#the strawberry shack au

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏

🍓the strawberry shack masterlist🍓

summary - after getting his heart broken, something leads clark to the strawberry shack, allowing him to release all his anger.

warning - smut, gloryhole, swearing, slight angst, creampie.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Lois had left him, she had packed her bags and walked out the door. Though she wasn’t expecting him home, which explained the shocked look on her face when he walked through the front door, seeing her bags packed and her keys in her hand. Clark watched her leave before flying off anywhere that could keep his mind off her. He stumbled upon a certain building that caught his eye, the flashing sign that read ‘The Strawberry Shack’ caused him to become curious, so he landed and walked in. 

Listening to the woman at the front as she explained things, his face turning red, jaw clenching and his brows furrow as he realised the type of establishment he walked into. “So, sugar. What’s it gonna be? Door one or door two?” 

“Uh… What the hell. Door two.” He pulls out some cash and hands it over before walking toward the door, he can feel his mind go crazy as he enters, never seeing this many naked women before. Clark could feel a pull towards a certain woman, not being able to control his feet as he walks in your direction. He’d have to remember to be careful, not wanting to literally split you open from his strength. “Hello.”

Clark was mad and you could practically feel that radiating off him. So, you spread your legs, inviting him in for him to use you however he pleases. “I can feel your anger, handsome. Why don’t you use me, take it out on me.” 

Clark glares down at your sopping cunt, licking his lips as he feels himself harden in his pants. His hands move subconsciously, taking his cock out and stroking it as he stares down at you. A groan slips from his lips before he begins to slowly push inside of you. Clark’s eyes slip closed as he revels in the feel of a new woman, slowly thrusting in and out of you, hands gently gripping your hips as he feels you squeeze around his thick girth. 

“Oh, you feel so good. Fuck me, please.” You let out a breathless moan, your back arches off the bench as he begins to slam into you, hitting that spot deep inside of you. Clark begins to lose control, thrusting faster and harder, his cock throbs as he really fucks you. He grunts and groans, tightening his grip slightly, his eyes glow red as lasers shoot from his eyes and he quickly blinks.

“Fuck…” His balls tighten, hips jerk as he growls, releasing thick ropes of cum inside of you, coating your tight walls. He continues to roughly fuck into you until his balls are empty, enjoying how you squirt around him. “F–fuck…” He pulls out slowly, cleaning you up before tucking himself back into his pants. “I–I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.” Clark quickly worries, hurriedly running out the door and flying off, feeling ashamed for using you for his pleasure. 

You lie there, staring above as you can barely feel your legs, tingling between your thighs as stars cover your vision and a dopey smile rests on your face.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[threadsun]

Anonymous Asks: "may i ask for more pirate au blurbs? its okay if not 💕"

Of course!! I'm hype to write more au stuff both in general and specifically pirate au >:3c

Your house isn't made for ten people. Honestly, it's hardly made for one. It's a simple shack, propped up on stilts for those storms that drive the sea up to your door. Inside it's open, but hardly spacious. A firepit set up in the middle of the floor, a handful of chairs around a small table, the barest possible kitchen to get by. And around a half wall sits your bed, spartan and hard as a plank of wood.

You've never felt the need to own much. You were born on the sea, and you'd lived your whole life on the sea. No matter how secure you are, you can't shake the habit of frugality and discomfort. Honestly, you reckon you'd sleep worse on a plush mattress you could sink into than you do on the hard pallet atop your wooden bedframe.

Really, the only things in your house that aren't completely practical are the relics of your time at sea. The cavalier hat with the raven feather you'd bought when you first became the admiral of your own pirate fleet. The ornate cutlass with the obsidian handle you'd taken off a captain in the Spanish navy when you'd taken over his ship. The flag that had heralded your fleet, emblazoned with two pieces of eight and a jagged shark's tooth.

All this to say, you certainly don't have room for the nine dripping men currently stripping down around your fire. They're eyeing the remains of your stew hungrily, and most of them smell like rum. Not that either of those particularly bother you. Nor does watching water run down their naked bodies. No, you simply take one of the few seats in the house and watch with a grin. It's not your problem that there's not enough chairs.

"Used to make people pay to see this," one of the men, a scrawnier one with black hair, sighs. He sounds wistful.

"We could make them pay to watch," the strawberry blond points out with a deceptively mild smile.

"Hey." The one you can only assume is the captain—brawny, dark haired, tattooed—cuts them off with a stern look. "Don't you dare. They opened their home to us when we needed it."

"Some pirate." One of the gingers snorts and rolls his eyes. "No one wants a captain with morals."

"He won the captaincy fair and square, Jean." The one with locs and a gold hoop earing frowns. "You're just bitter no one wanted you in charge."

"Oh don't bring this up again..." The other ginger whines, nervously eyeing the other men as though worried a fight might break out. You sit up in your seat a little, ready to kick them all back into the storm naked if they try anything in your house.

"We'll be good house guests." The blue haired one looks stern as he glances at each crew member in turn. He's the largest of all of them, and it's clear none of them feel up to arguing with him.

"Is this stew?" The man with the dog ears and tail sniffs in the direction of your pot, tail wagging excitedly. It's hard to tell if he's intentionally changing the subject or baiting you to offer some.

"It smells good..." The final man has hair that flashes intermittently pink and orange in the light of the fire. They definitely want some.

"Take some," you finally speak up from where you sit, gesturing to one of the cupboards. "There's bowls in there. You can split the rest between you, I've had my supper."

There's a general clamour as the hungry, naked men set about passing around bowls of stew. It's fascinating to watch them. The way they work together, clearly a crew, yet with their obvious differences. You feel almost nostalgic for your days at sea. You're sure if you were on their ship you'd be able to whip this crew into shape.

You shake off the thought as they race for the remaining seats, the losers resigned to sit on the floor. You're happy here, on land. You don't want to go back to the pirate's life. Not for all the gold in the world.

[hexonthepeach]

vitamin (dark & stormy pt. 2)

summary: over the course of your career your relationship with your super-spy partners has changed dramatically, prompting the age-old poly/ot3 question: who's your daddy?

aka a fluff-and-smut heavy exposition on 1980s contraceptive options, cia-orchestrated terror operations, and breeding kink. with surfing!

author's note: you definitely have to read the first part, sorry

pairing: jaehyun (nct) x johnny (nct) x fem!reader (code name: jenny)

genre: the 80s era miami vice/nice guys/secret agent johnjae/reader au no one asked for part 2 electric boogaloo, now with 100% more florida and 100% more surfing

word count: 31k

warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, explicit sexual content (m/f, m/m, mmf threesome - oral and anal both m and f receiving) drug-use (alcohol, marijuana), drugging w/o consent (war criminal edition), recent torture-based trauma recovery (physical and mental), breeding kink, lactation kink if you squint hard enough, discussion of period-era contraceptives, planned pregnancy, consensual bondage, edging, road head, gratuitous but necessary conversations during sex scenes all around

as usual: walk-on guest appearances from other nct members as part of the NCTA au

read on AO3

"Why do you eat your ice cream that way?" Johnny asks, eyes curling with his smile. Your partner looks like a born beach bum, tanned arms flexing underneath a dusty pink muscle tank, backwards hat over his bronze hair.

You watch him take a bite from his double scoop, tongue licking a drip of white up on the waffle cone. His eye follows you under the lens of his sunglasses even as he’s unconscious of the effect his action has. He’s just across the table but too close to touch, someone you have to pretend not to know.

His hand is much bigger than it–unreasonably so–making you regret your decision to not share. You could be being spoon fed right now. Better yet, you could be touching his fingertips when he passed you his ice cream, rather than struggling like a fool.

You don’t have a good hand to hold a cone in. The paper cup on the weathered table in front of you is like a target you can only miss when you reach for it with your left hand: aiming, diving, retrieving a bite sometimes. Everytime pretending to play it cool.

"What way?" you ask, pulling the spoon from your mouth.

"There–exactly," he says loudly, pointing. "You only eat half of every bite. It's weird."

The indent of your front teeth stand out like tracks in the melted Christmas-colored remains of your dessert. You throw your spoon down, already done.

"I have sensitive teeth," you say.

"You mean gums," he jokes. "It's because you don't floss regularly."

"Neither do you," you snap back.

Of course my teeth are sensitive, you think. You're not even sure how many are still the ones you were born with.

You can’t blame him for not thinking through what he just said–he’d been out of reach both physically and by phone for the majority of the time that you’d been in recovery. But it still stings, like water seeping into a cut you’d forgotten you'd given yourself.

"Now now," he says, making a show of looking around you at the crowded parking lot outside the tiny ice cream shack. "Don't get upset. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I'm beating you up."

"Very funny." His joke is in such poor taste you still look around you to see if anyone’s heard it, your sunglasses dipping down.

You are, indeed, being watched–not by adults but by a kid with chocolate and strawberry smeared like warpaint over his face. The boy stares blankly at your right arm in a sling, eyes traveling up to the faint bruises still dusting your jaw and cheekbones. His face falls into a small oh, like he’d witnessed the monster under his bed in the light of day. You scowl at him, for good measure, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses.

The child begins to cry, and you’re not sure if it’s because of your appearance or if he just wants to make a scene–tugging on a woman's arm until she wraps him in it.

You've made up a million reasons in your mind as to why you look the way you do, the inquiries inevitable. You were a boxing champ like Rocky: the more they knocked you down, the more you got up. Or maybe you’d duked it out with a purse snatcher and saved a grandmother’s photos of her love from the war. Unlucky finalist in a hill rolling contest. Fell from a tree saving not one, but two kittens. Your parachute didn't open soon enough.

The actual reason is much less believable, horrific even to people who’ve peered into the darker side of human nature. You–you’d seen a lot. But there really isn’t anything to prepare a human being for what you’d been through.

On this Saturday afternoon on Sanibel Island, here a second time in your unbelievably long-but-short life, you would just like to believe that it's so much fiction. The sun is shining when it chooses to peek from the clouds, and the warm air smells of the sea–even it's the same warm climes you'd never wanted to experience again.

You let the teeth thing go. Like you'd let everything else go. It was better this way.

"Hey," Johnny says, shoving his cone in your face. "Try mine."

You grimace but take a careful bite, catching one of the melty parts, along with an untouched side of waffle cone that you break off carefully with an incisor.

“Coffee? And butter pecan?” you ask once you can speak, looking up and finding his gaze. Johnny's regard feels like whiskey poured warm in a clean glass, ice added last. You have to turn and watch the pedestrian scene beside you to keep from drowning in it.

“Come here," he instructs, and you lean forward, still scanning the technicolored crowd of people making their way down to the shore.

He wipes the side of your lip clean with a few swipes of his thumb, licking it and worrying at a spot. You're sure you hadn’t made as much of a mess as he’s attempting to clean up, opening your mouth to tell him to stop and finding his digit on your tongue.

It's quick, but enough. You can taste the salt on his skin from the ocean air, making the caramel that much sweeter.

"In front of the children?" You whisper, half-joking when your tongue darts out between your teeth to lick your lips.

"They haven't seen anything, yet," he warns. He’s hunched in, smelling of suntan lotion and other bad decisions. "Wanna give them a show?"

His eyes flick to a nearby table and your eyeline follows, finding an older couple eating sugar cones with single scoops of vanilla, nodding when they register your regard. You can't help but dip your baseball cap further, self-conscious enough to tug your sleeves further up the bony set of your wrists.

The wet air and heat makes your get-up uncomfortable. You should be wearing a sundress or matching your beach bum partner but you still can't reveal your forearms in public. Not with the shiny constellations of cigarette burns that dot your skin.

The cast on your right arm hides that and worse–the criss-cross of scars across your knuckles where your finger bones have since healed. Each digit is still stiff and uncooperative, so that you find yourself constantly flexing against the plaster and fabric wrapped around your palm.

What little dexterity remains is a godsend, brought back through an endless repetition of rehabilitation. You're glad Chenle gave you a new cast at your six week mark, something to look at once the fixation had been removed.

"Keep squirming, it's cute." Johnny says, eyes dancing. "I should tell everyone it's your birthday. Maybe they'll sing a song for you."

It was a running joke with your partner that any time you were incognito he'd do his best to bring attention to you, egging you on to up the ante.

Prior to Tegucigalpa you'd gotten him back so well that you still didn't have a better prank yet to top it, a carefully orchestrated one involving a dead drop and a mime. Donghyuck had left a bottle of Dom Perignon on your desk with a handwritten note afterwards:

We played that recording five times in our debriefing and it was still funny the sixth time. Pretty sure Mark pissed himself from laughing too hard. Keep up the good work.

Johnny lacked your creativity. It was always your birthday, regardless of what was written on countless documentation, even your birth certificate. Now whenever you saw a waiter approach with a dessert you hadn’t ordered you found a way to excuse yourself to the bathroom. But that had been before, when things had been fun.

It had been a long time since fun.

Celebrating it was never in your nature but after three-and-a-half weeks in a concrete cell, almost a month in the hospital, and another month of physical and mental therapy you’d stopped caring what day it was outside of what might go on your headstone should they care to give you one if you died.

"You alright, babydoll?"

He offers you more of his chocolate-dipped cone and you shake your head, smile cracking false on your face.

"If you sang me a birthday song here I think the Director would pardon me for taking out one of his best agents," you say. You hadn’t meant to make it sound ominous but he’s unbothered by it, still munching away.

“How would you do it?” he asks. "Poison? Bomb?"

You appreciate the fact that he always works to make you smile, always jokes with you even when he can see your face go blank or your focus disappear into an unknowable distance.

"I'm going to keep you in suspense," you say, blinking up at a seabird screaming overhead.

"I'll sleep with one eye open, then."

"You owe me a real vacation after this, by the way. I hate Florida." A thousand miles away and you'd still hate it, if just for the reminder of how close it was to the equatorial line.

"I know, doll. This was just the safest option."

"I know," you say quietly. You clean up a green drip from the graying wood of the table, feeling your throat constrict.

"It's nice to be back here with you, though," he says. "Feels like old times."

Even with the darkest density lens in your sunglasses you can’t hide the shape of your face from the man across from you. He’s so attuned to the change that he springs into action well before you’ve looked up at the sun-limned clouds to keep the tears from falling.

You feel yourself shoved over like a ragdoll on the small bench, a long arm slung across your rigid shoulders.

"Do you want to go home?" he asks, breath warm on your cheek as he leans in, forehead catching on the brim of your baseball cap.

You shake your head, lifting your chin so the tears won't fall.

"You can cry if you want to, baby doll," he whispers.

"Don't want anyone to think you're beating me," you joke, voice thick. Johnny pulls you in and pecks your cheek, making your heartbeat stutter.

"How about some PDA on the beach, then?" he offers.

"You know I'm never doing anything involving sand again," you say, right before chasing his mouth to kiss him back–finding toffee on your lips when your lips make purchase.

"Can you please not make out with my wife in public?"

There's a shake in the table when Jaehyun sits down across from you both, another smaller one when he sets down a white paper bag with a pharmacy logo and a newspaper, folded much more carefully than it had been when loaded into a box this morning.

Unlike Johnny's tourist trap apparel, Jaehyun's dressed like he'd been plucked from a yacht club: pink polo and white pants, feathered hair pushed back under absolutely ridiculous sunglasses.

You can't help but watch as every mother in a 50-yard radius turns away from screaming kids and paunchy husbands to stare pointedly at the man across from you. He’s lean and desirable but he's also a stranger to you in his yuppie attire, all business and certainly no fun.

"Want some ice cream?" Johnny asks, gesturing to the melted remains of your bowl. "She got your favorite, pistachio and Cherry Garcia."

"I have what we need for tonight," Jaehyun reports, face mildly disgusted.

He looks up, expression neutralizing, but you feel a chill in the humid April air as his dark eyes settle on you. They follow as you scoot to the side, away from Johnny's hold, and–more importantly–him.

You’d started the process of leaving the moment he’d sat down, but you pause on your exit, looking back at Johnny’s profile. His jaw is working overtime, clearly upset.

"I'm coming with you," you say, firmly, putting weight on your left knee and feeling it wobble before you’ve even stood up. “Lee gave me clearance.”

Jaehyun doesn't answer, staring you down. The temperature continues to plummet as you face off with one another in a stalemate that's lasted for almost a week now–neither of you willing to give the other an inch.

"I have seniority" Johnny intervenes, picking up the newspaper. He expertly opens it to pretend to read, a hidden envelope slipping into the lap of his shorts. “She can come with us.”

"You can do surveillance," Jaehyun offers, blinking and cocking his head at you when you don't respond. "I don't want anyone seeing you like–"

"Fuck off." You say, loudly.

You have zero concern for drawing attention with the curse word, much less the horror on either of their faces. You extricate yourself from the bench, unbalanced as soon as you stand up. You limp away from Johnny's outstretched hand, sneakers scuffing on the gum-riddled pavement.

"Don't you dare follow me," you warn, remembering to grab your bag from the table before half-skipping towards the main street, the fastest route back to the bungalow. You disappear into a throng of tourists, limp resolving the faster you move.

Behind you, Jaehyun puts his head in his hands. Johnny settles back into reading, deliberately flipping a page, and then another one.

"I fucked up," Jaehyun says.

"Which means you get to fix it," Johnny says in a drawl, scanning the classified ads.

"I don't . . ." Jaehyun stops talking. He's long been aware that whatever excuses didn't work for you would fall on even more deaf ears with the man in his company.

"I might be your third but I'm not your therapist. Take it up with Jeno."

Johnny had suggested the agency's resident psychiatrist knowing full well that's who you were already seeing, against your will and under threat of suspension, as part of your recovery.

For a moment Jaehyun actually considers the advice, checking his watch.

Doctor-patient confidentiality aside, you were legally married. And his agency partner. It wouldn't be out-of-bounds for Taeyong to extend that directive to work out the crisis in your relationship.

But that would mean more than three people–four if you included Dr. Zhong–knew about the incident.

Jaehyun would rather continue walking down the nearest pier and into the Gulf than ever say aloud what he'd done to destroy your trust in him.

It's mortifying enough having Johnny involved. He feels like there’d be a laugh track for his entire admission. He doesn’t even have the excuse of a momentary lapse in judgment–something like that took deliberation, according to Johnny.

But if you'd been through hell he'd been right beside you. In sickness and health, he thinks. The sickness part you share now is entirely self-inflicted.

"I'll let her come tonight,” he says aloud–diametrically opposed to the man across from him. “But she's not allowed to do anything but run interference."

"Whatever you say, man." Johnny tosses the paper aside, finally sizing him up with a withering look before heading off in your wake. Jaehyun is forced to follow, head down as he ruminates on both of your rejections.

They take the busiest route past the marina, far enough apart that they just look like they’re heading in the same direction. No one was going to clock them with the mass of tourists on a weekend but it never hurt to be careful. It's still close enough for Jaehyun to hear Johnny laugh when he turns and catches sight of his partner's beige boat shoes.

“Are those Sperrys?” Johnny thumbs his mic on. "You look like a douchebag."

Jaehyun throws away the newspaper and the trash from the table now that he’s found a can, shooting a look at his partner from half a block away.

"How did the sailing go?" Johnny asks.

"I know more about roseate spoonbills than I ever wanted to," Jaehyun sighs. "And nothing else."

"At least you got an invite?"

"Yeah. You heard him on the dock–'dress for success'."

"You getting recruited a third time?" Johnny laughs out loud.

"Anderson just wants to sell me on his charity dinner glad-handing bullshit. He's calling himself a conservationist now.”

“Spooks like him never leave the business." Johnny nods, smiling at a vendor selling memorabilia on the narrow path. Once there's only grass and palm trees for company he waits until Jaehyun has caught up to speak again, mic thumbed off.

"The Chilean asset got confirmation. You don’t forget a face after that. He was there in '84."

"You think he's Mister?"

"If he is, this is going very differently. But no," Johnny says, pushing up his Wayfarers as they pass a lively patio wafting yacht rock and cigar smoke over the drag. "I think he knows him. Probably somewhere in the chain of command."

"Who else do you think will show up?"

"Someone from the Secretary of Defense's office, at least–" Jaehyun says.

"She'll want to kill him, you know," Johnny says, pausing in his tracks. Jaehyun stops and pretends to tie his shoe, remembering immediately that the laces are decorative. He stands up and sets the pace now, his partner following him.

"For Honduras." Johnny adds, tone dry.

Jaehyun doesn't answer, nodding in his distraction as they pass a family within listening range, two little girls sorting shells.

"Taeyong won't want any mistakes. Too much heat. We only fuck with the Skull and Bones boys on foreign soil."

The younger man doesn't need to say a word–it's written in the stiffness of his posture and the way he avoids making eye contact. His lips purse as he squints out over the water.

"I mean it," Johnny emphasizes. "We can get much more intel with him alive."

"I'm not going to kill him," Jaehyun says, quietly, turning back to look him in the eyes from beneath his sunglasses. "Where's the fun in that?"

"I'm sorry did you say 'Dink'?" you ask in your heaviest Southern accent, tittering like an idiot as you study the drawing on the wall. It's actually quite a nice picture–a heron amidst reeds, drawn almost as if it were a caricature in good spirit.

"It's Ding, honey," Jaehyun corrects, pretending to be embarrassed. "Like that nature park we went to yesterday."

"Oh that old place," you laugh. "What a ridiculous name. Ding dong, right?"

“Ding Darling.” Russ Anderson corrects, laughing while obviously offended.

The humor had faded from his expression the first time you'd cut him off from explaining the history of the three islands. This time he'd tried ratcheting up some long-winded infodump on the work of a political cartoonist. You’d deflated it in an instant, Jaehyun giving you a careful squeeze of assurance on your waist.

You didn't know how he'd managed two days of the retiree taking him on his little boat tours around the whole of Sanibel-Captiva and Fort Myers, but you could spare him this one.

Anderson is big, balding, and square. He smells like American State Department to you, not just the stench of ego but also for their collective love of Ralph Lauren's Polo. You've had your share of them as soft targets. All had the same dismal taste in aesthetics and inflated sense of self-importance, like they were pulling a fast one on you by being the most powerful person in the room.

Indeed, this little function in the spacious vacation home turned retirement villa is full of all different flavors of American defense and intelligence agents. You feel like you're back at an agency function in DC but on the other end of surveillance, marking each new guest and cadre of suited men for familiarity.

You could curse both Johnny and Jaehyun out for their lack of a brief you but you also know who's the prize by the fact that you're in his house, on an island only accessible by boat. Anderson is a big fish in a room of sharks, and to belabor the metaphor even more you’re the pair of ospreys waiting for him to surface.

"You still look a little green, was the ride alright for you, dear?"

Anderson's trophy wife returns with your drinks, a beer for Jaehyun and a ginger ale for you, winking suggestively as she passes it into your french-tip manicured hand. You’d complimented her hair and her dress, but just like your costume for the night she’s forgettable.

"Oh my, yes thank you so much for having us," you ramble. "Doctor said dramamine was just fine for us. Sorry I couldn't take you up this morning. I so dearly wanted to see those forkbills."

"Spoonbills, dear," Jaehyun corrects as Anderson winces across from you. God how you loved playing into their annoyance, the small taste of power as sweet as honey.

A cover closer to the truth always worked better when dealing with people in the business. You'd passed yourselves off as Barbie and Ken type newlyweds–the months-old injuries from a skiing accident during your honeymoon in Aspen.

Your husband was making it up to you with this trip to the beach. Of course he just had to go around asking every local with a boat about wildlife until he'd found someone willing to be his guide. You, poor thing, well–not only do you get seasick but you're in a delicate condition, the words making you nauseated just speaking them aloud.

"Not exactly the image of a blushing bride," Jaehyun says, leaning into being obnoxious in a mimicry of Anderson's good old boy laughter. "But she'll do."

"You're so lucky you had your accident before . . ." The other woman says, looking pointedly down at your black Alaïa dress.

"Oh yes," you say, placing your unabused left hand over your belly button, conspicuously showing off your bump and your ring–part of the disguise of course, loud enough to scream new money and bad taste. "We wanted to get a family started right away, didn't we, sugar?"

You smile genuinely when you see the blush tinge Jaehyun's ears and neck red, his own grin faltering.

Torturing him might become your new favorite hobby.

"No more extreme sports," Anderson adds. He's leering at you in a way that feels much less wholesome and you toast him with your untouched drink.

"I don't even let her drive," Jaehyun says, eyes narrowing in another tell that thankfully neither pick up.

"He dotes on me," you add. "Barely lets me out of his sight. Speaking of which, might I excuse myself to your powder room?"

"Down the hall right there," Anderson gestures, clearly grateful that he can be rid of the womenfolk as his wife excuses herself as well–probably to pass out the canapes to more interesting people. Jaehyun nods at him when he continues on his explanation of the drawing, other men taking up space in the vacuum you'd left behind.

You find the bathroom after pretending to lose your way, closing the door and turning on the water before speaking.

"I'm going for the office," you say. Inside a secret pocket of your clutch is the small, portable kit you’d lifted from Johnny’s hidden cache, checked and tuned for the frequency you’d also worked out the code for.

This was the best opportunity in your mind–who would doubt the ditzy wife making a wrong turn and ending up on the other side of the house? But you need clearance, you need Johnny's go-ahead from wherever he is in the woods or in the reeds pretending to do late afternoon fishing.

God how you hate being in need-to-know.

Jaehyun can't answer, but Johnny responds after a while, sounding amused. "Negative. We have Secret Service outside, possibly in the house. We can't risk it."

"Copy," you say. Inside you're seething, flushing the toilet. They’d been holding you back this entire operation, even to the point where they’re willing to attempt it alone. You know why but you refuse to accept it.

You check your makeup in the mirror, stomach twisting at the sight. In your years in spycraft you'd worn many disguises but without much of one now was when you felt most like you were looking at a stranger.

Dr. Lee had said depersonalization was a common co-diagnosis of PTSD, that it was normal to not recognize your own face. How many times had you looked in the mirror since you’d been stuffed into a black bag? No, you’d avoided it.

The fractures you'd suffered in your facial bones were finally healed, including the ones from plastic surgery, less makeup needed now to cover the bruising as it shifted from purple to yellow. You'd gained back the weight you'd lost from the weeks in the detention center, malnutrition extending the time it took for the multiple breaks in your forearm and fingers to heal once they were reset.

Your knee was the worst, most likely needing to be replaced in the future with an implant. You barely remember it being smashed in with a hammer–the same one that had been used on your arm–but the throbbing ache in it whenever you turn incorrectly is just an extension of the initial torture.

You hadn’t wished to die, or even to kill the people holding you down in the chair as you'd focused on the itch of flies settling on the drying blood on your ragged skin. No, you’d just hoped they didn't have to see you like this–alive or dead.

You’d gotten your wish in the fact that you were somewhere between both when they’d finally rescued you.

The torture hadn't been violent at first–the CIA-trained junta preferred breaking dissidents psychologically. Electric shock, waterboarding, denial of food. None of these things were a death sentence, although there were plenty of people for whom it had been.

You were too valuable of a hostage as a foreigner but that had blown up in your face when they misidentified you as a British asset. After that it became personal for the Argentinians in the company.

You'd barely made it, stubborn enough to linger to say goodbye to the two people you loved the most. By the time the exfiltration had taken place you were strapped to a dirty table with just empty IV bags for company, unconscious for ten days after that.

Instead of goodbye you'd had to say hello, as much a stranger as you felt now.

Everyone who had so much as looked at you wrong in that nightmare was, most certainly, dead. You weren't even allowed to know what had happened once you woke up from your coma. The way people in the office avoided you and your partners afterwards was enough of an account.

Still, you hadn’t been alone since.

Johnny took care of you, certainly, but Jaehyun had been grafted to you for 56 days. Not one minute went by where he wasn't beside you, no service unattended that someone else could do.

Your own personal shadow had treated you like you would disappear if you were out of his view for more than a moment–at least he had, before last Saturday.

Now he slunk around you like a kicked dog, mouth sometimes opening to say something before he remembered your instruction to "shut up, even your thinking is too loud."

You felt bad about that. But you don't know how to treat it–don't know what to tell Dr. Lee the next time you see him except that maybe you'd insisted on accompanying him tonight so you could feign the act of being the married couple you'd so naively hoped to be half a year ago.

Stuck. Attached. Shadow. The words race through your mind as you open the door only to find Jaehyun outside, glancing to his right before pulling you in.

"What–" you're cut short as he pushes you into the enclosed space, closing the door behind him. His expression is stormcloud dark as he turns the faucet back on again, washing his hands.

"You have morning sickness. We're leaving early." His tone is strained, cheeks flushed as he looks at you in the mirror. You feel your heartbeat gallop forward at being alone with him in this small space, keenly aware of the soap he'd been using that wasn’t in your shower.

"But the–"

"Pretend like you're throwing up," he whispers.

You pinch your brow but acquiesce, retching on cue, even squatting so the sound echoes in the toilet bowl.

Johnny laughs on the party line as you flush the toilet, rising to look up at him with very real exasperation.

"Anderson was pressing for details," Jaehyun says, running a hand through his hair–already longer than he usually wears it, lightened blonde for this role. "I have a bad feeling."

"Plan B then," Johnny says in your ears. "Spike?"

"Pass." Jaehyun isn’t all there, pacing in the small space like a caged animal.

"Good," Johnny answers. "Get out."

"Plan B?" you ask, tapping the sink beside you. Of course you hadn’t heard about Plan B.

"Plan B&E," Johnny jokes on comms. You shush him, turning off your own mic beneath the high turtleneck of the dress you're wearing.

"What's going on?" you ask to the gray suit jacket of Jaehyun’s back as he listens at the door, resisting the urge to pull him to you.

Jaehyun finally turns around, face shifting with internal pain. You know he wants to answer but that he's thinking anything he says is going to widen the gap between you.

Good, you think to yourself. Let him marinate in it.

"I'll fill you in once we get out of here," he says, voice deeper the quieter he is. "Trust me."

The way his eyes widen as he realizes what he said, anticipating your anger, almost makes you feel a little guilty. You let a rare, real smile appear on your face for him, making him fidget uncomfortably next to the still-running sink.

"Promise me," you say.

"I–"

You grab him by his pressed white shirtfront and bring him down to your level, close enough to kiss. His lips are that close you consider it–if not for you, for him–so he'd stop holding back–

There's a loud knock on the door.

"Everything alright in there, dear?" Anderson's wife asks.

Jaehyun shakes his head at you, throwing the door open before you can respond.

"Just a little morning sickness–" Jaehyun says.

"More like all day sickness," you say once you've spit out a mouthful of lapped up water into the sink, turning off the faucet. "He came to hold my hair."

"Well isn't he a peach," she exclaims. "I'm sure he'll be a perfect father."

You look up at your husband, beaming–knowing it doesn't extend to your eyes.

"I know he'll be."

It's a long trip to the pier and you wait until you're back at your bungalow after an even longer car ride to say anything, Johnny and Jaehyun both infected with a tense silence.

To your credit you act as if everything is fine, humming along to Hall & Oates on the radio in your borrowed car, window open to enjoy the sunset as red and orange hues saturate the sky where it meets the Gulf.

"Who is that man?" you ask, once you're inside, shrugging out of the tight-fitting dress and unstrapping the makeshift belly you'd constructed that day from tape and wadded clothing–not that big, but enough to register as a few months.

The two men look at each other across the kitchen island, neither of them wanting to speak.

"Ex-CIA, obviously," you say. "But this place is crawling with them. Why him?"

You haven't been self-conscious in front of them in years but standing there in a lace lingerie set after hospital gowns and sweat suits makes you feel much more aware of the power you have over them being bare.

You hope it makes them even more uncomfortable.

"Why aren't you including me in this mission?" you ask.

If either of them have an answer they're too busy avoiding looking at your body to say it. It adds to your irritation.

Both men had held off from touching you with any kind of intimacy since your brush with death: Johnny probably too guiIty and angry at himself, Jaehyun just as twisted up but treating you too preciously.

With one, notable exception. But you didn't talk about that–you hadn’t since it happened.

"He's Operation Condor, isn't he?" You ask aloud, not needing an answer. Johnny just laughs as Jaehyun collapses onto the nearest stool.

“Alright,” you say, leaving them to fetch your robe from the second bedroom, the one you'd been alone in since you arrived. "Figure out what you want to tell me."

You take your time, listening for the murmur of a conversation and hearing nothing. In fact you return to find them in practically the same position. Johnny's mouth is set in a grim smile, leaning against the counter. Jaehyun looks like he's going to be just as sick as you'd pretended to be on the boat ride back.

"Well?" You tie your robe, itching your scalp now that it's free of the awful blonde wig.

"How'd you figure it out?" Jaehyun asks, finally, hair falling over his face once he's stopped almost pulling it out.

"Lucky guess," you say.

You don’t wait for their response, opening the fridge and grabbing two bottles to pop the tops as they stay frozen in some form of misery they refuse to share with you. You set the beers on the wood tabletop in front of each of them.

“Drink,” you order. “And talk.”

Johnny throws his head back, appearing to empty half the bottle in a swig. Jaehyun ignores his, looking like he's about to cry, eyes red and puffy.

"Of course I knew. Were you too distracted to see the giant Chichen Itza painting in the ensuite?" You direct your admonishment at Jaehyun, watching him shrink. “Who has a collection of Meso-American art in their beach house, anyway?”

"Did you get the layout, buddy?" Johnny asks, a little more kindly.

Jaehyun just shakes his head, peeling the label off his untouched Schlitz.

"No, I did when I got the tour from his wife. And I could have infiltrated that office if you let me do it," you say. "I'm getting really tired of you treating me like I'll break if you so much as breathe in my direction."

You grab Jaehyun's beer from him and take a long swig before he can react, watching his expression go from startled to pure panic.

