sentientcave

[sentientcave]

Sparrow

Chapter 4 - English Breakfast

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~3.4k - MDNI - 18+

Morgan glanced up from her laptop as the bell above the door chimed, tuneless and loud in the otherwise empty space. It was a rainy, dismal kind of day, and the summer traffic had dried up a few weeks ago, leaving the place empty aside from a few breakfast and dinner regulars. "Sit anywhere," she said to the first two men, hardly glancing at them. "I'll be right with you."

She shut her laptop and bounced around the counter to grab menus, and looked up properly when she realized that one of the four had stopped on the other side, and was grinning as her, familiar blue eyes sparkling.

"Hey, Morgan," John said pleasantly. "You never called me."

"Told you I might not." She walked past him to give menus to the other three. They all looked at each other, two of them biting back grins, and the third wearing a skull-print balaclava that obscured his features.

"Yer Morgan?" One of the two young men— the tanned, blue eyed one with the mohawk, SAS tattoo on his forearm— said, giving her a once over that lingered a little too long on the name-tag that said Carol. "Thought ye were a pilot."

"I am. I'm just helping out today as a favour to the owners. You boys want coffee? I just put on a fresh pot a couple minutes ago."

"Sounds perfect, love," John said, unnecessarily touching her lower back as he moved past her and sat next to the other unmasked fellow (handsome, brown eyes, disarming smile, dark coily hair shaved close on the sides, horizontal scar on his cheek). "Lads?"

"I'd love a coffee, thanks," Pretty Boy said politely.

"Aye, me as well," Mohawk agreed.

"Tea, if you 'ave it." Skull-face studied her as intensely as Mohawk, but without the big feral grin. It was hard to say if that was better or worse.

"Sure thing."

"Why not grab yourself a coffee too?" John suggested. "Join us for a minute."

“No.” Morgan spun on her heel and headed back around the counter. It would have been nice if Nikolai had warned her that they were coming. There was no way he didn’t know.

“Cute bird,” Skull-face said, at a volume that filled the room, no effort to keep the comment to the table. If she had to guess, he was speaking louder than usual, just to make sure she heard him. “But a bit young for you, don’t you think, skipper?” He met Morgan’s eyes when she glanced over. He wore black grease paint on the only visible skin, the area around his eyes. Perhaps an effort to be intimidating, but it gave him a sort of baleful, basset hound look that was likely not the intention.

“She’s older than she looks,” Price said. He was making a little more effort to be quiet, but they were the only ones in the diner, aside from Morgan and the owner, Bob, who was eavesdropping from the kitchen, and she could hear Price quite clearly. “It’s probably the uniform.”

“Something to be said about tall socks and a short skirt,” Mohawk agreed.

Morgan gave them another look over her shoulder as she started filling coffee cups. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“Sorry, bonnie girl,” Mohawk said with a laugh. “Don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“You’d better not, Soap. That’s my girl.”

Morgan fished a teapot out from below the counter. “Not your girl, Price.”

Price hooked an arm over the back of the booth, twisting in his seat so her could see her better. “Not yet.”

“Keep dreaming.” She brought the coffees and the pot of tea over and set them out on the table for them, along with small pitchers of milk and cream. “Do you know what you want?”

“I know what I want,” Price said.

“Behave yourself, Price. I’m not on the menu.”

“S’pose I’ll need another minute then,” he said wistfully. “And please call me John. Can’t have you callin’ me Price like you’re one of my men. Feels like we’re movin’ backwards.”

“Hm, almost like I’m intentionally trying to create distance between us,” Morgan said. “But that surely couldn’t be it.”

The other three exchanged glances, snickering.

“Och, got yersel a firecracker, eh captain?” Mohawk, who was apparently named Soap of all things, grinned at Morgan. “How’d he piss ye off? Yer the one tha’ didnae call him.”

“What did you tell them?” This was the worst thing about men in any kind of brotherhood. They were all too willing to share anything and everything with their comrades.

“Nothing bad,” Pretty Boy said soothingly. “Just that you’re the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, and that he managed to fumble twice.” He angled himself toward her better, pushing himself into the corner, leaning one arm against the window. “He was right about the first part.”

"Turn off the dazzlers, Garrick, you cannae be flirtin' like that or Ah'll tell Billie." Soap pointed a chastising finger at Pretty Boy. "Gie th'rest of us a chance."

“You don’t have a chance,” Morgan said sternly. “None of you do, so you can all stop.”

The bell over the door chimed again, pulling Morgan’s attention up and over. Her well-practiced smile was hardly in place before it started slipping, cold sweat gathering on the back of her neck.

Danny.

His pale blue eyes slid past her to the men at the table, and he turned around comically fast, right back out the door before it shut behind him. A car screeched out of the parking lot a few seconds later, and sped past the windows and out of sight.

There was no way it was a coincidence that Danny would show up the very same day that John and his friends did. That spelled trouble, the kind that could get her killed or arrested or running for her life. She had contingencies— A few properties here and there, money funnelled from the company through layers of subsidiaries, passports with different names on them— But she had genuinely hoped that she would be able to just retire in peace, leave it all behind her, keep what little remained of her life and loved ones.

When she turned back around, all four of the Brits were looking at her.

“You know that guy?” Pretty Boy asked, his tone a little too casual for him to not already know the answer. He wanted to know if she would lie.

“Unfortunately, yeah. He’s my ex. Smart of him to turn around. Wouldn’t be safe for him to eat anything I had my hands on.” It was the Brits that had scared him off— He’d probably seen her truck in the parking lot on his way to her house, thought to pop in and surprise her. Asshole. She would have preferred meeting him at home, where she had access to her guns.

