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Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x SisterFriend!Reader

Fluff | Smut | 2761 words | Back to Masterlist

When Johnny finally comes back home, only to find his sister's best friend living in his house.

Soap got injured on the last mission. A bullet too close, well, not close, through. And not a bullet, a knife to the shoulder which left him in a sling. And now he needed almost absolute rest for a month until he was re-evaluated to see how it was healing.

It was Price's idea to go back home, it's been years since he saw his family and when Price mentioned it, guilt started to pool in his stomach.

So he took the first plane home and flew back. Reaching land in the middle of the night, he picked up a cab and went home. The humidity and coldness of his beloved Scotland made his shoulder hurt more; he couldn't wait to get home. 

Once there, he picked up the key from under the mat that he so often told his mum to put away and entered the house. Making a beeline to his room, silent so as to not wake up anyone. And as soon as he took off his shoes, he threw himself into his bed. And the bed talked back.

“Bitch, I told you to go to your bed, I don't want a fucking sleepover.” A girl's voice erupted from under the cover, a hand pushing him off the bed. Well, he stood up, there is no way you would move him with just a hand while half asleep.

“Excuse me?” Soap asks, more offended than surprised he was pushed off his bed. The man's voice woke you up fast, whipping your head around at it and turning on the bedside lamp to see anything in the dark. 

It only takes you a second to recognise your best friend’s brother, the mohawk recognisable everywhere. “Johnny?” You asked.

He asked your name back just as surprised. “What are you doing here?” He asks

“It's… it's a long story actually, I-I’ll go to your sister's room.” You say standing up, leaving his bed for him. “What happened to your shoulder?”

He peels his eyes away from you, suddenly remembering the one thing outside of his family that he always thought about. 

His sister is just a couple of years younger than him, and they always went to the same school, and later on, high school. His sister and you met in kindergarten, and ever since you were joined by the hip. Monkey 1 and Monkey 2, his mother would joke about how she didn't know she birthed twins. 

When the three of you were younger, you were just another annoying brat like his little sister. But once he reached puberty, he started to look at you differently. You were still an annoying brat, but he started to like the way you annoyed him. 

Johnny loved to be in his room, but whenever he knew you were coming he would insist on being in the living room; even if it was just to catch a glimpse as you walked up to your sister's room. 

The thing he hated the most about you? Your boyfriend. The fucking stupid boyfriend that couldn't see how amazing you were, the fucking stupid boyfriend that you cried about so much, the fucking stupid boyfriend that he would fight with so much. 

The last thing he knew about him before he enlisted, was that he had proposed to you and that you had said yes. 

But know, until just a moment ago, you were sleeping on his bed, with an old sweatshirt of his on. He was smiling to himself, the “long story” suddenly short when he connected the dots. 

He wanted to tell you to stay and sleep with him. But he was exhausted and cold, and his shoulder only hurt more and more. And if you hit it on your sleep, he wouldn't forgive you, no matter how much you were the love of his life. 

You were still looking at him, waiting for his answer. Even pointing at his shoulder so he would remember. “Oh.” He said looking at his shoulder. “It's classified.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer and started to walk out of the room; and just when you were almost out you turned to look at him.

“I'm glad you are back, Johnny.”

And in that moment, he knew he had a chance.

The next morning he woke up incredibly late in comparison with his usual time to wake up. But to the rest of the mortals, it was still early. In fact, only his mom was awake when he walked into the kitchen. 

Giving her a warm hug that the both of them so desperately needed after being away for so long. With a cup of coffee in between, they talked on the kitchen table until his sister woke up as well and after you told her he was back she flew downstairs hugging his brother in a crushing hug. 

You went downstairs too after stretching out and when you saw the image you remained at the doorway, not wanting to intrude on their reunion. 

“Say hi to Johnny, you cunt.” Your best friend lovely said. 

“I already did last night.” You say, before thinking of the double meaning. Johnny catches immediately, a mischievous grin on his face. He wishes you had welcomed him that way. “I thought it was you, crying about wanting to sleep together again.” 

“Whatever, who came to my bed last night at the end?” She answers, smiling proudly. 

You scoff at her. “Well, I'm sorry that I let the wounded soldier that came home after three years to sleep on HIS bed.” You say chuckling, you turn to him. “You are allowed to make arrests, right? According to your sister, seems this is my fate.”

You put your hands together, extending them before you for him to put handcuffs around your wrists. He'll put them soon, he still needs to choose if he wants to tie you to the bed or to him. 

His sister slaps your arm, calling you dramatic, before working on making breakfast with your help. Something about the way you fit in just right with the people he loves the most, still wearing his sweatshirt truly warms him inside. 

“So… how's Adam?” Johnny asks, he needs to know if the coast is clear. But the way both his mom and sister look at him the moment he talks makes it regretted. And the way the knife you were using falls from your hand on the counter, lets him know everything he needs.

“He's fine.” You answer quietly, and Johnny can almost see the walls building around you. Shit, shit, shit. 

You wipe your hands on the tablecloth, turning around. “I think we are out of milk, I'll go buy some.” You say, walking out of the kitchen. Johnny is quick on his feet walking behind you. “I'll go with you.” 

You look up to him as you tie your shoes, nodding without saying anything more. He puts his boots on as well, trying to tie the laces with just a hand. “Let me do it.” You say, no room to argue and you tie his boots quickly. 

Once on the street, you walk next to each other. The shop is not far, but you walk slowly. Johnny knows you want to talk but he doesn't push it. Leaving you to choose the moment. “I actually don't know how he is doing.” You admit, looking at him. “Adam, I mean. I haven't heard from him since the wedding.”

“You got married?” Johnny asks, frankly surprised. He didn't get the invite.

“No. Thank god, I didn't.” You answer quickly, disgust clear on your face. “Almost, but I didn't.”

“What happened?” 

“He cheated. With one of my bridesmaid, during the rehearsal dinner.” You laugh, but without a bit of humour on it. “I was talking with his mom about what we would name the first grandkid, and he was getting another girl pregnant in the bathroom.”

As you talk, your voice breaks, tears flooding your eyes as you cover your face.

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He motions, hugging you with his nice arm. Good thing he wasn't invited, or else you'll know perfectly fine where the asshole was. Buried six feet under.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” You say, but still burying your face on his chest. “I should get over it, I know. It's been months now, but…”

“No apologies, bonnie. That's a perfectly acceptable reaction.” He says, cupping your face to look at your face. Fuck, are breathtakingly stunning when crying. “Fuck him, all right? You were always too good for him anyway.”

He knows he is exposing himself like this, and that it is obviously not fair to you. But his eyes land on your parted lips, and fuck does he wants to bite. Something must click inside your head, because you suddenly turn around, walking again and wiping the tears from your face. 

“Yeah, you are right, Johnny. Fuck him.” You say, smiling at him but sadness is still in your eyes.

It isn't until a couple of days later that he doesn't get to talk to you alone again. He is lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone before going to sleep. A knock on his door disrupts him.

“C’mon in.” He says, looking at the door waiting to see who is it. Happiness floods his senses when he sees it's you.

“Are you busy?” You ask, only your head poking in. Soap quickly shakes his head, patting the bed next to him. You walk inside the room and sit cross-legged next to him. “Is it okay if I sleep here tonight? Your sister is beating me up on his sleep. At least I hope she's asleep.” 

He simply peels the covers back, letting you get inside. He lets his phone on the bedside table, focusing only on you, and lays on his side, grateful the wounded shoulder in on the left side. 

“How's your shoulder?” You ask, grabbing a finger from the hand resting on his chest.

“It's better, glad it's not my right one. I wouldn't be able to do anything.” He says

You smile at him, your hand moving to play with the name tags on his chest. “Do you know that Adam was deadly jealous of you?”

“What? He had you, what could I have to make him jealous?” He asks, not even realising his declaration of love.

“My attention.” You answer, looking at his face. “He always said that he didn't know why I was marrying him if it was clear I was in love with you.” 

He looks at your face, catching you looking at his lips. “Were you?”

“Hm?”

“In love with me, were you?”

“To the bone.”

And that's all he needs before he's crushing his lips on yours. He hates he can't move his arm, needing to push you closer. But lucky for him, you do it yourself. Moving your arms around his neck, getting as close as you can.

He rolls, moving you along to lay on top of him, finally moving the arm he was propping himself on to pull you closer. Butterflies on his stomach going nuts at his lifelong crush kissing him, taking the breath from his lungs.

You straddle his hips, leaning down to keep kissing him as his hand finds its way to the back of your head. “I love you, bonnie. I have loved you for years.” He whispers against your lips, making you whimper. 

“Show it to me, Johnny. Show me how much.” You whisper against his lips, moaning when he grinds his hips around your clothed cunt.

His hand pulls his sweatshirt off of you, you help him take it off, and it leaves you bare from hips up. He groans at the sight, his hand moving to your arse to push you forward so he can kiss your boob. 

You sit at his chest, his hand getting under your pants and underwear, him grunting when he feels your wetness on his fingertips. You arch your back when his finger easily slips inside because of how slick your entrance is, him moaning around your chest; sucking and licking at your nipple making you moan. 

“Johnny.” You moan, him shushing you quickly.

“I ken, bonnie. But I need to get this tight pussy ready, right? Make you feel good.” He moans when he feels your hand palm his crotch. “Fuck, press it harder, love.”

A second finger enters your cunt, stretching you as he scissors them. You pull his pants and underwear down, enough for his dick to spring free. You marvel your eyes on the thick, veiny, heavy piece of meat between his legs, wondering about the taste of the oozing precum from his tip; a sharp pain on your nipple pulling you away when Soap bites down. 

“Don't even think about it, bonnie. Not today.” He says, his fingers pulling out of you and tugging the pants down. “Take them off, love. And lay on your side.”

You quickly do as he says, hating that you need to stand away from him to do it. You lay next to him, his eyes glued on your body. He grunts, managing to keep his arm under you, pulling you against him. 

This one is officially his most hated injury up to date, needing to push you closer. He latches at your neck, tasting, sucking and biting your skin. Wanting more, needing more. 

“You need a hand, Johnny?” You ask, heavy breathing when you feel his hard dick probe around your pussy but not being able to enter you without a hand around it.

Johnny chuckles in your ear. “Bonnie, I'll rip my arm off to do it if you don't help me right now.”

You laugh back at him, lowering a hand between your legs parting them and fisting his dick making him moan as you align it with your entrance.

Your laugh turns into a moan when he slowly starts to sink in. When he finally bottoms out, he stays still for a minute, hugging you, pulling you close. You turn your head back and kiss him deeply, he starts to move his hips, catching with his mouth every moan that slips from yours. 

It is such a chaotic situation, one of his arms is trapped inside of the sling, the other is trapped under your body, he is still wearing all his clothes, and you are having sex on his childhood bedroom with his mom and sister just on the other side of the hall. 

Still, it's the best sex of your life. His dick is stretching you as no other dick has ever, he is reaching places inside of you that have never been touched before and that now will need to be touched forever, he keeps kissing you like you were an oxygen tank in the depths of the ocean and you wish you would stay like this forever. 

But with the way his hips are thrusting into you and the hand under your body finds its way to your clit, you know there is not much left.

“I love you, bonnie. I fucking love you so much.” He says between moans. “I'm gonna marry you and I'm gonna love you forever. Gonna make a family with you, bonnie. I love you, I can't wait to fucking marry you. Marry me, please, bonnie.”

“Yes, fuck” you moan back, nails sinking into the skin of his ass when you grab him urging him to fuck you harder. 

Johnny thinks is the longest couple of minutes until you finally cum, wanting to hold on just to feel you clench around him; milking him dry when you do with his name in your mouth. 

The two of you stay panting, still in each other embrace. Johnny's dick still softening inside of you with no urge to get it out. 

“Did you mean it?” You ask him.

“Did you?” He asks back, suddenly too aware of what he just said.

“I meant it if you did.” You say childishly, turning your head around.

“I did.” He says, looking at your eyes. “We should probably date before getting married, right?”

“Maybe not.” You say, still looking at his eyes.

You stay looking at each other eyes, looking for any kind of doubt in them. You speak first; “The courthouse opens at 9.”

“We can have breakfast after.” He says, as if that's the correct answer.

“I'd love to have breakfast with you tomorrow, Johnny.” You answer, because to you it is the right answer. 

[zepskies]

Something Real

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean W. x F. Reader

Summary: Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…

AN: And we’re back in the world of Smoke Eater! I’ve been trying to figure out a way to come back to these two for a while now, and this idea finally struck me. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 6.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Major fluff, angst, PTSD/mentions of sexual harassment (references to Smoke Eater Part 13), family feels, hurt/comfort, and smut.

Catch up on the SE-verse: ⤵️

🔥 Smoke Eater Masterlist

“Dean, are you okay?” you asked.

The man was white knuckling both armrests in his seat, taking pains to breathe in and out steadily. He nodded the slightest bit, humming to himself all the while. You bit your lip to hide your smile. 

The plane had just taken off about ten minutes ago.

“Are you singing yourself a lullaby?” you asked.

“Metallica. Calms me down,” he replied. 

This, from the man who storms burning buildings.

You couldn’t quite stifle your laugh, though you rubbed his arm. Somehow you managed to slip your hand into his, peeling it off the armrest. 

“We’re almost up to altitude. You’re going to be just fine,” you told him.

It didn’t matter. The plane hit a bump of turbulence, which had him squeezing the shit out of your hand. You tried to brave through it for his sake, but eventually, you had to tap out. 

“Babe, you’re gonna break my hand,” you hissed. With your free appendage, you squeezed his wrist to get his attention. Dean finally realized what he was doing to you, and he let you go. 

“Sorry,” he said, his face contrite.

Your lips twitched. You leaned down to grab your purse and dig inside for your sunglasses. You handed them to him.

Dean glanced down at the brown Dolce & Gabbana shades with skepticism. 

“I don’t need your girly sunglasses, thanks,” he said.

“Trust me,” you said. “It’ll help block out some light, so you can close your eyes and try to take a nap.”

“The only way I’m sleeping on this tin can is if you knock me the hell out,” Dean said, matter-of-fact. “Ask Sam if he’s got any Ambien.”

You glanced across the aisle and shared a wry look with Sam and Eileen. Sam shook his head, despite the knowing smile on his face. You turned back to Dean.

“No, not Ambien. Andréa sleepwalks when she takes that shit,” you said. You guided his head toward you so that he rested on your shoulder. You stroked his cheek. “Just relax.”

Dean let out a long, unsteady breath, but he tried to follow your lead. He took your hand again, not in a crushing way this time. He turned it over and admired the shining ring on your finger. The diamond on it was modest, but charming and unique in its setting. 

“Hmm, who got you that rock?” he asked. His tone was teasing, making you smile. 

“The smokin’ hot guy I’m living with,” you replied. “He finally decided to make a move.” 

Dean hummed again, raising his brows.

“Good-looking, smart, and decisive. This guy sounds awesome,” he said.

You pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

“Mhmm, a sexy firefighter. And he’s a Captain now, so I guess that’ll make me his trophy wife,” you teased back. Dean’s shoulders shook with the effort of keeping his laughter quiet. Your smile deepened.

“But he saves lives too…including mine,” you added. “So I guess I can’t complain.”

Dean raised off your shoulder then, just to look at you with a softer smile of his own. 

“Well, a pretty girl like you? He’d probably say he got really, really lucky.”

His lips closed in on yours, and you allowed him to draw you into a languid kiss while he laced his fingers with yours. His thumb brushed the engagement ring he gave you, just two weeks ago. His mother’s ring.

It’s the best gift you’ve ever been given. 

Oh, hell yes, you thought, when you opened the door to the hotel room. It was beautiful. Stunning really, with a king-sized bed and a view of an enormous pool. 

Dean was busy hefting his suitcase and one of your carry-on bags. He whistled in amazement when he saw the room. 

“Damn, Sam sure knows how to find a quality Groupon.”

But he struggled to get in the door with all the luggage he was carrying. You held the door open for him. 

“Careful with that one,” you said, pointing to your bag that kept knocking between his hip and the door as he shoved through. 

“Why’s this thing so heavy? Did you bring Kansas with you? Goddamn,” he grumbled. He was all too happy to dump your bag on the bed. 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. You parked your own suitcase on the side by the window. You already knew Dean was going to claim the side closest to the door. 

“That bag is just makeup, skincare, and hair products,” you informed him, hefting your bigger suitcase onto the bed. “This is for clothes and shoes.”

Dean shook his head in bemusement. “You’re friggin’ crazy, woman.”

“I need options!” you said defensively. “I didn’t know for sure what I was going to want to wear on this trip. I haven’t been on vacation since I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah? Where’d you go?” he asked while unzipping his own suitcase.

“Disneyland with my grandparents, which was awesome. But I was like, eight at the time,” you said. 

They were fond memories, even though no one was left to remember them but you. Still, you tried not to let that bittersweetness dim your good mood.

It was still hard to talk about your grandparents at times, especially because the loss of your grandfather was still so fresh. You didn’t feel like you had enough time to properly mourn him, thanks to everything else that was going on then. (Namely Nick and Daniel Savage, and everything in between.) 

Getting over that time was getting easier though, as the months wore on. Sometimes it was hard to believe you’d been with Dean for almost a year. And yet, it felt like so much longer. Like you’d lived half a life with him already. 

You went over to look out the window and held your hands on your hips. It was nighttime, but the streets of Miami, Florida were well-lit beyond the pool, and there was something beautiful about a bustling city at night. 

“Now this is an adult vacation,” you said.

At that, Dean smiled and walked around the bed to you. He slipped his arms around your waist and held you from behind. You held him right back.

“Damn right it is,” he said. “What do you wanna do first? Dinner, and then check out some nightlife, or skip right to dessert?”

You smiled at the way his voice lowered with thinly veiled suggestiveness. 

“Well, I know how much you love dessert,” you said slyly.

Dean’s smile deepened into a smirk.

“Yeah, that may be,” he said. “But don’t pretend you don’t love some hot lemon drizzle.”

You spluttered a laugh, beginning to blush at his hefty double meaning. He cradled your cheek and bowed his head, so he could catch your lips in a deep kiss. You made a sound of surprise, but you soon melted against him.

Already this was worth the several-hour plane ride of Dean bouncing his leg and steeling your iPad so he could distract himself. After the year you both had, all you wanted to do was spend the next few days with no responsibilities, no drama or worries—just your fiancé and your soon-to-be brother and sister-in-law…

Your newfound family. 

The night was spent at a nice Cuban restaurant in Miami Beach. Afterwards, you, Dean, Sam, and Eileen explored the boardwalk, and later the downtown Bayside area where a number of shops and kiosks were bustling with life. This was technically Sam and Eileen’s bachelor and bachelorette trip, so you all weren’t wasting any time to explore and see the city.

By the end of the night, you only had enough energy to shower and hit the bed face-first. Dean was actually on board with that, as he was the first one to start snoring on his side of the bed.

The next day though, you felt rested and ready to chill by the pool. Miami Beach itself was a bit too crowded for your tastes, and the others agreed that hanging out at the hotel for a while would be more relaxing after all the travel the day before. 

However, when you looked at yourself in one of the two-piece swimsuits you bought specifically for this trip, you couldn’t help but feel…self-conscious. The bikini and bottoms weren’t scandalous, really. You’d seen a lot of thongs, beads, and G-strings already on this trip.

It was just…you were a bit wary of showing this much skin in public. 

You didn’t want to think about the reasons behind your unease, however, so you tried to push it out of your mind for now. You put on a long sundress over your swimsuit and finished up your makeup.

A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the bathroom door.

“You done in there, your majesty? I’m getting hungry,” Dean said through the door. 

“One more minute. Doing my lipstick,” you replied. “You know we can order lunch by the pool, right?”

“Yeah, if we ever get there,” he said. You were amused when he opened the door. He was already dressed in a loose shirt and board shorts. His eyes swept over your white sundress and red lipstick, and he smiled. 

“Lookin’ good, baby,” he said. Though he raised his brows and met your gaze in the mirror. “So can we go?”

You had to laugh.

“I guess we better, before your stomach eats itself,” you quipped.

You lightly smacked the back of your hand against said stomach before you slid past him out the door.

You and Dean ventured downstairs and out back to the pool, where Sam and Eileen had already saved a few deck chairs. While Sam and Dean went to order some food and cocktails, you started pulling out the sunscreen and towels from your beach bag. 

“Eileen, you need some sunscreen?” you asked. Your friend was already taking off her shirt and little shorts, revealing a cute violet bikini and bottoms underneath. Her brown hair was loose around her shoulders. She shook her head at your question with a smile. 

“No, I’m good. Wanna go in?” she asked, and signed, before she pointed over to the pool. 

There were already a couple of families in there with their kids splashing around by the shallow end. That didn’t bother you. It was more the men of various ages milling about, either in the pool, flirting with girls, or by the tiki bar, drinking and likely waiting for opportunities.

You tugged the V-shaped collar of your sundress closer together.

“Not just yet. I think I’ll have something to eat first, try to tan a bit,” you said. 

Eileen gave an “OK” sign and headed for the pool. 

You shucked your sandals and moved your chair under a large umbrella, but you still had to fan yourself. It was hot as hell, and your dress had long, billowy sleeves.  

Sam and Dean eventually returned with some drinks. 

“Food’s gonna take a bit, so we probably have time for a dip,” Dean said, handing you a piña colada. He noticed you wiping sweat from your brow. 

“Come on, you can cool off in the water,” he said. 

You waved him off. “It’s okay. I’m good here for a while. Think I’ll work on my tan.”

Dean rose a brow and gestured at you with a hand. 

“You’re gonna do that in the shade, dressed to the ankles?” he asked.

He made a good point, to which you didn’t have a good answer. You sipped at your sweet drink and hummed at the rummy, coconutty taste.

Dean could see there was something off with you, though.

“You okay?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. I guess I just don’t feel like swimming, that’s all.”

Dean quirked a brow. You bought three different swimsuits for this trip, but you didn’t want to swim? He pulled his deck chair closer and sat on the edge of it beside you. 

One thing he’d come to know about you. When something was bothering you, you didn’t always want to tell him right away. Often when it was something you felt embarrassed about. 

He nudged your thigh playfully. “Tell me you’re not gonna make me third wheel the married couple.” 

You smiled. “They’re not married yet.”

Three months wasn’t a long time though. You were going to be the Maid of Honor, with Dean, of course, as the Best Man. 

“Semantics,” Dean shrugged. He slipped a hand over your knee and squeezed. “Come on. Talk to me.”

After a moment in which you held his gaze, you sighed. You beckoned him closer. Dean leaned over so you could brace a hand on his shoulder and speak close to his ear. 

“It’s kind of embarrassing. I just, um…after everything that happened last year, especially before Christmas, I just don’t feel comfortable showing so much skin,” you said. “I don’t want to…attract attention.”

Surprise hit Dean first. He pulled away and frowned at you. But then, his face soon dimmed with grim understanding. 

Christmas. In other words, a Christmas party at your old job that had taken a turn for the worst.

Dean knew you had to be talking about Nick Savage. 

That bastard was dead and gone, and still, the way he’d sexually harassed you for months was still affecting you, months later. Dean let out a heavy breath through his nose. He reached up to cup your cheek. Your eyes lowered.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I knew what I was signing up for when we started planning a beach vacation. I guess it just didn’t really hit me until now.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “But you know I’m gonna be with you. Nothing’s going to happen.”

You nodded; you knew he would protect you in any circumstance, but it didn’t stop men from looking when they had the chance. You just didn’t feel totally comfortable with that kind of attention. 

Sensing he hadn’t convinced you, Dean tried to think of a solution.

Then, he had it. He held a finger up in the air. “Ah, here.”

He pulled off his shirt by the back of his neck. You watched him in curiosity.

“This’ll cover you up. You can go ahead and jump in the pool with this,” he said, handing you the shirt. 

Your brows knit together. “But you won’t be able to wear this later. It’ll be all wet.”

“That’s okay,” Dean said. “It’s hot as hell out here. And we’ll just be going back up to the hotel room anyway.” 

You bit your lip. He made a good point. You were probably going to look weird jumping in the pool with a whole long-ass shirt on, but at least you’d be covered. His shirts tended to reach down to your thighs, where a pair of shorts might cut off. 

You smiled and leaned in for a kiss. You stroked his scruffy cheek.

“Thanks,” you whispered. 

He nodded with a smile. “Just call me the Problem Solver. No, the Solution.”

You smirked and twined your arms around his neck. 

“I prefer Captain,” you said.

Dean’s smile deepened. “You really like that, huh?”

“I really do,” you replied cheekily.

After one more sweet kiss, you asked him to stand in front of you while you took off your long sundress and changed into his shirt over your swimsuit. Afterward, he pulled you in by your waist and spoke close to your ear. 

“I like seeing you in my shirt anyway,” he said. You smiled and playfully shoved his arm. 

You accepted his lingering hand on your lower back and followed him to the pool. You felt a bit awkward wearing a shirt that billowed in the water when you stepped in, but you decided to ignore the feeling and just try to enjoy being on vacation with your family. 

Sam and Eileen welcomed you and Dean over. Eileen did question your state of dress with her eyes, but when you leaned over and explained in her ear, her eyes widened, and she understood. She gave you a look of sympathy and rubbed your arm. 

You sighed, but again, you tried to let it go. 

You two chatted for a while after claiming a corner of the pool, also watching Sam and Dean swim competitive laps back and forth. 

You were engrossed in your conversation with Eileen about her new group of students, when Dean came up from under the water to splash you both. You shrieked with a laugh as you fended off the onslaught, but he hauled you into his arms. 

Sam wisely pulled a laughing Eileen out of the orbit. Together they split off for some canoodling, and once he was done playfully trying to dunk you, you were happy to wrap your arms around Dean’s shoulders and float with him in the water.

Dean made way for a couple of kids as they splashed by. A younger girl and an older boy chased each other while swimming with little floaties on their arms. Their parents were keeping a watchful eye on them nearby. Dean smiled and laid a kiss just under your ear.

“That could be us pretty soon,” he said.

“Yeah? How soon are you thinking?” you said in bemusement.

“Hmm. How about next year?” he said, more serious than you expected him to be. You raised your brows at him. 

“Dean, we’re not even getting married until next year,” you pointed out. He shrugged and held you a bit tighter. You felt his fingers drifting up and down your bare thigh.

“So we’ll get a head start on the family thing,” he said, grinning. 

You couldn’t help but dim at that. You didn’t want to disappoint him, but you also felt you had to inject some reality here. You turned in his arms so that you could face him.

“Babe, I just started my catering business. If I get pregnant, at some point I’ll have to take time off, put everything on pause,” you reasoned. “And…I’m not making the same money I was before.”

At that, Dean began to frown. “I make decent money.”

You nodded, smoothing a hand down his arm.

“Yes, you do,” you agreed. 

Aside from his usual hours at the firehouse, Dean had earned his mechanic’s certification a few months ago. So he’d started a side job at Bobby’s salvage yard. He was slowly but surely turning it into a more profitable mechanic’s shop, with Bobby’s blessing. 

“But, I think having a baby is going to be a little more expensive than you realize,” you said. “I just want to be more stable with my business before we start a family.”

Dean was quiet for a beat.

“How long then?” he asked.

“I was thinking more like…a few years or so,” you said. Dean’s face fell further, though he tried not to show the true depths of his disappointment. 

“Okay, well uh…” He wiped a hand over his mouth and chin. It was an anxious tick of his, you knew. “I guess we’ll talk about it later.”

The conversation settled with putting an implied “pin in it,” but an invisible thread of strain formed between you and Dean for the rest of the afternoon.

Hours later, you and Eileen broke off together to go shopping. You both were trying on clothes at a nearby mall, since she was toying with the idea of wearing something new for dinner tonight. She stepped out of the fitting room to show you a white form-fitting dress that slipped over her curves nicely.

“Oooh, that’s beautiful,” you said, with a little clap of your hands. “And oh! Thinking ahead, you could wear that for the wedding reception too, if you don’t want to deal with the whole wedding dress after the ceremony.”

You knew that her dress had a lot of tulle under the skirt, which might make it difficult to dance in. Eileen gave that idea some consideration, though something occurred to her with a certain smile. 

“Well, this dress might not fit so well by then,” she said.

Your brows knitted together. “What? What do you mean?”

Eileen paused for a moment, but she seemed to come to a decision in her mind. She smiled and beckoned you over. You went to her, and she led you to a nearby chaise in the dressing room.

That was where she whispered the news that she was six weeks pregnant.

Your resulting squeal of excitement startled all the other women in the dressing room, including the store’s attendant. You covered your mouth with an embarrassed wave, but you turned back to Eileen and took her hands in yours.

“We were gonna tell you and Dean tonight at dinner,” Eileen said with a laugh. “We found out right before the trip.”

Huh. Now that you thought about it, you didn’t remember her drinking even one cocktail on this trip so far.

“Oh my God, I’m just…” you trailed, as emotion surged in your heart and made your eyes all misty. “I’m so happy for you.”

Eileen laughed and pulled you into a hug.

