#beard straightener machine

[bodyswappertransforming]

I love the story you recently posted of a machine that turns you into a different person and can go back in time. Do you think I could try it? I’d love to go back and become a big muscular handsome Viking warrior.

In a world where cutting-edge technology enables individuals to live out their fantasies in fully immersive experiences, a secluded resort stood as the ultimate gateway to the past. Guests here didn’t just escape their modern lives; they became someone else entirely, living in eras long gone, inhabiting bodies and lives that fulfilled their deepest desires.

He stepped into the transformation chamber, the sleek, metallic walls gleaming as the door slid shut behind him. He was nervous, but his heart pounded with excitement. This was the moment he had waited for — the chance to become a Viking warrior, to experience life in all its primal, raw power. He’d read about the warriors of the north, their strength, their dominance, and now he would feel it for himself.

A voice, soft and professional, came through the speakers inside the chamber. "Please state your transformation request."

"I want to be a Viking warrior," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Tall, muscular, powerful. The kind of man who commands respect, who lives for battle and… pleasure."

"Understood," the voice replied smoothly. "Beginning scan. Please remain still."

A quiet hum filled the chamber as the machine scanned his body, noting every detail — his current form, the lean and somewhat unimpressive physique he had lived with for so long. At 5'9", with a slim build, soft features, and pale skin, he had never felt like the warrior he wished to be. His light brown hair barely reached his ears, his jawline was weak, and his blue eyes lacked the intensity he craved. This life — this body — it wasn’t enough.

The hum of the machine deepened, and suddenly, the transformation began.

His muscles twitched, then began to grow, expanding and thickening beneath his skin. He gasped, the sensation both overwhelming and exhilarating. His chest swelled, broadening as his pecs hardened into powerful slabs of muscle. His shoulders widened, his arms bulging with newfound strength as his biceps thickened. His fingers flexed, growing larger and more calloused, hands meant to wield an axe with deadly precision.

He groaned as his legs thickened, calves turning into pillars of muscle, his thighs bulging with power. His entire body surged with energy as he grew taller, his spine lengthening until he towered at 6'6", his feet growing large and sturdy to support his new weight.

"How does it feel?" the voice asked, an edge of curiosity breaking through the professionalism.

"Unbelievable," he growled, his voice deepening, taking on a rough, Nordic accent. The sound of his own voice sent a thrill down his spine.

"Transformation is not yet complete," the voice continued. "Brace yourself."

Suddenly, his face shifted. His jawline sharpened, becoming strong and square. His nose straightened and broadened, giving him an air of dominance and power. His lips filled out slightly, firm and masculine. His cheekbones became more prominent, his features rough yet striking. Thick, golden-blonde hair erupted from his scalp, cascading down his back in wild, untamed waves. His face itched fiercely as a dense, braided beard grew in, covering his jaw and cheeks. The same golden-blonde color as his hair, it was full and proud, the beard of a Viking warrior.

His teeth became straighter, sharper, the imperfections gone, as though years of brutal combat had molded him into this perfect specimen of masculinity. His pale blue eyes darkened to a sharp, icy shade that pierced through the dim light of the chamber.

He let out a low groan as his cock thickened, lengthening until it hung heavy between his muscular thighs. His balls grew larger, aching with a primal virility he had never felt before. His ass tightened, the muscles firm and hard, built for strength and speed. His entire body pulsed with raw power, a monument to physical perfection.

"Transformation complete," the voice said. "Prepare for transport."

The chamber door slid open, and he stepped out, his every movement filled with newfound strength and confidence. He glanced down at his body, admiring the way his muscles flexed with even the slightest gesture. His chest, broad and powerful, moved with the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing. His arms were massive, veins bulging beneath the skin as he clenched his fists, feeling the sheer force he could now wield.

"Your attire," an attendant said, stepping forward and offering a bundle of leather and fur. "This is for your journey."

He took the garments, his large hands gripping the fabric with ease. As he dressed, pulling the leather armor over his massive chest and fastening the fur cloak around his shoulders, he could feel his body humming with anticipation. The pants fit snugly over his powerful legs, and the boots, made from rough animal hide, fit perfectly on his feet. He adjusted his cock in his trousers, smirking as he felt its size and weight.

The attendant looked him over, awe in their eyes. "You… you look incredible. How do you feel?"

"Like a goddamn beast," he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. He ran a hand through his thick, braided beard, enjoying the rough texture of it against his fingertips. "I’ve never felt more alive."

"Step onto the transport pad," the attendant said, motioning to a large circular platform. "You will be taken to the Viking era to live out your fantasy."

Without hesitation, he stepped onto the pad, his boots thudding heavily against the metal. As he stood there, feeling the raw power coursing through his veins, the world around him began to blur. He could feel the pull of time, dragging him back, further and further into the past.

When his vision cleared, he was standing on a rocky shore, the cold wind whipping through his hair and beard. Before him stretched a Viking settlement — longships docked at the shore, warriors sharpening weapons and preparing for battle. The scent of saltwater and wood smoke filled the air, mingling with the sounds of distant shouts and the crashing of the ocean waves.

A group of Viking warriors approached him, their eyes scanning his towering form with approval. One of them, a massive man with a thick beard and wild eyes, clapped him on the shoulder.

"Welcome, brother," the man said, his voice booming. "You’ve arrived just in time. There are battles to fight and women to claim. Are you ready?"

He grinned, his teeth flashing in the cold air. "More than ready," he growled, his accent thick with the Nordic lilt. He felt a deep, primal hunger rise within him — not just for battle, but for conquest. His body ached with desire, a need for sex and domination that filled every muscle, every nerve.

"Good," the warrior said, grinning back. "Tonight, we feast like kings. Tomorrow, we fight like gods."

As the other warriors walked away, he caught his reflection in a nearby shield, and his cock stirred at the sight. He was massive, powerful, a force of nature. His beard framed his rugged face perfectly, his hair wild and untamed. He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the leather, then down to his cock, giving it a rough squeeze as it throbbed with arousal.

This was everything he had dreamed of. The strength, the power, the pure, raw masculinity. He was a Viking now, in every sense of the word — and he was ready to live this life to the fullest.

He walked with a slow, deliberate gait, every step filled with purpose. He knew who he was now.

The next day, the battle was fierce. Steel clashed against steel, and the air was thick with the smell of blood and sweat. He fought like a man possessed, his newly transformed body moving with the speed and power of a seasoned warrior. His axe cleaved through enemy shields, and his fists pummeled those foolish enough to come too close. Each swing of his weapon, each roar of victory felt as if it came from a place deep within him — a primal force that had always been there, waiting to be unleashed.

As the sun began to set, the enemy fled, their forces shattered. The battle was over, and it had been a victory. He stood among the bodies of the fallen, his chest heaving with exhaustion, but there was no weariness in his limbs, only exhilaration. The other Vikings, his brothers-in-arms, clapped him on the back, their voices raised in celebration.

"You fought like a true warrior today," one of them said, grinning through a blood-streaked face. "You’ve earned your place among us."

He nodded, wiping the sweat and grime from his face, the thick braids of his beard swaying as he moved. "It was a good fight," he growled, his voice thick with the satisfaction of victory. "But the best part of battle is what comes after."

The warriors laughed, their eyes gleaming with shared understanding. There was a bond between them, forged in the heat of combat, something that ran deeper than mere camaraderie. It was primal, raw, a connection that went beyond words.

As the night fell, the men gathered around roaring fires, feasting on roasted meat and drinking from overflowing horns of mead. The mood was electric, a heady mixture of victory and desire. The men were free, their blood still running hot from battle. He felt it too — the hunger, the need to release the tension that had built inside him throughout the day.

One of the warriors sat beside him, his hand resting on his shoulder in a casual, possessive grip. "You fought well today, brother. You’ve earned more than just a seat at the fire." His voice was low, filled with an unspoken promise.

He turned to meet the man’s gaze, his own body thrumming with anticipation. The other warriors around them watched, their eyes dark with understanding. Here, in this moment, there was no shame, no hesitation. They had fought side by side, and now they would bond in a way that was as old as the world itself — through touch, through skin, through the satisfaction of primal need.

The man beside him leaned in closer, his breath warm against his ear. "Let us celebrate as men should."

He nodded, his pulse racing. They rose from the fire together, moving toward the tents that lined the edges of the camp. As they stepped inside, the air grew heavy with the scent of sweat and leather. The other warriors followed, their footsteps soft but deliberate. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with expectation, with the raw energy of men who had survived another day of bloodshed and were now ready to indulge their deepest desires.

They stripped off their armor, the heavy furs and leather falling to the ground. His body, still covered in the dust and blood of battle, gleamed in the dim light. He felt the warmth of another man’s hand on his chest, the rough calluses scraping against his skin. He growled low in his throat, the sound animalistic, as he was pulled closer. Their bodies pressed together, hard and muscled, the heat between them building with each breath.

The night was a blur of sweat and flesh, of mouths and hands and bodies moving in unison. The bond between them deepened, the barriers of individuality dissolving as they connected on a primal level, driven by nothing but raw need. The release was everything he had craved — intense, powerful, utterly consuming.

When the dawn broke, he lay among them, their bodies intertwined in a tangle of limbs and furs. His own chest rose and fell slowly, the fire of desire finally sated, at least for the moment.

Over the next few days, life in the camp returned to its usual rhythm. He woke early each morning, his muscles still sore from battle, but his body already adjusting to this new life. He trained with the other warriors, swinging his axe with renewed strength and precision. His body felt invincible, his mind sharp and focused.

One of the warriors approached him after training, holding a small leather pouch. "It’s time we did something about that hair of yours," the man said with a grin.

He laughed, running a hand through his long, tangled hair. It had grown wild over the past few days, unkempt from the battles and the nights spent in celebration. "I suppose it’s time for a change."

The men sat around him, their fingers deft as they began to braid his hair in the traditional Viking style. It was an intimate ritual, one that spoke of trust and brotherhood. Each braid was tight and intricate, woven with small strips of leather and metal rings that caught the sunlight.

"These braids are more than just decoration," one of the men explained as he worked. "They’re a mark of your status as a warrior. Each braid tells a story — of battles fought, of victories won, of bonds forged."

He nodded, feeling a deep sense of pride as his hair was braided. His beard was next, thick and wild, but soon it too was tamed into neat, tight plaits. The transformation was complete when he stood before a shield, looking at his reflection. His hair, now braided back from his face, gave him a fiercer, more commanding appearance. The metal rings glinted in his beard, a symbol of his newfound strength and status.

Life in the camp was simple but satisfying. The days were spent training, hunting, and preparing for the next raid. The nights were filled with laughter, the bond between the men growing stronger with each passing day. They drank together, feasted together, and occasionally, when the mood struck, they indulged in more primal pleasures. The bonds they shared weren’t just forged in battle — they were cemented in the quiet moments after, when words weren’t needed.

He found himself drawn to the life of a Viking more and more each day. The simplicity of it, the rawness, the connection to the earth and to each other. He had never felt so free, so alive. His old life seemed like a distant memory, as if it had been someone else’s dream.

One evening, as the fire crackled and the warriors lounged around it, he found himself next to one of the men he had bonded with in the days after the battle. The man leaned in, his voice low and rough. "You’ve adapted well, brother. You belong here."

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I do. This is where I was meant to be."

The man’s hand brushed his, a silent acknowledgment of their bond. "Good. Because we’re not just brothers in battle. We’re brothers in all things."

He felt a surge of warmth, not just in his body but in his heart. He had found his place — not just as a warrior, but as part of something larger, something primal and unbreakable.

[theflirtmeister]

waitttttttt 70 with benson/randy

Randy can’t even remember what state they’re in as he sits on the edge of the motel bed, waiting for Benson to finish up in the bathroom. The past few months have been nothing but driving and waiting for the cops to get them, and Randy’s body itches, no matter how many showers he takes. There’s always the feeling of blood drying tacky on his skin, and he can’t scrub it away.

The bathroom door swings open, and Benson fills the space, loud without speaking, visible without trying too hard. He’s wearing a shirt so motheaten and shredded by laundry machines that Randy can see glimpses of his soft stomach underneath, skin brown from the sunshine. He’s grown a goatee to connect his beard to his lower lip, and Randy hates it, but he’d never tell him.

“You ready?” Benson asks, not looking at him.

“Uh-huh,” Randy says. He leans forward to tie up his sneakers, and Benson snorts.

“Not ready then, are you?”

“Almost.” Randy’s fingers tremble as he attempts the bow on his left foot. “I didn’t want to-“

“Didn’t wanna what?”

Randy might be bent down but he can see Benson’s shadow standing over him. He doesn’t look up, just slowly continues tying the shoelaces. One bunny ear, then the other bunny ear, then cross them over and jump into the warren. 

“Didn’t want to look too keen.” He mumbles, but Benson hears him.

“Aw, Randy,” Benson says, and ruffles Randy’s hair like a dog. “I like 'em keen.”

Randy finishes his shoes and finally straightens up. Benson is close enough that Randy can smell his sweat underneath the body spray and shower gel, the anxiety that he tries to hide. They’ve both got a lot to be anxious about. There’s a warrant out for both their arrests. Randy’s mom was on national news, crying about him. Benson had laughed when they’d seen it on tv, and thrown stale chips at the set. 

“Gonna be a lot of people out today,” Benson says. He might be looking at Randy but he isn’t talking to him. “Almost the 4th of July. Gonna be a lot of families.”

“I know Benson,” Randy says quietly.

“Gonna be a lot of men,” Benson says. “Lots of dads looking for a good time, you know what I mean?”

He reaches out and rests his hand underneath Randy’s jaw, tilting his head upwards. Their eyes meet, and Randy doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. Just stares up into Benson’s face, and the crinkle at the corners where he’s smiling. 

It’s not a friendly smile.

“Sometimes, men don’t like their wives very much,” Benson says. “They go hunting for someone pretty. Someone young. I think you fit the bill, don’t you?”

“I’m not-“ Randy says hurriedly. “I’m not pretty.”

“Aw,” Benson says, and rubs his thumb over Randy’s lip. “I think you’re real pretty.”

His words shouldn’t make Randy’s stomach churn, but they do. Randy squirms at the compliment, and Benson laughs, before dropping down beside Randy on the bed. He takes hold of Randy’s hands and squeezes them, like he’s trying to make Randy feel comfortable.

“Men are going to think you’re fresh meat.” Benson continues, like they’re discussing the weather. “That’s why I need everyone to know that you’re mine.”

“Everyone already- already knows that I’m yours,” Randy says, the words coming out in a rush. He doesn’t know what Benson has planned; a burn, a tattoo, his name carved into Randy’s skin.

“Yeah but see, I don’t think they do,” Benson says with a sigh. “That’s why I gotta mark you.”

“Mark me?” Randy says, and then Benson is leaning forward and biting down hard on Randy’s neck.

It hurts. Of course it hurts, Randy has another man’s teeth embedded in his throat, digging in until he’s crying out, tears already spilling down his cheeks. But the worst part is, it feels good at the same time, the way Randy can feel his blood throbbing, the wet pulse of Benson’s tongue against his skin, the low moan as Benson sucks at the wound he’s made.

Randy gasps out, his ears ringing. Benson makes another noise, like he’s enjoying it, and Randy thinks of all the other ways he could cause Benson to make those noises, and he grinds himself against the seams of his jeans like a freak.

He can’t help but grab hold of Benson’s arm and squeeze tightly, digging his fingers into him until Benson shoves him away. There’s blood at Benson’s mouth, and spit too, wetting his chin, and Randy chokes out a sob but doesn’t move. The motel room is silent, apart from the whir of the aircon unit, and the sounds of traffic outside.

“Ow,” Benson says. “What was that for?”

Randy tries to speak but it comes out as a shuddering inhale of air. His throat aches, and he tentatively touches his fingers to the wound, and they come away wet. He must have a look of panic on his face, because Benson pulls him close, holds him so tight that Randy can barely breathe.

“Hey hey hey,” Benson says, soft as anything. “It’s okay. Just needed everyone to know you’re mine, y’know? Just wanted ev-er-y-one to know that Randy Bradley belongs to me. You understand?”

“I-“ Randy’s face is pressed to Benson’s chest, he can feel the stutter of his heartbeat. “I understand.”

“Good boy,” Benson says, running his hand down Randy’s spine. “Whose my good boy?”

“I am,” Randy says, shutting his eyes. “I’m your good boy.”

[its-stimsca]

WILLIAM AFTON STIMBOARD FOR DAY 20 OF STIMTOBER I AM INDESCRIBABLY EXCITED FOR THE FNAF MOVIE

👔 🔪 👔

🔪 👔 🔪

👔 🔪 👔

ID below cut

[Image ID

Gif 1: The Camera explores a dark hallway devoid of all people. The walls are blank, and the top half of the hallway is painted purple while the bottom half is painted dark green, a small strip of orange paint dividing the two. The carpet is a gross grayish brown, and the ceiling is white and tiled. An opening is labeled on the left by a sign hanging from the ceiling, reading “Men”, and a sign reading “Women” can be seen further down the hallway.