“Why’s that?” Skull-face asked. “A little spit never ‘urt no one.”

“Sure, but a lot of rat poison might.” She laughed lightly, as if she were joking (she wasn’t). “It was a messy divorce.”

Skull-face made a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.

“What’d he do?” Soap stirred sugar into his coffee, the spoon clinking against the plain ceramic mug. “Was he seein’ other women? Looks like the unappreciative type.”

Besides setting up bad deals he couldn’t follow through on and black-mailing her into helping him clean up the mess? “He never did the dishes. Always left his socks on the floor. Like I said. Messy.”

“A real monster,” Skull-face agreed.

“I need to make a quick phone call.” Price slid out of the booth and stood up. He touched Morgan’s back lightly as he passed by again, taking any excuse to put his hands on her. “Why not sit a moment? There’s no one else here.”

“No, I have things to do—”

“Oh, go sit down, Morgan,” Bob called through the hand-off plane, where he’d been watching the whole time. He was older, well into his seventies, and mostly just working for something to do. His wife was taking her sister to some doctor’s appointment, which was why Morgan had come in at all. She liked it, though. Something to do, to keep her from getting too rusty with people. Otherwise she could go over a week without saying a word to anybody. “You already cleaned the place top to bottom, you’ve earned a break.”

“I was taking a break when they came in! Besides, you don’t pay me to sit around.”

Bob laughed. “I don’t pay you. Sit.”

“Ah, come on then,” Pretty Boy said. “We don’t bite.” He patted the seat next to him invitingly, and reluctantly, Morgan sat down, as close to the edge as she could get.

“Speak for yourself, Gaz.” Skull-face’s mask twitched, and it wasn’t difficult for Morgan to imagine the wolfish grin underneath the knit material. “Some of us do.”

“Ghost, are ye flirtin’ too?” Soap elbowed the big man in the ribs. “I dinnae think she’ll be impressed. If the captain cannae catch her, she’s no’ gonna want you.”

Ghost shrugged. “Maybe. I’d do the dishes. Puts me one up on the last fellow.”

“Had to be more than that,” Gaz pressed. “To divorce over.”

“Why the interest? Doing recon for Price?”

“Something like that.” Gaz continued to smile, all affable, boyish charm, an obvious counter to Ghost’s intimidating presence and Soap’s intensity. He presented himself well, as the most approachable, but Morgan suspected there was a lot simmering below the surface, just out of sight. “Consider it curiosity. We never knew Nikolai had any family.” He draped his arm over the back of the booth, outstretched fingers just missing her shoulder.

“Of course not. He’s always been careful about keeping his connections hidden. That’s why he’s still alive.” Morgan adjusted the container of sugar packets in the middle of the table so that the side was parallel to the edge, squared up. Ghost reached forward and very deliberately set it askew again, the gleam of mischief in his eyes immistakable. Ass. She fiddled with the edge of her apron rather than set it straight again, refusing to get caught in a stupid little battle like that. “Family is safer when no one knows who they are or where to find them.”

“How much d’ya ken about his line of work?” Soap asked.

“Enough to know not to ask too many questions. Enough to know you’re not harmless tourists.”

“Ach, we’re harmless to you, bonnie. Ye’ve go’ nothin’ ta worry about.” His too-bright blue eyes slid to the door, darkening. “But yer ex might.”

“Danny? He’s always been crooked, but he’s never gotten himself into anything that warrants four of Britain’s most strapping military men to come after him. What’s he done?” She really, really hoped it wasn’t something that would lead an enterprising agent to her. The trail between her and the last criminal incident ought to be long cold, so all she had to do was not get involved in anything further, and she could get away from it all scot free. The only person she’d willingly do a job for at this point was Nikolai, since he had the good sense to cover his goddamn tracks.

Ghost pulled a few sugar packets loose and dropped them on her side of the table. “Nothin’ a pretty little thing like you needs worryin’ about.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what game he was playing and why, and nearly missed Gaz shifting beside her, pulling his arm back down to his side. She turned to look at Price. “Here, let me get out of your way,” she said quickly, positioning herself to stand up as soon as Price moved out of the way, looking up at him and trying not to think about how she was nearly level with his belt buckle.

“Nonsense. Shove over a bit, Gaz.” Price motioned for Morgan to slide over as well. “There’s plenty of room, s’long as you don’t mind gettin’ cozy.”

“I’m supposed to be working,” Morgan said weakly.

“It’s going to be dead all day, Morgan,” Bob said cheerfully, coming out from the kitchen to poor himself a cup of coffee. “Don’t like the look of this rain.” On cue, lightning flashed, chased by a low rumble of thunder. “Besides, you’re not getting paid, and you’ve already done more than you were supposed to. Might as well sit a spell with your friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” Morgan protested. “I only know one of these guys.”

“Isn’t he the one Janie told Abby you left that bar with a few months back?” Bob asked mildly, raising his bushy grey eyebrows. “Matches the description to a tee.”

“Don’t you people have better things to do than gossip about me?” Morgan gave up on hoping Price would let her go, and slid down the bench closer to Gaz.

Bob leaned on the counter, grinning. “We just want to see you settled down. Can’t be good, rattling around that big house all by yourself.”

“Bob, oh my god,” she protested. Price’s big frame settled on the bench beside her, sliding close so that their thighs pressed together. She was pressed to Gaz similarly, which, admittedly, wasn’t his fault, he was taking up as little space as possible. “It’s not anyone’s business.”