She explained to you that when she first told Sam on a Tuesday morning before work, he’d fallen into a haze of shock, to a point where it had kind of worried her. But then she showed you a picture on her phone of the first thing Sam bought when he got home that day: the tiniest pair of blue booties.

You laughed again, and cried again. So tiny…

“Of course he assumes it’s a boy, but we’ll see,” Eileen said, with a roll of her eyes. Her soft smile was telling though.

“How do you feel?” you asked, wiping under your eyes.

She paused at the question. She tilted her head, and she raised her gaze to meet yours. 

“I’m happy,” she said. “Really happy.”

It was your turn to give her a big hug. And your tears fell anew as you came to another realization.

As usual, Dean was ready for dinner before you. He sat on the edge of the bed while putting on his watch. It was his father’s watch, which John gifted to him for his birthday. Though it had actually belonged to John’s father, Henry. 

Dean blew out a breath. Despite his attempts to try and just have a good time tonight (Sam’s advice), he couldn’t forget his conversation with you earlier today in the pool. He didn’t want to move too fast for you, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that he was still fighting his disappointment, and maybe some melancholy.

Just lock it up, asshole, he told himself.

When you were done putting on the finishing touches on your makeup in the bathroom, you came out and stepped into his line of vision.

“What do you think?” you asked. 

Dean’s head lifted, and his eyes widened. You were a sexy sight in black. The dress stopped at mid-thigh, paired with some of the tallest heels he’s seen you wear since his very first date with you. 

“Damn,” he said lowly.

You smiled and stepped forward, not stopping until you were standing between his long legs. You took his face in your hands and gave a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Dean breathed into it, and even needed a bit of a moment to recover when you pulled away.

“Hey, about what we talked about today—” you started. He cleared his throat, raising a hand. 

“It’s okay. You’re probably right about all that. The timing’s not right,” he said.

You brushed your thumbs against his cheeks. “But that’s just it…maybe we don’t have to wait so long to start a family.”

Dean perked up, giving you a questioning look. You set your hands on his shoulders. He grasped your hips, almost on reflex.

“Maybe when we get home, we crunch some numbers and figure out how we can do this,” you said.

He shook his head with a frown. “I don’t want you to lose steam on your business. You’ve waited a long time to make that happen.”

You sighed. He was sweet for that, but you’d thought about that too.

“Like I said, we can figure out how to make it work. No matter what job I have, having kids was always our plan.” A smile raised the corners of your lips. “And you know, we have so many people in our lives that’ll want to help us, even if it means we have to work a bit harder.” 

Dean’s eyes started to brighten, but he didn’t want to hope too hard. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me what I want to hear,” he said. 

“I’m serious, Dean. I wouldn’t play about this,” you said, squeezing his shoulders. “This is worth it, and I want this with you.”

He started to soften then, and even smile. He got to his feet and wrapped you up in his arms. He held you close, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. 

“What changed your mind?” he asked. You bit your lip on a smile.

“Well, if I tell you, you have to promise to act surprised when you hear it later.”

Dean’s brows shot up. “Okay. Color me intrigued.”

You leaned up to his ear and said, “Eileen’s already pregnant.”

And your man full-on malfunctioned. He held you tighter, more to brace himself. 

“Holy shit! For real?” he asked. You laughed and nodded.

“Looks like they got a head start on the wedding,” you said. 

“I’ll fucking say,” Dean replied, but his grin was so wide, it made you smile harder.

“They didn’t plan for it, but they’re going to make it work,” you said. “It made me realize…we can do the same thing. Just with a bit more planning.”

Dean laughed at that. He knew your anal brain all too well, but in this, he could understand. His hands moved down your lower back.

“Well, you know how we can get ahead of the game?” he said. You knew what he was suggesting with only his eyes, and his meaningful touch.

You would’ve loved to take him up on that, but you glanced pointedly at the digital clock on the nightstand.

“Sam and Eileen are probably waiting for us downstairs,” you said.

Dean sighed, rather dramatically in your opinion. He still bent down to kiss your neck, nipping a bit hard just under your ear. It made you jolt with a surprised yelp.

“We’re not done here,” he said. The depths of his voice made you shiver, but you smiled. 

“I’m counting on it.”

You all got back from dinner late, after much celebrating for Sam and Elieen’s news. Dean even bought a bottle of champagne, which poor Eileen couldn’t partake in. (He ordered her a large piece of chocolate cake  to make up for it.)

You and Dean returned to the hotel room, but tonight, thoughts of sleep were still far from your mind. You sat on the edge of the bed and slipped off your heels, followed by taking off your earrings. You also watched Dean remove his watch and undo the first few buttons of his dress shirt in the bathroom mirror. 

He spied you watching him, and his lips quirked up at the corners.

“What’cha lookin’ at?” he asked in amusement. 

Instead of answering him, you stood up and made your way over to him. You hugged him from behind. 

“I really needed this,” you confessed. “Getting away from home for a while…I’m reminded that everything I need is right here.”

Dean turned in your arms and pulled you in close. He gave you a slow kiss that simmered with heat.

“Yeah, me too,” he agreed. He caught sight of your bikini and his swim trunks dry on a bathroom rail, and a smile grew on his face.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.”

“We’re so not allowed to do this,” you giggled quietly. 

The pool and the surrounding cabanas were empty. Not only was it very late, but the pool was supposed to be closed. However, it did allow you to feel comfortable in taking off your sundress, remaining just in the vibrant green bikini you were wearing earlier today. Dean took you by the hand, and the two of you tried to keep quiet while stepping into the pool.

“Oh, God, it’s freezing,” you whisper-laughed. Dean’s jaw locked, but he was also smiling, trying not to shiver.

“Aw, shit!” he said, when the water got past his waist, hitting his more sensitive areas. “Why’s it so damn cold?”

You moved closer to him and slipped your arms around his middle, trying to steal his body heat. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

“I guess they count on the sun to warm it up,” you replied. “We are in the Sunshine State after all.”

“Know it all,” Dean playfully groused. “I’m freezing my tits off.”

You saw the goosebumps that had broken out across his arms, and yours too. You smirked and teased one of his hardened nips with your fingers.

“Yeah, you are,” you agreed. He laughed and looked down at your bikini top, raising his brows at the stiff peaks.

“So are you,” he said. If you two stayed in here much longer, his nads were going to pay the price. “Maybe this wasn’t one of my best ideas.”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head and hugging him tighter. “Definitely one of your best. But maybe let’s hop in that jacuzzi over there.”

Dean twisted his head in the direction you were pointing, and sure enough, there was a nice hot tub a few yards from the pool. You both left the pool and braced the cool air on your skin long enough to run to the jacuzzi, quietly laughing all the while. 

Dean turned the dial on the heat and cranked up the bubbling, and soon you two were able to relax together in the much warmer water. He held you to his chest, his fingers dragging up and down your arm, while you just took in some deep, relaxing breaths. You let go of every bit of stress that might’ve still been clinging to your psyche. 

A few minutes in, you turned your head to press a sweet kiss under his jaw. His wet scruff prickled against your lips, but you didn’t mind. 

“Ever think about letting this enter beard territory?” you asked. 

“Eh,” Dean shrugged, still rubbing some warmth back into your arm. “Not really my look.”

“It could be,” you said. A smile curved your lips. You turned in his arms to straddle his lap, where you got the leverage to cup his face. You gently scratched your nails along his stubbly cheeks. 

He raised a brow. “You want me to go full lumberjack, don’t you?”

“Maybe not full lumberjack,” you teased. “I’d settle for quarter-lumberjack.”

Dean chuckled loud enough that you had to shush him, with your mouth covering his. His heavy hands spanned your lower back as you treated him with progressively dirtier kisses. His hands lowered to grip your ass, encouraging you to grind down on him. You were more than willing to oblige him. 

Even with the light of the moon, a large palm tree covered the jacuzzi in some shade. It made the empty courtyard feel a little more secluded. You felt just secure enough with him here to reach down below the water. You slipped your hand under the waistband of his shorts, where you began to stroke his hardening length to full mast. 

He groaned into your mouth and squeezed your hips on reflex. 

“Better be careful, baby. You’re playing with fire right now,” he said gruffly. He had no compunctions about finishing what you’d started, right here and now. 

You smirked, but you did pull your hand out of his shorts and took his hand instead. 

“Come on,” you whispered.

When you and Dean made it back to the hotel room, it was a quick stop to the bathroom.

He guided you back against the tile wall in the shower and stole your breath with a hard kiss. His hand flew to the shower knob and turned on the water. 

Luckily this shower had a ledge for shampoo bottles and soap. You knocked all of that shit over when you hiked your foot up on it. You raked your nails through his hair and left his lips, just to suck harder on his neck.   

In turn, Dean untied your bikini with a practiced hand and let it drop with a wet thwap on the floor. He kneaded your breasts and rolled his thumbs over hardened nipples. He actually rubbed some warmth back into your skin as his hands migrated down your body. And he helped you shimmy out of the bikini bottoms, just as you helped him with the shorts. 

He took a healthy grip of your bare ass and again ground you against him, making you smile against his neck. But his fingers slipping between your legs disrupted your train of thought entirely. You felt his fingertips at your entrance, probing your depths, just testing the waters first. You gave a needy hum and clung to his arms.

He chuckled near your ear. “Already soaked, huh?”

“You didn’t exactly play fair,” you said, panting for breath. He hadn’t stopped touching you all the way from the jacuzzi to the elevator. You hadn’t even completely dried yourselves, leaving a trail of water from the scene of the crime, all the way up to the third floor where your room was. 

Dean earned a wanton moan from you when his fingers roughly massaged your clit. Your head pressed back against the tile wall, your hands clasping on his shoulders tight as a shudder of pleasure rippled through your body. He stroked you right to the edge of pleasure, until he could start to feel you tighten on him. Then he withdrew his hand. 

You whined at the empty feeling, giving him a look of annoyance. “Dean?”

“Patience,” he smirked. He used your wetness on his fingers to stroke himself back to painfully hard.

You scoffed at his words. This man didn’t often have a patient bone in his body. 

But once he was ready for you, he took advantage of the way you’d hiked up your leg, and he held you open while he positioned himself at your entrance. He took your hand and moved it down to replace his fingers on your clit. 

“Keep touchin’ yourself,” he ordered. His voice became laced with both grit and desire. You followed his directions and kept circling your fingers around that sensitive bundle of nerves, even though it forced a keening moan from your throat when he pressed his cock inside you. 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he muttered. Your inner walls were squeezing on him tightly, like you were already halfway there. Dean aimed to catch up with you as he grabbed your hips and set an almost punishing pace. He wrapped your thigh around his hip so he could get an even deeper angle to his thrusts. He grabbed onto the shower head when he felt his foot slipping a bit in the tub.

You hung onto him by the back of his neck as the coil in your lower belly became dangerously tight. “Oh, fuck. Dean…”

He knew you were close. He could feel it. He replaced your fingers with his own over your clit, searching for the spot he knew always made you come undone. 

And he knew when he found it—you cried out at the warm pulsing in your core as it quivered around him. 

“Let go, baby,” he said roughly in your ear. He gave you a few more hard thrusts, both to draw out your orgasm and to finally reach his own. His balls clenched and a ragged groan escaped him, along with his release coating your walls. 

By now, the hot water from the shower head had turned lukewarm, but neither of you really cared, blinking drops of the spray out of your eyes as you each caught your breath. Dean brushed your wet hair away from your neck. You smiled, and you guided him by his cheek, back to your lips for a softer kiss. 

“‘S a damn shame you’re still on the pill,” he remarked. 

You blinked in response. When his words finally registered, you burst out laughing. You pressed your forehead against his. Jesus, did this man have baby fever. 

“Let’s just get married first. Then we’ll work on it, I promise,” you told him. “Besides, we don’t want to steal your brother’s thunder.”

Dean grimaced and made a sound of disgust.

“For fuck’s sake, you mind not mentioning my brother at a time like this?” he said.

To be fair, he was still deep inside you. He slipped himself out and let the shower head begin to wash away the remnants. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you laughed and drew him back in for another kiss. 

Despite himself, Dean couldn’t help but smile against your lips. His left hand twined with yours, where your ring glistened under the florescent light. 

A year ago, he never thought he would be here. A year ago, he didn’t plan any further than tonight, and how he was going to get back to his life tomorrow. 

A year ago, while he did have his brother…Dean still felt alone. 

Now, he had something real. He was on the cusp of sharing the rest of his life with someone who understood him, supported him, loved him, despite the demands of his job. 

Now, he had an actual future to build with you.

And he was more than ready to get started. 

AN: I so hope you guys enjoyed this addition to the SE-verse. Let me know what you think! 😘❤️‍🔥

(Also, just to let you know, this sequel story might be made into a podfic, so stay tuned if that interests you!)

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[theladyofbloodshed]

SJM Romance Week - Day 1 - First Date

@sjmromanceweek

With a fear of flying gripping her tight, Nesta just wants to be left alone to spiral in her panic - that is until a swaggering man holds her hand during take off.

The sweating had begun the second she reached the security line which was never a good sign. Nesta tried to act calm, tried not to keep glancing over her shoulders at the security agents as they scanned bags and bodies. Every damn time she made the machine bleep despite ensuring she had no metal on her, as if the machine knew she was panicking and wanted to enhance her worry. True to history, the machine went off and she stepped onto the painted feet for a guard to wave their wand over her. She didn’t know why she was so worried about the security part; Nesta wasn’t smuggling drugs.

Two hours of agony followed.

The duty-free shops didn’t hold her appeal although she’d toyed with buying alcohol to take the edge off things. She’d taken a Xanax already and mixing wouldn’t go well. A book. A new book to keep her occupied, that would do. She checked her gate, double checked it then triple checked it. Lurked near it way before it was boarding time with her new book clutched in her clammy hands. Nesta mentally catalogued her day. She’d watered the plants, Gwyn already had the spare key to water them when needed, she’d turned everything off, locked the door because she’d checked multiple times, had her travel documents on her phone and printed, had only taken hand luggage so it wouldn’t be lost. Everything would be fine. Of course it would be. She was a planner. But she couldn’t plan who was piloting the plane. Couldn’t plan the weather. Couldn’t plan if a freak bolt of lightning struck the plane and zapped them off the face of the earth. Nesta swigged down mouthfuls of sparkling water. She hated it but it made her burp and that alleviated her churning stomach.

When the agents called for boarding, Nesta was first in the queue. Priority boarding had been purchased so she could panic in her seat. Her legs trembled up the metal stairs to board the plane. Planes flew every day. Hundreds of them. All crisscrossing across the sky. And she’d be on the unlucky anomaly. Because of course she would. Nothing ever ran smoothly in her life.

With an eye mask on and a mindfulness podcast blaring in her ears, Nesta tried to block out the rest of the boarding. She was vaguely aware of bodies moving down the aisle or slipping into seats behind or in front of hers, the judder of chairs or slam of the overhead storage. When an elbow knocked into her to take the seat, she didn’t react, just kept listening to the soothing voice telling her to focus on her breathing.

Fingers tapped on her arm repeatedly until she peeled off her mask.

A man with dark-hair tugged into a loose bun at the nape of his neck was gesturing to her headphones. An air steward was watching, life jacket held aloft for the display. ‘Switch to airplane mode or turn off your devices for take off please.’

Nesta fumbled with her phone, hands trembling to change it. She listened to the safety warnings, terror soaking in.

‘Can we swap seats? I don’t want to look out of the window.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart, but I need to leg room in the aisle.’ The man gestured to his broad thighs and long, muscled legs.

Nesta knew well enough that if she even dreamed of closing the hatch on the window, a flight attendant would snap it back up so she could see just how high they were. Once the safety demo had finished, Nesta plugged back into her bubble. Her belt was on but what use was that against a plane crash?

As soon as she felt motion, Nesta was gripping her seat belt as if clinging onto it might save her. Her hands trembled, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in her fear as the plane approached the runway.

Then a hand reached for hers. Calloused fingers slid against her own.

Nesta ripped her mask and headphones away in one fell swoop.

‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘You seemed nervous. Thought you’d want a hand to hold.’

The man’s hazel eyes fell to their hands, still entwined then Nesta yanked that away too.

And then the plane was barrelling along the runway, the force pinning her to her seat so she grasped for that hand again. He gave a low chuckle and cradled hers with both of his. Nesta screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to glimpse the moment they took flight or the way the land below would become more and more distant. At Emerie’s encouragement, she’d watched take offs on YouTube, had even tried to play a flight simulator but both of them had freaked her out just as much.

‘Is it just take off or landing too?’

Her words wouldn’t come out. The whole thing was traumatic. The only reason she was flying was because her sister was due to a drop a baby boy any day and Nesta had agreed to be there for the delivery and first couple of weeks of his life. Without a maternal figure, Feyre had decided that Nesta was the closest thing – ignoring the fact neither of them had a clue about babies.

‘What does that beeping mean?’ she hissed.

The man just brushed his thumb in a circle against the back of her hand. ‘It means we can take our seat belts off, sweetheart.’

Reluctantly, she forced open her eyes. People were already releasing their belts and heading to the bathroom. She had held her own urination on every flight. Only poor planners didn’t go before take-off. It would be just her luck that a plane would meet a fiery end whilst she was sat on the toilet.

He leaned over to slide the hatch down, hiding the outside world from view then his fingers headed towards her lap. Nesta was too stunned to react even as he undid her belt.

‘And what happens if this plane starts to plummet from the sky?’

‘I’m sure you can figure out how to put your belt back on,’ he replied, an easy grin on his face. At her terse look, he added, ‘Relax. This plane has never crashed before.’

Nesta busied herself with her book despite the undercurrent of fear threatening to drown her every time she thought too deeply about how the plane remained airborne. The man next to her read the in-flight magazine then began drumming on the fold-out table.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Have you got a request?’

Nesta’s brows drew together. ‘Stop drumming. It’s irritating.’

When the trolley of beverages was a few rows away, he turned to her. ‘What are you having?’

‘Nothing. If I drink, I will need the bathroom. I am not getting up or going there and tempting fate.’

He gave a bellow of a laugh. ‘You’ve thought of everything. You know if the plane crashes, it will make no difference if you’re sat by me or on the toilet.’

Her face must have paled because he added, ‘But it will fly safely to our destination.’

A handsome, swaggering smile was offered to the air stewardess when she approached. ‘Two coffees, chips, M&Ms and whatever drink has the most sugar.’

There was a veritable feast laid out in front of him, but a coffee was placed on the little table that he unfolded at her seat. The M&M pouch was torn open and shook in front of her face.

‘Go on, treat yourself.’

‘Do you just fly around the country and trap women in airline seats so they can’t get away?’

He ran a hand against his black hair. ‘Should I have gotten the peanut ones?’

Nesta took a few and tipped them into her mouth.

‘Careful, sweetheart, you don’t want to choke while the plane is crashing.’

‘You are not funny,’ she complained.

‘When they need to identify your body, what name will go with it?’

This time, she nearly did choke on her handful of M&Ms. ‘Are you serious? Is that how you’re asking my name?’

He spread out his hands, evidently pleased with that terrible line, awaiting her answer.

‘Nesta.’

‘Cassian.’

They chatted as the plane continued on its journey, drinking their coffee and eating his snacks. They shared the can of coke, her inhabitations well and truly lowered by the Xanax if she was willing to swap saliva and drink from the same can as a stranger. At the first signs of turbulence, Cassian was there to hold her hands and murmur embarrassing stories about his friends to stop fear paralysing her.

Once the cabin crew had swept through to collect the final few items of rubbish on the short flight, Nesta was clamming up again. She knew what was to follow.

‘Cabin crew, prepare for landing.’

Clouds streamed past the window, adding to the turbulence. Nesta was too scared to even reach for her mask which had fallen on the floor.

Cassian wound his fingers into hers. ‘I’ve got you, sweetheart. It will be okay.’

Every bump had her gritting her teeth so hard, it was a wonder that one of her molars didn’t crack. Cassian just kept talking in a low voice about inane topics to try and shave the edges off of her fear. His arm wound around her shoulders, forehead touching her temple, whilst his other hand still held hers.

‘This is the nicest first date I’ve ever had.’

That snapped something in her. ‘This is not a date.’

The nose of the plane dipped and her stomach lurched from the motion.

‘We’ve had coffee and snacks. We’re holding hands. You’ve shared your deepest fears of dying in a blazing crash. To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.’

Nesta ground out, ‘I hate the Smiths.’

‘Everybody does,’ he said.

With a bump that made her squeeze Cassian tighter, the plane landed. It sped down the runway and Nesta kept her eyes firmly shut for the entire duration until Cassian murmured that they had stopped.

‘You see, a safe flight after all.’

‘Fortune was cruel enough to put me next to you. A crash would have really tipped it over the edge.’

Cassian lifted her bag down for her, his black t-shirt rising to expose a strip of his taut muscled stomach. His own was a well-used duffle which he slung over his shoulder.

They walked together towards the airport building.

‘Do I get your number then?’

Nesta cocked a brow at his boldness. ‘Absolutely not. I’d rather be the one that got away.’

‘Every flight I’ll think of you, wondering if you’re stealing another man’s snacks.’

Nesta pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss as they parted into two different lines at security.

The man had to be mad, she decided as she passed through passport control. No sane man would just start holding a stranger’s hand – and she was an idiot for reciprocating that touch. But it did sting a bit that he’d accepted her refusal so easily. After how tactile and caring he’d been, she thought maybe Cassian would have pestered her again for her number or her socials. Whatever. His loss.

Her fear of flying meant that she’d sweated through her deodorant so she hurried into the bathroom to change her top, clean her arm pits with a baby wipe then slather on more deodorant to appear a little less dishevelled. Nesta spotted Cassian waiting at the baggage carousal for more belongings to come rolling around so she scurried past, avoiding his attention. Fantasy was more fun than reality. Maybe he’d be her one that got away.

After passing through anything to declare, Feyre was waiting for her. The huge belly wasn’t a surprise but it was still a shock to see her little sister so heavily pregnant.

‘Wow, look at you!’

‘I am peeing every ten minutes,’ she replied, holding up her belly.

‘Hi, Rhys.’

‘Nesta,’ he said, swooping to press a kiss on her cheek.

They’d met once. And it had been awkward as hell when Nesta realised he was eight years older than her. He wasn’t the sort of man she’d ever choose, but Feyre seemed happy. They were on “Christmas Card closeness” usually so Feyre’s call asking her to come and be close for the birth had meant a lot. Meant enough that she was willing to fly two days later.

‘Where’s the rest of your luggage?’

‘I had it sent ahead.’

Feyre patted Rhys on the arm. ‘Nesta hates flying. Everything is planned to an inch of its life. No detours, no unnecessary waiting. On the plane, off the plane.’

Even being in an airport, with its constant business, had Nesta itchy. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Do you want to head to the car, ladies? I’m worried about you standing for so long, darling.’

Feyre shook her head, golden hair cascading from the motion. ‘I’m fine. Cassian won’t take that long.’

‘Cassian?’

Nesta could practically hear the alarm bells ringing in her head.

‘My brother,’ said Rhys.

‘He works on an oil rig but he’s home for a couple of months now so you two can argue over who is the best uncle or auntie,’ teased Feyre.

There he was, striding through the doors, duffle bag slung over one shoulder while pushing a cart loaded with three more bags. His eyes snapped straight to her, a slow grin spreading over his face.

They said their greetings, Nesta and Cassian pretending that she hadn’t just been clinging to him in terror on the flight here then they fell into step together, walking slightly behind Rhysand and Feyre.

‘Fortune favours you,’ he murmured.

‘Did you know who I am?’

Cassian gave a hearty laugh that had Rhys glancing his shoulder at them. ‘Not at first. You looked familiar then you said your name and I realised you were Feyre’s sister.’

‘Lucky me,’ she grumbled.

With one hand pushing the trolley, he slung the other arm around her shoulders. ‘So, about that second date.’

[thewritingofspencerrose]

criminology anon again. It is such a cool major and I get to learn a lot of cool things. Currently have an internship with an investigative team of detectives so pretty hyped about that. If you still need ideas, you would write about maybe the reader coming back from working on a case and it didn’t end the way she wanted it to so Jack takes care of her?

Loved your response to my last ask I ate that up !

Ah, so glad you enjoyed! And congrats on your internship, that's so amazing! I personally had the most draining day in uni so writing some Jack comfort was absolutely what I needed. That's also why it's definitely longggg, and it has some Luke in it too (platonic). Enjoy <3

(to make this blurb mild for all, i did not go into any details on the mentioned case)

Jack Hughes x Criminology!OC, Luke Hughes x OC

It had been a day.

Scratch that, it had been a week.

A week of being in another state, a week of meetings, a week of assisting on the investigation.

All for it to end like that. God it has been tearing at my insides since we walked out of that precinct.

Kev tried to help. She's been at this for a years, but talking to her on the plane made it clear that even for a veteran like herself this case was hard.

All I have been able to think about is coming home. And now I'm stuck outside the door, unable to take out my key and even unlock it. I don't want to bring this inside, home is my safe place and after everything I just can't help the feeling of unsettled energy sitting on my chest.

"Crim, you're back!" Luke's voice is what shakes me from my own head space, the nickname he gave me when he first found out my major making the slightest smile come to my face. I'm still tense, but I can't help but turn to face the kid as he takes long strides down the hall, his arms wrapping around me as both our bags fall to the floor. "We missed you around here."

"I miss you too, Kid," I whisper, tears already threatening to spill.

"What are you two doing in the hallway?" Jack's voice interrupts our hug, and I guess I missed the door opening because he's standing there, dazzling sleepily in grey sweatpants and the shirt of my alma mater on his body, having gotten it my freshman year. As if sensing my question, he smiles softly. "I heard both your bags hit the floor. You two are loud."

"You are so not one to talk," Luke groans, grabbing both of our bags and shoving past his brother with no real fire. Poor boy.

I'm still in the hallway. He's standing inside the doorway. And it's now that our eyes fully meet, his shoulders falling.

"It didn't go well," It's not a question, he knows simply from how I'm standing what the answer is. "Come here baby," He coos, taking my hand and pulling me into the apartment, closing the door as we move towards our room.

The lights are low, only the Christmas lights I strung up around the edge of the room during the holidays being left on as he coaxes me to sit on our bed. He doesn't say anything, ask any questions, just moves around the room in silence as he goes to his dresser, grabbing a pair of sweat pants and one of my favorite hoodies, his favorite hoodie, from his drawer and bringing them over.

"Here baby, how about you put these on and I'll go grab the ice cream and we'll see where we left off with New Girl, yeah?"

"Thank you," I thank, him kissing the top of my head with a smile before walking back to the door.

"You don't have to thank me for doing exactly what you do for me after tough games," His voice vibrates back into the room.

And it's with slow hands that I peel off my business casual and pull on his sweats, pulling my hair from where it was sitting on the top of my head.

Two knocks later, I'm already leaning against the headboard of the bed, quilt pulled up high against my chest.

"J, you don't have to knock to come in our room," I can't help but chuckle, although it's Luke's curly head that pops in first, his hands holding 3 soda's as Jack trails in, a bowl of popcorn and a bowl of chocolate strawberries in hand.

"Someone felt left out and wanted to join us," Jack explains, curling into my side as Luke throws his lanky body at the foot of our bed. Jack's lips meet the side of my head again, wrapping his arm around me. "He noticed how upset you were earlier and wanted to be sure you were okay," Is the explanation he whispers in my ear, my heart warming.

"Thank you for all of this," I whisper, Luke too distracted by the remote to notice our conversation.

"I'm just glad you're home, I missed you," He responds, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

"I miss you too, babe."

"Hey, I'm here too," Luke grumbles, having rolled onto his other side and looking pouty. "Did anyone miss me?"

"No."

"Always Kid, always."

[romanoffsbish]

Only Love Can Hurt Like This…

Wanda Maximoff x Vision

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers

@beenicejoy request ❤️

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRHAbsj7/(TikTok they referenced)

Warnings: Angst! (Happy Ending), Heartbreak, Cheating.

Smutty Paragraph: Fingering(W) —I would’ve done more smut but the person hadn’t requested smut so I only did the blurb to urge the plot line I built along lol

18+ | Minors DNI | Smutty paragraph (🤷🏼‍♀️)

"Scotch on the rocks... Make it a double.," you sighed towards the bartender who looked at you with concerned eyes., "Rough night?!," your lips quirked when you heard the voice of your dearest colleague., "You could say that.,"

Wanda watched from her corner, silently at war with her heart and mind, and she almost gave into her urge to wring Darcy's neck when she saw her hand unnecessarily sat on your bicep., "Darling, are you okay? You seem a bit tense.," Vision asks, his arms wrapping around her from behind, and if anything she becomes more tense when he pulls her back into his loving embrace., "Yeah Vis, just tired is all."

—————————————————————

"We could always slip out early.," he muses and her stomach drops at the flirty undertones., "We most certainly can not, this is my best friends wedding.," she scoffs, wriggling out of his hold to give him a pointed glare, and he shrinks under her stare., "I'm getting a refill."