Gif 2: A dimly lit room with various pieces of electrical and sciencey looking equipment laying around. One of them sparks up, shooting a flame of purple fire into the space and lighting up the room.

Gif 3: A close up shot of someone’s chest, They are wearing a black suit, with a white dress shirt, and purple tie. Their right hand reaches up to straighten the tie before falling back to their side.

Gif 4: A close up shot of the ground in the city during a rain storm. The water reflects the lights further up the street of cars driving through the rain, and neon signs of buildings. The image is tinted purple.

Gif 5: William Afton from the Five Nights at Freddy’s movie, played by Matthew Lillard. He is mid sentence in the gif. He wears a gray dress shirt with crisscrossing black lines that form a grid pattern, along with a purple tie with thin, black diagonal stripes. He is a white man who looks to be in his 50s, his short hair beginning to gray. He has a beard that connects to a mustache, and wide-rimmed glasses. He’s in an office.

Gif 6: The Camera hovers in front of a silver machine with a circular purple screen in the middle, turned off. The screen has grid lines on it, and below the screen the words are printed “Oscilloscope, Model 460.” Various other black dials are scattered across the panel’s surface.

Gif 7: Two keys dangle from a key ring, a third key on the ring inserted into the lock of a door. The door is white and the keys are silver, but the image is tinted purple.

Gif 8: Two hands manipulate the fingers of a doll hand, each joint articulated. The image is tinted purple.

Gif 9: The cameraman is exploring an empty, dark, movie theater, the camera panning around to show off the space. The walls and chairs are a desaturated blue, while the railings of the aisles are painted purple.

[the-last-concert]

Chapter Fourteen: DECODE

My motionless face was only decimeters away from my ex. And I didn’t know how we got here. But this moment was so thick with heightened tension. Nothing was to stop this decoded intervention.

They looked older. Their body was about average size, but they wore a lot of baggy clothes to hide their figure. Never could tell if it was just a preference or something else. Their style was mostly streetwear fashion. Giving the multiple silver chains hanging off their black denim flared pants. They wore an overly grown striped sweater. Sleeves rolled up. There was a black leather vest shaping it a little, but not too drastic where it was out of shape. Their hair was shaved except for the shapen curls at the center of the head. It was shaped like a lion’s beard.

Their hazel eyes looked at me, just as curious. Sydney propped their hands against the ground and was hovering half way. It was like a portal collapsed all around us. And here, they were ….only a few inches from Pepper. One of my-

Current boyfriends. The only one my focus should be on, at the moment. But my eyes couldn’t help and notice all the ways Syd changed, and also….

Stayed the same.

“Either I’m too blown, or this is a dream.” Sydney says, standing up and wiping dust off their hands. “I never thought I’d see you again. And you’re… with somebody, no less.”

They walked over to examine Pepper some more. I cleared my throat, making my way through them and dropped the broom. I put on Pepper’s jacket and beanie back on. He stirred but was still sound asleep. With all the medicine running through his body.

I side-glanced them. “We’re just leaving.”

Sydney asked me, “What’s wrong with him?” They pointed to the IV hooked up to Pepper’s arm. I guess I couldn’t really get out of explaining, even if I wanted to. I remember them being really nosy about details. And to be frank-we are at their mercy for breaking in the first place.

“Dehydration issue. He’s been having trouble getting the right amount of water to counter his chemo.” I explained swiftly.

“Chemo huh. Is he… you know- terminal?”

“Absolutely not!” I shouted and Pepper muttered, but continued to snore. I whispered harshly. “They caught it in time. And he’s halfway done with his radiation treatments.”

“Ah, the poison machine.” Sydney flicked the wet brushes against their veiny hands. “Yeah, I remember my old Pops going through that.”

I blinked. This is the first time they ever mentioned family around me. I hope it wasn’t an error. “You… never told me that.”

They shrugged and started to continue to prep their area. Their movements weren’t cautious and there was a lot of clanging of the materials. They stopped and paused at the sink. “So…. why did y’all break in here of all places … on New Year’s Eve?”

I looked at Pepper who was still propped on the ground, body slumped against the wooden bench. The IV drip was almost complete. His layered coat made it more obvious of his breathing. His chest rising and falling in a calm rhythmic way. I was relieved.

I looked back at Syd and shrugged. “It was more of his idea. You know, to see why I chose to study here. We were childhood friends.”

Syd snickers. “That explains a lot.”

“Explain what?”

“The way you look at him. Even now, when he’s unconscious. Like mama bear mode.”

I wanted to change the subject. “Why are you here on the holidays, Syd? “

“Oh… that.” They straightened the back over the sink before grabbing the materials to the painting area. “I took over the art gallery watchmen after Miss Pridget left.”

“Retired?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. I guess, it has been awhile.”

“To be honest- I’m still shocked you’re here.”

“Why is that?”

“You were always searching to belong somewhere else.”

I was stunned. “But I love New York.”

“Yeah,” Syd started painting on a medium canvas. It was on an old easel near a bunch of old storage boxes. “But you also like learning about new places… and their art. And to be completely real, I bet there’s unknown art, waiting to be discovered by only your eyes.”

They stopped moving their brush and glanced back. I stood there awkwardly. I didn’t want to get lost in the careless thoughts of Syd’s again.

“We should go.” I went over to Pepper and unhooked the IV thread from his arm as the drip stopped. Once I got him over my shoulder for support, his eyes flickered and landed on me.

“Moggie?”

“We’re going home, Pepper. It’s almost midnight.”

“Fuck,” he said. “Did we miss the ball drop?”

“No,” Syd answered. They point down their brush and wipe excess paint off their hands on to their pants. “You’ll still make it if I drive you.”

“Absolutely-“ I started, while Pepper finished with a “Yes, we’ll do that.” I pouted at him and he looked completely oblivious.

“Did I miss something, Mog? Who are they?”

“Oh, sorry.” Syd apologized, grabbing their keys. “I’m shitty at introductions. My name is Sydney Moreland. I use they/them pronouns.”

“Right,” His eyebrow lifted and slowly sized them up. “And how do you know my Mog here?”

They snickered again, folding their arms. “We were really good classmates once.”

I shrugged with Pepper still on my arm. “It was a long time ago.”

“So were we,” Pepper replied. “At one point in time.”

Sydney laughed out loud this time. “I have no gain or intention to interfere. Rest assured of that.”

“I never said anything about that,” Pepper replied. “Cause there’s no way you could. I ain’t the only one claiming her.”

“Pardon?” They had raised eyebrows from Pepper’s statement.

“She’s not dating just me.”

“Really?” Sydney’s attention morphed over to him so fast. “Care to explain on the way to Times Square?”

“No,” I started. “I really think we should-“

Pepper let go of me and made his way towards Syd. He squeezed one of their shoulders. “You’re on.”

They started walking towards the exit, like best buds, leaving my staggering legs moving behind them. I couldn’t stop this. My boyfriend was indeed bonding with my ex.

“Aye, Moggie, it’s freezing cold outside,” Pepper pointed out the obvious. “Move your ass, will you ?”

I flicked him off and he waved me over before putting a big heart in the sky. They already reached Syd’s vehicle. It was a Dodge Camaro. Typically, I snorted.

The engine was all that was heard over snow falling once more, on the busiest New York streets.

We made it with five minutes to spare. A huge crowd in the cold wind cheered and had sparklers in the darkened sky.

“There you guys are,” Speedy voice shouted over the crowd. He had a big puffer green coat so it was hard to miss his arrival. Vickie trotted along behind him and noticed a face that wasn’t familiar.

“And who’s this?” Vickie asked, making her way to hug a complete stranger.

“The names Syd, ma’am. I am one of Moggie’s colleagues.” Syd tried their best to be so polite. But she wasn’t buying it.

“Colleagues?” Vickie’s eyes raised in laughter. “Is that what they are calling it, nowadays?”

Speedy turned to his mom, then looked at me. “Wanna introduce us, Mog?”

“S-sure.” I replied. “Syd, this is-”

“Boyfriend number two.” They interrupted me. And held their hand out to him. Speedy hesitated for a second and did a quick shake before shoving it back in his pockets. “I see what the comradery was all about. You’re a looker.”

Speedy’s head tilted. “Thank you? Anyways, what y'all been doing?”

Syd chuckled, like they had a dirty secret. “I’ll let her fill you in.” Syd left and joined Pepper with Vickie, oohing and awing at the fireworks and sparklers all around.

Speedy dropped his gaze at me. “Boyfriend number two?”

“I never told them that.”

“I believe you. I just… they give me weird vibes.”

“I’m sorry,” I still felt guilty. Speedy isn’t used to how Syd can be. Some of their comments can be misconstrued. “We had no idea that we would run into them. It just- sort of- happened.”

“And how did you?” He closed the gap between us, then pulled a snowflake off my red striped puffed beanie. He examined it before his eyes scanned mine again. “Run into them, I mean?”

“Well, we sort of….” I had to look away from him to be honest. “Broke into the university’s art gallery.”

That got him laughing. “You what?”

“Pepper’s idea.”

“Well, duh. But that was hella reckless.” He nodded in their direction. I saw Pepper laughing and joking like he wasn’t in critical condition a few moments ago. It warmed my heart. But fear gripped around me too. “Even for him.”

“I know. I know… and then Dr. Miracle-” I shut my mouth, hard. Wow… wow. I really wasn’t supposed to say anything about what happened with Pepper. But here I am, about to spill it all to Speedy. I couldn’t hide this. Not from him.

“Dr. Miracle?” Speedy said. “Whoa-whoa…slow down. What the hell happened in the art gallery?”

So, I told him. All of it. How after the library, we pretty much kept busy in every location I could think of. And every location Pepper wanted to see. Then in the art gallery, Pepper almost collapsed. My eyes started to get misty as Speedy’s expression softened up to it. He wasn’t angry- however- I could see how being out of the loop for a while made him feel. Outcasted. It wasn’t our intention, but I got caught in how free Pepper wanted to be just between us. But we aren’t alone. Like Pepper said, I’m not just dating him. I have to take Speedy’s feelings into measure for … everything. I put my hands on my face to cover up the tears.

“I’m- I’m… so sorry. For a sec.. I really thought-” my words were staggered. Thankfully, the larger crowd covered my pitiful apology.

“Moggie, look at me. Baby, look at me, please?” Speedy removed my hands from my face and bent down so we were at least eye-level. “You had no way of knowing. And….I’m not pissed. Pepper is gonna do whatever he wants. I’ll-I’ll let him slide with this. For now. But on the upper scale, it looks like he only wanted to see New York with you, for a while.”

“Can you not be so understanding? For one minute?” I sniffed. “It’s hard to feel less guilty.”

He grins and pats my beanie puff ball before his cold lips find my forehead. His thermal gloved hand worked as a bridge between us. Then he whispered in my ear,“No. Cause I’m for sure ain’t no one’s second anything. ”

“You got it, Speedster.” I kissed his cheek and he smirked, picking me up and twirling me around.

“I’ve missed you, you know.” He confessed. “Moms smothering me… ya’ll left me alone with her.”

“You’re the one who wanted quality time.”

His frowning face was always adorable. He folded his arms around me. “Not for another 3 hours, Moggie.”

“We’re sorry?”

He scoffs. “I may believe you. But that sick rockstar knew exactly what he was doing.”

I shook my head before shaking his shoulders. “Come on, the countdown is starting.” Then we joined the others up ahead.

The crowd was raving into the night as the Jumbotronclock winded down to the last five seconds of this year. It would be 2029.

5.

Every moment now feels like an oasis I never imagined before.

4.

I was scared that after all that happened, we wouldn’t be able to manage. But it’s only been three months since we moved to London. And three months of us officially together. I couldn’t help but to think how fucking lucky am I?

3.

My boys. My men. My partners for life. I wanted to do my best at this next year, moving forward. Making them so happy.

2.

There’s still a lot of uncertainty about what we have founded on. And there's never been a clear explanation why it happened. Why the three of us are together. In a polyamorous relationship. But that’s how love is. I’m grateful for the two hearts I carry together. I’m grateful that I’m the only caretaker of my rose-colored family who never hesitates at putting me first.

1.

It’s a little unorthodox, sure. Who cares about that. I just know I love them. I want to believe that this is our fairy tale ending. Fate has given us a chance to create a new world together. One where all three of us can really be a family. They have both shown me this much. And I will be a fool, not to believe them.

“Happy New Year’s, Moggie!” They both sang and kissed each cheek of mine. I giggled and laughed. It was cold, but around them, I could never feel it. It always toasted warmth all around us.

“Happy-“

Speedy pulled me in and lifted me up so his lips were falling on mine. It was swift and he tasted so good. He nibbled on my lip and he pulled me back down. Pepper grabbed my face and rushed in for his kiss. It was rough but it melted away all the butterflies. Turning them into moths caught in flames.

Their dynamics was so bizarre. Speedy was my sunshine. Pepper was my rain. But I was their clouds, engulfed between them. I will never forget this moment.

Mahogany Green Farewell was finally at home.

[cabezadeperro]

codywan sleep bingo #2: night terrors

new fill for the @codywansleepbingo​! pre-relationship, takes place during the war.

word count: 1150

read on ao3

bingo card under the cut, as always.

---

The skin is red and bubbling: Obi-Wan can smell it, can hear it sizzle. Anakin yells soundlessly, lying face up on the narrow stretch of space between the escape pod’s controls and the bench. He arches his back, long legs kicking out and mouth open wide, the place where his arm used to be thumping loudly against the metal floor. 

Obi-Wan watches him. He wants to reach out, but can’t. He breathes in, breathes out: he reaches out within himself and finds nothing. Meanwhile, Anakin writhes and cries, the stump weeping blood and clear, liquid plasma, and Obi-Wan can’t hear him over the noise of what’s left of his arm hitting the floor, but he knows Anakin’s calling for him. Why wouldn’t he: isn’t Obi-Wan his master, isn’t Anakin Obi-Wan’s padawan? Didn’t he promise to protect and educate and train and raise the boy? The child, swimming in his learner robes, crying for help that never comes—what use are all the care and the love and the hours upon hours spent together.

He can’t move. Obi-Wan can’t move, and he doesn’t quite understand why, the only thing he wishes in the world right now is to be able to move, but he can’t, because he shouldn’t, and meanwhile Anakin cries and calls to him, and Obi-Wan can’t hear him but he won’t ever forget the crack in his voice and the pain and the fury and the rage, won’t ever forget that he let him suffer, and he should not, he should not, he should not, he will not.

His mouth tastes of blood and ash. Obi-Wan straightens from his slump, blinking in the reddish dark of the escape pod. He rubs his lips with the back of his hand and makes a face when he smears blood and machine oil all over his beard.

Cody’s watching him. He’s sitting on the bench, helmet lying carelessly between his feet on the ground. Shifty still sleeps, his head on Cody’s armourless thigh, face tucked against Cody’s belly. He’s bled through the bandages around the stump of his arm, and Obi-Wan blinks, shakes off what’s left of his dream. He’s already forgetting all about it: he can’t say he regrets letting it go. He feels shivery, shaky, and he knows it’s not just his exhaustion. He swallows, clearing his throat, and lifts his chin at Cody in question. His commander shrugs.

He looks as tired as Obi-Wan feels. His left hand rests on Shifty, long fingers combing through the other soldier’s messy curls. It’s a shocking display of—something, and Obi-Wan doesn’t quite know why he finds it so surprising. He already knew his commander contained multitudes: he knew that from the start. Cody is clever, Cody has very little patience for most of Obi-Wan’s everything. Cody is a good liar and Cody doesn’t bother lying in the first place most of the time. Cody cradles his fellow soldier’s head in his lap, fingers gentle and careful while they disentangle the curls, and he watches Obi-Wan with dark, tired eyes, like he can see through Obi-Wan’s skull and into his head.

The escape pod rattles. Thump thump thump: Obi-Wan shivers, bile climbing up his throat, sharp and bitter. He stays where he’s sitting on the floor and doesn’t check the autopilot. He can feel his men’s minds and souls all around him, floating away in the black, and he can feel the black itself, tugging at his mind, looking to widen the cracks.

“Bad dream?”

Cody’s voice is a hoarse, crackly thing. He makes a face at himself, and doesn’t clear his throat.

Obi-Wan sighs. He smiles at his commander and makes himself look away from his commander’s hands. He thinks about lying; he decides not to.

“Yes.”

A beat. 

“Do you want to talk about it.”