“She hasn’t so much as been on a date in years,” Bob continued, looking at John meaningfully. “And taking her home from the bar doesn’t count! I hope you intend to treat her right.”

“Sure would like to,” John said, looking at Morgan with the bearing of a sad, blue eyed dog that had been left in the cold too long.

“Any man in his right mind would like to,” Gaz added unhelpfully.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Morgan stood up on the bench and climbed ungracefully over the back of the bench into the next booth, wishing she’d worn longer shorts underneath her dress. “If I’m not needed here, I’m going home.”

“Actually,” Price said, turning to look at her as she straightened up. “Nikolai suggested that we stay close by. He thinks that Danny fellow is up to no good.”

“What does that have to do with me?” She was going to have to have a talk with Nikolai about how casual he was with the fucking British Special Forces.

“He said you have a few spare rooms. That you might put us up for a night or two.” His smile and laughing eyes made her want to lose her temper. He was lucky that she’d left her handgun in the truck. “What do you say?”

“What? Why would he say that?”

“Probably worried about you,” Ghost said.

“Knows we’ll keep you safe,” Gaz added. “Wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to Nikolai’s favourite niece.”

“That is not necessary.” What the hell was Nikolai thinking? She could handle Danny just fine. He was an idiot, an opportunist, a fucking menace, but he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her. Especially since she was of a mind to shoot on sight next time she saw him. Even if she missed (unlikely) she could take him in a fight easily. Danny was a go-between guy, a slimy little deal-maker. Not muscle by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m not in any danger.”

“He thinks you might be. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping us out, at the very least.” Price was being polite in that self-satisfied way that told her that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “For Nikolai’s sake. Wouldn’t want him worryin’, would you?”

Morgan bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something before she’d fully thought it through. Was this because Nikolai didn’t trust her? Did he think that she would help Danny with whatever hare-brained scheme he was working on? Did he think she was stupid? “Well, I’m not exactly set up for guests. And there’s only three spare beds, so one of you will have to sleep on the couch.”

“Oh that’s fine by us. We’d be happy enough sleeping on the floor,” Gaz said. “We’ll be no trouble at all.”

Fuck. Fuck. But she put on a smile that she’s sure must have been bloody from how hard she was biting her cheek. “Well, I suppose I can put you up. I’ll have to get groceries. And if Laika doesn’t like you, you’ll have to find another place to stay.” Maybe the big, friendly rottie would decide that she didn’t like these men, and she could get rid of them before they even managed to get a single big-booted foot in the door.

“Why don’t you go now?” Bob asked, helpful as ever. “By the time you finish up I’ll have fed these boys lunch, so you won’t have to worry about cooking until dinner.” He turned to the table of soldiers. “She’s a great cook, by the way.”

“Bob, will you stop that?”

“‘ope ‘e doesn’t,” Ghost said. “I like the look on your face.”

“Oh, it’s rat poison for you too, mister.” Morgan pointed an admonishing finger at him.

It only made his eyes crease with a smile. “Quit flirtin’ with me in front of the Captain. You’re gonna ‘urt ‘is feelin’s.”

“Unbelieveable,” Morgan grumbled. Nikolai would have a lot to answer for once she saw him again. It was bad enough that he had brought one of them to her father’s funeral, but sending Price her way a second time warranted one hell of an explanation. She stomped off to the back room to get her jacket and keys and checked her phone. Two missed calls from an unknown number (Danny, no doubt), and a text from Nikolai’s last known number.

Nikolai: I worry he will try something. Let 141 shoot him if he does.

I could kill him myself. Don’t need Military in my house. I’m mad at you for this <<

Nikolai had obviously been waiting for his response, because it came before she could put her phone in her jacket pocket.

Nikolai: He has made nasty friends. Might pay you a visit at home. Stay safe

Anxious sweat gathered at the nape of her neck. Perhaps jail was the least of her worries. Ten years would be a long time to sit in a prison, but they probably wouldn’t be able to link her to anything worse than smuggling, so it wouldn’t be the rest of her life.

Still, she’d probably be best off running. She had a few places she could disappear to— Russia, although she didn’t have a lot of interest in settling there, France, if she fixed her backwater accent. She had an alias with an E.U. passport, which opened up a few options. Maybe the cabin in Montana. She’d always liked the mountains. She had options, and if the storm cleared up, she could get the hell out of dodge before morning. It wouldn’t be that hard to deal with the— What did Nikolai call them?— The 141 until then.

She could be charming and flirty and accommodating and wait them out. It wouldn’t be that hard, even if Ghost was doing his best to be annoying and Price was constantly finding excuses to touch her. Gaz and Soap seemed nice enough, even if Soap had the overall vibe of a hunting dog waiting for permission to give chase.

She pulled her jacket on and came back out. They were all laughing at something Bob had said. Something embarrassingly personal, no doubt. Living in the small town that she’d been born in meant that too many people knew too many details about her personal life. Bob especially, since she’d been sort of friends with his daughter Abby for ages, and his wife used to be a teacher at the local high school.

“Are any of you allergic to anything?” she asked. “Im especially interested in anything that’ll make Ghost go into anaphylactic shock.”

“Sweet of you,” Price said. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill my lieutenant.”

“Suit yourself, sir.” Morgan shrugged lightly, not missing the way Price shifted forward in his seat at the word sir. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t believe a word Bob tells you. He’s a compulsive liar.”

“Just for that, I’m telling them about that time you stole that cop car.”

“Bob!” What a traitor he was turning out to be. They really didn’t need to know that.