Wanda was grateful to her aloof boyfriend for giving her a reason to approach the bar you have been living at, and to her excitement you are finally without the scholar on your arm., "Hey Y/N/N...," you lightly nod her way, but forgo speaking as you slam back the cocktail., "How've you been?," Wanda inwardly cringed at how awkward the formality fell from her; you rolled your eyes, and sighed into your glass., "I've been good Wands...," you lied, turning yourself to uncomfortably look at her., "Can we talk about it, for just a second please?"

Wanda tensed, of course you'd want to do this now, her fingers gripped onto her glass tightly, but regardless of her uneasiness she nodded., "It's been super weird between us, and I don't want it to be anymore.," you quietly admitted, and Wanda shakily whispers., "Me neither."

"So, let me just say this: I'm done. You don't have to worry anymore.," Wanda's face fell., "What do you mean?," you sighed, meeting her worried gaze with a melancholy one of your own., "I'm done trying to get you; I can't do it anymore, I'm sorry it's taken me this long to figure it out, but I promise I'm done making a fool of myself.," a few tears settled at your eye line but you refused to let them fall, this was a night of celebration for your best friend, so you're doing your best to stay low-key.

"Y/N, you haven't been making a fool out of yourself.," Wanda rushes out in a subtle panic., "It's okay Wands... It's okay.," you sigh out as you pull your longtime best friend in for a hug., "...I want it to be okay.," you reaffirmed quietly.

Wanda's arms are wrapped tightly around you, her unwillingness to let you go only heightens as your next words string out., "Which is why I tendered my resignation at Stark's Corp.," Wanda could feel her soul leave her body when the words left your mouth., "Starting August 1st I'll be working with Pepper in California."

"You're leaving?," Wanda asks, her soft voice trembling as the daunting reality hits her, her fingers painfully dig into your back on reflex., "Plane leaves tomorrow.," you confirmed the obvious while slowly peeling her off of you., "Were you even going to tell me?," you look at her with a sad smile, the answer is clear as day when she looks into your conflicted eyes., "Oh."

In an attempt to evade the brunettes sad stare you peer out to take in the happy couple as they are sharing their first dance on the floor. It's the perfect example of everything you'd always wanted, their love was purely infectious. However as you see their shining smiles you also notice the way Carol's eyes fall to the food. You smirked when you realize just what she wanted, and as the wingwoman you've always been you decide to help her out.

"I've got to go now Wands, please take care.," you lay a soft kiss to her cheek, then you walk away from the woman who was clearly on the verge of a breakdown., "Please don't go.," she whispers long after you're gone, turning to face the bar to prevent those around from seeing her tears., "C-can I please get a vodka soda."

"Mind if I cut in?," you ask the blonde with a subtle head tilt to the tin that was nearing bare of the famed mashed potato cups, and she does her best not to look too excited while giving in., "Why thank you my good lady.," you teased the blonde who sprinted away to collect her food, and Natasha laughed loudly when you spun her around the floor before pulling her into you.

You swayed her around for a total of one song before she sighed heavily against your chest, her face lifting off your shoulder to glare up at you., "Y/N, are you really going to give up on her?," you deadpanned., "Tasha, she's dating Vision, and I've been pining after her since high school, what is there left for me to do?"

"Touché...," she groans in bitter defeat., "I just don't see why you have to run off to California. What do they have that New York doesn't? What am I meant to do without you?," her pouting face really pulled at your heart strings, but not enough to sway you this time around.

"I need a change of scenery Natty, and if I'm ever going to get over her then I need to go. Broaden my horizons a little, I need this,." Natasha smiles sadly, hearing that subtle bit of desperation in your tone settled her bitterness.

"You'll be back to visit right?," she asks quietly, a bit unsure of your long term plans., "Of course Natty, I could never stay away from you for long. Who else will I get into trouble with?," she chuckled at your words, memories of your college shenanigans flying through her mind.

"Don't replace me.," she whispers insecurely., "I would never dream of it Red.," you gently reassured her with a sweet kiss to her temple before spinning her into her wife's arms., "Welp lovebirds, I'll be heading out soon, but I'll see you two for our special goodbye brunch tomorrow.," you said with a clap of your hands, and the couple yanked you into a tight hug., "Careful not to wrinkle the fit, it's a rental."

After bidding them ado you turned to the bar, her unwavering stare was intense when you finally returned it, an obvious layer of pleading laid beneath them as she silently willed for you to tell her this was all just a sick fucking joke. That you weren't flying over a thousand miles away just to escape her. That the well of chances you'd given her to finally pick you hadn't actually ran out, that she still had time to figure it out, but when your eyes dropped, and you avoided her reaching out she knew this was it—she finally lost you, and fuck she'd surely be lying to say it didn't hurt like hell...

She went to follow you in a panic but she was bombarded by a group of giggling women that surrounded her; the brides were throwing their bouquets, partaking in the silly tradition that deemed the catcher next in line to be wed. Silently she cursed the notion, and it was as if the world was in on this sick joke because the bouquet landed in her folded arms. Obnoxious cheers filled the space around her, Vision ran up to lift her into the air, spinning her around as if the little game was a direct reassurance.

Watching the woman of your dreams being with another was never easy, but it always was a bit harder when under the surface lied the truth you always wanted to come to light. Wanda's expression was blank as her partner celebrated, but you saw right through her, you have always been good at that. Everyone had joked that you could read minds, but really it was just that you were always aware of Wanda.

Every twitch of her face meant something to you, what one might mistake for confusion, you readily knew to be irritation. When she sighed, which was often, you knew what each one meant, no one else could even detect the subtle differences in her breathing patterns, but you always did. They told you when she needed to vent, or to cry in your arms, or even when she was homesick and needed a Sokovian dish to cheer her up.

Nobody on this Earth knew Wanda more than you did, and yet here you both stood; together but still you were somehow two worlds apart.

You'd stayed off to the side to witness the silly tradition, and you now regretted deciding to do so because everything she was feeling you saw. Regret plagued her mind, it was easily the most notable of emotions swirling behind her orbs, her cheeks were shining under the dim lights as fresh tears fell down them, and your cheeks soon mirrored hers the longer you held her captivating stare.

Her eyes screaming "I love you," and yours saying much the same, but your feet carrying you away tell her that she was a smidge too late, and so it took everything in her not to allow the festering sobs to escape her chest.

—

Wanda was unresponsive when Vision tried to talk to her as they entered their shared space. The bouquet she carried in out of respect for her closest friends soon found a home in the trash, and she found her home in her flask., "For heaven sake Wanda, you've had enough.," Vision shrieked, but his attempts to take the container from her were futile as she shoved him back., "Only I'll say when I have.," she sneered, the metal touching her lips, the liquid that once burned now glides down her throat effortlessly, her boyfriend cringes at the sight.

"This is just too unhinged Wanda, we should be celebrating, and I should be having my way with you as we do.," she cringes at the way he speaks, as if she was nothing more than a prize he'd won, his vile words a stark contrast to the ones you'd muttered all those months back when you loved her so incredibly well in a drunken, post bachelorette party haze.

"Oh Wands, you're so beautiful...," you'd coo'd while your lips laid soft kisses all over her body, taking special care not to leave behind a trace., "I'm going to love you so well Wands, you're going to feel it deep within.," and feel she did as your fingers finally slipped inside of her after a decade of wait, unbridled moans of pleasure filled the space, and lasted well into the early morning, no thoughts of Vision had even prevailed in the redhead's cloudy mind. Everything was you, it always was, and she was kidding herself to ever think otherwise.

Tears once again befall her cheeks as she tries to rid her mind of your loving touch, desperate to return to the moment, but it's of little use., "Vision, there's nothing to fucking celebrate.," the words held a bite to them that send shivers down her own spine, he didn't exactly deserve her fury, but he sure as hell was going to get it.

Vision wasn't stupid—far from it actually, so he'd always known from the start he was on borrowed time with the box dyed redhead. Wanda was always hard to read for him, but the way the woman looked at you as if you'd hung the moon and stars was obvious, he had always yearned for that stare onto fall to him. It never did though, and he always knew it never would., "Whatever Y/N said to you, I just hope it isn't too late for you both; it's clear to me it's about time I set you free Wanda."

Wanda's heart shattered even further when the man she spent the last five years with spoke. She did love him, but never how she loved you, and now she's finding out that he always knew. Part of her wants to be angry that he'd stayed, that he didn't urge her to follow her heart, but at the end of the day she knew he was following his, and he wasn't the problem here—she was.

"Please Wanda, don't let her slip away.," the man mutters from her side., "Be brave.," he says with conviction as he places a parting kiss to her trembling lips., "And don't forget to send my invitation to the wedding.," he chuckles sadly, the sound of wheels following him as he takes his sparse belongings with him.

Once the door slams shut she breaks down fully, the reality of it all finally hitting her, she settled onto her couch with her laptop full of memories of you, and a pint of ice cream.

—

"Y/N, I'm serious, look!," Natasha squeals from the seat across from you with a hopeful smile and her phone held out for you., "Well, I'm saying it surely doesn't mean anything.," you groaned while reluctantly accepting the device and seeing she was indeed telling you the truth.

"It is with deep regret, and great hurt in my heart that I announce to my dearest friends and family that Wanda and I are no longer an item.," your eyes were transfixed on the screen, those words you'd waited years to hear finally became a reality, but all you could do is shake your head and pass her phone back to her.

"Come on Y/N! This can't be a coincidence.," Carol chimes in, and Natasha rewards her with a peck to her reddening cheeks., "Exactly! Go to her! Cancel the move, Tony will take you back with open arms, I'm certain of it."

"Guys, no. This changes nothing, breakup or not she's not ready to love me in front of the whole world and we all know she never will be.," you shut them down, tone level as you were in public but the couple knew it was best not to push., "Okay, then eat up champ, it's almost time for us to all head to the airport.," Natasha reroutes back to the task at hand, you smile at her before returning to your eggs, and she begins her plans to bark up the other tree.

—

Wanda woke up to the sound of your laughter, for the briefest moment the world felt right, her hungover mind easily tricking her into a false sense of reality. The dinging of a phone and looping of your laughter brought her back though, so she swiftly sat up, one hand haphazardly reaching for her phone while the other massaged at her throbbing temples.

*Take off is at 3PM, Flight 2469, don't fuck this up Max, your window is narrowing 🤏🏼*

Wanda paid no mind to the way her body reacted to her quick movements, but it was apparent to her that as she approached thirty she could no longer hang like she once did. Nausea and a killer headache wouldn't get in her way of getting to you, to fixing everything. She booked the flight, fortunate to find it was not full just yet, and then she ran to shower. There was no way she was finally professing her unwavering love to you out loud while smelling like an actual distillery.

—

You felt uneasy as you entered the busy airport with your whole life being downsized within two hardshell suitcases. This hope inducing idea that they broke up over you was weighing heavily on your mind and it made you begin to question if leaving was the right choice here. This might finally be your chance to have her, the woman you've been in love with since sophomore year of high school when she'd transferred into your school and deposited herself right into your heart. With that deep accent, kind heart and that perfect smile.

Then you deflate as you remember once again that even before Vision she refuted her feelings for you, she always had, and it appears that she always will. This game she played had been the most exhausting one of your life; the jealousy she always exhibited when you were coupled up, or were flirted with that she'd disguise as her "not wanting to lose her best friend to an undeserving hussy.," the worst part of it all. Her intentions were obvious, everyone saw right through her, but no matter the case you excused her behavior in fear of having none of her, and she'd continue to shoot anyone down when they mentioned her potential crush.

She'd never elaborated to you why she was so afraid to love you outwardly, at one point you considered her parents potentially being homophobic, but then Piet came out Senior year and they embraced him wholeheartedly. She didn't even have the guts to tell you after she allowed you to make love to her for countless hours, your name tumbling from her lips like a sweet promise, but it was really just a tainted one with heartbreak as its intention.

After that joyous night, and subsequently devastating morning she avoided you. It was months of unfair silence, every text or call ignored all until the wedding planning had picked back up. Then she had tried to just act as if nothing happened between the two of you by pulling you into a hug, a front of sorts. Talking about Vis this, and Vis that, all the while doing her damndest to cockblock you when Carol's beautiful bridesmaid Monica tried to pick you up at the dress fittings.

Thing's only got worse when her attempts fell through, and you and Monica began to spend more time together. Wanda was irritable at every gathering, your few shared words were nothing short of awkward, and her longing stares from across the room bordered creepy. So long were the easy days of your facade of friendship, only to be replaced by a fragile tie between shared lifelong friends.

Leaving really was all you had left now...

"Hey, you alright?," Carol whispers as she pulls your crying form into her strong embrace., "I'm going to miss you guys.," you told a half truth, but the way your Russian best friend looked to you it was obvious she knew the truth, but if she did she said nothing, residing instead to hug you tightly., "Don't you dare be a stranger dorogoy.," she threatens, arms tightening to get her point across, only satisfied when you choke out., “I wont Tasha…,”

The redhead tapped your ass in send off, only giggling when your pointed glare finds her, and you share one last chuckle with your friends. Heart absolutely aching at the absence of the other original member, but it’s truly no shock to you that she’s not here to bid you farewell., “Take care, and safe travels to Cancun my sweetest loves.,” you genuinely relay just before walking off to meet Pepper in the TSA line.

“Where the fuck is Wanda?,” Natasha groans against her wife’s chest., “She’ll be here.,” Nat scoffs., “Yeah, too late for me to see it work.,” the blonde laughs wildly, and the redhead whines while trying to shove her away, but Carol holds to her firmly., “My beautiful wife, you must have more faith in me please…”

Natasha looks up to her with furrowed brows, and a deep pout, Carol gently thumbs at the crease between her eyes., “I pushed our flights around, and handled all the trip rearranging so that you—my Russian spy in training, could have a front row seat to the greatest love story of all time, second only to ours of course.,” Natasha squeals, then surges forward to catch her wife’s lips in a passionate kiss.

“Look, the show has begun…,” Carol teases, Natasha follows her eyes to the luggage counter to find a distressed looking Wanda in a rush., “Tell me my wife, did you bring the popcorn?,” the couple quietly snicker before following behind the Sokovian at a safe enough distance.

Wanda’s feet move her quickly, the line for TSA a breeze as she’d paid for the precheck, but then she was lost in a crowd of random people., “Where could all of you need to be going?,” she grumbled while looking all over for you, the flight had already began to board and she was panicking that she’d miss her chance to speak. Just as she began to feel tears pricking her eyes at the prospect of missing you she heard your perfect laugh, heart clenching at the daunting idea of never being able to hear it again.

It all happened rather quickly, one second you’re upright talking to your new boss about the California weather, the next your flat on the ground of the Laguardia airport, groaning in pain with a newly heavy feeling atop of you., “Y/N, are you okay?,” you look up to see your boss’s confused expression, then you peer down to see the shivering body atop of you., “Yeah, I’m good Pepper.,” you reply before sitting the both of you back up. Pepper got the subtle message loud and clear so she stepped closer to the terminal, but not far away enough so that she couldn’t be a bit nosy.

“Wanda, would you like to tell me what the hell that was about, hm?,” you immediately regret the way it came out when you saw the way that she flinched., “I-I, please don’t leave me Y/N, I’m ready, fuck, I’m so unbelievably ready.,” you can’t fight the need to comfort her as you guide her head to your chest., “Wands, it’s too late for me to stay, I made a commitment.”

“No, please don’t tell me I’m too late, this can’t be it for us Y/N.,” you chuckled bitterly as tears streamed down your face., “But it is isn’t it?,” she shook her head., “Don’t say that, it’s not!,” you didn’t want to say it, but it just felt like the end was upon the both of you, her hushed lap confession wasn’t going to magically fix this, and you were truthfully beyond exhausted with the repetitive matter at hand.

“What do you want from me Y/N? Need me to shout it across the damn airport?! Fine.,” the distressed woman jumped up from your lap in a hurry before you could stop her, she climbed onto a counter, towering over you as you were now on your feet staring up at her shocked., “Attention travelers, I, Wanda Maximoff am merely just a stranger to you, standing in this airport ready to profess my love to the one and only woman of my dreams—Y/N Y/L/N.,”

Wanda smiled down at you, eyes shining with a glossy truth, she held that contact with you as she continued to loudly speak to the strangers., “I’ve loved her for over a decade, but sadly it’s my only damn fault we never got our chance. I was just so fucking scared of the repercussions. Love is absolutely terrifying, and having you as my friend had felt safer than losing you over an inevitable future heartbreak.”

“Sing it!!!,” you both chuckled when you heard your best friends voice from afar, you even tried to find the source, but Wanda was not done speaking to you, so you turned back to face the love of your life.

“But that clearly didn’t work out, because you’re telling me that I’m losing you anyways. Plus, I’ve had you wholly now, and I’ll be damned if I’ll never be able to do so again.,” Wanda couldn’t stand the distance so she went to hop down, you were quick to help her, soft hands gripped her by the waist and gently lowered her back to the ground.

The newfound closeness made your breath catch as she didn’t move to pull back, but instead leaned in to have her front flush to yours while her hands cupped your cheeks., “Allow me this chance to make it up to you detka, make up for all this lost time where I ran from the truest thing I’ve ever known.,” her heart was thumping erratically in her chest at your continued silence, anxiety spiking when your lip trembled., “I- don’t know Wands…”

The pads of her thumbs brushed your tears away while she took in a steadying breath, then before she lost all her built up confidence she pressed her lips to yours passionately. You gasped at the vaguely familiar feeling, and Wanda went to pull away in fear that she only made things worse, but with your grip on her hips you held her in place, and your lips moved against hers with no further hesitation.

Wanda broke the kiss, giggling against your lips when the sound of clapping surrounded the both of you., “How about now?,” she hummed, and you smiled., “We’ll figure it out.”

Natasha and Carol ran full speed ahead when they felt all was well, the blonde lifting the two of you off the ground in a rush of excitement., “Ahhh!!! Double dates, and my bestie stays.,” Natasha shrieked, but then her face fell when you looked at her with a saddened expression., “Guys, I made a commitment, I can’t stay.,” Carol set you both back down, and the once joyous moment felt almost doomed for pain.

The clicking of heels and clearing of a throat pulled all of your attention to the right., “Y/N, please do excuse me for cutting in, but the contracts haven’t been notarized yet, and I wouldn’t have a problem with you working remotely from New York.,” she saw the way your eyes searched her face so she offered you the kindest smile she could., “Truthfully.”

“Where will I stay?,” you thought out loud, and Wanda didn’t hesitate to answer., “With me, it’ll be just like college, but ten times better.,” the beaming smile she wore settled the rest of your doubts., “Sure we’re not moving too fast?” She met your teasing with a shoulder bump while the group of you stood in line to board the plane to California., “I was actually thinking we weren’t moving fast enough.”

You turned to her with a teasing smirk., “Careful Maximoff, just cause you caught that bouquet doesn’t mean I’ll be marrying you anytime soon.,”she smirks right back., “Detka, how else will we reach my plans to be married by 30?,” your eyes widened at the reminder of her lifelong goals, and you settled into your seat and furthermore into a stunned silence.

“Vegas is only an eight hour drive away.,” Carol muses all too suddenly through the crack in the airplane seats., “Shut the hell up Danvers.,” you grumbled, and all three of your favorite women broke out into fits of taunting laughter, and after a moment of sulking you did as well.

Wanda’s fear of planes had always been rather bad, and it was in this moment with her that you realized this was it. Wanda had chosen you, and she wasn’t going anywhere without you from this point forward, she was yours in the way that you have always been hers, and it was like the familiar feeling of the weight of the world on your chest had finally melted away.

“I love you Y/N/N.,” Wanda whispered, her eyes shut tightly with her hand in yours and head leaning against your shoulder., “I love you too Max, so very much.,” you settled a sweet kiss to her head to offer her comfort, and felt as she squeezed your hand when the plane took off., “I’ll gladly take your last name one day.,” you felt her smile against your clothed shoulder, and all in the world finally felt right.

——

4,666 Words 😳😂

If you ever make a request and want it smutty make sure you say so, because I won’t be likely to make it as such if you don’t. 🤪

❤️ Kaitlyn 💋

[billthedrake]

This story is a follow up to The Hard Part. I figured it was time for a romantic story.

PARADISE

I won't say the country, but it was a remote, non-touristy tropical place that had developed a low-key "anything goes" reputation for gay vacationers. Underaged shit wasn't tolerated, but the beaches were long and largely private, and word was you could be naked or even have sex on the beach, and it wasn't a big deal.

Dad had a real excited grin on the prop plane ride over and on the jeep ride to the thatch bungalow. The guy who ran it gave us the run down on the basics. Limited hot water in the solar-powered heater, mosquito netting that was a must at night, a fridge stocked with the basics. Breakfast would be dropped off each morning at 7. Any issues just ring him on his cell phone. His English was broken but good, and he concluded his rehearsed speech with a smile.

"Most of all, the one rule here is have fun, guys," he grinned with a knowing expression before he bowed out and left me and Dad alone. I wasn't sure if people here were really laid back or if they just knew where the money came from.

Any way, it made me feel like I came to the right place, especially as I stepped out onto the back verandah and saw the water lapping the shore about eighty yards from our place for the next week.

"Glad we came?" Dad growled softly in my ear as his lips brushed against my lobe and his hands gently gripped my sides. I had resisted the vacation idea. It was winter break at school, and I had completed my last water polo season, which had ended my four years at USC on a high of a championship win. My parents were divorced now, and it was all complicated. But I had a plan to split my time between Mom and Dad this year - Mom's for Christmas and the week after down here with Dad.

"Mmm.. yeah," I replied as I backed into his embrace and even without looking, I knew he'd unbuttoned his oxford stripe dress shirt. Dad had a casual side but lately had leaned into that Brooks Brothers professional look, even on the weekends. I shuddered to think that would probably be me in twenty or thirty years.

I could tell Dad was horny as he pulled me tight against his warm body and ran his hands underneath my T-shirt, touching me for the first time in nearly two months.

"I almost forget how big you've gotten," he said. At 6'4", I was three inches taller than my father, but by now I'd pretty much matched his muscular build. I think we were both adjusting mentally to that development.

"I think you may have preferred me leaner," I said in a half tease.

Dad's fingers traced up my shaved-smooth abs, and up to my chest. "You kidding?" Dad grunted. "You're my top dog, Matty..."

"God, Dad," I hissed, my dick surging. We'd actually cut back on that talk the last few times. Dad was going through a lot emotionally with the divorce. The visits to LA were less frequent, and we were back more to weekly dad-son phone calls rather than constant texting. It had pained me to see, but I had only myself to blame.

Dad sensed my excitement. "A whole week, son... just us..." he grunted. Now that we were alone, it was like Dad felt liberated in the possibility we had to verbalize what had been hushed in our furtive sessions before. His hands were undoing my shorts.

"We gonna fuck like bunnies, Dad?" I hissed. His words, his touch, were driving me crazy.

I heard a chuckle behind me and Dad gave a gentle pat to my abs. My shorts fell to the floor and Dad was already peeling down my briefs. My erection felt great in his smooth warm hands. "I think someone's been a horny boy away at college," he growled.

I had. I was closeted, still, and maybe would stay that way. But I had fooled around with a professor. He couldn't hold a candle to Dad, but the secret sex was hot. Maybe I was too addicted to the secrecy.

I started thrusting in and out of my father's fist, seeing my sizable tool push out past his curled thick fingers. Dad looked over my shoulder to watch, too.

Finally he withrdrew his hand and stepped back. When I turned I saw his beautiful blond chest fur, now streaked with silver, and all that daddy muscle. Dad was just past the 5-0 mark now and handsome as fuck. Not overly big, but a man's body, simply and quietly masculine. With a smile he walked over to the bed and pulled down the covers, then undid his shorts.

"Wanna take our time today, Matt?" Dad said in a soft voice.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice croaking in lust. "I do."

We got fully naked and got on top of the cotton sheets together. We could feel the humid tropical breeze blow over our bodies as he scooted closer, our hands surprisingly tentative as they reached out to touch one another.

"It's been a while," I said as my fingers traced Dad's mid section. I don't know if it was the stress of his divorce or just work kept him busy, but my father had put on some weight around his middle. Not too much, but the love handles were fuller and there was a hint of a belly. I loved his body, the way it was before, and the way it was now.

"Yeah, it has," Dad sighed. "I guess I needed a little break... doesn't mean I didn't dream of this, a lot."

I felt deeply emotional at that point. "You don't have to explain, Dad," I said. And I eased forward to kiss my father, softly. I wasn't gonna push him on this trip. I was the one who'd put it out there first, the idea of being boyfriends, and I knew that may have been partly responsible for my parents' divorce.

The carefree naughtiness Dad had when we started our affair was gone now, but that didn't make the lust or attraction between us die down. Dad kissed me back, just as softly, and ran his hand over my lats, silently appreciating my fuller muscle. He shifted his body a little and like that our cocks were pressing against one another. Father to son, erection to erection, and nothing between us. It's hokey, maybe, but at that moment, I thought Dad and I were saying the things that need to be saying through our hard dicks.

I've never been a frot guy. The friction doesn't actually work for me in a pleasant way, much less in a manner to get me off. But that afternoon was the closest I'd get to it. Dad and I clung to one another, hands pawing and gripping and caressing each other's bodies as we made out and humped each other. Like we were making up for lost time. In a way we were.

Dad started kissing up along the side of my neck, muttering in his deep soft growl as he did. "God, son, this is so incredible... YOU feel so incredible."

He pulled back and looked into my eyes. We were on our sides but Dad was angled a little more on top. "Can I show you what I've been dreaming about doing to you the last few months?" he asked playfully.

"God, yeah," I laughed, feeling my hardon surge against his hip.

He bit his lip and made a show of raising my arm and pressing my wrist up against the pillow next to my head. Then he dove down and started licking and kissing my arm pit. I'd kept my upper body and legs shaved for water polo, and my underarm was completely smooth. Now that my final season was over, I'd actually looked forward to growing in my body hair for a change. But for now, Dad feasted on my smooth skin, giving my pit one last soft lick before moving over to my chest and nipple.

"Damn, Dad..." I sighed, almost laughing from half-ticklish sensations. But he kept his slow exploration, taking his time back and forth between my two nipples, then tracing his tongue over the ridges of my abs. I kept my lower abdomen shaved, but I was proud of my full light brown bush. Dad kind of nuzzled his nose through my pubes before his latched his mouth along the sides of my shaft.

I was enjoying the slow approach but was glad Dad wasn't trying to be too much a tease. He lifted my prick and took me into his mouth. The blowjob was soft and gentle and could have made me cum if he'd gone at it any harder. For now, I rose the crest of that ultimate pleasure, my toes curling down some as my body shook involuntarily.

Dad chuckled as he pulled off. "You're worked up," he observed, holding my prick up and just looking at it directly and lovingly.

"You have no idea, Dad," I said. "Ever since you suggested this trip."

My father's blue eyes looked up at me. Love and a lot of lust. "Guess I made the right call, then," he said. For all the emotional messiness of the last year, it was like we knew we needed this closeness.

"Guess you did," I smirked.

Dad's fingers relinquished my cock and ran along my upper thighs, savoring their smoothness. "Do I still get to show you what I've been fantasizing about?" he asked.

I nodded. "Please." I was so horny, and I could have cum real quick if I had a hand or mouth on my dick working me. But the build up was even better.

"Lift your legs, Matt," Dad urged softly.

"Fuck," I said, having an idea what was coming. For all of our times together, Dad had never actually rimmed me. It was the other way around, me as Top Dog, and maybe he thought I'd object to having my hole licked.

I didn't and certainly not now. I pulled back my thighs and held my knees toward my chest. Dad had a close and direct view of my lightly furred pucker.

"Goddamn," he hissed. And he leaned in to start licking me.

Dad wasn't the first guy to rim me but he was only the second. Maybe it was psychological, but I didn't think I enjoyed having my hole eaten. I was wrong. In that resort bungalow, I leaned back and let my father make love to my ass. French kissing it, and then exploring deeper with his soft, talented tongue. My dick was dripping the whole time.

That rim job probably lasted five minutes but it felt like a glorious eternity.

Dad had been in control but now seemed super horny and impetuous. "My turn," he hissed and I watched as he let my legs down and turned to face away from me, scooting back toward my face. My hands touched his strong thighs. I might have had the more athletic build, but Dad was solid, and his muscle had the advantage of his age and years of activity. The glutes flexed some at my touch, then Dad leaned forward, which pulled his buns apart.

I dove in. I loved eating Dad out and I was particularly worked up then. My father moaned out loud, almost grunted even, as my tongue circled around his pucker and started fluttering against his entrance.

"Eat my ass, son," he hissed. And then, as I ate him, he leaned forward more, nudging my legs back up. Turns out Dad wasn't done eating my hole, either. Fine with me. I pulled my legs back to let him at it again, and like that we settled into our first rim 69.

I knew then that we'd be doing this a lot more. It was like an electrical circuit flowed between us. The more I licked, the more I felt the sensations along my own hole. So I licked more, urging Dad to follow suit.

Maybe it got too much for him. maybe he just wanted my cock. Because Dad finally pulled out of my trench and leaned up to start licking my cock. I grunted into his ass, and grunted louder when my father bucked his rump back against my face. I thought he was trying to get me in deeper into his hole, and maybe he was, but I realized the new position was to take my cock into his mouth.

