katie a hug too. We took our shoes off and followed her into the house. Tiffany wore a very attractive dress. She had tan skin and very dark hair. Katie was very cute and that’s why I loved her. Tiffany was like a model. She had big breasts and a well toned butt. But she wasn’t my type. She was just too sexy for my likings. I didn’t like strong women, like Tiff, I preferred the quiet ones like Katie whom I could control a little more easily. And it didn’t matter anyway because Tiffany was straight.

The kitchen was loaded with snacks: meat, cheese and veggies. Logan and Tiff were well off so they always supplied everything when we came over to visit. I could see the TV room, the football game was on and Logan was standing in front watching.

“Here,” Tiffany said handing us each a glass of wine. “Logan come say hello.” Katie and Tiff started up a conversation as Logan came over to me with a beer in one hand.

“Hey Gals, how are things?”

“Great,” I said happily, “Katie just got a promotion at her job.”

“Oh that’s amazing!” he said, taking a sip of his beer. “Tiffany is still hunting for a better job.”

“Oh my God,” Tiff spoke up, “I cannot stand working for my new boss, he’s such a dick. Ever since he started my whole job has just sucked.” We all just shot the shit for a while. We sipped our drinks, and snacked on snacks. Tiffany was my friend from High School. That is where she had met Logan. They had gotten married early and they’ve always done well for themselves. They were a bit basic in my opinion. They’re the type of people who think ‘Doggy Style’ was something that was hot and exciting. I was also pretty sure Logan had a crush on me. Even though he knew that I was playing for the other team.

Eventually we started playing cards. Logan bounced between that and the football game. We all talked about our lives and caught up on all we had missed in the last few weeks. I kept feeding Katie drinks in the hope it would make her more forgetful. I stopped drinking because I said I had to drive, but that wasn’t the real reason. I wanted to be alert for when what I hoped would happen, happened.

We snacking again and Tiff was telling me all about her horrible boss when Katie stood up and announced she was going to the washroom. I cut her off and kissed her quickly whispering, “Your diaper better stay on.” She nodded.

She hugged me and said, “I’m just going pee, honest. I told you I would be okay.” I couldn’t smell anything out of the ordinary and there were no wet spots on her pants from a second accident. Her bladder must not have been as weak as I hoped, much to my dismay. I went back and continued my conversation with Tiffany.

In a few minutes Katie was back. She came over and stood by me. I wrapped my arms around her back. I looked like I just had my arm around her waist, but my fingers played with the waist of her jeans. Yes, I felt the diaper. She had not removed it. Not that I cared if she did, it would just be more of a mess in her pants. How silly of me, I thought rubbing her back now. She had nowhere to throw the diaper away. She had to keep it on. Katie poured herself another drink. Her cheeks were red since she was starting to get drunk.

Logan’s football game finally ended and he came over to chat, his attention no longer divided. He told me about this idea he had for a business. It sounded similar to an idea I had. So we were talking avidly about that while Katie and Tiff were engrossed in a topic I couldn’t quite make out. I was watching Katie, lost in her conversation, and sipping her drink. Every now and then her hand casually moved over her tummy. The laxatives were having an effect, I thought happily to myself. I was hoping Katie was too distracted to notice her growing urge. Even if she slightly noticed the urge she had difficulty pooping at other people’s houses. So I bet she would try to stall as long as possible.

Katie and Tiff came over, and all four of us were all eagerly chatting. I was contributing but I didn’t know what I said because I was watching and hoping.

Then, mid conversation, it happened.

Katie’s stomach and bowels made a loud, audible gurgle. She stopped talking as her eyes opened wide. The sounds from her were quite obvious and everyone had stopped talking now, in shock. We could hear wet, messy sounds as her bowels emptied themselves into her diaper. I could just imagine the warm mess spreading between her cheeks. I could tell she was trying to stop herself but the laxatives were too strong. And with a final bubbly, squish sound she was done. Silence and a smell began to waft around the kitchen. Katie’s eyes watered and she rushed off to the washroom, hiding her face.