He sounds so—awkward. He makes a face: he’s exasperated, annoyed. Not with Obi-Wan, just with himself. Obi-Wan snorts. He feels the crack in his lip reopen and licks at the blood. 

“Not really,” he replies. “But it’s kind of you to ask.”

Cody raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him and says nothing. Shifty sighs and whimpers in his sleep, and Cody’s face goes blank. He shushes the kid—because he is a kid; one of the newer troops, fresh off Kamino—and stills his hand, lies it flat on Shifty’s cheek.

“He’s stable,” Obi-Wan reminds him. “He’ll make it.”

“Not with one arm. Sir.”

Point taken. Obi-Wan looks away, down at his knees. He doesn’t need to look at Shifty to see his stump. To see—

Obi-Wan blinks. He licks his lips, tastes blood. He smells: himself, sweat and ozone. Cody: sweat, blaster oil and blaster discharge. Shifty: more blood. It was a commando droid: the cut was clean, not quite surgical but enough for it to matter. 

He will live. He might—thrive. Cody will take care of it, because that is what he does: he takes care of things. He’s so very good at the mechanics of war that sometimes Obi-Wan finds himself forgetting the fact that his face, underneath the grime and the blood from the cut over his eyebrow, doesn’t look that much older than Shifty’s.

Cody sighs. He looks down, lips pressed tight. 

He has nice hands. Long fingers. The sleeve of his undersuit is ragged and burnt and it doesn’t quite cover his wrist anymore: Obi-Wan catches a flash of paler brown, delicate veins straining against the thin skin, the bone round and barely there. His fingers are light on Shifty’s cheek, rubbing at the drying blood there, and Obi-Wan doesn’t dare moving, caught between the ragged remains of his half-forgotten dream and this awful, sudden longing for touch.

Obi-Wan clears his throat again. He stands up, joints and back cracking and snapping, and doesn’t miss the way Cody twitches and stiffens, eyes wide with some unnamed emotion Obi-Wan very purposefully shields himself from.

“Rest, commander,” he says, voice too loud, too much in the quiet of the small escape pod. “Sleep if you can. We have a long way ahead of us.”

Cody stares up at him. He tilts his head slightly, and Obi-Wan finds himself smiling, a show of teeth: he has always felt like his good commander knows too much, sees too much. And Obi-Wan isn’t quite in the mood to let himself be understood.

“Sir,” replies Cody after a while. He looks away, back at his sleeping brother. 

Obi-Wan sits on the pilot chair. He aimlessly makes sure that everything is exactly like he left it the last time he checked and then he just sits there, looking through his reflection on the viewport at the stars beyond. 

It’s so—cliché. In a way. One of his men loses an arm—Obi-Wan dreams of Anakin, and of Anakin losing an arm. Obi-Wan sighs, too tired and too empty to find the strength to laugh at himself, and closes his eyes again.

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Great Hunt! Chapter 36: Among the Elders

Let's keep this simple. This post? Spoils all of The Wheel of Time. Literally this specific post references the last pages of the final book. You shouldn't be reading this if you don't already know everything or at least don't care about spoilers.

Oh also there's a gif with an incredibly moderate amount of flashing at the bottom. I don't think it should hurt anyone with conditions but I'm feeling overcautious so this is your heads up.

This chapter is another example of the new trefoil leaf icon because we're still hanging out with the Ogier.

A number of Ogier women were watching him, from white-haired grandmothers to daughters Erith’s age, a knot of them talking among themselves but with all eyes on him. His ears jerked, but he looked at the broad door to which the stone steps led down, and nodded again.

Poor Loial really isn't ready for the Pangossipcon of the Ogier steddings.

The Ogier woman in the middle of the dais sat in a chair raised a little higher than those of the others, three bearded men to her left in long, flaring coats, three women to her right in dresses like her own, embroidered in vines and flowers from neckline to hem.

We can conclude here that while Ogier society is a bit dominated by the ladies (almost nowhere in Jordan's world is perfectly equal), it's still one of the more egalitarian and thus thematically functional places.

“I will find the Horn,” Ingtar said angrily. “I must. If you will not permit us to use the Waygate. . . .” He fell silent as Verin looked at him, but the scowl remained on his face.

What are you going to do, Ingtar? Slaughter them all? That's some redemption.

His face sagged, without any expression at all, and his big eyes were vacant and unblinking, not staring, not looking, not even seeming to see. One of the women gently wiped drool from the corner of his mouth. They took his arms to stop him; his foot went forward, hesitated, then fell back with a thump.

It's a shame brain scanning is a long dead technology because I would LOVE to know what's going on with all this. Perhaps Nynaeve will delve into the Ogier victims someday, though I expect that's probably rather unlikely.

“No mind. No soul. Nothing of Trayal remains but his body.”

So what happened to his soul? Did it just get immediately sent back to T'A'R? Is it still rattling around in Machin Shin? Is this a Hopper-esque true death, or will Trayal manage to be reborn someday?

“We do need him,” Verin broke in smoothly. “Few any longer know the Ways, but Loial has studied them. He can decipher the Guidings.”

Verin once again being the useful team member by giving a reason for Loial's presence. Ingtar is continuing to be a handicap at this point. When wtas the last time he actually did something useful?

“I will,” he told her. It had the feeling of a commitment, the swearing of an oath.

Presumably death gets Rand out of his oaths because dude up and ditches Loial as soon as the weaving of the Pattern is done.

“That’s not true,” Mat said, straightening abruptly. “Marisa Ayellin thinks I’m handsome. She told me so more than once.” “Is Marisa pretty?” Loial asked. “She has a face like a goat,” Perrin said blandly. Mat choked, trying to get his protests out.

It's good that they're bantering again. Gotta say though Perrin, I think your standards for pretty are a bit different than most Two Rivers boys.

Around the edge of the clearing the Ogier had built a low stone coping that seemed as if it had grown there, suggesting a circle of roots. The look of it made Rand uncomfortable. It took him a moment to realize that the roots suggested were those of bramble and briar, burningleaf and itch oak. Not the sort of plants into which anyone would want to stumble.

We should let the nuclear waste storage people know about this method because it seems a lot more effective than the whole "THIS IS NOT A PLACE OF HONOR" bs.

“I have told you,” Verin said, “the Black Wind is a creature of the Ways. It cannot leave them.”

With Rand around, anything is possible Verin. Even bad shit. Hell, especially bad shit.

Verin stood with eyes unfocused in thought. Mat was sitting on the coping with his head in his hands, and Perrin watched him worriedly. Loial seemed relieved that they could not use the Waygate, and ashamed at being relieved.

Raise your hand if you've ever felt the way Loial does.

That said, this affair has definitely gone to shit and I'm not even angry at Ingtar for immediately going back to plan "Smash heads until I get what I want."

“What we need,” Hurin said diffidently, “is one of those Portal Stones.” He looked to Alar, then Verin, and when neither told him to stop, he went on, sounding increasingly confident.

Dude really has low self-esteem for someone who is by all rights an independent contractor. I'm beginning to wonder if Borderlander culture is more messed up than the books let on.

“I can find it,” Rand said reluctantly. He felt ashamed. Mat’s going to die, Darkfriends have the Horn of Valere, Fain will hurt Emond’s Field if you don’t follow him, and you’re afraid to channel the Power. Once to go and once to come back. Twice more won’t drive you mad.

"Yeah I said I was only going to use ultra-heroin at parties, but my buddy's coming over and it would make me a bad host if we didn't hit it up a little."

“The Brown Ajah knows many things,” Verin said dryly, “and I know how the Stones may be used.”

I wonder if this is a Brown Ajah secret, a Black Ajah secret, or in fact just a Verin Mathwin secret. Any answer seems possible.

Next time:

[aparticularbandit]

Take A Sad Song and Make It Better - Chapter Two

Summary: Miles almost hit Duke when he left Andi’s place.  He didn’t stay to make sure that Andi actually died.  What if, in all of the attempts to get into the house, one of them heard the car still rumbling in the garage?  What if Andi didn’t die?

Major Glass Onion Spoilers.  If you haven’t seen the movie, maybe don’t read.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T. TW: Hospital scenario.

AO3

previous chapter / next chapter

“What was that Claire was saying about Miles?”

Duke’s voice is so much gruffer than it had been when they all met.  It’d hadn’t been the smoothest ten years ago, but it was softer, gentler.  Now it feels like he’s always trying to sound as macho as he looks.  Lionel hates that about him.  The kid had been gentle when they met.  Kind.  Rippling with muscle, sure, but he’d been nothing like…like this.

Lionel doesn’t know how to explain it to him, but as he starts moving around the apartment, shuffling through the books scattered all over Andi’s floor, he tries.  “It won’t look good if we’re all here together.  With Andi.  Miles will think we changed our minds.”

That’s the simplest way to say it.  The worst way to say it would be to admit he’d faxed Miles about the envelope. He hasn’t told any of the others about that; he’s still not sure if he will.  Somehow that feels a little bit like twisting the knife in a little further. But what could he do?  It was probably just another piece of paper in those laundry baskets full of papers that Miles gets through his machines.  He probably hasn’t even seen it yet.

He’d just wanted to cover his ass.

“Miles was already here.”

Lionel pauses.  Blinks. Stops moving the books over to one side, away from the fallen bookshelf, and looks up.  “What do you mean Miles was here?”

Duke crosses his arms.  He looks like a pro wrestler, but despite the gun shining right next to his crotch (there are so many better places to put it, and Duke won’t listen to reason about any of that), he wouldn’t harm a fly. Well.  He would harm a fly, but actually take his gun out and shoot another person?  That’s not like Duke at all.  “Miles almost hit me.  I almost pancaked.”

“How do you know it was Miles?” Lionel asks, straightening up.  He walks over to Duke where he stands next to Andi, looking for all the world like her own personal bodyguard, standing there as he does.  He’s huge – well over half a foot taller than Lionel, and Lionel’s not a short guy.

But as he approaches, Duke sighs and looks away.  “It’s that stupid blue car of his.  The one he drives everywhere.”  He shifts his weight.  “No one else would be driving a car like that up the road to Andi’s house.”

Lionel opens his mouth to ask another question, but forceful knocks come at the broken front door, causing it to swing open with a fractured sounding creak. “We’re in here,” he calls.

The EMTs come in and find them immediately.  One of them, a large man with dark wavy hair, a scruffy beard, and shockingly blue eyes, steps in first.  “Was there a fight in here, or—?”

“Don’t judge, Max.”  The other EMT, a woman with frizzy, bright red hair and equally brilliant blue eyes, slaps his arm with the back of one hand.  Although shorter than him – shorter even than Lionel – she steps in front, clearly in charge. “Where is she?”

Lionel gestures with one hand to the couch.  “Here.”

As he does, Duke sizes up the other EMT, Max.  It’s clear beneath Max’s tight shirt that he’s got a fair bit of muscle, too, although much more lean than Duke’s.  It makes Duke’s eyes narrow.  Especially when the man comes closer and he finds that they are the same height.

But Max doesn’t seem to care about this at all.  Instead, his bright eyes are focused entirely on Andi.  His brow furrows.  “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Lionel says.  “We found her in the garage.  Car was running.  She’s breathing, but—”

“Got it.”

As the EMTs set to work moving Andi from the couch to a stretcher, Lionel pulls Duke over to one side.  “You’ve got to go with her, alright?  Keep an eye on her.”

Duke’s brow furrows again.  “Where are you going to be?”

“Here,” Lionel says.  Before Duke can ask anything else, he lowers his voice.  “I need to find the envelope.”

Suddenly Duke’s eyes widen.  “Yeah. Right.”  His gaze drifts over the Lionel’s shoulder toward the EMTs and then past them to Andi, where it lingers.  “I’m not going to have to make any decisions, am I?  I don’t think I can—”

“Call Claire.”

“She was just—”

“Call Claire,” Lionel repeats, meeting Duke’s eyes as he turns back to him.  “Let her know which hospital you’re going to, let her know the room number, let her make the decisions.  She’ll be there before I am.”  He pats Duke’s back and then moves over to the EMTs.  “Do you mind if Duke rides with her?”

Duke grumbles behind him, but it is what it is.  Lionel should be going with her.  Lionel should be the one making the decisions.  But he doesn’t trust Duke alone with that envelope, just like none of them should trust him.  Given the opportunity, he might just burn it himself, rid them of this whole exercise.

…but not until he finds out from Andi just what the hell is going on.

~

Claire drives in circles until she gets the call from Duke.  She’s not even sure where, exactly, she thought those circles would lead her; it probably would have been far better to park her ass at a Barnes and Noble or mall and force herself to browse until she found out where she needed to go, but the adrenaline still coursing through her veins refuses to allow her to still enough for either of those to be effective options.  Already she can feel her stomach churning with anxiety; already she feels the need to pull over to the side of the road and barf.  The one place she stops is the nearest fast food joint – Taco Bell, in this case – so that she can get whatever the lemon-lime soda of choice is. It will help settle her stomach, she hopes, if she can get her hands to quit shaking enough so that she can drink any of it.

The closest hospital is not near as close as Claire hoped it would be, but all the EMTs will do is hook Andi up to oxygen.  Once Andi gets to the hospital, that won’t change. Oxygen is the only thing that will help.  They got to her in time, so she probably won’t actually die, but if Andi really wanted to die, then they wouldn’t be able to stop her.  Just prolong the inevitable.  It’s not like any of them could stay with her and keep an eye on her; they could, but Andi would want to kick them out of her house for….

Surely, if they were trying to save her life, she wouldn’t be upset?

But Claire imagines Andi’s words easily enough as she makes her way from her car to the hospital, setting her beige mask into place.  “If you really wanted to save my life, you wouldn’t have betrayed me in the first place.”  She would say it so coolly, eyes narrowed into slits, not even raising her voice. That was the terrifying thing about Andi – at her angriest, she grew quiet and then stopped speaking entirely, as though she was puzzling out the best way to send a verbal knife between your ribs.

Claire shivers, examines the text from Duke again.  There’s no room number, just him telling her to meet him in the emergency room, wherever that is.  Her teeth grit together.  I’m here, she sends him a quick text as she walks in fuzzy slippers down the hall.  Where are you?

She regrets her choice of clothes entirely.  She’d thought she would just be having a conversation with an old – ex – friend.  Her best friend, once.  She hadn’t expected she would be in a very public place like a hospital.

Andi—

Duke stands just outside of the emergency room, fingers flying across his phone, probably typing in some sort of text that stops as soon as he looks up and catches her eye.  “Claire—”

“Who’s with her?” Claire interrupts, staring up at him.  She hates that she doesn’t have her heels with her; in his boots, Duke is a full foot taller than her, and she feels so tiny next to him.  Tiny. Vulnerable.  More than she already is.  It makes her snappish.  She crosses her arms.  “Tell me you didn’t leave her alone—”

“I had to come get you!”  Duke’s words are muffled through his hospital issued mask.  There’d been a box of them at the front, just near the door, but Claire always kept a spare one in her car in case she’d forgotten to wear one.  She can speak more clearly through hers than Duke can through his; he’s not used to it, and everything sounds off.  “They won’t let you in if I’m there.  Stupid restrictions.  Stupid Chinese—”

“Don’t call it that,” Claire hisses out.  She swats at him.  “You’re as bad as Birdie.”  She considers saying that he’s worse; Birdie honestly doesn’t know any better and corrects her mistakes when she learns, but Duke?  Someone had gotten into his head and dragged him off to the dark side, and he’d just. full-heartedly accepted all of it.  She’d blame herself, but it’s not her fault he hasn’t been listening to her politics.  Her lips press together.  She swallows.  “Where’s the room?”

~

Even through the plastic mask, Andi’s lips are ashen.

Claire stands – she doesn’t even sit – and she rubs her hands up and down her arms as though she’s cold.  She isn’t cold.  Her stomach still churns, and she lifts her mask just enough to fit her straw between her lips, draws deep on her lemon-lime soda, two, three times, and then swallows before taking the cup away and fitting her mask back into place.

Andi has always been the smallest of them.  In terms of height, she’s tiny, and she’s always been so thin – hollow bones, like those birds use to fly, with wrists that even Birdie could fit her things around.  Lying on that hospital bed, draped in a turquoise gown with the same consistency of a Bible’s paper, she seems even smaller.  The gown engulfs her; the plastic mask is almost too big for her face, when her eyelashes flutter, they beat against it. Her chest barely raises the gown as she breathes in deep.