No slow approach now, Dad was going in for the kill. Steady, controlled suck motions up and down on my hard as nails prick.

I moaned against into the cheeks that practically smothered my face and gave up my cum. Right into Dad's cocksucking mouth. It was a surprisingly intense orgasm, and I rode it out, stopping my full on ass licking and just enjoying Dad's spit-wet hairy cheeks pressed against my face as he milked my load out.

My father finally got off of his perch and climbed off the bed, his own prick beet red in excitement. He searched his bag for some lube and squirted some on his prick.

"Think you can rim me some more?" he asked in a plea.

I nodded, then watched Dad return to the position he had before.

"Lie back, son," he urged, clearly horny and ready to shoot. I did as instructed and my father sat his butt on my face. It wasn't the optimal position for a skilled rim job but there was something very hot about having my face covered with my father's ass. I licked wildly at his trench while he stroked frantically.

"Fuck!" he growled and I felt the hot sperm shoot in thick ropes over my chest and abs. Dad was clearly backed up and I loved feeling his jizz rain down on me.

He was all smiles when he finally pulled off and maneuevered himself to a sit beside my supine body.

"Thanks for that, Matt," he said with a grin as he patted my upper arm gently. "That was incredible."

"Fuck yeah, it was," I laughed, finally leaning up and wiping the spit from my face. "Wasn't expecting that for our first day."

Dad smiled. God, he looked so sexy then. "I wanted to try something new."

I ran my fingers up his furry thighs, more in a lazy caress than a tease. "I hope we try some a lot more new stuff this week," I said.

Dad nodded and leaned down for a soft kiss. Then when he pulled out he had an playful smile. "Looks like I made a mess of you, buddy."

I looked down at my torso and had to laugh. Dad had really painted my whole upper body with his sperm, which was now liquifying on my smooth muscle. "Jesus, Dad, how long were you holding that load in?"

"A solid week," he admitted, sheepishly. "Wanted to be ready for our vacation."

"Damn," I hissed, then got up to rinse off before the cum ran all off my body and onto the sheets.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, Dad was looking through the fridge that was set up to the side of our room. He was naked and even though I'd just cum, it was hard not to be turned on by his middle-aged body. So much like mine, yet a total contrast, too.

Dad looked up. "There were some sandwiches here and a bottle of wine," he said. "What do you say we just enjoy that as our dinner here?"

"Yeah, sounds awesome," I said as I stepped over to the door and looked out onto the beach. "We certainly got an incredible view."

Dad pulled out the wine bottle and found the opener. "Gonna put any clothes on, Matty?" he chuckled.

I reached down and tugged at my soft genitals. "Nah... no one's gonna see us, Dad.... come on."

I could see the cautious side of him debating in his own mind. Guess which side won out. "All right," he conceded.

It was a strangely romantic meal, me and Dad out on the verandah, sipping wine and just enjoying being there, naked and free.

"Sorry I had to step back last year, Matty," Dad said at last, as our conversation veered from light hearted to serious.

"Dad..." I objected. "You don't have to explain yourself." I sighed. "It's complicated."

"It is," my father agreed. "And I do have to explain myself. I called you my boyfriend two years ago, and I meant it... only it was one thing to imagine divorce, but the reality is harder than you can ever imagine, son."

I gave a grimace and nodded. "Yeah, it hit me hard in a weird way. I mean, I wanted that... you know, fantasized about it happening, but then it hit me that it's my own parents getting a divorce... I don't know..."

Dad sighed. "I sometimes worry I made a mistake..."

I stopped on. "Come on, Dad. If it wasn't me, it would be another guy." I paused. "Sorry to be blunt." I realized there was this tricky line where I wasn't sure whether I could talk to Dad as a parent, lover, or friend.

"Yeah, probably," he admitted, his face softening some. "I did have a couple other experiences with men. Honest truth, they can't hold a candle to my Top Dog."

"Fuck!" I hissed.

"What?" Dad asked, concerned he'd said the wrong thing.

I chuckled. "You just gave me a boner, that's all."

Dad scooted back and looked down. "I'll be damned." He took another appreciative look at my erection then leaned back in his chair. "Things were... complicated... with your mother and me. But I never felt her desire me that much, son. Ever."

"Dad," I said. "I've been thinking... maybe we shouldn't rush things. I mean, we have time right? You're divorced and I'm a single young dude. Let's just enjoy that, OK?"

Dad seemed relieved by my words and he gave a big smile. "Sounds amazing, buddy," he said. He nodded down at my lap. "Need me to take care of that boner for you, Top Dog?"

I grinned. Just hearing him say those words made my dick twitch. Probably always would. But I shook my head. "Later. We got all night. All week even. I want you keyed up for it, too."

****

It was our first full day in Paradise, and we'd come in from the beach, already frying in the midday son. I wasn't sure if we were going to wait for sex, but after I took a quick rinse in the shower, Dad slipped down a pair of trunks and let his meaty dong out.

I slipped on some shorts while Dad stepped into the bathroom. He was taking some time, and when I realized he was prepping himself, I slipped my shorts back off. We he came out, freshly showered, I was in bed and rock hard. Dad grinned, tossing aside the towel and showing off his amazing body and a dick that was firming up by the second.

"We didn't get around to fucking yesterday," he said playfully as he got up onto the bed, too.

"No, sir, we didnt," I replied. Dad and I never had a formal relationship and I never called him sir, but at that moment it felt right, even if in a playful way.

Our bodies felt warm as we connected in an incestuous embrace. Slowly, we made out. It felt wonderful. It's funny: in the weeks leading up to this trip, I imagined all sorts of hard athletic sex, but now I was getting into the slowness of our sex.

I mimicked Dad from last night and started kissing all over his body. It hadn't been a particular urge of fantasy of mine, but the act was powerful and a turn on. My rim job was soft and measured, gently licking my father's pucker in contrast to the fevered munching of the night before.

When I got out the lube, Dad looked up at me with a look that was horny but very loving. "I dont need a lot of fingering today, Matty... I'm pretty horny for it," he said.

The contrast between his clear lust and his calm demeanor drove me wild. I slicked up my cock and applied some lube to his ring, then scooted up as he put a pillow under the small of his back to raise his ass up to the right level.

"Unnnfff... that's it, buddy. Nice and slow."

I was pressing in with some pressure to breach the ring but going as gradually as I could. I felt dad's natural defenses pull back and pretty soon let me inside him. The man's insides were hot and wet and incredible. I missed this. "Fuck, Dad," I hissed.

"Back in the saddle, right, Matty?" Dad growled.

My dick started bottoming out inside his ass. It was tight but not too tight and I got off on how it welcomed me back inside. "Fuck, yeah, Dad. I missed this."

"Missed this, too, son," Dad hissed and ran his hands up and down my flank. His legs were wrapped around me and we took advantage of the classic missionary position to kiss deeply.

I slow pumped him just like that, our bodies clinging to one another. Dad actually whimpered while I dicked him and instead of finding that passive or feminine or anything it turned me the fuck on. I put more power to my thrusts, not going fast but maximizing the depth of my fuck.

When I pulled off the kiss, Dad was clearly right on the edge of that path to orgasm. "I love you, son," he grunted.

"Love you too, dad." We'd had that conversation about taking it slow this week, but we weren't saying anything we hadn't said before.

My words made dad's eyes open wide in excitement. It was a romantic vibe but sexual too. "I love my son's cock fucking me," he grunted.

We didn't always or even usually bring up the taboo aspect of the incest during sex itself. But it never failed to fire me up. "God, I love fucking my father's ass."

I paused my fuck for a second. I didn't want to, but I needed to get the lube and squirt some on my father's cock. I tossed the bottle to the side and resumed that deep thrust. "Go for it, Dad. Cum on your son's cock..."

"Oh yeah," he hissed, stroking now as we fucked. "I'm so fucking close...."

"Yeah," I urged. "Top Dog's gonna get your there, sir. Gonna fuck a load out of those dad balls."

I could see Dad's eyes on me, not just my face but all of me. Taking in my hunky water polo body. Strong and muscular for 22. That gaze made me feel like even more of a stud, as I threw all of my poise and power into dicking Dad across the finish line.

"Fuck!" he cried, and I was grateful for the seclusion of this bungalow. Dad could be a moaner in sex sometimes, but this was the loudest I'd seen him. His whole body tensed up and he raised his hips up higher, mostly withdrawing off my dick as his cock jerked and a few heavy streaks of cum shot out. Not as crazy a load as the previous night, but it was an amazing sight.

I gave a few urgent thrusts, eager to get my nut before it all became too much for Dad. Sometimes when I feel that time pressure, I can't come right away, but I was so worked up, it was no issue at all now. I grunted and then started having one of those orgasms that made me grateful to be a top with a receptive ass to fuck. It was the kind of orgasm that feels like it's not gonna come and then when it does feels like it's not gonna end.

We kissed and embraced and felt the stickiness of dad's load between our warm bodies.

***

I'd learn that sex, particularly intense sex, usually tires Dad out.

It probably didn't take ten minutes before Dad was dozing off. More than dozing - dead asleep, snoring in the soft queen bed as the tropical breeze blew in.

I loved being with him as he slept, but I'm not much of a napper. And after reflecting on the mindblowing hotness of this illicit getaway, I figured it was weird to just watch my father sleep.

I quietly rifled through my stuff and put on a pair of running shorts. I'd be taking a break from lifting that week, but figured I could get in some cardio. Particularly since some clouds were coming in, and the afternoon sun waning in intensity.

Jogging in sand is its own challenge, but you get used to it after a bit. Plus, it was the most amazing view imaginable. Turquoise water, palm trees, lapping water against the shore. All to myself. I was in awe most of the time.

As I jogged I thought about the story Dad and I had rehearsed. I mean, no one knew we were related. So I was just a college kid having a fling with his professor. It was easier for me to tell a half truth than a lie. We had practiced our fictitious names and our backstory. But who knows if we'd even have to use it. So far we'd not seen a single soul since arriving.

Then, just as I was about to turn around, I saw a guy lying on the beach ahead of me. Then as I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, I saw it was two men. Tanned, good bodies, and naked. And I'd stumbled on them just as I saw one of them, a younger brown haired guy, lean over and start blowing the older guy.

My heart stopped in horniness. I so wanted to watch, these guys were just beautiful. But I felt bad for invading their privacy, so I turned around and made my way back.

I told Dad when I got back. He had woken up and was looking amazing in his nakedness.

"I just saw two guys on the beach having sex," I laughed as I gulped down some water.

"Out here?" Dad asked, incredulous, his furry, naked body propped against the pillow.

I shook my head, trying to catch my breath. Running in the humidity is a bitch. "No, further down. Older guy and younger guy, like us."

"Maybe not exactly like us," Dad leered. I was loving seeing my father's naughty side come out on this trip so far.

"Yeah, probably not," I laughed.

"Is that something you wanna do, Matt?" my father said, more than a little concern in his eye. He had an uptight, cautious side. Which I guess was a good thing given our incestuous affair. "Fucking out in the open?"

"They weren't fucking, the young guy was blowing the older guy," I corrected.

"Still... that's pretty wild." Dad said simply. "It's a little out of my comfort zone."

"Maybe mine, too," I admitted. "But it would be hot to try."

I slipped off my jogging sorts and jock strap, letting my dick swing free. I wasn't chubbed, but it felt good to expose myself to Dad.

It was like he was reading my mind. "It's incredible being naked with each other, isn't it?"

I nodded, feeling a strange excitement that was sexual but not about having sex at that moment. It was funny in my mind, I thought we'd be fucking nonstop all week, but now that we were here, I had to acknowledge that our sexual endurance had some pretty clear limits. That was cool, too, it just made me focus on Dad in a different way.

Dad took in a full view of my body. "I hate to see you cover up that beautiful body, son, but what do you say we go into town and grab some dinner?"

****

I showered up and got dressed - just a pair of cotton shorts, a T-shirt and flip flops. This was the most I would wear all week. The rental came with beat up bicycles that Dad and I rode down the dirt road. "Town" was something between a hamlet and a real town. But there were a few restaurants, even more bars, and a lot of tourists. Not all of them were gay, but maybe half were. Couples, mostly. It wasn't the nightlife or circuit kind of scene.

Normally, I didn't drink a ton. But it was vacation, and with the heat, the tropical fruit drinks went down easy. I had a good buzz by the time Dad and I had dinner.

He seemed like he had something on his mind as we had a drink at the bar after our meal. "Matty.... I've had three very difficult decisions in my life. Fooling around with you that first time. Divorcing your mom. And asking you to come down here."

"Dad..." I started to object. Everything sexual was off the charts hot between me and my father, but it was still tough to talk about the ramifications. About what the fuck we were doing. I didn't want to spoil the fun with reality.

"All of them were the best decisions I've ever made." I think the drinks were starting to let his inhibitions down, too. "Listen, bud... I know this is just some fun time, and last thing I'd ever want to do is get in the way of you going off to live your life."

This was getting heady, quick. Was Dad saying what I thought he was saying?

Just then a man appeared beside Dad. "Are these seats free?" he asked. The accent was European, but the English was flawless. He was about 55 and very tanned. Handsome, silver hair that was just starting to thin but which he kept trimmed short on the sides. Besides him was a much younger man, maybe a few years older than me, dark haired, thinner and good looking.

Dad blushed as our heart-to-heart conversation was quickly interrupted. I thought for a second he'd say no, but instead he gestured to the seats. "Help yourself," he said.

The couple talked among themselves at first until they got their drink. Then the Daddy struck up a conversation.

"You guys from the States?"

"Yep. Ohio," Dad answered using the script we'd created for ourselves for the week. "You?" Dad could be moody and withdrawn sometimes, but he was great at small talk, with acquaintances and strangers alike. It's one of those skills honed with his job, I realized, as well as the country club set my parents traveled in before Dad came out.

"Germany," he answered. "We come here every year."

"I can see why," I said. "It's fricking amazing."

"Your first time here?" the younger man asked. His English was even smoother, and had more of a British accent, probably from his education.

"Yeah," I said.

"But we'll probably be back."

We talked - about travel, about intergenerational couples, about soccer of all things. Then Walter, the older man, got a sly look on his face. Turning to me, he said. "I should admit I saw you today, Matt. On the beach."

I think I blushed. "That was you? Sorry, man, I didn't realize what was going on till it was too late."

"Wait, these are the guys?" Dad asked, turning from me to the couple.

"You told him," the man chuckled. Then leaning back and putting his arm on Karl's shoulder he smiled. "Yeah, me and Karl love the freedom here. Hope it didn't freak you out."

I shook my head. "No, not at all. Just..."

Dad chimed in. "I think you may have given us an idea or two of how to spend the week."

"Glad we could help," Walter grinned.

"You guys are a cute couple." It was Karl and his directness caught me off guard.

"You, too," I said truthfully,

"There aren't many of us," Walter said.

"Many what?" I could sense my Dad nervous for the first time. Like something was going wrong with the script.

"Intergenerational couples," Walter replied. "You know, daddy-son couples." He looked around. "Though you'll find a good number here."

"Matt and I are still working things out," Dad said. "We're not out or anything back home."

"It's tough," Walter said. "We still don't tell everyone... but we did get married last year."

"Yeah?" I said. I don't know why this surprised me.

Karl lifted his hand to show off a simple gold band, and I could see a matching one on his partner's left hand.

"Congratulations," my dad said.

"Thanks," Walter said. "It can be tough being in an unconventional couple but here we get to be ourselves, right boy?" he nudged Karl's elbow.

Karl laughed and smiled. "Fuck yeah, Daddy."

That hit me hard and turned me on, too.

"Listen, we're heading back but maybe you guys want to come over for dinner tomorrow? A little company would be nice. No pressure."

I looked at Dad and he nodded then turned to the guys. "It'd be our pleasure."

***

Dad and I were a little tipsy when we got back. We stripped down and made out in bed and pretty soon I was feeling up my father's erection. It was a sensation and powerful feel I'd never get sick of. Holding the dick that made me.

"Feels nice, Matty..." Dad hissed. "Only I'm probably too spent from earlier. I think you fucked every bit of cum from my balls."

I laughed then reached down to cup those testicles. "That's OK, Dad," I said. "All right if we fool around a little though? We can get off tomorrow..."

Dad nodded and we spent the next twenty minutes making out and feeling each other up. We started swapping blow jobs. Soft, slow exploratory dick sucking. Dad, then me, then trading places again. I thought of moving around to a 69, but I loved that position between my father's legs, working his hard dick lovingly.

Then it clicked for him, taking us both by surprise. Dad's fingers drew tighter on my neck and his body tensed. Turns out he had some cum left in the tanks after all. And he was spurting it into my sucking mouth.

***

The German guys' bungalow was a little nicer than ours but pretty similar in style. I guess they'd ordered some dinner brought there, because after Walter ushered us in and led us to the back verandah, we saw a big spread set out with some chilled wine.

Walter was casually dressed with an unbuttoned linen shirt that showed off his lightly hairy chest and a pair of cotton shorts. Karl wore less, just a pair of swim trunks.

"I feel over dressed," Dad chuckled as he walked over to shake the young man's hand in greeting.

"Hope you don't mind," Karl grinned. "We normally don't even bother with clothes."

"My son and I have a little exhibitionist streak, if I'm honest," Walter grinned.

That gave Dad and me some pause. Dad especially. He blushed some but tried to play it cool. "To each his own," he said. I saw Walter try to read his face, then mine. I knew something was up. But Walter didn't press it, instead he got up and poured us some wine.

"To new friends," he toasted.

"To new friends," I said in return.

"Prost!" Karl toasted.

We made small talk, and over dinner chatted mostly more about the island and some of the activities you could do, even if it wasn't set up with as much as other resorts. And Dad asked them about their city back in Germany.

Dad and I gave a censored, half-fictionalized version of the truth. Me a college senior, Dad a divorced man in Ohio. The food was good, though I was still getting used to the cuisine.

We were in a relaxed mood as the sunset became night and the low lights on the verandah made the tropical evening seem perfect.

"You think you'll come back?" Karl asked.

Dad looked over at me, a playful glint in his eye. After the sun and the heat of the day, he was getting tipsy from the wine. I had to savor just how incredibly handsome my father was in vacation mode. "Yeah, we're definitely thinking about it," he said, verbally asking for some confirmation of the mood he was feeling. "It's a magical place."

"It is," Karl chimed in. "Father and I love coming every year."

I was definitely feeling a vibe now. Dad was too.

"So... he ventured... the father-son thing... is that a kink thing... you know, roleplay?" His tone was cautious but inquisitive and respectful.

Walter grinned. "Would it bother you if it wasn't just roleplay?" he asked.

Dad shook his head and quietly responded. "No." Looking over at me I realized Dad was getting turned on. "Don't think it would bother Matt either."

"It wouldn't," I assured the other couple.

Karl scooted up to Walter, running his hands along the older man's shoulder. "The family resemblance is hard to deny, isn't it?" he asked impishly. "But people don't expect it to be a possibility."

"Fuck," Dad whispered softly. Then more aloud: "You two are a beautiful couple," he said, with surprising directness.

Walter looked between me and Dad. "You men are, too."

I gulped. Dad did too. But he reached over on the wicker sofa where we were seated and placed his arm on my shoulder. His touch made me break out in goosebumps. "I gotta say...." Dad sighed. "I didn't expect this turn of events."

"We can change the subject," Walter offered.

"It's good to be able to talk about it," I piped in. I don't think I'd realized till then how bottled up it had all between me and Dad. The sneaking around was hot and all but it somehow felt lonely too.

"Happy to," the other father said. "But we're going to follow your lead how much you want to talk about."

Dad looked at me. "What do you think Matt?" he asked quietly.

I nodded. "Yeah," I replied softly. It felt like we were taking a chance, but I knew we wouldn't have another opportunity.

Dad gave me a quick peck then turned back to the other guys, pulling me close. "Matt's my son. We're dating."

Karl smiled. So did Walter. "What does dating mean for you guys?" the older man asked. "Just fucking?"

I shook my head. "We fuck," I said aloud, getting off on the transgression of verbalizing the forbidden. "But Dad's my boyfriend."

That made Walter smile. "For us, the romance is hotter than the sex. Or at least it's connected. Isn't that right son?" he said, patting Karl's bare leg.

"Jah, Papa" the son answered, sliping back into German.

The two leaned in and kissed softly, for longer than Dad and I had. Karl had a big grin on his face when he pulled back. "Dad's a great kisser," he said, returning to English.

I felt flush with heat of excitement. I was getting turned on, both from the voyeurism and from the open embrace of the incest idea.

Dad spoke up. "Matt is too. My boyfriend learned some moves in college," he chuckled playfully. I had to chalk some of Dad's relaxed mood to the wine, because he was definitely more uptight than this normally. But I think he too grasped the rarity of the situation and decided to go with the flow.

Walter leaned back in his seat and smiled at us. "How long have you too been together?" he asked. I could tell he was feeling flush with excitement, too.

"A little over three years," Dad answered. "Though we only talked about the boyfriend thing a year and a half ago."

"We've been involved longer," Walter said. "But like I said last night, we got married last year."

I had half forgotten about their professed wedded status until then. "How the fuck does that work?" I blurted out.

The men laughed, which made me glad I hadn't offended them.

"Would it hold up in a court of law back in Germany?" Walter said. "No. But it's a real marriage. They don't ask for many documents here. Karl and I have a license... and of course the rings," he added flashing his ring finger to display the band. "That's real enough for us."

"God, guys," Dad chimed in. "I have so many questions."

"Feel free to ask them," Walter replied. I could tell he was glad to share his and Karl's experience with us.

So for the next hour that's what he did. We listened to the process of applying for a license in the country and what the civil ceremony was like. We asked how they managed being a couple back home, how to deal with people's expectations and give excuses for living together.

"I won't lie, mates," Karl finally said. "There are some challenges. But nothing beats actually living with your own father as his husband. It's just incredible."

My breath was getting short. Something about the idea felt unreal but very appealing to me at that moment.

***

A half hour later, as we bid good night and thanked them for the hospitality, I could tell it was on Dad's mind too. The heaviness of that idea. We walked along in silence on the quiet deserted back road to our cabana.

"It's an insane idea, Matt," Dad finally said, breaking the silence.

"It is," I replied.

He looked over at me, his older more experienced face somehow seeming nervous and youthful then. "We can't rush into something like that."

"God Dad!" I hissed.

His face scrunched into a look of concern. "Did I say the wrong thing, Matt?"

I shook my head and dropped my voice to a whisper. "You gave me a hardon."

Dad looked down and sure enough saw my shorts tented up, beyond being able to hide it.

"That's my Top Dog," he grinned.

I felt a warmth come over me, and I decided to say the next words. "Would I still be your Top Dog if you did me?"

I let the words hang in the humid air and saw Dad's lips curl up into a faint smile at the corner. His response was measured. "You know you would, Matty," he said, reaching over to rub his hand along my lower back as we walked. "But is that something you want to try?"

I didn't answer him directly because I wasn't sure of the answer myself. Not 100%. "You like it, right, Dad?" I asked.

He nodded. "I do," he replied. "But mostly because you're the one doing me. It's hard to explain."

I mulled it over. I didn't say anything at first, then spoke. "I wanna try it, Dad. I need to know what it feels like."

I expected my father to object or try to talk me out of it. Instead he gave a gentle grin and let out a throaty whisper. "It's gonna be so hot, Matty... I promise." I knew then how much he wanted this. And a part of me felt bad for holding out this long.

Thankfully, we didn't have a long walk back to our bungalow. It was a still quiet night, and I remember the sound and feel of the ceiling fan as we methodically stripped down. Dad's body was tanned from the week, and the coloring made his gray temples stand out more.

"God, you're really fucking handsome, Dad," I hissed, just I peeled down my shorts and let my hardened dick free.

Dad followed suit. It never ceased to turn me on how similar my cock was to his and yet how his looked different. Fuller, meatier somehow. Older.

His skin was warm as he stepped up to me and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a kiss. Sometimes Dad urged me to go slower and softer with the kissing but at that moment he was right at my vibe... horny as fuck.

He growled in my mouth as he pulled back and patted my bare ass. "Why don't you get ready, son?" he asked. "I usually do a couple extra gos at it," he added.

I nodded and went into the bathroom, where Dad's portable enema kit was. I won't lie, this part felt weird at first, since I'd never used one. But I remembered the thrill I always have whenever he prepares himself for me, and I wondered if he felt the same.

I rinsed off and when I came out finally, I felt the thrill of my father's greedy eyes on me. His erection hadn't flagged one bit and I saw that dad cock jerk off his hairy belly.

"I can't believe we're about to do this," he said quietly, his brown eyes roaming all over my naked body. My own dick was jerking back to hardness, quickly.

"That makes two of us," I joked.

He patted the back next to him and I climbed on.

His kiss now was even more possessive, rougher even, as he pawed at me and rolled on top of me. The change of script thrilled me, actually, as did the feeling of his muscular, middle aged body on top of mine.

"I love you, Matt," he said as he raised his body above me, looking down with lust and affection.

"Love you, too, Dad," I replied, automatically. Then less automatically, I added, "Cliff."

That made his nostrils flare and a grunt emerge from deep in his lungs. It was the first time I'd used his first name since the divorce. I was taking a chance using it now, after all our talk of going slow, but after this evening's conversation, it felt right.

He leaned down and kissed my upper chest. A couple of soft pecs against my smooth muscle. "My baby boy," he sighed, and I felt his cock just against my thigh. He made his way down, kissing me and giving a few stray licks. I craved for him to take my dick into his mouth and just start sucking me, but I was also glad he held off, giving my nuts a lick before making his way down my inner thigh.

When he nudged my legs, I didn't need it spelled out. I lifted them up and pulled them back. I was vulnerable now, and open, my ass hole on full display for my father. '

He actually leered as he looked intently at my it, then looked up into my eyes. "I'm serious about what I said earlier, Matt... you'll always be my Top Dog."

Those words hit me deep. There was so much going on between us. The complication of being father and son, yet lovers. The realization that dominance and submission were flip sides of the same coin for us. About penetration, but not about it either.

"I want you to be Top Dog tonight, Cliff," I hissed.

Dad dove in. If my first rim job from Dad the other day was eye-openingly hot, this one felt particularly intense. Dad munched at my ring, and that gentle tickling sensation of his tongue switched into something else in me. Pleasure, but almost a tingling need. Particularly once my father's tongue drilled deeper.

I pulled my legs apart wider and gave Dad full rein of my hole. "Eat me out, Cliff," I grunted. Now relishing the first name basis. "Get your boyfriend's hole ready."

"Fuck, son," he grunted as he pulled back and wiped his chin before resting his thumb at my ring and pressing into its now relaxed state. "I gotta fuck you."

I hissed, feeling nervous and yet wanting it and feeding off the transgression of the whole thing. "Is my father gonna take my cherry?"

Dad nodded, like he was afraid he was gonna break the spell if he spoke. I watched him grab the lube and copy my actions from so many times before. I knew Dad had fooled around with a couple of other guys before we started our affair. But surprisingly, we didn't talk a lot about our sexual histories.

As Dad's fingers pressed into me, a second lubed one going in along the first, I shuddered to realized we'd have to talk about our sexual pasts, like boyfriends eventually do.

"Damn, Matty," Dad growled. "You're opening right up." I could sense the surprise in his voice and maybe a little disbelief that I was cherry.

"My father is really good at this," I shot back.

Dad leaned up on his knees, his paternal hardon throbbing as he drizzled lube on it. "You know," he said, stroking the slickness along his length. "Before we started, I would sometimes jerk off fantasizing about this," he said, taking a second to add some lube to my own prick. "I felt guilty as hell," he added with a smirk as he set down the lube again.

Those words hit me deep. I'd relaxed my legs some so they wouldn't cramp, but Dad was silently instructing me to place them on his shoulders before he leaned in and reached down to guide his cock. Not into me, but pressing against my vulnerable pucker.

"Did I get your cherry, Cliff?" I asked. Riding the knife's egde between sex talk and boyfriend talk. I'd never had the guts to ask Dad that the first time I fucked him. I was asking him now.

He shook his head. "No, Matt. That would have been hot though." He stared down into my face. "Too much?" he asked. Already he was pushing forward against my guarded entrance.

"Feels weird," I laughed nervously.

"It's gonna," he explained. In the back of my head I realized this was some fucked up version of the father-son birds-and-bees talk. My dad explaining how sex works. "Just focus on how much you want your dad to fuck you."

There was something crude and direct about that, and it made my hole unclench. There was a sting and a fullness as my father's cock bore into me.

"God yes, son," Dad cried.

My hands clenched at his arms, and I stifled my own cry. It didn't hurt exactly but it was the shock more than anything that caught me off guard. My mind wanting it, but my body resisting.

"I got ya baby boy," Dad hissed. "Your daddy's got ya."

"Fuck, Dad," I whimpered. I felt vulnerable and a little helpless and, yeah, that was messing with my jock ego some. But Dad was being my Rock at that moment. The man I could be vulnerable with. My insides unclenched and I felt myself being filled more steadily and deeply. This time, it felt amazing.

"Shit," I hissed, my talon grip turning into caresses of my father's strong arms.