“Is she okay?” Tiff asked. Logan just looked disgusted.

“I better go check,” I excused myself. I was probably the only person at the moment who was ecstatic. I was over the moon. Everything had gone perfectly. I could feel my panties getting damp with arousal. But I had to play this well. I needed to get her home and comfort her. When I was all she had, she would be my baby.

I knocked on the door, “It’s me.” I could hear her crying as she unlocked the door. I got in, closed the door and gave her a hug. “It’s okay,” I soothed, “it’s okay. Just breathe.” She cried into my shoulder. I was so turned on. It was her embarrassment – plus the smell of her mess – really had me soaked. This wasn’t about me though, not yet at least.

“Honey, I’m going to tell them you’re sick and not feeling well.” She rubbed some tears from her eyes, but nodded. “You stay here, and when I come back we’ll go right to the car. Okay?” She nodded again.

I left the bathroom, once again closing the door behind me. Logan and Tiffany were whispering heatedly as I approached the kitchen. They stopped as I got near.

“So is she okay?” Tiff asked again.

“She’s not feeling well, maybe a little too much to drink,” I explained. “We’re just going to head home.”

“I hope she feels better soon,” Tiff added. I could tell she didn’t care. Her and Logan were too normal to really be able to handle something like this.

“Of course,” I said, “sorry. Thanks for the the great night. We’ll just let ourselves out.” With that I turned to go. Neither of them followed to see us out. I could make out Logan saying, “She shit her pants, that’s so gross.” It didn’t faze me; I had what I came for.

I knocked on the bathroom door and ushered her out. She was still crying with her head hung low. Outside we went and got into the car. Tiff and Logan would probably never invite us back, but who needed Normies? Katie stood outside of the car with the door open, staring at the seat.

“Come on Katie-bear, hop in.”

“But, but,” she protested through tears.

“it cannot get any worse, Honey. Just get in and get it over with. The sooner we’re home the sooner I can clean you up.” She slowly got in the car, trying to put as little weight as she could on the mess in her diaper. But it was a losing battle. She looked mortified as her dirty bum mush have squished all around her diaper. She started to cry again as soon as the door was closed. I pulled out of the driveway. The smell of her accident was very obvious in our small car.

“Well, aren’t you glad you wore the diaper?”

“I guess,” she sniffled.

“At least your pants didn’t get ruined.”

“But now Tiff and Logan think I’m a disgusting baby.”

“No they don’t,” I reassured her.

“Yes they do. Plus I smell gross and I feel gross. And I’m a grown woman who just shit her pants.” She continued crying and I loved every second of it. “I don’t even care anymore.” I didn’t quite know what she meant by that last comment, but soon in the passing street lights I could make out a dark spot growing on the front of her jeans. She was peeing again, and not even trying to hold it. The diaper was too full from her previous wetting and it had begun to leak. “Since everyone thinks I’m a baby, I’ll just potty in my pants like a baby.” I hoped she was serious, but she also was quite drunk, so maybe it was that. Either way whether she accepted it or not she was going to be using diapers the rest of her life.

“Katie you’re beautiful and I love you. I’m always here for you. I don’t think you’re a baby. You’re strong, independent, and you’re my big girl. It’s okay to have accidents every now and again.”

“Really?” she asked, her tears starting to finally dry.

“Who cares if you shit yourself, it happens to the best of people.” She was quiet. “You don’t know this but Tiff wet herself at a party when we were sixteen. It can happen to anyone.”

“Okay,” she mumbled, “I love you.” Her tears had dried and she just stared out the window. We got home and pulled into our driveway. I turned the car off and got out. Lucky for her it was dark, so even if our neighbors were out no one would be able to see anything. Katie got out of the car and slowly waddled to the front door. I could tell she did not like the feeling of her dirty bum.