When she’d come in, the nurse had mentioned sleeping pills.  Sleeping pills!  Claire was – and is – well aware of the trouble Andi had sleeping because she has some of the same problems.  They’d swapped tips over the years – tips and chiropractors – until Birdie, who said she’d never woken with any back pain in her life, led them to Carla, the greatest masseuse they could have ever—

Andi wasn’t taking sleeping pills.  They’d talked about it too many times; Claire had considered it once or twice, but she wasn’t the one who’d tossed and turned every which way trying to find the most comfortable position to relax.  Andi had been so stalwart about not wanting to be addicted to those sorts of things.  She’d take a shot or two, sometimes, to get to sleep, but she would never – never – take pills.  The trial wouldn’t have changed that.

As Claire stands there, her phone rings loud in her pocket.  She jumps and hurriedly hangs up, as though any of that noise would wake Andi at all.  Her thumb finds the silent button and flips it without checking to see who called. Probably Birdie.  Or Peg.  They can call someone else.  Lionel, for instance.

It could be Lionel.

Claire pulls her phone out just long enough to scan the recent caller – it was Birdie – and then send a quick text to Lionel (Did you find it?).  Then she finally, finally allows herself to sit on the chair just next to Andi.  She hesitantly reaches over and places a hand on her shoulder.  “I know I’m not who you want,” she says, “but I’m who you’ve got.  You don’t want us, but you’ve still got us, Andi.  We’re not going anywhere.”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

My my

Summary: I think we have a spy.

Her head spun on a swivel, jerking this way and that, searching for any hint of movement. She wasn’t going to be seen, she knew that, and if she was then it wouldn’t be that big of a deal because everyone that should know about this was a meta like her, and yet she couldn’t seem to relax.

Which was fair. After all, people like her had been turning up missing or dead for the past few months.

Hell, that was why she had shown up to this shady warehouse in the first place.

She eyed the building nervously. It wasn’t abandoned, that much was obvious. The roar of machines was almost deafening. It had probably been chosen because no one would be able to overhear their conversations.

Or they were being lured here to be murdered where no one would hear their screams.

She touched the mask on her face, checking that it wasn’t going to come off easily, and then – after a quick glance at her holopad to make sure she had gotten the address right – she slipped inside.

Machines whirred and steamed, heating up the air around her so much she started to wish she hadn’t opted for the varsity jacket. She ran her fingers over a pipe as she passed. Her fingers burned where she touched it. She didn’t mind.

She came upon The Door. She didn’t know it yet, but her life would be set upon a new path the moment she stepped through. This was the turning point. The moment where it all went wrong.

She didn’t know it yet, and yet… she bit her lip as she looked at it, quiet, hesitating. She could feel the weight of it all coming to rest on her shoulders, which she hiked up to her ears to try and bear it easier.

She… wasn’t sure she wanted to do this.

Hands in her jacket pockets, she pushed the door open with her side and stepped inside.

The room felt strange. Even if a normal person were there, they could have immediately pegged the fact that at least a few of the people in there were metas. Everyone was standing still, making idle chatter or scrolling through their holopads or eyeing up the other people in the room. It seemed calm. And, if there were only one of them, it would be. The way the air around them would shift around people like them was largely unnoticeable to any non-metas, but when there were this many of them? She could feel all of their auras slamming against each other, pushing, trying to earn their own space or hold the others at bay. Her own presence probably didn’t help.

Eight sets of eyes landed on her as the door slammed shut behind her. Or, at least, she was pretty sure of that, because some of the masks they were wearing hid their eyes. She could feel plenty of attention pressing down on her, though.

One stood in the middle of the room. He smiled at her. “That should be our last member,” he said, straightening to his full height. The man had already been taller than average, but now he almost towered over them all.

This effect was ruined by the fact that his outfit was atrocious, though. Santa Claus looking ass. Especially with the bit, white, fake beard he had opted for to hide his identity. Did he just have that on hand or did he go out actively looking for it? Which was worse?

He motioned for everyone to circle up in the middle of the room and, with varying degrees of reluctance, they all did so. The circle was a little wide, a little egg-shaped because she had opted to hang back some, but no one pointed this out. They, too, were eyeing the people next to them with obvious caution, clearly wondering whether they could get away with backing up as well.

“Now, I’m assuming we all know why we’re here,” the man in the center said, smiling brightly. He looked far too cheery for someone who was dealing with the fact that someone was targeting people like them. “Which means we should all get down to business, yeah?”

She raised her hand. “I want proof that everyone here is a meta.”

There was a murmur of assent.

The man raised an eyebrow at her. “Is the agreement to cloak our identities not enough?”

A tall boy wearing what appeared to be a mascot's head shook his head. By grabbing the cat-themed head and shaking it back and forth with his hands, as it was too big to do the motion normally. “No. What if they’re here?”

There was more assent. Louder this time. They were all risking at least some level of their anonymity by coming here, risking people seeing them and knowing. They deserved to know that everyone was safe, that everyone was like them, that no one would betray them.

The man sighed but nodded. He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m – uh, I don’t know… Hawkmoth.”

There was a collective snicker, and all of the people in the room cast amused glances at each other, all of them wordlessly making fun of the man for his dumb choice of names.

Hawkmoth’s face reddened behind his Santa Claus-style beard and he was quick to try and distract them: “I can sense and manipulate emotions.”

His attempts proved successful. The smiles slid off their faces. The glances exchanged were now far warier.

“Uh, Mr. Hawkmoth, sir, aren’t you supposed to –,” a woman wearing what seemed to be a Party City dragon mask began to say.

And then she almost fell to her knees with the force of the fear that washed over her. She felt like she had been pushed under the waves. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything, could only hope to wait it out so she could swim up to the surface. But wave after wave crashed into her, buffeting her around, and she couldn’t breathe –.

The man walked closer, his smile gone.

Blue eyes peered down at her. Cold and scrutinizing.

“Your emotions are wrong,” he informed her. He knelt down to be close to eye level. She strangled the scream that rose in her throat. She needed to keep hold of that air. There was so little of it as it was. “Why is that?”

“Please,” she begged, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want to die. Not here. Hell, she was here because she didn’t want to die. Pleasepleaseplease –.

And then he let her go.

She threw her hands out in front of her to stop herself from instantly collapsing, but it was really only delaying the inevitable. Her arms trembled so much that she knew she would fall flat on her face soon enough. She was given a moment of silence to catch her breath. No one said a word, just watched on as she struggled to remember exactly how to inhale without coughing all of the air up halfway through.

“So?” the man prompted, and she could feel the beginning of it crawling back.

“Nowaitwait!” It slowed to a trickle, just barely prickling at her skin and making goosebumps rise on her arms. She swallowed thickly. “I just… it’s…” She took a shaky breath. “I can heal. I can heal myself. So I’m not as scared as I probably ‘should’ be. It’s hard to kill me, y’know?”

There was a beat as this was considered.

And then the fear washed away, leaving her sweating and panting on the floor. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen the rest of the way.

“Your turn!” The man said brightly, his smile back in place. She wasn’t stupid enough to trust it, especially not after that stunt, but she nodded and decided to go along with it regardless. It wasn’t like she had any choice in the matter.

“I’m Ladybug…” she began, deciding to follow his example with the animal theme.

Hands still shaking, she pulled a plasma gun from her pocket. A small one, she could never fit one of the larger ones in her pockets, she wasn’t nearly rich enough to get a Capsule to shrink it… but a plasma gun, even a small one like this, was perfectly lethal regardless of the size. Every person in the room tensed, but she ignored them. She pressed a hand to the floor and then pointed her gun at it.

She took a deep, steadying breath. It did little to help the nerves eating away at her.

She pulled the trigger.

A tiny disk made of light sliced off her finger.

She didn’t even feel it. She stared at the blood spilling out of her, at the scorch mark on the floor and the blackened edges of her skin, at the finger that had been separated from her hand in a neat line that would have been impossible to see if she hadn’t flinched at the sound of the plasma gun fizzling out. Instead, her finger laid a half-inch from the rest of her hand.

She blinked once. Twice. It didn’t hurt. It would catch up to her, soon, though. The shock would wear off and she would start screaming.

Best if she didn’t let that happen.

She gritted her teeth and picked it up. Pressed it back to the wound. It wasn’t easy, the blood was trying to displace it. The skin at the edges was burned, blackened, and dead. They didn’t particularly want to mold to her will like they were supposed to, didn’t want to come back alive just for the sake of mitosis.

She forced her skin to heal around it. Her mouth went dry. There remained a tiny black band beneath her skin.

But it worked.

She looked up at him and used her newly attached finger to flip Hawkmoth the bird.

That earned a startled laugh from a guy wearing a bright yellow hoverbike helmet. At least he thought it was funny.

They continued going around the room without incident. People would list off their powers, and then give a short demonstration. There was someone who had an enhanced physique, someone with elemental control, teleportation, duplication, the ability to induce hallucinations…

It became abundantly clear as time went on that the only people present were the ones that were powerful enough to survive a direct attack.

No one wanted to wonder whether those were just the people that were confident enough to come to the meeting, or if this was all that was left.

And then… the second to last person, the one with the yellow motorbike helmet, stepped forward just slightly to greet them all:

“Hi! I’ll go by…” He gave a tiny shrug. “Uh. Cassandra.”

“... that’s a girl’s name,” someone pointed out. The one that duplicated themself. Poly, or something like that.

The boy gave another shrug. “It’s not like I’m going to be using the name for long.”

A chill crept into the room, and she wondered, idly, if Ryuuko was using her elemental powers to frost up the windows or something.

“I can see the future. It’s kinda hard to prove, but…” He cleared his throat nervously, his helmet tilting back as if he were looking skyward. “At least one of us will not be leaving here tonight.”

It went very still.

“We’re gonna die?!”

“Oh, you’d better be saying that one of us is sleeping here!”

“Shitshitshitshitshit –!”

“How far can you see into the future?” she asked.

A couple of people paused to send her Looks, their expressions a mix of pure disapproval and horror.

She gave an awkward little smile. At least most of the screaming had subsided, she had shocked it out of them.

Enough so that the last person, the boy with the cat head mask, could step up. Not literally, he stayed firmly in place, just barely leaning away from the circle, his hands in his hoodie pockets (probably clutching a weapon), with a kind of wariness that had only been proven correct by the apparent prophet’s prediction.

“Hi, I’m Chat Noir,” he said carefully. “I can do…”

He disappeared from view.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

Because there was a high whining sound and Hawkmoth’s eyes widened just before a hole tore itself through his torso.

Light flickered in the man’s eyes in the most literal sense before he crumpled in a heap.

It was silent for just a moment.

And then everyone leapt into action.

She stood among the chaos, her eyes wide as she stared at Hawkmoth’s prone form. Minute shivers ran up and down her spine. She knew she needed to move, but she didn’t. It wasn’t like a healer did too much good during a fight anyways.

As for everyone else… well, they weren’t faring too well, either. Fighting someone you couldn’t see was nigh impossible – and she suspected that was at least part of why Chat had gone for Hawkmoth, he couldn’t know if his ability to sense emotions would allow him to pinpoint him while he was invisible – and no one was particularly eager to try. They all just wanted to go. Rena Rouge disappeared in a puff of orange smoke. Pegasus dropped through a portal he created on the floor. Tigress was out the doors in seconds. Ryuuko used a blast of wind to jump onto a nearby machine in hopes of escaping that way. Polymouse split off into a bunch of avatars, allowing the real one to rush towards a nearby vent.

She took a hesitant step forward.

A hand reached out and locked around her wrist.

She looked up to find ‘Cassandra’. “Wha –?”

“You’re a healer, right?”

“How –?” She began, but he didn’t bother waiting for her to finish.

“Good. Come on,” he hissed, his expression impossible to see behind the visor of his helmet, and deciphering it was little more than a pipe dream, but she knew better than to disagree with someone this determined.

They used the fact that Chat Noir was, presumably, getting caught up dealing with Polymouse’s clones to escape, rushing out a nearby door. ‘Cassandra’ paused for just a second to pull a pipe free – the area it came from steamed and whistled in protest, a noxious-looking white gas spilling out – and then shoved it in front of the door to stop Chat from following them.

Marinette could only follow behind as he dragged her away. Out the door and into an alley.

It was here that she realized that, apparently, the helmet wasn’t for show.

She whistled lowly as he dragged her over to a hoverbike and started fumbling in his pockets for his keys. It was a nice model. Not new by any means, she could see quite a few scratches in the metal, but definitely tricked out.

He tugged at her arm insistently, and she grimaced before clambering on behind him.

Within seconds, they were gone.

They zipped about the city for a while. Aimless, it would seem. But, in reality, they were just trying to shake off an invisible tail.

Honestly, it was a little awkward. Neither of them could talk without screaming, everything else would be lost in the wind, so they simply went in silence. The only time the quiet was broken was so that she could relay her address to him, and that had taken all of two seconds.

He seemed kind of lost in thought, anyways, so she wasn’t sure whether he would have been the best conversation partner at the moment.

And, it really wasn’t that long of a trip to her house, so she didn’t mind too much.

He looked up at the location, and for a moment he was silent. And then he turned to look at her.

“You have an apartment?”

She gave a slight nod, not bothering to ask why he was so surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for people like them to be homeless, not when they were young. Whether because they got thrown out for being ‘freaks’ or because their parents tried to use them, they never seemed to last too long in their birth homes.

She wasn’t an exception.

“My dad was nice enough to adopt me.” Something soft crossed her face momentarily. “And my brother, but who cares about him?”

He gave a quiet laugh, but it sounded slightly forced.

She took that as her cue to slide off the bike.

She moved to walk into her apartment, to pretend that a large portion of this night hadn’t happened, but a hand clamped around her wrist again and she was forced to turn to look at him.

“I’ll contact you,” he told her.

She swallowed thickly. “Uh… okay, I’ll just give you my –.”

“I don’t need your number,” he said, waving her off absently. “Already have it.”

“How…?” She said, only to trail off when he tapped his finger to his head. “Right. Prophet.”

He nodded once. “I’ll call you later. It’s easier to deal with another meta if we all work together, right?”

“Of course, friendship is magic,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

He gave a good-natured laugh. But it trailed off strangely, and she found herself shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

His head tilted to the side just slightly. “You wanted to know how far into the future I can see.”

She nodded slightly, a blush rising to her cheeks as she looked at her feet. “I mean… yeah. I heard that the best way to get people to stop panicking was to shock them, so I decided to do something blatantly stupid. I don’t… like people being in distress. Makes me uncomfy.”

He hummed lightly, nodding his head in a way that seemed understanding.

“Do you still want to know?”

She gave a tiny, noncommittal shrug.

“As far as I want to. But, y’know, no matter what, my Vision always seems to stop sometime this year.”

She blinked at him. Did that mean…?

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Marinette fought the urge to back up a step. She did, however, slide a hand into her pocket and grab her gun, her finger coming to rest over the trigger.

She didn’t care if trying to fight a prophet could only ever end terribly for her. From the tone of voice he was using, she suspected it wasn’t going to be something she could opt out of.

He chuckled a little, but it wasn’t nearly as warm as the other one had been. He lifted his hands in a mocking kind of surrender. “What? I’m not accusing you, I was just wondering if you could help. Y’know, with you being a healer and all.”

She glanced back, towards her apartment. And then turned back to him, their eyes meeting for just a second.

“Afraid I don’t know anything about healing metas’ powers. Not even sure if fixing malfunctions counts as healing.”

“Mm. Worth a shot, I guess.” He straightened again on his bike. “See you later.”

She nodded wordlessly.

She watched the pale blue glow of the bike disappear from sight, the colors still streaking in her vision a little, and then quietly head up into her apartment.

Her family wasn’t home, that much was obvious, so she didn’t bother calling out for them as she kicked her shoes off and headed into the living room. A couple of takeout boxes lay on the table, and she smiled as she picked up a box of fried rice. Her brother would be pissed once he realized she ate it all, therefore she would make sure to do so.

Her plan for the night set, she turned on the news and collapsed on the couch with her food.

Just over an hour later, the window slid open.

She didn’t even seem to notice as a person slipped inside, blood dripping down the front of his shirt, the fake fur of his mascot head matted.

And then the girl blinked once and looked over.

“Oh, Adrien, you’re back? Could you show yourself?”

There was a moment before he materialized out of thin air, his cheeks tinted pink as he tossed the cat head aside. “Sorry. Forgot.”

“It’s fine. How’d it go? The damn prophet made me leave, so I couldn’t help.”

He groaned a little, dropping onto the couch. “It’s fine. As long as he doesn’t know…” Marinette glanced away, but thankfully he was too tired to notice. He groaned again, louder this time, and stretched across her lap. “Whatever. Let me tell you, that Polymouse person is a bitch to fight. I’m not even sure if I actually killed her, or just her avatars...”

He continued to complain well into the night. She listened, her fingers just barely carding through his hair, her power just barely thrumming beneath her skin as she healed his bruises before they could fully form.

And the two of them were safe.