"Yeah, Matty...? Feeling good?" He knew, but also was confirming.

"Feeling great, Cliff," I grunted. "Dad."

"That conversation... those guys tonight..." Dad said as he bottomed out. "That got you worked up, didn't it?"

Oh fuck, Dad knew how to take me to that emotional place, all right. I nodded and felt my cock surge back to full rigidity. The harder my dick got the more it interacted with the buzzing of my prostate. Now I knew what Dad loved about bottoming.

"I don't wanna cross any lines, Dad," I replied.

Dad flashed a grin then his face got stone-cold serious before he leaned down to claim another kiss. We made out some, as best we could in that position as my father's dick started its slow pump of my hole.

When he leaned back he got into a steadier rhythm, and at a better angle to hit my spot. "I don't wanna cross any lines, either, son," Dad grunted as he held onto my outer legs and started fucking more steadily. "But hearing them talk about marriage got me pretty fucking worked up."

I watched in excitement and amusement as Dad fucked me. He was closer to cumming than even I realized and I could see the telltale look I'd seen dozens of times before on him. "Fuck me, Cliff!" I urged. "Fuck your boyfriend."

"You're my son," Dad grunted, sweat forming on his body now as his muscles clenched in rhythm. The thrusts were faster and heavier but not too rough. I was getting my cherry popped in the best way possible. "I'm fucking my own son," he cried, louder.

"God yeah, Dad!" I cried. I was stroking my cock now, and getting closer.

"My hot stud virgin son." It was wild to see my button-down, sometimes uptight dad let loose during sex. He was going all in now.

"Not virgin any more," I shot back.

That did. Dad's face turned red and he humped me excitedly with a few rapid strokes and then he was cumming, deep and hard. "God fucking DAMN!" he roared, glad to be able to let loose. I felt it, the impact of his deep thrust, and I knew he was seeding me good and hard.

The fuck had been kind of quick and overwhelming in its novel physical sensations. But I know realized the thrill that I finally had taken a man's cock and it was my father's. And my first cum, too. As I stroked, a wicked thought occurred to me that Dad's would be the only cum ever to enter me. Something about that fantasy, or maybe reality, had my own sperm jetting out of my cock, surprising me in the suddenness of my own orgasm.

"Let it out, Matty," Dad hissed, now coming down from his own high but thrilled to watch me cum.

I love fucking men. So I can't say this was a better cum than inside a man's hole, but it felt different and wonderful in that unique way. I got it now, what made men want this. My cum lasted longer than any I'd ever had.

I was exhausted when Dad finally pulled out and let my legs rest back down on the bed. "Good?" he asked me as he lazily stroked my abs and chest. Again, knowing it was but confirming. Checking in.

I nodded. "Jesus, Dad," I sighed. Words couldn't capture everything I was feeling and thinking, so I didn't try.

I shut my eyes and caught my breath and heard Dad get up to go to the bathroom. When he returned he was wiping down my cum-covered body with a damp wash rag. It was a simple gesture and felt surprisingly intimate.

"Thank you for that, son," Dad sighed. "If nothing else this week, I'll remember that."

I leaned up. Loving the fact of being naked in bed with Dad. "It was a gift to me, too, Cliff. For real."

We kissed, soft this time, and I could tell our cocks were jerking in that uncomfortable in between state, not ready to go soft but not able to enjoy sexual stimulation either.

Dad patted my shoulder when we broke the kiss. "Sorry if I went to far with the marriage talk."

My heart fluttered. "I don't know what to say, Dad," I sighed as I looked into his beautiful brown eyes. "I just... I know you just got out of a divoce and it's just all impossible anyway."

"It is," Dad chimed in, grounding me in reality. Grounding us in reality. "But if we wanna get carried away by the fantasy... just this week, you know..." he stopped mid sentence. Feeling me out.

"I wanna," I replied. "But you gotta tell me when I'm going too far."

"Same... it goes the other way, too," Dad said. He plopped down on the bed next to me, cuddling up to me some. "I love you Top Dog."

"Love you, too, Cliff.... Babe," I added, tossing out a term of affection that felt new and maybe a little awkward to us with my father. "So much."

[femininenachos]

Vacation au? Do tell 👀

They arrive via ferry from the mainland, then by rental car.

“We would’ve got here a lot sooner if Grandma Wells ever dared to go above 20 mph.”

“Excuse me for not wanting us to plummet to our deaths on a blind turn, Octavia. Those roads are treacherous.”

“The speed limit was 40. 40! A senior citizen could go faster. In fact, an old lady on a Vespa overtook us back there.”

“That is such bullshit.”

Clarke drops her luggage and cuts across the argument. “Guys, enough! Come see the view.”

She throws open the patio doors to reveal an infinity pool with the most spectacular backdrop. Sparkling azure waters, rippling in the early evening haze, dramatic red-brown cliffs in the distance descending sharply into the sea. The picture postcard perfect village of Polis sprouts out of the rugged mountainside, whitewashed cuboid houses with painted blue doors, window frames and shutters, clustered tightly together and cascading down the steep slope.  

It takes her breath away.

“Oh, wow.” Wells peels off his shades and stands alongside Clarke in silent awe for a minute, transported by the sheer beauty of their surroundings. “Okay, I could get used to looking at that every day.”

“Right?” Clarke agrees with a wistful sigh. “The Airbnb photos didn’t do it justice.”

“Bell’s going to be so fucking jealous when he sees this on my Stories,” Octavia says, whipping out her phone.

To one side there’s a secluded courtyard, hemmed in by purple oleanders, the fragrant air thick with the scent of bougainvillea in bloom that climbs the walls.

It’s a slice of paradise; a dream come true.

Their haven for the next two weeks, and Clarke already feels the stress that followed her across the Atlantic melting away.

She fully intends to make use of that hot tub, preferably with a trashy airport novel in one hand and a fruity alcoholic concoction in the other. Just switch off, relax, and unwind. Mentally, she’s already changed into her swimsuit when Octavia pushes in between them and drapes her arms around their shoulders.

“So… what are our plans for this evening?”

“A glass of wine and some nibbles and an early night.”

That earns Clarke an appalled look from both her friends.

“I just came off a sixteen-hour shift. Who else here scrubbed in for three separate surgeries yesterday then hopped on a plane? I’m exhausted.”

“Fair,” Wells shrugs.

Octavia isn’t so sympathetic.

A frown sits on her face. “You can’t be a shut-in on our first night, Clarke.” Her eyes turn pleading. “Look, we’ll just have a nice, low-key dinner at the taverna. Maybe hit a bar or two after.”

Clarke groans.

A tug on her wrist. “Come on, we’re on vacation. Live a little. Whatever happened to party monster Clarke Griffin?”

“Uh, residency and 200k of student loan debt.”

She looks to Wells for backup, but he remains studiously blank. Some ally he is, she thinks with an inward tut. Meanwhile, Octavia just pins her with one of those formidable stares that always fills Clarke with a vague sense of inadequacy. 

She crumbles after a beat.

Heaves an exasperated sigh. 

“Fine. But no shots.”

~*~

Of course, the first thing Octavia does when they’re seated on the outside terrace is order a round of fayaflou. Distilled locally, it might as well be 100% proof pure ethanol by the way it burns down Clarke’s throat and starts an inferno in her chest. Even Wells chokes a little, but Octavia just acts like she guzzled down spring water fresh from a mountain stream.

“Another?” She asks, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Fuck, no,” Clarke croaks out through a coughing fit. She holds up a palm in surrender, the other flat against her sternum as if that could somehow mitigate the effects.

A scoff from Octavia. “Lightweight.”

“I’d just like to return home with my liver intact.”

“Same,” Wells says, his features contorted into a pained grimace. “I didn’t agree to this trip to get blackout drunk. Polis is steeped in culture and history. I mean, did you see those incredible ancient ruins on the drive here?”

Octavia rolls her eyes so hard the retinas nearly detach.

But after a moment’s reflection, she concedes. “Actually, you have a point. Gotta pace ourselves. The night is young and I’ve got my eye on that hot piece over there.”

All eyes follow her nod to the bar, where an impossibly chiselled, handsome guy is making cocktails. Tall. Tattooed. Muscles bulging out of his tight black shirt as he juggles two bottles at once with impressive showmanship. 

They all have to scrape their jaws off the floor. 

He might be the most beautiful man Clarke has ever seen, not that she would dare interfere when Octavia has her sights set on someone. But then a waitress glides up to him, passing off an order with a short, melodious laugh that reaches Clarke’s ears and when the woman turns around, Clarke’s mouth drops again.

Because she is gorgeous.

Chestnut brown hair pinned up in a twist, a few loose tendrils framing the kind of face that people wrote epic poetry about thousands of years ago. High cheekbones and pouty lips. A jawline cut from marble. Eyes drawn heavy with liner scan the terrace, landing on Clarke for a second, and those lips pull up almost imperceptibly, twitching into the subtle hint of a smile.

Caught staring, Clarke flushes and drops her gaze, feigning a sudden fascination with the laminated menu.

“How is it that everyone here looks like a model?” Wells wonders aloud.

“It’s all the genes,” Octavia says in a superior tone, proud of her own distant Polisian ancestry. She props her chin on her hand and bats her lashes. “We’re naturally beautiful people, what can I say?”

Wells snorts. “Naturally conceited, maybe.”

“Whatever. Clarke. Clarke? Clarke.”

A finger snap in front of her face jolt Clarke out of her daze. She scowls, but when she lifts her eyes, seeking out another glimpse of the waitress, Clarke is disappointed to find her gone.

“What are you having?” Octavia asks. “I’m thinking… calamari to start, and maybe we could share the seafood platter?”

“Uh…” Clarke pretends to pour over the menu options, still in a state of distraction. The words blur together. Her pulse hasn’t slowed yet and her palms are sweating. “Sure, sounds good.”

“Clarke might prefer something off-menu,” Wells says, and she looks up again just in time to see him incline his head towards the waitress approaching.

Octavia hoots delightedly and Clarke kicks her under the table.

All the same, Clarke’s throat dries out.

She can’t force her eyes away, drinking up the sight in front of her. How the crisp, white short-sleeved blouse hugs the girl’s torso and toned arms, such a striking contrast against sun-bronzed skin. One too many buttons are undone, affording a peek of sharp clavicles and a shadowy inch of cleavage. It has Clarke wetting her lips as her eyes dip down, taking in the neat black skirt and heels. Legs that go on for miles and miles.

Clarke shifts in her seat, warmth spreading through every inch of her body. She can’t even blame the residual heat of a sweltering day, the gentle sea breeze providing welcome relief as the orange disc of the sun squats low on the horizon, the last golden rays reaching out like fingers across the sky. 

“Not a word,” Clarke warns, seconds before the waitress arrives at their table.

Then Clarke hears her speak. “Hello, I’m Lexa. Are you ready to order?” Lightly accented English delivered in a crisp, coolly confident voice with a girlish lilt, and Clarke is a goner. 

Fully melts into a puddle of lust while Octavia and Wells rattle off their choices. When it’s Clarke’s turn, she finds herself tongue-tied. Up close, those eyes are the lushest, loveliest shade of green, and Clarke is transfixed.

Her stomach swoops.

It’s ridiculous. She’s a grown adult, a medical professional with years of clinical training below her belt, and inside she’s a mess because a beautiful woman is looking at her with an expectant arch of one eyebrow, patiently waiting for Clarke to recover from whatever brain malfunction she’s currently experiencing. 

“Hi, hello,” trips from Clarke’s mouth and it feels like her soul leaves her body at the same time. In an instant, her face heats. She offers a small, flustered laugh. “Sorry, I’m a space cadet today. Head in the clouds. The time difference, I guess.”

Across the table, her friends hide their amusement behind their knuckles, clearly entertained by her latest episode of undignified flailing in front of an attractive stranger. 

Full lips curve into a smirk that does absolutely nothing to slow the rapid hammering of Clarke’s heart or cool her flushed cheeks.

“What can I get you?”

A date, please.

(And in five years, give or take, a springtime wedding in a converted barn with fairy lights strung everywhere and two hundred guests in attendance, if Mom has any say in the planning.)

Get it together, Griffin.

Like the flip of a switch, she turns on the charm. Eases into a smile, one that’s seldom failed her (and gotten her out of plenty of scrapes besides). Tucks her hair behind her ear and lets her fingers trail down her neck. She sees the way the woman–Lexa’s–eyes darken as they track the movement, how they make a quick but unsubtle appraisal of Clarke’s seated figure.

Her confidence soars.

The mild funk she’d found herself in from a long day of travelling evaporates.

“You know what, I’m feeling adventurous. Surprise me.” Her gaze flicks towards beestung lips then back up, locking eyes once more. “Lexa.”

They hold eye contact for a stretch of seconds, and Clarke feels a current run through her. Mutual attraction, instant and electric.

“More drinks?” The question is intended for the whole table, but Lexa’s attention doesn’t stray from Clarke until Wells clears his throat. She almost appears annoyed by the interruption, a flash of irritation in her eyes, a muscle in her lower cheek flexing before her expression smooths out and she turns her head to look at him. And, God, that jawline nearly takes out Clarke in the process. It’s lickable. 

“Could we have a pitcher of water, please? My friends here are extremely thirsty,” Wells says, glancing pointedly between Clarke and Octavia.

“Make that three margaritas,” Octavia overrules him. “And have the sexy bartender bring them over.”

“O!” Clarke snaps, mortified.

So brazen. 

She gives Lexa an apologetic look, but there’s a ghost of a smirk on her lips again, a gleam in her eyes that suggests she’s happy to play along.

When Lexa departs, Octavia bumps Clarke’s arm excitedly with her fist. “I saw that! My girl, getting her flirt on like a pro.”

“Flirt?” Wells chuckles. “She practically had a sign on her forehead that said: ‘funny how my legs are wide open all of a sudden.’ Zero points for subtlety.”

Clarke huffs out a sigh and crosses her arms. “Oh, fuck off. Let me objectify someone in peace.”

“No, no. It’s good!” Octavia insists. “You should be putting yourself out there more. Especially after the F-I-N-N debacle.”

An eye roll. “You can say his name, O. I won't relapse into a depressive episode.”

“Okay, but you deserve to have fun. Ogle girls. Guys. Nonbinary eye candy.” She pats Clarke’s wrist. “I fully support your hot girl summer.”

Octavia peers past Clarke to check out the bartender again. She bites her lip, eyes glazing over a bit. “And I, for one, plan to climb that fine man like a tree before the night is over.”

Clarke sighs again. Unfolding her arms, she reaches for the empty shot glass in front of her, twirling it around with her fingers. “She’s probably a player, anyway. I bet she’s slept with six sunburnt British girls already this season.”

Tearing her gaze away from the beefy hunk behind the bar, Octavia looks at Clarke dubiously, brows pulled together. “Uh, she seemed pretty laser-focused on you. I felt like I was intruding on some serious eye-fucking a minute ago.” 

A fiendish grin spreads. 

“All signs indicate that Sexy Lexy has the hots for Clarkeypoo too.”

“Stop,” Clarke groans, hiding her face in her hands while she squirms with embarrassment. She shakes it off. “Vacation flings are so cliche, and the last thing I need as a souvenir is an STI.”

“Can we just enjoy a civilised meal, is that too much to ask?” Wells says, shaking his head in dismay. “All this sex talk is spoiling my appetite. I really don’t want to think about either of you in that capacity, ever.”

“Such a killjoy,” Octavia tells him. “Don’t worry, we’ll find someone for you too. A bespectacled, buck-toothed museum guide or something, that’s more your speed.”

Clarke tunes out their ensuing good-natured bickering, eyes landing on Lexa where she stands at the bar, chatting up two stereotypically Scandinavian blonde backpacker types. A tiny, unreasonable ember of jealousy flares in her gut that she tries to ignore. It’s not like they’re anything to each other (yet). Maybe Lexa flirts with everyone to alleviate the boredom of her shift and this is all just a mildly diverting game to pass the time.

As though sensing Clarke’s attention on her from afar, Lexa glances over her shoulder, and in the brief moment when their eyes catch and hold, the slight smile that curves across Lexa’s lips feels like it might be Clarke’s downfall.

Next

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 27 - Yarn

And a last little section to tidy up this 8-chapter long day 😂 herewith my pre-Christmas offering of Virgil’s excitable eyebrows…

Over to @sofasurf to counter all this fluff with some alligators (or something 😉)

(What went before)

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Scott sat on the couch and flipped the blue cushion from hand to hand while Estera poured the coffee and deliberated between several packets of cookies. He felt weirdly giddy. That conversation had not gone the way he would have predicted and he was more a little thrown by it. The “he’d be proud of you” line came up irritatingly often, usually said by strangers who knew nothing of him or his father, not really, and he’d smile politely and thank them while wanting to scream.

His usual internal rebuttal of the achievements people tended to list at such times hadn’t come into play this time though because she hadn’t actually mentioned any of them. Not one.

The relief made him feel a little like he could lie down on the ceiling.

“Fnn muh fuh mmmph?”

Estera appeared balancing two coffee cups and the parcel and holding a packet of cookies in her teeth.

He relieved her of a cup and the cookies - apple and cinnamon he noted with approval - and she perched next to him, delivering a gulp of coffee with one hand and fidgeting with the parcel with the other.

“This has had way too much build up now.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face “But, happy belated birthday.”

Cup and cookies abandoned, he just about resisted the urge to tear into the beautifully wrapped package like a 6 year old on Christmas morning, instead forcing himself to peel back the layers slowly until a pile of fabric fell into his lap.

It was a scarf. A really, REALLY long scarf in the softest yarn he’d ever come across. Primarily blue but with narrower stripes in an unusual palette of colours - green, gold, yellow, red and black.

He laughed as he realised the connection.

He pointed at a green stripe - “Virgil?”

She smiled shyly and he grinned at her in delight.

She’d got the colours spot on, the yellow a particularly sunny hue. The blue wasn’t quite Thunderbird One blue though, but a slightly different shade. He realised it was what he was coming to think of as HER blue - the same as her own scarf, the streak in her hair, the cushion on the couch next to him.

“I know you live somewhere quite warm, but maybe it will come in handy if you do decide to travel for fun one day.”

“I love it. Thank you. It’s so soft…” he held it to his cheek for a moment. “You made it?”

She nodded. “There are probably flaws all over the place, don’t look too closely!”

He leaned back and draped it over his face, covering his eyes entirely. “Nope can’t see any, it’s perfect.”

“You’re utterly daft, did I tell you that?”

He lifted the scarf and grinned.

“It may have come up once or twice.”

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Bez capered around the living room sniffing everything thoroughly before circling the sofa twice then eventually leaping up to join her on it, resting his huge head on her knee and gazing up at her adoringly.

“Yes, I had a visitor Bez, you can smell him can’t you? Would you like to meet him sometime?”

They hadn’t long finished their coffee before Scott had received a message from his brother and made his farewells. But it had been enough time for the conversation to turn back to the deal they’d tentatively made via text a while ago - he’d let her try to help him with his dog problem if she’d let him try to help her get back on a plane. It made her feel a little nauseous to think about. But if anyone could get her through that particular roadblock, it would be the friend who with sparkling eyes and animated hands had persuaded her it really might be possible to ‘dance the skies on laughter-silvered wings’.

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John waited by the steps of Tracy Two as Scott handed the hire car keys over to the receptionist and thanked her for her assistance. That simple interaction having rendered the poor woman a giggling wreck, his brother turned and came to meet him. John resisted the urge to click his fingers to dispel the dippy grin on her face as she stared after Scott, the keys hanging limp from her hand.

Scott threw his arm around his brother’s shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. He skipped lightly up the steps and settled into the passenger seat, loosening a scarf John hadn’t seen before and making a pillow for his head out of it. He leaned back and stretched back luxuriantly.

“You don’t want to fly?”

“Nah… unless you’re tired or don’t want to?”

“I’ll happily do it if you want me to, it’s why we brought the jet rather than One… I just didn’t think…”

“FAB, Johnny. She’s too slow to be any fun, so I may as well have a nap.”

“A… nap.”

Scott yawned and snuggled into his scarf pillow. That seemed to be all the response John was going to get for now.

He finished pre-flight checks and taxi’d out on to the runway. They avoided using VTOL at small airports because it tended to cause unnecessary Excitement.

This hadn’t been one of the potential outcomes of the trip he’d planned for. He’d expected, hoped, that the family flyboy would appear intact (or at least fairly emotionally un-devastated) and take unquestioning charge of the aircraft. OR… he might be having difficulties in which case John would fly and Scott would probably pace around the plane for the entire trip home. The third “nap” option was not even in his card deck.

“So… did you have a good time?”

Scott smiled, his eyes still closed. “I really did.” He leaned over slightly and patted John’s arm. “Thank you for everything.”

A few minutes passed. John looked round for the dozenth time and couldn’t resist whispering

“Scott? Scotty?”

Surely not? A little louder:

“Scooter?”

There was no reply but slow breathing.

Virgil popped up out of nowhere and John immediately put his fingers to his lips. Virgil looked momentarily horrified and John did his best to put him out of his misery with a stage whisper:

“He’s… fine? He’s happy… and decided to take a nap.”

“A nap? Scott?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Did you check his pulse?”

They contemplated their snoozing commander.

“All that bracing British sea air I suppose…”

“Stop it.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.”

“As if you weren’t.”

“He said it wasn’t like that.”

“Then I guess it can only be that the bracing British sea air agrees with him.” Virgil’s holographic eyebrows danced and John rolled his eyes.

“You’re hopeless. Go away. I’ll see you when we get back.”

“FAB Johnny”

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Virgil approved of the construction. “It’s a good stitch to use… open and light, yet strong enough. Unless you cut it somehow this should even be fairly Scott-proof.”

“Hey!!!”

“Look at your trousers, big brother…”

Scott huffed in faux offence.

“You’ll have to ask her for me where she got the Thunderbird-Two-Green yarn… and Four’s is spot on as well. This isn’t quite Thunderbird One blue though.”

“Yeah I noticed that, but it’s the same colour as her own scarf so I figured she had a load of that yarn left over. I like it though, it’s a good sky colour. Maybe we should respray One!”

Virgil leaned back and narrowed his eyes at his elder brother who cocked an eyebrow back at him.

“I’m joking, Virg. Geez…”

“Hold it up to the light for me?”

Scott lifted a section of the scarf to face height and studied it too.

“Hey, Scott?”

His brother’s eyes flicked over to him. “What?”

Hypothesis confirmed. Virgil smiled to himself.

“Never mind.”

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[cult-of-the-eye]

What experience I would give as a statement to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London? Statement fucking begins...

Summer after GCSEs, whole fam picks up and goes to India for 3 weeks

Listen we are hubristic. We literally go from Britain to Turkey to Delhi airport, to a different airport, to Banaras in a taxi, to Siliguri in a sleeper train, to Kalimpong in a car, back to Siliguri in a van, then to Kolkata in a sleeper bus, to Dhakha, Bangladesh by plane, to my grandparents place in Sylhet by car, then back to Dhakha, then back to Delhi, then back to Turkey and then back to Britain.

Tell me we didn't have at least one entity on our side.

None of us got ill. We had a 6 yr old with us. She didn't complain one bit. I'm 100% sure I blacked out for the majority of it. No other explanation than paranormal.

Those sales assistants in shops have to be fucking avatars of the web or something the way they fucking smile and you until you've blinked and you've bought 3 lehengas and she's like very good ma'am

I met my grandma's sister who looks exactly like my grandma, speaks the exact same way, acts the exact same way. It was so uncanny I could've sworn she just was her. Probably very normal explanation (genetics) but we can never be sure.

I made friends with a hand sized spider in a bathroom by singing "Mr spider, please don't kill me" in the tune of Mr sandman to it every day. It disappeared on the last day. (giving spiral)

I got myself an Indian accent. I am not Indian. (Most of my family is from Bangladesh, I was born there) I am not good at accents. I'm not sure how this transpired (could be some elaborate sociolinguistics explanation but I'm gonna go with paranormal)

We went on a massive family day out with cousins to a river near the mountains and we all had a great time until this little menace of a cousin literally got carried away by a current and we were terrified until one of my uncles literally grabbed him by the leg and yanked him out right before he would've gotten completely carried away. I don't think that's pure luck, personally.

My aunts staged an intervention for me about my posture (Not supernatural, Im just salty)

My dad successfully convinced some strangers who sat next to him on the plane that the reason me and my siblings spoke such good English was that we went to an English medium school. When pressed, he came up with the most elaborate story ever. He gave them a random school we went to, told them we were his boss' kids and he was taking us home, bullshitted a company and then when one of them went oh my dad is a higher up in that company, he says oh didn't he retire recently and the guy goes yeah he did! We are completely oblivious of this story, until he leans over and tells us not to call him dad for the rest of the plane journey. If that's not fucking Stranger behaviour then what is.

We get home, exhausted out of our minds and we realise we can't find our fucking front door key. We pile into the back garden and proceed to search through the entirety of our bags, trouser pockets, pockets within bags, we're all on the verge of tears, I'm catatonic, my little sister has picked up a stick and is slowly peeling it, my other sister is the only one actually looking and my dad is staring at the luggage, as if it had grown legs and was doing a little dance right before his eyes. We do find the keys after 20 minutes. We never mention this again. That's fucking paranormal shit right there don't even try to convince me otherwise. Michael the distortion was fucking with us.

Statement ends... (Although that's definitely not even half the shit that happened)

Watch Jonathan "Jarchivist" Sims crumble beneath my experiences. Hes so bamboozled that he forgets to try and discredit me. I bring him a packet of laddoos and some aachar.

[melishade]

Newest AOP AU idea: The basic gist is that Primus somehow does the divine equivalent of slipping on a banana peel when observing the AOT world, & gets stranded there in a heavily reduced state decades before the start of the story rolls around. The good news is that most of him is still on Cybertron, and can run things on autopilot for quite a while. Plus, he told the OG Primes what to do in case something like this happens, so things should still proceed as planned. The bad news is that he's stranded on the AOT world, with only a fraction of his power & in a smaller, weaker body than what he's used to. (Aka, IDW Rung.) And he can't access the Paths without Eren & Zeke (who aren't born yet) to hijack. At least he can alter his alt-mode on the fly to get around quicker. Now, he has to make lemonade out of the current situation's lemons, & use what he knows to make a better outcome for as many as he can.

Primus now in the mortal world patting down his Rung body:....VECTOR, WHAT THE FRAG?!

So I don't know what the equivalent of a banana peel slip up would be in Primus' case but we obviously want Primus to make impacts during his time on the physical plane of the AOT world. But I don't want it to be easy for him.

So Primus has heard Ymir's cry, does still have limited and inconsistent knowledge of the AOT world, and is in a mortal body. He's initially on Paradis but he’s not really getting anywhere in terms of a peaceful solution, aka, they won’t even let him in out of fear. So Primus ends up finding a way to Marley using what little power he has. Due to the technology that is there, he is able to find a suitable mode of transportation without blowing his cover. He’s just a car that drives around.

However he would end up in the crossfires of an attempt on the Tybur’s life. As a result, Primus ends up intervening, knowing that he would be protected from this world’s technology. There’s an explosion, Primus protects two children, and said children turn out to be a young Willy and Lara Tybur looking up at him in fear.

Primus gently sets them down before he hears chatter and disappears into the night. Willy and Lara try to explain to their father what happened, but many of the adults believe that the children merely experienced too much trauma with the situation. However Willy and Lara are adamant about what they saw.

Meanwhile, as Primus recovers from the attack and hides in the words, Vector is able to send a telepathic message to Primus, saying that those children could be a possible key to bring peace to the world if they were influenced properly. Vector advises Primus to go back, even though Primus knows that would be a bad idea considering how the world sees titans but Vector reassured him that this is the best option they have. Primus trusts his disciple’s word and reluctantly agrees.

A few weeks pater, Primus ends up finding himself at the Tybur manor after much searching, wanting to get the attention of the family without alerting them to his Titan form. Primus decides to use what little energy he has to create the human form he was advised to take on initially, Optimus’ holoform. Primus ends up knocking on the door with this form and waves to the Tyburs. With Vector’s words in his head, Primus explains that he is the therapist they requested for the children. The Tybur head is welcoming; however, Lara and Willy are in shock because they recognize that voice. Primus had spoken to them to ask if they were alright before leaving. He was the Titan. He had to be. All they needed to do was prove it.

A few notes:

-Primus ends up messing up and says that his name is Rung, getting looks of confusion from all of the humans. Ring says that it’s an indigenous name from a small village, but Lara and Willy don’t by it.

-Speaking of, Willy and Lara do everything in their power to prove that Primus is lying. Either catch him in a white lie or come up with an elaborate plan to catch him in the act. This ultimately gets scolding from the head Tybur, but Primus insists that they are acting up due to trauma.

-Primus does give genuine advice for how the Tyburs can overcome their mental and emotional trauma, ultimately gaining the trust of the Tyburs.

-When the time is right, Primus will reveal his Titan form to the Tybur siblings, but he needs to wait for the right moment.

-The energy that Primus has left does allow him to keep up the human appearances more effectively. Like he will be able to eat and drink, but he’ll dispose of it differently.