Title card made on Canva - Image Credits: 1 - 2 - Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sentientcave]

I'm gonna be real with you, i don't think weirdo kinksters should be considered acceptable collateral damage when banks/credit card companies enforce adult content bans on sites like patreon and ko-fi

[sentientcave]

J.K. Rowling is also a woman, I’m not trying to be that guy but I’m just saying you shouldn’t imply that you love every women.

[sentientcave]

GhostGaz Week Day 6 - Body Swap / Hidden Talent

CW: Self-stimulation with hands, chronic pain, discussion of sex, nudity

Note: The most vague of premises: modern fantasy, Soap did something weird. That's all I got. Enjoy

-

Kyle thinks he’s doing remarkably well for waking up ten centimeters taller, with a truly absurd amount of pain in every part of his body, and white. He glares out from under the blankets at his own back, which has gone from bloodcurdlingly terrifying to just annoying.

He knew nothing good could come from Soap learning a new confusion spell that he wouldn’t tell anyone about. And it is confusing. Even if Simon didn’t have chronic pain, his limbs are too long, to big, too heavy. If this had happened in the field, he’d be absolutely useless. Shit, he’s useless as it is.

“Stop flexing and bring me some pain killers,”Kyle grumbles in Simon’s voice. It’s not as comforting coming out of his own mouth as it is when it hits his ears.

Simon-in-Kyles-body turns with a little frown. “Can’t take tha’ on an empty stomach.”

“I’ve seen you dry-swallow two potions at a time,” Kyle grumbles. “And get that manc accent out of my mouth.”

Simon pitches Kyle’s vocal cords up. “Don’t want to get a tummy ache, gov’na.”

“Gods above,” Kyle grumbles, making himself sit up and stretch one of his arms toward the ceiling. “Just make some toast. And coffee.”

“Oi, wha’ the fuck?” Kyle’s eyes snap to Simon, who’s looking down Kyle’s body at his crotch. “Why the fuck’m I ‘gettin’ ‘ard?”

It takes a moment, and then Kyle barks a laugh. “Guess my body still likes the look of you.”

“Weird as shit,” Simon snickers, pulling at his waistband to take a peek at Kyle’s equipment. “Was wonderin’ why lookin’ at you wasn’t as excitin’ as normal. Is my cock ‘ard?”

“Maybe if your whole body didn’t feel like one big bruise,” Kyle grumbles. He palms himself, reflexively, and jumps. “Oh, nevermind, you’re already at a half chub.”

“Oh, yeah, it takes a minute,” Simon says, stalking over and pulling the blanket off completely. He ignores the way Kyle yelps as he pushes him onto his back and yanks his boxers down.

“Hey!”

“Quit y’r whinin’, ‘ve seen it all before,” Simon dismisses. “Go on, give it a stroke.”

“You’re a perv,” Kyle sighs, wrapping his hand around Simon’s cock. It’s mostly the same, of course, as doing it to himself, but he has to readjust his grip a couple of times to get comfortable. “This thing is unwieldy.”

“’m gonna suck it,” Simon declares, making space for himself between his own body’s legs.

“I have to pee,” Kyle yelps.

“Nah,” Simon chuckles, settling onto his - Kyle’s - belly. “My body don’t need to until I’ve been up a while. I already emptied your bladder.”

“I don’t like how easy this is for you.”

“Eh,” Simon gives an eloquent shrug. “Not the first time Soap’s gotten me with an errant spell. Better than wakin’ up as the Captain.”

Kyle freezes. “Simon.”

“Mm?”

“Say that again?” Kyle watches his body shiver at the words in Simon’s voice.

“What? This is better’n bein’ the Captain?”

“Simon.”

“Mm?”

“Why does your dick twitch when you hear me say ‘the Captain’?”

“I couldn’t begin to imagine, Lieutenant,” Simon says, in a near perfect imitation of Kyle’s own voice. “Bet we can figure it out.”

“That’s really creepy, actually,” Kyle says, honestly, and his dick doesn’t get any softer.

“Let me suck your cock,” Simon purrs.

Kyle feels weird finding it attractive but… when in Rome. “Olrigh’.”

(“How come I didn’t know you could do tha’? Wi’ y’r leg?” Simon pants, half hanging off the bed. Kyle has the confusing thought that his own asshole looks cute from this angle.

Kyle tries to unstick his tongue from the top of his mouth. “I didn’t know I could do that. Did you know you can come twice in a row?”

“Yeah,” Simon chuckles. He pats Kyle’s thigh. “Your back’s gonna start ‘urtin’ in a few minutes. ‘Ll put on some toast.”)

[sentientcave]

i don’t know who needs to hear this but you do not need to wear makeup

[sentientcave]

Sparrow

Chapter 4 - English Breakfast

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~3.4k - MDNI - 18+

Morgan glanced up from her laptop as the bell above the door chimed, tuneless and loud in the otherwise empty space. It was a rainy, dismal kind of day, and the summer traffic had dried up a few weeks ago, leaving the place empty aside from a few breakfast and dinner regulars. "Sit anywhere," she said to the first two men, hardly glancing at them. "I'll be right with you."

She shut her laptop and bounced around the counter to grab menus, and looked up properly when she realized that one of the four had stopped on the other side, and was grinning as her, familiar blue eyes sparkling.

"Hey, Morgan," John said pleasantly. "You never called me."

"Told you I might not." She walked past him to give menus to the other three. They all looked at each other, two of them biting back grins, and the third wearing a skull-print balaclava that obscured his features.

"Yer Morgan?" One of the two young men— the tanned, blue eyed one with the mohawk, SAS tattoo on his forearm— said, giving her a once over that lingered a little too long on the name-tag that said Carol. "Thought ye were a pilot."