◎◎◎◎

A girl sat on a beam connecting two windows. The backpack she wore made her look even younger than she was, but even at the age of 16 no one would ever doubt that her family had enough money for her to work toward higher education. She was severely out of place in the dingy environment – her clothes were immaculately clean and her holopad was without cracks and her smile was just a little too bright for her to be anything other than a kept child. Her jacket was pooled around her, allowing her to bask in one of the few sunny days they will get this year. Her legs swung innocently as she typed away on the interface. The flowerpots on a balcony near her seemed to almost lean in her direction, as if she could provide them even more life than the sun would ever be able to.

She was the kind of person people just can’t seem to hate. The one who always seemed to know exactly what you need, when you need it. The person who can talk to anyone, who can immediately slip into a lighthearted banter with strangers that leaves them feeling warm and fuzzy inside hours later. The girl who loved life so much that it spilled over into everyone else, no matter how sad they are.

She was a liar.

◎◎◎◎

A boy trekked through the city, joining in on the foot traffic. He moved at a brisk pace. Not because he is in a hurry, but because that is what everyone else is doing. He had blond hair, green eyes, and a pleasant little smile gracing his features. His black sweater seemed to swamp him, leaving him looking thinner and smaller than he really was. His shadow stretched behind him, just a little too long, but no one ever looked at him long enough to see.

He was the kind of person that no one ever seemed to remember. The one who you swear you went to elementary school with, but his name never seemed to leave the tip of your tongue. The person who only ever seemed to be a face in the crowd. The boy who had his name misspelled in all of the yearbooks he was actually included in.

He, too, was a liar.

◎◎◎◎

An old man hobbled about a kitchen. His cane knocked on the wood with every step. The smell of garlic hung in the air. A tea kettle whistled for attention and he smiled as he slowly picked it up and set it on the table. Two screens hover near his head and, from time to time, he looked at them, watching the two people he lived with go about their days. And then he would go back to making dinner, back to tending to the steak he was frying up and the cookie dough that just didn’t seem to want to come together no matter how hard he tried.

He was the kind of person that seemed to radiate safety and love. The one who you run to for help when you notice someone following you. The person who always smiles at everyone, no matter how terrible they were to him. The old man who calls everyone sweetheart and honey and sweetie with that kind little smile that makes you relax instantly.

He, of course, was the biggest liar of them all.

◎◎◎◎

They were a family.

They were anything but.

[corsairoriginal]

Rowan “Rebis” Menser

In the distant future, two hundred years after the massive solar flare that nearly wiped out the industrialized world in 2006, Rowan “Rebis” Menser has gotten sick of the game. The systems they were once a part of, the same ones that stripped everything from them the second they stopped conforming to gender, are the target of Rowan’s spite. But they can’t deny they were a part of the machine, forcing themselves to live inauthentically to benefit from privilege and wealth. They were Maverick “Rick” Menser back then, and they stayed in line, even when the machine threatened to swallow them whole.

TW: Body dysphoria, gender dysphoria, dubious consent, dubcon, nsfw

Being written from the perspective of that time, Rowan calls themselves Rick, and still uses he/him. 

Rick Menser neared his fourth year with the Wayland Moniker Group. Hospitality never crossed Rick’s mind while studying for advertising and marketing in college, but the cross section of opportunities that landed him in Wayland Moniker were an unexpected boon. With Rick’s extensive network of contacts from his family and university, corporate management took notice and allowed him to rapidly navigate the lower echelons and pedestrian campaign drudgery, directly upwards into corporate event planning. 

Wayland Moniker’s most lucrative business was in providing the spaces for the elitest of the elite, the kind of money that Rick’s in-laws spoke of as though making them paupers by comparison. Finding ways to impress the terminally-unimpressed was no small task—providing elegant spaces for designer-narcotic-fueled orgies, the most threadbare of expectations. Wayland Moniker resorts, retreats, and venue spaces wove sensory experiences and subtle chances for debauchery expertly, and kept guests returning and recommending year after year.

The level of exceptional hospitality Wayland Moniker provided pulled their reputation even above the open secret of their real expertise: recording the preferences and favorite vices of their clientele. Never cataloged on video or audio, but known, organized, and cataloged nonetheless. When the lobbyists needed lobbying, when aristocratic squabbling needed diffusion, when politicians needed bribing, and crime lords needed a foot in the door with “legitimate” corporate powers, the Wayland Moniker Group was there. What settings relaxed the hottest tempers, what palette of foods loosened the tightest lips, and just what flavor of escort appealed to the staunchest of monogamists—the Group’s encyclopedic knowledge and extensive resources meant that the gamut of power spectrums trusted Wayland Moniker to provide the most artfully-set stages where world-altering human connections happened.

And Rick Menser took personal pride at standing in the epicenter of that controlled storm of fantasy, wealth, power, and leisure. So no, not the kind of marketing he studied, but it was so much more intellectually thrilling.

Rick looked over the readouts displayed on his AR lenses, subtly brushing windows aside as he scanned the messages of the various teams he coordinated, both at headquarters in New Kingston, and his current location at the resort between LAXI and Delta City. 

By pure habit, Rick idly rubbed his jaw and chin, though it was absent any beard to straighten. The corporate retreats the Silver Dunes Resort currently hosted were a New Century City-based advertising/media conglomerate, and a Japanese-owned construction development firm. Through repeated dealings with east Asian capitalists, Rick caught on quickly that standards of professional appearance changed little over the last four hundred years, and facial hair was both a rarity, and potentially soured the perceptions of the more rigid conservatives. He always struggled with how his face looked without a beard, but occupational concerns came first.

As Rick finished making note of any pressing messages he would need to pay attention to later, he brought his focus back to walking past the dining areas currently wrapping up the breakfast service. While there were no strict hours for meal times at these sorts of retreats, eleven a.m. marked when the kitchens would switch to light lunch options. His dress shoes made the lightest tap on the matte, sandstone tiles of the seating areas, and he paused to watch a wait staff member arranging both a coffee press and tea service at a table of guests. He nodded approvingly as the young woman briefly made eye contact with him, a subtle congratulations on how expertly she arranged the tea in perfect Japanese etiquette. 

 Rick turned to make his way toward an employee door, but stopped when he heard a voice call out his name. He immediately turned to address the guest speaking to him, and gave a relaxed smile to the woman his age of twenty-eight, half-jogging from the dining area’s door to the patio. Her immaculate, brunette locks bounced in the late-morning sunlight as she approached him, her dark-rose lips shining in an elated grin, and a designer skirt fluttering with her steps. 

“I knew it!” the guest said with a giggle, craning her arms out for a hug as she reached Rick. “I can’t believe I didn’t catch you until now, I’ve been looking for you all weekend.”

Returning her hug with a gentle pat to her shoulder (careful not to jostle the Long Island iced tea in her hand), Rick allowed a chuckle. “I thought I saw your name on the guest list.”

“And how could I not realize who that baby-faced nerd in the welcome package was?” Patti Lenton said, allowing the hug to linger. “You look absolutely fabulous, Ricki.”

After Patti finally leaned back, Rick’s smile grew unconsciously. “Not as good as you. That’s a perma-shade, isn’t it?”

“You better believe it’s Chanel,” Patti affirmed with a nod, pressing her lips together twice. The gestures caused her lips to change colors, from a vibrant flame to a subtle nude. “And look at you in a suit. Your hands look naked with only a wedding band.”

The jab caused a reflexive scoff from Rick, and he adjusted his tie, as though his hands couldn’t resist bringing attention to his pressed collar—rather than strings of beads or v-neck or spaghetti-strapped shirts of his dormitory days. “Sure, college was my brazen slut era, but come on. It was everyone’s.”

Patti let out a surprised laugh, and rested a hand on Rick’s arm. “Oh, holy shit, there’s the Ricki I remember! And nothing makes me sadder than to hear marriage ended your slut era. Absolute war crime. It’s not like mine ever went away,” Patti said, giving him a wink. She then tugged at his jacket’s sleeve. “Come meet my friends. I insist. I’ve been telling everyone about you all weekend.”

While Patti urged him forward, Rick subtly pulled up a window to his on-site manager on his glasses’ interface. Mentally, he informed Brian Jackson that one of the guests insisted on diverting Rick’s time for a while, a text forming with the command. Jackson responded he’d let the rest of the staff managers know to handle their own affairs as long as needed—after all, harmless requests from platinum-level clientele would never be refused.

Patti led Rick outside, and the gentle air from the Oregon coast brushed against them as they entered the covered patio. As the two approached a currently unlit, stone fire pit, Rick removed his glasses and slipped them in the inside pocket of his suit coat—a visible announcement to the seated guests that anything said or done around him had no risk of leaving the seating area. He inwardly jotted down which pairs of eyes relaxed as he did so.

“I’m sure all of you remember our host,” Patti announced as she elegantly cradled Rick’s hand, presenting him flamboyantly. “But Mr. Menser is a good friend of mine from college!”

“You went to Duke?” one of the guests, an older woman in a diaphanous sundress, asked.

Rick nodded with a genial smile, slipping his hands in his pants pockets. “That’s right. The sorority was co-ed.”

“Alpha Psi Lamda was so much more laid-back than any of the others,” Patti said with an exhausted sigh. 

“You never mentioned you were Alpha Psi Lamda!” another woman chimed in, her tan face brightening. 

Patti gasped, and Rick’s eyebrows unconsciously raised. “No, you’re joking,” Patti said breathlessly, trotting to the woman’s side and flopping to a seat beside her.

“Columbia!” the woman replied with an eager smile. 

“We’ve been at the same board meetings for the last three years and—Get over here, Ricki!” Patti insisted, waving him over. “Sisters and misters!”

The exuberance from the two women clearly made several of the Japanese investors in the seated group tense up in disapproval, so Rick kept a calm exterior as he joined them. His manner settled the women’s squealing quickly, and with honed skill, Rick engaged his sorority siblings while simultaneously drawing in other guests into relaxed conversation. Several of the more at ease international guests, ones with barely-noticeable accents and a marked familiarity with US culture (perhaps even time spent living in the States), were easy targets for Rick to aim for in blending the topics of conversation. Not a one of them seemed to notice his direction of the conversations, and a soothing ebb and flow took hold, swathing all present in a comfortable tide. 

As hours passed, the group dropped or gained new members, changed locations, but no shifts brought any discomfort. Rick trusted the Silver Dune’s staff to handle preparations for dinner, and he found himself and Patti’s entourage in one of the lounges. He had long ago opened his suit coat to relax as best he could, and comfortably reclined on the low sofas facing the last dregs of sunset fading from the expanse of the former national park. Many of the other circle of guests switched out since that morning, most of the older guests from the Takauji Conglomerate retiring to prepare for their morning flights. Several still remained, including a few men around Patti and Rick’s ages, ones who projected significantly-lowered restraints around the Westerners.

Patti polished off her latest martini in the long, uninterrupted chain of beverages she indulged in since breakfast, and rested the side of her head against a hand propped on the back of her seat. For the first time in a few hours, she laid her brown eyes directly on Rick. “Did anyone ever prove that petty brat outted you?”

The question was so off-topic, several of the others gathered immediately leveled their eyes on Rick. His chest fell from an exasperated sigh, perhaps the most unguarded reaction he allowed himself all weekend, and he gestured for a server to attend them. “Of course not,” he said after calling for a new round of drinks (himself included, this time). “Beaggie Bindel couldn’t get me fired, but nobody could pin it on her, either.”

“Oh, God, Bitty Beaggie Bindel!” Patti said with a cackle, kicking her legs as she sank in her chair. “I just had a war flashback from that.”

“Someone outted you?” one of the foreign guests, a man in a button-up shirt (rolled up in a way that barely hid the edges of sleeve tattoos), asked with a suddenly-hard expression.

“Oh, and it wasn’t just some slip of a tongue. It was disgusting,” Patti seethed, struggling to sit straight. “Posted revenge porn in a bunch of business servers. It made it to my office, even. Like, a bunch of people with professional contacts with him got spammed.”

A violent blush overtook Rick’s face, his jaw slacking and mirroring the stunned expressions of the others gathered.

She just. Said that. Patti just spelled out what happened to Rick in front of her business associates so casually. She just…said that.

The wound being so callously reopened caused a surge of white-hot shame and rage to fill Rick’s chest, the tightening of his lips barely hiding his resentment. Now he remembered why he hadn’t kept up with so many of his Alpha Psi Lamda “sisters.”

“It was scrubbed so fast,” Patti assured the circle, waving a hand dismissively. “And honestly, who cares if a man likes to suck dick anymo—”

“Patricia!” an older man snapped, his brow tight. “Jesus Christ, a friend of mine once had that happen to her. You don’t just dredge that up. You’re his friend, but we’re clients.”

Clearly embarrassed, Patti sank back into her seat, mumbling something about martinis.

Rick didn’t glance at the man who scolded her, but his face softened, grateful for the intervention. 

 “You can’t prove who did it?” the foreign guest asked, earning a cold glare from his fellows in similar silk shirts and tieless suits. 

Attempting to diffuse the thick smog of unease, Rick shook his head and gently smiled. “It doesn’t matter,” he lied. “Patti’s right, the Wayland Moniker Group, and I and my wife’s family, supported me and handled any technical and legal matters. My exes assured me they don’t know how any of it got into the wrong hands, and I believe them. It’s water under the bridge.”

The Japanese guest, one Rick recalled being named Sumiyoshi, scoffed audibly and sneered. “If anyone where we’re from tried to make any of us lose that kind of face, they wouldn’t be able to disappear. Not unless we wanted ‘em to.”

One of the other foreign guests let out a sharp hissing sound, a noise making it clear his companion should allow the subject to be dropped.

As the server arrived with the drinks, Rick took the moment to stand and rebutton his coat. “I deeply, sincerely apologize for any awkwardness.” He whispered to the server to just set his drink on the table in front of the group and allow someone else to take it. “If any of you need any form of extra care, please don’t hesitate to let me know. Anything. No questions.”

“Absolutely not,” the man who chided Patti said firmly. “I won’t allow it. Wayland Moniker was right to fight for a host like you, and I’ll make sure your seniors know it.”

Several of the Japanese guests bowed their heads to show their agreement. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Menser,” one of the older ones said, head remaining lowered. “Your diligence has been exemplary.”

In response to this, Patti let out a high-pitched, audible sob, and leapt from her seat to scurry out of the lounge, her face covered by a hand.

“Pardon me,” Rick said to the group, moving to follow Patti (and assure her that her gross negligence of his privacy wasn’t anything she needed to be ashamed of…no matter how much of a crock of shit that was). 

One of Patti’s friends immediately rose and placed a hand in front of Rick. “No, no, Rick. I can handle that. You get back to your job, we have stolen you long enough. Thank you for such a wonderful time.”

Relieved, Rick gave a short nod to her. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Excuse me.”

Rick parted ways with the guests, and made eye contact with absolutely no one before escaping through an employee door. In the quiet of the back halls, he sighed and slumped against a wall for a few moments. He could only hope the other guests were serious about praising him in front of the rest of management, because Rick had few hopes about Patti’s clownery not actually coming back to bite him in the ass. 

***

As the night went on (between the slow trickle of a few guests having to check out before morning and missing the entertainment of the retreat’s final night) Rick felt his anxiety wane as indeed, several guests sent glowing compliments to Dunes’ management. He wrapped up his duties for the night, and trudged his way to his room on site, this singular day and night siphoning more of his energy than the rest of the weekend combined.

Just before he took off his glasses, however, a notification popped up from a name he didn’t recognize—it being written in kanji. Rick paused before removing his tie, and opened it. A window filled his vision, Sumiyoshi’s face greeting him. Rick half-expected to see one of the many rooms offering diversions for the guests behind him, but Sumiyoshi appeared to be in his suite. 

“Sumiyoshi…Rin, correct?” Rick began, bringing up the guest list by pure memory.

A half-grin formed on the man’s chiseled face, and he nodded. “Yeah,” he replied in his perfectly-acclimated mastery of American English. “Rin is fine, by the way. And I just found out your name is Maverick?”

By reflex, Rick replied, “Please, Rick, I insist. Is there anything I can do for you?” He wasn’t entirely sure what digging Rin did since they parted ways hours ago…Rick had his full name on approximately zero of his professional links.

Pausing a moment, Sumiyoshi ran a hand through his cropped, black hair. “Yeah, if you could. You know…my associates and I were really impressed with how you handled yourself earlier.”

Self-consciously, Rick gave a nod of appreciation to Rin. “If anything, I can’t apologize enough. We do our best to keep that kind of unpleasantness out of guest sight.”

Laughing once, in a way that made Rick suddenly wonder if Rin wasn’t actually US-born, Rin shook his head. “No, no, I mean it. More than that, this is the first time some of them have been to a Wayland Moniker thing.”