-Optimus and Megatron are still fighting the war so they will not be making an appearance yet.

-Basically, if Primus does get this right, he might now need to send Optimus here at all, but only time will tell.

(Well that’s all I have for right now for this strange idea. No idea if this would even continue.)

[writercole]

The Offer

Summary: It's been a year and a lot has changed.

Words: 1950

Warnings: Break up, reunion, sass

A/N: And this is where it all starts. Welcome to The Best Benefits.

Tag lists are through. Please follow @coleslibrary and turn on updates.

One Year Later

Y/N made it home after a long day on base, weariness echoing deep in her bones as she dragged herself out of the car. She walked in to find duffle bags waiting next to the door and her boyfriend in the kitchen.

“Billy, what’s all this?” she asked as she tossed her keys on the counter.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he told her flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Billy, I’ve had a really long day. I refuse to coddle you tonight,” she said wearily, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her stress.

“Let me guess, you don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, not at all. Besides, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Yeah, that’s part of the problem,” he sneered, “one minute you're an open book and the next you’re emotionally unavailable and I can’t deal with it.”

“Huh? You’re gonna have to spell it out for me ‘cause I’m not getting it,” she said, her eyebrows furrowed across her forehead.

“You don’t talk to me. You don’t trust me to just listen. But that Bagman guy -”

“Hangman,” she interrupted.

“Whatever. You’ll run to him at the drop of a hat.”

“He’s my best friend and happens to be in the same line of work that I am,” she explained for what felt like the thousandth time. “There’s nothing there. There never was.”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted, rolling his eyes in disbelief.

“You know what, Billy?” she sighed, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily before she raised a fiery gaze back to his face, “get out. I’ve given you everything I have for the last year. The only thing I’ve gotten in return is a lot of bullshit and a half-ass orgasm. You haven’t even tried to sleep with me in months, which I’m actually kind of grateful for. Now I don’t have to adjust to not having good dick.”

“You fucking bitch,” Billy spat, stalking towards her and stopping just centimeters from her face. “You’re going to regret that.”

“Yeah, I doubt it,” she scoffed. “Now get out. And leave your key.”

He tossed his key on the counter and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him hard enough that the pictures rattled on the wall. She waited until she heard him peel out of the driveway before she allowed herself to breathe out a shaky breath, reaching for her phone as tears started falling down her cheeks. She dialed a contact straight from her home screen, sniffling as it rang.

“You’ve reached Hangman, god of the skies. Leave a -”

Sobs wracked her frame as she hung up the phone, devastated that she couldn’t talk to the one person who would be able to calm her, the one who wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’ even if she deserved it and, in actual fact, Jake had told her how it would end. 

Her phone rang in her hand and she dried her tears as she looked at the ID. She cleared her throat and slid the button to answer. “This is Valkyrie.”

Jake was concerned when he saw a missed call but no voicemail from Valkyrie. Before he could worry further or hit the dial button, his phone was ringing. He saw the ID and slid his phone open.

“Hangman,” he answered.

“Lieutenant Seresin, Admiral Simpson,” the man on the other end identified, “you’re being recalled to Top Gun. Your plane departs in sixty minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” Jake responded respectfully, “I will see you when I land.”

Jake rushed to get packed and ready for his transport, completely forgetting about the missed call until he was midair on his way back to North Island.

Valkyrie settled her things into her dorm and decided to go visit her favorite place on North Island, The Hard Deck. As she walked in, she was surrounded by the sounds of classic rock from the jukebox and the noise of overlapping conversations from the plethora of patrons. She waved to the bartender, Penny, and looked around, smiling broadly when she saw a familiar face in Navy khakis.

“Hangman!” she called over the din of the bar.

Jake glanced over and smiled broadly as he threw his last dart, hitting the bullseye without looking. “Valkyrie, as I live and breathe.” he smirked, half happy and half flirting. “What are you doing here?” he asked as she walked over. He wrapped his arms around her waist and picked her up, spinning her in a hug as she clung to him.

“I thought you had a no hugs policy?” she chuckled.

“Don’t act like you don’t remember wearing me down. You’re still the only exception,” he replied, “but you also didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

“Recalled to Top Gun, as I assume you were, too,” she told him as he set her down. 

“Of course I was. I’m the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed kill. Of course they called back the best they have,” he smirked. “You need a drink. C’mon.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and guided her to the bar, ordering two more beers and insisting her drinks were on him for the night.

“How have you been, Jake?” she asked.

“I’ve been good. But what about you? I saw a missed call from you the other night and didn’t get a chance to call you back,” he inquired when Penny handed over the drinks.

“Oh, yeah, that,” she scoffed, swigging back a mouthful of beer. “Billy dumped me. Said I’m ‘emotionally unavailable’ whatever the hell that means.”

“It means he wants to go fuck someone else. Where is this dick? I’m gonna kick his ass for you,” Jake replied, practically growling.

“He wasn’t fucking me anyway. I can’t tell you the last time I actually had sex,” she grumbled as she made her way to a seat near the pool tables, Jake trailing behind her.

“Coyote, this is Valkyrie,” Jake introduced. Coyote’s bright smile beamed as he held out his hand for her to shake, but Jake held up a warning finger, “Behave! She’s a good friend.”

“More patches,” Coyote nodded as a group of three people in Navy khakis strode through the bar. 

“Phoenix?” Valkyrie exclaimed when her eyes landed on the woman in front of the group.

“Valkyrie!” she responded enthusiastically.

The pair wrapped their arms around each other and talked in hushed voices for a moment before turning back to the other pilots.

Hangman made a sarcastic comment and Phoenix replied, prompting Coyote and her two friends to jump in.

“Phoenix, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” Valkyrie wondered aloud, drawing attention away from the tensions between Hangman and the rest of the group. 

“This is Fanboy and Payback,” she said as she pointed to each of the men in turn. “Boys, this is Valkyrie, one of the finest pilots I’ve ever had the pleasure of flying with.”

“Who’s the other one? Me?” Hangman smirked. 

Phoenix shot a look over to her friend, one that said ‘not even in his dreams.’ Valkyrie chuckled quietly as she patted Hangman on the shoulder.

“I always told you I was better than you,” Valkyrie told him sweetly, batting her eyes at him. “Now be nice.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Lieutenant,” he scoffed. 

“Actually, this,” she said, pointing at her collar, “says I can.”

“Lieutenant Commander. Nice,” Phoenix congratulated. “When did that happen?”

“Like two weeks ago. I must have forgotten to tell Hangman last time we talked.”

“You just wanted to be able to rub my face in it in person,” he rebutted. “But that’s awesome. I’m proud of you.”

There were murmurs of agreement all around, her new squad mates reminding her that she may have had rank but that didn’t mean she could boss them around. She excused herself to the bar when Hangman began to run his mouth, not wanting to be caught in the middle. 

“Hey, Penny. Can I get another one, please?” she asked when it was her turn.

“Sure. Is it on Hangman’s tab?”

“Hell, if he’s offering to pay for them, yeah it is,” Valkyrie giggled. “I’m not turning down free drinks.”

“I don’t blame you. But watch out for him. He’s a player,” Penny warned as she handed over the bottle.

“Jake and I have known each other for decades. It’s not like that,” Valkyrie denied as she dropped a bill in the tip jar. 

Penny blew her a kiss as she walked away, and she smiled. The sound of a bell rang through the bar and Valkyrie shook her head, stepping out onto the back porch as she saw Hangman, Payback, and Coyote heading over to toss a customer overboard. The jukebox went out about the same time and seconds later, the piano started. She tuned it all out and lost herself in her thoughts, focusing on the waves crashing into the shore.

Footsteps behind her broke her from her thoughts and seconds later, Jake was by her side. They stood in silence, watching the sunset over the ocean together, something they hadn’t done in years.

“What’s going on in your head?” Jake drawled as he turned to face her, leaning back against a pillar on the deck.

“I’m glad we’re in the same place again,” she smiled, taking a position opposite him. “I missed my buddy. Almost as much as I miss sex.”

“Oh, I feel special,” he laughed. “Second fiddle to sex.”

“Ah, but you’re here now. You aren’t second fiddle anymore,” she pointed out, “you’re not even on the list.”

“There’s a list?” he pressed as he sipped his beer, watching her face.

“Right now, that list consists of sex and my great-grandmother’s cooking,” she informed him with a smile.

“Well, you know, I could technically help with one of them.”

“Since when do you know how to cook?” she joked, taking a sip of her beer. “The one and only time you ever cooked for me, you set the oven on fire.”

Jake rolled his eyes before replying, “Forgot how funny you aren’t. You know what I’m talking about. I happen to fuck better than I can cook.” 

“That is a low bar, Bagman,” she teased with a smirk.

“I also fuck better than I fly,” he winked, “and I’d be happy to show you.”

Valkyrie choked on her mouthful of beer, turning her head and spitting it out over the sand. “What?” 

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been best friends pretty much since high school. Could just add the benefits to our friendship. It’s not like we’re going to fall in love with each other because we start sleeping together. If we were ever gonna be more than friends, it’d have happened by now,” he reasoned.

“Jake, no. No. I - what happens when one of us wants to quit and the other one doesn’t? Or if one of us does fall for the other one?” 

“It’s just sex,” he shrugged, “it’s not like I’m trying to marry you. Look, it was just a thought. It might even be mutually beneficial if this mission training goes like I expect it to.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she lamented, shaking her head.

He shrugged, “Okay, I won’t mention it again.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna head back to base. See you tomorrow,” she said as she stepped towards the door. 

“Is it you that has a no hug policy now?” he taunted.

She stepped back towards him with a smile and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into his chest. “You’ve always had my back, Jake. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Always will, Val.”

Everything: @thelastpyle @deangirl93 @evergreencowboy @katelyn--renee @fictional-affairs @paintlavillered @buckys-zomdoll @polireader @b3autyfuldisast3r @welcometothefandommultiverse @mlovesstories @supraveng @xoxabs88xox

Top Gun: @princessmisery666 @evansrogerskitten @bradshaw-fanclub @saiyanprincessswanie @luckyladycreator2 @princessphilly @ahockeywrites @clints-lucky-arrow @wildbornsiren @w0nderw0man-reading @shanimallina87 @fuckyeahhangman @blue-aconite @hope-love-equality2 @peachiicherries @marvelousmermaid @therebeccaw @green-socks @imjess-themess @jostystyles @mayhem24-7forever @callsignaries @a-reader-and-a-writer @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

[averagejoesolomon]

WELCOME TO THE KIDS. God, we are not ready for this installment, I'm so serious. Matt and Rachel are going to kill us all. To say nothing of the upcoming spycraft and general ass-kickery. Thank you for reading this with me. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle in full on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Before Matt boards a plane to New York, he pastes an OTS-issued mustache to his upper lip and switches the passports in his backpack.

There are no direct flights from Washington DC to Moscow. The reasons for this span far and wide, but the most significant factor also happens to be the simplest—sheer distance. At nearly five-thousand miles as the crow flies, there ain’t a whole lot of civilian aircraft that can make the flight in one go, to say nothing of the fact that neither country is especially amicable to the idea of direct contact. As part of a global effort to reduce the friction between two nuclear superpowers, Morocco offers up its services as the geographical and political buffer between the two destinations, its liminal and atmospheric nightlife acting as the ideal backdrop for the world’s transfers, layovers, and delays.

The trip usually takes eighteen hours if flown straight through, but the gin joints can eat into a full day if given the chance. For his part, Matt’s latest trip takes thirty-seven hours.

But he can’t blame the bars this time around because he doesn’t stop in Morocco, and hasn’t since he picked up a Soviet tail in the CMN terminal last spring. For every US intelligence agent flying through Casablanca, there are five Russian officers waiting on the ground with direct orders to identify and apprehend incoming westerners. The behavior has become too predictable. The Soviets have become too prominent. As Joe puts it: an agent in Morocco is an agent in the grave.

So Matt begins with a trip to New York, then London, then Istanbul, where he switches passports again to fly to Dubai, so he can finally make his way up to Moscow. He survives off of complimentary peanuts and ginger ale, stopping only at the occasional newsstand for the latest local headlines and a fresh packet of M&Ms—one of the few candies sold consistently across international borders. Vigilant airport hours are balanced with the relative safety of the sky, and his only sleep happens alongside the low, rattling drone of jet engines in his ear.

By the time he lands in the Soviet Union, he’s already added a goatee and traded his honey blond hair for a bleached wig that more closely resembles his newly assumed Slavic heritage. After deboarding, he identifies the nearest bathroom to the gate and enters the last stall on the left. As instructed by his CO, he runs his fingers along the wall until he finds a ridge in the tile. He carefully peels back a damn near invisible panel, revealing the compartment Langley promised him. There’s a change of clothes. A pair of contacts. A note written on evapopaper: E ibvltn aely ldrm oor we uti I. The key to this particular skip code was already given to him in New York, which helps him decipher the message that a driver will meet him in Lot 2. Thank God he doesn’t need to hail a taxi.

He drops the note into the toilet bowl and watches it melt from the edges inward. After changing into the provided outfit, he silently shreds his old travel clothes to be discarded in various trash cans on his way to the parking lot. Finally, he pops both contacts in, replaces the panel, and flushes the toilet in case anyone is listening. When he approaches the sink to wash his hands, unfamiliar blue eyes blink back at him from where his own brown eyes ought to be.

Between the sporadic sleep and the changing time zones, he has no idea what the local time is, but the dark sky narrows his possibilities to either very late or very early. The weight of travel saturates every muscle, every joint, every step, but he can’t afford to turn off his senses and slip lazily into the night—not in Moscow. Never in Moscow. After five consecutive flights in less than two days, the hard part has only just begun.

The Soviet Union has always been dangerous to western agents, but the capital has only gotten more hostile in Matt’s time as an operative. Last summer alone, ten US informants were executed in the city, including two of Matt’s most reliable contacts. In the following winter, a handful of Russian specialists left Langley for a field mission and didn’t come home. The last time Matt was here, he met with a Circle informant named Omar who offered to talk in exchange for medication not available in Russia, but easily acquired at a US pharmacy with a forged prescription. Omar is dead now, too, and Matt suspects an assassin finished him off before the illness did. These days, Moscow is a loaded spring trap ready to snap at the slightest tick in the wrong direction, deadly enough that even a skilled Pavement Artist stands to don a disguise or two.

Despite the ocean between them, Joe’s voice rings through Matt’s head. It’s always strongest in Moscow, imploring him to pay attention. Notice things. This is the sort of place where it’s best to lean into strengths, so Matt jumps in with the rest of the red-eyed passengers as the mob progresses through customs, down to baggage claim, and toward ground transportation. From his pace to his posture, he strives to put on a seamless Soviet appearance.

When he reaches the lot, he identifies a license plate number he was instructed to memorize, then enters the backseat of the boxy beige Lada. The driver doesn’t look back when he says, “Nice weather we’re having, yes?” in the sort of thick, Russian dialect that only natives can pull off.

Matt replies in his own practiced Russian. “I hear rain is imminent,” he says. “But I seem to have forgotten my umbrella at home.”

Satisfied with the exchange, the driver shifts gears and squeezes out of his parking spot, working his way toward the main city. By now, Matt knows the streets of Moscow as well as he knows the streets of Hay Springs, so he pays close attention to the route, just in case the driver has been compromised in the past forty-eight hours. The two of them do not speak, wary of bugs. They do not exchange glances, wary of pinprick cameras sewn into buttons. Instead, they embrace their existence as total strangers, not eager to leave any impression of an alliance.

This suits Matt just fine. That is, until seventeen minutes later, when the driver takes a right-hand turn away from the city center, then another.

In this business, in this part of the world, two right turns are a surefire signal to any veteran agent that something significant is about to happen, though it’s impossible to predict whether he’s looking at a positive or negative outcome until the moment actually passes. That’s probably why Joe’s voice is in Matt’s head again, anticipating the worst and providing Matt with escape plans. 

The sidewalks look reasonably empty, easy enough to run.

The rear doors appear to be unlocked from the inside. 

If the doors are jammed shut from the outside, Matt’s shoe has an iron wedge embedded in the rubber heel, which will help him kick through the window.

The driver isn’t armed, but if he makes a move for the glove box, Matt’s best option is to choke him from behind.

The little Lada pulls up to an alleyway tucked between high-rise apartments and a seemingly abandoned liquor store. There are no streetlights. No witnesses. The driver shifts the car into park and says, “You exit now.”

Risk assessment is a key component of any covert decision and, in that moment, Matt senses some serious risk waiting for him at the other end of that alleyway. At the same time, he also senses an even greater risk if he overstays his welcome with this native Russian driver who, by the way, has about a hundred extra pounds on him. Matt doesn’t need to be told twice. Hands up, he slowly exits the vehicle and prepares himself for the next piece of this rapidly evolving Moscow puzzle.

The instant Matt kicks the door shut and slings his bag back onto his shoulder, the Lada’s engine grinds into full gear with a squeal of the tires. He has officially run out of CIA instructions, but the good news is that he doesn’t have any time to doubt himself before his next priority makes itself apparent. The bad news is that his next priority should probably be to get away from the knife that was just pressed against his side.

The pointed end of the blade pokes along the muscle just above his hip. It hasn’t cut through his shirt yet, but one wrong move could change that and much more. “This is a nice surprise,” Matt says, sticking with Russian in a rushed attempt to keep his cover intact. “Where are we going?”

The answering Russian is good—excellent, even—but it has the subtle lilt of someone who learned it as a secondary language. “Is that all it takes to best you? One knife to the ribs and you roll over completely?” It’s a woman’s voice, and one of the few commonalities between the CIA and the KGB is the rarity of female agents among their ranks. Plus, the hold on the knife is petite and graceful, belonging to someone who was taught to fence before she was taught to fight. Matt decides he’s not up against a Soviet agent, but this ain’t a friend either. Not yet.

Joe’s voice is telling him to fight, but Matt’s curious enough to say, “In my experience, the person with the knife usually gets to make all the rules.” He continues with Russian, hoping that the woman will respond in kind and give him a chance to identify the accent layered below. “And, by the way, if you’re aiming for my ribs, you’re about two inches too low.”

She doesn’t disappoint. British accent, maybe. Or Australian. It really is impressively subtle. “Bold thing to say to someone with a knife to your side,” she says. “Remarks like that could get you killed.”

Matt huffs. “Maybe one day, but not today.”

She twists the knife a little deeper, pricking a hole in his shirt. “And what makes you so certain?”

“Because if you were going to kill me, ma’am,” he says, “I’d already be dead.”

This is a bit of a risky gamble. Few things make one human want to kill another more than spite, and Matt’s gone ahead and welcomed it with open arms. His mama always did say he had a real way about him, when it came to tempting fate. Thankfully, this particular bet seems to pay off as the knife finally falls away from his torso. The woman grabs him by the back of his collar instead, pulling him deeper into the alleyway. “You’ve taken all the fun out of it,” she says with a sigh. “Come with me. And don’t ever call me ma’am—that much will get you killed.”

This is a joke. He thinks. And jokes are awfully promising in a place like Moscow. 

At the end of the alleyway, another car sits idling. No headlights. No plate lights. Matt can’t know for sure, but he reckons the brake lights are probably cut, too. In the presence of a car designed for a perfect covert getaway, Matt recognizes this moment for what it is—not an attack, but an escape. A high-tech game of keepaway.

In this particular instance, Matt is not an agent. Rather, he’s an asset in need of transportation, and he’s just met his new driver. When this stranger opens the rear door and shoves him inside, Matt knows that she’s putting on a show for potential onlookers. When she says, “Stay down,” he understands that his silhouette can’t be seen driving through the city. It is not enough to blend in—not when he could have a tail leftover from travel, not when the customs office could have bugged his backpack, not when a patrolman might recognize him from another visit into the city and assign a car to follow close behind. Agents have been known to disappear between an airport and a safe house, which means Matt is only safe if he becomes completely invisible. It’s the sort of thing that can only be accomplished with careful timing, meticulous planning, and an appreciation for redundancy, after redundancy, after redundancy.

In other words, this plan has Rachel Cameron written all over it.

He’s managed to avoid the thought for the past thirty-seven hours—and, frankly, for the entire two years before that—but the idea of being in the same city as Rachel after such a long time away has him wishing for a knife to his side instead. Knife wounds, at least, are an isolated pain with one clear source. They can be cleaned and stitched up. Bandaged and healed. This business with Rachel pings around all of his insides, taking turns with his stomach, his heart, his throat, his lungs. Rancid regret rots his brain and radiates down to every last muscle. Laying alone in the back of a stranger’s car, staring up at the velvet interior, Matt gets caught in a loop of all the things he wishes he’d said sooner.

He didn’t expect it to all stop.

He never should have made her cry.

He didn’t think it would last this long.

He lies, sometimes. He’s sorry he has to lie.

He’s doing good, good, good as often as he can.

Matt has always meant to say these things to her, but the longer they went without, the harder it got to call. Now it feels like too much time has passed to say any of it—like apologizing will only serve as a bitter reminder of just how deeply they tore into one another. Like acknowledging it will only reopen scars that have only just started to heal over.

The longer they drive, the more Rachel’s proximity presses down on his chest, squeezing him into the seat. He knows he ought to count the seconds. Track the turns. Try to get some sense of where they’re headed. But Rachel Cameron fills every last available space in his thoughts and, God almighty, she would lecture him straight to high heaven if she knew how distracted he was.

Once he’s fully worked himself up into a tightly wound ball of unspoken mistakes, the tires hit a gravel drive. The car takes an awfully long route over bumpy back roads and heavily forested hills, which is especially impressive given the lack of headlights, before it finally slows to a stop. His driver turns to the backseat, moonlight catching on the curve of her cheek, an icy white steak against smooth dark skin. “Congratulations on surviving your trip,” she says, and Matt thinks it might be an American southern drawl hiding beneath her Russian, with the way her vowels drawl. “You may leave. Your bag, however, must stay until morning.”

Matt sits upright, his silhouette visible to the night once more. “Sure thing,” he answers. “It’s like I said—the lady with the knife gets to make the rules.”

This earns him a subtle tick of the stranger’s lips. Matt latches onto the near smile and vows to turn into a broad, toothy grin sooner rather than later. But in the meantime, he’ll settle for the semi-charmed side-eye she casts his way, just before she opens the driver door. “Bloody Hell,” she says as she exits, finally switching to English. “She was right about you.”

British. Damn. Matt should have trusted his gut.

Wait. 

He bolts out of the backseat and jogs to catch up. “Right about me?” he echoes, falling back into his own American English. “Who was right about me—right about what?”

The Brit’s stride is incredibly long, and would probably be better suited to a runway than barely-used backwoods paths overgrown with weeds. Matt has to quicken his own pace just to keep up with her. “Never you mind,” she says. “This way.”

“Doesn’t seem right,” he tries, “that you get inside info on me when I don’t even know your name—”

“This way,” she says again. “Surely I don’t have to remind you, of all people, that Moscow’s trees have ears.”

Matt has spent a significant portion of his career listening to conversations picked up by precisely placed bugs exactly like the ones she speaks of now. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her the surrounding trees probably aren’t bugged—at least not in the way she expects. The Soviets wouldn’t go to the trouble of tagging each individual tree, only to have an opposing agent uncover them within an hour of arrival. The birds, foxes, and deer, however, are worth a second glance. 

Either way, she’s right. The forest is no place for introductions. Instead, he follows as she hikes toward a tiny cabin tucked between one hillside and another. It appears perfectly plain on the outside, built from cedar logs and a tin roof. Shrubs and pines surround the perimeter, and Matt knows from experience that these are probably prickly and unpleasant, making it difficult for any unwelcome guests to get too close. The curtains are drawn. The chimney is without smoke. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say no one was home. 

They cover their tracks as they go, wordless right up until they reach the door. Mind split in the dozens of different directions demanded by good countersurveillance, Matt forgets to be nervous until the last minute, when the Brit knocks in a unique, four-rap pattern, then opens the door. The cabin’s light flashes into the nighttime forest, so they waste no time stepping inside. 

A new voice greets them. Then again, this voice ain’t really new. Not to him. He’d know this particular voice anywhere, even if he spent years, decades, centuries away. “Grace?”

Rachel Cameron waits for them just inside, seated at a small dining table at the center of a small kitchen. Rachel Cameron has lists, and blueprints, and notes scattered all across the tabletop, the chairs, the linoleum, splayed across kitchen countertops, and taped to cabinets, and stuck to the refrigerator with little black magnets. Rachel Cameron scans one stack of papers with the pencil in her right hand, then another with a highlighter in her left. Rachel Cameron looks up. Rachel Cameron meets his gaze. Rachel Cameron sighs.

Genius. He’s always known the word applied to her, though it strikes him anew. Rachel’s brilliance is better experienced in small doses, when he can slowly acclimate himself to the raw appreciation of it. The last two years have robbed him of his resilience and it’s like he’s seeing her for the very first time all over again.

Except it only takes a single moment for all of their history to come rushing back, filling the room from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, until there’s no more space for words, or gestures, or glances. Rachel looks away first, eyes falling back to a set of blueprints, and Matt follows her lead.

Thankfully, their companion cuts through the silence without a trace of discomfort. “Found your boy,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “He’s cheeky, this one.”

Matt starts to protest with “Oh, I ain’t—” at the same time Rachel says, “He’s not my—”

They both stop, and wait, and wait some more. Neither of them meet the other’s eyes. When enough excruciating seconds have passed, Rachel starts again, and Matt lets her. “Thank you for picking him up,” she says. “I know you were eager to stay in tonight, but—”

“But we aren’t taking any chances with this op,” the Brit finishes. “Understood. Really, Rachel. Though I will say, I was a bit surprised at how easily this one came along with a complete stranger.”

It is as if all of Rachel’s years of etiquette training hit her at once. She brings her fingers to her forehead, suddenly remembering. “Ah, yes, sorry. You haven’t been introduced yet.”

“Not unless you count my putting a knife into his side,” she says.

Matt clears his throat, finally finding his words. “In this business, that’s sometimes the only introduction we get.”

The Brit smiles again. It’s still not the full grin he’s looking for, but it’s closer. “Quite right.”

Rachel studies the pair of them, analyzing something Matt can’t see. She squints back and forth between them, her face twisting into something sour, as though she’s not sure she likes what she’s looking at. “Right,” she says, slowly. Then, clears her throat. “Right, well, anyway. Grace, this is Matthew Morgan. Matthew, this is Grace Harris—”

“Baxter,” Grace cuts in.

“Right,” says Rachel, squeezing her eyes shut, remembering again. Matt’s not sure he’s ever seen Rachel forget anything, and he takes note of the fact that she’s gone and forgotten twice in a sixty-second span. A data point he’ll save for later. “Grace Baxter.”

Grace Baxter holds out her hand to shake, meeting Matt with a far firmer grip than he’s expecting. He feels a couple of knuckles pop in his own hand, and resists the urge to call out. “It’s so great to finally meet you,” she says. 

That’s an awfully interesting choice of words. “Finally?” says Matt.

Grace does not elaborate. “My husband is around as well, but he’s being a good little agent and sleeping off his jet lag while it’s still dark.”

Matt, who hasn’t had more than two hours of consecutive sleep since DC, can’t quite hide the longing in his reply. “Smart man.”

“Outrageously so. It’s infuriating, really,” Grace agrees. “You’ll see him at breakfast tomorrow, but in the meantime we should all probably join him. The last thing we need is four exhausted agents trying to run an op in Moscow.”

Matt has about a million more questions for Grace Baxter, but none of them form quite right in his head. A fog fills his brain, clouding all of his better thoughts, and he reckons Grace is probably right. He’s useless to Rachel like this, and she’ll be the first to call him on it. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he says. “Do you think we ought to run it by the boss, first?”

Grace risks a glance toward Rachel, who has already returned to one of her blueprints. With Rachel’s attention occupied, Matt steals this chance to take her in. Her clothes are worn with travel and her shoulders slump with a need for sleep. Some of her curls have escaped the denim scrunchie holding back the bulk of her hair, falling into her face, and Matt remembers all at once that Rachel never did know how to stop, once she got started.

“Good luck,” Grace scoffs. “I’ve been trying to get her to sleep for hours. Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She’s been planning since the moment she walked in.”

Matt ain’t got any sense that Rachel doesn’t already have ten times over, and he doesn’t dare pretend otherwise. Thankfully, Rachel recognizes this and provides an answer of her own. “I’ve been planning for the past three months,” she corrects, just as she circles something on the page. “I just wanted to get some last-minute changes down before bed.”

Grace turns back to Matt. “You see? Hopeless,” she says. “You two may do what you please, but I intend to get some sleep. Pulling off a fake kidnapping at the edge of Moscow is exhausting work, you know.”

With this, she sends a playful jab into Matt’s side. Only problem is, Grace’s idea of a playful jab is most people’s idea of a full-on elbow to the ribs, and Matt has to catch his breath afterward. It takes all of his might not to let out an unmanly yelp in front of these two women. “Right,” he gasps. “See you in the morning.”

“Thanks again, Grace,” Rachel calls, not looking up from her writing.