"I am. I'm just helping out today as a favour to the owners. You boys want coffee? I just put on a fresh pot a couple minutes ago."

"Sounds perfect, love," John said, unnecessarily touching her lower back as he moved past her and sat next to the other unmasked fellow (handsome, brown eyes, disarming smile, dark coily hair shaved close on the sides, horizontal scar on his cheek). "Lads?"

"I'd love a coffee, thanks," Pretty Boy said politely.

"Aye, me as well," Mohawk agreed.

"Tea, if you 'ave it." Skull-face studied her as intensely as Mohawk, but without the big feral grin. It was hard to say if that was better or worse.

"Sure thing."

"Why not grab yourself a coffee too?" John suggested. "Join us for a minute."

“No.” Morgan spun on her heel and headed back around the counter. It would have been nice if Nikolai had warned her that they were coming. There was no way he didn’t know.

“Cute bird,” Skull-face said, at a volume that filled the room, no effort to keep the comment to the table. If she had to guess, he was speaking louder than usual, just to make sure she heard him. “But a bit young for you, don’t you think, skipper?” He met Morgan’s eyes when she glanced over. He wore black grease paint on the only visible skin, the area around his eyes. Perhaps an effort to be intimidating, but it gave him a sort of baleful, basset hound look that was likely not the intention.

“She’s older than she looks,” Price said. He was making a little more effort to be quiet, but they were the only ones in the diner, aside from Morgan and the owner, Bob, who was eavesdropping from the kitchen, and she could hear Price quite clearly. “It’s probably the uniform.”

“Something to be said about tall socks and a short skirt,” Mohawk agreed.

Morgan gave them another look over her shoulder as she started filling coffee cups. “You know I can hear you, right?”

“Sorry, bonnie girl,” Mohawk said with a laugh. “Don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“You’d better not, Soap. That’s my girl.”

Morgan fished a teapot out from below the counter. “Not your girl, Price.”

Price hooked an arm over the back of the booth, twisting in his seat so her could see her better. “Not yet.”

“Keep dreaming.” She brought the coffees and the pot of tea over and set them out on the table for them, along with small pitchers of milk and cream. “Do you know what you want?”

“I know what I want,” Price said.

“Behave yourself, Price. I’m not on the menu.”

“S’pose I’ll need another minute then,” he said wistfully. “And please call me John. Can’t have you callin’ me Price like you’re one of my men. Feels like we’re movin’ backwards.”

“Hm, almost like I’m intentionally trying to create distance between us,” Morgan said. “But that surely couldn’t be it.”

The other three exchanged glances, snickering.

“Och, got yersel a firecracker, eh captain?” Mohawk, who was apparently named Soap of all things, grinned at Morgan. “How’d he piss ye off? Yer the one tha’ didnae call him.”

“What did you tell them?” This was the worst thing about men in any kind of brotherhood. They were all too willing to share anything and everything with their comrades.

“Nothing bad,” Pretty Boy said soothingly. “Just that you’re the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, and that he managed to fumble twice.” He angled himself toward her better, pushing himself into the corner, leaning one arm against the window. “He was right about the first part.”

"Turn off the dazzlers, Garrick, you cannae be flirtin' like that or Ah'll tell Billie." Soap pointed a chastising finger at Pretty Boy. "Gie th'rest of us a chance."

“You don’t have a chance,” Morgan said sternly. “None of you do, so you can all stop.”

The bell over the door chimed again, pulling Morgan’s attention up and over. Her well-practiced smile was hardly in place before it started slipping, cold sweat gathering on the back of her neck.

Danny.

His pale blue eyes slid past her to the men at the table, and he turned around comically fast, right back out the door before it shut behind him. A car screeched out of the parking lot a few seconds later, and sped past the windows and out of sight.

There was no way it was a coincidence that Danny would show up the very same day that John and his friends did. That spelled trouble, the kind that could get her killed or arrested or running for her life. She had contingencies— A few properties here and there, money funnelled from the company through layers of subsidiaries, passports with different names on them— But she had genuinely hoped that she would be able to just retire in peace, leave it all behind her, keep what little remained of her life and loved ones.

When she turned back around, all four of the Brits were looking at her.

“You know that guy?” Pretty Boy asked, his tone a little too casual for him to not already know the answer. He wanted to know if she would lie.

“Unfortunately, yeah. He’s my ex. Smart of him to turn around. Wouldn’t be safe for him to eat anything I had my hands on.” It was the Brits that had scared him off— He’d probably seen her truck in the parking lot on his way to her house, thought to pop in and surprise her. Asshole. She would have preferred meeting him at home, where she had access to her guns.

“Why’s that?” Skull-face asked. “A little spit never ‘urt no one.”

“Sure, but a lot of rat poison might.” She laughed lightly, as if she were joking (she wasn’t). “It was a messy divorce.”

Skull-face made a choked sound that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.

“What’d he do?” Soap stirred sugar into his coffee, the spoon clinking against the plain ceramic mug. “Was he seein’ other women? Looks like the unappreciative type.”

Besides setting up bad deals he couldn’t follow through on and black-mailing her into helping him clean up the mess? “He never did the dishes. Always left his socks on the floor. Like I said. Messy.”

“A real monster,” Skull-face agreed.

“I need to make a quick phone call.” Price slid out of the booth and stood up. He touched Morgan’s back lightly as he passed by again, taking any excuse to put his hands on her. “Why not sit a moment? There’s no one else here.”