Thing, Rick noted, another more native word choice. “I hope we met all expectations.”

“They fuckin’ loved it,” Rin replied. “They want to set somethin’ up in Kyoto, and they’re dead set on you being there.”

Taken aback by the sudden offer (and the rapid loosening of Rin’s speech), a smile overtook Rick’s face. “We don’t have an extensive presence in the area, but I would be honored to tailor some packages for you.”

“How long?” Rin asked.

“How long would it take me to design an experience?” Rick asked to clarify for himself. “I could have a few suggestions waiting for you by the time you make landfall at home.”

Smirking, his full lips pursed, Rin cocked an eyebrow. “Or…you could come up to my room and we can make some suggestions tonight?”

A professional meeting so spur of the moment wasn’t unheard of, not by any means. It was well-past time for Rick to be winding down to sleep, but this kind of opportunity with the Takauji Conglomerate wouldn’t happen twice.  “Let me grab my deck, and I can be there in twenty.”

“Alright,” Rin affirmed. “I know you know which number.” He then disconnected.

Taking in a deep breath, Rick allowed himself only a moment before mustering his thoughts. Dipping in the bathroom, Rick rinsed his mouth and face to give some impression he was more refreshed than possible after as long as a day as he just went through. Changing out suit coats, he simultaneously ran through what Wayland Moniker connections existed on mainland Japan, information scrolling over his glasses at rapid-fire rate. He also did a quick swap of ties, deliberate in his choice of one in the same gold as the Sumiyoshi-kai’s primary color. 

Every detail mattered during informal courtship.

His business deck in hand, Rick strode through the main halls of the resort as he made his way to the presidential suites. Excitement roiled in his chest, eager to give good news to his bosses in the morning. He arrived at Sumiyoshi Rin’s room and rolled his shoulders out once before reconstructing a calm smile and knocking.

Rather than answering directly, the lock indicator simply changed from red to green. Rick opened the door and stepped in, allowing it to clack closed behind as he eased himself into the suite’s main seating area. “Sumiyoshi-san?” he said loudly. From Rin’s call, Rick expected other Takauji members to already be present, but the empty sofas and chairs around the low central table said otherwise. The lamps around the spacious seating and bar era were lit, but only enough for Rick to see the shape of his reflection in the wall to ceiling windows—sharp in contrast to the black night over the dunes.

“Just one sec,” a voice called from the door to the bedroom and bath. 

“I’ll just take a seat,” Rick replied, sitting and opening his deck on the table. He adjusted his glasses and started bringing up what little information he’d started gathering over his digital workspace.   

A noticeable shift in the room’s humidity brought Rick’s attention to the bedroom door, and Rin stepped through. Rick froze, stunned to see steam wafting off of Rin’s wide, bare shoulders, and water dotted over his round pecs as he lifted a hand to slick back his wet hair. Wearing only a towel, Rick soaked in an unobstructed view of Rin’s toned, firm body, and the striking yakuza tattoos that covered his upper arms, wrapping around his back and hugging his upper chest. Vibrant carp swam through coils of waves on his right side, shifting and transforming into dragons that wound around his left.

Easing to a stop beside the table, a hand resting on the folded towel around his waist, a smirk tugged at Rin’s lips. “You…gonna keep recording or…?”

Turning red, Rick quickly yanked off his AR glasses and fumbled to slip them into his inside pocket. “Sorry! S-Sorry. I wasn’t in recording mode, I was just…”

“Staring?”

Rick tried to cover his embarrassment with a pained chuckle, and he locked his eyes onto the deck’s screen. “My b—Excuse me. However relaxed you want to be for a discussion is fine.” 

No matter how well (or poorly) Rick could cover being flustered, he couldn’t suppress his sharp awareness that nothing about this situation was business as usual. From what Rick knew, the Japanese might have fewer inhibitions when in spa or onsen settings, but no meeting, no matter how informal, was this informal. Especially not with a foreigner. 

And if Rin was as American as Rick suspected, then Rin’s behavior was clearly a power move. Rin knew about Rick’s bisexuality, Rin even pressed about it when in the lounge that evening. But Rick could keep himself together. He wouldn’t duck out just because he couldn’t handle being near an (extremely) attractive man. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t a big deal. It had been almost three years since Rick and Angelica had a man together (what wealthy couple was strictly monogamous, after all?), but it wasn’t a big deal. 

Watching Rick collect himself, Rin chuckled. “Uh huh. None of that ‘san’ shit on this side of the Pacific, ‘kay?”

“My apologies,” Rick said. “I shouldn’t assume, but you are fairly-high ranking in Sumiyoshi-kai…?” 

Flopping onto the sofa beside Rick (the towel concealing precious little as it waved with the movement), Rin draped an arm on the sofa back and stretched out his neck. “Mm. That would be a leap if you didn’t actually know. Is that some of that Wayland Moniker confidentiality?”

 “Your family have been regular clients for over a hundred years—unrelated to the Takauji Conglomerate,” Rick replied coolly, bringing up project templates on his deck.

“And you just bring up those numbers without lookin’ at ‘em,” Rin noted, a color of amusement in his voice.

Allowing his own smirk, Rick continued to keep his eyes away from Rin and focused on his prep work. “Does that intimidate you?”

A laugh tumbled out of Rin, warm and genuine. “Your sense of humor is what got you married, isn’t it?”

Rick paused, and his gaze briefly landed on his wedding band, but he ignored the question. “If no one else is showing up, I can at least give you a run down of the resorts Wayland Moniker has joint ownership of in Japan. But honestly, we can make anything happen. If there’s experiences you and your partners have in mind, I know we can…” His voice dried in his throat as Rin took hold of Rick’s left hand and lifted it up to study the wedding band, his rough digits tracing across Rick’s own.

“You had every chance to leave the second you knew I didn’t call you in for this. What are you trying to prove, Maverick?”

The sound of his birth name was the only thing that could knock Rick out of his momentary trance. “R-Rick…” he mumbled, his eyes drifting to Rin’s, and the visible embers radiating from their dark depths.

Lids half-open, Rin ran his gaze over Rick’s hand, then gradually brought it toward his lips. Rick felt the man’s heat waft over his skin. Then, as Rin slipped the ring finger into his mouth, Rick’s breath shuddered sharply. Smoothly, Rin’s tongue caressed his finger, then stroked the web between his ring and middle fingers. Easing them out, Rin then rested the captive hand on the towel draped between his legs. “Mav,” he whispered.  

His breath shaky, Rick made no effort to reclaim his hand, instead feeling the unmistakable, rigid shape under the plush cloth. Not long, but wide and solid, throbbing hungrily. “I…c…”

Rin abruptly turned in the sofa to lean closer to Rick and rested his fingertips near his lips. “You about to say you can’t? When I’m watching you wanting it?”

Rick was rapidly losing himself, a tremble taking over his entire frame. He couldn’t think straight. This wasn’t what Angelica would want, and it wasn’t what Wayland Moniker expected of him. He couldn’t even decide if he wanted Rin as much as his stubborn disregard of all warnings suggested—but a fire was rising, and quickly overcoming Rick’s senses. “I sho—”

With a nudge of his hips, Rin’s erection pressed harder into Rick’s hand. Rin’s fingers drew a line from his lips and rested on Rick’s jaw, then a brief, faint whirr signaled a shift under Rin’s skin. Directly inside Rick’s ear (through a vibration from Rin’s fingers), a sound played—a familiar one that caused Rick to tense and his breathing to seize. The voice moaning in pleasure was his own, an unrestrained, higher pitch that would tumble from Rick unconsciously when in the throes of deepest ecstasy. This was a very specific recording of that sound, the images that accompanied the college-age footage immediately overtaking Rick’s mind.

Mortified, Rick jolted back from Rin’s touch and his stomach lurched violently. “Oh God, how could you possibly have found th—?”

Following Rick’s movement and straddling over him, Rin held Rick’s wrist in a vise, the other gripped his tie. The towel slid off Rin’s waist from the jostling, and he smiled down at Rick’s wide-eyed stare. “Doesn’t matter. All that matters is I want that. Right now the only fantasy I want is you.”

Panting, Rick’s eyes locked onto Rin, unable to swivel his gaze to see more than his savage expression. “F-Fantas…?”

“Don’t pretend this isn’t getting you hard,” Rin murmured, his grip on Rick’s wrist tightening. “Ain’t no damn way little wifey can fuck you the way you want to be fucked. Yeah?” Helpless under the shorter man’s superior strength, Rick made no resistance as Rin pulled on the tie and brought their faces close. His breath heavy and wanting, Rin whispered, “Whimper for me like you did in that video, Mav. Give it to me. I want it.”

No matter how many conflicting thoughts battled through his head, he melted under Rin’s scorching touch. He wanted to be this desired, and something about being called “Mav” only made that desire all the more intense. His eyes fluttering closed, Rick surrendered to the demand, and a soft sound fell from his parted lips. 

Rin’s chest rumbled from a purr of approval. “That’s it.”

“F-Fuck me,” Rick whispered desperately.

Rin pressed their lips together, and Rick fell into a daze as their tongues sought each other. Savage growls from Rin brought out eager pants from Rick, the octaves already starting to climb in a way he normally fought to suppress. Rick was this man’s fantasy, he said, a bestial hunger Rin couldn’t deny. Rick’s head rolled back and he moaned as he felt Rin’s hands move to yank open his suit coat and wrap his strong arms around his chest, gripping and clawing at Rick’s back through his expensive shirt’s fabric. 

Rin’s tongue slid across the column of Rick’s neck as Rick wiggled his shoulders to slide his coat off. “L-Let me get my shirt off,” Rick said breathily, writhing under the brushes of Rin’s teeth against the quivering skin of his throat. 

Unintelligible Japanese rolled out of Rin’s mouth, and, on his knees, he leaned back from Rick—though he still held firmly to Rick’s tie like a silk lead. From the distance allowed, Rick squirmed and shifted to get his shirt and collar unbuttoned in a rush. As he fought with his shirt, his eyes darted between Rin biting his lip in lust, and Rin’s exposed lower half. The faintest line beside Rin’s raised cock suggested he had work done, and as it gradually expanded past its prior length, Rick’s assumptions were proven correct. Few things were sexier than a cybered-up dick.

With a final jerk, the shirt whipped out from under the tie, and Rick threw it aside. Grinning, Rin yanked on Rick’s collar, and slapped his other hand on the top of Rick’s head to shove it into his crotch.. Without hesitation, Rick’s tongue dragged over and circled the head of Rin’s cock, sighing as Rin moaned gratefully. Taking a breath, Rick brought his mouth over it, and Rin hissed loudly in pleasure as Rick took in every last inch.  

“Shit—!” 

A muffled giggle came from Rick, then he shifted it to a gentle hum as he slid his tensed lips up and down the length of Rin’s member. The fierce hold on Rick’s hair gradually eased into sensual strokes as Rin settled into the sofa. While Rin’s leathered fingers wove through Rick’s hair, he wished he had more of it for Rin to play with—the soothing, encouraging sensation was such a drastic difference from Rin’s previous domination. Rick continued to taste Rin, moving one hand to firmly hold the base, while the other reached to massage his balls. At this, Rin’s head lolled back and he exhaled in appreciation. 

“Fuck, you’re good at that…” Rin said in a low murmur. His hand idly dropped the tie, and he brought up both hands to rub his face. “Hold on for a sec.”

Slowly, very deliberately, Rick raised his head and released Rin’s dick, inwardly reveling at the arch of Rin’s back as they parted. “I should finish getting undressed…” The statement was also a question, a need for assurance that Rin wasn’t going to simply get sucked off and kick his whore out as soon as he was satisfied. 

(And fuck, the thought of being called a whore just got Rick hotter.)

To Rick’s relief, Rin nodded and shook out his still-damp hair. He stood and lazily motioned for Rick to do the same. Their half a head in height difference was striking when Rick reluctantly brought himself to his feet, making him feel gangly and strangely exposed, despite being half-dressed. Rin made no indication of Rick towering over him being any deterrent, his upward gaze into Rick’s face smoldering and formidable. 

Instead of helping Rick out of his clothes, Rin’s eyes drifted over Rick’s bare skin, and gently raised his hands to his chest. “Go on,” he said, his neutral tone belying the power in the demand. 

Shyly, Rick undid his tie and let it fall from his neck, then unbuckled his belt as he stepped out of his shoes. Rin continued to give no assistance, just watching intensely as Rick unbuttoned his pants and slid the zipper down—taking it in like a personal performance. Rin’s hands rested around Rick’s ribcage, then the thumbs brushed over his nipples. Rick moaned by reflex, his back shifting while Rin played with them, repeatedly stroking the raised flesh and sending electric shocks down Rick’s back.

“Oh, you like that?” Rin said with a grin, just before lowering his face to start sucking on one of Rick’s nipples. In between licking one, then the other, Rin added, “Don’t stop. Lemme see that cock.” 

With a sharp gasp, Rick drunkenly closed his eyes and moaned. He wrangled the band of his gray briefs away from his hips, and both they and his pants fell down his legs. The instant he felt his erection meet the air, Rin’s hand wrapped around it and made Rick’s back straighten sharply. “Rin…!”

Stroking him, Rin leaned closer and dragged his tongue over Rick’s collarbone. He then chuckled. “You have no idea how fuckin’ hot I think those garter things are.”

Suddenly taken from the moment, Rick threw a self-conscious glance at the garters holding his socks above his calves and physically winced. “They’re not even thigh highs, please don’t make me fuck in socks.”

Both Rin’s smile and eyes widened, and his hands wrapped around Rick to fiercely slap them into a grip on his ass—sending a startled cry out of Rick. That kind of hold might leave souvenirs…!

“Stop me,” Rin said with a half-growl. He then pushed another shocked exclamation out of Rick as he bodily slung the taller man over his shoulder. 

“Oh, fuck…!” Rick blurted dumbly, too shocked to do more than steady himself across Rin as he was bodily carried into the bedroom. While Rin certainly looked built enough to pull it off, Rick couldn’t help but wonder if the cybernetics he showed off in his hand before indicated more in the arms. Laughing in delight, Rick allowed himself to be tossed carelessly onto the blanketed ocean of a bed, his shoulders shaking from his excitement. Gazing up at Rin, he said, “No one’s done that before.”

Throwing his square-shouldered shadow over Rick, Rin tilted his head. “Fine,” he purred. “I’ll be the first to treat you like the whore you are.”

Rick’s eyes grew larger, a twinge of shame tugging at him for how thrilled being called that did actually make him. “Yes…Yes, I am…I am such a bitch.”

“That’s what I thought.” Kneeling forward, Rin ran his hands along the sides of Rick’s legs, cradling his hips as he hovered his mouth over his abdomen. In anticipation, Rick rolled his shoulders and murmured eagerly, soaking in each kiss that trailed down his midsection, stopping at the base of his member. 

“Rin…Oh, oh, please…!” Rick cried out in pleasure as Rin wrapped his mouth over his cock. Rubbing his hands on Rin’s shoulders, Rick repeatedly moaned and gasped as Rin sucked on him expertly. He bobbed his head, grunting with each thrust of Rick’s cock further into him, and pushed on by Rick’s subtle writhing. 

“Oh, oh, fuck…!”

At last, Rin parted his mouth and took a loud lungful of air as he straightened. Trembling, Rick pinched his own nipples as he hotly gazed up at Rin. Rin watched Rick tug and flick at his nipples eagerly, fondling his chest into a passable cleavage. 

A smile spread over Rin’s face as Rick bit his lip and silently begged for more. He rested a hand on his cock and began stroking it, squeezing its base in a curious way. “What do you want?” A viscous fluid seeped out of the tip of Rin’s cock. Rick’s jaw went slack as he realized Rin had some very nice modifications as Rin coated what was undeniably lube over his length. 

An unconscious whimper came out of Rick, and he began to back himself further across the bed. He rolled onto his belly, and threw a lustful look over his shoulder as he spread his legs apart.

Propping himself behind Rick, Rin reached a hand and rubbed his thumb around the rim of his hole. Rick could hear himself implore, his voice pitching to a feminine whine while Rin pressed around the skin and repeatedly circled, but didn’t penetrate. Rin brought out such ridiculous desires from him, pulled reactions from the deepest, most embarrassing corners of Rick’s sex-addled brain. But Rick’s metaphorical transformations didn’t stop Rin. Rin didn’t recoil, didn’t insult, didn’t laugh, he instead slapped a hand across Rick’s ass and hissed as Rick screamed in delight. Taking hold of Rick’s hip, he steadied his heaving, glistening cock, and then firmly pushed into him.

Rick howled in pleasure, his head snapping back from the sensation of being so utterly filled. His hands went from clasping at the blankets, to bundling them under his chest to help prop himself as fevered thrusts shook his entire frame. Rin’s powerful hands clamped on Rick’s hips, he heaved and panted as he pounded, the slapping of their bodies unable to be drowned out by Rick’s passionate cries. 