"You can't—"

"What?" You ask, taking another swallow. "I'm off the pain meds."

"But you're . . . You're not . . .?"

Jaehyun is almost as pale as when he'd lost a quarter of his blood supply, something akin to realization setting in, followed swiftly by resignation.

You stare at him in shock.

Johnny pats him on the back, shaking his entire body with the contact.

"What is going on?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"He thought you were pregnant," Johnny explains, raising his bottle in a toast.

"You thought I was what?!" You slam the beer down, staring daggers into the only part of Jaehyun's face visible with his hands over it. The little you can see of his skin is growing a deeper shade of crimson.

"Jeong Yuno," you hiss. "Is this why you've been keeping me under 24-hour surveillance and not letting me do a goddamn thing for myself?"

He nods, still not releasing his head from his hands.

Everything begins to make much more sense–every irritating behavior in the past month, every weird look and offhand comment that you'd mistaken for a Jaehyunism–

(credit to Jungwoo for coining that term to describe the phenomena of the man saying something so unexpected and offbeat it made you question what strange pathways existed in his mind).

–Like when you'd found him staring at the empty guest room in your house: "yellow is a nice color," he'd said.

"Maybe a decade ago," you'd scoffed, a little surprised at his reaction when he'd nodded his head barely, smile lines disappearing.

It was normal he was concerned about your health but it had been excessive–he'd become more nurse than husband. A redundancy post-hospital that had at first been endearing and was now annoying.

He'd made sure you ate well three times a day, meals so balanced you'd taken to taking walks just to get your sugar fix from the corner store. He'd nervously tracked your returning weight like you were a prize vegetable, praising you when you'd gotten back what you'd lost. God, he'd even bought prenatal vitamins–something you'd applauded him for because you figured he knew they were good for your brittle hair and regrowing nails.

To complicate things you hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with him, irritated by physical discomfort and emotional exhaustion. All of that was melting away like winter snow drifts now that the tangle of miscommunication has been cut through.

No, now you're mad for entirely different reasons.

And not with him.

"John. Jun. Suh," you round on the bigger man, poking a finger into the dip in the center of his chest with each name.

His eyebrows fly up but it's clear he does not find you in any way intimidating by the laughter threatening to erupt out of him.

"You knew and you didn't say anything?"

He shrugs one shoulder, lips angled in a smirk. "It was funny."

"Apologize–"

"He's the one who gave you sugar pills instead of your birth control," he mentions, mood darkening.

"How do you know about that?" You sigh explosively. The incident was so far from your mind that now you're irritated hearing it brought back up again.

You hadn’t been on contraceptives in the hospital but you'd hoped to get back to baseline and that included physical intimacy. Even Dr. Lee had stressed the importance of it in recovery, of learning to love your body again after what it had been through.

At the time you'd had so many pills taken multiple times a day, with no function in your good hand. Jaehyun had been popping the little Estradiol tabs for you.

You remember the panic you'd felt when you finally were able to manage removing your own pills from the foil disc in its compact and saw that he'd started the month from the middle, not the edge. Five days of placebo.

But you already knew there was zero risk, you hadn’t had a period even before you started hormonal treatment again because weeks of starvation and hospital feeds to fix it meant you didn't have a uterine lining built up to shed.

"He told me all about his little accident." Johnny says, tone suddenly not-so-jovial.

"It was a mistake! He couldn't read the pill thing. Even I'm confused by it," you say.

"Are you sure?" He’s got that ironic smile you know means he's going to twist the knife in when you hadn’t even realized you'd been stabbed. "He didn't try giving you grapefruit juice, too, did he?"

"What is wrong with you?" you ask, holding your ground. "Why would you think that?"

If Jaehyun was a puppy you couldn't stand to kick when you fought, Johnny was a feral cat. The only option available was to put on arm-length leather gloves and grab him by the scruff and hope he didn't find an opening.

"Why would you accuse the person you love most in the entire world of being that manipulative?" you reframe the question.

He shrugs. When his eyes meet yours again you can tell his surety is gone, the wall he's been building up abandoned.

"It's because we slept together when he went back to Honduras," Jaehyun says behind you, voice cracking with emotion. "He punched me when I told him."

You look between them, nonplussed.

"You picked me up from the airport and didn't say a word until we were three whiskeys deep. And then you dropped the bomb that you'd knocked up the love of my life without even so much as a head's up." Johnny gestures at his partner. "Of course I punched you. But I also forgave you."

He looks at you with a flash of guilt, erased just as quickly. "I mean–I forgave you before I found out she wasn't . . . You know."

You remember the conversation from a few weeks ago, how exhausted and sad Johnny had looked, leaving to whatever new horrorshow he'd been forced to play a role in. He'd come back from Central America a little lighter, a little more the man you loved.

He was still too gentle but at least he was touching you again, brushing up against you when he passed by or finding ways to put his arm around you. You'd felt a sense of relief at that, so starved your heart had flip-flopped in your chest when he'd laid his head in your lap on the couch after dinner.

For the first time since the hospital you’d had him alone as Jaehyun did the dishes in the kitchen. Johnny had looked up at you with only a wisp of his usual sadness, a little wine-flushed and dazed.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"Do what?" you asked, flipping the channel. You didn't want to quash the moment of comfort by being as forward as you'd been with the other man in the house, you'd wanted to make this last.

"Be a mom."

"What?" you'd asked, distractedly looking down from a segment on the miner’s strike in the UK.

"I mean I like this change. Kinda hoped you'd be game. But if it's too soon–"

"Do you feel like I'm mothering you?" You'd asked, puzzled. You'd made dinner that night and plyed them into laughter with a nice Merlot, a little bit of the gloomy atmosphere lifting as Johnny joked about anything besides his recent trip. Even Jaehyun had seemed happier.

"Are you drunk?" You glance down again, catching his expression shift from serious to devious.

"I mean to be honest lately I feel like you both are treating me like a child–" you continue.

You didn't have a chance to finish as he arced up from the couch to kiss you, unable to reach your mouth and settling on your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck. A fire had blazed in your chest at that, burning away any tension you'd felt having him in reach–

"That’s because I have to remind you who's your Daddy–"

You'd hit him in the face with a throw pillow.

"Yeah," Jaehyun says, wiping his eyes. "I've never felt more guilty in my life. Thanks for that."

You turn back to the other man. "And you left him in the dark for weeks?"

"Honestly I wasn't expecting it to go on that long. You have to admit it's funny," Johnny says, anger replaced by humor, again.

"No! I don't!" you shout. "And for the record I'm the one who got him drunk enough to have sex with me. That's apparently the only way I can get either of you to treat me like I'm still desirable."

You can't bear to see the look on Johnny's face so you wrap your arms around Jaehyun's hunched shoulders, resting the top of your head against his neck.

"I saw you throw out the pills . . ." He says quietly. "And then you came back from the women's clinic, and you seemed so sad."

You chew on your lip, anxiously, rubbing circles into his back. "I didn't have an abortion, obviously."

"I know," he says, uncharacteristically vocal in that halting way that you didn't dare interrupt. "It just felt like maybe you thought it was a mistake, but you didn't want to tell me. I thought I'd fucked up sleeping with you. I mean I didn't even remember what I'd done, what I'd said . . ."

You're grateful for Johnny's silence behind you, as heavy as you can feel it as you stroke Jaehyun's hair. "You were fine, I'm sorry for taking advantage of you."

You have to suppress the morbid laughter bubbling up inside you at this entire misunderstanding, and maybe a little at him. Not because you think he's naive but for being so incredibly loving and kind that he'd convinced himself you were mad at him for knocking you up with an imaginary baby.

Knowing where that's where his head was at makes you ache inside, as you rehabilitate every fractured conversation and interaction.

Barely a week ago you'd watched him crumple like a paper bag when you'd had enough of his constant caretaking, shouting at him when he'd physically removed you from the rickety basement stairs before you could climb down to retrieve your suitcases.

It was the cap on a long day of being shooed off from cleaning the catbox, from having a tuna sandwich plucked from your fingers mid-bite and thrown in the trash. You were getting better and instead of letting you flex your wings it felt like he was clipping them in the name of an increasing paranoia for your safety.

"Why didn't you just ask me about it?" You continue to soothe him, roles reversing now that he's in your arms.

"Chenle said your body wasn't ready for it," he admits. "That even if you could there was a strong possibility that . . ."

He can’t seem to bring himself to say it, but you knew the statistics from the posters at the clinic you'd just spent an inordinate amount of time at. One in five, most in the first month.

"I didn't want to make you think I had my hopes up. Not after what you went through. I was just scared. For you." Jaehyun brushes tears from his face again before shifting to hold you and kiss you on your forehead.

"I don't want it to be an accident but I want it for you, you know. And him," he nods over you. "We both do. But him especially."

"Is that why he punched you?"

You turn to look at Johnny, who is surprisingly hangdog now that he's processing both of your admissions. You're so used to seeing him wrestle with his conscience, guilt festering, that you don't expect what he says next.

"We made a deal," he explains. It’s in the same nonchalant voice you’ve heard him use in briefing after a mission failure. You prepare yourself for the worst, arms crossing over your chest. He scratches the back of his neck, stalling.

"I didn't put up a fight about who got the marriage certificate or the wedding photos or the honeymoon. Under one condition."

This is the first time you are hearing about any of this.

"It's fine, he can be the cuckold," Johnny had joked back when marriage with both of them became a topic. It was a ridiculous response but so was your suggestion that they flip a coin on it, to be fair.

You didn't necessarily need to make it legally binding but you did want the commitment from both of them before you bought a house together. It was getting dumb splitting three different apartments that you were hardly in, migrating between them with your growing caravan of luggage and weaponry.

And maybe you’d played it fast and easy with that step in your relationship but you hadn’t taken it for granted when it became clear how serious they were. You'd found out that evening on a grimy rooftop that Jaehyun already had a ring–putting it in front of the nightvision scope of your M36 by way of a proposal. You'd gotten your shot blinking through tears of joy, your engagement party audience startled pigeons.

You could only get married in spirit to Johnny but that didn’t change your feelings. You didn't play favorites, just like they didn't fight over you. But it was still a big leap forward and you'd been surprised at how flippant he was about it, even with his mercurial nature.

Now, with the clarity of context, you know exactly where this is going. You pray he stops but he just keeps digging his own grave, pacing in the kitchen as if he's going to explain it so well you have no choice but to agree with him.

"Not now, of course. In the future. And absolutely, even if you want it to be his, it would be mine, too–"

Johnny is cut off by your hand on his chest, this time all six-foot-two of him actually backing away from you until you've got him seated in one of the dining chairs.

You slowly lift his chin and look deeply into his panicking brown eyes.

"Are you telling me you wanted to put a baby in me so bad you called first dibs?" you ask, tone dangerous.

He shakes his head, licking his lips. "It's still your choice, of course–"

You sit down on Johnny's lap, taking your time to straddle his thighs and pull yourself forward on them, careful with your leg and casted arm. He goes rigid under you, unsure where to put his hands until deciding to hold onto your hips, fingertips dragging through the satin.

He knows better than to relax–he can see the murder in your gaze–but he can't help but respond autonomically. Especially when you lean forward and ghost his ear with your breath.

"What were you going to do, make him watch as you fucked me full of your cum for weeks until you were absolutely sure I was carrying your child?"

Johnny wheezes slightly when you lick the lobe, flattened against the chair back as far as possible but already ragingly hard when you grind down on him. He opens his mouth to speak but you stop him with a raised hand, still shifting on him.

"You want to breed me, big boy?" you whisper, replacing your finger with your mouth to brush against his soft but dry lips. "Make sure everyone knows who I'm really married to?"

You can feel him jerk when you press your breasts into his warm chest, taunting him with soft nips and darts of your tongue into his mouth as he pants into yours.

It's been so long that you're already wet, soaking through your underwear into the denim of his thigh when you adjust yourself to ride it, your good knee pressed hard into his groin.

"Better not come in your pants, you gotta save it all for me," you say, movements slowing, hand on the line of his cock leading up to his waistband.

"Please don't stop," he says, eyes searching your face in a mixture of adoration and hesitation.

"Say it, then," you order. "Tell me what you told him."

Johnny's eyes flutter close as you squeeze his length, your much more dextrous left hand working him through his jeans.

"I want to give you a baby," he murmurs.

"I didn't hear you," you say.

He finally pulls you down on his leg, holding you there. "I'm going to fuck a baby into you–"

The soft slap of your hand against his cheek doesn't break him–no, it's when you pull away that his face falls.

"Good," you say, climbing off of him. "Save that energy for when it's your turn."

"What?" He looks up at you, bewildered.

"You're right it is my body, my choice. I choose luck of the draw. You get sloppy seconds, of course."

You retreat, knowing the cruelty in your expression isn't yourself but an extension of everything you've already been feeling. He looks up at you, dazed, face red from more than your handprint.

"Would you like it if I fucked the rest of the agency, too? Make it a real genetic lottery? Hope your little swimmers are winners."

Johnny groans, adjusting himself and leaning forward to recover.

You look over at Jaehyun, finding his mouth agape as he registers what he'd just witnessed. You can tell by the flush in his cheeks that he's just as turned on, even if he clearly is still on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

Guilt twists your belly, heat flaring in your own face as you turn away from them both.

"So? Does that work for you? Now that I'm finally a part of this conversation?" you ask them. "Or are you going to decide for me like you have everything else?"

You feel half-crazed, back just as fast to being the elephant in the room that rage makes your head spin. Everything you hadn’t said is spewing out and you don't know how to stop it.

"I mean no wonder the only way you can get your crank turned is at the thought of your little housewife knocked up so you can never let her out of your sight again."

You slam Johnny's empty bottle into the trash, waiting for them to respond, offered nothing again.

"Wanted to keep me safe at home barefoot and pregnant while you wind up on a CIA kill list just to get revenge. And for what–a few broken bones and teeth? Some pulled fingernails?"

You look up at the ceiling, your eyes burning but refusing to weep. No–crying is involuntary and not a luxury you've afforded yourself, not with two people so fixated on it as something to fix.

"Is it enough time yet? Do I get to be a part of this partnership again now that you don't see my dead body every time you look at me?"

There's complete silence, breaths held. An icy waterfall of shame hits you and you break, storming off towards the bedroom.

You've been mad for a long time. At first you’d chalked it up to being hormonal, and then needy, and then having two of the most beautiful men in the world hovering around you to remind you just how much you were of both while being completely unreachable.

But the truth was that the thing that had kept you going in that dark place, the thing that you hadn’t been able to say to them–not without being selfish and mean–is that all you'd wanted was a reset.

An immediate, manufactured, return to normalcy.

Just pretend it didn't happen, move forward, try again. Hell–you'd almost expected it, thought that was just part of the job, the lifestyle. Shit happens. People get hurt. You were lucky it didn't happen more.

Jeno had broken professionalism to laugh out loud when you'd told him that, quickly and shyly apologizing.

"If it had been one of them in your position, would you be able to look them in the eye and tell them that they couldn't grieve for what they'd been through?"

"But it's my decision, I get to decide if I'm fine or not–not them . . ."

He lets you figure that one out for yourself, his eyes disappearing into a sympathetic smile as he sits back in his chair.

"They're not okay," you say aloud, more to yourself than him.

"Very far from it," Jeno says. "I'm not breaking privacy telling you what you already know."

He steeples his fingers over your paperwork, clearing his throat. He's younger than you but built like an agent, all muscle and jaw under his tweed coat and his glasses.

"Screw doctor-patient," you say, startling him. "Agent-to-agent, how bad was it?"

You watch him loosen his tie, deciding what he wants to tell you.

"The moment you went off the map it was Defcon 1 here. We haven't lost anyone since the '60s. Protocol is to extract you as quickly as possible but we didn't even know where you were. You started in Chile and ended up on a different continent."

"I know," you say.

"It's need-to-know at that point but as I understand it we had at least fifteen special agents in the field sweeping just as many countries. They even activated networks with Artemis, old Diamante assets, everything. It was an impossible task, and they managed it."

"Every minute was an eternity for you, yes, but think of how it might have felt for the people who care about you. Wouldn't you wonder if you'd done enough, soon enough?"

You're silent, feeling a little like you're being scolded, even if you know that’s not his intention.

"We don't have a lot of time left in your session and all of this is something you need to take up with your superiors–not Suh, obviously–but I think under the circumstances you should go to the Director."

"I already met with him," you sigh.

"Alone?" He asks, hesitating. "Not on work terms. As a friend."

"We're not that close–"

"As a friend," he'd repeated, pushing up his glasses.

In the end you’d never given yourself the chance to go there, too consumed with avoiding hard truths so that you could feel justified in your anger and feelings of abandonment.

You couldn't even talk to them. No wonder you feel so alone.

You're yanked back mid stride into a bear embrace. Johnny is still seated and his head falls against your back. Your first instinct is to break free, or go rigid, but you relax instead.

"I'm sorry," he says into your shoulder, and your heart sinks as you realize what's dampening your skin through your robe.

You've never seen Johnny cry, ever. You're almost too scared to turn around and look but you force yourself to, letting him rest his wet face against your breastbone, hands in his hair as you wrap yourself over him.

Behind you Jaehyun gets up quietly, snaking his arms around your shoulders and trapping you between them both.

"I'm sorry. For everything," he says in your ear.

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," you plead. "I know I'm not ever going to be as good as I was but I'm not all broken . . ."

There it is–the real crux. That ugly, gnawing acceptance that you'd failed was there inside of you this entire time. A nice little throughline in your life, always assuming there were no accidents, only mistakes.

You hadn’t even been thinking when you said it aloud but held there, finally, you know you have to confront it. You deflate a little, letting them hold you upright. There's a kind of vibration growing inside you until Johnny grabs your face.

"Look at me," he says. He's not quite at eye level and his tone is soft, red-rimmed eyes staring deeply into yours.

You feel your face screw up tighter in a grimace you can't help but feel makes you ugly, pathetic. You shut down those thoughts actively, letting the emotion ride out, for once.

"You don't decide whether or not you're good enough for me, for us, or for anybody," he says. His fingers caress your jaw, thumbs rubbing the tear tracks flowing down involuntarily.

"And no matter how bad you feel or how bad things get, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you. That's a choice we both get to make no matter what happens to us, okay?"

"Okay," you crack, unable to hold it in. You can't even cover your face when the sobs hit because your arms are pinned to you by Jaehyun's vice-like hold.

You cry. It's ugly and brutal in the sounds that come out of you but you don't worry about them worrying anymore, or about how they'll see you. For the first time since before you feel like things might finally be alright.

"It's not your fault," Jaehyun says, voice strangled, brushing your temple with his nose. "I should have done a better job at taking care of you."

You laugh, wet from the snot, Johnny finally moving away to get you something to wipe your face. You make Jaehyun adjust to lean against his wide chest, barely standing.

"You do too good of a job," you sniffle. "Remember to let me take care of you, sometimes. You don't always have to be strong for all of us. You can be selfish."

He smiles wryly, dimples poking out of his salt-tracked cheeks. It's the first real joy you've seen him have in so long that you smile back, unconsciously.

"I don't want that," he says, quietly.

"You don't want that, either," Johnny agrees, pressing a water-warmed towel into Jaehyun's hands.

He has one for you as well–rubbing at your face with all the gentleness of a mother cat cleaning a kitten. You let him wipe away the embarrassing crust building up around your nose and the mascara that's run all the way down to your chin at this point, not minding he's taking off a layer of skin with it.

"Are you going back to the Anderson house tonight?" you ask, hiccuping.

"No," Johnny says. "Way too much heat."

"But you said something about dosing . . .?"

The two of them share a look, devilishness manifesting where quiet relief had been before.

Johnny checks his watch, nodding. "Should be hitting in about two hours, give or take."

"Chenle said the nausea would start earlier. They'll probably think it's food poisoning at first. But there’s no puking it up," Jaehyun says satisfactorily.

"Are you two done having fun at my expense?" you ask, glaring between them while sniffling. Jaehyun finally pulls a small glass bottle from his jacket pocket, handing it to you. You bring it up to the kitchen light, reading the small text.

"Just a little something cooked up for a Section V project. An experiment in creating a slow-acting DMT for extended psychotropic therapy sessions. Unfortunately the onset time was too long."

"You could have just used LSD," you say, inspecting the label.

"That’s what I said," Jaehyun muses. "But we thought it more poetic to mimic the effects of ayahuasca."

"Therapeutic?" you ask. "Is this recreational?"

"Only if you want to see non-Euclidean geometry for six hours straight," Johnny says. "And puke. A lot."

"You didn't . . ." you say.

"No, baby, I did not." He laughs at you.

"Neither will anyone," Jaehyun warns. "There's nothing left. I put it in the ice."

Johnny stares at him until he explains himself further. "Senator Jennings had just got there and I didn't know what he'd drink. I made it look like it was contaminated by one of their little souvenirs, just in case."

You remembered him playing with the ceremonial wooden ladle on the display, absently fingering the delicate carving in the dark wood. You were always surprised by the way his mind worked–thinking through solutions.

"So you weren't there to wire the office?" you ask.

"No, Donghyuck is going in as part of the DEA inspection team when the investigation begins,” Johnny explains in the tone of a long-withheld mission brief. “Jennings is co-chair of Nancy's little Just Say No campaign and can't afford to leave an incident like that unchecked."

He wipes his own face, blowing his nose.

"Anderson will take the fall. We already clocked him for cocaine trafficking a month ago as part of his frequent flier status but he'll weasel out of it. They always do."

"And then . . ." Jaehyun imitates a trap closing with his hands.

"Then why did you have the bug . . .?"

They both look at you pointedly, Johnny merciless, Jaehyun as usual finding it impossible to hide his amusement. You don't wait for whatever clever thing he's figured out to say.

"Good one," you say, cleaning the remaining tears from your face to hide your own mortification.

Of course they'd let you spy on them knowing full well you'd pick the wrong plan to obsess over.

"You haven't lost your touch," Johnny says, leaning forward to pat your head. "We didn't catch you, did we?"

"I'd prefer to be included, next time," you grouse.

"No next time for awhile, babe. We are officially off the clock," Johnny punctuates the announcement by getting another round of beers from the fridge–three this time.

"For how long?" you ask. It's no longer just the release of emotion that has you light and airy–you now know you're free. All this time you'd worried about what they'd get themselves into you'd never even once questioned the possibility of them getting out of it, much less having time to breathe.

You lean back against Jaehyun once he's returned from starting the 8-track player in the living room. He holds you, swaying a bit with the music.

"We have a while."

"As long as it takes," Johnny adds, cryptically. You look back at Jaehyun, who chooses to drink rather than respond.

"No," you say, shaking your head. "Absolutely not."

Johnny leaves and returns with the pharmacy bag, tossing it on the counter.

"Your choice."

Your lip curls at the sight of the box of Magnum XL labeled condoms. You'd never had to use them in the course of your relationship and you couldn't imagine starting–like going back to eating bargain bin string cheese after tasting quality burrata.

At least, you think, they'd planned on having a good time.

"Did he make you buy those?" you ask Jaehyun.

"He said even if you were knocked up I couldn't fuck you without them. That I could get used to it."

You turn to Johnny, pinning him with your eyes.

"You have a quarter?" you ask, drinking a long swallow of your Schlitz. "Flip on it."

"I think we should probably take this conversation more seriously than the marriage one," Johnny says, startled.

You ignore him to try and lift yourself onto the island, arm giving out until Jaehyun lifts you by the waist and sets you butt-down on the cool surface.

"I'm listening," you say, leaning back.

This is the only place where you can be eye level with either of them, letting your robe fall open so you can brush the cold beer bottle against your neck. You see the twitch in Johnny’s jaw as he sinks back against the counter across from you.

"It's a big step. The biggest."

You nod, running your hand through Jaehyun's hair beside you. He leans back as well to get a better angle, earning your fake nails threading through the longish hair at his collar.

"Have you thought more about how many you'd like to have?" Johnny asks. You know he's referencing the conversation you'd had last year, before the engagement.

At the time it hadn't really weighed on you. Yes, part of you had always wanted it–and that had changed significantly in just the past few years as your body matured and you found yourself losing the edge you'd had at the beginning of your service.

Unlike them, too, the clock was real to you in the way you’d felt seeing children–worse when you'd seen both of them with Taeyong and Doyoung’s kids: first at baptisms, later at birthday parties.

Time was marching on for all of you and it wasn't so much a question of how old you would be when you made that choice but how much time you wanted to share with the human being you'd brought into the world.

"How many do you want?" you ask Johnny, momentarily lost in the memory of him playing with a crowd of kindergarteners like he'd stepped out of the pages of a women's lifestyle magazine.

"I–I don't–" it's the first time you've seen him stutter in a long time.

"Two. At least," Jaehyun says. "Only child."

"We're all only children," you say. "What if I only want one?"

"That will, of course, be fine," Johnny manages to say through a clenched jaw. "And you're allowed to change your mind."

"Allowed?" you needle him.

"You know what I mean," he says, a little sourly. "I just think we should make it clear there's no pressure."

"No pressure to have one for each of you? What changed from five minutes ago?" you ask. Johnny cringes, shaking his head.

"Aren't you going to want a paternity test? To check who's name goes on the birth certificate?" You look over to gauge Jaehyun's reaction. Even with how relaxed he is under your hand you can tell he's uncomfortable.

"Johnny should be on it," Jaehyun says, swallowing as he meets the other man's stare. "Regardless of whose it is."

"That will make for great conversation at birthdays," you deadpan. "School enrollment. Doctor's appointments. Parent-teacher conferences. College graduation. First dates–"

"Enough," Johnny bites. "Point made."

"I'm only going to ask you to prioritize one person's feelings in this decision," you say.

Johnny looks between you, as if the choice isn't obvious.

"Jaehyun knows the answer," you say. "Don't you, sweetheart?"

He nods, lips thinned out and face pensive as he looks at his feet.

"Well, Johnny?"

His eyes dart to Jaehyun, who you pretend not to see point with his finger in your direction. It's too bad Johnny misses the signal entirely.

"Yours? Of course–"

"Naaaah," you say, imitating a buzzer. "Wrong answer."

"The kid's." Jaehyun exhales, jabbing his thumb towards your belly yet again.

You mime using your bottle as a boxing stage mic overhead. "Welcome to the Dad-Off, round one, first point awarded to Jeong for basic parenting knowledge. Suh is currently at negative two points penalty for being a dick."

Johnny shoots you a look like you'd told him one of Jungwoo's notoriously awful jokes.

"Serves you right for cheating," you tell him.

"I don't think this is funny . . ." he begins before recognizing the laughter in your eyes at his faux pas. He sighs. "Don't say it. I get it."

You set the bottle aside and gesture to him to come to you, gripping his wide shoulders and giving him as much of a shake as you can manage against his strength. He sways a bit on his feet, obviously not in the mood to play–something you always have an instinct towards remedying.

"Listen. You will be a dad," you say. "You're going to have a little version of you to foist on your parents so they can finally quit asking about grandchildren every time you call."

That perks him up–you knew it would. You relish the change in his expression as he rubs your arms, obviously thinking.

As much as you enjoy making him suffer for being obtuse you also know what he wants is important; it does mean something to him to want to be a parent. Of course it did for Jaehyun, too, but he was younger, and also maybe a little more cognizant of the risk in moving forward with it with your career choice.

"And I promise your name will be on the birth certificate. If anyone asks how that happened half a year after I married your best friend–well, it's none of their business." You beam up at him.

Johnny doesn't look convinced, as if he's sure there's some catch.

"Is that okay with you, handsome?" You ask Jaehyun, knowing he'll hide it even if it isn't, out of that self-sacrificial love he has for you both. You're shocked when he grins slightly, head shaking.

"He made me sign on it," he says, slyly. "So yes."

You smack Johnny again on his arm, making him flinch.

"It was the second month we started dating," Jaehyun adds.

"I can't believe you," you say, mock-offended. "Three strikes in the Dad-Off. Jeong wins this round. Loser sleeps on the couch."

You finish your beer and scoot to wrap your arms and legs around Jaehyun's back.

"Take me to the bedroom?" you ask in his ear. "He can give us one night."

You shoot a look at Johnny, who looks a little dismayed, but nods.

"Don't jerk off, baby," you tease. "I'm gonna need all of that love you've been saving up for sloppy seconds."

"Please stop using that term," Johnny warns, leaning forward to kiss you over Jaehyun's shoulder. His mouth is cool with beer, tongue licking into you as a reminder of how good he can be to you.

"Take care of her for me," he says. "And use these."

He sets the bag in your reach again but you make a show of snatching it up and throwing it over your shoulder. "Nah. Every champion in the Dad-Off is awarded a creampie. You'll have to wait your turn, runner up."

Jaehyun adjusts to lift you into a firearm's carry instead of letting you piggyback, carrying you out of the room.

"He's gonna fill me up so good–" you start before cracking into laughter when Jaehyun smacks your ass in warning. You hear the television turned on to baseball–music still playing in discordant contrast–as you finally are taken back to the bedroom you haven't occupied once this trip, except to sneak through their luggage.

Jaehyun closes the door before dropping you gently on the bed, getting between your knees on the wood floor when you sit up.

"I probably need a bath after that boat ride," you admit. "Do you want to start there?"

He shakes his head, looking up at you in the dim blue darkness, slatted golden light from the nearby beach access casting alternating shadows across his face.

"I missed you," he says.

"I missed you, too."

Jaehyun rests his head against your thigh, remnants of gelled hair scratchy through your robe. You love the way his warm breath raises goosebumps across your skin, just these small reminders you have him fully and completely.

"Please don't leave me ever again."

"I won't," you say, feeling the weight of those words but refusing to let them sink your mood.

"Not physically–" he corrects himself. "Don't leave me when you're right here."

It makes a knot form in your throat to hear him say that, knowing you'd alienated him. You'd both always had difficulty communicating directly and that was something you could work on. Supposedly you had your whole life for it–however long that was.

"I shouldn't have punished you for trying to take care of me," you admit. "But I wanted to be strong for you."

"Well that's where you were wrong," he says, kissing your leg. "Be strong for you. But not for me. Be soft for me."

He lifts his head, moving in to kiss up your belly to breast to your neck, pushing you back and up the bed until he can climb over you. When you're finally settled he rests his weight on you, pulling your arms over your head and pinning them there.

"Do you feel safe?" he asks, gently.

You nod, unable to keep a tremor from your voice if you speak. There's an ache in your chest just as much as in your sex, neglected for too long.

"Good," he says in a purr, kissing you, soft at first but soon forceful, tongue deep in your mouth, still smothering you with sharp nips and licks when he lets you come up for air. It's a reminder that more frequently than not you liked it rough from him–fast and messy, sometimes almost violent.

But you know that’s not what you're getting tonight. Not when he begins to strip you of your robe in careful movements, leaving your underwear on.

"Roll over," he says, and you follow his lead, feeling him unsnap your bra but not removing it fully, his body resting a bit on your hips. You expect his mouth but not his hands when his fingers dig into your shoulders, beginning to work at the tension, moving expertly down your spine and the muscles on each side.

"Oh." You let out a muffled moan, not sure if you're going to melt through the comforter or evaporate up into the ceiling.

"You like that?" he asks, voice husky.

"It's even better this time," you murmur, blowing out breath as he works into a knot in your middle-back. "You remember, don't you?"

That's how you'd gotten him–of course–making him share a glass of one of your wedding gifts, a small batch bourbon brewed pre-Prohibition. He hadn't seemed to notice you refilling his glass repeatedly, too distracted as you'd stripped down into a negligee set and begged him to help you relax.

He'd never been able to say no to giving you a massage, and in living memory there had been few times where that hadn't ended in something else, not with you begging for more and him so easily aroused by being needed.

"I remember as much as one can after half a bottle of whiskey." He digs in a little more aggressively to make his point.

"I'm sorry," you squeak as he uses his fingertips to work at the constriction, hard enough that it's painful but still in that good way–that releasing kind of way.

"You understand why it was hard for me too . . . right?"

You can only nod.

"It's not like I didn't find you desirable. You're always beautiful to me. I just knew . . ."

Your eyes sting a little but thank god you'd gotten most of it out earlier. "It's okay. You don't have to say it."

"I felt like if I gave in to that you'd be disgusted by me," he admits. His hands gently rub you up and down, your scapula shifting as he works up.

"I just wanted you to want me again," you say, face fully buried in the mattress.

"I always want you," Jaehyun says, dipping down to kiss your shoulder, coaxing you back out until he can plant a kiss on your lips.

"Hey, baby," he says, pulling you to look at him. His eyes search yours, gentle. "You don't understand how much self control it took. Especially after that night."

You glare at him. "You think it was hard for you?"

"Let me make it up to you," he says, capturing your mouth before you can answer. He shifts back up onto his knees before you get too comfortable licking into his mouth, caught by his lip in your teeth when you refuse to let him go.

You give him a mischievous smile from under your mussed hair. "Keep going then."

He sits up and returns to massaging you but you stop him with a muffled giggle. "Do you want me to help guide you?"

He pauses. "What?"

You flash him a smug look over your shoulder. "You don't remember role-playing how you were my physical therapist and how we had to keep it clinical?"

Jaehyun groans, not a little shyly.

"Then you took off your clothes because they were 'too hot'," you tease. "But you kept your underwear on, because you're a professional–"

"Maybe we can just forget role-playing," Jaehyun says, throwing his jacket to the floor and removing his shirt. "But I like your suggestions."

You twist to watch the reveal of his beautifully carved torso, skin untouched by the sun thanks to an almost religious adherence to SPF. Like you, he was coming back from being too lean, too overworked–it always gave him an air of delicacy you knew was more true than the tough exterior he projected for everyone else.