“No, I have things to do—”

“Oh, go sit down, Morgan,” Bob called through the hand-off plane, where he’d been watching the whole time. He was older, well into his seventies, and mostly just working for something to do. His wife was taking her sister to some doctor’s appointment, which was why Morgan had come in at all. She liked it, though. Something to do, to keep her from getting too rusty with people. Otherwise she could go over a week without saying a word to anybody. “You already cleaned the place top to bottom, you’ve earned a break.”

“I was taking a break when they came in! Besides, you don’t pay me to sit around.”

Bob laughed. “I don’t pay you. Sit.”

“Ah, come on then,” Pretty Boy said. “We don’t bite.” He patted the seat next to him invitingly, and reluctantly, Morgan sat down, as close to the edge as she could get.

“Speak for yourself, Gaz.” Skull-face’s mask twitched, and it wasn’t difficult for Morgan to imagine the wolfish grin underneath the knit material. “Some of us do.”

“Ghost, are ye flirtin’ too?” Soap elbowed the big man in the ribs. “I dinnae think she’ll be impressed. If the captain cannae catch her, she’s no’ gonna want you.”

Ghost shrugged. “Maybe. I’d do the dishes. Puts me one up on the last fellow.”

“Had to be more than that,” Gaz pressed. “To divorce over.”

“Why the interest? Doing recon for Price?”

“Something like that.” Gaz continued to smile, all affable, boyish charm, an obvious counter to Ghost’s intimidating presence and Soap’s intensity. He presented himself well, as the most approachable, but Morgan suspected there was a lot simmering below the surface, just out of sight. “Consider it curiosity. We never knew Nikolai had any family.” He draped his arm over the back of the booth, outstretched fingers just missing her shoulder.

“Of course not. He’s always been careful about keeping his connections hidden. That’s why he’s still alive.” Morgan adjusted the container of sugar packets in the middle of the table so that the side was parallel to the edge, squared up. Ghost reached forward and very deliberately set it askew again, the gleam of mischief in his eyes immistakable. Ass. She fiddled with the edge of her apron rather than set it straight again, refusing to get caught in a stupid little battle like that. “Family is safer when no one knows who they are or where to find them.”

“How much d’ya ken about his line of work?” Soap asked.

“Enough to know not to ask too many questions. Enough to know you’re not harmless tourists.”

“Ach, we’re harmless to you, bonnie. Ye’ve go’ nothin’ ta worry about.” His too-bright blue eyes slid to the door, darkening. “But yer ex might.”

“Danny? He’s always been crooked, but he’s never gotten himself into anything that warrants four of Britain’s most strapping military men to come after him. What’s he done?” She really, really hoped it wasn’t something that would lead an enterprising agent to her. The trail between her and the last criminal incident ought to be long cold, so all she had to do was not get involved in anything further, and she could get away from it all scot free. The only person she’d willingly do a job for at this point was Nikolai, since he had the good sense to cover his goddamn tracks.

Ghost pulled a few sugar packets loose and dropped them on her side of the table. “Nothin’ a pretty little thing like you needs worryin’ about.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what game he was playing and why, and nearly missed Gaz shifting beside her, pulling his arm back down to his side. She turned to look at Price. “Here, let me get out of your way,” she said quickly, positioning herself to stand up as soon as Price moved out of the way, looking up at him and trying not to think about how she was nearly level with his belt buckle.

“Nonsense. Shove over a bit, Gaz.” Price motioned for Morgan to slide over as well. “There’s plenty of room, s’long as you don’t mind gettin’ cozy.”

“I’m supposed to be working,” Morgan said weakly.

“It’s going to be dead all day, Morgan,” Bob said cheerfully, coming out from the kitchen to poor himself a cup of coffee. “Don’t like the look of this rain.” On cue, lightning flashed, chased by a low rumble of thunder. “Besides, you’re not getting paid, and you’ve already done more than you were supposed to. Might as well sit a spell with your friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” Morgan protested. “I only know one of these guys.”

“Isn’t he the one Janie told Abby you left that bar with a few months back?” Bob asked mildly, raising his bushy grey eyebrows. “Matches the description to a tee.”

“Don’t you people have better things to do than gossip about me?” Morgan gave up on hoping Price would let her go, and slid down the bench closer to Gaz.

Bob leaned on the counter, grinning. “We just want to see you settled down. Can’t be good, rattling around that big house all by yourself.”

“Bob, oh my god,” she protested. Price’s big frame settled on the bench beside her, sliding close so that their thighs pressed together. She was pressed to Gaz similarly, which, admittedly, wasn’t his fault, he was taking up as little space as possible. “It’s not anyone’s business.”

“She hasn’t so much as been on a date in years,” Bob continued, looking at John meaningfully. “And taking her home from the bar doesn’t count! I hope you intend to treat her right.”

“Sure would like to,” John said, looking at Morgan with the bearing of a sad, blue eyed dog that had been left in the cold too long.

“Any man in his right mind would like to,” Gaz added unhelpfully.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Morgan stood up on the bench and climbed ungracefully over the back of the bench into the next booth, wishing she’d worn longer shorts underneath her dress. “If I’m not needed here, I’m going home.”

“Actually,” Price said, turning to look at her as she straightened up. “Nikolai suggested that we stay close by. He thinks that Danny fellow is up to no good.”

“What does that have to do with me?” She was going to have to have a talk with Nikolai about how casual he was with the fucking British Special Forces.

“He said you have a few spare rooms. That you might put us up for a night or two.” His smile and laughing eyes made her want to lose her temper. He was lucky that she’d left her handgun in the truck. “What do you say?”

“What? Why would he say that?”