“That’s it,” Rin snarled. “That’s what I wanna hear…!”

“Oh, Christ!” Rick wailed, lost as his eyes rolled back.  He repeatedly gasped Rin’s name, like a punctuation to each retreat and return of his ravenous body. Then Rick’s eyes blearily drifted to the bedroom’s window, and the reflection of the two of them in their tangle of muscle, skin, and sweat. The way that the blankets bundled beneath Rick made his masculine silhouette blur, and Rin mounted him like he was satisfying a desperate female in heat. 

His eyes widening, Rick clutched the blankets harder. “R-Rin! Rin! Touch me, I wanna cum like this…!”

“Fuck yeah,” Rin seethed, gasping as he slid a hand reach Rick’s member. He gripped him, stroking to match the motion of Rin’s cock in and out. “You want me to make you cum.”

   “Yes!” Rick pleaded hotly, rocking his hips with each impact of their bodies, and crying out in ecstasy. The pressure and heat blended and intensified with Rin’s touch, and Rick’s face contorted as he watched that feminine double in the window being both furiously railed and yanked. “Oh, that’s it…that’s it…!”

Gritting his teeth, Rin violently shook droplets of sweat from his hair. “You want it, Mav, fucking cum. Fucking cum.”

“I want it…!” Then abruptly, a fire overtook Rick’s entire body, and the genderless thing in the window parted their lips in a violent scream of pure rapture. While still trapped in the throes of orgasm, Rick felt Rin’s hand flee from his cock to replant itself back on his other hip. His strength and senses leaving him, Rick was unable to protest the sudden and exponential rise in the ferocity of Rin’s pounding. Little more than a panting, powerless toy, Rick bit his lip and struggled against his body’s pleas for Rin to be done with it and release him. He half-hoped that being Rin’s plaything would last hours…

Abruptly, Rin’s entire frame seized, and he moaned out deeply, curling against Rick’s back as he tensed. Heaving out groans into Rick’s ear, he slowly let his grip relax, and sank against him fully, pulling out of Rick’s body as he did.

The two panted in a post-orgasm fog, and gradually Rin dragged himself to flop beside Rick. They did nothing more than catch their breaths for a bit, Rick staring up at the ceiling dumbly. Rin grunted out something in Japanese, petting the top of Rick’s head momentarily before groggily sitting up. He stretched out his neck and back, and left Rick to stagger into the bathroom and close the door behind him.

 Stunned, Rick’s senses began to settle by degrees, brought to reality by the sensation of lying alone in a puddle of sex. He replayed the visions that invaded his mind during their passion, and he swallowed uncomfortably. He hadn’t acted like that in a long time, well into dating Angelica. Rick didn’t like it when he lost control of himself, rolling around and moaning like a revolting caricature of a porn star. A femme porn star, at that. What the hell was wrong with him, that he felt the need to giggle and squeal like a freak? He hadn’t done that in years, it was cartoonish, and Rin should have mocked him for it.

Like others did…

The flush of the toilet preceded the flinging open of the door, and without a word, Rin lumbered back into the suite’s entertaining area.

Rick watched him disappear, the shapes of his ominous tattoos lingering in Rick’s vision like an after-image. All of this was a mistake. Rick knew that the second he saw Rin walk out in a towel, but he couldn’t imagine what else he could have done. Refused a client? A member of the yakuza? Gotten indignant like an insulted straight man? Run out like a terrified victim?

Rick chose the only real option, and at least got some bombastic sex out of it. Angelica would never find out. Who knew? She’d probably agree with Rick’s choice. He brought himself to his knees, and idly pulled the blanket over his chest. He didn’t dare look at his reflection, but his eyes lingered over the shape of him covering himself, vulnerable in a tangle of post-coital thoughts and anxieties.  

His attention suddenly snapped to Rin, who stood in the bedroom’s door, leaning an arm on the frame. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Rick replied, blushing as he brushed his hair away from his forehead.

Rin grinned smugly. “All-inclusive retreat, right?”

Uncomfortably, Rick forced himself to chuckle. “I hope the service was acceptable.”

Meaningfully, Rin titled his head and thinned his eyes. “Best service the whole weekend. When do you wrap up and head back to Kingston?” 

Unconsciously, Rick’s hand gripped the blanket tighter, suddenly anxious under Rin’s steely gaze. “Everyone not paying for extra days with the resort checks out by one p.m. That’s when it’s officially over. My flight is at four.”

Rin tossed something, causing Rick to flinch as it landed on the blanket beside him. 

“No, it’s not,” Rin said casually. “You don’t leave tomorrow, you leave Wednesday. Call your wife. Tell her.”

Dumbly, Rick’s eyes landed on his phone, now laying beside him, then back up at Rin. “I…what?” he murmured lamely.

Strolling beside the bed, Rin pointed at the phone he’d taken from Rick’s discarded clothes. “The phone. Use it. Call her and tell her you’re not coming back until Wednesday. Late Wednesday.”

Wincing, Rick picked up his phone, and turned to crawl off the bed. “You know, I’m sorry, I can’t. This was great, but—”

A stony hand landed on Rick’s shoulder, then shoved him back on the bed. His breath pushed out of him, Rick blinked up at Rin. “R-Rin?” he mumbled, in shock. “I’m not saying it can’t happen again, I want it to!” he blurted, acutely small under Rin’s unreadable stare. “Hell, we’ll be meeting in Kyoto, right? We’ll make it a date. Ride your—cock in a kimono?” he stammered. His eyes widened as Rin firmly took hold of the wrist holding the phone.

“Be a good girl and call your wife,” Rin said, his voice cool. “Tell her you’ll be back on Wednesday.”

A cold sweat breaking out over him, Rick wirelessly connected his phone to his network implants, and mechanically made a call. After several rings, Angelica’s voice greeted him, directly in his head. 

“Hey, Ricki,” Angelica said brightly. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until tomorrow. How are you?”

“Great,” Rick said with perfect control. His gaze settled firmly on Rin’s dick as he knelt on the edge of the bed and stroked it silently. “You know I miss you.”

“Always,” she replied with a light laugh. “But you wouldn’t need to call me unless something came up.”

Rick swallowed once, the effort of keeping his breath even herculean. “Yeah,” he said with a performative tinge of disappointment. “Something came up. Nothing about the retreat itself, just some networking I can’t miss out on.”

“Of course you can’t!” Angelica immediately agreed. “I love to hear it. When will you be back? Is this gonna be a big hunt, or what?”

Forcing a chuckle, Rick swallowed as Rin draped next to him, his rock-hard cock level with Rick’s face and open mouth. “Don’t get too excited, hon, I don’t know what you’re expecting. Should be l-late Wednesday—at the latest.”

“Thanks for letting me know, hon,” Angelica said gently. “Go get ‘em.”

“Sure thing,” Rick whispered. “I—I love you, babe.”

“I love you too. Hear from you soon. Call me tomorrow night, if you can.”

“I hope I can,” he replied. “G’night.”

Angelica allowed a kiss sound to serve as her goodbye, and Rick went completely numb as the call disconnected. 

Rin’s hand petted the side of Rick’s face, moving between affectionate caresses across his cheeks to moving aside strands of his brunette hair. Rin then gently turned his head to bring Rick’s lips to his awaiting erection. Without argument, Rick’s mouth accepted him, and his eyes closed as started moving his head. 

“That’s it…” Rin cooed softly. “Fuck, you’re amazing. And now I can’t stop thinkin’ about you bucking in my lap in a kimono. That is getting me so hot, we are gonna make that happen. A woman’s kimono,” he said in between soft sighs and short moans. “Blue…naw, pink, with sakura print. You’re gonna look so sexy with the shoulders slipping off, Mav. I know people that tailor ‘em custom for men…Wifey won’t even know what she’s missing.”

 No, she wouldn’t. Never. Rick could never let her know just how easily he was reduced to…whatever the hell he was right then. All he knew was Rin treating him like some kind of concubine made it too easy to go along with whatever he demanded. So long as Rin kept calling him Mav, maybe he’d never break free. 

…Maybe he’d never want to. Rick wasn’t sure. Or Mav? Mav…________________________________________________________________

Rowan trembled as they closed the door to the apartment, a rising tide of anxiety swelling in their gut—the stress aches in their shoulders reminding them that forty was much closer than they liked to accept. 

Thirty-seven, a year divorced, and a wealth of all zero options for a single person to also appreciate Rowan’s extensive body work. It was easy to say the changes were only for Rowan when they started transitioning, a lot harder to feel like they’d ever be loved again when in an empty apartment.

In a daze, their feet dug alleys into the plush carpet as they dragged themselves past the still-unpacked boxes that formed a backdrop behind the office furniture serving as their kitchen table—one of the few pieces Rowan pried away from their ex-wife’s clutches. The chairs didn’t remotely match the table, just four bought from a budget homeware store that were vaguely in the same color.

Rowan sank into a chair, sighing as they fit poorly into the rigid, reconstructed wood. They tossed the newest set of papers served to them into the pile. This made the fifth credit card out of seven suing them since they lost their job as a high-level marketing manager at Wixel Media. 

Rowan wasn’t entirely sure their lawyer knew why exactly so many cards defaulted simultaneously, or that the new job in vacation sales didn’t remotely come close to paying their bills. Not the creditors, and definitely not a lawyer. With how abysmal Rowan’s performance numbers were, they doubted this latest job was going to last long. 

They were trying. They were trying so hard. They just needed a chance to bounce back. Rowan hadn’t been below upper management since their early twenties. They could still do that kind of work! Someone just…someone had to give them the chance…

Breaking down, Rowan folded their arms and wept. At least accepting not being a man meant they didn’t feel the need to swallow down tears anymore. If only Rowan could just make it one goddamn day without crying, that’d be a step up.

A notification momentarily interrupted Rowan’s newest downward spiral. Wiping their face with their hands, they sniffled noisily and picked up their phone. Someone with a protected number sent Rowan a text: I can make it go away.

Blinking away moisture, Rowan stared at it curiously. This was a new phone under their new legal name…what kind of spam was that?

A new one: Just let me make it go away. 

Mav.

Audibly, Rowan gasped, the phone slipping from their fingers. In a mad dash, Rowan grabbed their shoes and coat, shoving the phone in their pocket as they ran for the door. They had to get to their carrier and end the account. No question. No blocking this protected number, just drop the carrier and get a new number with a new company. One of Rowan’s credit cards was still good. They even had just enough to swap to an entirely new phone. Who cared how many accounts and contacts were attached to this number? 

Done. Gone. Bye.

Rowan was never going to be Mav again. They were Rowan. Rowan.

Rowan…

[omanelectronics]

10 Exciting Eid Gifting Ideas for Him and Her

Eid al-Fitr is an important Islamic holiday that marks the end of Ramadan, the holy month of fasting. This is a time for family gatherings, feasting, and exchanging gifts. If you're struggling to find the perfect Eid gift for your loved ones, look no further. We've compiled a list of 10 exciting Eid gifting ideas for him and her and some suggestions for friends and family members.

Top Eid Gifts Ideas for Him

Smartphones - With the latest Ramadan deals in 2023, you can grab some of the best smartphone deals. It's an ideal gift for tech-savvy men.

Laptops - A new laptop can be an excellent gift idea if he's a workaholic. He'll appreciate the convenience and versatility of a portable computer.

Shaver and Trimmers - Help keep your man's beard or moustache in top shape with a high-quality shaver or trimmer. It's a thoughtful gift that shows you care about his grooming needs.

Smartwatches - A smartwatch can be a great gift for men who love to stay connected and track their fitness goals.

Fitness Trackers - Fitness enthusiasts will appreciate a fitness tracker to help them monitor their health and stay motivated.

Audio accessories - From headphones to speakers, audio accessories are a fantastic gift idea for music lovers.

Drones - If your man is interested in photography or videography, a drone can be an exciting gift that takes his hobby to new heights.

Top Best Eid Gifts Ideas for Her

Perfume - Women love to smell good, so a perfume bottle is always a safe and thoughtful gift choice.

Grooming Kit - A grooming kit with a hairbrush, comb, and other essentials is a practical gift that any woman can use.

Fragrances Set - A set of fragrances with different scents is an excellent choice for women who like to experiment with their perfume.

Earphone - A high-quality earphone is an ideal gift if she loves listening to music or podcasts.

Hair Styling Tools - From curling irons to hair straighteners, hair styling tools are an excellent gift for women who love experimenting with their hair.

What are the best gifts for your Friends and Family Members?

Air Purifier - An air purifier is an ideal gift for family members who suffer from allergies or asthma.

DSLRs - For photography enthusiasts, a new DSLR camera is a gift that will be much appreciated.

Microwave - A microwave is a practical gift that any family can use. Whether to heat up any meal in a rush or bake delicious food while creating memories together, a microwave is the perfect appliance!

Juicer - If you have health-conscious family members, a juicer is a perfect gift to encourage them to maintain a healthy lifestyle.

Coffee Machine - A coffee machine is an ideal gift for coffee lovers who enjoy a fresh cup of coffee every morning.

Which is the Best Place to Buy Eid Gifts Online in Oman?

When buying Eid gifts online in Oman, Sharaf DG Oman is one of the best places to shop. With Eid offers in UAE 2023 and Eid discounts on electronics, you can grab some of the best deals and discounts on a wide range of products.

FAQ

Why do people give gifts during Eid?

Giving gifts is an important part of Eid al-Fitr celebrations. It symbolizes love, appreciation, and gratitude towards loved ones.

2. What to give as a gift for Eid?

You can give a wide variety of Eid gifts, from clothing and accessories to electronics and home appliances. The key is choosing a thoughtful, practical, and meaningful gift.

3.What are traditional gifts at Eid?

Traditional gifts at Eid include sweets, dates, and money. In some cultures, it is also customary to give new clothes, especially for children, as a symbol of renewal and new beginnings. In some cultures, giving to charity or donating to those in need is traditional during Eid celebrations.

Original Source : https://electronicsblogsoman.blogspot.com/2023/04/10-exciting-eid-gifting-ideas-for-him.html

[smartcoolstuff]

Some of the smart and cool stuff that you must buy in 2022

In this article, we are going to take a look at some of the smart and cool stuff that you must buy in 2022.

Anti-dirt Breathable T-shirt

The need for anti-dirt breathable t-shirts for men is not new.

The anti-dirt breathable t-shirt is available on SmartAndCoolStuff.com. It is made entirely of cotton. The ideal choice for an adventurous trip is this. Your casual look will be completed by an anti-dirt breathable t-shirt. You can easily wash it with your hands or a washing machine.

Butt Lifter bodysuit for women

Women's Butt Lifter bodysuit has outstanding results. By simply donning the specially designed undergarment, they offer a quick and easy butt lift. Additionally, the comfort of this particular shapewear is surprising.

Since most of them don’t contain foam or silicone cups, which tend to move around due to constant movement throughout the day, this shapewear offers a natural appearance.

Let’s face it, not everyone is gifted in every way, and having some curves can help you in different ways.

Last but not least, if you really value having a nicely shaped booty when you look in the mirror, you might want to think about purchasing a Butt Lifter because they are effective.

Electric Straightening Comb

Your beard has grown out; it is long, thick, and… a little out of control.

Perhaps it has an odd wave down the middle, or perhaps it is much coarser and curlier and rounder than you had hoped.

In either case, you’ve noticed some unruly areas of your beard that you want to control.

You’ve probably seen advertisements for Electric Beard Straightening Comb while looking for solutions to your beard blemishes. These heated brushes make the bold claim that they can instantly transform your beard from gnarly to glorious.

The truth is that Electric Straightening Combs is not new. With the popularity of beards Increasing over the past ten years, a competitive Electric Straightening Comb market aimed at bearded men was inevitable.

Anti-Gravity Phone Case

The ideal cell phone case for your iPhone can be stylish, practical, and cutting-edge. For influencers, travelers, and those seeking convenience, anti-gravity phone cases are the upcoming big thing.

You can mount your iPhone on objects like glass, dashboards, mirrors, and cabinets by using Anti Gravity Phone Case For iPhone.

With your iPhone mounted, you can perform any task, including watching YouTube tutorials while preparing food or applying makeup. With the help of the Anti Gravity Phone Case, you can use the GPS on your iPhone while mounting it in your car, watching Netflix in the bathtub, or recording yourself while working out.

For more info:- 

swimwear push up pads

waterproof bikini pads

silicone bikini push up pads

Source URL:-

https://padlet.com/smartandcoolstuff01/syiojlvil8nxtyqv

[myscree]

4  Advantages of Automatic Hand Wash Dispenser

[dmwrites]

Gem was, as the kids would say, really pissed off. She had been building all morning long, just to realize she had been looking at the blueprint upside down, and would have to move a huge wall, tearing down weeks worth of work.