Jaehyun shucks off his pants, letting your eyes follow the thin trail of hair leading to dark boxer briefs that he, sadly, leaves on.

"Let me do my job," he jokes, sitting over you again.

This time he's facing away from you, working your legs. He has very strong hands, not leaving a single muscle group unattended. Even your feet aren't safe, thumb rolling into the necessary places in a way that has your fingers clenching in the pillow above your head.

"Relax, baby," he says, turning to work on your upper legs, digging into the fat you'd gained back with his care. When his fingers crawl beneath the lace of your underwear to work your ass you can't help but arc off the bed, noises in the back of your throat indicating your pleasure.

He avoids the gap between your thighs, just applying pressure from medias to maximus, spreading you in a way that has the air cooling the wetness between your legs. You whimper when he finally brushes against the seat of your underwear while pushing your thigh muscles vertically.

"Shh," he says. "I'm not finished with your session."

You don't get a chance to respond as he moves up and rests his weight on you again, angling his hips into where he'd just been. You're pinned to the bed as he rolls into you, thumbs buried in the dimples of your lower back, hands spanning your waist.

"Fuck," you say under your breath, pushing back against his clothed dick and his equally hard thighs, loving the way he fits against you even if he's torturing you with zero movement.

You can hear his breath catch as he resumes working your back, distractedly digging into your sides more than anything, letting you raise your hips uselessly against him.

"Please," you plead, pushed into the bed by the shoulders. "Please let me feel you."

"No," he says, moving up to your arms. Each squeeze from your elbows to your hands is torture as you try to press him enough to get relief.

You can feel a damp spot in the comforter underneath you, thankful for the corresponding spot on your thigh from where his dick is trapped and seeping precum.

"You want it, you have to come from this first," he whispers in your ear, tucking back your hair. Your cunt twitches, muscles squeezing around nothing.

"Can I roll over at least?" you ask.

"Of course," he says, patting your hip after he's gotten up. You exhale in relief, shedding your uncomfortable bra as he adjusts himself, before he locks your hands over your head again.

"Let me do the work," he says, settling down on your thighs. He avoids your breasts but he massages your chest as you squirm for relief beneath him, feeling how hot and hard he is for you between layers.

When he works your neck muscles from the front you can't stop yourself from placing your fingers over his own, looking up at him through half-closed eyes in invitation. He squeezes, carefully applying the kind of pressure that has your vision glitching for a moment with the lack of blood and air before letting you go, unsated.

After laughing at your struggle to grind yourself into bliss he lays down over you, rolling his hips into your core. Your legs tense with each rock against you–his clothed erection the only stimulation you're getting, and yet so good it makes your belly flutter.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you deeply.

"I need you so bad," you whimper.

"Can you come for me like this?" he asks.

You shake your head but the next thrust of his hips has you moaning. You feel him reach down to pull your underwear to the side, trapping his fabric-pinned length in your folds and letting the new friction bring you even closer to nirvana.

"Give it to me, good girl," he pleads, moving your entire body with his against yours. You let your body go limp, cast above your head, and he rewards you by rutting against you, the fabric of his briefs soaked.

Your body is so desperate for relief that you don't fight it, you let him hump against you until each push of his cockhead into your clit has your walls closing around nothing, gasping in relief when his hand returns to your throat and he squeezes just right again.

Stars explode behind your eyelids, and you come with a silent gasp while he kisses your face and forehead through it.

Your eyes flutter shut, just enjoying the heat of his body against you as he massages your face, something he'd been doing for you since the bruising and the ache of implants had reduced.

"Did I earn it?" you ask.

He rubs your temples, pulling back with swollen lips to search your eyes in the dark.

"You sure you wanna do this without protection?" he asks softly.

You nod. "I want all of you."

You can sense he's conflicted as he stops moving, tracing your cheek with his fingers.

"You know you didn't even get this far last time," you say. "You're the one who came first. In your underwear."

He hides in the space next to your neck, but he laughs along with you–tension melting away.

"And then you passed out," you add.

"You sure you didn't ride me in my sleep?" he asks, teeth scraping your throat.

It wouldn't have been the first time–in fact it was something he'd explicitly asked for, your real honeymoon in Barcelona a contest in who would wake the other into a state of pure pleasure after fucking into oblivion the night before.

But no, you’d wanted your reunion with him again to be meaningful. You can't think of anything more important to you than being able to see him come undone inside you.

"Can I?" you ask, cupping his cheek. His eyes are glazed over in thought but he nods, smiling shyly. You negotiate until he's on his back beneath you, helping you both in removing drenched underwear and making sure you're comfortable with a pillow under your sore knee, weight resting on your right.

You're not sure how much strength you have in you but his feet are planted on the bed behind you, and you know he'll aid you in this just like everything else.

You reach between you to run your hand along his perfect cock, placing it between your folds again in the same position as before. His whole body tenses as you slide against him, not rising high enough to catch him but giving him the same treatment he's just given you.

"You're so sweet for me," you say, kissing his wide chest, gliding up his neck with your tongue and tasting sweat. You capture his earlobe in your teeth, sucking gently as he thrusts into your slipperiness. He's holding his breath when you slide back down against him, letting him inside you a little and pausing to hear him moan.

"Please don't hold back with me," you order against his lips, holding his leaking tip to your core. "I've needed this so bad."

Jaehyun can barely move as you ease down on him, and you realize if you've been needy he's a knife's edge from breaking apart. Your muscle memory returns in that exact rotation of your hips that has him holding you to keep you from moving too fast, rocking up into you much more carefully than he had before.

You bring his hands to your breasts, making him hold you there as you lean back and find your pace. You arch your spine, reaching behind you to grab his thighs to get a little more leverage as you bounce on top of him.

"Oh god yes," you cry out between inarticulate little mewls, feeling him drag deep against your insides. He tugs on your nipples as you move faster, your little orgasm before proving to be just a taste of whatever has you constricting around him now.

"Slower," he pleads, unable to match your rhythm. You catch yourself, falling forward again until he can pull you against his sweat-dampened chest. His belly presses into you as he takes you to the root, gaining control again.

"You take care of me so good," you praise him, feeling him groan more than hearing it. He's always quietest when he's fighting for control, and you rest against him as he fucks into you at his leisure, face scrunched in concentration.

For the first time in a long time you feel truly held, as if any closer and you two would merge into one.

You pull him to your mouth, holding his face as you kiss him. You live for these long slow climbs with him, showing him how much you adore him in your exploration of his mouth with your tongue, gripping him inside and moaning every time he hits the right spot.

"Love you," he says through gritted teeth.

"Love you so much," you gasp out when he begins to pound into you in earnest. Your bodies know each other so well you're both fighting to make it last and losing, his thrusts erratic.

"Please don't hold back," you beg. You're so close you're tingling all over, teetering on the edge of coming undone and hoping you can make it last.

"Fuck," he says, snapping his hips in time with your cries. He can feel it just as much as you can when your muscles finally begin to seize and he keeps going, extending out the sensation with each stroke, kissing you deeply when he has the breath.

"Fill me, please," you beg against his mouth. "I need to feel you take me completely."

He's slowed down, eyes shuttered, and you take advantage of it to grind down on him, wet sounds drowned out by a throaty whine. He makes it only a few more thrusts into you before he's pulling out, instantly coating your backside in body-hot cum. You reach back to wrap your hand over his as he strokes himself through it, his thighs trembling against yours until his legs drop to the bed.

When he stills you collapse down beside him to rest your throbbing knee, watching his face for him to come back up from whatever planet he's crash-landed on in the haze of bliss. His eyes refocus in the dark, hand reaching for you.

"Sor–"

You place a finger on his bitten lips, smiling at him. You know why he's worried and you can't let him color this moment with such a triviality.

"You're so good to me," you whisper. "So sweet. And kind. And perfect."

"Do you . . . Do you really want a baby?" he asks.

It's the first time you've heard him address the subject with hope, and maybe a little bit of the same joy he'd seemed to have when you'd agreed to let him paint the spare room a tasteful shade of green.

At least, you think, you'd let him have that.

He'd kept busy over the last month doing so many home improvement projects–parts of your row house were still from the 19th century–and you hadn’t even questioned doing things like replacing the banisters and putting a guard on the fireplace.

But now you know, and your heart burns with how much you feel for him–and for the man in the other room. You'd never believed you could have as much love as you do, or that it could be given so freely.

"Yes," you say. "Someday. Is that really what you want, too?"

He nods, smiling a little. "It's not just Johnny's parents on his ass, you know."

Your sudden look of horror isn't an act. "Your grandma?"

Jaehyun is mock solemn as he continues to nod. "You remember what she said at the wedding–"

"Dear lord." You laugh at the thought of ever forgetting when everyone in attendance had heard it. "I wouldn’t dare disappoint her."

"Thank you," he says, kissing your forehead. His face scrunches up as his hand goes to rub your back and finds a now cold, gluey mess.

"Let’s get cleaned up. Then you can let Johnny out of the doghouse."

"Why should I?" you grouse. "He's going to think I'm a pushover."

"You are a pushover."

"Only with you," you concede. "He has the gall to claim my womb, he can handle a little delayed gratification."

"His heart was in the right place," Jaehyun says from where he's drawing your usual shared bath–much easier for the both of you with your arm and Jaehyun's need to pamper you.

You chew on your lip, resting against the doorway.

"Alright, under one condition," you say.

He looks up at you expectantly, almost toppling into the tub when you kiss him, pulling his warm face up to yours.

"If you're not going to come inside me like I ask then you give it to me somewhere else."

"Oh?" His eyebrows raise.

"I have some ideas."

Johnny has a habit of sleeping on his chest but thankfully tonight he's on his back, head turned from the guest room door. You slip in quietly, latching it behind you, before climbing on top of the bed to straddle his ribcage.

You know he's awake but playing with you when his arm rises to cover his face, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. You remove your towel and lean down to kiss him, gently, hair and breasts still damp from the bath tickling his chest. You try to move his hand and find it unmoveable.

"One man wasn't enough for you, baby?" He asks, still drowsy. Even in the dark you can see the curl of his bow-like lips over his teeth as he smiles.

"I just came so you could see for yourself," you say. "Don't you wanna know how much he filled me up?"

"Go away, you slut," he says, smirking as he rolls over animatedly.

"Please, Daddy," you continue to tease, tugging his arm until he lets you move it, grabbing his big hand and pulling it between your legs. He makes it awkward for you, fighting, until you can finally introduce two of his digits to your entrance.

Your breath catches in your throat, followed by a small sob at the feeling of him touching you intimately–even as limply as this. You hold him to you, relishing the way his knuckles curve when he decides to humor you, fingers spreading slightly when he finds you warm and absolutely soaked for him.

After a few moments he pauses, body tensing beneath you. Then suddenly he's up, fucking into you with his fingers, making you moan and curl down over him immediately with how perfect they feel inside.

You find his head, holding onto him to pepper him with kisses as he slows down, the curve of his hand taking you much more gently.

"Really?" he says, voice a rasp.

"Really," you say. "Don’t you want first dibs?"

You're yanked forward just as much as he shifts down the bed, arms wrapping under your thighs to pull you to his face. You scrabble for the headboard to hold on to as he puts his mouth on you, going right for your saturated core.

"Oh god," you whine, one hand straying down to stroke his soft hair as he tongue-fucks you, unconsciously moving against him in small jerks.

Johnny has had a lot of practice getting you off this way but this feels different. Desperate, almost. When you try to get some relief from the building tension in your cunt he pulls you down more: a gentle hold but rolling your hips against his mouth and letting each take his swirling tongue a little higher until he's finally against your clit.

He knows exactly when to bring his fingers back inside to feel you clench around him–just a few deep pushes and you break on him, fluttering in incredibly powerful tics that seem to last forever as he works you with his tongue and hand well after they've weakened.

"You made him pull out?" he asks once he's let you go so you can roll onto the bed beside him, slick and his spit dripping down your thighs.

"I didn't make him do anything," you say. You pick up your towel from the edge of the bed to wipe yourself and him relatively clean. "But he knows how much you want it. And I guess . . . I do, too."

Johnny blinks up at you, hand reaching for your face. "Do you?"

You grab it and kiss his palm, bringing it to your left breast over your heart. Your pulse is racing and you're trembling and it's not just from the action but because there's a new kind of fear inside you. The good, running leap off a cliff knowing you have a parachute kind.

"I want to have a baby," you say, steadying your voice. "Your baby."

"Fuck," he says, sitting up, throwing the towel aside to pounce on you. You let him, legs wrapping around him as he wrestles you down, hands tangled in your hair and mouth on yours. His five-o’-clock shadow rubs your chin raw well before he lets you go, kissing you to make up for months without.

"I don't think I can wait," he says, and you don't have a chance to ask what he means before he's burying himself deep inside you, smooth for how wet and ready you are but stretching you all the way.

"Say it again," he says.

"I want you to–" you gasp when he bottoms out, the sensation incredible after so long without it, almost painful for how unused you are to his size. It isn't just his girth but the way he can sucker punch your cervix if you aren't careful. He stills, face inches from yours, nudging your cheek with his nose.

"Say it."

"Give me a baby," you say when you can breathe again.

He moves carefully, half thrusts controlled as he wraps his arms underneath you to gently lift your upper body, making you watch him disappear into you. He's so big around you that he feels like your whole world, nothing outside of it but a dream.

"Gonna fuck you so full of me," he says. "You're gonna take it all."

"Yes, please," you moan, sweat breaking out across your entire body as he begins to rock into you in shorter thrusts, stimulating that magical spot just inside.

"Over and over again until your belly swells," he threatens.

A part of you is taken out of the fantasy, mind snapped back like a rubber band to reality, but it's quickly erased by the tightening in your lower abdomen from how thick he is–knowing he's even more turned on by this than you in the way his movements become more uncoordinated.

"Not gonna stop fucking you then either, going to make sure you keep taking me until you're really full. Belly, breasts–"

He folds down to take one of the subjects at hand in his mouth, fully mouthing it in a way that makes a stray thought about milk enter your mind. Your cunt twitches around him so strongly that you both gasp.

Johnny looks up at you with a smug expression, nuzzling at your tit with his nose. "You like that?"

"Fuck, please, don't stop–" you're rendered speechless as he sucks, tongue swirling around your nipple. It's so strong and so good and he doesn't stop as his rhythm returns, switching between each bud to torment you until you pull him away to beg to be fucked full of his cum.

"I want you to fill me to the brim. Make me drip for days," you tell him.

You know him so well now, your bodies together for so long, you can tell his usual confidence has melted into pure need. And still, this is different by a thousand miles and a thousand days–utterly new to you in how you feel yourself softer and more pliable with the thought of having him all.

Johnny keeps talking but now his head is against the bed, lips against your ear and cheek, almost babbling for how quickly the words come out between short pants for breath and the whines in the back of his throat. You're just as lost to the fantasy he's weaving of mating you like you're in heat and needing to be bred.

"You gonna come for me so I can be sure you want it? Suck my cum in like you're trying to do to me?" he asks in a choked voice.

"Yes," you whimper.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Daddy," you cry out, clenching around him. He doesn't even have to touch you for you to begin to peak again, not with how much you've longed for him like this. Your bodies meet in wet slaps, feeling his balls tighten with each hit until he can't take it anymore and heat floods your walls.

"Stay put," he says, adjusting you both onto your side, conscientious of your left leg wrapped over him. You watch in fascination as he continues to thrust, abs twitching, reaching between you to circle your clit and guide you down with him.

Time seems to slow as you focus on clenching around his flagging cock. You look up into his eyes and see yourself there, held in the love and possessiveness you know he feels. Much more than his touch, the knowledge that you're taking every last drop of him into you tips you over into an orgasm that quakes you from your toes to your navel.

He refuses to pull out even when you're limp on the sheets, holding you tight against him until your tremors fade, kissing your forehead as you sob wordlessly into his chest. It's overwhelming, but right.

"Good girl," he soothes, hands stroking your neck and back. "I love you so much. Thank you."

"Thank you," you say, forced to pull your leg off of him when it begins to stiffen and throb. When you break free you find he's reached down to hold the gush of fluid inside you, hand coated.

"I don't think you have to worry about your chances," you joke, laughing softly at the ceiling above.

"Oh I'm not," he says, predatory. "But we're not done yet."

"Johnny–"

"Shh." He kisses you softly, fingers plugging your abused hole. "You asked for it."

Perfect conditions don't seem so perfect to you as the sun waxes behind cloud cover, winds threatening to whip your hat from your head. But there is one advantage in the coming storm, you suppose–the usually-packed Captiva Beach is empty but for a few brave souls. Your husbands are among them, occupied with the same sport.

You'd busied yourself with trying to read the latest Danielle Steele, but the words keep flitting from the page and past your brain every time you look up.

You'd even played around with Johnny's Nikon to try and capture the day outside your memory but that had been quickly abandoned as well–without him beside you to help you work the right aperture and exposure you felt like you'd just be wasting film. You’d managed a few shots, at least, when the sun was right and you had them laughing.

No, the pictures would just have to be burned into your mind as you sit near the grass line. They can't hear you with the wind blustering in your face but their voices carry to you, whooping like schoolkids everytime they successfully catch a wave.

You are utterly and completely spoiled in your view. And possibly a little sad that you don't have anyone to share it with. You walk the beach a little, going down to the water to wave at them, but you quickly return to your little spot at the base of a dune, umbrella rippling but fixed by two adult men's efforts.

It's almost silly how quickly Johnny joins you after a few attempts at riding choppy sea, checking in once you've lit the joint you'd found in their stash along with agency tech. You'd been saving it for a good day, and today seemed like one.

"Hey love," he says, careful not to disturb the sea shells arranged on your beach towel as he steps past them to sit beside you.

You pass him the dutch, holding in the smoke as long as you can before blowing it into the sand dune behind your little picnic spot, far enough away from anyone to witness your hedonism.

"Please don't tell me it's laced," you say through your mouthful of smoke, experienced enough not to cough. Johnny's answer is to take the rolled paper and sip on it, smoke rolling from his nostrils as he places something at your feet.

"We'll find out," he jokes.

You'd watched him retrieve something on the shoreline where he'd set his board and expected him to bring up some trash but when you bend to retrieve it you find a scallop shell, symmetrically ridged and rust-colored.

"A Cat's paw," you say.

"More a kitten's than a lion." Johnny places the joint in your mouth before leaning down to inspect your collection. "What's your favorite?"

You puff carefully, stubbing the rest out in the sand when he shakes his head at your offer for another pass, clearly enraptured but also biding his time to make fun of you–you know him too well.

You go down the line, presenting them like you're showing off fine china. "Well I tried to arrange them alphabetically you see, first by real names next by Latin . . ."

Johnny laughs then, loud and with that Midwestern twang you can taste for how often you've heard it, usually at your expense. You don't let him have your response, leaning out of the non-existent cover of your umbrella to point out each treasure.

"I couldn't find a conch but there's a lace murex. It's a type of sea snail. Those are coquinas. Clams, obviously, but they're color range is amazing here. An old maid’s curl–another sea snail but like a worm? A periwinkle. Turkey's wing. Cerith–"

He's listening to you but barely registering what you're saying, smooth hand gliding up your leg, dipping dangerously close to your thigh.

"I'd really like a wentletrap," you say, trying to be coquettish as you pick each up to place it into the small bag you usually keep your makeup.

"Sure I can't find you a real lion's paw? I can look."

"No. This one is perfect." You lift his offering to the echo of the sun beyond the fast-moving clouds, admiring the knuckles on it, as well as its size. "Nine ridges, aged coloration? Perfect."

"It was made for you" he says, leaning in close. His wetsuit grinds sand into your skin but you follow his movements to bring you together, his sea-soaked hair plastering your cheek as he nuzzles your ear.

"'Time shifted, and the shapes of ordinary things altered beneath her touch'," he says, fumbling against your cheekbone as he fights his own laughter at reciting the words.

"Is that poetry?" You smile up at him, pushing your sunglasses up your nose.

"I do read sometimes," he scoffs at you.

"Are you trying to out-romance Jae?" you ask.

"He wouldn't stand a chance." Johnny rubs his hands in dry sand until they're clean before accepting the Coke you've dug up from the bottom of the cooler.

"I think he's trying to impress you even now," he says, pointing at a speck of dark paddling towards the sandbar.

"Sure," you say, flipping the top off one of the ginger beers you'd brought with you.

Johnny flicks back his wet hair, dropping to the blanket beside you on his elbows. In profile you think he actually looks at peace, head moving slightly when he scans the shoreline and then fixes on the water.

"Say cheese," you say, giving him no warning as you lift the lens of Jaehyun's Singlestroke Leitz in his face and capture him off guard.

"There's no film in it," he gestures with his glass bottle, smugly. "I can put some more in for you if you like."

"That's alright," you sigh. You shift to be closer, drawing patterns on his black-suited shoulders and clearing away flecks of seaweed from his hair and neck.

"Do you think he's okay?"

Johnny doesn't have to ask who you're talking about. The subject of your conversation has been paddling out with the clockwork efficiency of someone practicing by rote rather than enjoying themself. Indeed, he's been quiet all morning–not in his usual way but the kind that makes you wonder if a tiny black cloud will appear over his head and begin to pour rain on him and him alone.

"He'll be fine." He takes a swallow of his soda, looking back at you.

"It's my fault for pushing him," you admit. It sounds false even to your own ears, the reality a little stranger.

That morning had started out much like the one before, changing the bedsheets once you'd woken up and they'd disappeared to take care of their own needs. You knew Johnny was doing a soft check-in with the police and the local news in Fort Myers under the guise of delivery service but Jaehyun had disappeared entirely–only showing up hours later with a beaten-down Vanagon and surfboards strapped to the top.

You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him, not directly. He'd walked into your aborted attempt to make sandwiches for your scheduled day trip, folded over the kitchen island as Johnny took you from behind, not even bothering to remove your swimsuit but pushing it to the side as an afterthought. Your feet were barely touching the floor as he nailed you so thoroughly you could still feel the pain from your stomach hitting the counter's edge.

You'd made eye contact mid-moan and had immediately clocked that something was wrong–confirming the nagging suspicion that had been haunting you for the past few days as he made a point to avoid any sexual activity that wasn't just you and him making love alone early in the morning as Johnny slept.

And as before, he didn't come inside you.

Not that you had a problem with that. You'd lost count on the third day of just exactly how many times you'd been used–in constant discomfort every time you went to use the toilet and found gobs of sperm in the bowl or dripping down your thighs.

You were, and continued to be, thoroughly fucked.

After one husband had finished inside you, you'd picked yourself up from your debasement and followed Jaehyun into the bedroom, hearing the shower turn on behind a closed and locked door. Something was amiss, and you didn't have the cunning to understand it with days of being stuffed and basted like a Thanksgiving turkey.

"I don't understand what he's so afraid of. You didn't say anything, did you?"

Johnny shrugs. "He knows I don't care."

"You punched him," you say. "I'd say that's far from caring."

Johnny sits up, grabbing you into an aggressive hug so tight you're squirming in his slippery, sandy hold.

"Are you done being a brat?" He asks, dripping water on your sunglasses. You finally surrender to the fact that he's got you locked, and change course.

"No." You bat your eyelashes at him, leaning in to bite at his mouth. "What are you going to do about it?"

He jerks back, but doesn't let you go. "I see."

Your stomach stays somewhere near the ground as you're suddenly lifted up, Johnny lurching like a drunk in the sand as he finds his footing and then sets off into a run with you screaming and holding on for dear life.

"Don't you dare throw me in–" you shriek, already holding your cast and bottle above your head as Johnny sprints past his board planted in the sand and into the surf. Saltwater splatters your tongue and makes you cough, unable to keep from laughing at the man carrying you, so winded you can feel him breathing like a racehorse.

You're dipped dangerously close to the water as he wades out, swaying with each crash of a wave around his hips. You climb up his body like a treed raccoon, thankful you hadn’t been wearing anything but your swimsuit as your toes hit the water.

"Hey asshole," Johnny yells to the now-closer speck past the sandbar break line. "Should we see if she floats?"

"He can't hear you." You smack him with a soft left hook, earning a dunk into the seafoam that has you screeching until you realize you're barely submerged, wave pulling out below your knees when he helps you stand on your own.

"You know I got you," he says, holding up your right arm. "Now you really look like her."

"Who?" you ask.

"’Ornate-throned immortal Aphrodite, wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, I entreat you: do not overpower my heart, mistress, with ache and anguish, but come here . . .’"

You stare at him, mystified. "Did you learn all this poetry for a cover?"

"Does it matter?" Johnny asks. "You're my goddess of love."

You push him, cackling as he makes no effort to fight you, falling on his ass and submerging. He drifts past you with the next wave and you fight to find your own footing in the shifting sand, wincing in displeasure at the feeling of flotsam on your bare legs, brought back from the tideline.

Instinct turns you to face a wall of water you hadn’t been watching for, stumbling back and falling. You're struck in the face by green-blue, arms raised like you’re surrendering before you’re hoisted up by a prince dragging his mount to shore.

Jaehyun drops you on the wet white sand next to Johnny, who is rendered useless watching you scramble backwards crab-like when the next edge of a wave crawls up your thighs.

"I don’t think you can save the cast," Jaehyun says, pulling his board onto the beach and disentangling from the leg strap.

"I'm sorry," you say. Jaehyun hits the beach like lead weight on your right side to check it, finding it soaked through. You dump out the flooded remnants of your drink into the surf, enthusiasm crushed.

"You need to dry this when we get back," he says, inspecting the damage. "We should have wrapped it."

"It’s just plaster. Doc said I could take it off whenever I wanted," you counter. "What's wrong?"

He looks across you at Johnny, who's already stripped down half-dressed in his rashguard, unconcerned by the water lapping occasionally over his long legs.

"Nothing." Jaehyun helps you up.

"Thank you for saving me," you say, leaning against him. He's usually so warm but right now it's like you're waiting for him to unfreeze. "Can we go out on the water together?"

He hesitates. You keep your eyes planted on his feet, pouting in your own special way. The water is getting colder without the sun to warm it but the breeze is even more frigid and you long to feel the push and pull of the ocean with him by your side.

"Alright," he says. "How far?"

"As far as we can go without drowning," you answer.

"Not far then."

Jaehyun gets up as you discard your wet cover-up to drag across the tidemark, Johnny watching you carefully.

"You going out again?" It's a question for you both, you realize as Jaehyun drags his borrowed board to the waterline, tying you to the heavy thing by the ankle cord. You check your swimsuit to make sure you’re not falling out of it before tossing your sunglasses into his lap.

"Sink or swim," you say. "I hear only good girls sink."

You're glad you have the man beside you to help you onto the board but also to navigate the blood-warm swells a better surfer would find easy. You begin paddling, forgetting all advice and letting your right arm fall into the water and soak.

Jaehyun gives you a look from your side but doesn't argue, preoccupied with keeping you afloat. He takes you as far as he can, holding you tight as the waves break over his face and lift him from the sand when he can still touch bottom.

The same swell washes over your board, and if it wasn't for him holding on you'd be swept back to shore. You splutter but find your bearings, watching the next wave break white ahead of you.

"Farther?" you ask, letting him lead.

His smile is etched in the water running down his face, caught in the lines that only appear when he's content.

"As far as you want to go."

"Out," you say, mouth full of salt. "Where no one can hear us."

It's a long and difficult process, with swells that never reach a crest but are big enough to toss you back a few feet–until you feel like you're fighting against the entirety of the Atlantic Ocean for a place to breathe. Jaehyun guides you, telling you when to duck and dive under or ride over that familiar white line.

And suddenly, almost surprisingly, you're past it. The water breathes beneath you but she doesn't try to pull you under, and you're left facing the unbroken horizon of gray clouds and dark sea, a vast emptiness to put all your thoughts into, with only the ambient noise of water against water to break your mesmer.

Jaehyun keeps carrying you out, hand on your board, floating around and beneath you.

"It feels like heaven," you say, blinking against the spray.

"Just wait," he says.

"Aren't you tired?" you ask, lifting yourself up and finding your balance.

"Yeah," he admits, before dropping below the surface. You watch in horror, exhaling in relief when he comes back up. He has the audacity to laugh at you as he slicks his hair back one-handed, smiling goofily.

“Did I scare you?” he asks, paddling.

“Yeah,” you say, and you mean it. "Please stay with me."

"I'm not–" he begins, trailing off when he sees your miserable expression.

"Everything will be okay," he assures you, grasping for your hand.

In the silence that follows between you, marked only by the rhythmic breathing of the ocean beneath you, a conversation seems to take place. There'd been many times you'd felt the rush of anxiety over his safety but seeing it reflected over the past months has underscored how little you were prepared to lose him, or Johnny, or anyone.

You'd operated so long under the falsehood that you were invulnerable. Now in the face of the vast your lives feel like just a speck that you must fight tooth-and-nail to hold onto.

You look over your shoulder towards the shoreline, seeing only more emptiness. Your red and white beach umbrella may as well be a pink blur this far out, unmanned. You're regretting the kind of verve that would make you go out into the sea while the evening falls short around you–a long day but not long enough for how the light is receding, hotel lights blinking on in the distance.

"I think we should go back," you say.

He shakes his head, splattering you with water. "Wait."

"Alright." You reach out to grab his thick arm through a layer of nylon and bring it onto your board, leaning away from his weight as he holds onto it.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," you say, relaxing against the smooth surface. The weed is still fogging your brain, making you think too much about the possibility of sharks or jellyfish or any other number of underwater creatures. You're not worried for yourself but the man beside you, drenched but in his element as he watches the waves come in quietly.

"I love you," you say, resting your cheek against the slick surface.

He looks up at you, revealing white teeth over the lap of the water. "Wait."

You can't argue with him–not when the first golden rays break through the cloud line and turn the Gulf waters black. You'd watched the sun rise over the Atlantic a thousand times but this is something different. Gold becomes orange becomes red. Only the light touches you–not the warmth–but you feel embraced.

Jaehyun holds your hand tightly, resting beside you and letting your bodies and the board rise and dip with the wake from ships so far off they may as well not exist, profiled in a sunset only you are party to.

"See?" He says, eyes half-lidded as he bobs in the water.

"I see," you say. You're not looking at the skyline but the man beside you, and his pale fingers gripping the board.

"I need you to get on," you whisper-shout over the waves. You feel colder than you have since leaving the shore, realizing now how useless a layer of synthetic material is against the elements. For the first time in too long you feel a thread of panic sink into your heart, knowing you aren’t strong enough to lift him on the board even if you tried.

"Need help?"

You turn away from the blinding sun cut large against the sea and find another savior. Johnny paddles towards you, rolling off his board on his approach.

"Jae," he says, swimming to your side. "Get on mine."

A second wind seems to blow through you all–adrenaline kicking in as you realize how deeply fatigued Jaehyun must be when the other one pulls him away from your board and leads him to his own. Shame fills you as you watch Johnny fight to help him across the white float in the growing darkness.

"Got you," Johnny says, voice comforting even at a distance. You wait and watch him take his place half-on his own life raft.

"I'm sorry," you say, finally catching his eye as he turns the entirety of the board and Jaehyun's limp form back.

"No," he shakes his head, offering you that unflagging smile over his shoulder as he kicks off. "Just follow me."

You paddle in a semicircle until your board faces his wake–towards the dwindling light of the shore and the sandbreak between you and it, water even darker now as it rises before you, cutting off your view.

You pull your arms back on the board to keep from colliding as another wave swells in front of you, but it’s only made larger by the rush back. When you hit that point you don't bother to stand or rise up on the back of the board, you just dive into the deep, still kicking, nose filled with a gush of stinging wet. You clutch the epoxy-coated foam and fiberglass beneath you, terrified of losing it.

You’re rolled but you hang on, feeling more alive than ever as you break free of the surf and catch sight of the two figures that are your lifeline. For a moment the errant thought that you could just drift away and it would be alright tugs at your mind, that darkness at your back much easier than whatever lies before you.

But you resist it, and follow, until you're at the shore scraped by sand and exhaustion, carrying your own weight and the surfboard past the tug of the waves. You collapse into the dry sand far beyond the reflection of the wet sand, next to the two people keeping you grounded to this existence.

Your knee feels alright, despite the effort. Maybe your physical therapist will give you a pat on the back for your efforts, you think.

You tuck yourself in closer to Johnny, Jaehyun between you, as you all recuperate from that last push through the pull of a receding tide.

"It's beautiful," you say, watching the final edge of the red disc of the sun disappear into the water, the clouds announcing her wake.

"Yeah," Jaehyun says, just as enraptured. If he's upset about almost drowning a hundred yards out he doesn't show it, head resting against yours. “I love you, too.”

"I'm not carrying you both back," Johnny says. "Or these boards."

You look past Jaehyun at him, smiling. "I've got you."

Jaehyun sleeps in the back of the Volkswagen, mouth hanging slightly open as you drive the long distance to another destination down the coast, fully absorbed into your new cover now that it's clear the heat isn't going to blow south with you.

The rain hasn't followed you either but the night air rushing through half-open windows is cool and dank. Tall mangroves enclose you on either side, the peaty smell of swamp permeating the entire vehicle.

Even with the gap between your seats you manage to lean against Johnny's side, your hand roving over his thigh and stroking his leg muscles through his shorts. You’d dozed for the first half of the drive but you’re wide awake now, eyes large as you stare at his profile in the dim light of the console.

"You trying to crash this ride, babydoll?" he asks under his breath, not moving you away from him.

"Please do it for me," you pout, nuzzling against his neck and shirt collar. "You know he can't say no to you."

"What makes you think I want to make him do anything?" Johnny asks, tone dangerous. You give him a sultry look as he sneaks a glance from the highway, earning a quiet chuckle.