“Probably worried about you,” Ghost said.

“Knows we’ll keep you safe,” Gaz added. “Wouldn’t let anythin’ happen to Nikolai’s favourite niece.”

“That is not necessary.” What the hell was Nikolai thinking? She could handle Danny just fine. He was an idiot, an opportunist, a fucking menace, but he wasn’t dangerous. Not to her. Especially since she was of a mind to shoot on sight next time she saw him. Even if she missed (unlikely) she could take him in a fight easily. Danny was a go-between guy, a slimy little deal-maker. Not muscle by any stretch of the imagination. “I’m not in any danger.”

“He thinks you might be. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping us out, at the very least.” Price was being polite in that self-satisfied way that told her that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “For Nikolai’s sake. Wouldn’t want him worryin’, would you?”

Morgan bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from saying something before she’d fully thought it through. Was this because Nikolai didn’t trust her? Did he think that she would help Danny with whatever hare-brained scheme he was working on? Did he think she was stupid? “Well, I’m not exactly set up for guests. And there’s only three spare beds, so one of you will have to sleep on the couch.”

“Oh that’s fine by us. We’d be happy enough sleeping on the floor,” Gaz said. “We’ll be no trouble at all.”

Fuck. Fuck. But she put on a smile that she’s sure must have been bloody from how hard she was biting her cheek. “Well, I suppose I can put you up. I’ll have to get groceries. And if Laika doesn’t like you, you’ll have to find another place to stay.” Maybe the big, friendly rottie would decide that she didn’t like these men, and she could get rid of them before they even managed to get a single big-booted foot in the door.

“Why don’t you go now?” Bob asked, helpful as ever. “By the time you finish up I’ll have fed these boys lunch, so you won’t have to worry about cooking until dinner.” He turned to the table of soldiers. “She’s a great cook, by the way.”

“Bob, will you stop that?”

“‘ope ‘e doesn’t,” Ghost said. “I like the look on your face.”

“Oh, it’s rat poison for you too, mister.” Morgan pointed an admonishing finger at him.

It only made his eyes crease with a smile. “Quit flirtin’ with me in front of the Captain. You’re gonna ‘urt ‘is feelin’s.”

“Unbelieveable,” Morgan grumbled. Nikolai would have a lot to answer for once she saw him again. It was bad enough that he had brought one of them to her father’s funeral, but sending Price her way a second time warranted one hell of an explanation. She stomped off to the back room to get her jacket and keys and checked her phone. Two missed calls from an unknown number (Danny, no doubt), and a text from Nikolai’s last known number.

Nikolai: I worry he will try something. Let 141 shoot him if he does.

I could kill him myself. Don’t need Military in my house. I’m mad at you for this <<

Nikolai had obviously been waiting for his response, because it came before she could put her phone in her jacket pocket.

Nikolai: He has made nasty friends. Might pay you a visit at home. Stay safe

Anxious sweat gathered at the nape of her neck. Perhaps jail was the least of her worries. Ten years would be a long time to sit in a prison, but they probably wouldn’t be able to link her to anything worse than smuggling, so it wouldn’t be the rest of her life.

Still, she’d probably be best off running. She had a few places she could disappear to— Russia, although she didn’t have a lot of interest in settling there, France, if she fixed her backwater accent. She had an alias with an E.U. passport, which opened up a few options. Maybe the cabin in Montana. She’d always liked the mountains. She had options, and if the storm cleared up, she could get the hell out of dodge before morning. It wouldn’t be that hard to deal with the— What did Nikolai call them?— The 141 until then.

She could be charming and flirty and accommodating and wait them out. It wouldn’t be that hard, even if Ghost was doing his best to be annoying and Price was constantly finding excuses to touch her. Gaz and Soap seemed nice enough, even if Soap had the overall vibe of a hunting dog waiting for permission to give chase.

She pulled her jacket on and came back out. They were all laughing at something Bob had said. Something embarrassingly personal, no doubt. Living in the small town that she’d been born in meant that too many people knew too many details about her personal life. Bob especially, since she’d been sort of friends with his daughter Abby for ages, and his wife used to be a teacher at the local high school.

“Are any of you allergic to anything?” she asked. “Im especially interested in anything that’ll make Ghost go into anaphylactic shock.”

“Sweet of you,” Price said. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill my lieutenant.”

“Suit yourself, sir.” Morgan shrugged lightly, not missing the way Price shifted forward in his seat at the word sir. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t believe a word Bob tells you. He’s a compulsive liar.”

“Just for that, I’m telling them about that time you stole that cop car.”

“Bob!” What a traitor he was turning out to be. They really didn’t need to know that.

Title card made on Canva - Image Credits: 1 - 2 - Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sentientcave]

Blue collar Soap would steal a lunch from the communal fridge if a coworker pissed him off enough, fall in love with the woman that cooked it, and conspire to steal her from said coworker (doing you a favour really)

[sentientcave]

the OC of the person reading this

this is a very fun idea actually! I encourage people to reblog with an explanation as to why/why not

[sentientcave]

wip wednesday, just started and this is all i have but it feels good to work on something again :)

<Wanted: Generic older man to play father at graduation

[casual encounters]

“I’m graduating from college in the next few weeks and I’m looking for a paternal stand in for my real (dead) father.

This may seem weird, but my actual father died a few months ago (we weren’t close) and I was so busy finishing my thesis that I forgot to tell any of my friends about the funeral. Now it feels too late to say anything without making it a big deal and I need a parent for graduation (mom is not an option).

You are:

-a man, preferably middle aged

-have a minimum 10 years of experience as a father

-can talk about dad things: lawnowers, building shit, sports, etc.