“I need to fucking braid something!” Gem practically growled. She, upon making that statement, dug straight down and through the ceiling of Impulse’s base, crashing on top of his nether portal.

“Gem, there better be a very good reason why you just dug through the ceiling.” Impulse appeared at the top of some stairs, arms crossed, watching her make her way to the ground.

“Impulse, I'm pissed the fuck off, and it’s not cottagecore at all, and I need to calm down. Can I re-braid your beard?”

“Nope.” Impulse had his beard up in some kind of ridiculous net thing. “Im doing redstone today, so the beard is away. Oo that rhymed!” Gem started making complaining noises and stomped her feet. “Oh my goodness Gem, just go find someone else with a beard or long hair! It can’t be that hard!” Impulse turned back around and went back to whatever dumb redstone machine he was working on.

Gem huffed, stepping backwards into the portal. It was hot in the nether, which did not help her temper. She thought about going to battle some piglins, but decided against it, walking the path back to spawn portal just on a whim. Maybe there was someone to annoy there.

Of course, because the universe seemed to hate her today, spawn town was empty, as silent as can be.

“Ohhh my gosh, this is so not cottagecore!” Gem grumbled again, and turned around to leave.

There was a chuckling coming from somewhere that stopped her.

“Hello?” She looked around- she was near beef’s house and a bridge, but saw no one. “Is someone here?”

“Maybe.” Came back the voice, and there was a sound of a block breaking at her feet. Gem gasped and plummeted three blocks down, and was met with laughter. TFC was cackling at her, leaning against the tunnel he was in, slapping his knee.

“TFC!” Gem scolded gently, smiling nonetheless.

“I had to!” TFC said, straightening up with the help of his pickaxe. “It was funny!”

Gem sighed at him, looking him up and down. She hasn’t had many interactions with the oldest hermit- he really was a hermit, and Impulse had told her stories about his insane mines that went on for thousands of blocks. Looking at him now, so close, she could believe all the stories. He was dressed in soft but grimy clothes, with a huge pickaxe strapped to his back. He also had very long white hair and a white beard.

“Say, TFC, hear me out- let me braid your hair. Please.”

TFC touched his hair, which was just pulled back and tied with a scrap of leather. “Why?”

“I am a hair braiding expert! And you sir look like you could use an effortless yet cute hairstyle to keep your hair out of your face while you’re mining away. Pleeeeease??” Gem stuck out her bottom lip and gave him puppy dog eyes.

TFC sighed. “You know what. Fine. But only because my damn pickaxe is near dead and I haven’t seen the sun in twenty days.”

“Yay!!!” Gem clapped and jumped up and down. “Omg this is going to be so cottagecore! Do you have a hairbrush?”

“What’s a hairbrush?”

Gem’s face fell for a moment, but TFC burst into laughter again, and she giggled along with him.

TFC and Gem spent the remainder of the day in TFC’s wooden hut. Gem brushed out his hair and explained what cottagecore was. TFC told her many stories of hermitcraft “before you were even born, young lady”. TFC let her weave flowers and handmade beads into his hair and beard, and carved a wooden flower to take back with her. The night had long-fallen by the time she had finished.

“There! Oh, TFC, it looks wonderful!” Gem squealed.

“Well ain’t that just something.” TFC looked in his mirror and ran a hand down his beard. “Well, it’s been nice, Gem, and I’ve talked more today then in the past three months. But the mines call.” He stumped to the door and picked up his pickaxe, which had somehow repaired itself. Gem followed him outside and to the entrance to his mines. “Hope you get your building figured out.” He reached up and ruffled her hair, and with a last chuckle, headed down to his mine. Gem smiled and flew back home, finally calm.

[myscree87]

Hand hygiene is something that is often preached but forgotten to be practiced. There are bacteria and germs everywhere and the bad ones outnumber the good ones. The most common places that need to be maintained clean and hygienic are public parks, public transports, and all the public and private washrooms.

[supernovafeather]

The Ghost

Duke Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Warnings : mention of death, war, injuries, blood, angst, fluff, mutual pining.

The past few days have been hard to bare, their weight crushing Leto's shoulders and back despite his will to hold it no matter what. He has to do it. He can't give up.

Your disappearance affected him more than he would ever admit and everyone knows it, sees it, feels it. His son, his advisors, soldiers, people. Everyone. His features are sharper than ever, grief digging his face even more incisively than age did, like a saw piercing through the hard shell of an oak trunk that resisted throughout hundreds of years of storms. His beard is not groomed with as much care as before, the tip of his facial hairs curling under their growth and white spots getting larger, faster than before. His eyes still commanded as much as his firm voice but their glint is no more.

Leto remembers the moment he saw the red dot of your ship vanishing from the radar screen during your mission. Everything went downhill after you got attacked so far above Arrakis. He could picture flames and metal in fusion not being caused by your ship's entrance into the atmosphere but by your opponents as they fired relentlessly. From time to time his feverish dreams show you dying onboard before the crash, or dying among the debris on the hot sand, sometimes he sees you prisoner and wishes you died instead of living what you have to.

He never acted on his feelings and it's eating him up from the inside. He leads a powerful army and couldn't at least share his respect, his devotion for you. Yes as a Colonel you should be the one devoted to your leader but he couldn't stop himself from listening to his inner voice. You would have never reciprocated anything without feeling forced or uncomfortable, it was obvious and he couldn't blame you.

"Even if these are painful days, you have to move on." Paul said.

And he was right after all. Even if keeping tracks of his sentiments is important... his people is asking its ruler to be there for them, not lost in his thoughts. After all everyone else was clear : there is no hope.

But this pinch in his heart aggravates quickly at the next military ceremony. They found someone to take your place the day after your loss. He is there. No faux pas. He is perfect in his role. But he's not you. And at some point of the ceremony, he blinks feverishly to contain the few tears gathering there. They don't run down his cheeks. He knew that otherwise they would never stop. He can only be glad no one noticed his mental absence, or so he thought before crossing his son's gaze.

But then how can ghosts appear there ? On this screen ? During this meeting hurting him more than anything else ? The one having to decide where to launch research to find your ship and your lifeless body.

Leto blinks a few times at the unexpected red dot - it shines faintly, but it does - and thinks of a hallucination. It must be one... it is impossible. Then everyone present straightens their stance as he barks his commands. Paul barely reacts, too focused on his father's face, anxiously witnessing hope illuminating his features once more. After all... it is not you who causes this red dot to appear, but the device you had on you. And if a machine shines so weakly, he doesn't dare to imagine the state of your body.

Leto joins his men, his fingers holding the radar so tight that his fingers hurt. His eyes are dry. Hope vanished. A part of himself refuses to believe it. The red dot is here, getting closer. He refuses to look up at the metallic carcass as they are landing. His men's whispers are muffled. The smell of fire fills his nostrils.

But with a jolt he leaves his ship, blind to the corpses he walks by. Uniforms are burned and bloodied but he doesn't care for now.

Then a scream turning his blood cold pierces his eardrum. One of pain as metal creaks by his left, where two of his soldiers are situated. Soon he helps them, is gaze focused on this part of the ship crushing you under its weight. You are laying on the ground, face turned to it ans crying as they try to remove what is emprisonning you.

"Everything is going to be fine." He thinks relentlessly to convince himself it will as he watches military doctors taking care of you. "Everything is going to be fine. Everything will end well. You survived. You are here. You are alive. I carried you up to this ship. I felt you in my arms. You are alive."

Everything is not going to be fine. Your body needs urgent rehydration. You need new blood. You need to eat despite your broken jaw. You need to heal from all your other damaged bones.You need to rest.

His instincts push him to protect you no matter what. Doctors take care of your physical injuries but he insists on being the one talking about the loss of your two last soldiers. He holds your hand as tears leave your left eye, the right one bandaged after an operation to save your sight. You notice his attachment quickly. Who wouldn't ? No one around you to give you flowers on the table by the side of your bed, yet he does it. The soft gazes. The low and careful voice. His words chosen wisely thanks to years in politics. His unhealthy schedule is not an obstacle as you rely mostly on chaotic sleep time due to medication. He could come to visit you by 4 am or 3 pm and find you as awake as you could, welcoming him with a smile.

Then when you can sit on your bed four months later, he can finally taste your lips as you initiate it, your hand on his nape. He smiles briefly during your eager exchange but turns back to seriousness as he deepens it. Then he smiles again with pure joy as he rests his forehead against yours, his hand grazing your cheek as you let yours on his nape.

There is no way to know clearly who pronounced this breathless "I love you" but the both of you heard it and repeats it several times.

- - - - - -

Thank you for reading, please let a comment and reblog if you liked it ! 😊

@abelslittlebunny @ophelialoveshandsomemen @salome-c @anetteaneta @dilfoscarisaac @letoatreiides @huxdameron

[septicace-writes]

Truck Stop

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a highway rest stop. Syverson x cis!F!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: smut, blowjob, fingering, PiV sex

a/N: I had a dream where a truck pulled up beside me at a truck stop and while I woke up too early for anything to happen, this is the result. Also exists as a cis!M!reader version here

1.9k words

You had been driving for hours and while the music kept you going for a while you also had gotten up at 4am and were in dire need of a break. In the middle of nowhere, on an empty highway, you keep your eyes out for a reststop. After about 30 minutes you finally find one, even though it's really just a small parking lot, a few benches and an outhouse without even so much as a vending machine. Luckily, you had some packed lunch in a cooling bag.

You walk around a bit to stretch your legs while you eat your sandwich, then soak in the sun for a while, sitting on one of the benches. In all this time you don't see a single other car so you decide to have just a quick nap before continuing your drive and get back in the car, leaning the seat back as far as possible.

You startle awake from the noise of someone knocking on your car window. For a second you're not sure where you are until you remember your drive and the stop. Sitting up straight, you look out the window and see a man standing a few steps back but looking at you. He's big, his body well-endowed with muscle under a healthy layer of fat. He sports a massive beard that does its best to hide the smile he's sending your way. As you're still taking it what's going on he gives you a little wave and motions for you to open the window. You take another look around, everything is still well-lit by the sun, no sign of it setting yet, and you don't see anyone else. The only other noticeable change is the large truck he had parked on the other side of the parking lot. Feeling a little reassured by him keeping his distance you roll down the window.

Sorry to disturb you, Miss, just wanted to make sure you're alright. He gestures to your surroundings Don't get many people riding solo and stopping here of all places.

You blink slowly, taking him in further, his voice is deep, smooth like butter and from the first word you're caught in a dream of what it might sound like in certain other situations. You're so caught up you forget to answer until

Are you... Alright? There's concern in his voice now so, quickly, you nod.

Yeah. Yes. Yep. Yeah I'm alright... Just a long drive and I needed a break. You smile in what you hope is a reassuring yet charming manner.

Glad to hear it. Just make sure you're not staying here till nightfall. The place has a bit of a reputation of... Well, less reputable folk to meet here. Damn that charming, dreamy southern accent. You're barely taking in what he's telling you but nod along anyways.

He turns to get back to his truck and in a sudden burst of bravery you speak up So... If this place is so disreputable, what brings you here?

He looks back for a moment It's part of my route. I usually don't pull in but your car here so all alone in the middle of the day had me worried. But since everything's alright I really ought to get back on the road.

Shit shit shit you don't want to say goodbye just yet. You barely know what's gotten into you when you open the door and say And what would it take to make you stay a little longer.

At that he actually turns back around, takes in your form, now leaning against your car. You push off, take a step towards him and bow your head just a little, looking at him through your eyelashes. He adjusts his posture, straightening his back, and visibly swallows.

Well, a temptation like you certainly might. If you're implying what I think you are.

Your heart is beating a million miles an hour in your chest, you did not think it was going to be that easy yet here you are, about to fuck - or rather get fucked by - this man in an empty parking lot. You take another step forward, and another, until you stand face to face with him. He's a few inches taller than you, and from so close you can smell the motor oil in his clothes. You want to reach out a hand and touch him but for a short, tense moment you both just stand there, staring at each other - neither knowing how to make the first move.

It feels like an eternity even though it's just a few heartbeats and then he places a hand cupping your neck and, looking directly into your eyes If you're sure about this, I'd like to kiss you and how could you say no so you nod, already leaning up.

His lips are warm and soft, smoothly moving over yours as he continues to hold your neck, caressing the side of your face with his thumb. The full beard tickles a little, but you can tell he keeps it well as the hairs are soft against your skin. Now distracted from your nerves, you sling your arms around his back, feeling the muscle underneath as you slide them up and down. He brings his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against his body. You moan at the feeling of his already growing erection pushing against your belly and he ceases the moment to slip his tongue between your lips.

You find the hem of his shirt and slide both your hands underneath to feel his warm skin at the same time as you grind your hips into his just a little to see how he reacts. With a growl, he breaks the kiss for just long enough to pull his shirt over his head and discard it, giving you a perfect view of the dark hair on his chest until his lips are back on yours. He lifts you up with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist. As you pull your own t-shirt off he walks you both towards his truck, leaning you against the sun-heard metal. You yelp and he pulls you back up.

Shit, sorry! Here let me... And he take your shirt and puts it behind you as a buffer. God you're gorgeous he takes you in for a moment, then nuzzles his beard into your neck and begins kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin. You squirm at the ticklish sensation but he's got a strong hold on you, not letting you get away. He works his way further down, unclasping your bra and taking it off before taking a nipple between his teeth and gently biting down while one hand pinches the other. At your enthusiastic moan, he does it again, making your rut your hips up against his body for any friction you can find.

You look down to see a devilish grin on his face before he comes back up to kiss you. You can't help another moan as he reaches his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy with just enough pressure to tease. Biting at his lower lip in revenge, you elicit a low groan. He moves his hand back to your ass, supporting you as he grinds his own, now fully hard cock against you. Panting, you bring your hands down to free him from his confines but your hands are quickly seized by one of his.

I don't remember giving you permission He all but growls, making you whimper with the loss of stimulation as he stills his hips.

Please, sir you squeak out, your brain already muddled with neediness and thankfully he seems merciful and releases your hands which immediately resume their task. Even with how shaky they are you make quick work of his button and zipper and, with an appreciative sound, finally wrap your fingers around his now freed cock. You press a line of kisses from his neck down his chest as he continues to rut into your fist, bracing himself with one hand on the car behind you. You work your way lower and lower, sliding down the hood until you hit the ground, now kneeling with his imposing endowment right at your eye level.

His free hand falls to your head as you give a testing lick to his tip before wrapping your lips around it. You slowly work him deeper until he hits the back of your throat and wrap one hand around what doesn’t fit, pumping at a maddeningly slow pace. But not for long, as the man above you gets impatient with your teasing and begins fucking into your mouth at a quicker pace. Your free hand wanders along his body until it reaches underneath to cup his balls, gently rolling and massaging them as a contrast to pace he has set. His groans and growls only spur you on, wanting to hear what he sounds like falling apart. You’re peripherally aware of your own arousal wetting your underwear, but the thought is overshadowed by your need to make him cum. Before it comes to that, he pulls out, holding your head back by the neck as you try to chase your prize.

Come back up here sweetheart he commands, voice deep and raspy with arousal and you obey, standing up. He reclaims your lips, moaning at his own taste on your tongue as he fidgets to open your trousers and gain access to your wet heat. You helplessly pant into his mouth as he begins rubbing your clit, giving you a taste of your own treatment as he starts a teasingly slow movement. When you try to rut your hips faster against him, he stops until you still again, quickly teaching you that he is in charge. In your effort to keep your hips still you wrap your arms around his torso again, hands raking over his back as you moan and pant at his ministrations. He pushes two fingers in, scissoring them to spread you open, groaning appreciatively at the way you clench around them. You whine when he pulls out, about to start begging when you notice he is lining up his cock to your entrance. With a pleading whimper, your wrap your legs around his waist as he enters you in one swift movement.

Your mind blanks for a moment at the stretch and the feeling of being so full with him that you don’t even realise he’s not moving. When you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with a smug grin. Then he braces against the car and slowly begins pulling out, drawing a long whimper from you. With a snap of his hips he fucks back in, now setting a rapid pace that drives any and all coherent thought from your mind. As his thrusts become more erratic in chase of his own end he sneaks a hand between you and begins rubbing your clit again in quick, tight little circles. With a scream, you cum, walls fluttering around him which takes him over the edge with you, painting your insides white. You stay like this for a while, him buried deeply inside you as you both catch your breath. Then, he pulls out and begins cleaning you both with your shirt while you put your bra back on.

All cleaned up and satisfied he takes you in his arms You were amazing sweetheart. Now let’s get you home for dinner.