"I thought it could be like a gift from the both of us. Like Minsk."

His eyebrows fly up to his forehead at the reminder of one of your truly debauched experiences, a sly look painting his features. "Valentine's Day?"

"Mmmm," you murmur, nibbling at his ear beneath his newly dyed-dark hair. "It's kind of a special occasion, isn't it?"

"I don't know," he says. "Might need to get him comfortable with it."

"I'm not waiting for a positive pregnancy test," you say. "You know he's just holding back out of respect for you."

"Good," Johnny states. You slap him on the arm, huffing as you lean back.

"Please, baby, I'll do anything you want," you beg.

"You already do everything I want, don't you, good girl?" The way he says it, purr barely louder than the rattling engine, has you grinding your legs together under your sundress.

"Yes, sir," you say, leaning down to rest your head on his flexing thigh and knead at his leg as he decelerates. You smooth your fingertips closer to his crotch, pleased to feel him rustle under you as he adjusts himself. "Please?"

"Show me how much you want it, then," he says, relaxing back in his seat. "You don't mind a little ocean in your mouth, do you?"

"If there's any sand–"

"Shh," he says, flicking the knob up on the radio so the music is a little louder as you unbuckle his belt, your knees hitting the hard floor of the vehicle as Spandau Ballet's "True" plays. "Wouldn’t want to wake him up before your little game."

You're delighted to find him half-hard and bare under his shorts, having watched hungrily as he stripped out of his swimsuit earlier. He's a little paler where the sun hasn't hit but he's warm and bronze and delightfully musky.

"Concentrate on the road," you scold back, wrapping your hand around the thick base of his cock where it's flopped against his unzipped shorts. He lifts his arm higher to let you drop your head down into his lap, tasting him experimentally before wrapping your mouth around him.

It's not often you can fit him whole in your mouth and the blood is quickly surging into his erection so you make quick work to swallow him, not minding the sharp tang of seawater on his skin with how hot and good he feels against your tongue.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes as you begin to bob, sucking him hard until he's nudging the back of your throat. "Such a good girl."

His abdomen flexes against the top of your head, right leg shifting under the pressure of your upper body as he moves his foot to the accelerator, the other on the clutch as he shifts into a higher gear.

"Careful," he says when your teeth graze him and you fight the urge to tease him, relaxing your jaw and letting him glide over the flat of your tongue until you're gagging on his thick head. You feel his hand come to rest off the shift stick to hold you down gently, a rumble coming out of him at the feeling of your drool slipping down his shaft between his legs.

"Fuck you take me so well," Johnny urges, flexing in his seat to choke you more. "You miss swallowing me, baby?"

You pull back for a moment to show him the tears running down your cheeks as you pump him slowly, capturing his gaze for a moment to give him a nod before he looks back up at the highway.

"You better get back to it or I'll pull over this car and fuck you on the side of the highway for everyone to see," he says, stroking your head as you moan around his length, easing back into taking him down your throat.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you–oh fuck–" Johnny's next words are caught inside him as you drop to bury your nose in the thick hair at the base of his cock, slipping your hand deeper into his pants to rub your saliva into his hot scrotum. You can't handle the choke for long so you alternate with your cheeks hollowing around half his length, the other encased in your fist pumping carefully.

"Oh shit, like that," he guides, hand flexing in your hair but not forcing you as he twitches against the roof of your mouth. You're no longer worried about the noises you're making, humming your own pleasure into each familiar vein pressed into your tastebuds.

"You gonna come in my mouth, baby?" you ask, popping off his tip with a loud suck and chasing drops of spit down to his balls. You give him a few careful licks before spitting out a few grains of grit.

"It's just a little sand," he laughs, moving under you. "You're such a–"

You don't let him finish, pushing your hand down to his taint to press the base of his cock as you take him much less gently. He has to fight to keep from flooring it, the engine revving and the vehicle swerving for an instant as he focuses on driving while you fuck him with your mouth.

"Don't stop, just right," he guides, gripping the back of your head until you're making thick garbled noises with each drive down onto his cock. You know he's close when he begins to stiffen, tension stuttering his hips and making him unconsciously hold you down longer.

You moan in invitation, pushing him harder to hit the back of your throat until you feel the first spurts of hot cum and swallow quickly, gripping his shaft and pumping him to finish on your tongue where you can suck him clean until he's pulling you off of him, oversensitized.

You sit back in your passenger seat as he tucks himself in, not bothering to close his pants or belt as he downshifts, slowing down to pull off the highway.

"The Keys exit was ten minutes ago," Jaehyun says from the back seat, smirking in the rearview mirror back at Johnny as you turn to look up at him sheepishly. He blinks at you, lips wet from licking them for what you suspect is the hundredth time.

"And yet you waited to tell me," Johnny shoots back.

There's no answer except a low grunt, Jaehyun's hand moving under his swim trunks.

"Why don't you be a good girl and take care of him while I circle back," he suggests to you. You shrug, getting into the back to sit beside Jaehyun. His eyes are bleary but bright with desire, pulling you into his sweatshirt and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"How are you, handsome?" You ask, leaning into him as you round the curve to return the way you came from. "You want me to take care of you too?"

There's a flash of something mysterious on his face that disappears as you stroke his wild, salt-styled hair. He purrs as you neaten his sideburns, fingers brushing against his skull.

"Yeah," he says. "But let's wait until we get back to get crazy."

"Why–?" you begin to ask, captured in a hot kiss that has his tongue tangling with your own. Just as suddenly Jaehyun is spitting something out.

"Sand," he sighs.

There's very few opportunities to get either of your husbands riled enough to threaten real violence. You're pretty sure hitting them with a high-powered garden hose spray and then leaving them naked and shivering in the crabgrass while you sprint to lock them outside of your remote beach cabin is grounds for it.

The risk is worth the reward of getting sole access to the single, tiny shower–your few minutes headstart providing you with uninterrupted peace. You'd washed your arm clean of the gross funk of the cast you'd cut off of you in a rest stop bathroom but you felt better after scrubbing at it with a loofah until your skin burns.

It's only a matter of time before they come for you.

You stay calm as you hear the door creak, rinsing the suds from your body as you peer through the pebbled glass door at the pale shadow occupying the bathroom entry.

"Don't be mad. It's my first shower in months," you plead, poking your head out when you don't get an answer. You get a faceful of cold as Jaehyun ignores your protests to crowd you in, sighing the moment hot water sluices over his goose-flesh-riddled body.

"How did you get in?" You tease, running your hands over his broad shoulders to massage them back into life.

"Johnny's taking care of the lock situation right now," he says. "You enjoying being a brat?"

"Yes," you say, taking advantage of the close quarters to press to his front and kissing his collarbone up to his jaw. "But I'd enjoy spoiling you, more."

Jaehyun looks at you incredulously but wraps around your slick body, grabbing your ass to press you tighter to him. You're a little surprised at how quickly his blood flow is returning, half-hard already against your torso.

"I had this idea–" you begin, right as the door slams open and you are crowded in by another chilled, muscled body.

"Times up," Johnny says through chattering teeth. "If you don't move your ass I will move it for you."

"There's not enough room," you protest, unable to even turn around, wedged between them. You're forced out so the much bigger man can squeeze into the spray, slipping on the wet floor and snatching a towel quickly before the air-conditioning can refrigerate you, too.

"I didn't even get a chance to shave my legs," you whine.

"Too bad you had to be a bitch, then," Johnny says, followed by an immediate "ow" as Jaehyun elbows him. "All over a little sand."

"Yeah well you've never had to clean it up from every fucking surface of a hotel room when people let their kids come back straight from the beach covered in it," you say.

"Can't be worse than blood," Jaehyun answers pensively, voice echoing from where he's leaning against the shower wall.

You start your hair and skincare routine with minimal effort, much more preoccupied with peering over at whatever is going on in the shower. Even with the textured glass and steam your heart is beating a little faster at the sight of them in there together, wishing you could have stayed in and found an excuse to check a little more thoroughly for cleanliness.

Johnny seems to notice because he peers over the stall, laughing at your dazed expression.

"Enjoying the view?" he asks.

"It would be nicer if I could be part of it," you answer automatically, kicking yourself internally when they both laugh.

Johnny turns the water pressure down a bit, angling the shower head so he can open the door wider without flooding the small bathroom. Once the steam has cleared your breath catches in your throat as you see he's got his hand wrapped around Jaehyun's cock, lathering it in soap as the younger man leans against the tile, eyes half-open and boring into you.

"Fuck me," you breathe, gripping your toothbrush like you're gonna snap it.

"Told you she was begging for it," Johnny says, leaning in to brush a kiss against Jaehyun's temple as he watches you from the corner of his eye, fist slowly pumping. "Should we give her what she wants?"

Jaehyun nods, mouth parted as he relaxes into the touch. Johnny angles him back and takes his tongue with zero resistance, his other hand tangling in his wet hair.

You have to prop yourself against the counter, heat returning to your skin as you watch Jaehyun try to return the favor only for Johnny to press his arm to the wall, kissing him deeper. The humidity in the room seems to thicken as moisture runs down Jaehyun's angled neck, sweat and steam dripping from his face that Johnny follows to lick a path down to his shoulder.

It was incredibly rare for them to show each other attention–heaven knew it had taken a lot to even get them to break the barrier of discussing their sexual history with you. It wasn't for lack of love, but that they'd both been forced to compartmentalize feelings as partners and best friends for so long, neither could approach it too seriously–especially Johnny.

Unfortunately you'd pushed a little too hard for details and Johnny had clocked your curiosity. To say he was delighted at having a new way to make you squirm was an understatement.

And, oh, are you squirming–at this moment under Jaehyun's gaze as he watches you voyeur. Breakthrough moments of pleasure ripple through him, buffered by the occasional huffing laugh or shy turn of his head.

Johnny suds both of their bodies with a little of the air of a video vixen in a carwash scene, bubbles dripping on his tan chest and forming rivulets down his powerful legs. He's hard enough to stand erect, pressed against Jaehyun's thigh as he cleans him, too.

"She wants to do Minsk again," Johnny says conspiratorially, passing the soap bar over Jaehyun's heaving chest. "You down?"

"Oh really." Jaehyun laughs breathlessly, making a funny noise when Johnny's touch finds itself between his legs again.

"Like for like, huh?" he chokes out.

"Yeah," you say, your voice startling you a bit as you realize you're still there. "That's what I meant by spoiling you."

"She was really descriptive," Johnny winks at you, rinsing off and pulling Jaehyun into the spray. "I think the words she used were 'milk him dry'."

"Fuck . . ." The word 'off' dies on your lips as Johnny sinks to his knees.

Jaehyun splutters water from where he's rinsing his hair, eyes flying open as Johnny's large hands splay on his hips–thumbs digging into the muscled "v" of his lower abdomen. You swallow a mouthful of saliva as he takes Jaehyun's cock in his mouth, water sluicing down his chin.

You forget about everything including space or waterlogged floor rugs as you join them, leaving the door open and your towel behind as you press against Jaehyun's side and kiss him desperately.

The moans in your mouth and the brush of Johnny's wet hair against your legs have you dissolving, and you finally let Jaehyun go with his swollen lip pulled between your teeth.

"As much as I like this angle, can we take this to the bedroom?" you ask, more to Johnny than the man he's currently blowing.

Johnny doesn't stop but he does reach a hand up to grip your ass playfully, smacking it.

"You know the rules," he says after pulling off with a loud pop, hand working in that way you know is exactly what Jaehyun likes–manhandling him a bit as his hips stutter.

"I didn't know we were starting in the car," you pout. "At least let me help you?"

Johnny shakes his head, pinching you while returning his attention to Jaehyun.

"Is it good?" you ask, painting shapes in the water collecting on Jaehyun's chest. You tweak one of his nipples, loving how trapped he is between you that he can't flinch away as he usually does.

"Yeah. Fuck." His voice cracks. Johnny is alternating between full strokes of his fist and sucking the red tip deep into his mouth, nostrils flaring as he breathes through the slow rivulets of warm water.

You help him by turning the flow down to a trickle, perhaps with a little messaging to make it quick before everyone gets cold.

"Come for us, baby," you whisper, sucking on the hard peak of his nipple while playing with the other. "I want to taste you, next."

Jaehyun's breathing changes, his hand splayed against the wall as you bring him to a peak between you. Johnny spits out at the very last moment, letting you glimpse the beautiful twitch of Jaehyun's cock as he pulls thick white ropes to mingle with the water pouring down the drain.

"You were supposed to swallow," you say, grabbing Johnny's face playfully as he stands up. He leans down and kisses you, letting you taste what little cum is in his mouth before sharing the rest with Jaehyun. Your husband is in a trance, staring at the dripping shower head as he comes down.

"That was . . . good," Jaehyun says, holding you as you climb up him.

"That was just the beginning," you say, tugging him towards the bedroom.

You're surprised to find that the emergency candles for storm outages and generator conservation are lit around the shuttered room, a nice callback to when you'd had to make do in a Belarusian penthouse with a bottle of Polish vodka and an assortment of ties.

By the looks of it Johnny's prepared something a little more involved, leather-cuff manacles attached to the center post of the metal bed frame.

Lock situation, indeed.

"Another thing you planned on?" You ask, turning to where Johnny is drying his hair with a fresh towel.

"Thought they might come in handy," he says, flashing his teeth in the flickering light. There's other paraphernalia on the bedside table that you recognize from your more experimental sessions. It wasn't often Jaehyun was part of them, almost never the subject, and just the thought of him whining and pleading under you again has moisture slipping down your thighs.

"First things first," Johnny says, pushing you back on the stripped-down bed. He grabs you around the neck to push you back, mouth chasing yours.

Jaehyun joins you–you think perhaps to take his position but you suddenly find yourself caught between them both, lips and tongue on your face and neck as each takes an arm.

"Wait–what–" you protest weakly, forced down by two powerful bodies as your hands are pulled above your head. "Aren't we . . . "

"Surprised, babydoll?" Johnny asks, checking you're secured.

You don't fight it but your breath does catch as you find yourself pinned, the lambswool lining of the cuffs holding you as softly as the men on either side of you.

"Are you comfortable–" Jaehyun asks.

"None of that here, she'll tell you if she's not. Won't you, Y/N?"

You nod at Johnny, actively counting out inhalations. You’re ready, you tell yourself–the only variable that's changed is that he's put you in the position of least control. Or most, if you could trust him to guide you both.

Jaehyun sits down beside you, brushing damp hair from your forehead.

"You imagine something else happening, baby?”

You look at Johnny to find the answer but he shakes his head, frowning slightly.

"I just didn't want you to hold back with me," you say, adjusting into the pillows. "I wanted us to take care of you."

"You don't have to worry your pretty little head about that," Johnny says, leaning forward to stroke your mouth with his thumb. "This is so you can keep your hands to yourself."

His light touch moves down your body slowly, making you arc a little off the bed. When he reaches your thigh he pulls you open, roughly, exposing your core already glistening with arousal.

"Little slut gets off more to watching us than to anything we could do to her. Don't you?" Johnny asks. To make his point he takes his place behind Jaehyun on the bed, biting his shoulder as his hand works down his defined chest, fingers enmeshing with the thin layer of his pubic hair.

"Did you know she wanted us to both fuck you at the same time?" Johnny nibbles at Jaehyun's reddened ear, lower lip dragging against the shell. "Said she wanted me to pin you down so she could finally get you to come inside her."

"Yeah?" Jaehyun asks, stare steady on you as you press your legs together.

"Only if you wanted it," you say, guilty. "I just . . . I thought you'd be more comfortable."

"If it wasn't a choice?" Jaehyun laughs, palming his half-hard cock through his towel until Johnny's hand replaces his, his mouth latching to his thick neck.

"Please," you say, stomach dipping, watching Johnny mark him the way you'd hoped to do yourself. "I just want you to fuck me like I'm not fragile anymore."

"Maybe I kind of like you not having much say in the matter," Jaehyun teases, smiling coldly. He runs a hand over Johnny's head to pull him off, leaning far forward to lick the inside of your leg–right over the path of your femoral artery.

"Oh," you cry out as he bites you, sucking a blister into your sensitive skin. Like for like.

You'd discovered it was easier to get them to play with each other if you were the proxy–if you did something to one, they had to do it to the other.

It had worked well when you were in charge, Johnny following your lead with Jaehyun at his mercy, but this was something entirely different. You know your husbands were competitive but before it had been exploratory, sweet.

By the look of concentration on Johnny's face as Jaehyun licks at the sweat beading on your upper thigh, you're going to be much more of a spectator.

Flattened as Jaehyun is over you affords you a view of Johnny running his hand in reassuring circles over his wide back.

"Good," Johnny says. "Now fuck her with your tongue."

"Rules." You can't help but blurt out. Johnny rolls his eyes but it's Jaehyun that speaks.

"Quiet, both of you," he says, biting at you again, a little less nicely. You whimper as he licks up to your cunt, avoiding any sustained touch in favor of teasing you with rough swipes of his tongue.

You make eye contact with Johnny as he pulls the towel off Jaehyun, tossing it out of the way.

He leans down to let a dribble of spit fall past where Jaehyun's back arches, hands spreading his cheeks and folding him forward a little so you can watch him lower his head and begin to work at Jaehyun's rim in a way that has you crying out as Jaehyun follows the other man's lead.

It's sloppy and insistent, tongue-tip broaching your entrance and chin pressed into you as you both melt into the sheets. Jaehyun groans and slips a finger inside you alongside his tongue while you watch Johnny do the same to him.

The feeling inside you is electric, like a current being passed between you that has both of you writhing into the bed. You wish you could reach out and run your hands through Jaehyun's hair, feel his lips on yours as he fucks you with his hand, but seeing him like this is almost as much reward.

Jaehyun adds another finger, hooking hard into your g-spot like a man on a mission. It comes at the cost of him losing focus as Johnny opens him up in a similar fashion, his head coming to rest against your hip.

"Please don't stop," you beg, seeking more but held down and unable to control the press of his knuckles into your cunt with each thrust. You're tightening already around his touch, spurred on by meeting his gaze and realizing he's silently laughing at you.

"So eager," Johnny says, wiping his mouth against his arm. "Relax babygirl, he's gonna break my fingers."

"I think I'm gonna come," you admit, skin itching hot.

"Not yet," Jaehyun says, abruptly sitting up while you teeter on the edge. "Not until I'm inside of you. Right?"

You don't have time to enjoy the thought. He slowly pulls his fingers out, smearing sticky wetness over your thigh. "No coming yet."

"Fuck the rules," you say. Your body is aching for completion, nerves vibrating as you wait for a push. "I don't need foreplay."

"Too bad," Jaehyun says. He leans down over you to kiss your cheek, avoiding your attempt to meet his mouth. "I do."

You're not sure what's gotten into him but Johnny matches his intensity, slipping away from the bed to grab something from the bedside table.

"We'll just give her a taste, yeah?" He says, voice low. "It's been awhile."

"Yeah," Jaehyun echoes, cock dangerously near your face as he checks your cuffs, propping the pillows so you're forced on your side. Johnny's hand hooks over your knee, gently angling you into the bed as something cold and slick teases your own rim.

Your mouth falls open in a soft cry as Johnny pushes the plug in partway, kneading your ass with an engulfing hand to remind you to stop resisting.

"Careful not to make her come," Jaehyun warns but it's like he's speaking to you from underwater miles away as you let your body accept the pressure of the rubber, the sensation heightened by Johnny's hand on your waist.

Once you've let the tension slip away he pushes deeper, stretching you out in the way that feels complete even if your cunt wants to be filled just the same. You cry out pathetically, earning strokes that have you quickly rocketing back towards the peak.

"Good girl, take it," Johnny purrs over you, kissing your shoulder, and that's all you need as you rut into the bed and break–not all the way when the motion stops with the plug fully seated but just enough to have you curling in on yourself in half-realized pleasure.

"Look," Jaehyun says, angling your head so they can both get a better look at your wrecked face and the tears threatening to leak from your eyelids.

"I've never gotten her off that way," Johnny says, almost admiringly. "Guess it's your turn."

"You did that on purpose," Jaehyun says but he's ignored as Johnny circles the bed, setting a bottle of lube down on the opposite nightstand.

"You brought two of those," Jaehyun sighs.

"Well yeah, of course. Different sizes." He chuckles, placing a knee beside his as he takes his place behind him, shoving Jaehyun’s closer to you. "What's the problem? Getting flashbacks to prep school?"

"Fuck off," Jaehyun says under his breath, but it’s an empty threat as his fingers clutch at the bed frame beside your head.

You can't see much but you watch his erection dip in front of your nose, abdomen buckling as he takes whatever Johnny is giving him.

"Good boy," Johnny says tenderly, arm flexing as he concentrates on sinking the toy in deeper. Jaehyun's lower body begins to move of his own accord, pre-cum dripping tip teasing your ready and willing mouth.

The sounds are obscene as Jaehyun grunts and gasps, rutting shallowly into you, Johnny mirroring his movements. You watch as he envelopes him from behind, abandoning his efforts with the plug to force the smaller man's legs together to fuck between them, rosy-brown cockhead sliding in and out under his tight scrotum.

"You going to take all of me?" Johnny asks, and you know it's not reserved for the man currently trapped between you. You can't answer with your tongue tight against the bottom of Jaehyun's velvety soft length, Johnny's hand guiding you after a bit to mouth at his own head and Jaehyun's balls.

"Would you both come inside me?" you ask when you're able to pull away, licking impatiently at whatever you can. Jaehyun stills, and it takes a few moments for Johnny to follow, as absorbed as he is in fucking his thighs and your mouth at the same time.

"Is that all you want?" Jaehyun asks, tiredly.

You realize it’s aimed at you, errant drops of water splashing on your shoulder as his wet head dips down.

“Do you?” you ask, sniffling slightly.

“Sure,” he says. His hand buries itself in your hair, flexing gently. “I’m doing this for you, right?”

You don’t have words for the emotions bubbling up inside you, vulnerability taking hold.

“No,” you shake your head, weakly. “Not like this . . ."

“Isn’t it?” he asks, and there it is again–the feeling like you’re a million miles away.

"You're really killing the vibe, man," Johnny says.

Jaehyun mutters something indecipherable that has Johnny immediately laughing so hard he's off the bed and on the floor.

"I think we should stop,” you say.

"No shit," Jaehyun says, collapsing onto the mattress beside you. Now that you can see him in the candlelight you’re a front row witness to what his general aura had indicated–a distant kind of sadness you can't put your finger on but that wrenches you all the same.

"What's wrong?" you ask, unsurprised by Jaehyun's lack of response as the gears turn. Johnny leans over the edge of the bed from the floor, hand patting Jaehyun's leg at a safe distance from his awkward erection. Jaehyun pulls a pillow into his lap self-consciously.

"You wanted a romantic getaway, not amateur porn. Got it." Johnny looks almost apologetic, despite the crooked grin on his mouth. "I mean we are supposed to be . . . You know." He pokes you in the belly button so suddenly you jerk away.

"Oh," you say, feeling even more obscenely guilty by the fact that you're tied up with four inches of silicone up your ass. "Right."

"Is that why you're not into it?" you ask, looking up at your husband through sweaty strands of hair. He tucks them behind your ear, deliberating on what to say.

Jaehyun's mouth disappears into a thin line. "I was hoping you'd quit the act."

"What?" You ask, awareness creeping in. It's almost good enough, but the problem is that even if you're one of the most skilled liars in your craft, he's the last person on Earth who you could use it on.

"Don't you have something to tell me?" he asks with the same tone as your father would use when you'd come home past curfew as a child, or when you'd broken something and attempted to hide it.

You shake your head, slowly.

"I'm not pregnant . . ." you say.

"Yes, and," he says, eyes narrowed. "What else?"

The absurdity of the conversation has you reeling.

"Why are you asking me if you already know," you bite back.

"Game's over," Jaehyun says abruptly, moving to roll off the bed. Johnny stops him with a firmer grip on his calf.

"Where's the fun in that?" There's a small hint of threat in Johnny's voice that has Jaehyun back against the headboard, meeting his glare.

You watch something pass between them, invisible to you in the way all that shared history sometimes caged you out. It makes you feel a little raw, like you're being exposed in a way that goes beyond anything in your current position.

"Okay," you exhale deeply. "Let me out and we can have a conversation about this."

Jaehyun breaks eye contact with Johnny to look down at you, face expressionless. "No."

"Yellow," you say, looking to Johnny for help.

"This isn't a scene," he says with a shrug. "You know how to get out of a real pair faster than I could find the key, anyway."

You sigh and look up at the ceiling, accepting the fact that your own attempt at deflection has come back to bite you.

"You're really gonna make me explain like this?"

"I'm just enjoying how difficult this is for you," Johnny muses. "What about you, Jae? Feeling a little verklempt?"

"Yeah," he says. "Knowing my wife lies to my face–what did you call it?–really kills my vibe."

"I didn't–" you stop yourself. Lies of omission were still dishonesty, even in your line of work.

"I didn't say anything because I knew you'd be upset," you correct. "I just needed time to know how to tell you."

Johnny doesn't have to speak for you to consider slipping out of your bonds to take the self-satisfied look off his face. He props himself up with his chin against his fist, waiting for you to admit it and growing continuously more humored when it's clear you can't.

"I thought it would be fun to pretend like we could . . . That I didn't have the . . ." For the first time in this digression you actually feel embarrassed.

"You know you can just tell us you have a little kink without keeping secrets, darling," Johnny says. "I think you owe us an apology."

"I'm not apologizing for using birth control," you say.

"You know that’s not it," Jaehyun manages.

"You're the one who made me promise that I would never under any circumstances ever get that thing. And then I weighed the options and made a decision without you," you continue, feeling a little emboldened. "And obviously you went behind my back and found out before I was comfortable enough to tell you."

Johnny laughs, harshly. "You're the smartest woman I know but you can be so dumb sometimes, Y/N."

"So how did you find out?" You ignore Johnny, watching Jaehyun's profile as he plays with his fingers absently.

He glances at you sideways, distracted by your bare shoulder and attempting to smooth the goosebumps on your arms. You can tell now he's not angry or sad as much as conflicted.

"Does it matter?" he asks.

"Okay, then when?"

You don't miss the look between him and Johnny.

"I let him know," Johnny says abruptly, standing up. "After the first night back in the saddle."

You stare at him, mouth agape.

"Someone told me it wasn't nice to keep secrets like that," he says with a wink. "Still funny, though."

"How . . . ?"

Johnny flops down on top of you, rolling you under him. You shimmy to escape with little result, hyper aware of each point of contact with how insanely ready your body is regardless of the circumstances. He’s hot and solid against you but softer than before, looking at you with unguarded affection and amusement.

"You're gonna want to get your IUD string trimmed," he says, holding you still long enough to kiss your nose.

You groan, realizing your mistake.

"Alright. You're right. I'm an idiot."

"Only when you're being stubborn." He trails his lips down to yours, comforting you with a few pecks. "Your dedication to the whole bit was endearing."

"Will you forgive me if I said it was just practice for the real thing?" You look up at him with the best smarm that a career in espionage has enabled you with.

"Maybe," Johnny says, breath hot on your lips. His eyes flick to the person you know you'll need to work much harder to please.

"If you promise to take that thing out as soon as we're back," Jaehyun finishes for him.

"See!" You forget you're bound and clatter your chain trying to gesture in his direction. "I knew it."

"And that justifies not mentioning it once in over a month? Go ahead. Blame me for being worried about your personal safety."

Jaehyun is so rarely expressive that you feel a wave of anxiety at his hurt tone, but you also are beginning to register how ridiculous it is that he's pouting this way. At least, you think, it isn't as serious as you'd somehow talked yourself into believing it might be. His reaction after you'd brought up getting one a year ago had been almost as comedic, listing off the dangers informed by his addiction to nightly news.

"You really need to lay off the 60 Minutes," you chide. "They discontinued that model and now everything is cleared through the FDA. And complications are rare with the one I have. Zhong even gave the go-ahead."

"I know." Jaehyun says. "I called him."

"What?! That's confidential–"

"Yeah. He gave me the speech about spousal privilege." Jaehyun's eyes close as if exhausted by the memory. "But I asked what I could do. In case there would be discomfort or infection or like . . . perforation."

You can see him visibly reacting to the thought, shaking his head. With anyone else you'd sympathize but you'd personally witnessed him stab someone through their spinal column without hesitation. It wasn't the issue of a potential for visceral harm, it was the fact that it could happen to you.

The same urge to remain quiet on the topic until he'd had time to stop being overprotective as a trauma response has led you full circle. It was fitting, really, considering how little you'd shared with each other in an effort to keep from spiraling down into a place where you couldn’t resurface from easily.

"I had cramps in the beginning but I'm fine now," you sigh. "I wish you would have asked."

"I wish you would have told me," he responds, sourly.

"He asked me about it, too," Johnny says, voice muffled from where he's buried his face in your breasts, obviously bored. "I told him he was being paranoid."

"Right. You watched Daddy Long Dick here fuck me into the floorboards for a week straight–"

"And? How do you think that made me feel?"

"Left out, obviously," Johnny jokes.

"Concerned, asshole." Jaehyun snaps. "Why can't you two ever take anything seriously."

"Because you have a tendency to be serious enough for the both of us," you interject. "I love that about you, you know."

He hesitates to respond, as if waiting for the inevitable punchline–the correct response considering your history.

But you’re crying without thinking too much about the repercussions of it, tears slipping unbidden down your cheeks.

"Ah no," he says, eyes widening. "Don't be upset."

You shake your head. It might just be the hormones that have plagued you since the procedure but you're overwhelmed with emotion.

"I'm not, I just love you so much, you idiot."

"Sorry for killing the vibe," he jokes in return, wiping your face dry with his thumb. It's easy to see he's worried but keeping it to himself, giving you space to feel.

"I guess that's on me, too. No more secrets between partners?" You waggle your pinky above you head.

"Okay." He hooks his finger with yours, kissing you through the last of your tears.

"Not me."

You look down at the man currently resting his head on your ribs, tapping out morse code on any mark or freckle he can find on your skin. Brat.

"I like keeping you in the dark," he says, peering up at you with catlike playfulness.

"I already accepted that a long time ago," you say with complete honesty. "So was going along with the impregnation thing enough punishment or are you going to rub it in more?"

"No, I'm not punishing you." Johnny's finger pokes you in the side, making you jump. "But you aren't getting a break."

"What?" You swallow, heart beating faster.

"I'm going to continue to thoroughly enjoy knocking you up," he says dryly. "You get to decide when you want to fulfill your end of the bargain."

"Oh," you say.

"Rules," Jaehyun explains, caressing your face. Of course he's wearing the same devious expression–you'd had your fun and it was time to pay the price. "We made a deal, after all."

"Oh," you repeat, feeling ten degrees warmer.

"He only gets to come in you when I give him permission," Johnny explains. "And he has to earn it."

It's almost predatory the way he snatches the pillow away from the other man, tossing it across the room.

"You still want it, Jae?"

There's a certain amount of compromise in the way Johnny's hand engulfs Jaehyun's cock, the latter's body tensing as he lets him lazily pump him. Jaehyun is bucking off the mattress within a few strokes, clearly as edged as you are.

"Yeah," he says. "Show me how you want to do it."

"Whatever you want, baby," Johnny says, looking at you.

You're already aware they'd put some thought into how to torture you but watching your husbands draw eachother down on to the bed beside you with tentative gestures has you writhing and aching. Jaehyun mirrors you with his hands above his head, hanging onto the lowest rung, focus entirely on the man sliding over him.

"You're gonna take all of me." Johnny is no longer asking, hands wrapping around Jaehyun's wrists as he kisses him from his hairline to his lips, achingly slow. You know he doesn't have to feign passion, he's always been a conscientious lover, but the way Jaehyun rises under him in response is clearly reciprocal.

"Be gentle," Jaehyun quips, earning a snicker from Johnny as he works down to his broad chest. He turns his head towards you, dipping in for a kiss just as he's robbed of his breath by Johnny's tongue flicking his nipple.

"Thank you," you tell him, nose pressed against his cheek.

Jaehyun is speechless, folding against you. You feel his hand wander to your buttocks, fumbling to find the fat end of your own toy and pushing in the inch or so you'd unconsciously pushed out as you whine into his chest.

"Don't thank me yet." His warning is murmured against your forehead, under the sound of foil opening.

"Is that necessary?" You ask. Jaehyun rocks the anal plug into you deeper, killing any protest.

"It is if you want to share me," Johnny says. "Stop backseat driving."

"Sorry," you gasp. A series of unfiltered groans vibrates through your body–first when Jaehyun is freed of the toy, then growing louder and more desperate as Johnny slides into him carefully, giving him time to accept the stretch. You know he's being vocal for you both but the rough noises he makes each time he's plunged into go straight to your core.

Jaehyun's hand keeps a somewhat steady rhythm on fucking you open, forearm wrapping around you to bring you in closer. It's only abandoned when Johnny alters both of your positions, rolling Jaehyun on top of you so he's pinning your legs with his cock trapped in the crook of your thigh.

"You gold?" Johnny asks, turning Jaehyun's head with a hand on his nape. His answer is a nod and a groping kiss that seems to last forever, both of them past the point of performance and giving into need.

It's strange to see the kind of hunger you'd been captured in all week given to your husband, feeling like you'd taken it for granted now that they're denying you the same. You can't even hook your legs around them or wiggle into a better position, the only stimulation the slight discomfort from the plug and their weight.

"God that feels so fucking good," Johnny narrates between sharp breaths, his hair falling over his forehead. "I could get used to this."