“Wait for me upstairs,” I commanded. She knew where to go to get changed. This obviously wasn’t the first time.

Alright, I thought to myself, time to take this thing home! I went to the covered where I had hid a few things for a moment like this. I removed them from their packaging and got everything ready before I heading upstairs and dealing with my very wet, very messy baby girl.

I set the items down where she couldn’t see. I grabbed the wipes, baby powder, and a fresh diaper. She was already laying on the floor with her clothes off. I had trained her well.

“You had some trouble tonight, Sweetie. So we’re going to put you in another diaper for bed.” She didn’t fight me this time, she just looked at me and nodded. I undid the sides of her diaper and opened it up. Her whole bum was covered in poop. The whole diaper was a wet, brown mess. Her perfectly shaved vagina was also covered from when she had sat on her dirty bum. She really looked like a two-year-old who had just had a blowout. Her hands covered her face in embarrassment. As if hiding would make the mess and shame disappear.

“At least your tummy is happy now, with all that yuck out,” I reassured as I pat her belly gently. “It would have been all over your nice panties if you weren’t in diapers. Then you’d feel really little.” I grabbed some wipes and started to get to work. I began with her butt cheeks that were caked in warm poop. I wiped and wiped and slowly her cheeks were white once more. I was cleaning her little butt hole when she started to whimper.

“Mel,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Yes, Honey,” I said. My hand stopped cleaning her.

“My tummy is grumbly again.” Her eyes were wet with tears again.

“You have to potty again?” She nodded. “Okay,” I said and quickly slipped a fresh diaper under her partially cleaned bum and taped it up. “Mommy is here, you get all the yuckies out.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she responded. She stopped looking at me and turned to face the wall. I was happy these laxatives were still doing their job. I hadn’t even finished cleaning the first mess and she was about to go for round two! Before she started her business I walked over and grabbed one of the items from the table. I walked back over and popped the pacifier into her mouth. She took it without protest and began to suck on it quietly. Through the sucking I could hear her pushing as she wetly went potty into her fresh diaper. I watched it bulge out as her bubbly, farty mess poured out of her. I just wanted to stick my face down there. It sounded like another soft mess. A couple more pushes and some noise between her legs, and she must have finally finished.

“All done,” she said sounding childish talking with a soother in her mouth.

“For sure this time?” I asked in my stern Mommy voice. “Don’t have to pee again?” she shook her head. “And no more poops?” Head shake again. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll clean you up. Just enjoy your pacifier.”

So once again I undid her diaper. Her mess was a lot creamier and it smelled very bad this time around, not that I wasn’t turned on. Katie was holding her nose as I started to clean her butt cheeks again. I got her pale cheeks nice and clean for the second time. I made sure in between the cheeks and her butt hole were spotless. Finally I cleaned up her vagina, making sure to clean her well to avoid infections. After I was done I gently teased her pussy lips. She moaned softly as I touched her. Then, before things got too out of hand, I covered her in baby powder and taped a new diaper on her.

“Go get your onesie on, please.” Katie got up, still sucking her soother, and grabbed an orange fox onesie from the closet. She put it on and got in bed. She knew the drill. I brought the other item I had prepared over: a bottle of milk. I took the pacifier out of her mouth and she looked upset. I quickly handed her the bottle and she eagerly started drinking it. She closed her eyes.

“Sleep tight, Angel,” I said kissing her forehead.

“Good night, Mommy,” she said quietly. And I left her to sleep. I hoped she was embracing this lifestyle, and it wasn’t still the booze talking. Either way she was mine. I had spiked the milk with a sleeping pill, another light diuretic, and a basic laxative. She would have no idea. Hopefully she would wake up wet and messy. Then we could do this all again tomorrow.

I smiled to myself, Mommy always got what she wanted.

#ab/dl diaper #diaper pee #omorashi #omo #pee kink #omo wetting #omutsu

38 notes · View notes