-can get appropriately mushy for a father that hasn’t talked to his kid in months

I will pay you in a nice “graduation” dinner and a couple drinks.

THIS IS A REAL AD. Do not hesitate to call if you are interested. Preference will be given to applicants with generic father names like: John, Bill, or Dave.

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

[sentientcave]

[sentientcave]

doing my level best to be extremely normal about how much i love the stories my friends make

[sentientcave]

ROLLER DERBY KISSES, Acrylic on MDF and leather, Riikka Hyvönen

[sentientcave]

A little Nikolai treat for @3amfanfiction and @w00lie because I need to try writing something again

Nikolai fucked like it was always the last time. Flight suit dangling around one of his ankles, boxers still caught on his knees. He held your one leg up and over his shoulder, eyes locked with yours. Always a romantic in that way, he liked to look at you as he found his home inside you.

Sweat beaded off his forehead and dripped down onto yours. You tried not to look at the bandages on his body, ones that would need changing after this. You kept your eyes on him, dark eyes swallowing you whole.

"I missed you, Kolya." you gasped, the head of his cock brushing against your womb. He gave you a loose jawed smile before pressing his mouth against your neck.

The two of you would eventually break this couch. Shoved in a dark corner of the hanger, it smelled like oil and cigarettes. It smelled like Nik. It was where you slept when he was gone. His trips were less sporadic now but each time he left you knew it could actually be the last.

It's why he was always inside you before the helo's engine even cooled.

"Zhizn moya," He moaned against you. 'My life'

"Kolya?" You stroked his cheek.

"yes? Are you okay?" He frowned, looking at you for any sign of discomfort.

"Do you remember what we talked about before you left?" He took your hand and kissed your knuckles. He raised an eyebrow and tried to hide the glee on his face. "I stopped taking my birth control that day."

"Are you sure?" He asked, pressing his forehead against yours. You both wanted a child, it was everything else that made the two of you dance around actually deciding to do anything about it.

"Yes." Excited tears ran down the sides of your face to your ears. "I really want to."

He kissed you as his thrusts sped up, pushing you into the cushions with his full body weight. You knew you wouldn't be leaving that couch till it broke and even then he'd just move you to his desk in the little office to the side.

"Till it takes, Zhizn moya."

[sentientcave]

i’m sincerely always saying this

[sentientcave]

GhostGaz Week Day 4 - Gender fuck / Friendly Competition

College AU

CW: Alcohol use, cross dressing, embarrassment, humiliation, praise, semi-public sex, anal sex, dirty talk, daddy kink, under-negotiated kink

Simon knows that Kyle, of all people, wouldn’t judge him for something like this. But it still feels... sensitive. Fragile. Complicated. He isn’t like his partner, who flows comfortably between masculinity and femininity, sometimes entirely outside of either. Simon’s a man all the way to his core, has never wondered or wanted for anything else.

But it gets him off like nothing else to imagine wearing fishnet stockings and a too short skirt.

So when Soap proposes that the losing team of this round of beer pong has to wear a woman’s outfit for next weekend’s Halloween party, Simon has to lock himself down so he doesn’t panic. Or worse, throw the game. But he and Gary hold their own pretty well against Soap and Mace. He’s relaxed enough to feel amused and a little disappointed when each team only has two cups left.

When Kyle finally makes his way back to their side of the room, he asks, “How are things?”

“Your man’s aim is shit,” Mace heckles. “What do you think, Kyle. Should he be a cheerleader or pirate wench for the party?”

Kyle makes a considering noise and, just as Simon’s about to make his toss, says, “I don’t know. I think he’d look good as a playboy bunny. He’s got the legs for tights.”

The ping pong ball hits Soap in the face, and Simon can’t look at Kyle. Won’t do it. Knows, deep in his gut, that if he makes eye contact, he’s a goner.

-

“There’s my pretty girl,” Kyle purrs.

Simon ducks his face into his arm and whines. His partner drags their hand up his thigh, puling at the already straining fishnet stockings until questing fingers can grab his hip under the too short skirt. The mockery of a cheer uniform barely fits as it is. Manicured fingernails grab at his scalp and make him look at himself in the mirror.

“What does my pretty girl say,” Kyle growls.

“Th-thank you,” Simon whimpers. He gasps as Kyle wraps a hand around his cock and strokes him roughly. “Thank you, D-Daddy. Fuck.”

He has to bite back a moan when Kyle thrusts into him with a deep rolling grind. Not that anyone would be able to hear him over the noise of the party. But the fact that the door doesn’t lock, that Kyle has him bracing one foot awkwardly to hold it closed, has him stifling any noise he might make.

“God, I knew you’d look so pretty like this,” Kyle chuckles. They grind in slow, and the sound they make is as loud and indulgent as Simon won’t allow himself to be. “Fuck, you’re so tight, baby. What’s wrong? You worried someone will find us? What would your team think if they knew you let me under your skirt, honey? I bet they’d be surprised. You’re so sweet, they’d never believe you came to a party without panties on.”

“I didn’t- You made me-!” Simon protests, then bites back another soft noise.

Kyle hushes him and leans down with a groan to kiss between Simon’s shoulder blades. “’S’alright honey, I know you’re a good girl.”

Someone rattles the handle and tries to push the door open. Simon yelps, shoving at the door with his foot. Kyle moans again, then slaps Simon across the arse. It startles him enough that he can’t hold back the next moan that shakes through him. On the other side of the door more than one voice cheers.

[sentientcave]

Ask me to walk on fucking water Malborn