When Jaehyun snaps his hips back it's his turn to grunt, losing his smug look. You mewl at the sudden lack of contact, scraping metal as you try to follow and are pulled back down. Jaehyun's cock bounces on your abdomen, thick droplets of cum squeezed out with each hit.

"Please," you whisper.

"Did you hear something?' Johnny's remark is punctuated by the squeak of the old bed and skin-against-skin. Jaehyun's eyes open for a moment, unable to hide his grin as he turns his head to the side.

"No." He's rewarded by a hand on his hip, pulling him back and deeper.

You feel like you'll go insane just watching, your entire body jerked and fucked without the pleasure of it for yourself.

"Can I have you both now?" You have never been above begging but it feels especially pathetic now, voice reedy as you raise it. "Please."

Johnny's hand finds your face, holding your jaw gently but firmly, thumb broaching your lips and teeth with each press of their bodies together.

"Maybe," he says. "Say it."

"I'm sorry–"

"You know that's not it." He cuts you off with a hoarse laugh, stilling for them both. "So desperate to get fucked you forget why we're here."

"Be nice." Jaehyun's exasperation is colored by a lack of air, clearly close to the brink.

Something clicks into alignment inside you as you watch Johnny's face, expectant through the tics of desire. You look up at him defiantly, mouth jaw set. "Yes. Be nice to the mother of your child."

His honey-brown eyes widen, but he calculates, head knocking against Jaehyun's. "Go ahead."

Jaehyun doesn't wait for him to rescind permission. He takes control to bring your legs up with such force you're curled at the waist. He gives you a bashful look as he lines himself up with your core, making you cry out with the faintest swipe of his cockhead into your swollen folds.

"You want it, babydoll?"

You nod, lip bitten rather than beg. That's Johnny's thing, and you're not giving him the pleasure of it even secondhand.

Jaehyun sinks into you with ease. It takes a few seconds for him to ground himself, laying down against you with one arm for support as you both fall into the pillows, mouths meeting, more gentle and controlled. It's as if you have all the time in the world, each of you so close you know you'll break the moment you move.

He's a comfort inside and out as you catch up with him, warming you as Johnny refinds his position in order to fold over his shoulder and wait for you to kiss him, too. You let Jaehyun breathe through the overwhelming sensation of being between you and filled, head buried in your neck, to give Johnny the same show of your love.

"Can I touch you, now?" you ask, seeking permission even though you don't need it.

Johnny moves to help you but you're out within a few seconds, immediately grateful for the change in posture as your hands find Johnny's face and Jaehyun's hair and hold them closer.

"This is the only thing I wanted," you murmur. "Sorry for complicating it."

"No apologies," Johnny kisses your hand, and then Jaehyun's head, retreating a bit to experimentally rock his hips into you both. The illusion of control is broken for all three of you as you're the first to make a strangled noise, harmonized by loud pants and deep groans.

You are absolutely filled, Jaehyun's cock pressing tighter with your other hole stretched, the echoes of your unfinished orgasm still pulsing within you. The spasms only grow stronger as Jaehyun's hand find its way between you, quickly trapped with the motion of his hips into yours and driven in with more force as Johnny gains confidence. You grasp for Jaehyun to hold onto, foreheads meeting.

"Look at me," he orders when he realizes your eyes are clenched shut in overstimulation. It's a familiar code–he's not going to last long. You kiss him in consolation, hands in his hair until he begins to piston between you, pushing your legs up and slamming into you with all the violence denied you before.

Johnny is unusually quiet but he can't hold it in when Jaehyun fucks back into him. He can't do much but hold steady as he's taken almost fully, joining you in directing your lover to his finish by telling him how perfect he is and feels.

"Fuck you feel so good," Johnny's voice is barely above a hiss, back arched as he watches his cock swallowed whole. "Next time I'm gonna fuck you raw, let you feel it when you make me come. You're gonna make us both come, aren't you, champ?"

Jaehyun is breaking apart the moment Johnny's hands return to his hips, guiding him to an angle that hits lower and deeper and makes his cock twitch inside you so hard you think he's coming already.

"So good, baby," you whine, moving his limp hands to your waist. "Please give us all of you."

You couldn't ask for more when you feel him throb inside you, your walls closing tight as he continues to push you open on secondary movement alone. It seems to last for longer than you've ever felt it, Johnny not letting up until the last possible moment transitioning from pleasure to pain.

You're not sure if Jaehyun is the one who moves off of you but in the same instant Johnny rips off his condom to bury himself in the warm mess between your thighs, shoving your knees to your chest.

"Still so tight, sweetheart?" Johnny slows down when he's deep but it doesn't change the fact that you're on the verge of tears. "Did you not come?"

In truth, it's hard to tell. You're a disconnected powerline zapping and bouncing off the ground after being edged, the crest now more ache than rapture.

Thankfully you never need to answer with words. The heel of Johnny's hand pushes into your mons, pressing into the bulge in your belly and right where you need touch the most. You shriek as the next few strokes take you off the map and down into the depths, going limp around the cock dumping surge after surge of hot cum inside you.

Johnny is just as winded once he's gone soft, on top of you again with little consideration for weight. As oversensitized as you both are he stays in you, sweat-lank hair tickling your eyes as he kisses you comfortingly.

"Thought you were going to be gentle," you gasp out, fingernails digging into his tattooed arms and shoulders.

"Jae will be nice when he fucks your ass later," Johnny says. He's smiling like a clown, lips traversing your face. "I don't need to be until you're really all mine."

Jaehyun responds from your side with what sounds like a snore.

"You're such a menace," you say, but any sharpness in the statement is gone as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. "Thank you."

"For a good time?" Johnny asks, bemused.

You kiss his nose.

"Sloppy seconds."

It's your turn to get a pillow to the face.

An indeterminate time in the future, later.

Lee Taeyong might be the worst boss you have ever had the misfortune of being pitted against. Oh he's nice, yes, kind and calm and only mean when he knows his target can take it.

You've heard how fantastic an agent he was back in his earlier days, had even emulated his approach to your work in the finesse he'd demonstrated–that ability to use other people's strengths and weaknesses against themselves.

So it's with maybe a little heartbreak that you corner him in his own office, watching him duck behind his desk when he realizes you've picked up an empty magnum of champagne like a club.

"Get out of here," you say over your shoulder at the other agents in the room. "You don't want to be accessories and you certainly aren't touching me."

"But this was just getting fun." Donghyuck drains his champagne, gesturing over at the confused man eating cake beside him.

"Wait what, am I missing something here?" Mark asks, bewildered, a dot of pink icing on his chin. "We haven't even opened gifts?"

"Always," his partner sighs, removing his party hat. "Can we take the cake? Jungwoo's stuck in traffic . . ."

Donghyuck stops joking when he sees your face, ducking politely and dragging Mark out despite his protests.

"Congrats on getting–" The heavy door slams shut before you can hear whatever rich terminology he planned on using to describe your current state.

"Okay, I think we can be sensible adults about this." Taeyong is already collecting himself, adjusting his tie and smoothing his hair as he stands up. You almost clock him, the bottle passing by his head to thud against the paneled wall and roll across the Persian carpet under his chair.

"Noted," Taeyong huffs, swaying a little from the evasion. "Do I need to recall Agents Suh and Jeong? Is that it?"

"Convenient of you to send them into deep cover before giving me my pink slip, isn't it?" You stalk forward, sensible flats putting you more at eye level with him than ever. "Were you worried about facing the three of us?"

"No–no." He raises a hand, the other pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "What pink slip? We're just giving you a . . . you know we start maternity leave at the earliest possible notice."

He's giving you a meaningful look but it's difficult to register through the blur of rage that's been whiting out your vision since the first yell of "surprise" not thirty minutes ago. The onslaught of agency staff had quickly exited the room when you'd shown signs of discomfort, taking their cake and champagne to go as you'd retched into an ice bucket.

You can tell the celebration had been poorly planned–the agency was a veritable skeleton crew with your husbands on top-level assignment and the surveillance team there to support. In another life it would be a meaningful gesture having everyone wish you well on the next step of this journey, but you're not the typical case.

Was it ever, with you?

"God, was this their idea?" You deflate a little. "Did they put you up to this?"

"Well," Taeyong weighs his response. "Yes. And no. They said you were ready for a break and this was the best timing for it."

"Timing?!" You can't help the higher pitch in your voice, gripping the desk. "I'm not even in my second trimester!"

"Oh," he says, turning a shade of pink to his silver hairline. "But. Well."

"This?" You gesture to yourself, all your best efforts to remain calm now abandoned. You'd tried so hard to hide it but it was inevitable that tailoring and selective fits could do little where biology was involved.

Taeyong cringes as you lift the heavy receiver of his personal satellite phone, relaxing when you offer it rather than chuck it at his head.

"Call him," you say.

"I don't think that's necessary–"

"Would you rather I call your ex-wife and let her know you used directorial power to put me on leave without my consent?" You've already picked up the office phone to punch in the head of legal's personal line when he leans forward to disconnect it.

"Alright," he says. "You're still on the clock. Hopefully you realize that means you still answer to me, regardless of your condition."

You surrender the phone, straightening your spine.

"Yes, sir," you say. "Would you please call him."

Taeyong looks at you pointedly before reaching into his inner jacket pocket for his personal little black book. You watch like a hawk as he flips through ink-dabbed pages for what he needs and thumbs in the number.

The line seems to ring an eternity, the sweat drying on your neckline as you anticipate what comes next. A teensy part of you hopes no one answers–if not for their sake than for yours, and your incessant need to process things slowly rather than fly by the seat of your pants.

But no, you get an answer.

"Sunny, hello. How's the weather?" Taeyong shoots you a look over his silver-framed glasses, shaking his head when he sees the new tension on your face. "Blue skies? Fantastic. Still waiting on the new house? Oh you're closing today? Just great. Listen, can you put your husband on the line?"

There's a long period of silence that follows, the Director's face scrunched in attention. "No, no. That's fine. Okay. What–?"

Taeyong covers the bottom of the phone at the last word, confused as you reach across the desk in the universal gesture for give me the goddamn phone. It's obvious he's not willing to test your own willingness to climb over the furniture and fight him for it so he passes it to you.

"Hello darling," you say when you have the line. "It's Jenny."

"Jenny, so good to hear from you!" You know the other agent would rather chew glass than talk to you after your last conversation but continues canting enthusiastically. "I miss you already. Are you getting lonely over there?"

"Not with your man to keep me company at night," you snap back. "Is Johnny there?"

"Jack is talking to the new neighbors, actually. So is Jeff. I'll tell them you called–"

"Hold on a second, please." You don't hide the desperation in your voice. It's like handing a loaded weapon to a toddler but you have to try. "I need a little favor."

Taeyong is aggressively moving his hand across his throat to stop you but the benefit of the satellite phone is that unless he tackles you, he can't cut the connection.

"Oh really." The voice on the other line code switches immediately. You can taste the smirk in her tone and you have to remind yourself that you'd helped create this monster when you'd agreed to be her handler. "Spit it out."

"First, you're actually Jack's cousin. You're a real estate agent and you lied about being his wife. You wanted to make sure they got the best property money could buy."

"That's gonna be weird after I kissed him in front of–"

"Sister-in-law, then. Ex-girlfriend, I don't care. Just lie, you're good at it. Tell them the real wife is flying in next week."

"Wait, what?" Sunny's usual disposition is level-headed but she's just as shocked as Taeyong appears to be across from you. "Aren't you . . .?"

You'd suspected everyone already knew but knowing your protege has you pegged after being overseas for months has a new headache growing behind your eyeballs.

"Yes," you say. "But I'm good, trust me."

"What's in it for me?" she asks. There's your little con artist. You knew she'd shine through.

"Well I know one person who would be happy to see you. You can house sit for us. Together."

"He's allergic to your cat." she grouses. "C'mon this was going to be so fun."

You bite back the urge to use non-professional language in the company of your boss and whoever in god's name might be listening in. You mumble something, hand cupped over the receiver.

"Oh really." The cackle on the other end tells you she'd picked up what you'd laid down. "Okay, alright. Let me get him."

You collapse into the nearby chair, feeling like you'd survived the kind of interrogation reserved for most people who found themselves in it. Taeyong has surrendered any influence on the conversation, consoling himself with a slice of pink champagne cake.

"It'll be fine," you mouth as he glares at you. "Trust me."

Your only response is him stabbing into the icing with a plastic fork to pry a plastic stork off of it.

"Boss?" Your heart skips a beat hearing his voice again, even if it's only been a few weeks. You miss him so much you can feel it in your marrow. You collect yourself to keep from breaking down, finally answering him.

"Hey."

"Oh hey, babydoll." You'd suspected the line was already secure but this confirms it, loosening up your reserve. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Sort of." You sniff. "Is Jae there?"

"He's outside, do you need me to–"

"No," you say resolutely. "I need to talk to you."

"What's wrong?" Even across the country and with the tinny distance of the transmitted signal Johnny will always know something is off. You can't hide it anymore.

"You did this," you say, voice shuddering out.

You can only hear his breathing as he tries to think through what has you both sad and angry.

"I didn't ask for Sunny, we just didn't have anyone else–"

"Fuck Sunny!" you yell. "You know I don't care about that. Or this stupid surprise party–or you telling everyone to buy pink even if you didn't know what we're having or you fucking off when I need you the most even if I told you it was okay–"

You catch yourself, hiccupping, suddenly aware you're crying again. You hate that you're feeling all the time, skin and muscles stripped so your nerves are bare and everything stings along with the foreignness of a body no longer truly your own. Your joints hurt, you're already heavy and slow and you'd blamed it all on the genetic probability of carrying a child with the future build of a professional basketball player.

"You had your 12-week today, didn't you." Johnny is calm but you can hear the tiniest smidgen of fear there. Good, you think.

"Jae will be back soon, whatever's going on, we'll deal with it. It will be okay."

"No," you say. "No, it's not okay. You are not going to make him clean up your messes, you are not going to skate free this time. You will take responsibility for this and make it up to me the rest of your fucking life, you hear me?"

Johnny huffs into the phone. "Can you please . . . just tell me what I did?"

Your answer is garbled by the snot running freely from your nose. Taeyong, ever the gentleman, offers you a handkerchief from a safe distance. You blow into it, loudly, hoping you were clear. You don't know if you can say it aloud a second time without losing it.

"What did you say?" Johnny asks, voice going airy with shock.

"I said the ultrasound picked up two heartbeats, you asshole." You laugh, mildly hysteric. "We're having twins."

"We're having twins." He repeats it in the same way you imagine someone might announce they'd just heard the last Powerball number matching the ones they'd played their entire life.

It only makes you more angry.

"Yes, congratulations. Fuck you."

"I love you too," he says. You think maybe he's going to be rational about it, talk you down, make you feel better. You can plan the next steps, get your cover worked out, and move forward with the new information and the new aim–as you always do.

But there's the fumbling sounds of the phone falling and being picked up, the heavy sounds of footfalls, a door crashing open.

"Hey, Jeff, guess what. We're having twins!"

Somewhere, someone cheers.

[slocumjoe]

ive been asked about this in a few different flavors, so uhhh general idea of what my modern au is like, when I write abt a modern setting this is the framework I work from

Cait; Came from an abusive shack in the Irish countryside, ran away from home at a young age. Fell in with a bad fucking crowd. Eventually got enough money from said crowd to get a plane over to 'Merica. Went over to follow her dream of becoming a pro-wrestler. Instead, ended up as a bartender/bouncer for a shitty nightclub above a fightclub of questionable legality. She only occasionally gets to fight in it, but its on her days off. Of which, she has few, and would rather spend resting. She lives in a small, shitty truck camper, but genuinely favors it to her previous living arrangements. Once she kicks her drug addiction, gets a new job at a high-end gym as a trainer. The sense of community is good for her, and she's, surprisingly, a good hypegirl. She eventually gets herself a C-model RV, on the smaller side, but comfy as hell for the right kind of person. Well, Cait's that kind of person. Her main hobby is just exercise, something to keep her physically and mentally busy. After colliding with Danse on corners one too many times, they both said 'fuck it' and just starting planning their morning runs together. Mostly so Danse stopped breaking his nose on Cait's forehead.

Codsworth; British-Indian man who is well known throughout high-end hospitality industries. He's worked at hotels, country clubs, restaurants, designer stores, if there is a position where you move with utmost efficiency and sympathy for the customer, Codsworth has worked it. You walk into the most exclusive businesses in the city, chances are, they've at least heard of him. As he got older, settled down to open his own little Cafe. It's a casual, early-morning affair, and its really just an excuse to have tea and biscuits with people, chat. It's kind of a hole in the wall, off the beaten path, but those who know of it swear on their life for his coffee, tea, and breakfast/brunch. Codsworth himself, when he isn't tending the cafe, can be found feeding the birds in the park, cleaning up litter throughout the town, or tending the public gardens as a volunteer. He lives a quiet, but quaint life, and is always lending an ear, a shoulder, advice, or in some cases, criticism. Always keeps a coffee, quiche, and croissant aside for Piper, Nick, and Preston; his problem children who rarely sleep and always forget to eat.

Curie; A traveling doctor, who travels from hospital to hospital only because she's too competent and revered to not share amongst as many medical institutions as possible. Even the most egotistical doctors cower beneath her. Being corrected or criticized by Dr. Curie Collins is a black mark on any medical professional's record. When she isn't saving lives or scolding a haughty doctor, Curie can be found in a lovely cottage on the bank of the Charles. She grows most of her own food, but if her pantry is filled with strawberry twinkies and Milano cookies, that's her business. She wants to go into psychology and become a therapist, but she doesn't trust her fellow medical doctors enough to leave her patients with them. She frequents Codsworth's cafe, usually in attendance after an all-nighter at work. She's the doctor that partially oversaw Danse's diagnosis and upon learning of the consequences, yanked all the strings she could to get him another job. Wanted to raise hell over his unethical/illegal discharging, but Danse refused. Often has coffee with X, they share stories of their respective doctors and scientists and whatnot being stupid and incompetent.

Danse; raised in foster care alongside Cutler. They joined the military the moment they turned 18. Cutler became a pilot, Danse infantry. Their C.O, Krieg, became an adoptive father to them both. Cutler's helicopter was shot down in the line of duty, and when Danse and his team made it to the wreck, everyone was dead, or doomed to die. Danse mercy-killed Cutler. Krieg died shortly after, across the ocean. Eventually, his superiors wanted him to get a mental exam, which led him to Curie's hospital, where one of her colleagues diagnosed him with the expected PTSD and the unexpected autism. A superior who had bad blood for him leveraged the ASP diagnosis to medically discharge him. Seeing as Danse had literally nothing but his work, and was still reeling from losing his family, this was...not great. Ends up back in Curie's hospital, brought in by Nick, who wasn't even on duty, just drove past a guy on a bridge, looking down at the Charles too long. Danse eventually finds work as a ship mechanic down at the harbor, and moves into an apartment nearby. Sounds cozy, right? No. Theres a dispensery across the street that's constantly filled with hooligans, and the owner keeps slipping flyers under his door.

Deacon; U.S Marshal Service. If you're unfamiliar, he works in witness protection. Wouldn't know it by looking at him, though. He keeps his work very hush-hush. If you're not a coworker, you don't know what he does. He'll even find jobs just to drop them in a week, just for the chaos of it all. Deacon lives in a few different small apartments across Massachusetts, mostly because he hates hotels. The only people likely to ever pick him out are convention, renfaire, or other costume party attendees, or special fx workers. Why is he working in a costuming depart—never mind, he quit again. He lives a life that on the surface, is bizarre and crazy, but at closer look, has some kind of method to the madness. Deacon also has the odd habit of bringing up things about people that he has no reason to know. Divorcing? He knows before anyone else. Pregnant? Knows. Cheating on your spouse? He knows, and whoops, guess who also knows, now! Deacon is buddy to all, friend to none, and enemy to many. Joins Preston's camping trips as a different person every time, and its seriously creeping the dude out. The one time X joined, on a whim, ran through the woods back to his car. Nope. Nope!

Gage; Raised in a crime-infested neighborhood in the south, became a criminal himself. Spent most of his youth doing it, until he and his whole gang got sold out and busted. Gage spent five years in prison, and afterwards, decided other criminals were too fucking stupid and unpredictable to work with anymore. Instead, he turned his eyes to the real life-sucking evil; capitalism. Weaseled his way into working at a theme park, starting as a handyman and somehow ending at manager. The owner, Colter, is a flaming dipshit, and the three assisting managers are cartoonishly evil and/or stupid. He isn't sure he hates this job, because fuck if it ain't entertaining. Colter eventually dies trying to fistfight a mom in the bumper cars arena, electrocuting himself on a faulty wire. Gage lives in a boathouse on the river, despite making the money to live elsewhere. Drives a truck slapped together with gum and recycled tupperware. Has a pet lizard. Keeps to himself. His truck smokes like an active volcano, so he's something of a road cryptid, and often gets pulled over by Preston, since he often has to drive in Preston's area. They've gotten into so many brawls on the side of the road it's become something of a smoke break. It's not even professional or personal. It's just what they do. Sometimes they get lunch after.

Hancock; Came from a rich family, daddy was a senator. A shitty one. Brother is also similarly shitty, and became a landlord. As for Hancock, he raised himself on the other side of the tracks, making a name for himself as a vocal activist and infamous heathen against the establishment. No one has ever been able to arrest him or take him to court, because Johnny became a lawyer. And he's a fucking good one. The only person who can represent himself and consistently win. At some point the local gov gave up trying to shut him down, and focus on just...not pissing him off. When he isn't harassing politicians, Hancock owns a dispensery, though he prefers harder substances. Buddies with MacCready but neither of them remember how they met. Also familiar with Cait, used to go drinking at her bar and fighting in the pit. Less buddies with her, their relationship is more one of them calling the other, and updating on how a trashfire is burning. His gossip girl, if you will. As for Danse...you call the cops on his party, fine. But that fucker had the nerve to correct Hancock when he was quoting a historical figure. But when he Googled, it, big asshole was right. So, its personal now, and Hancock will not rest until he or Danse dies, or Danse gets laid/high and becomes cool.

MacCready; Security guard for a mall. Gets bounced around the different shops/sections, so he's picked up a lot of odd skills, knowledge, and tricks. Can make pretzels good enough to kill God, but also can identify every variety of makeup sold in Sephora. Has never stopped a lifter and never will, and no one has ever mentioned it. The only time he's done his job is if someone is in danger; you're not stabbing the 60 year old Barnes N Noble cashier. You got caught, you give up. Don't fucking attack Ms. Daisy over earrings. Mac hates a sore loser. Eats nothing but whatever is sold in the mall. That dadbod is 60% Panda Express and 40% Orange Julius. Mac has a tiny house in a decent enough neighborhood, by Duncan's school. Lucy died in a car accident, run off the road by a drunk driver. Bobby makes life work, and Duncan is a happy kid, but he's never really...processed anything. Always shaking from anxiety. Employs Piper as his star babysitter, as she works from home. Met her after she interviewed him, reporting on an armed robbery attempt. Hancock is the babysitter only when Piper is busy, because even though he's good with the kid, and Duncan loves his Uncle John, Hancock is not what MacCready considers a...ideal influence...Duncan came home with a fascination with knives one day.

Nick; Detective, obviously. Was kinda...demoted...? After his fiance got killed. Used to handle the biggest cases, but now he's more of a patroler, works the simple disputes. Goes to the less-violent, more cold-cut scenes. The boss thought he could do with a lighter, easier load. Nick kind of hates it, feels really underutilized, but fuck it, it's not that bad. If he were younger, he'd be fuming, but as it stands, he can't complain too much about getting the easy, simply work, that doesn't have him staying up all week. He lives in the Old Town part of the city, likes his scenery vintage. Nick lives simply, until he has a day off. His day off, Nick is getting into all kinds of shit. Maybe its his nature. Maybe its bad luck. He chases purse snatches through sewers. He settles generational family rivalries over a bad cow sale centuries prior. He tears apart apartments to find underwear to prove to a trusting wife her husband is a cheat. Nick finds himself, constantly, in the eye of a batshit storm, but only when he's off duty. He's the kinda guy whose best stories come from his everyday life, rather than his hectic and often surprising/dramatic work. If he isn't working, or getting sucked into chaos, Nick stays home, pours himself a drink of some kind, and relaxes with a good book. Sits on the porch and watches the birds. Feeds the neighborhood cats. Its not often he has downtime, and rarer still that he uses it for anything exciting. Occasionally on the phone with Piper and Preston, tries to provide some old man advice for them. Checks in on Danse occasionally for welfare, just doing his job. His presence makes the party across the street mind their manners.

Piper; English major who landed a good, but difficult job as a journalist for the newspaper. Her life is constantly moving, always hectic, and never chill. Has been arrested more times than Hancock. Has been thrown out of a military base more times than Danse. This frightens Danse and impresses Hancock. Piper keeps her job remote to take care of Nat, basically an octopus, multitasking five different things at any time. Her dad was a firefighter who died when his captain got cold feet and left his team to die, and she's made it her life goal to publicly shame such actions and people. Someone up top fucks up, Piper is screaming it from the rooftops and all of the city will hear. She's a menace in a different way from Hancock, though they've shared a slammer enough times to give tips on various vigilante methods. Piper attends an online class, and often does her work through phone or laptop while running around doing other shit. Watching her is exhausting. She likes her life but can't wait to graduate. Really hates her schooling, but she needs it to do what she wants, so that's how the cookie crumbles. When she gets a chance to relax, she's taking a long bubblebath, and shutting off her phone. It's kind of hard to get a hold of Piper, and even harder to keep her there.

Preston; Forest ranger/trooper. Much of his work is babysitting the populace, rather than dealing with them after they've misbehaved. He's the guy going into the woods to bust illegal bonfire parties, or poachers, that kind of thing. Sometimes he gets road patrol, sometimes he gets desk work. Sometimes he does community work, like seminars and camping trips. Preston doesn't mind his job, very passionate actually, he just kinda...lost all faith in humanity at some point. You see enough people at their worst, that happens. A forest fire broke out a few years back that fucked up a town, started by some shitty rebels without a cause just looking for trouble. He never quite got over the fact that he didn't find the source and stop it in time. He's young enough that he doesn't get that he can't save everything, but old enough to have failed a few times. It's a rough combo. Preston lives near the Charles, close enough to know that Gage definitely isn't certified to have his boathouse or dock it where it is. Considers Gage his mortal enemy whom will die upon his own death. For they exist solely to annoy the other. When he and Gage aren't fighting in a ditch, Preston is either at home, facedown on his floor, or curled up like a crumpled tissue on one of Codsworth's couches, half-heartedly gnawing on a quiche. He's known for falling asleep in odd places all over the city, catching some Z's when he has a second.

X6-88; A security guard for the C.I.T. He wears a suit and sunglasses and always has an earpiece in. His face would shatter should it emote. He's an alumni who graduated from the C.I.T but no one has ever figured out when, or what he majored in. There are theories as to what his name is. He just calls himself by his badge designation. It's a running joke that he's a robot but it stopped being a joke pretty quickly, because honestly? Probably is. X revels in being an engima, and goes out of his way to be mysterious and spooky. During an...incident, at the C.I.T, X worked partially with Deacon, as the latter was handling a witness. X freaked the fuck out of him by immediately recognizing him from several other cases Deacon has worked. X pays attention to local legal proceedings, you see, so he's up to date. Either way, Deacon was approached by a massive breach in security and now lives in fear of the Terminator who's always watching his extremely confidential work. X also works with Preston, occasionally, when dorm parties get too crazy. X doesn't keep to himself, not really, its just that people don't notice him. He's always in the loop. Piper begs him for an interview with anyone in C.I.T. He directs her to the Wikipedia page for the college. If he isn't working or freaking people out, X is cleaning house at local bakeries and confectioners, often with Curie. It's the only time you can see him in public if he isn't working.

[folfar]

16, 39, 47 & 55!

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

So I have two pretty hefty ideas that definitely will see the light of day this year (ie I've started writing them), and eight more in the pipeline! The two big ones are a Love Island AU, where Damen has to enter the villa to save Nik's tv job, and a Persephone AU, where Damen is Persephone, because I love to cast Damen against type.

The rest of the list includes - because I never ever give up on a WIP (I believe in my heart I will finish everything I post, my most grievous fault) - some absolutely ancient ideas, such as a Yuri on Ice fic that I will probably never post, which is about... Chris. And Georgi, kind of.

And a Wandavision fic! Which is the second least likely to be posted, because it's already not canon compliant because the MCU is exhausting to keep up with. This is sad because I think it's the funniest thing I've ever written, and the premise is "What if the citizens of Westview found Wanda and told her to come back and get her creepy witch friend she left there?" But Agatha is still stuck in her sitcom-self, and they have to go and live in a canadian shack about it. And then they fuck while the darkhold seethes in the corner.

39. Share a snippet from a WIP

From the Persephone AU! This is a very rough snippet - but I'm really looking forward to writing this fic:

Damen is doing spring, enjoying it but thinking it hollow. He moves through the world leagues at a time, stepping through his father’s sunbeams.

Spring is also the time of long shadows and cold evenings, when the stores run low and the calves starve, when death stalks the land; that’s how they meet. Laurent is a beautiful shade come from Hades. Damen is not unfamiliar with these pale emissaries of hell, come to take the sleeping dead in hand, but he has not seen this one before.

Damen protests at Laurent taking a spirit down to Hades. “It’s not right,” he says, “it wasn’t his time.”

And who are you to argue? The pale ghost says.

“I’m the god of spring; his sheep will lamb tomorrow, a fine and healthy crop. I have seen it - he will drink the milk and be well. I fed them ichor,” Damen confesses. Laurent stares at him, eyes as flat and silver as the coins on the eyes of the dead. 

“I didn’t like the sound of his cough.” Damen admits. He presses his case. “One more day.”

“Fine,” Laurent says, as if surprised with himself. “But you come to Hades with me - and explain it to the prince of hell yourself.” 

Damen creases his brow. “May I have a half-hour to ask my brother to take over my duties for me?”

“No,” Laurent says. “I have made my offer.” The farmer’s soul is coiled in his palm like a skein of wool. Damen looks at it, looks down at where the man is slumped by his byre.

“Fine,” he says. Laurent raises an eyebrow, and takes his hand.

The farmer wakes to see two sets of footprints - one iced over, crackling with cold - and the other, where in the indent, tiny, early strawberries are already coming to fruit.

47. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

hahahahha.......almost everything I have ever posted on ao3 is a first draft. when it is done i want it gone! you know when you have a fever and you're like i must strip IMMEDIATELY. like that.

sometimes I submit to a SPAG beta from longsuffering friends but i'm so impulsive i normally just post immediately and then kind people tell me "babes your tenses are fucked" and i have to revise on the fly.

don't be like me!!!!!

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

The reaction to Sunblind over the years has been so lovely it probably has to be Auguste because I am creature that lives and breathes for praise!

Also - when I started writing Auguste/Sunblind, it was because I had a personal vendetta against what I saw as a character getting put on a pedestal - the popular idea that Auguste had been everything Laurent said and more.

Given how Pacat demonstrates that character's perceptions of their own relationships often turn out to be incorrect or based on assumptions as the books go on, I wanted to do the same. I wanted to write him as imperfect in the extreme - a bit violent, a bit foolish, sweet but not as thoughtful as Laurent remembered - and a victim in his own way of their Uncle's manoeuvring, because I can't believe a plan like that comes from nowhere.

People have been really receptive to that, in a way I didn't expect when I started it - and it's taken me so long to write the damn thing that he's been with me for five years now. How could anyone supplant him?

[dreamdragoness]

For fun, I made a Reboot AU version and a Beach Town AU version of Stacy. I'm not sure of her role in the Reboot Au other than that she's chill and is also aware of their predicament, but I do have something on Beach Stacy.

In this universe, Stacy is an archeologist who came to Beach Town to do some research on a graveyard of ships that appear to be 17th or 18th century. She works with Frank as she needs his marine biology knowledge to navigate the wecks without agitating the local wildlife.

When not working, Stacy hangs out at the beach. She enjoys strawberry-banana smoothies from Howdy's Snack Shack, attends Poppy's yoga class, and hangs out with Sally, Barnaby, and Julie. She knows Eddie through Frank. As for Wally, she may have developed a crush on the surfer but keeps herself focused on her work. Makes her interested in learning how to surf, though. ;)

Beach Town AU: PinkSugarBerry on Tic-Tock

Reboot AU: @bloodrediscream

[onsunnyside]

「 𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍 」

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 — Do not plagiarize, copy, repost/republish, adapt or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third party sites. My blog is 18+, so minors DNI. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel, etc.). All my works are fiction and may be dark or have triggering content: read all warnings before proceeding.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: All my main characters are of legal age and their descriptions are vague to be inclusive to all! - unless specified.

☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ | @onsunnysidelibrary | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

【 fluff, smut, angst, dark, (c)ompleted, request 】

𝐀 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐀𝐜𝐭; series ⤜ d, f, s, a, r

✧࿐ Being an omega made you a victim to cruel destinies, trapped in roles designed to keep you submissive and quiet. Alphas have been on their shiny, golden pedestals for far too long and the world needed to change, and if it had to start with you at a college notorious for being ruled by alphas, then so be it. [dark A/B/O college au, dark alpha!fratboy!Ari Levinson x omega activist!reader, HC Verse]

𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐨𝐲; collection ⤜ f, s

➧ 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐮𝐧 ➧ 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤

✧࿐ He’s the star rugby player, the Bull, and you’re his sweet nerdy girlfriend. [thick frat boy!Ari Levinson, college au, size kink]. Find all drabbles/asks in my 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 (𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧); collection ⤜ f, s

Set in the verse of: 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥; one shot ⤜ s, r (c)

✧࿐ Icky college boys will never change—so sleep with their dads. [boyfriend’s dad!Andy Barber x reader, with: dilf!neighbour!Bucky Barnes, dilf!Ari Levinson, dilf!Steve Rogers, age gap, cheating]

𝐂𝐲𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐧; mini series ⤜ f, s

✧࿐ Final bosses, last life sprints, and equally frustrating and convoluted game sequences could never prepare you for a man who virtually goes by Gemini Stallion. [cam daddy!Ari Levinson x shy!nerdy gamer!reader, age gap, inexperienced!reader]

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠; series ⤜ f, s (c)

✧࿐ The sun is brutal this summer, especially in Flamingo Trailer Park, the land of big hearts and cheap tricks, you’ve been here for years unlike your “new” neighbour, Ari. He’s older, bigger, and intimidating, the local rockstar, and you, well, aren’t you just the sweetest girl in the whole-damn city? [Trailer Park!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader (Trailer Park AU), size difference, innocent!reader, neighbours-to-lovers]

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐬; series ⤜ d, f, s

✧࿐ Ari has spent too long protecting you from the big bad world and all the monsters who inhabit it—including himself—for you to belong to someone else. [soft dark!stepbrother!Ari Levinson, innocent!reader, university au, stepcest, grey character undertones, fratboy!Ari, innocent/virgin!reader]

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥; series ⤜ f, s, a

✧࿐ They’re shaded and jaded, and you’re the answer to their prayers. [major crossover, uni!camgirl!reader x sugar daddy!Ari Levinson]

𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬; one shot ⤜ f, s, r (c)

✧࿐ Months into your relationship with Ari, he finally indulges in his deepest desires—that are also his biggest-little fears. Based on this ask. [Biker!Ari Levinson x inexperienced!reader (biker x baker au), size difference]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐬; collection ⤜ f, s, r

✧࿐ From the ashes of the Golden Age of Porn rises the demand for productions of all kinds—and wickedly stellar and infamously gnarly Love Shack Studios are on the hunt for a new star. [major crossover, pornstar!Ari Levinson x fluffer!reader x pornstar!Curtis Everett]

𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠; one shot ⤜ f (c)

✧࿐ It was a little ridiculous how in love you were… With a single glance, he could make you melt until you’re a pile strawberry ice cream, tied with a pretty ribbon, and sitting on his doorstep. [Mafia!Ari Levinson x lovesick!reader, stripper!reader, neighbours au]

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲; one shot ⤜ s, d, r (c)

✧࿐ Sometimes the kindest souls suffer the most. Based on this ask. [dark!dilf!Ari Levinson x innocent!babysitter!reader, virgin!reader, fake relationship-esque]

𝐏𝐮𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞; one shot ⤜ s (c)

✧࿐ Every pet needs an owner and in your case, your daddy loves sharing you. [Ari Levinson x bunny hybrid!reader (to Major Crossover: Ari Levinson, Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen and Steve Rogers x bunny hybrid!reader). Exhibitionism, boot riding, dom/sun undertones, dumbification]

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰; one shot ⤜ d, s (c)

✧࿐ Beware the quiet ones. [dark stalker!Ari Levinson, college au, IT guy!Ari, camboy!Ari, outcast!Ari, somnophilia]

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐁𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩; one shot ⤜ s (c)

✧࿐ It’s the summer before your freshman college year, and your stepdad’s best friend has been teaching you about pleasure behind your stepdad’s back, or so you think. Based on this ask. [stepdad!Ari Levinson, stepdad’s best friend!Lloyd Hansen, stepcest, innocent!/inexperienced!reader]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞; two parter ⤜ a, f

➥ 𝟏/𝟐 | 2/2

✧࿐ Even the most beautiful love stories are bound to end in tragedy, but you thought you and Ari would be an exception. [photographer!Ari Levinson x reader, glimpses of fluff, angst with a happy ending, old flames, childhood friends-to-loves aftermath, ex-boyfriend!Ari]

𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐚𝐲, 𝐖𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐈 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭; mini series ⤜ soft!d, s (c)

✧࿐ Your friends said Ari was playing with your little heart and pushed for you to end things, but it takes a lot more than a breakup text to get rid of him. And your stupid friends should’ve known better. [Ghostface!Ex-Boyfriend!Ari Levinson x airhead!reader. Murderer!Ari, possessive/obsessive behaviour, aphrodisiac, dumb!reader, manipulation, stealthing, dacryphilia, dumbification]

𝐖𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐭; one shot ⤜ f, s

✧࿐ [semi-retired surfer!Ari Levinson x reader, fratboy surfer!Johnny Storm x reader, age gap]

𝐀̀ 𝐋𝐚 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞; one shot ⤜ f, s, r

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬: 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐬 & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬/𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[some-kindofgnome]

meet me in the afterglow

After college graduation, you took an all-summer backpacking trip around Europe with your best friend. Now you've got one last night together before coming home as lovers.

characters: eijirou kirishima x f!reader

wc: 2.4k

tags: smut (18+ please!), aged-up characters, quirkless au, implied friends-to-lovers, fluff, mentions of drinking/the sliiiiightest bit of tipsiness, swedish condoms, no beta we die like that bottle of wine

notes: @the-moons-raes and I discussed travelling with BNHA boys at some length a lil while ago, so I wrote this sweet lil scene for her! Consider it a (very) belated birthday present my dear. 💖 xoxoo

MASTERLIST

The sky’s faded from powder-blue to apricot by the time you stumble together into the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” you giggle. You’ve been grinning all night, so hard it’s starting to hurt your wine-warmed cheeks. But this is the happiest you’ve been in a very long time.

“That was,” Eijirou starts, “one of the- no, the best meal I’ve ever had.”

“We should’ve ordered another bottle of that wine,” you muse. He’s got his hands on your hips and you twist in his grip, curling your fingers around his palms. His face has gone pink, but his eyes are sparkling and you’ve already decided you want to preserve this feeling for the rest of your life.

“I don’t think you need anything else to drink tonight,” he teases smoothly, pulling you close with his fingertips digging into the gauzy fabric of your dress. He leans down and pushes his lips against yours, the last tartness of the strawberry gelato you finished on the boardwalk still lingering in the tender flick of his tongue.

Tonight falls at the tail end of a long backpacking trip across Europe that you’ve been wanting to take for as long as you can remember. You’d never planned to take anybody with you at all, let alone the man you’d wind up falling for.

But Eiji’s always been pretty good at defying your expectations.

The rest of the summer hasn’t been this glamorous. You’d spent most nights shacked up in rickety little hostel beds, bunking together in rooms of six or camping out in the backseat of a tiny rental car. But the sleepless nights and sore backs and restricted luggage hadn’t changed a thing. You’ve been in heaven all summer long.

To celebrate your last couple of nights in this hemisphere, you checked into one of Naples’ top-rated hotels. It’s still not the most luxurious room on the market, but compared to the military-issue bunk beds you’ve been sleeping on for the past eight weeks, it might as well be paradise.

Especially now, given the changed nature of your relationship.

You got on the plane together two months ago nursing a deep, intense crush on your best friend. You’ve been close with Eijirou since your first year in college together, when he was assigned to the dorm room beside yours. And for as long as you’d known him, you assumed you’d be loving him from a distance.

But somewhere between Brussels and Berlin, the line between friend and lover started to blur. Since then, it’s been completely erased.

“Come on,” you protest, flinging your arms around his neck and clasping them together behind his head. “I can hardly feel a thing.”

He ran out of hair gel two weeks ago and he’s been wearing his hair down ever since, tied into a loose little ponytail at the nape of his neck. The dark roots of his natural colour are starting to show at his crown after going nearly two months without so much as a haircut.

To you, he’s never looked sweeter.

“That’s my point,” he insists, descending into tipsy, cheerful laughter. “You’re so drunk y’can’t feel a thing. C’mere, it’s time to get you to bed.”

His euphoric grin twists around the edges with mischief as he stoops, sweeping you off your feet with a quiet little grunt of effort. You burst out laughing, letting one arm drop around his neck as your head falls back in deepening mirth.

“Take me to bed,” you swoon, dropping purposely limp in his arms. You haven’t been able to do any of this since that night in Athens a couple of weeks ago where you miraculously had an entire hostel bunkroom to yourselves.

Even then, those cots didn’t make it easy.

Tonight you’ve got a king bed all to yourselves, which Kirishima plants you on before crossing to the window and throwing it open. The night air is velvety and sweet, rolling in like heady steam and waking your senses as you watch him ditch his shoes and crawl across the plush bedspread to settle down beside you.

“You are insanely beautiful,” he croons, propping one head on his arm and smoothing his fingers affectionately down your temple. “I can’t believe I get to tell you that.”

He leans in to kiss you after that, tasting you carefully as his hand drifts from your cheek to your neck to your side. He’s a careful kisser, tasting of the last hints of that sweet summer wine that’s filled both your heads.

Picking up on your eagerness, he breaks from your lips to push attentive little kisses down the side of your neck. But as he reaches the hem of the floaty little dress you wear, he pauses and finds your eye.

“Can I?”

He’s already sliding one palm down over the curve of your hip, but it pauses at your thigh, and the earnest little quirk in his brow is so cute you can’t help but giggle.

“Do you really need to ask?” you quip.

He hums thoughtfully against your skin, already mouthing at your collarbone. “Just making sure.”

There are oversized buttons lining the center front of your dress, and he takes his time popping open every single one. He opens the dress far enough that he could have easily pulled it down over your hips, but he doesn’t stop there. Instead, you get to watch as he works open the last button with quiet, deep concentration, and when he finally does, he pushes the folds open around your body with a loving little triumphant smile.

“There’s my girl,” he croons as he crawls atop you once more, shedding his sweaty t-shirt in the process. You’re chest-to-chest when he catches your lips again, and his skin is still a little warm from the afternoon you’d spent at the beach before dinner.

He kisses you long and low and slow, giving you plenty of time to let your thighs fall open around the slope of his hips. Eiji presses naturally forward, pushing the ridge of his pelvis and the stiff denim of his shorts against your flimsy underwear. He huffs quietly into your mouth, and as you shift and squirm beneath him you can feel his cock stirring against you.

“Eiji,” you whimper, turning your face sharply to one side. “Don’t make me wait.”

In the absence of your mouth, he noses attentively down the column of your throat. His eyelashes flutter at your jaw and you feel it when he purses his lips and swallows hard.

“Okay,” he rasps. “Okay, I gotcha.” He rears back, sitting up on his haunches to unbutton his shorts. Before he gets up to shed them, he rests a hand on the plane of your belly, smiling so innocently down at you it shouldn’t make you throb.

But it does.

“Ready for me already, pretty girl?” Eiji muses, and you have to bite your lip hard to keep from rolling over and screaming into your pillow as loudly as possible.

“Been ready for you since the beach,” you tease back, and it works, since his ears are turning red as he slips out of bed. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his undershorts and shucks both garments in one smooth motion, hunching over to let them drop to the floor while he steps unceremoniously out of them.

His cock’s half-hard already, sitting full and heavy between his thighs and swelling self-consciously under your gaze. He’s exactly as big as you always sort of knew he was. He’s not shy about it, either. He can’t afford to be.

But he doesn’t know how beautiful he is, sunburned and sweating in the fading golden-hour light of your last sunset in Italy. You want to pet the soft little bristle of dark hair that dusts his chest, follow the taper of it all the way down to that perfect trail that always used to disappear under his shorts.

Not anymore. You get to see him at his most vulnerable now.

And you will not misuse that trust.

“Come here,” you purr, pushing yourself onto your elbows so he can see the desire burning in your gaze for him.

He leans instinctively toward you, hands twitching by his sides. He snaps out of a little reverie with a hard blink, stooping in front of his shorts and fishing out his slim little travel wallet.

“Hang on.”

He flips through the creased euros and museum tickets, carding out a wrapped condom. He climbs back onto the bed and passes it to you with a shy little grin.

“I know you like to do the honours.”

The condom comes from a packet you bought in the wee hours at some twenty-four hour roadside convenience store before bedding down in a rented car together. The instructions are in Swedish, but you know what you’re doing.

By the time you get the condom unwrapped, Eiji’s on his knees in front of you and his cock is fully hard out of sheer anticipation. You reach between his thighs and wrap your fingers around his warm flesh, making him shudder. And you drop one sweet, warm kiss to his mouth before you focus.

He rolls his hips quietly into your touch as you handle the job with delicate precision, unrolling the condom all the way to his base.

“Ready?” He asks you, but you’re already laying back against the pillows and thumbing off your underwear, slick and aching for him.

“Get over here before I start without you,” you tease, and he is powerless to resist you. He anchors himself on his knees, hooking each of your legs over one of his powerful thighs. He reaches for you and his cock sweeps the inside of your thigh as it bobs between you. You’ve been wanting this from the moment you saw this room, the perfect ending to a life-changing trip.

Eiji sinks lower, letting the barrel of his chest rise and fall with a deep, steadying breath. He reaches between you to line himself up with you, casting his eyes up to yours when he feels you.

“Ready?” He repeats himself, and this time the humor’s gone. You nod quietly against the pillow and reach for his free hand, lacing your fingers together tightly.

You squeeze hard as he starts to slot himself inside you. He stretches you deeply, especially without any preparation. But he knows how to keep you comfortable, moving slowly and smoothly. He braces a hand on your belly as he bottoms out, but he does not pause there. Instead, he starts to ease into a lazy rhythm, sweeping his thumb between your folds to find the swelling nub of your clit.

“Fuck,” you whine, and he flinches a little inside you.

“God,” he gasps, bending over to press his forehead- sticky with sweat- into yours. “Tell me I’m not dreaming, yeah?”

You reach up and lightly pinch his chest with your free hand, and he grins above you.

“You’re good,” you confirm, hearing the breathlessness echo in your own voice.

“I’m not gonna last long like this,” he brushes. You shake your head.

“Don’t care. Just fuck me.”

His brow lifts against yours. After a chuckle of disbelief, he sits up.

“Aye aye, captain.”

He squeezes your fingers tightly and begins to thrust.

He does not hold back with you, keeping the pad of his thumb winding tight circles into your clit as he fucks you with eager diligence. You revel in the slap of your bodies, the fact that you can spread out and make noise, moan for him like you’ve always wanted to. Finally alone together for real. No stolen moments of privacy here. You can take as much as you want.

“Eiji,” you beg, beginning to clench around him as you feel the first twinges of your climax approaching.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he huffs, borderline incoherent as the flush spreads down his neck and chest. “Let go for me, I gotcha.”

In a dozen thrusts he’s got you falling, letting high whimpers escape your throat as your pussy clenches and flutters around his thick shaft. He rubs you diligently through your climax, fucking you steadily until you whine and paw his hand away, overstimulated and sensitive.

“I’m there,” he promises. “I’m there, I’m there, I’m….. f-fuck!” His jaw falls slack as he throws his head back, thrusting headlong into a tight climax that has him trembling against you. His hips go still, but you can feel the way his cock twitches inside your spent walls as he fills the condom.

When he’s finished he stays there for a moment, shoulders dropping while the rest of his body goes slack. He reaches up, scraping sweaty strands of hair off his forehead before he grins sleepily down at you.

“Did you…” He starts, eyes turning inquisitive. Someday he’ll be able to tell, but for now you’re just glad he’s asking.

“Yeah,” you hum, eyes bright despite the weight setting quickly into your limbs. It’s worth it for the pride that surges visibly through him, and he pulls out of you with a triumphant grin spreading his lips.

“Good,” he gushes, slipping quietly away to dispose of the condom. He’s hardly gone for a handful of seconds, and when he comes back he crawls eagerly up to your side and pulls you into his arms, curling his body attentively around yours.

“This is nice,” you confess, drifting pleasantly in the wine-and-sex-induced fog that rests heavy in your brain.

“Hmm?” Eiji’s already half-asleep above you, eyelids drooping as the light fades from the window beside the bed.

“This,” you prompt again. “Not having to get dressed again right away. We should do this more often.”

“I sure hope we do,” he enthuses. “When we get back, I’m not letting you unpack until we consummate our relationship on the right hemisphere.”

That was the longest you’d gone around him without laughing in a while. Even half-asleep, though, his wisecracks are enough to make you snort.

“Deal,” you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as the world bleeds out of focus around you. It’s not even eight o’clock and you’re sure you’ll have him again before nightfall. But for now, you’re more than happy to bask in the afterglow with the one person in the world you never thought you’d make it there with.

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 - Friday Night's Alright For Fighting

[ FM ]

On Friday, it’s Felix’s mother’s turn to pick him up from school since he’ll be spending the weekend at her place. I briefly wonder if he’ll tell her about his new-found admiration for the enigmatic Miss Scully and for just a little bit, the petty side of me wishes he would. It’s not that she’s a bad mother per se, but she never shared a strong connection with our son and ever since the divorce, it somehow got worse instead of better.

Felix took the divorce pretty hard, lashing out at me and the teacher and kids at kindergarten. There were times when I couldn’t even recognize my own kid. Because of my background in psychology, I tried to talk to him countless times but I finally had to admit that I was too emotionally involved to really help him. So we began to see a therapist back in Washington, D.C, him and I. His mother refused to participate because “He never acts out when he’s at my place, Fox, seems to me like that’s a you-problem.” That day, only the thought of what would become of my son if I went to jail had kept me from murdering her on the spot.

We don’t stay in contact much, except for negotiating pick-up and drop-off times for Felix, and that’s about all I can handle from her. The custody battle was a hot mess, not because she particularly wanted to keep Felix, but she used it to humiliate me, dragging my abilities as a father and caretaker through the mud in front of a judge and our lawyers. I tried to keep Felix out of the court hearings, putting my foot firmly down when her lawyer suggested that we could just ask the child where he wanted to live. He was three years old at the time, fat chance I was going to let that happen.

Thankfully, we were able to convince the judge that I was willing and more than capable of caring for our son and that me working from home was a more child-friendly environment than his mother’s job, which takes her out of the country several times a month.

I take off my reading glasses and close my laptop, this trip down memory lane has put me in a sour mood. After putting away everything work-related for the weekend, I stretch my arms over my head, contemplating what to do with my free time. I don’t have any friends here yet and since I can’t meet anyone at work, I decide to walk down the street to the harbor.

The streets are pretty busy with locals and tourists alike and as I walk past the crowd that stand around the rock that marks the place where the pilgrims debarked the Mayflower back in 1620, I think to myself ‘Guys it’s just a rock. In the ground. Walled in on all four sides.’ I was pretty disappointed, if you couldn’t already guess that.

I continue my walk and pass the dock where you can usually see the Mayflower II anchored, swaying with the waves of the Atlantic. She’s an accurate and beautiful reproduction of the original ship with which the pilgrims had sailed to America, founding Plymouth Colony after 10 gruesome weeks at sea.

Currently though, the dock is empty safe for a few seagulls harassing the tourists – they have taken the ship to a shipyard in Connecticut for restoration, much to Felix’s chagrin. When he heard that we were going to move here, he spent countless hours reading up on the history of Plymouth, the Pilgrims and everything that happened afterwards. He got a real kick out of imagining the American Protestors and the British Government officials dressed up in frilly dresses and huge feathered hats, actually having a fancy tea party instead of the Boston Tea Party, which escalated the American Revolution in 1773.

His special interest, though, had been captured by the Mayflower, which is not surprising because he loves anything that’s big and can transport people or cargo. Planes, helicopters, trains, you name it, but especially ships. On the first night in our new house, he insisted that we leave the boxes packed for now and head down to the harbor, right now.

At first, always the responsible adult, I refused, but he didn’t let up, resorting to pleading with me, then he practically begged me and when I still wouldn’t budge he went in for the kill with his puppy-dog look and a pronounced pout. I could see the tears welling up in his eyes. Damn, he was using my very own look against me!

The tears still came a little while after, when we reached the harbor and found the dock deserted. I wanted to kick myself for not checking if the ship was actually there or not and I had to carry a bawling, devastated Felix back to our house. He only stopped crying when I promised him that we’d go see the Mayflower II the very second she sailed back into the harbor.

After another, more pleasant, trip down memory lane, I had reached my destination: The Cabby Shack, a local bar and restaurant that is made up of an inside bar downstairs and two large decks, the lower one housing the outside bar, the upper one the restaurant.

Making my way through the crowded room, I spotted an empty seat at the bar and ordered a drink aptly named Islands of Misfits. I snorted out a laugh at how accurately it described my situation right now. Island of Misfits alright, inhabitant: 1.

I took a sip of my drink and twirled the tiny umbrella between my fingers when out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone take the seat next to me at the bar.

“Islands of Misfits, huh? Must be bad!” Looking up, I’m surprised to see that it’s Walter Skinner, my son’s principal.

“Yeah, sort of. Sorry, hello sir, it’s nice to see you!” He shakes my hand briefly and orders himself a whiskey on the rocks. Had I been a more insecure man I would’ve felt stupid for my drink choice, but as it was, if I like my drinks sweet and with a cutesy umbrella in it, then that’s what I’ll have. And don’t you dare forget the fucking umbrella!

“So Mr. Mulder, what is it, love troubles?” As a born and raised city boy I have yet to come to terms with small town frankness but I like Principal Skinner and his lack of beating around the bush.

But still, I couldn’t exactly tell him the whole truth, I don’t think he’d appreciate a Actually yes, sir, I’ve been staring at one of your teachers for every damn day of the week and when I’m not busy staring at her, I think about her all the time. I wonder if her kisses taste like strawberries and what her hair smells like. I’m driving myself slowly insane by imagining running my tongue over the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and let me tell you about the dreams I’ve been having real quick. Yeah that won’t fly.

First, he’d kick my ass into the sixth dimension and then he’d have me arrested for gross misconduct or worse, sexual harassment. Even though I’m not sure if that’s really applicable when it only takes place in your mind, it’s still inappropriate as all hell and I’m not going to test out my little theory. I don’t think I’d fare well in jail, to be honest.

So instead, I opt for a more appropriate half-version of the truth. “Yeah, sort of. I had a huge argument with my ex-wife over the phone when she was late picking our son up from school. If I had one, I think my swear jar would be able to buy me my own Island of Misfits. And what’s even worse is that I think my – our son was there to hear at least her end of the fight.” I take a miserable sip from my drink.

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Mr. Mulder. Your son’s name is Felix, right? He’s in Miss Anderson’s first grade?” Thankful for the slight change of topic, I nod.

“Yes, sir, that’s him. We got off to a rocky start but after the first week, he really loves going to school, Mr. Skinner.” The other man shakes his head and offers me his hand once again.

“Please, call me Walter. Outside of school only, of course, you understand.”

I grab his hand and give it a brief shake, smiling wryly. “Of course. I’m Fox but I make everyone call me Mulder. Even my parents. I hate my name.” He huffs out a laugh at that and I can tell that it’s a rare occasion.

“I get the feeling you’re in need of a friend on your island, Mulder not Fox.”

That I do, indeed.

Island of Maybe not such Misfits, inhabitants: 2.

Chapter 12 - A Rainbow In Its Natural Habitat

[mcwriting]

call me, beep me

In which I wrote a Kim Possible AU :)

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 3865 

Warnings: literally none lol it’s all fun and fluff

#

“Toooom!” you exclaimed in a loud cry. He had clumsily knocked over part of your science fair project, a diorama of the solar system. His misstep caused Pluto to pop off the wire and dented Neptune a little.

“Oh my gosh, y/n, I’m so sorry, let me get that-” he started to reach down and grab the littlest planet at the same time as you, causing both of your heads to bump together.

You each jumped back again, exclaiming “ow!” and rubbing your temples simultaneously.

Things had been off between you and your childhood best friend lately. 

You’d been attached at the hip since preschool, and though you had your ups and downs, had always stayed friends. You were partners in (fighting) crime, but now it was like you were out of sync and couldn’t figure out why. 

“It’s okay, Tom. Seriously. I can fix it myself. You need to work on your project anyways, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. If it makes you feel any better, most people don’t even consider Pluto a planet anymore, so I kinda did you a favor.”

“You take that back! Pluto is so a planet!”

As you both laughed it off, a familiar four-toned beep came from your pocket.

“What’s the sitch, Jacob?” you asked into the phone, where your friend could be seen sitting at his computer.

“Hey, y/n. I was checking out Dr. Gyllenhaal’s purchase history lately, and well... tell me if this sounds fishy: 200 pounds of cherry flavored jello mix. That might not sound too bad except that he’s at the villain convention and just snatched the last 30 liters of mind-control juice. The first person you look at after ingesting some can control what you do unless you can reverse it. Oh, and he invited you and everyone else in town to a cookout at the park tomorrow.”

“Well, definitely doesn’t sound like any regular cookout. I’ll check things out. Give me location on the convention and we’ll head over,” you responded, annoyed that you needed to take a pause on your project that was due the next morning.

“I’m gonna ask him why he chose cherry. I mean, really. All the flavors in the world and you pick cherry!?” Tom said incredulously. You rolled your eyes in amusement and grabbed his arm.

“Come on, jello boy. Let’s go.”

#

The year’s convention was the place to be.

The villain counsel had gotten together and gotten a spot at the biggest venue in Rio, and everyone had been able to share conquests and victories along the beach.

Which is where Dr. Gyllenhaal was happily sipping on his frozen drink in the sun as his henchwoman, Daisy, lounged nearby.

“So you really think jello is the way to go, huh? Not a mixer at the club? It’d be a lot more fun that way,” she trailed.

“Y/n y/l/n and that... that... buffoon of hers are in high school. They cannot go to clubs. But jello! I mean who doesn’t love jello!?”

“Well... me for one. And cherry, really? Cherry? Couldn’t have at least gone for strawberry?”

“Cherry is the best flavor and you know it! Now let me enjoy my drink in peace before we head back to the lair.”

“Better sip quickly. I think that’s her and her little friend on the parasail that just disconnected from the boat,” Daisy said nonchalantly, sunglasses pulled down to see you gliding towards the beach.

“WHAT!?”

He threw the drink aside and sat up quickly.

You and your parachute were floating down gracefully as Tom was struggling. His naked mole rat, Tessa, was desperately trying to detangle him but to no avail, so he decided to bail, dropping into the ocean with a large splash. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head as you detached and landed on the beach, doing a somersault to break your fall. 

“Miss y/l/n, nice of you to arrive,” Dr. Gyllenhaal sneered as you stood. You were about to answer when Tom was clumsily thrown onto the sand by the crashing tide. 

“And you brought your little boyfriend, too.”

You looked down in surprise at Tom, who gave you the same deer-in-the-headlights look.

“We’re not- I mean he isn’t-”

“Y/n and I would never- What are you-” 

You both stammered. 

“Oh how cute. They’re blushing.” Daisy teased. “Now, time to kick your butt.”

With that you ensued in typical hand-to-hand combat along the beach, using your tumbling skills to narrowly avoid Daisy’s glowing fists along with other beach obstacles. 

“Where’s the juice!? I know you have it!” you exclaimed between handsprings.

“Isn’t that a funny question. You know I have some right here but-” Gyllenhaal pulled out a flask with the liquid to gloat, but tripped, the lid popping off and liquid beginning to splash out. “Oops!”

It was heading towards both you and Tom, so you turned to say, “Don’t let it get in your mouth!”

Some splashed onto yours and Tom’s faces. He cringed and ran towards the ocean.

“Tom what are you-” you couldn’t finish the thought, because as you were watching, a drop fell from your lips onto your tongue.

Suddenly, you felt inclined to do whatever Tom said. He was washing his face off with the salt water when you turned back around to look at your nemesis.

"Ooh let’s see if this works. Okay y/n. Tell me I’m pretty,” Gyllenhaal said, looking at you expectantly. You furrowed your brows. 

“Hmm. Maybe it needs to be an action. Y/n, go get me another piña colada.”

“What do you think I am, your slave?” you retorted sarcastically. His jaw dropped. 

“But I- I bought so much... WHY ISN’T IT WORKING?” he cried out.

Tom appeared next to you again.

“Hey y/n could you tell me if my hair’s messed up?”

You looked at him and without a thought answered.

“Oh yeah it’s parted weird. Lemme fix that.” You reached out and flopped a strand over. 

Dr. Gyllenhaal had a startling revelation.

“Oh no. Oh my gosh. YOU.YOU BUMBLING IDIOT. You’re the one who has the power to control y/n now? Oh dear. Daisy, we need to go at once!”

With that they sped off on a scooter, getting away once again. 

“What was he talking about? Oh hey, my shoe’s untied. Could you get that?” he asked. Usually it was a joke between you that you’d never tie his shoes, but immediately you were knelt down double knotting his laces.

You stood up, confused at what had overcome you, but quickly realization washed over your face.

“You...” you whispered. “I drank the juice, and now you get to control me until we can figure out a remedy...”

“What? No way, y/n. That’s crazy talk. If I had the power to control you, I’d tell you to eat an avocado and you’d actually do it.”

Ugh. Avocados.

One of your least favorite foods. They disgusted you, but without second thought you ran to find one, ravenously peeling off the skin with your bare hands and eating the soft fruit inside.

Tom looked at you in shock and horror.

“OH MY GOSH I”M CONTROLLING YOUR MIND!” he exclaimed, hands thrown upward onto his head. He started pacing and muttering to himself nervously.

You quickly finished the avocado, tossing the skin and pit aside. You wiped your mouth and immediately you were disgusted with yourself, the taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Ugh. That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

“Well call Jacob and figure out how to undo it!”

Immediately you pulled out your phone and rang him up, explaining the situation.

“... and it would really be nice if Tom could get me some water,” you muttered after telling Jacob what had happened.

“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Tom asked, prompting you to run to the nearest snack shack and grab yourself a water. You drank it in annoyance as Tom looked at you sheepishly.

“Well... here’s the problem... so far there’s no known antidote, y/n. Sorry. I’ll see if I can figure it out though,” Jacob explained. You groaned.

“Yeah, okay. Keep me in the loop. And while I’ve got you, could you send us a ride home?” 

“Sure thing, y/n. I’ll be in touch,” Jacob added, screen going black as he ended the call.

“Welp, y/n. This is going to be fun, right?” Tom asked enthusiastically.

“Sure. Fun.”

#

You were quickly putting together Tom’s baking soda volcano as he lounged nearby on your bed. He’d used his new power to get you to finish his project for him.

“As soon as we figure out the cure, I’m so gonna pummel you,” you said as you painted red drips around the rim and sides.

“Maybe it’s best that we don’t find that cure...” Tom started, until you shot him a glare. “Kidding! Kidding. Seriously though, y/n, I’ll repay you for doing this. It’s just, we all know you’re the smart one in this pairing.”

You perked up and looked at him funny as you continued to work.

“Pairing?”

“Well, yeah sure. I mean I couldn’t say couple, and well... I couldn’t think of a better word. Friendship doesn’t sound right either.”

You turned around, cheeks warm.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked quietly.

“We’re more than just friends, y/n. Everyone knows that. We’ve been at each other’s sides for forever. I just feel like only calling us friends doesn’t really encapsulate our relationship.”

“Oh... yeah. I see,” you said, a couple nervous chuckles leaving your breath as you moved on from painting lava to gluing fake trees around the volcano.

“What do you see it as, y/n?”

You felt the urgency to answer truthfully but wasn’t really sure how to. Like you’d said before, it was complicated.

“Well I... I don’t know. You’re my best friend, Tom. I’m not really sure what else to say.”

Tom looked down at Tessa, who was asleep in his hand. 

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course. I mean, that’s probably how anyone else would describe it...” he trailed. You felt yourself deflate in the same way Tom did, but you’d been honest.

You kind of had to be, after all. 

After a few minutes of rare silence between you two, Tom spoke up again.

“Hey y/n? You don’t have to keep working on that. It looks incredible as it is and I owe you a million for it.” You stopped what you were doing and leaned away from the project. 

“You know, I think I’m gonna head home. Tessa’s pretty much konked out and I’m pretty exhausted, too. It’s probably best that you finish up your work and hit the hay after I leave.”

You knew his statement wasn’t supposed to be a command, but now you’d be doing just that as soon as he was out the door.

He got up to leave, stuffing the sleepy mole rat into his pocket where she often hid and you stood from your place on the floor. 

“I’ll get all this stuff in the morning when I come to pick you up, okay?” Tom said. You nodded, a slight, lopsided grin on your lips.

You both stood awkwardly for a second before you leaned in, giving him a hug like you often did when parting ways. His arms engulfed you.

“Good night, y/n.”

“Night, Tom.”

With that you parted and he was out the door. As soon as you heard the front door shut, you were back to fixing your solar system.

#

As you got ready in the morning, thoughts about the prior night came bubbling up.

You hadn’t really had much thought about it before, because you’d been “ordered” to do your school project and go to bed, not leaving much time for reflection.

Are we just best friends? Are we not? I mean we aren’t a couple but we’ve got more going on than the average best friend, right? Am I just saying this because we fight crime unlike everyone else? Do I like-

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your  younger twin brothers called up, signaling that Tom was at the door. A few moments later he appeared at your bedroom.

“Mornin’ y/n,” he said, chipper as ever. It seemed that he was going to put the previous night’s events behind him. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just a second. I forgot to take your project to my car before you got here.”

“Oh I can get mine,” Tom offered, stuffing a tri-fold under his arm and picking up the volcano with his hands.

“You- you’re not gonna make me do it?” you asked.

“What? Nah. I’m actively trying to not mind control you today. I feel bad about doing it.” 

“It’s going to happen eventually, you know. But come on. I don’t want to be late to the science fair.”

#

Yours and Tom’s displays were next to each other in the gym and for the most part, everything was going well. 

He’d slipped up a couple of times in the mind control department, but they were simple questions, so no one really picked up on it.

As you were preparing for the fair to start, you rolled your eyes as your co-caption on the cheer squad (and high school enemy) Zendaya walked up.