With a wave of her fingers, Grace disappears behind one of the two available doors and shuts it with a twist of the lock. Matt realizes too late that her absence leaves just him and Rachel. Alone. Together.

This silence just won’t do.

“Flights good?” he asks.

“Yes,” she answers, scribbling away.

“Abby okay?”

Scribble, scribble. “Yes.”

“You okay?”

Scribble, scribble. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.” This is worse than the silence, actually. Out of questions and energy stores depleted, Matt decides that his only remaining move is one that has been employed by desperate agents for centuries—a retreat. “Listen, I think I might join the others and try to get some sleep. Unless you need me?”

Scribble, scribble. “Not yet.”

“Great,” he says. “Just point me to my bed and I’ll be on my way.”

Rachel’s pencil freezes mid-sentence. This is Matt’s first clue that something is horribly wrong, followed by the fact that her eyes finally meet his and this time, she doesn’t look away. “No.”

“Um.” Retreat, retreat, retreat. “Okay? I guess I can find it—”

But Rachel is already up, dashing through the sliver of a living room that hosts a single chair, a coffee table, and a throw blanket. When she reaches the second available door in the cabin, blood drains from her already pale face, turning it to an alarming, ashen white. Her voice is hollow and distant when she squeaks out a soft, “No, no, no.”

When it comes to Rachel, Matt is woefully out of practice, but it doesn’t take an expert to see the panic, and Rachel’s panic ain’t built the same way everyone else’s is. The sight of Rachel out of sorts is enough to get Matt’s heart really, truly racing. “Rachel, what are you—?”

She flicks on the light, and when Matt steps up behind her, he’s met with an instant understanding of the situation. “There’s only one other bed,” she says, spinning to face him as she explains. “Abby and I usually share. I booked the safe house when it was going to be the two of us, but between the hospital, and the flights, and coordinating our assets…” Sometimes Matt wonders how loud the inside of her head must be. He suspects she doesn’t realize when her words dissolve between inner and outer monologue. It takes some deciphering to understand her complete thoughts from start to finish. “I forgot. I’m so sorry, I forgot to account for the beds when I switched agents, I’ll take the couch.”

By couch, he supposes she means the ancient loveseat tucked away at the end of the bed. The leather cushions are scratched and cracked, and the silver shine of a spring peeks out from beneath the quilt laid across its back. A grease stain rests along the arm where agents have laid their heads for years and years before. Throughout his travels, Matt has seen more than his fair share of uncomfortable furniture and this one has serious potential to rank among the worst, but this is Rachel’s third strike at forgetfulness when she’s usually a home run hitter. She needs to sleep, and sleep well, and it simply won’t do, for her to sleep on that old thing. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No it’s my mistake, I should—”

“Rachel,” he says, and his hands fall to her shoulders out of habit. Out of familiarity. “I’m sorry, but there just ain’t no way I’m letting you take the couch.” She’s looking up at him with big, brown eyes. They’re glassy, and tired, and he spares Rachel her dignity by ignoring the twinge of tears sneaking into either corner. “She may be all the way in Nebraska now, but there’s no quicker way to get Joy Morgan to Moscow than if I let you sleep on that couch.”

She shakes her head. “Matthew—”

“I’m telling you,” he tries again. “My mama can sense that sorta thing, and believe me when I say she’ll shake down the entire agency to find this cabin and knock me six ways from Sunday, right upside my head.”

“You’re worried that your mother will intimidate CIA agents into disclosing the location of one of their most heavily protected safe houses?”

“You’ve never seen my mama when there’s a matter of chivalry at stake.”

“Matthew, I—” she interrupts herself, this time, freezing when she meets his gaze. “Your eyes,” she says, studying the intimate features of his face. “Your eyes are blue.”

This is outright nonsense, and even more proof that she needs to sleep. That is, until he remembers the light blue contacts. He blinks, as though he might be able to get rid of the color, because everything artificial seems so ridiculous now that he’s in the presence of someone who knows him to his core. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sorry.”

With that, she studies him more deeply, and he notices the faint lines that have started to form where her eyebrows always furrow, the freckles she’s accumulated along her cheekbones with years of missions spent in the sun, the ease with which her lips fall into a tight, even line. Her eyes bounce between each of his, debating her next words before she finally says, “Why are you apologizing?”

Matt’s breath catches, and he knows this is it. The opening he’s been waiting for. But it’s late, and they’re tired, and they both smell like planes, and airports, and taxis. So despite the desperate words trying to crawl from his heart to his mouth, he settles on something softer. “I think we both know I’ve got plenty to apologize for,” he says, finally letting his hands fall. “But I think we both know this ain’t the time to do it.”

Genius. She’s always been smarter than him in more ways than he can count, and this moment is no exception. She’s smart enough to know that they both need clearer heads. That they both need a moment of quiet. That morning will come and they’ll both be better for it, and that tonight is no place for their usual fights. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about the bed,” she says, barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t—”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“I’m so tired.”

She has this way of taking small words and making them feel big. Of making them span years, when they shouldn’t last more than a second or two. Rachel isn’t tired, so much as she’s exhausted, and burned out, and lonely, and weighed down—and she manages to convey all of this by simply shaking her head, and folding her face into her hands, and standing in front of him with all of the humility in the world.

He has this way of feeling her when she most needs it, in a way that no one else seems to be able to. Of hearing those great big words tied up in all of her small ones, and trying his best to say the right thing in response. “Let’s get some sleep, then,” he says, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. “We’ll get some sleep, and when you wake up, you can tell me exactly what all of those crazy kitchen plans mean.”

Despite herself, she laughs. It's a pitiful, mangled thing, but it still counts. “They’re not as crazy as they look.”

And Matt can’t hold back a smile. “Well thank God for that, because they look…” he tries to find a word, but this is much like everything else Rachel does, in that it defies explanation. “I mean, seriously, Rachel, you’ve gone full Doc Brown in there.”

She shoves him, gently, and Matt makes a show of clasping at his chest in faux hurt. “They’ll make more sense in the morning,” she tells him.

“Everything will make more sense in the morning,” he assures her.

And she believes him. “Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.

That’s enough for them, for tonight, for now. It’s all they need. And maybe tomorrow will be bitter and hard at the center of Moscow, working an op that Rachel has given her whole heart to, but right now is easy and safe. Right now, they’re old friends who need each other more than they knew. 

Rachel finds his eyes again, and sighs something that sounds like relief and regret mixed together. “At least let me ease some of my guilt by hunting down a truly outrageous number of blankets on your behalf.”

Matt looks back to the loveseat and knows in his gut that there will not be enough room for more than one blanket. There is barely enough room for Matt, as is. Even so, he smiles at her. “Rachel Cameron,” he says. “I’ll always take any blanket you hand me.”

[tyler-lawson]

The Meet - 04 Bound Away

Braden stood facing the wall, shirtless, in his socks, a pair of blue faded jeans, and his bright blue boxer briefs, his hands on top of his head. His shirt and shoes sat next to him, though they might have been Timbuktu for all the good they could do him. He stood there, growing bored and starting to count the holes in the bricks of the bare room he was currently stuck in. Behind him, a Border Patrol officer lazily stood, playing on his phone.

"Don't move. I will be back." I say, finally finishing up my initial report and submitting it from my phone. I unlock the door and step outside. I walk to the room with the two coaches, entering with a jingle of keys.

"Alright, gentlemen. I will take you to go see your friends. You," I pointed to Matthew's coach, Ian, "Follow me." He did, and I led him to the room with Matthew. I walked Ian into the room and removed his cuffs and the coach immediately went and sat by the boy's side.

"So, gentlemen, given the statements I have received, we are choosing not to prosecute Matthew for his role in the fight. However, for instigating the fight, the Foreign Ministry is revoking his Visa."

"Wait, does that mean I can't compete." Matthew asked, his face flushing with fear.

"No, our relationship with the World Championships is worth making some concessions. You will be allowed to compete, but you will be housed in one of our immigration detention facilities, and brought to and from the field by a Border Patrol officer who will also be responsible for you at the site. As soon as your competitions are over, you will be brought back to the airport and put on a plane."

Waves of fear, shame, and relief washed over his face as he took in everything. His coach wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"Can I stay with him?" His coach asked.

"Yes, but you will not be given any special accommodations. You will be treated just like the immigration detainee that he is. I will let you two discuss your situation."

They started talking softly as I left the room.

***

I returned to get Braden's coach Jason, and walked him still cuffed to Braden's room. I opened the door to Braden's room, finding him sitting with his shirt on lap tracing the lines of stitching with his fingers. Notably, not doing the one thing I had instructed him to do, stand unmoving against the wall.

"Stand up, hands on your head, face the wall!" I barked, leaving his coach cuffed and watching in the hallway. Braden started as the door opened, and jumped up, throwing his shirt off his legs as he did. I grabbed his wrists and forced him against the wall, his shirtless chest pressed into the cold, painted bricks. His hands were twisted behind his head, and my hip pushed his into the wall, his pants sagging down another couple inches from the rapid movement. His boxer briefs now more prominently displayed.

I withdrew from my pocket a set of transport restraints, handcuffs and leg irons connected by a 3' chain. I continued holding this hands on his head, as I instructed him to give me each socked foot, locking the cuffs of the leg irons around his ankles.

"What the fuck!" He protested, his voice muffled by his face being slammed directly into the wall. "Let me go!" He continued, worthlessly squirming his shoulders and chest.

I passed the handcuffs of the transport restraints through between his legs, then pulled him off the wall by his hands, peeling his naked chest and stomach away from the brick. I moved in front of him, pulled his hands down to his waist, and pushed them into the waiting cuffs.

He looked down at his restrained hands and feet, noting his shirtlessness and his pants drooping down his legs.

"Come on, are these really necessary." He whined.

"Yes, they are. You clearly cannot follow instructions well, so, yes, I will be keeping you locked up."

He shook his wrists a few times, feeling the weight of the connecting chain pulling them down. He moved his feet a bit, shuffling around and feeling the restriction of the leg irons holding them close and stopping large steps.

I returned to the hallway and brought his cuffed coach in, choosing to leave his cuffs on as well, his hands locked behind his back. I closed the door behind him.

"Why don't you two take a seat." I said. They both glanced around the room, noting the lack of any chairs to sit on.

"Uh, where?" The coach inquired.

"The floor will be fine." They both grumbled as they sat to my internal amusement. Braden struggling with his leg irons restricting the movement of his feet, and Jason struggling with his hands locked behind his back. Eventually they managed to sit, choosing to sit in a fetal position with their knees up, their feet pulled into their butt, lounging back slightly against the wall. Jason's short athletic shorts fell down his thighs, further showing his compression shorts underneath. Braden's sag accentuated as he sat, his butt further pushing his jeans down his thighs.

"Braden, the Foreign Ministry has revoked your visa and is ordering you detained on suspicion of assault and battery for your part in the fight."

"What?! He attacked me first! I just defended myself."

"Strangling an incapacitated opponent is not self-defense."

"Fuck off. He deserved it."

Jason nudged the boy with his shoulder. "Now is not the right time to fight this."

"Your coach is right. Now, be quiet. I will return to deal with you two shortly. I would recommend controlling yourself and watching your language." I say, sternly, walking out of the room.

The cuffed coach and athlete huddled together talking much more harshly.

(Continued thanks to @saggerjordancuffed for the pictures and inspiration for this story.)

[2xplusungood]

My personal interpretations of Cruelty Squad

Firstly: The Triagons gave birth to each other, hence why "X triagon was born of Y" where Y is usually what the previous one represented. I mention this specifically becuase I've seen a lot of people assume the trigons represent what they are born from, which A. The wording seems to say otherwise and B. I have reason to believe otherwise.

Like the whole idea of peeling an onion at the end of the game, the key to understanding them is to start from the outside and work inward, going backwards.

The Third triagon was born of Death. With life now being finite, the energy being given to the earth (Organism) was suddenly more than was needed to sustain life, thus creating wealth. With the creation of wealth, conflict was born.

It takes the form of Abraxas in the Archon Grid (Or rather a part of them that was planted as a "seed" hence his flower like form). He is Capitalism and the spirit of the free market. The idea of wealth as a very concept. He is also your boss, both philosophically and physically.

To explain this, I first have to explain my theory about how the world of Cruelty Squad works. You see, CONTROL, the building you raid in Office, is the parent company of every other company. Each company fights, thrives, lives and dies in competition with each other, but in reality they are little more than the various tendrils of CONTROL, who manages this whole ecosystem to make Abraxas continually grow in power (Again he's literally a flower).

Elsa Holmes "The Archdemoness" and the 4 subarchons essentially act as gatekeepers to Archon grid, and once they are dead, the grid opens up and you kill Abraxas.

By doing so, you eliminate all wealth, and by extension conflict from the world. You live among friends and spend the rest of your life in idle contentment. Everyone is equal, represented by an infinite flat plane. But without conflict, you are now trapped and unable to change anything. Change cannot be brought about without conflict and youre now stuck in a world of emptiness, the tower you're walking to is infinitely far away, much like how you will now never reach a better understanding of the universe.

The Third Triagon's color is Red. Worn by the wealthy people in Idiot Party and the CTO in Office.

The second Triagon was born of Life. Its death, nice and straight forward. An end to the previously infinite expanse of life. This leads nicely into my theory about "Divine Link"

Now a lot of games that have respawn tend to invoke the philosophical question "are you really still you?" Cruelty Squad does not. Once you die and have your divine link severed, thats it. You are now nothing but a flesh automoton driven by neurotransmitters. A flesh golem implanted with the previous memories of you. Your literal soul is gone. This is why trying to enter divine link doors say "something feels missing"

The Divine sphere heals you spiritually and physically. It undoes the experimental power in misery modifications and restores you as you.

But what if, instead of a soul, you supplemented it with... something else? What if you turned away from the light entirely and embraced the fact that you're nothing more than an instrument of death? What if your soul was made of negative energy? What if every breath you took was only a means to spread as much death as physically possible.

So yes, I am saying that Hope Eradicated is basically you becoming the Lich from Adventure Time and filling the spot where a soul should be with something thats not a soul.

The "Life" ending is interesting to me. The big face with LIFE written on it says you're meeting the Triagon of life, but everything else says otherwise. To meet him, you must first KILL THE FEW FRIENDS YOU HAVE (This is 100% canon too. Once you enter Cruelty Squad HQ on Hope Eradicated, all the NPCS who were nice to you suddenly die and will not respawn and the face will even say "Your friends are in Hell, yet you smile), pass the hallway toxic to all life and then kill the CEO to take his place, either by the ZKZ transactional rifle (Which is powered up by your CEO mindset) or with the Bolt ACR, a weapon that no longer affects you.

My theory is that this is actually the Triagon of Death, the LIFE sign simply being irony. Life is a joke to are . You spread death and suffering all in the name of your own desires. Nothing is more important.

The second Triagon's color is Blue. Worn by the security at idiot party, and the CSO in Office, as well as the color of the Hope Eradicated border.

Confronting Death, they are in awe of you. You become the new CEO and now have the final piece of the puzzle to face the First and Final Triagon.

The Third Triagon was born out of Malice, but is life itself. This is horrendous to think about considering the implication is that life in and of itself is evil. By entering the trauma loop, you make your way over to the Cradle of Life, where life itself came from. In doing so, you've basically launched yourself into the very inner workings of universe. You fuck everything up so bad that the value of life becomes negative, but you, as a being of DEATH instead grow to be so much more. A "being of pure grace"

You look upon the vast cosmos that are now your kingdom and you begin to peel an onion. As you go layer by layer, the laws of the universe begin to break down and it becomes an infinitely dense spec once again.

Remember that life was born of Malice. The universe itself is an organism of Malice. It hates you. It hates itself. It does not want to exist. So you grant it mercy. By doing so you've deleted existance itself. What was once the universe is now empty but content with itself. A "Golden Age" The color of first triagon is Green, worn by the high priest in Idiot Party, Human Resources in Office, your landlord and several other people who are uniquely tied to the "greater meaning" of the game.

[iwritesickfic]

Sexy Nurse

(beware: contains making out, mention of dicks, and mentions of sex!)

Seamus had been warned via text message that tonight may be another tough one. A lot of them have been tough lately. It’s January, and Theo’s been sick more often than not. Just as he’s getting over one thing, something else will hit and leave him down for the count. He’s hardly had a week of peace, and in turn, neither has Seamus.

He doesn’t mind caring for Theo, not at all, but it definitely can be difficult. The first few nights are sleepless, and when he’s away, worry eats at him. But he’s grateful for the time they spend together. The intimacy, the trust. And most of the time, it just means a few nights of staying in, having wonton soup curled up next to him. Which is always wonderful.

That said, he’s a little nervous on the train over to his apartment. The text he got today just read “not feeling great,” so he’s not sure whether it’ll be a wonton soup night, or a desperately trying to bring down a 103 fever night.

He doesn’t bother knocking when he gets upstairs - he has a key - and he’s pleased when he walks in to see Theo at the piano. He’s less pleased when he hears him cough - harsh and wet and crackling.

“Hey!” Seamus calls as he’s slipping off his sneakers. They’re damp from the slush outside, so he peels off his socks too. Theo turns on the bench and gives him a weak smile.

“Hey,” he mumbles, his cheeks flushed, skin pale. Seamus sets down his bag and walks over, Theo wrapping his arms around his waist from where he’s sitting, his face at Seamus’s stomach. He runs his hands through Theo’s hair. It’s damp at the roots.

“How was your day?” He asks, and Theo pulls back, turning back around so he’s facing the piano. His hands tremble when he lays them over the keys.

“Ok. Stayed in. Wrote a little.” He sniffles, and Seamus can hear the congestion in his chest and head and throat. He lays his palm on Theo’s forehead, reaching around from behind, and Theo sighs.

He’s very warm. Not dangerously, but very.

“Did you take your temp?” Seamus asks, and Theo sighs, his breath catching and turning into a fit of coughs. When the fit ends though, he doesn’t answer, just stares down at his hands.

“I feel like you’re just a glorified nurse at this point, it’s like you’re not even my boyfriend,” he says, and Seamus frowns. He backs away, leaning against the nearby kitchen island, and Theo turns to look at him. The emotions he's normally able to keep off his face when he's well are written all over him - guilt, exhaustion, sadness.

"Am I a sexy nurse, at least?" He asks, and Theo manages to crack a small, tired smile, though he doesn't reply. Seamus grabs his sweater and pulls it up just enough for Theo to see the bottom of his stomach - the v of his hips, the plane of muscle. Theo's watching him intently, but his expression hasn't really changed. "I'm not?" He asks, dropping the hem, and Theo sighs, punctuating it with a cough.

Seamus clicks his tongue and pulls his sweater up again, a little higher this time.

“No?” He asks, looking down at himself then back up at Theo.

"You're… You're pretty sexy," he finally says, still weary but smiling, and Seamus smiles back. Abruptly, Seamus shrugs off the sweater and tosses it somewhere to his left. He shakes out his curls, rolls his shoulders. Theo laughs softly. "What are you doing right now?"

"You don't feel good, Teddy?" He asks, trying for a version of his bedroom voice. Theo muffles a cough in his shirt. "C'mere."

He stands up, and Seamus can tell by the way he moves that he's aching all over. The worry for him almost pulls him out of the act. They're only a few feet apart now, Theo leaning against the grand piano, Seamus against the island.

Seamus steps closer, and without warning, Lifts him up so he's sitting on the closed top of the piano. It startles a laugh out of Theo, that quickly turns into another coughing jag. It’s brutal, choking hacks bookended by gasping breaths. Seamus slots himself in between his legs and rubs his chest until the fit tapers off.

"You sound awful," he says, and Theo nods, looking exhausted and somewhat bewildered. "And let me see…" He slides his hand under Theo's t-shirt, and almost winces at the heat of his skin. Theo immediately stiffens, gasping softly. "Is that too cold?"

Theo shakes his head weakly, eyes falling closed.

"No, I'm… I'm hot,” his voice is back to being weak and half-slurred with fever.

Seamus strokes one hand over his forehead, then back through his hair. He's absolutely burning up.

"Yeah, you are. You're on fire." His other hand rests underneath Theo’s shirt, on his ribs, and he can feel the rumble of congestion in each breath. "Everywhere."

He kisses his forehead, between his eyes, then the soft space underneath his jaw. Theo's head tips back, just like it does in bed. He laughs breathily.

"Seamus…" he says, and looks him in the eye. "I don't want you to catch this."

"I'm a nurse, I deal with it all the time," he says, and Theo laughs again.

"You're so stupid."

"That's no way to speak to a healthcare professional," he says with as much seriousness as he can muster and Theo nods, though still smirking.

"Right. I apologize." Seamus's hands are still moving over his body - one on his thigh, the other running over his chest.

"You're forgiven. I mean, you're practically delirious." Theo snorts in a way that implies it's closer to being the truth than a joke. "But I don't know what diagnosis to make."

"Nurses diagnose?"

"Again with the disrespect. Hush." He touches his forehead to Theo's feverish one. Hes not sure if he's actually hotter than he was last time he checked or if he's imagining it. He leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to his chapped lips, all thoughts of avoiding contagion abandoned. "What should I do? What do you want?" He whispers.

“I mean…you’d know best,” Theo says, and sniffles. "Doctor," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Well I'm an RN. And right, but I mean…” Seamus trails off, his voice low. Theo coughs into his fist.

“Well, we haven’t-” He says, stopping halfway through the sentence to give a few more wet coughs. He presses one of his hands to Seamus’s bare chest. His palm is scalding, his fingers leaving a trail of heat as they run down his sternum. “It’s been a while. So…” he says with a shrug. Seamus can’t tell whether his cheeks are flushed from fever or something more.

“Ok, but like-”

Theo tilts his head downward and looks up at him through his eyelashes. His too-hot hand has reached his waistband.

“Seamus,” he says, sounding the slightest bit exasperated. Seamus almost laughs but pulls himself together and nods.

“Right. I think I need to, like…” He racks his brain for what could be both an innuendo and relevant to the situation at hand. “I’m gonna need to examine you,” is what he settles on, and Theo grins. Still, he’s sniffling about every thirty seconds, the tip of his nose rubbed pink. Seamus’s hands are on his thighs.

Seamus takes a step back, but Theo leans forward, so the distance between them stays the same.

“Let’s go to my office,” he says, and Theo hops down from the piano. Seamus is immersed in whatever it is they’re doing, but he doesn’t miss the way Theo’s knees almost buckle.

Then Theo’s lying on his back in his unmade bed, his nightstand littered with cough drop wrappers and used tissues. He shivers as Seamus tugs off his too-big shirt, and again when Seamus starts to kiss him. Everywhere. In the dip between his collarbones, where his tattoo peeks out from his waistband. He’s on fire under his hands, trembling.

He gasps with every touch, so Seamus goes slowly. His hand tightens in Seamus's hair as he lays a kiss on his stomach, and Seamus laughs softly against his skin.

"You're so sensitive," he whispers, and Theo sighs.

"I don't know, I'm… I don't know," he mumbles. "It feels…" He trails off again.

"Good?" Theo just hums in response, his eyes falling closed. Then Seamus remembers he's supposed to be a nurse.

When he presses a kiss to Theo's throat he can feel the way his heart is racing. His breath is shallow and quick. He pulls back, but brings Theo's wrist to his lips.

"Your pulse is elevated," he says, and Theo huffs out a laugh that turns into a few weak coughs.

"Maybe because we're about to have sex," he murmurs, and Seamus clicks his tongue, dropping his hand.

"Now that," he says, sitting back on his heels, his fingers already dipping into the waistband of Theo's sweats, "Would be very unprofessional, wouldn't it?" The charade would be going a lot better if they both weren't already half hard.

"I won't tell if you won't," Theo says. His voice is still hoarse and thready.

"Well I can't. Because of HIPPA."

"Right. Of course."

[sassooda]

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 89 - Speak 🔞

w/c - 6,915

               “That was actually pretty hot.”, Nobara winks as she fluffs her hair and sets the keys down. She’s referring to the moment when Yuuji pummeled the targeted curse after it had successfully been evading her. “And thanks to you…”, she smiles while extending an arm to draw Itadori closer, “…now we don’t have to be in the cold anymore.”, and sighs heavily when his body wraps around her.

               “I couldn’t let you do all the work babe!”, the junior shaman’s light giggles dissipate as the atmosphere of the room settles into something a little less comical. He still can’t believe that he gets to call Kugisaki his girl, that she’d even be interested in him but he’s certainly not complaining.

               “Let me have a taste.”.

               Sukuna sneakily forms his mouth and nips Nobara’s rear where Yuuji’s hand had only just moved to, “Mmmmmm”.  She yelps out of surprise but is also becoming desensitized to the King of Curse’s sexual deviance and therefor is ultimately insouciant with his advances.

               “Why do I have to be stuck with you?!”, Yuuji instantly is pulling his hands away from Nobara to save her from further assault and while doing so, fleetingly wonders if she’ll ever be safe from the curse. Yes, it’s obvious that Sukuna doesn’t want to hurt Kugisaki but this whole situation is something he struggles to adjust to, even now. Why wouldn’t he fear Sukuna? Everyone should. The way Nobara snickers under her breath to his frustration though is somehow soothing and he acknowledges the fact that she’s not so easily ruffled. She has accepted Yuuji and his demon.

               Nobara takes a step closer to him, pushing off from the table in which she set the keys and laces her fingers into his. A tongue scurries across her palm but she does her best to not react this time to help save her boyfriend’s mood. When their lips finally connect, Nobara absorbs his shielding nature and thinks back to all the times she swore she would never fall for him. Its not as if he isn’t a catch, he’s actually the greatest match she’s ever been offered in the fates of life. “Want me to take off my uniform?”, she slyly asks while peeling the jacket from her shoulders and letting it fall into a soft flop against the floor.

               Yuuji blushes brightly and admits, “I should knock out the missions more often!”, before taking a deep breath. She slowly doffs the constraints while eyeing him in a way that tells of her intentions and this alone makes the breath hitch in his throat. He’ll never not be nervous around her. His hands raise from the sides of his body in search for the planes of hers and when found, his fingers curl to grip her fleshed out reality.

               “Choso?”, Nobara looks up from Yuuji and whispers as she senses the being nearing them in the hall. A wave of apprehension rushes through her veins, ‘Is he in a better mood?’, she wonders with a grain of hope.

               “Huh?”, Itadori twists around to watch the door open and display his brother in the entry way. “Oh hey! Are you feeling better?!”, Yuuji is quickly warmed by the being’s smile that focuses on him and actually forgets that Nobara is a few layers away from being naked.

               Choso’s eyes flicker to Kugisaki for a moment but not in a manner of disrespect. He appreciates beauty regardless of what form it takes and his brother’s woman certainly meets the requirements. He mumbles under his breath, “How I’ve grown fond of a few of you…”, in disbelief of how there’s more humans he wishes to shelter. Nobara has always been accepting of him too and she even shed tears when he absorbed the scalar warfare and temporarily left this world. That means a lot to him and Mictlantecuhtli for its given perspective to the rare kindness that’s sprinkled amongst a small percentage of the human race. “I am better now, I needed more time to adapt to this evolution but thank you for asking.”, Choso is truly moved by his brother’s concern but adds, “I need to speak with you privately.”.

               Yuuji orients towards Nobara as if looking for permission but she’s already nodding her head in agreeance, “Alright yeah, no problem!”. She leans into Yuuji’s ear, her weight springing from the balls of her feet and whispers, “I’ll be waiting…”, and kisses it.

               Choso smirks, “Let’s go outside then.”, but walks closer to Yuuji and hugs the junior shaman before finally turning to leave the room.

               Itadori stands there, surprised by the gentleness of the being even as his aura has become something similar to a monster. He speculates for a moment but ultimately decides that Choso’s sinister presence means nothing in terms of his own affection for the half curse. ‘El’s always had dark energy too but she’s definitely a good guy.’, he reassures himself as he follows Choso out of the room and through the building. Yuuji tucks his hands into his pockets as the biting, frigid air cuts through his uniform but once they’re away from the dormitories and in the expanse of unused land, Choso turns around and bears an expression of annoyance. “Wh-what do you want to talk about?”, Yuuji asks timidly with wide eyes.

               Choso examines the confusion blooming on his brother’s face and speaks, “Yuuji, you are not the source of my frustration but I ask that you let me face that who is.”.

               “I-I don’t know if I should, Sukuna’s been acting funny lately…”, the junior shaman turns his view to the ground and notices surviving weeds slowly succumbing to the changing season.

               Choso softens his features and comprehends many possible explanations for his brother’s hesitancy and states, “Trust me, it will be fine. We’re actually friends.”. Yuuji’s eyes slowly lift to meet his gaze but they narrow worriedly. Choso senses the initial stages of the energy switch and exhales quietly as he recenters his focus to now confront the man in question. Choso turns his back and vows to make this up to Itadori as he regrets asking for this surrender of control. While in the depths of his guilt, Choso’s snapped out of it to hear the deep chuckling of a familiar tone.

               “It’s been centuries…”, Sukuna drawls out, the inflection of his voice speaking his amusement, “I would’ve thought you to wither away long ago, Mictlantecuhtli.”.