“Oh my gosh, y/n. What’s this? A solar system? That’s it?”

“I mean my dad’s a rocket scientist. And did you forget the fact that I’ve been to space? Maybe if you read my poster you’d understand that my project is about more than just some floating space balls.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Mine’s gonna win either way,” she bragged, earning another eye roll.

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” you grumbled. 

She flicked her hair and turned on her heel, headed back to her area. You huffed at her annoying arrogance.

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. You’ve got this,” Tom encouraged. Suddenly all tension left you.

Maybe this mind control stuff isn’t always bad. At least not when you’ve got the best kind of cheerleader by your side.

You looked at Tom with a soft smile. He was paying attention to Tessa, so he couldn’t see the way you were studying him. 

Over the years, you’d seen more of Tom than practically anyone else had, but yet you still found yourself trying to memorize every little mark and freckle on his face. You analyzed each curl of his hair. The way his lashes fluttered when he blinked.

You snapped out of it when he looked back up at you.

“You okay, y/n?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. Just got distracted for a second. That’s all.”

Before he could press you further, your phone beeped. 

“Hey Jacob. Any updates?” 

“Well... I have an update, but it’s not necessarily the best news. There aren’t any known antidotes for the juice yet. I even emailed the seller under a fake name and he couldn’t give me a good answer. I got my hands on a little and will send some to the lab. Hang tight. Oh, and good luck with your project.”

You said some parting words and hung up.

“Well great. We’re no closer to solving this and we have to figure out a way to get everyone in town to not eat the stupid jello unless we can find a cure. This is shaping up to be just the best.”

“Hey. It’s okay. Just focus on presenting your project for now and beating Zendaya, okay? You can definitely do that.”

And once again, you felt yourself succumb to his words as the judging began.

#

“See. I told you you could do it,” Tom said excitedly as you carried a large trophy home.

“I had a feeling I would anyways, but I was kind of under order to win, so there was no way I’d take anything less than first.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s my girl,” Tom said offhandedly, taking a second to realize the implications of what he may have said. “And- and by my girl I don’t mean my girl I mean you’re just my best... um.. you know...”

“Tom. It’s okay. I get it. We don’t need to start this again right now. Now we need to focus on stopping Gyllenhaal and finding a cure. Plus, I need to change into a cute outfit for the cookout.”

# 

Hours of brainstorming and you were still no closer to finding a solution, but most of town was now gathered at the park feasting on hot dogs, hamburgers, and all the chips and potato salad they could handle. 

The jello had yet to make an appearance on tables, and there was no sign of Dr. Gyllenhaal or Daisy as you and Tom approached the families chowing down and having fun. 

You couldn’t, however, ignore the large curtained stage on one side of the park.

After hanging out with Tom and some other friends, the curtain suddenly opened, revealing your nemesis on the stage, microphone in hand.

“Good evening, friends. I’m your friendly neighborhood Dr. Gyllenhaal, and tonight I’m going to be your musical entertainment. But first! We want everyone to feast on the finest dessert, so jello for everyone!” he exclaimed.

You stomach dropped.

“Tom we gotta act fast. You help stop people from eating the jello and I’m going to try to get him off stage.”

As you split up, you got another beep on your phone.

“Hurry, Jacob. I don’t have much time.” 

“Okay, okay. I think I just solved your problem. You remember that movie Ella Enchanted?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t see the correlation.”

“Well remember when at the end, the only way Ella breaks her curse is by talking to herself in the mirror..?”

“Oh my gosh you’re a genius. If the first person you look at is yourself, then you’re still in control! Anyway you can hook us up with some mirrors?”

“Already on it. But first, you need to test it on yourself just to make sure. I think Gyllenhaal has some extra juice hidden behind the stage if you can get your hands on it.”

“On my way. Thanks, Jake. You’re a lifesaver.”

You sprinted towards the stage, now in a different pursuit than before. You darted around the side, looking around to see if there were any bottles you could grab a quick swig from.

“Oh no you don’t,” a voice called from behind you. Daisy.

“Look, I just want some of the juice for myself alright? Nothing else.”

Yet.

“Oh we’ve got a good girl gone bad, huh? I don’t buy that sister.”

She lunged at you and once again you were in typical combat, flipping around and swinging off stage rigs, trying to get to the lone bottle of juice that was resting in the bed of a truck.

After a couple minutes, you were able to outsmart Daisy and grab the bottle. You pulled a compact from your pocket and looked straight into the mirror.

“This better work,” you muttered, tossing back some of the liquid and looking into the eyes of your reflection.

You didn’t feel any different, so you swung up onto the stage and knocked Gyllenhaal over, searching the crowd for Tom as you tried to trap the mad scientist.

“Tom! Tom tell me to do something!” you cried out upon seeing him. He was furiously rushing between tables trying to prevent people from eating the jello.

“What? Like what? I don’t want to ruin the mission!”

“Just say whatever! Hurry!”

“Okay fine! Eat another avocado!”

Dr. Gyllenhaal looked up at you expectantly, but you had no desire to find the green fruit, not even a twinge. Instead, you continued what you were doing before.

Dr. Gyllenhaal, on the other hand, paled. 

“Oh dear,” he whispered nervously, realizing you had found a solution to the problem he had created.

“Daisy get the helicopter! Hurry!” he cried out, slipping from your grip and running away like he always did. 

You let him go to focus on helping anyone who had eaten the jello, those of which Tom was trying to round up so you could help them.

After getting everyone cured, Jacob had called the lab he was working with to get the jello and dispose of it properly, allowing them to run more tests, too, now that they knew the cure.

You stood aside, arms crossed in satisfaction, as Tom approached.

“So you’re you again? Nothing I say can affect you?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it that way, but I’m definitely not eating any avocados or tying your shoelaces in the near future.”

He gave a chuckle and you started slowly walking home from the park.

“Hey, um, now that you’re cured and everything, I’m really sorry about last night. I accidentally put you in a weird position and I get it if you’re mad at me. I’m okay just calling us friends and ending it there if that’s what you want,” Tom said. 

You thought for a few moments about his proposal.

“You know, I was technically being honest last night, but my answer has changed since then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well... These past couple of weeks, things have felt really...”

“Weird? Off?” he interjected.

“Exactly! We’ve been so out of sync and I couldn’t figure out why! But after last night I realized that it’s because we aren’t simply friends. And I don’t know where you stand on this, but... I think I have feelings for you? And if you want to stay just friends I understand, but I just hate when we aren’t honest with each other.”

“Wait. You do?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

You braced yourself for him to shoot you down and put you back in the friend zone, but his reply surprised you.

“I guess now is the perfect time to tell you that I’ve had feelings for you for... well... ever.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked.

“You have!?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. You’re strong, smart, and beautiful. You kick butt like nobody’s business and above all, put up with me every day. You’re like the most incredible person ever. How could I not be into you?”

You felt yourself blushing as you approached your front porch.

“You’re amazing, Tom. You know that?” he jokingly waved you off, but then you were standing quietly.

“Sooo... monthly movie marathon tomorrow at my place? I’ll provide the snackage,” Tom offered, reminding you of your scheduled hangout. You looked down at the ground with a smile, then back up again, nodding.

Usually this was the part where you’d say goodnight and maybe hug, but this time you took it a step further.

You reached up and kissed him on the lips. It was only for a second, but both of you were stunned upon pulling back.

“I know I usually tell you not to bring anything to movie day, but could you please bring some more of those with you?” Tom joked once he snapped out of it.

“Oh my gosh,” you replied in amusement, giving him a light shove. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Night, y/n.”

And with that, the man you realized you’d loved for years turned around and made his leave.

#

A/N: yooooo I actually really loved this. I really tried to fit the KP vibes but sorry if anything felt off. There’s just not much as iconic as the og Kim and Ron, ya know?

Anyways thanks for reading and as always please feel free to send an ask or message anytime!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @readheadwriter, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe,  

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓

🍓the strawberry shack masterlist🍓

summary - when the world was good, negan had always visited the strawberry shack after work and when the world ended, he didn't expect to find the place still up and running.

warning - smut, gloryhole, creampie, swearing, daddy kink, breeding kink.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

Negan stared shocked at the building still standing as though it had never been touched by the apocalypse. The sign still flashing ‘The Strawberry Shack’, no sign of the dead around. He was brought back to when the world was fine when the dead didn’t walk. He remembered finding this place and heading inside, finding the perfect woman each time. That woman being you, you were the one he’d cheat on his wife with. You’d take away all his thoughts and feelings. He wondered if there was anyone inside, so with large strides, Negan heads toward the building and enters. Stopping short as he sees the same woman sitting at the front desk.

“Hiya hun, nice to see ya again. What would you like?” She taps her perfectly manicured nails against the counter, staring at him as she waits for his response. 

“Sex, sugar. But I got no cash.” Negan watches, waiting to wake up and for this to be a dream. 

The woman waves her hand, “Don’t worry, hun. It’s free of charge for our favourite customer.” She smirks, “You know where to go.” He nods, walking toward the door and he surveys the room. It seems that only one person is working, and he’d recognise that arse anywhere. 

“I see you’re still working, sugar. Even with the hell going on outside.” He walks closer, eyes focused on how you clench around nothing at his voice. “How I’ve missed you. Shit.” He groans, feeling his cock harden and throb. Negan grabs the flesh of your arse, giving it a good squeeze before he reaches down and plays with your clit. “Fuck, sugar. You’re already so wet for me.” He leans Lucille against the wall as he reaches down, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants before pulling out his cock. Giving it a few strokes, watching precum leak for his swollen tip. “So, fucking hard for you.”

Negan lines himself up with your entrance, rubbing his cock up and down as he collects your juices before he slowly pushes into you. His eyes practically rolling to the back of his head, leaning one hand against the wall while the other grips your hips. “Jesus, sugar. You’re so fucking tight!” He groans, sliding deep inside of you before pulling back out and thrusting in, repeating the movements over and over. “Shit!” His balls slap against your clit, causing you to dig your nails into the bench beneath you, your walls tighten around him, sucking him in deeper. 

Your moans fill the room alongside the slapping of skin, you wiggle your arse, pushing up against him, causing him to go deeper inside of you. “That’s it, baby girl. You gonna let Daddy breed you, huh? Pump you full of my cum like before? You miss being full of me, sugar?” Negan’s words cause you to clench around him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Yes! Yes! Please breed me, Daddy! Pump me full!” You whine, your toes curl as you cum, coating Negan’s cock with your juices. He grips your hips harder, burying himself deeper inside of you as he cums, coating your walls with his white cream. You sag, sinking into the bench beneath you.

“Fuck me, sugar. That was the best fuck I’ve had in a long time. Might have to take you with me.” Negan groans as he gently pulls out of you, tucking his cock back into his jeans and pushing his cum that leaks from your cunt back in. You let out a huff, your lower half tingling. “I gotta go, sugar. I hope we meet again.” He pinches your cheek before grabbing Lucille, swinging his bat over his shoulder and walks off, giving the woman at the front desk a nod before leaving, heading back to his sanctuary.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[cosmic-divinity]

What about an au that Stans about how “weird” “Old man mucket” is and Ford askes about him, then Stan is confused but tells him where he lives and ford talks to his bud for the first time in a long time.

I am so sorry if this is confusing :(

No confusion here! I gotcha ^^ Hope you like it! FEELINGS TIME

Stanford remembered hearing it that morning and nearly dropping his coffee in the process. It had been the mention of a name he had forgotten about momentarily. After all, in all his travels across the multiverse, small things like that were bound to slip his mind. However, the fact that it brought about such a sudden reaction had shown that the memory was not entirely gone. It was still very much a part of him, and hearing that name, brought about a multitude of emotions. The strongest one wracking his brain was of….regret. 

“Hey, kids. Did you see the latest video on Bramble? Man, I swear, that Old Man McGucket keeps getting crazier and crazier. I dunno what he’s gonna do next,” Stanley laughed and then even harder when Mabel showed him another video. 

“I mean, yeah, it’s funny, but I feel kind of bad for the guy. He lives by himself near the dump, and no one’s tried to, you know, help him at all?” Dipper added, sipping on his strawberry milk. 

“Ah, lighten up, kid. As far as I know, that’s just..how he lives. He doesn’t seem like he’s unhappy or anything.” Stanley did stop laughing momentarily. Of course Dipper always had to be the realist just like someone else he knew. He finally noticed Ford standing in the doorway, looking like he was about to pass out. “Sixer? You all good over there?” 

“Oh, no, Grunkle Ford! You dropped your mug.” Mabel hurried over to scoop it up. Luckily, it wasn’t one of the ceramic ones and didn’t break upon impact. It took Stanford a couple of seconds before he registered she was grabbing paper towels to clean up the mess. 

“Terribly sorry, Mabel. I zoned out for a moment there,” he apologized, helping her sop it up before it spread to the rug. “I just...you guys were talking about Fiddleford Hadron McGucket...right?” 

Stanley raised an eyebrow. How the hell did those two know each other?

“Wait, how do you know his full name?” 

“Did you not read his journals, Grunkle Stan? McGucket was his assistant in his research. He was...a genius, really,” Dipper said with a concerned look towards Ford. “I would’ve done something, but..I’m not exactly sure how to help him. He lost a lot of his memory.” 

“You said he lives over by the dump, right?” As soon as Dipper said “yes” in response, Ford was out of there in about five seconds flat, dashing off towards the dump. 

“Ooh! Should we follow him, Dipper? Maybe Grunkle Ford can get the old Fiddleford back!” Mabel gasped. By the look in her eyes, Dipper could tell she had already made up her mind. 

As soon as she ran off, Dipper sighed and grabbed his backpack. He’d really hear it from both Mabel and Grunkle Stan if he didn’t go with. “Uh, be back in a bit, Grunkle Stan!” 

Stanford didn’t stop running until he got to McGucket’s shack. In hindsight, he could’ve had Stan drive him, but this was urgent. He gasped when he saw where he was living. Oh, Fiddleford… He felt that guilt hanging heavy on his chest again. How long had he gone on not even knowing he was here? Of course, he had only recently returned to this dimension, but still! How could he forget about the person most dear to him. The person who….he betrayed..for an interdimensional demon with empty promises. For a moment, he stopped himself as he started walking up to the shack. If his memories returned...would he hate him still? He wouldn’t blame Fiddleford if he never wanted to see him again.

Mustering some courage, Stanford took a deep breath and continued onwards to what sort of resembled a door. A six fingered fist lingered at it a moment before tentatively knocking. He heard rustling from within before a raccoon bolted out of there, making him jump and nearly fall over. Was a raccoon his only company now?? His heart nearly stopped when Fiddleford stood in the doorway, his beard all the way down to his feet and what looked like...a bandage on his beard? Stanford wasn’t about to question it. Fiddleford stared blankly at him before saying, “Well, howdy, there! Can I help you with somethin’?” 

The words caught in Stanford’s throat for a moment. There was so, so much he wanted to say, mostly “I’m sorry, so sorry,” but he held it back. He didn’t know how much of his memory was missing, but given his living conditions, and the fact that he wasn’t completely pissed at him right now, he’d say a lot. He held up a six fingered hand in a wave, putting on his best smile even though his body simply didn’t want to, no matter how much it hurt. 

“Hey, Fiddleford. I’m an...old friend, Stanford Pines. Do you..remember me at all?” 

Fiddleford seemed utterly confused. He “hmm’d” to himself, scratching his beard and looking Stanford over. It got to the point where it seemed to be causing him physical pain, finally stopping with a groan. “Aw, sorry, there. Can’t seem to recall your name, but you’re that new scientist guy that arrived here in Gravity Falls, right? Sorry if I’m wrong. My memory ain’t what it used to be, you know?” 

Stanford let out a sigh and an understanding nod. He figured this was probably going to be the case. Perhaps, he needed some stimuli to get things going. 

“It’s alright, Fiddleford. I know you’ve been through a lot...trust me, I do, so I hope you don’t mind this.” 

Taking a breath, Stanford reached out to place his hands on Fiddleford’s shoulders, slowly drawing him into a hug. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, Fiddleford. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything that happened. I should’ve put my trust in you, not Bill. Driving you away is one of my deepest regrets. Even in other dimensions, it haunted me in my dreams. I wish...I wish I could take that hurt away, but we both know even the memory gun isn’t perfect. Memories don’t simply disappear, right, Fidds?” In that moment, he didn’t think about if Fiddleford didn’t know what he was talking about. All that mattered now was that he was hugging him again. He didn’t need forgiveness. It was the closure that he’d get at least. 

For a minute, Fiddleford stayed still, but he slowly wrapped his arms around Stanford, sighing softly. Just feeling safe in his arms and his familiar scent, he felt a rush of memories coming back to him, especially with the use of his old nickname Stanford often called him back then. He glanced over when he felt Stanford trembling, tightening his grip on his shirt. His head..well, really hurt, especially at the fact that Stanford was here and in his arms. 

“It was a tough time for both of us. And you know, I forgive you, Stanford. It’s been far too long for me to hold onto a grudge now.” 

Stanford gasped when he heard him call him by his name. Were his memories..returning? Was his hypothesis correct? Tears started to run down his cheeks as he cupped Fiddleford’s face with trembling hands. “Fidds….you really remember me? I-I mean, you shouldn’t forgive me. I betrayed you. You were the person I was closest to, and I turned my back on you, drove you mad enough to use the memory gun on yourself. I..I don’t think I deserve it..” 

“Oh, Stanford,” Fiddleford chuckled, looking up at him with the softest smile. “What matters is learning from your mistakes. Obviously, you found out the truth about Bill and his intentions, and you worked hard to correct your mistakes. Like I said, it’s been too long for me to hold onto a grudge, right, old buddy?” 

He winced a bit when another headache and rush of memories came on. “Ah, look at this. You’re sparking so many lost memories o’ mine. It’s like magic!” 

Stanford let out a choked laugh, having to remove his glasses a moment to wipe away his tears. 

“Yeah, it kind of is. I would say magic doesn’t actually exist, but..I’ve seen far too much to say that anymore. Plus, Mabel would probably kick me in the shin if she heard me say that.” After taking a moment to collect himself, Stanford offered his hand to Fiddleford. “How about we find a place to chat and catch up? My brother actually turned the old cabin into a tourist trap of sorts, but it’s a good place to hang out in. And really? A shack, Fidds?” 

“Hey, don’t blame me! I lost my mind, literally!” Fiddleford teased and accepted Stanford’s hand. The warm touch of it was something he really had missed. 

“OH MY GOD, GRUNKLE FORD! That was sooo cute! I actually started crying myself,” Mabel squealed from a nearby bush as she tumbled out of it followed by Dipper. “Oh my gosh! You guys are literally the cutest!” 

“Mabel...they just met again after...a really long period of time,” he said, having forgotten the exact number. “How about we give them some space?” 

“Oh, yes, yes. Space is important, but afterwards you guys have to tell me everything!” 

Stanford chuckled as he watched her drag Dipper off, guiding Fiddleford along. Things were still a little...awkward, but he was sure they’d regain their footholds in their relationship again. Things were a little different now, but after all these years, Fiddleford was still Fiddleford, and that was enough for him.

[ve1vetyoongi]

Operation: Love Letters | 04

💌 CHAPTER INDEX 💌

♡ ⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader.

♡ ⇢ chapter word count: 7k

♡ ⇢ genre: mystery, college!au, romance, fluff, eventual smut.

♡ ⇢ warnings/rating: none, PG

♡ ⇢ summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

♡ ⇢ schedule: updated every day at 5pm GMT in the run up to Valentine’s Day 2020!

"I'm having second thoughts about this." You whine as Jimin fishes around in his leather waist bag for a pen so he can scribble your names down under KISSERS on the fundraiser sign up sheet. "What if my admirer doesn't even turn up? Or worse, what someone kisses me and I get sick and then I die before I can uncover their identity?"

Jimin just rolls his eyes, already finished dotting the I's in his name with tiny hearts before he slips his arm through yours and drops his head on to your shoulder as you walk across campus.

"Taehyung got totally suspicious when he found out you were signing up for the kissing booth. So, he knows you're gonna be here. What's stopping him from coming?"

"We don't know if he is my admirer yet." You point out. "Their name was ripped off, remember?"

"Well why else would he have had that letter in his backpack? It doesn't take much to read between the lines. Don't deep it too much. Besides, I've already started an intense lip treatment so I'm ready for the big day!" He smacks his lips with a wink and you can't help but scoff.

"Hey! You're supposed to be focused on finding my admirer not making out with every student on campus!"

"What? A guy can't even have some fun around here anymore?" Jimin tugs on his satchel with a dreamy look in his eyes. "Besides, who knows? Maybe I'll find an admirer of my own!"

"I just wish the note hadn't been ripped right where my admirer wrote his name." You sigh. "That would've made this whole thing a lot easier."

"Sure, but in a way it's a good sign. The fact that he signed his name at all suggests that he wants to be found, so I'll bet he's gonna turn up at the kissing booth for real."

You shake your head, already nervous. "You better be right."

Jimin just sends you a wink. "When am I ever wrong?"

"Okay, I was wrong." Jimin murmurs, nerves evident in his tone as you elbow your way to the front of the crowd that has formed outside the gym. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

The kissing booth is a small wooden shack set up in the middle of the gymnasium, surrounded by red foil balloons in the shape of hearts and jars of pink jellybeans and bouquets of chocolate covered strawberries. The air is fragrant with the red roses that are scattered by the dozen along the path leading up to none other than Kim Seokjin, who stands on a stepladder as he adds the finishing touches to a sign labelled with prices in chalk, from 5 cents for a kiss on the cheek to 5 dollars for a make-out.

When he sees you emerging from the crowd his face breaks out into a beaming grin and he rushes over to pull you both into a bear hug. "I knew I could count on you two to come along! The other kisser's pulled out last minute, so you guys are gonna have to work extra hard today!"

"What?" Jimin exclaims. "The two of us have to kiss all of these people?"

Before Seokjin can open his mouth to let out a reassuring excuse, a familiar head of blonde hair stuffed messily beneath a baseball cap rounds the corner.

"Dude, Taehyung popped another one of the balloons, d'ya got any spares..." Yoongi calls, before stopping like a dead weight when he sees you standing there. He offers you a confused but friendly wave. "Oh hey, Y/N."

"Yoongi? What are you doing here?"

"Seokjin paid me twenty dollars to man the tip jar." He explains, opening a nearby pot and pouring a handful of pink bubblegum into his mouth despite the distasteful look Seokjin sends him. Yoongi just shrugs and slumps down onto the stool behind the booth, flashing Seokjin a look of his own. "He didn't mention that slave labour would be involved, though."

"Yoongi? Did you get more balloons—"

None other than Taehyung skips around the corner holding a bunch of pink balloons, stumbling gracelessly like a crazed, blue haired bowling ball into your form in his haste.

"Taehyung, too? What are you doing here?" Jimin narrows his eyes, and nudges you in the ribs with a knowing wink. Way to not be suspicious, you think. "Are you here to perhaps...kiss a special someone?"

"Me? No! Uh...just...helping!" Taehyung stammers, avoiding Jimin's gaze like the plague while jumping foot to foot nervously and managing to somehow pop one of the balloons in his grip which falls to the ground limply. He flashes you a sheepish smile. "See, helping..."

"He's definitely being sketchy." Jimin whispers in your ear as Yoongi rolls his eyes and ties the balloons to the booth where Taehyung can't accidentally destroy any more of them. "Look at how much he's sweating!"

"I think the real question is, why are you guys here?" Yoongi nods towards the coordinating pink jumpsuits Jimin has convinced you to wear because they were Valentine's appropriate. "Didn't think you did a lot of charity work."

"I like charity work!" You insist, though Yoongi just raises an eyebrow unconvinced, nodding his head when your true motive slips out. "But truth is I'm trying to find my secret admirer. It's just I didn't think there would be so many people..."

Yoongi follows your gaze out over the line of people waiting to get a kiss from the booth, face after indistinguishable face buzzing with excitement until they disappear around the corner, probably getting longer as the minutes ticked by.

"How do you even know if the guy is here or not?" Yoongi points out. "This could be a waste of time."

"I don't know." You shrug. "I guess I'll know when I see them?"

"How?" Taehyung suddenly interjects. All eyes fall on him and he turns sheepish, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean how do you know if someone is in love with you just by looking at them? Can you tell?"

Jimin fishes for his phone, pulling up a website and holding it out to Taehyung and Yoongi who read through it curiously. "I looked online and apparently there's, like, a ton of body language cues to tell if someone's in love with you. Like if they touch you a lot, or their pupils get bigger when they look at you, or they save you from harms way—"

"So Y/N should just throw herself in front of a car and see if her knight in shining armour shows up to save her?" Yoongi scoffs, handing Jimin his phone back with an amused shake of his head.

"Uh, actually...about that." Seokjin pops up from behind the booth, two slips of pink silk dangling from his fingertips. He holds it up to his eyes, obscuring his vision in demonstration. "You two won't be seeing a single thing."

"What?!" You exclaim. "Seokjin, this was your idea! Why didn't you tell me we would be blindfolded before I signed up?"

"Because you know as well as me that you wouldn't have come if I told you and I needed someone actually hot to sign up for this thing if I wanted to raise our goal amount." You cross your arms and blow a piece of hair out of your face in frustration. Seokjin throws up his hands in defence. "Hey, don't look at me like that! You're our moneymaker, Y/N!"

"That's not the point! How am I supposed to find my secret admirer if I can't even see them?"

"It's okay," Jimin clamps a hand on your shoulder and turns you to face him. "If your secret admirer is here, you'll know it as soon as they kiss you." He looks off into the distance, eyes glassy as he leans in closer and drops his voice to a dreamy whisper. "It'll feel like fireworks!"

You punch him in the shoulder. "Dude, I know you're a hopeless romantic but I don't think that's how real life works."

"I think it's kinda sweet." Taehyung calls from the step ladder, stood on the top step on his tiptoes attempting to nail a sign to the wall, though his focus seems to be on Jimin as he muses over his words, seemingly to engaged to notice how he wobbled back and forth. "Hey, Yoongi are you sure you're holding the ladder steady—"

Before you know it, Taehyung is losing his footing and crashing to the ground, metal sign in tow. Your reaction time is slow and if it weren't for Yoongi who throws his body around yours and pulls you to safety, you'd be laying in a pile of crushed limbs beneath Taehyung who mumbles in pain and rubs his butt on the floor beside you.

"Woah!" Yoongi exclaims, eyes wide as they look you over to see if you're hurt. "You okay?"

"Uh...yeah." He lets out a sigh of relief, awkwardly letting you go and taking a couple steps backwards when you glance down at where his hand grips yours tightly, like he's still scared to let go. "Thanks. You really saved me, there."

That was weird, you think when Yoongi just grumbles something about it being nothing or whatever and bows his head to cover the way his cheeks burn, but Seokjin swoops in your save you before you have a chance to ask him what was up.

"Hey guys? The people are getting restless so we better get back to work and stat." Seokjin clamps one hand onto your shoulder, the other onto Jimin's, and starts to steer you towards a pile of unwrapped candies that need to be sorted by colour. "Oh, Yoongi? Could you hang that sign back up while these two get ready?"

Yoongi sends a half-assed eye roll at Seokjin as he drags himself over to the sign, and you just about get a glimpse of the scrawl on the front.

PUCKER UP FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN THE GRAND PRIZE!

You turn to Seokjin. "Grand prize? What's that?"

"Everyone who buys a ticket gets entered into a raffle for the grand prize. A kiss on the lips with the kisser of their choice! They say that if you kiss for at least 7 seconds you fall in love!" He sees your eyes widen, patting your back reassuringly and gesturing towards the crowd. "Why else do you think we had such a good turn out?"

"What's the point if they can't even see the person?" Yoongi grumbles, taking the pencil balanced behind his ear and scribbling a mark for the nail on the wall. "Seems kinda dumb."

"Isn't that the point of a secret admirer?" Seokjin huffs, producing a roll of pink tickets from his pocket and handing one to both Yoongi and Taehyung. "Tell you what, here. Both of you take one of these. On the house for all your hard work."

"Wow. I'm touched." Yoongi slides it into his pocket with a roll of his eyes but Taehyung looks down and the ticket and back up at you and Jimin again in wonder.

"Who knows? Maybe you'll win." Seokjin winks. "Now chop chop you two! Go get ready to pucker up!"

Hours pass and 78 kisses later (yes, you counted) and you still haven't felt the fireworks Jimin said you would when you and your secret admirer locked lips.

"I'm starting to think he's not coming, Jimin." You sigh, feeling around in your blindfolded state for your best friend who is busy applying hundreds of layers of lip balm to his puckered lips. "Maybe Yoongi's right and this whole thing was dumb."

"Don't give up just yet," Jimin responds, pouting his lips and crooning a finger towards the next customer. "We still have the grand prize winners to go!"

As if on cue, Seokjin jumps up onto the main stage and taps a megaphone, the sound quieting down the rumble of chit chat and budding love that lingers in the gym.

"Okay everybody, it's the moment you've all been waiting for! Time to announce the winners of the grand prize!"

The crowd let's out a unanimous cheer and you silently cross your fingers beneath the booth that the power of love was strong enough to make your secret admirer's number the winner.

Seokjin sticks his hand into a jar filled with tiny slips of paper, eyes squeezed shut as he closes his hand around the winning number. You can't see it but you can hear the triumphant grin on his lips at the ripple that runs through the crowd when he produces not one but two pieces of paper from the jar.

"Looks like the universe has spoken, and we're going to be awarding two kisses today! Could number nine and number thirty please make their way to the front of the gym and select their kisser of choice!"

The crowd erupts into applause and you hear a pair of shoes scuffle across the ground towards you, almost hesistant.

"Hey." You feel a person stop a short distance away from you, and you flash them a small smile. "Congrats!"

The person says nothing and you're about to open your mouth to ask them their name when Seokjin interjects.

"Hello? What are you waiting for? Kiss!"

The crowd starts to chant kiss! kiss! kiss! and you're suddenly overcome with nerves. What if this isn't your admirer? But then again, what will you do if it is?

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel a breath ghost across your face, and even though you're blindfolded you find your eyes falling shut in anticipation when a hesitant hand gently cups your chin. The touch is more careful than the others, a thumb rubbing soothing circles into the flushed flesh of the apple of your cheek as you stand on your tip toes to finally connect your lips to the one's hovering inches from your own.

This kiss is different. Slower, languid, careful. A plump bottom lip that slots just perfectly between your own, like it has always belonged there. A heat that sends tingles through your entire body and makes your heart race and your blood run hot as you wrap your arms around the neck of the person and then—

"7 seconds are up, dudes! Time to move along to the next person!"

Within seconds the lips are gone and you reach for them but a hand grabs your wrist and prises your hand open, placing something into your palm and then curling your fingers tightly around it. You're utterly frozen, lips tingling, as he leans in and places a single kiss to your cheek before you feel his warmth disappear all together.

Your hands shake, eyes shooting open as you rip the blindfold away.

Fireworks.

"Jimin!" You exclaim, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him out from behind the booth much to the groaning disappointment of the growing line of customers. "I felt it. That was him! I'm sure of it!"

Jimin is touching his lips carefully, vision distant as he squeezes his eyes shut and let's out a hazy sigh of satisfaction. "Me too. I felt... fireworks!"

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go find them before they get away!"

You scan the gym with greedy eyes, immediately zoning in on two figures who are pushing their way backwards through the crowd in opposing directions. The dude to your left glances over his shoulder briefly, and you just about catch a glimpse of blue hair poking above the crowd from beneath his hood when he does.

"I'll go left, you go right!" You call to Jimin, who nods and scurries after the other figure who has already been swallowed by the crowd, and you ignore Seokjin's shouts from behind you and break into a run to catch up with your suspect.

Sharp elbows prod your ribs as you bust through the crowd, weaving through bodies that seem to come at you like obstacles whenever you get slightly too close to the boy speed walking away, until you're spat out into an empty hallway and there's no sign of him to be found.

"What the heck? Where did he go?"

The door to the lobby swings shut to your left and you speed up, zeroing in on the sound of a pair of sneakers squeaking against the floor nearby. You gain speed, launching yourself into the lobby and that's when you see him; hunched over and panting for breath, a flash of a pink ticket glinting from between his fingertips as he grips his side desperately. He lets down his hood to reveal a head of seafoam hair and that's when you're sure. You've found him. Your potential admirer.

Before you can think better of it, you're launching yourself through the air and wrapping your arms around the shoulders of the blue-haired-runaway. He lets out a yell of surprise, briefly struggling before he drops to the ground and you manage to wrangle yourself onto his front, pinning his arms to the ground and smiling triumphantly when you find none other than Kim Taehyung looking up at you fearfully.

"I knew it! It's you!" You punch the air, missing how Taehyung's eyes narrow in confusion. "You're my secret admirer, right?"

"What? No! Your secret admirer is..." He swallows hard, eyes widening like he let something slip that he shouldn't have. "Uh wait! Forget I said that, um I gotta go—"

"Oh hell no," Jimin appears, out of breath, and grabs Taehyung by the collar. "You know something? You're coming with us."

"Uh, sorry again for, you know...tackling you to the ground or whatever." You say as you place a cup of coffee down in front of Taehyung. Jimin has dragged you both to the nearly empty cafeteria to talk so you figured it wouldn't hurt to offer a sorry gift. "I really thought it was you."

"It's fine." Taehyung offers an awkward smile as he rubs the back of his neck, shooting you a set of finger guns. "Better hope I don't sue you if it bruises, though."

There's an awkward silence as you and Jimin just stare at the table, unamused by Taehyung's attempt at lightening the mood, so he takes to sipping his coffee in silence instead. "

"Soooo..." You swirl the straw in your cup of soda meaninglessly, catching the way Taehyung's eyes flit across the cafeteria like he doesn't know where to look. "You said you knew who sent Y/N the love letter?"

Taehyung freezes, head jerking up to stare at you directly, tongue eventually snaking out to wipe away the coffee froth on his upper lip. "I do."

Your fingers tap against the table top impatiently. "So? Who is it?"

"I..." Taehyung bites his lip, sinking back into his seat with his hands curled in his lap in defeat. "I can't tell you."

"What? Why?!" You exclaim. "We're so close and you won't help us?"

"It's not that I don't want to!" Taehyung rushes, hands in the air in surrender. "But I've been sworn to secrecy by your admirer and...I think it's better if he tells you himself."

"And how can we be sure you aren't just lying to cover your own tracks?" Jimin interjects, chin in palm as he looks between the two of you he's been listening carefully this whole time. He narrows his eyes and points right at the blue haired boy opposite who flinches. "Explain how you had this letter that day after the frat party?"

Jimin looks left and right to check the coast is clear before he slides the ripped piece of paper you found in Taehyung's bag across the table.

Taehyung's brows furrow as he studies the note closely, confused, but then he flips the page and his eyes light up like he just put a puzzle piece together."Oh that?" He twists in his seat to rummage around in his backpack, emerging with the missing letter piece.  "Here's the other half."

With a smug grin you rip the note from his hand, quickly lining it up with the letter you had read over and over again for clues, heart thumping as you read the words littering the lines and hope for answers. "A-ha! This is...a grocery list?"

Taehyung shrugs. "I was wondering where that got to. I guess your admirer used my notebook and I forgot to check the back of the page before I ripped it out. Sorry."

So all this time Taehyung was just using the back of the love letter your admirer wrote from his heart to remind him what to buy at the store? The disrespect!

Jimin slides his glasses down his nose, peering over the lenses as he slams his hands down right in front of Taehyung, unconvinced by his story.

"Then how come you were holding a pink ticket and we saw you walking away when we took off our blindfold."

Taehyung chokes on his drink, eyes trained to the table as he fiddles with the rings on his fingers nervously. "Well, I did kiss someone..."

"What?" You and Jimin exclaim in unison.

Taehyung nods. "But it wasn't you, Y/N."

"Then..." Realisation suddenly hits you like a ton of bricks and all eyes land on Jimin who is frozen like a statue, mouth opening and closing in disbelief as Taehyung's confession.

"You kissed...me?" He swallows. "Me?"

"Yeah." Taehyung stammers, finally blinking up through his long lashes at Jimin to gauge his reaction."Is that okay?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah it is." Taehyung's lips curve into an unabashed grin and you can't help but giggle at how red Jimin's cheeks have bloomed, your best friend's eyes filled with hearts as they stare at the blue haired boy opposite him with content disbelief.

So...this development is pretty much confirmation that Taehyung is definitely not your secret admirer. A weight settles in your stomach when it dawns on you that your last lead just came to a dead end, and you are still no closer to uncovering the identity of your secret admirer.

Maybe it's time to give up. All you had left was a pinboard filled with useless clues and now you could place another cross next to Taehyung's name.

But as you look between the two boys hitting it off in front of you, you can't help but smile, somehow glad that at least something good came out of this whole thing. It is the season of love, after all. Even if it wasn't for you.

"Oooookay." You announce, getting to your feet when you zone back in and notice how much closer Jimin has scooted towards Taehyung. "Well, I guess this is my cue to leave you guys to it."

"Wait!" Taehyung grabs your wrist, pinning you in place. "I really do hope you find your admirer. I know I couldn't help much, but have you tried talking to Jeon Jungkook? He programmed the Love Calculator so maybe he can."

"Jeon Jungkook..." Where have you heard that name before...wait!

"Jeon Jungkook!" Jimin exclaims. "That's the last name on your list!"

Huh. Maybe you haven't hit a dead end after all.

[c-hristy]

His Return (Part 3 of ‘His Silence’) 《Charlastor AU》

As the energy snapped and shaped around him and suddenly he was enveloped in a landscape of red, everything seemed to make sense. The anger that had pooled in his stomach had calmed and he idly wondered if consuming the heart of an angel had given him a sense of strength that he would be unable to match at any point. Alastor did feel like he would be able to even take on Lucifer at this point; only there was one problem

His mind and heart were focused on one goal, and on goal only. No matter how desperate he was for power, there was always something greater. 

Alastor had fallen where most demons did when they first fell. It was a plain field and it was surrounded by shacks of lesser demons. He stood and brushed his jacket off, finding pleasure in the fact that he had his trademark red and black on. Hands reached for his hair and another wave of pleasure soared through him when he realized it was red and his ears and antlers were returned. A smile, larger than the one he had before, erupted on his face and Alastor swore he could just - well, murder an entire population.

He’d already done that, so it was back to the issue at hand.

Alastor waved his hand and his microphone appeared in his hand, a warmth spreading from his fingers up to his chest. The microphone gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“You were gone for a while!” It spoke to him and Alastor began walking.

“How long has it been?” Alastor asked. He wasn’t sure; his body and mind still felt somewhat disoriented from Heaven. He couldn’t have been up there for more than a month or so.

“Three years!”

Alastor’s heart stopped and he paused in his walking. Three years? 

“Oh dear.” He decided that walking across Pentagram City to his estate would take too long; it would also spread the news that he had returned and he didn’t want everyone else knowing, “Do you happen to know where Charlie is?”

“The Hotel. She barely leaves!” The microphone sounded chipper and Alastor couldn’t blame it; the poor thing had been abandoned for three years and was now useful once again.

Alastor kept a tight grip on his microphone as he bent shadows and traveled through them. His eyes kept a close look on the area around him; nothing had changed. There were more demons on the street and he found himself glancing at the Clocktower; the extermination was due in a week.

Perfect timing.

When he appeared in front of the Hotel, some sort of worry bubbled in his stomach. What if his mate had discovered someone new? Had moved on, because she was certain he would never return? It had been three years. Though, to him, three years didn’t feel too long, but he wasn’t sure how it would have affected her.

And his children.

His throat tightened as he thought about them. They were fully grown when he had ascended into Heaven and they must have not changed too much. His fears were that they had moved out of the estate and were living their own lives and wouldn’t want anything to do with him. Alastor pushed the uncomfortable worry away and tucked it into a safe corner of his mind, striding forward and opening the door in a grand flourish.

There was no one in the foyer, which he was expecting. Though, hunched over at the desk, lay a compatriot of his. Alastor walked forward, noting how the entryway hadn’t changed too much since his departure. The same framed photos rested on the walls, save for a few new ones of his adult children.

He paused to look at the new ones. His three, all holding onto each other, grinning at the camera. They were dressed up; Franklin was in a tie and his girls were both in nice dresses. Alastor assumed that they had some sort of charity ball during the past three years, which would make sense. The only thing he couldn’t shake off him from the photo was how empty Margret’s eyes looked. It caused a soft shiver to run up his spine and he reached out, picking the photo off the wall.

The rims of his eldest’s eyes were red and her smile looked painfully stretched. That unsettling feeling of worry nagged at his mind and Alastor let his microphone disappear, reaching up and touching the image of his eldest.

“My darling.” His voice was thick and in that moment, the static that usually followed him around snapped and started to buzz; a familiar sound to him that hadn’t respawned with him. Al sighed and set the picture back onto the peg in the wall, stepping back and looking at a few of the other new photos. All of them seemed to hold a common pattern; a distant, faraway look in his eldest’s eyes and a forced grin on Beatrice’s face.

A door opened down the hall and he turned, his heart stuttering to a stop as he recognized the hair and the stance of the person that had just exited one of the offices of the hotel.

She shuffled down the hall, eyes locked on the floor and for a moment, she seemed so dejected that Alastor wanted to just step forward and sweep her up. It wasn’t until the static seemed to register in her mind that her head snapped up and she realized who was standing in front of her. Her eyes widened and she stumbled forward, her mouth opening and closing as if she meant to peak but she didn’t know what words to say.

“Charlie.” His voice was a breathless whisper, hidden halfway behind his static. He couldn’t believe she was there - he was here and he was never going to leave again.

For a moment, she stopped before she met him, her dark eyes closing and opening rapidly. One hand came up to her left eye and she rubbed it violently, as if trying to see if he was a dream or not. It wasn’t until he reached out and pulled her against him that she seemed to realize what was going on.

Charlie’s fingers gripped his lapels and she buried her face in his chest, feeling her throat tighten. He smelled of cinnamon and the faint whiff of strawberries and he was everything she remembered. Solid and warm; arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her impossibly closer. Relief coursed through her like a waterfall; tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t help but bawl like a child into his jacket.

“My dear, it’s alright.” His voice was warm, rumbling against her ear and she pushed herself closer so that she could feel him talk at the same time that he did speak, “I’m here now.”

She wasn’t able to find words that could express the variety of emotions she was feeling right now. There was happiness and there was a relief from the constant anxiety that he seemed to be the key to unlocking. Alastor let one of his hands card through her hair, feeling the silken locks against his skin made his heart race and feel more at peace than he ever had in Heaven.

“How?” Her throat finally squeezed out, sounding breathless and tears choking her words, “How?”

He laughed, head tilting back, “I did what I had to do.”

Charlie felt her eyebrows furrow and she pulled back from him, looking up at him as she continued to hold onto his jacket tightly, “What?”

Alastor peered down at his mate, his eyes glittering happily, “I did what I do best, darling! I ate. And ate, until I was full.”

For a moment, Charlie couldn’t decide if he was going to be disgusted with the news or if she should be proud of him. For making that choice to forever ruin his ability to return to Heaven. She felt her nose crinkle, lips puckering, “You killed angels?”

“Very many, yes.” His grin widened, teeth glinting ever so lightly in the light that was shining from the chandelier in the room, “I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t suited for a life of gold and white. It wasn’t for me! Now this,” He motioned around, keeping one arm tightly secured around her, “This is for me! At least here, I’m not bored out of my mind!”

Charlie’s cheeks puffed out and Alastor thought for a moment that she would yell at him for murdering countless angels. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead and all thought of possibly doing so left her mind, leaning into him. Her cheeks flushed a darker red and she sighed, leaning her head back onto his chest. 

She supposed she couldn’t even be mad - not when she felt as relieved as she did in that moment.

They held onto each other tightly as they made their way back to the estate. She chattered the entire way there, telling him about the Hotel and how she had redeemed another handful of sinners while he was in Heaven. She told him about Bea and Vox - the pair were still very much together and it made his nose scrunch up thinking about it. 

All three of his children still lived at home and for that, he felt relieved. Bea had been talking to Charlie occasionally about her and Franklin moving out together and getting an apartment, but it seemed that it was only a faint dream that the siblings shared since they made no move to do so. Margret lived and breathed the Hotel, but Charlie had given her the day off to do things around the house that needed to get done. 

“I’m home!” Charlie called out when they got inside the home, still holding onto Alastor’s hand tightly.

There was a soft movement of footsteps that came from the upstairs and Alastor felt his heart squeeze when the image of his middle child came into view at the top of the steps.

Bea stopped at the top of the stairs, her eyes widening. She was wearing that unseemly dress that Alastor hated; in that moment, his child looked like the most beautiful creature that he had ever seen. Even more stunning than the angels; his little girl was perfect in his eyes.

“Dad?” Her voice was quiet and she squinted, blinking furiously. Alastor chuckled at her antics - so like her mother.

“Hello, Bea!” His voice was chipper and the filter crackled delightedly.

Bea let out a sound that Alastor was unable to describe, the girl tripping over her own skirt as she made her way down the stairs. She tumbled down a few steps without falling, sort of just sliding down them. Charlie let go of Alastor in that moment because she knew what was coming next.

Bea launched herself at Alastor and he barely had a moment to ready himself when she flew into his arms. His daughter gave a sound somewhat like a sob and wrapped her arms around his neck; was she always this tall?

Alastor held his child close to him, her uneven breathing causing his own throat to tighten uncomfortably. Her fingers gripped and let go of the back of his coat several times, as if she was actually making sure that he was there in front of her. He made sure to have his arms tightly around her and holding her close as she began to cry.

“Now, now, darling,” Alastor murmured to her, feeling his heart squeeze at the sound of her tears, “No need for tears. I’m here.”

“Thank fuck.” She stammered out, pulling away so that she could look at him. She was only a few inches shorter than him and Alastor swore that she had never been this tall nor did she ever look this adult, “Took you long enough.”

He chuckled, reaching up and wiping a stray tear from her cheeks, “Time seems to escape me while up there. There is no nighttime, no clocks. I fear I thought I was only there for a few months.”

Bea snorted, pulling him close to her again. She had a grin on her face, one that shone in comparison to Alastor’s.

“Hey, ma-” Franklin had his eyes locked on his phone as he walked into the foyer. When Charlie nudged him, he broke the contact from his device and looked up. 

Alastor watched a few emotions flood across his son’s face. For a moment, his son looked confused, then an overwhelming sense of relief flooded him. Bea moved to Alastor’s one side and Franklin walked forward, reaching out and gripping Alastor’s hand.

“Hey! Welcome back! You were gone for way too long, in my opinion.” Franklin smiled wide, his cheeks were slightly more red than they usually were. Though his son didn’t show it, he could see how elated Franklin was at seeing Alastor, “At least Mama, Maggie and Bea will be happy now! They’re always so sad.”

“I would suppose so.” Alastor shook his head slightly, pulling his hand away from Franklin’s and reaching out, placing it on his son’s shoulder, “You look healthy, at least!”

“Oh, I am! Streaming everyday, nearly. Bea and I go out hunting once a week. We just went last week. The extermination is next week so we’re real excited about that.” Franklin paused, looking as if a brilliant idea had come to mind, “Hey! Now that you’re back, you can come with us! That’d be cool.”

Alastor laughed, squeezing his son’s shoulder as Franklin smiled brightly at his father. Just as Franklin opened his mouth to speak again, there was a soft noise from the top of the steps.

Alastor’s eyes snapped up to the steps and his chest felt relaxed as he looked upon the sight of his eldest. His heir; his little girl. The reason he was a father. Margret had a hand on the railing, frozen in place as she looked upon her siblings and parents.

“Margret!” Alastor spoke warmly, his eyes showing just how relieved he was.

His daughter let out another sound and then turned, fleeing back up the second flight of stairs that led to the children’s wing of the house. Alastor’s grin faded just slightly, watching as she ran away from him.

Confused, Alastor turned to look at Charlie. It seemed like she didn’t have words for him, either.

((there should be one more part I promise everything gon be explained))

[camillemontespan]

gossip girl: cordonia’s elite [part one]

Teaser was posted earlier but under the keep reading line, there’s more newness :)

I have no idea if this will even be a thing. I’ve got so many fics on the go…

For those who don’t watch Gossip Girl, you won’t get this. But you might enjoy? For those who do watch Gossip Girl, laugh at my attempt for an AU. I think you’ll find that TRR fits so well into the GG universe - trust me.

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Hey Cordonians, Gossip Girl here, your one and only source into the glamorous lives of Cordonia’s elite. Now that summer is over, I can return to my role as bearer of good news, bad news and everything else in between.

Now that we are all at university, you would assume that we are over the drama and gossip of school days past. Well, you assume wrong.

‘Do you think Dad will be okay?’ Savannah asked, lugging her suitcase behind her. ‘I mean, we’ve both been busy this summer. I’ve been with mom, you’ve been.. Doing whatever it is that you do.’

Drake shrugged and took Savannah’s suitcase, waving away her grateful smile. ‘He’ll be fine, Sav. Don’t worry yourself.’

Savannah bit her lip and looked around Cordonia’s train station, trying to locate their father. ‘I just hope he’s not mad at me.’

‘You were visiting mom,’ Drake told her, unable to hide his frustration. Sometimes, his sister worried too much. ‘You were being a good daughter. Seriously, the sooner mom and dad work out their situation, the better.’

The situation being that their mother, Bianca, was currently shacked up in Texas with her new boyfriend, while her actual husband, Jackson, filled the empty void at home by burning smores. Since Drake and Savannah went off to university and gained independence, they worried about Jackson, but in different ways. Savannah tried to make up for it by calling him every few days; Drake drank whiskey to block out any guilty thoughts.

Now, they were back in Cordonia, somewhat ready for the new semester at university. Savannah was eager to make more friends this year and sign up to every social club going, while Drake was content to just stay in the shadows at lectures and try not to fail his degree.

‘There he is!’ Savannah cried, running through the station, her dark hair billowing behind her. Drake sighed and stopped to adjust her suitcase and his backpack. He moved to follow his sister, ready for the embarrassing ‘Walker Family’ hug that Jackson always insisted on greeting his kids with, even though Drake was 22 and Savannah was 21.

He barrelled straight into someone.

‘Fuck, I’m sorry!’ he said, cursing his clumsiness.  He ran a hand through his hair and stopped when he saw the girl in front of him was picking up a book she had dropped.  ‘It’s okay, honestly!’ she was saying. Her voice was familiar and when she stood up, his heart began to hammer against his chest.

Camille Montespan.

The girl of his dreams was back.

She placed her book inside her bag and gave him a warm smile; her brown eyes with gold flecks sparkled. ‘Just watch where you’re going next time, you might run over an old person and they’ll press charges!’ she laughed. All Drake could do was make a strangled noise that sounded something like ‘nggggggghhhh…’

Camille turned and walked away towards the exit. She didn’t see a teenage girl nearby take a photo of her on her mobile. Drake’s heart stopped pounding and he exhaled.

Drake’s phone buzzed with a notification but he ignored it.

Camille Montespan was back.

The biggest tip to hit my inbox? Camille Montespan is back in Cordonia. That’s right my little gossipers. The Queen is back. I wonder what Olivia will think?

I am starving for some drama.. But I think we’ve got just the dish.

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Drake shook his head, trying to forget all thoughts about Camille, and went to the far end of the waiting hall where his dad was hugging his sister.

Jackson Walker gave Drake a beaming smile and pulled him in for a hug. 'Dad, I just saw you this morning..' Drake mumbled.

'Yeah but now both my kids are back with me!' Jackson hollered, his voice echoing around the vast room. 'This calls for celebratory smores!'

'Surely you're sick of them now?' Drake asked. 'You've burned so many.'

Jackson chuckled and threw his arms around his children's shoulders, guiding them out the waiting hall to the train station exit. 'You guys can show your old dad where I'm going wrong.'

When they got into the car, Drake looked out the window, already tuning out his dad's loud voice. Why was Camille back? She had gone to a university in another country and everyone assumed that she wouldn't come back.

That was the thing about Camille. She always surprised Drake, which was one reason why he really liked her. He didn't know what to expect from her, which was also one reason why he never dared tell her his name.

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There was currently a drinks reception being held at Olivia’s townhouse but she wasn’t exactly concerned about that. Her aunt was hosting and the occasion was that the students of The Cordonia Institute were going back to the university on Monday; this was the last hurrah for the parents, their excitement at having freedom again.  Their children were actually going to a Beaumont Bash the following night. 

Instead of mingling with her aunt’s important friends, Olivia had other important matters to attend to. Such as Liam, who she was straddling right now. 

‘Fuck, Olivia, your lips taste of strawberries..’ Liam breathed, kissing her deeply. ‘I want to taste all of you.’

Olivia drew back. ‘All of me, you say?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. Liam chuckled and his arms went around her back so he could flip her over so she was now underneath him. 

‘All of you,’ he murmured. ‘You always taste incredible.’

Olivia closed her eyes as his fingers grazed up her thighs, tantalisingly close to her underwear. Liam had been her boyfriend since they were ten years old. They were inseparable. On paper, they shouldn’t work; Liam was kind, warm and gentle, while Olivia was mean, cold and harsh. But she was intensely loyal and had softness under that hard exterior, which only Liam knew. She trusted him. 

Liam was about to taste her when his phone buzzed. He sighed and sat up to check the screen. Olivia bit her tongue, trying her best not to get pissed that he was so easily distracted. 

‘Camille’s back..’ he whispered, his voice croaking. ‘Liv, she’s back..’

Olivia bolted up and grabbed his phone from him. Sure enough, the Gossip Girl blast announced that her ex-best friend, Camille Montespan, was back in town. 

Fury and dread mixed together, creating a confusing cocktail in Olivia’s heart. She was the Queen Bee in Cordonian society now, not Camille. She was the one who had the world at her feet, not Camille. She was the popular one, the more intelligent one, the more beautiful one. Olivia was finally out of Camille’s shadow and had shone brightly the past three years. 

Like all of Olivia’s relationships, she and Camille shouldn’t have worked. But they had known each other since they were four. They had met when Camille had been pushed over in the playground by their classmate, Neville. Camille had cried, blood covering her knees, while Neville laughed. 

Olivia had punched him in the face, shouting that boys weren’t allowed to hurt girls. 

Had they stayed friends all those years because Camille felt she owed Olivia?

Had they stayed friends all those years because Olivia felt like Camille made her more.. Human?

It didn’t matter now. They parted ways when they graduated high school; Camille was sent to an exclusive university/boarding school in Switzerland, while Olivia went with their friends to the highest ranking university in Cordonia, The Cordonian Institute. 

Despite their strong friendship, the two girls had often been like unspoken rivals. Whenever Camille had attention, Olivia fought to have it back. When Olivia took control, Camille battled to come out on top. And Camille always won. 

Olivia would watch whenever Liam and Camille were together. Her boyfriend and best friend had inside jokes; they insulted each other for fun; they bingewatched TV shows together. They acted more like boyfriend and girlfriend than Olivia and Liam did, but without the kissing. Olivia hoped.

Camille was popular. She was also beautiful and genuinely nice, which was irritating because how was that fair?

But with Camille gone, Olivia finally felt at ease. Like she could be herself without feeling like the shadow to Camille’s sun. She could enjoy her relationship with Liam without worrying that he would break up with her. She could hang out with her friends without worrying that they found her boring and wanted a second option. 

Now, Camille was back and everything Olivia had worked for felt under threat. The threat only increased when she saw Liam’s eyes scanning his phone, checking all of Gossip Girl for further updates, his eyes watching for the name Camille Montespan.

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

‘Oh my God, you guys, Camille is back!’ Penelope squealed, scrolling through her phone. 

‘Someone saw her getting off the train at Cordonia Station!’ Kiara joined in, her eyes huge. 

‘Finally..’ Leo droaned, swirling an olive around in his martini. ‘It was getting a little dull around here.’ 

The three of them were lounging on a green velvet chaise lounge in the drawing room and looked up as Liam entered with Olivia hot on his heels.  ‘Liam, your second girlfriend’s back home!’ Leo hollered, patting him on the back. ‘Maybe you can get that menage a trois going?’

Olivia hit Leo on the arm. ‘Menage a twat, more like.’

She was trying to act cool, but really, her heart was pounding. Keep calm, keep calm, you’re Olivia Nevrakis.

‘Is she coming here?’ Liam asked. The others shrugged then looked expectantly at Olivia. 

‘What?’ she asked. 

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Kiara asked.  ‘We could have planned something nice for her.’

Olivia threw her shoulders back and adopted a haughty pose. ‘It was a surprise.’ 

They didn’t have to know that she didn’t know.

Quickly, she walked away to the kitchen. She was in need of vodka.

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

Camille clambered out of the taxi. She tipped the driver and strode with purpose up the stone steps to the concrete building that stood in front of her, imposing and intimidating. 

She had been told he was on the reception area floor, room 10. Quickly, she rushed inside, ignoring the receptionist who called, ‘Miss, visiting hours are over, you aren’t supposed to be here!’

Camille stopped outside Room 10 and looked through the glass pane of the window at the sleeping figure in the room. She could see his pale face and her heart broke for him. 

‘I know. But he’s my best friend.’

Maxwell Beaumont slept peacefully, unaware of the quiet and complicated chaos standing outside his door.

[rumandflamingo]

Come Along - CONCEPT

New AU idea because I can. ‬

‪Concept: alive Roger and Rouge; Rayleigh raising Luffy. ‬

‪Okay. So. I imagine that Roger probably hid his illness from everyone but Crocus, so when Rayleigh catches him coughing up half a lung he is beyond pissed. Like. He knocks out half the crew because he couldn’t restrain his Haki, he’s so angry. ‬

‪During one of his and Marco’s regular weekly talks (because the younger was so lost on how to be a good first mate and looks up to Rayleigh so they ended up having regular talks), Rayleigh reveals a little bit about the fact that Roger’s sick. Marco just pretends to ignore it. ‬

‪But after their conversation, Marco realizes that there is something he can do. Phoenix feathers have the ability to heal large amounts of damage to the body when applied to the wounds. If ingested, the feathers can cure sickness. He is 100% on board for giving up a feather or two,‬ ‪and when Marco asks, Whitebeard is also on board.  

Marco is shocked. When he asks his father why he isn’t rejecting, or at least protesting, his idea, Whitebeard responds that he owes Rayleigh much more than he will ever be able to repay him. It was the Dark King who brought Marco to the Yonko, who gave him the Phoenix fruit to save the young boy, who gave the other his first son. Rayleigh gave him his family; Whitebeard would never do anything to destroy Rayleigh’s.

Marco immediately calls the Oro Jackson and Rayleigh readily agrees. The Zoan is in the air the next morning. The entire flight he is worried about the reception he’s going to get when he arrives on the Oro, but instead of glares and threats, he’s greeted with food and cheers.

It takes some time for Roger and Rayleigh to come in the deck, and most of the time for Marco is spent answering questions of a young red haired boy. Roger is confused at seeing Marco but Rayleigh says he had invited him over.

Marco and Roger are soon ushered into Crocus’s office, where Rayleigh explains that they have a way to cure Roger. To Marco’s surprise, Rayleigh doesn’t mention the deal that he had made on Roger’s behalf. Just says that Whitebeard owed him a favor. When the blonde gets a raised eyebrow from the first mate of the Oro, Marco realizes that he must have talked to Pops after they had hung up.

It’s quick and painless, healing Roger. Marco’s spare feathers are ground up and made into a drink that Roger just takes like a shot. Crocus does a complete checkup and declares that, for now, Roger is doing better.

Once Crocus departs, as apparently Shanks, the redhead, and Buggy had gotten into a fight, Rayleigh explains that things are going to be a bit tricky from here on out. Neither of them mind Marco, so the young blonde sits and listens.

Rayleigh explains that Roger can not reveal that he’s healthy. He’s been spotted coughing in public by multiple marines, so they have begun to think something is wrong with him. (Marco wonders how the other blonde knows Marine intel, but doesn’t ask.)

Rayleigh gets weird looks from Roger and Marco, but the blonde ignores them and carries on. He explains that once they find the final island, which blows Marco away at the man’s complete faith that they will, he needs to turn himself in to the marines, like he had originally planned.

Marco falls to the ground in shock. Roger had planned to turn himself in? Rayleigh continues that they have a contingency plan to fake his execution (he doesn’t say the other players involved, or how it will be done), and doesn’t continue from there. Marco is trying to not feel offended when he sees the pout on Roger’s face; Rayleigh is purposely not telling his captain his plan.

The conversation fades off from there and Roger goes to call Rouge. Marco is left with the first mate, who smiles warmly and tells Marco that Whitebeard told him to take a few days off and that he is welcome to stay aboard the Jackson.

And he does. He spends the next three days with the older man, avoiding the red haired menace known as Shanks and his captain as well. (He is so tired of being called Pretty Birdy.)

A few hours before he sets off, a woman shows up on the Oro, long strawberry blonde hair trailing behind her and a hibiscus tucked behind her ear. Roger immediately turns into a puddle, crying over his beautiful Rouge.

Portgas D Rouge, Roger’s very pregnant wife.

Marco feels like he isn’t going to leave the Oro without suffering a heart attack. Roger would have died before his child was born. He would have never met his child. Marco turned to stare at Rayleigh, but the older man just shakes his head. A small party is thrown and Marco leaves at sunset. Before he takes off, Rouge stops him and hugs him, thanking him for saving her husband and for not leaving her child fatherless.

It’s three months before Marco hears anything about the Roger Pirates and when he does, it’s because they have discovered Raftel.  Almost immediately, Roger turns himself in and the slander starts.  

Whitebeard says nothing, just goes under the deck with the den den that’s always at arm’s length.

A week later, the date for Roger’s execution is set. The Whitebeard Pirates do not attend, instead setting sail for the Blues, particularly the East Blue.

Roger is executed, and they all mourn. Whitebeard says nothing, just keeps eyeing the snail with a little black crown.

They land several days later on a small tropical island named Dawn Island and Marco, Whitebeard and several others begin the long trek inland. Half a day later they arrive at the outskirts a small town, where a grinning (alive) Roger is holding a small baby boy.

He runs around and introduces his son, Portgas (Gol) D Ace. Whitebeard is ecstatic, especially when Roger lets him hold the baby. Rouge is smiling in the doorway, Rayleigh at her side.

The Pirate King is alive, happy, with his family.

Rayleigh invites them in, and they have a small feast. After the meal, all but Marco and Whitebeard leave. Curious as to why, Marco soon finds out that the other half of the deal is about to be told to Roger. It takes Rayleigh a few times to start, but he does explain the deal he made to save Roger’s life.

Roger can never sail again under the name Gol D Roger, or under the Roger Pirates flag. He will be known under a different name of his choice, but he must part with Gol D Roger. He is free to do whatever he wants, but if he chooses to set sail again, it will be under the eye of Whitebeard, so that they can keep him safe. Rouge nor Ace will owe any allegiance to Whitebeard, they are free to choose to serve under any command they like, if they want. Roger’s appearance will also need to be changed, but that can be however he likes. If he desires to leave the island, it cannot be without Rayleigh, Whitebeard, or someone trusted from Whitebeard’s crew.

Roger is still for a moment, before turning to look fully at Rayleigh. Rayleigh fears this man will lash out at him, yell at him for taking away everything he held dear, but the man instead hugs him. The blonde is confused, until Roger explains that Rayleigh, ever thoughtful Rayleigh, didn’t take away his ability to sail, to be free. Even if he doesn’t go by his name, he can still be free to sail as he wishes.

They work out a few details, but Roger is determined to spend most of his time from now on with Rouge and Ace. Whitebeard and Marco depart, but not without Rouge asking for Whitebeard to be Ace’s other godfather. Whitebeard accepts and cries over tiny baby Ace.

Rayleigh goes with Marco and Whitebeard to the shore, Marco walking ahead of the two older men. It’s hard to hear what they are saying, but Marco is able to get the gist of it.

Rayleigh won’t be going with them. He has decided to stay with Roger and Rouge, to keep them safe. Early retirement, he tells Whitebeard.

Whitebeard is angry, Marco can tell, but says nothing. The rest of the walk is in silence, and soon enough Whitebeard and Marco are back on the Moby, but not before Whitebeard gives Rayleigh part of his Vivre Card. The Dark King hands him part of his as well, then disappears beck into the thick forest.

Years pass, Marco and Whitebeard having weekly talks with Roger, Rouge, and Rayleigh. Ace constantly likes to interrupt and ramble on and on about what he learned or did that day. He is 100% a mama’s boy, much to Roger’s dismay. He refused to wear hats like Roger, instead choosing to wear flowers in his hair.

Ten years pass, before something shakes the well balanced life that the four of them have on Dawn Island.

Out of the blue, Vice Admiral Garp arrives at the small shack of Roger and Rouge, carrying with him his seven year old grandson, Monkey D. Luffy.

Roger is terrified that Garp is at his door, standing to block the man’s view of Rouge and Ace, hoping they take the hint to leave and go seek Rayleigh. He knows that without a doubt, this man would turn him into the marines. Garp simply asks for tea, moving into the shack. Ace is not happy that there is a strange man with a strange kid (as he wants nothing to harm his family), and glares at him from Rouge’s lap. Garp simply laughs and tell the trio that he needs someone to look after his grandson, because his son is quite the idiot. He figures that since Roger was very good at hiding, he’d be good for Luffy. Both adults are shocked that Garp was made aware of their location, as well as that the execution had been faked.

Roger starts to protest, when Rayleigh appears, dropping off items he had picked up from the village that day. He’s somewhat put off at seeing Garp, but says nothing. He goes about his business, shelving items, until he realizes that he has a little follower.

The three adults in the room quiet as the Dark King turns and see young Luffy following him, large eyes staring up at him in awe. He exclaims that Rayleigh has the coolest beard he has ever seen, before trying to climb up his jacket to grab at it.

Roger gets up to grab the kid, but Rayleigh stops him, hefting the kid up and placing him on his shoulders. The kid is content to sit there and be tall, talking on and on about pirates and treasure.

Rouge and Roger let out hesitant laughs, Ace keeps glaring at the kid, while Rayleigh just nods along to the kids wild stories. Some point during Luffy’s babbles, Rayleigh pulls a gold coin from his pocket and asks the kid if he has any treasure, since he claims to be a great pirate in training.

Luffy grins and pats his hat, something that all of the adults had failed to notice. There, sitting on Luffy’s head, is Roger’s straw hat. Luffy exclaims that it’s a promise to his friend, Shanks, to someday beat him and become King of the Pirates. Roger promptly falls out of his seat, speechless. Garp glares between the kid and Roger, while Rouge’s soft laugh fills the room.

Rayleigh says nothing, simply smiles and pats the kid’s head. This kid is something special, he can tell.

Without pomp and circumstance, he tells Garp that he will take care of Luffy. He says nothing else, just simply grabs the bag that Garp carried in with him and leaves, starting a tale about an adventure that he and Roger had gotten into when they first started sailing.

The room echoes with the marines loud laughs as Rouge and Roger chase after the graying blonde and his small charge.