               Choso orients back towards him, sighing for the curse’s lack of duty, “And you’re as charming as ever, Ryomen.”.

               Sukuna, rather animated by this reunion, charges towards the being with energy gathered, “FOR OLD TIME’S SAKE!”, he cheers out into the otherwise quiet air. He notices that the hybrid is seemingly unbothered and decides to give Mictlantecuhtli a deposit of urgency by leaping high into the air, above the dark-haired host who glares with irritation from below.

               “I don’t have time for this…”, Choso mutters with impatience as he dodges Sukuna’s attacks who’s are set up for child’s play. “…and you could at least try.”, he barks as Sukuna purposefully flexes only a fraction of his true power.

               “I’m just having some fun!”, the curse divulges while touching his feet to the ground once again, “What makes you think I’d want to seriously fight you?”. Sukuna kicks a tiny rock in front of him and experiences a bitter wave of emotions as the being shows far less enthusiasm for finally meeting again.

               Choso rolls his eyes and grunts, “We can play later. I’m more interested in the reasons that kept you from assisting Elska with her identity. You’ve known all along, have you not?”.

               Sukuna gives a fleeting confused expression but then stands up straighter and more at ease. He thinks to himself how ridiculous of a question that is and retorts, “I know how you operate and I detest the idea of ever being pulled by your strings.”.

               Choso sighs, “All these centuries and you’ve not experienced maturation…”, half taunting his old friend, “And you know, you’re already apart of this.”.

               Sukuna knows it to be true but that doesn’t mean he has to outwardly admit it. As the audacity spews from Choso and into the air, Sukuna growls with injured arrogance before launching from his spot to once again charge him.

               Choso blinks and casts a barrier, a technique that use to require more preparation. The translucent brown shield peaks above them until it spills out into a semicircular dome, encompassing them into a safe zone. Choso side steps and goes to dodge Sukuna but with the King of Curses being the closest to actually understanding Mictlantecuhtli, he’s probably the only one that can fake the deity out.

               Sukuna dropped low and swept his leg where Choso evaded to, knocking him off balance and into the Earth. “HA HA!!”, the curse jeers as he sits atop the pinned being and begins wailing on him with such speed, you’d think all four of his arms are out, “DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING NOW DID YOU?!”. Sukuna is truly a mess when it comes to social interaction but nonetheless, this is his way of showing comradery.  

               Choso takes three, four, five hits to the face and suffers the wild laughter from the one who wields the offense. With his eyes narrowed, he grows tired of this stage of the exchange. Sukuna should have noticed that he’s not taking any damage despite the harsh blows and this brings forth the idea that Choso will simply have to redirect the curse once more. “Enough!”, bellows from Choso as he expels an emittance of violet light that ripples through the air like lightening and ejects Sukuna into the ceiling of the brown barrier. When the large tattooed man crashes into the ground, Choso grimaces and immediately heals his brother’s body from afar, “You’re making this entirely too difficult right now Ryomen. You know why I wanted to speak, you understand the importance of all of these pieces being placed.”. He receives a more empathetic grunt from Sukuna and continues with, “What we discussed all those years ago, it’s finally going to happen.”. Choso calmly walks over to him as Sukuna sits with his legs crossed to gather his wits, “I thought you would’ve been more invested than this.”.              

               Sukuna stretches his arms and limberly hops to a stand, “I am invested, I’ve also been very bored though. It would seem as though all this down time has affected my concentration. There’s something that would help me refocus however…”.

               Choso purses his lips unamused and lifts his eyebrow. He already knows. “We are not negotiating this.”.

               Sukuna grits his teeth, “You greedy cock!”, channeling a more serious level of energy, “The wench can take it! It’s not like I can really hurt her!”.

               Choso’s lip twitches as the insinuated lust for Elska becomes the bargaining chip he wants to avoid, “That’s not the point Ryomen. Elska is my greatest creation and you have plenty of options in this day and age for women to ravage. I do not care what you do when the time comes.”.            

               “Fucking kidding me…”, the King of Curses growls. Here he is, with his oldest friend who he’d assume would have his back on this. “Human women are too delicate! Never have a I been able to truly unwind and their bodies still cannot endure.”. He folds his arms, thinking that if there’s any way for him to try his theory of compatibility with Elska, he’ll take that chance regardless of the consequences. “You know how rare this is for me!”.

               Choso sighs and runs a hand down his face. He truly feels awful because he comprehends Ryomen’s plight. He also knows that there will come a time when Elska will desire the King of Curses as well, her nature will eventually yearn for him because of his strength. ‘How should I manage this?’, he calmly contemplates while viewing the desperation peering through Sukuna’s features. He can’t simply hand over this knowledge to Ryomen though, he’s well aware of the curse’s affinity towards such a situation and how that will likely cause the timing to be skewered.

               “I’m going to fuck her.”, warns Sukuna, “She might even enjoy herself a little.”, he grins as his pants twitch to all the different positions he wants to subdue her in.

               Choso ignores the threat while scratching his ear, clearly agitating Sukuna further.

               “Do you think her mouth can fit two cocks at once?”, he instigates for a reaction, “I know for a fact that she can take the double penetration…”. All he can think about is trapping Elska in his domain so that he can have her in his true form, “…the slut loves it.”.

               Choso snarls and bears his fangs to display that the line had been crossed. Mocking her love for sensuality is a direct insult as she is born of himself. Before he can say anything though, Sukuna waves his hands in the air with a silent apology. He understands though, life would be unbearable if you could not truly live and that’s the purgatory in which Sukuna exists.      

               “I…”, Ryomen turns his head in embarrassment and with a quiet voice, “I don’t actually think she’s a slut…”, he admits. Refraining from facing this odd moment in which he sets aside his maniacal behavior, he proceeds with, “I kinda…”, he takes a deep breath, “…am fascinated by her.”. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Choso relax into a friendlier stance, “I want to feel that sensation again and to have it under better circumstances.”. Sukuna now thinks back to the day in the forest when Elska’s fangs finally penetrated his body. Such a bittersweet memory as he recalls how withered and limp she felt in his arms, the injuries that were slowly stealing her life away. He shudders and accepts the fact that he actually cares as he mutters only for himself to hear, “Wench has a piece of me now.”

               “I am sincerely grateful for what you did for us during Satoru Gojo’s awakening.”, Choso offers with violet eyes while nearing the curse. “You beaconed me to her. My subconscious thrived with purpose I’d lost over time but thanks to your swift thinking. You really do know me better than anyone else, Ryomen.”.

               Sukuna looks over from the corners of his eyes, appreciating the acknowledgment of his actions. He finally orients himself completely towards the being who’s now only a few feet away, “I knew she was important to you. I wasn’t going to let her die.”, masking up his previous vulnerability.

               Choso smirks, “I thank you, regardless of the reasons you choose to share or not.”, a small silence following as the barrier starts to dissolve.

               “I don’t want to hurt her.”, the low tone sounding like a rushed, humiliating explanation as Sukuna puts his hands into the pockets of the uniform, “Or steal her.”, he chuckles, “All those damned turned would be a nuisance. Choso nods to him with a softened expression, one that ignites a spark within as he realizes Mictlantecuhtli is actually considering it, “Especially that Gojo fuck.”.

               ‘He might actually like her…’, the thought easing Choso to a new peace. It’s in this moment that he perceives the course in which Sukuna is most likely to take and finds himself completely shocked as it plays in his mind, ‘He has grown.’. After a gust of wind howls around them and their eyes lock intensely, Choso offers, “I will not oppose as long as you do not force her.”. He sees Sukuna’s face light up in surprise so he quickly adds, “You must have her consent.”.

               Sukuna doesn’t know how he’d be able to obtain that but he’s imaginative and is already figuring out how this can occur. With confidence, he smiles widely as he revisits all the different ways in which he’s going to make Elska squirm.                

               Choso studies Sukuna as he mauls around in his thoughts but a presence suddenly appears on the edge of the campus that has his mood fowling to lowest depths possible.

               “Who is that?”, Sukuna questions with hesitant curiosity as he senses another turned that isn’t Elska’s at all. ‘That feels more like that old Titer…’, his eyes slowly peel from Choso as they aim in the direction that has the being practically foaming at the mouth.

               Choso’s wings lash out of his back, long blood-red metal feathers reflecting off the morning dusk. He growls, “Please give Yuuji his body back now, we will speak more later.”.

               “Who the fuck is that?!”, Sukuna demands, gearing up for a fight. When he sees Choso lift his hand as if to threaten a REM state, he begrudgingly disengages.

               Choso’s eyes glow ruthlessly violet, the tattoo on his face waving chaotically. The next stage of events have been set, ones that he’s done his best to try and avoid but to no avail. His heart breaks as he envisions Elska overcome with grief, knowing that this next unavoidable failure will haunt them all for the rest of their existence. But he has to let it happen. There is no other way. With vile disdain and a animalistic bass in his voice he flashes his hateful eyes to Sukuna and elucidates, “Orao Dreyrygr.”, Choso seethes, “The King’s brother.”

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               “How are your eyes feeling?”, Elska asks in the dark bathroom that shows a single lit candle as she massages shampoo into Gojo’s scalp. “And your head? Is any of this helping?”.

               He groans, “I’m fine now, my reverse technique kicked in…”, his answer shortened to the minimum as his mind races to what the fuck just happened to him.  “That was really bizarre love, I can’t even explain what happened.”. He somehow knows that he has to talk to Choso to figure it out but that too alarms him. “At least you’re here with me.”.

               Elska bends down from outside the tub while tilting his chin up to bring their lips together and thinks to him, ‘I will always be here with you.’. His wet hand cups her head, inadvertently dampening her dry form and clumping hair together. She giggles into his lips and teases, “You’re the one getting a bath, not me!”.  

               Gojo sighs dramatically and leans his head back against the tub while keeping his eyes one her, “It’d be better if you were in here with me you know.”, smirking as she gifts him with an interesting face. “We’ve never gone a round in the tub before!”.

               “Toji and Naoya will be up soon and they might be frenzied too, Sati. I need to be ready to counteract them…but…”, she bites her lip and trails a finger tip down his jawline as his sweet eyes set on her, “Do know that I always want to though!”.

               “And Nanamin…”, Gojo whines and it echoes within the large tiled room, his hand gripping his growing member under the water, “I’m already hard love!”, pouting as he tugs it around in the warmth. He looks down his erection and mumbles, “Sorry buddy…”, until he’s made to gasp by Elska’s hand replacing his own. “Love…”, he whimpers happily and lets out a heavy breath as she begins to slowly stroke him.

               “My poor Sweet Sati…”, she seductively banters, “Always in need of a release…”.

               “Ye-ah…”, he breathlessly responds as his sored eyes shut and his ears pick up on her tantalizing matter of fact moan. He motions his hips to help her efforts, forming a kind of tide in the tub that threatens to spill over. She giggles which snatches his attention as he rolls his lower half, “What’s so funny about me being naked and needy?”, grinning to the playful way she squeezes his girth.

               “I’m just happy that you’re feeling better…”, Elska’s voice trails off, “…you weren’t yourself Sati. I don’t mean the frenzy, I mean afterwards.”. She sighs, “You were so upset…”.

               Satoru’s eyes give that two-toned glow as his head lowers to gaze into the water. He’s still uncertain of how to sift through the guilt and other emotions and this displays as he loses himself within those same thoughts. He feels his chin being lifted by Elska so he switches his gaze to her, muddled by his own existence. He finds the colorful dashes in her once more and wonders how much further from whole she is at this point.

               “You’re the strongest Sati.”, she begins, “You are the most powerful turned to ever draw breath.”. She notices his eyes water with appreciation and it soothes her. They stare at each other for a few seconds as she contemplates on how she’d rather him not deal with culpability. “If there are some issues that you need or want to talk about, just to get it off your chest, I am here for you.”, she runs her finger down along his cheek as he bears the weight of his head into her palm. “But don’t you dare be defeated by what you’ve done. That is you, who you are. I love you as you are. You are the most fearsome…”, they smile at each other as he drinks in the compliment, “…debauched, and wicked man I’ve ever met!”. He doesn’t seem sure of how to take it at the end but she leans down over the tub until the ends of her hair float on the surface, slowing absorbing water, “And I fucking love you for it.”.

               “I always knew you were the one for me.”, he breathes out while they kiss, “Since I first saw you my love, I knew.”. Gojo now whimpers again as passion grips them both by the necks and unravels its grasp to let them breath each other in as a sufficient life source. His hand snakes around the back of her head and holds her there while his tongue enters her mouth and makes contact with her own. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem to matter that they shouldn’t be engaging like this.

               A large concentrated burst of energy stills their developing air.

               “Fuuuuck…”, Gojo jerks forward in the tub as a low thud resounds against the floor and morphs into quickly running feet that fade as they gain distance, “Toji’s up.”. He watches Elska scramble to her feet in a panic as they fear Toji is likely frenzied and now on the loose. Before she can rush out the bathroom, Gojo snags her wrist and explains, “I’ll get him love! Just stay here! Stay for Naoya, k?”, and offers a swift kiss before turning away. ‘Her blood!’, the realization reckoning through his veins as he’s aware that Toji will need her sustenance to be reintroduced to normality.

               Elska tightens her robe and becomes lost in apprehension as her beloved is capable of incredible destruction. “Don’t worry love, I’ve got this!”, is all she hears prior to the excruciating pleasure of Satoru’s fangs puncturing her neck from behind. His first gulps, he takes for himself, probably steeling his nerves before going after the giant but soon enough, Gojo is collecting her nutrients and holding it in his mouth. She doesn’t see it for very long but the puffy-cheeked Gojo flashes her an oddly contorted face of assurance as he winks, wraps a towel around his waist and warps out of view.

               She huffs over the sink, collecting herself from the pure eroticism his bite brings with a flustered smirk splitting her lips, “That never gets old.”. She granted a moment of recovery but the reprieve doesn’t last for long as a second burst of energy erupts from beyond the door.

“My prince?”, she cautiously calls out while reaching for the handle, all while knowing that this energy is not Naoya’s. The bathroom door flings open hard, smacking her hand away and bouncing back to show only a glimpse of the red-eyed blonde in front of her before it harshly latches shut again. Her breath quickens, sweat gathering along her temple in the already humidified room as she takes a step back to the unfortunate name that melts from her lips, “Nanami…”.

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               Toji rushes across the courtyard in a full sprint. He’s so confused. The last thing he remembers is everything falling to shit during their little get together but he couldn’t see Elska or Gojo, though he was thankful to find Naoya breathing on the bed. He’s completely forgotten about the turned being banned from the main campus but even if he did remember, that wasn’t about to stop him from checking on the welfare of his son.

               “MEGSSSSSSSS!”, he hollers from the pits of diaphragm, “DOLLLLL!!!!”. He tracks through the halls, up the emergency stairs and to the desired floor. He senses Sukuna nearby which only hastens his purpose as he wonders what the fuck is going on. Where is Elska? Is Gojo alive after being injured like that? Why the fuck is SUKUNA out? “WHERE IS MY BOY?!”.

               He finally reaches his sons door and stumbles into it before slamming his entire body against it, “MEGS!”. To Toji’s complete bewilderment, he startles Megumi and Amnessia who had be cuddling, her with swollen, tear-ridden eyes.

               “WHAT THE HELL DAD?!”, Megumi instantly covers Amnessia who only has his T-shirt on for the sake of comfort, “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking!?”.

               Toji stands there awkwardly as his autonomic nervous system continuously pumps out adrenaline even while no threat remains. He feels off, restless but he can’t quite explain the source of his anxieties at this time so instead he clumsily tells them, “Haven’t you heard of checking in?!”.

               Amnessia can sense the imbalance within Toji but also recognizes that he’s not nearly as bad as Gojo was that day in the forest. The giant’s eyes flicker from emerald green to a deep red and his shirtless body twitches as if he’s holding back. “Hear him out, Megumi, he’s probably ju-…”.

               “Checking in?!”, Megumi barks, “It’s not even been a whole day dad!”. His father snarls aggressively, putting him on edge as he slowly starts to orient himself in front of Amnessia on the bed, “What is going on with you right now?”. Something’s not right.

               Toji leans forward with his palms to his thigh as he attempts to heave himself back to normal breathing patterns but its of no use, nothing is calming him. His fangs form against his will and in his bout of frustration, he releases a wild call into the room as he erects his posture in a forsaken stance.

               “Fuck-fuck-fuck!”, Megumi begins to tremble as his father’s state devolves before their very eyes. “GET OUT OF HERE NOW!”, he screams at Amnessia, going as far as to shove her off the bed. “STOP DAD!”, the junior shaman cries, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”. Megumi has faced some dire situations on missions before. He’s been beaten, bruised and broken by various attacks but nothing rocks his core as terribly as the prospect of facing his father. Toji’s ferocious eyes switch from him to Amnessia though and this leaves Megumi with no choice.

               “Domain expansion.”, he clasps his hands together, reality eluding him as he feels this to be a nightmare.

               “Shikigami Shadow Ma-…”.

               Amnessia screams when Gojo warps into the room and forces Toji against the short dresser by the throat. The giant struggles against Satoru vehemently but the now white-haired shaman headbutts with incredible force to daze him.

               “DON’T FUCKING HURT HIM!”, Megumi desperately calls out as he gathers himself from the bed to launch onto Gojo’s back, “SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH HIM!”. He’s now muddled by Satoru’s lack of response but once Gojo twists his way to give reassurance, Megumi perceives the blood trickling out of the corner of Gojo’s full mouth. His eyes now widen as they dart back to his father who he knows is going to fucking loathe what comes next.

               Gojo thinks to Toji, ‘It’s almost over big guy, you did well to hold on for as long as you did.”, and crashes his lips to Toji’s in order to force feed the starving man. The initial contact sent the giant flailing with opposition but it would seem the second Elska’s blood hit his tastebuds, Toji’s entire demeanor and presence calmed.

               Megumi walks over to Amnessia, apologizes for throwing her out of the bed and then helps her to her feet. He feels so bad about everything she’s going through already but sure, go ahead and throw on a turned attack. The strange noises of satisfaction that rumble from his dad almost make his stomach turn as Gojo has yet to part lips, “What the fuck are they into?”. Amnessia gasps and turns more into his chest which causes Megumi to look and see why. His eyes shoot open again as Gojo’s towel falls to his feet all while he’s pinning Toji against the dresser, “Oh my God…”.

               After the last drops have been filed out of him and into his friend, Gojo gently pulls away and whispers to Toji, “Welcome back.”, before affectionately resting their foreheads together. He’d be lying if he didn’t say being that close to Toji wasn’t exhilarating but that’s honestly because Satoru has been able to taste the depths of Toji’s sensuality towards Elska. It’s all so incredibly attractive.      

               Toji, still collecting his wits, pants to his regulating body and breathlessly thanks Satoru until he realizes what actually happened. He opens his eyes and falls into a rage as he can actually feel Gojo’s bare skin against his own. “WHAT THE FUCK!?”, Toji roars and elbows Gojo across the face with all of his might and then wipes his lips.

               “I was only trying to help you Toji!”, Gojo snickers while laying on his back against the floor. He too wipes his mouth but takes a moment to bask in relief since he’d made it in time. He feels Toji’s energy accumulating again though so he tucks his chin to view the man who’s face is twisted with disgust.

               “Did you seriously…”, Toji clenches his fists, “Fucking kiss me?”. He hears an uneasy noise trapped in Satoru’s throat but isn’t finished with his interrogation, “WITH YOUR FUCKING DICK OUT TOO?!”.  He hears, “Haven’t you ever been curious or was I your first?”.

               Gojo quickly warps from his place as Toji dives to subdue him, adding insult to injury as Fushiguro flops into nothing but the floor. Satoru now hides behind Megumi and Amnessia, thinking they’ll be the best defense now that Toji is sane again, “I didn’t have a choice! My love is-…”.

               “Where is she?!”, Toji halts in his tracks as if something foreboding has wrenched its grip around his doll, “IS SHE ALRIGHT!?!”.

               “Don’t cower behind us!”, Megumi grimaces and pushes the doomed giggling shaman away.

               Satoru straightens up, “She’s fine Toji, I promise you.”, offered with a much more serene tone.

               “WHERE IS SHE?!”.

               Megumi steps up, “Dad, all of you were taken out by this purple light…all of you! At the same time!”. He pauses for a brief moment as it was obvious by Toji’s expression that he’s trying to remember, “Choso said you were going under another evolution and that you were going to be unconscious for a while.”.

               Gojo perks up to Choso’s name as he swindles through the reminder of horrific pain the message brought him when he last drank. He still has to meet with him.

               Toji plops to ground, his back resting against the dresser as he attempts to make sense of everything. The evolution would explain his struggle for sanity but why wasn’t he completely frenzied from the beginning? He wonders this in a desperate measure to find solace.

               “I think its because you were her first.”, Gojo explains after having heard the thoughts. Toji glances to him innocently before his irritated eyes catch another glimpse of his exposed manhood. Satoru chuckles as he warps near his towel to wrap it back around, “It’s not like you’ve never seen it before man, lighten up!”.

               Megumi shudders against Amnessia as perverse visuals pan in mind.

               “Seriously though…”, Gojo extends a hand out to hoist the giant to his feet, “I think you’re physiology is more adept to deal with the evolutions now. You were her only turned for a long time and are probably more well equipped to handle these changes versus the rest of us.”. His words seem to bring Toji a breath of fresh air but this epiphany riddles him with apprehension as he thinks about Naoya and Nanami with Elska. Naoya’s always been a wild card with the effects of turned behavior but Nanami…he’s brand new to this and had to undergo evolution right after surviving the initial synthesis. Gojo now regrets leaving her behind.

               “The prince will protect her.”

               Satoru’s lungs freeze as he recognizes the voice within. A dampening pressure lives in his ears that creates an ominous hum in the atmosphere.

               He shoots his gaze over to Toji, who seemingly did not receive the same message. Will Naoya be awake in time? What if Nanami forces Elska to receive him?

               “He will not.”

               Toji picks up the wavering in Gojo’s presence and asks what’s up but receives nothing for response. The unyielding silence engulfs them all until Amnessia takes a deep breath to cover her body with the blankets Megumi provides from the bed. He feels like such an asshole for even considering attacking the young girl so runs heavy hands down his face before sighing and offering, “I’m sorry I showed up here like that, you kids don’t need this shit in your life…”.  

               Amnessia has always been fond of Toji, he’s a man of his word and good nature, despite what he’s become. She can’t stand to seem him look so upset, “It’s ok, Mr. Fushiguro. We know you didn’t mean it.”.

               “HAH!”, Toji cackles loudly, “Mr. Fushiguro?”. He sees the sweet expression on her pretty face and nods, “Toji is fine hun, Mr. Fushiguro never existed.”. Toji walks over to them both and embraces them wholly, even pecking Megumi on the head who exudes an embarrassed grunt, “I’m so glad you two are unharmed.”.

               Gojo finds himself smiling for a fleeting second before he he’s facing the fact that he’s never made things right with either of them with his past doings. A heavy wave of weight courses through his limbs until it crashes against his heart, causing it to be moved. “You guys…”, he asks sheepishly and even wants to hide as everyone’s focus turns to him. His vision blurs.

               “Woah…”, Toji is instantly concerned with the watering of Gojo’s light blue eyes. For Satoru to express sadness and his eyes to not turn into that darker hue, is mind-boggling, “What’s up bud? You feeling alright?”. Gojo only lowers his head, progressively more until Toji thinks he may be in the process of face planting the floor but to his complete surprise, it’s a bow.

               With fluid falling from his eyes, Gojo wails out, “I’m sorry for what I did to Sachiko. I swear I never meant to do that…”.

               Amnessia holds her breath as the unimaginable unfolds. The horrific, murderous Satoru Gojo, the ender of countless lives, mostly Titers at that is offering the sincerest apology society has sculpted. She glances around and gathers that everyone else is rather shocked as well.

               “Of course, I didn’t like her…she tried to kill my love and she hurt Toji but I’d given up on my desire for retribution since she was important to you both.”. He sniffles, “I wish I could take it back, everything from that day. Sachiko…Nanami…Els-…”, he chokes on his words as he can’t even bring himself to finish. “I always make shit worse but please know that has haunted me everyday since. If I could give your mother back to you Megumi, I would.”.

               Toji feels emotion creeping over him. He’s always wanted to hear this but never knew how much until it was said. With an arm still around his son, he looks down to gauge Megumi’s response and finds a hateful expression plastered where forgiveness should be. Gojo was frenzied and clearly did not have control of himself while in that state. As regrettable as that day was, Toji can relate first-hand as he recalls the day of the Titer attack. He didn’t understand it then of course, but the energy manipulation he suffered at the hands of the Titers caused Toji to fall into an instantaneous frenzy where many died by his own hands. Many innocent non-shaman who didn’t have any ties or reason for being so brutally murdered. Toji received forgiveness from Elska and his cousin, knowing full well that there is no other way he could’ve survived the guilt felt after being brought back to his senses. He won’t let Gojo be thrown under the bus.

               “You did kill her though. I watched her get ripped in fucking half from your attack that was meant for me.”, Megumi shakes off Amnessia and Toji before stalking towards the bent God. “She still wanted to be my mom! She still loved my dad!”.

               Gojo inhales shaking breathes while his heart actually breaks from something other than anger. It’s crippling, this feeling.

               “He didn’t mean to do it…”, Toji interjects calmly, “You don’t understand Megs. The frenzy changes you...”.

               “IT’S DEFINITELY CHANGED ALL OF YOU!”, Megumi yells, his body jerking from pure emotive overload, “LOOK AT WHAT HAS HAPPENED. THINK ABOUT ALL THOSE WHO HAVE DIED.”.

               Toji grabs his son by the back of then and swivels him back in for a mandatory embrace, “I know you’re angry boy, but you need to understand…”.

               Megumi doesn’t resist but rather wishes he could take back what he said because half of his current frustration is due to comprehending that Gojo is telling the truth, that he didn’t mean to do it.

               “I’m…I’m so sorry…Megs, I really wish…”.

               Amnessia rests a hand on Satoru’s shoulder, giving unfiltered compassion to the man her people have feared for so long, “Lift your head Satoru Gojo…”. He does.

               The very woman he was plotting to feed from to gain information is the one who is consoling him. This makes Gojo cry harder as he’s simply so untrained with these softer feelings and how menacing they are to the menace himself.

               “I’m not going to hug you, because you’re naked and we’re not tight like that…”, she titters to his broken expression, “…but you did the right thing by saying that to them. You should be proud of yourself.”.

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               “Fucking scum.”, Choso seethes as he scours the property for the sight that makes him see red. Sukuna is following from a distance, probably interested in what’s got him so agitated to begin with. “I told you to release my brother!”, he shouts behind him.

               “No way!”, the distant rebuttal from the King of Curses, “I’ve not seen you this pissed in ages!”.

               He senses the diluted turned coming closer and bears his fangs as his eyes finally befall the man in question after turning around a utility building. The man is of rather usual height, maybe 5’10” with medium length blond curls and audacity to hide his true eyes behind the shades of hazel.

               “Oh, hello there! I’m the new bodyguard, I was looking for Els-…”.

               Choso slams the imposter into the ground by his neck and viciously roars from above. Violet energy spherically encircles them, pieces of brick from the wall to his right breaking away. The blonde man beneath him seems to immediately understand the situation he’s fallen into and actually struggles to defend himself. He recognizes who Choso really is, this only infuriating the being more. “I want to crush your fucking skull and dine on your brains, you pathetic blip of my loin. How DARE you show yourself here so boldly with what you intend?”.

               Sukuna peeks around the corner of the building and gains excitement from seeing Mictlantecuhtli’s fury. That fades though when he perceives that despite whatever offense, he won’t kill the mystery man which doesn’t make sense. ‘Cuhtli could eviscerate everything here if he wanted to…’.

               “SPEAK!”, Choso demands as his eyes burn with violent violet, the light illuminating the trapped man’s face. He doesn’t say a word though. Choso leans down closely and warns, “Your time drawing breath ends soon. The rightful hand will take your head and your body will flail and leak until you’re drained away of all you ever were…”.

               Sukuna receives a cold chill but plays it off, “What did he do?”. He watches Choso crush the man’s neck as wet, gurgling sounds spew from the corners of his lips, “Just kill him.”.

               Choso roars violently over Orao as the man loses consciousness and falls limp. He opens his mouth and aims his fangs over the dampened throat of his prey and feels the threatening temptation to end this all before it begins. But he can’t.

               “RAHHHHH!!!!”, Choso slugs the defenseless, much less handsome fraud and feels little satisfaction when his head rolls back and forth before laxly facing upwards again. He stands, growling to the knowledge that if he doesn’t let Orao do what he came to do, then the catalyst for their success will be shattered. Mictlantecuhtli never wanted this war but he’s allowed it because only one thing will guarantee his line’s freedom in the future and that’s winning it.

((Woo so it’s been a minute since i’ve posted a chapter but it felt good to do again. I’ve only 6 more weeks of clinicals and then i’ll have time to be regular again so thank you for your patience. For those that are still around? Thank you for reading!!))

Tagging: @syynnaaah @angelofthorr @itstackytime @animemenrbettr

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