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esperderek · 7 months ago

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I have to have a chuckle at the Screenrant article posted recently about the Galactic Starcruiser, which totally wasn't about Jenny Nicholson's video honest.

In part, because early in Nicholson's video, she talks about how unnatural it is to have your influencers speak in adcopy and copyright rather than the more colloquial nicknames, and how it makes the people speaking about the product seem very insincere and, well, paid off. Because normal humans don't speak that way, but advertising does.

What's the first two lines in this article?

"As a life-long fan of Star Wars, there was nothing quite as exciting as finding out that I would be working on the immersive Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser��experience. Located at the Walt Disney World Resort, the Galactic Starcruiser opened on March 1, 2022, and welcomed passengers to board a two-day, two-night cruise through the stars, during which they could live out their own Star Wars adventure."

No one talks like this naturally. No one writes like this naturally.

This is supposed to be your passioned defense of the place you worked at, the people you worked with, and the memories you made along the way. C'mon! Why don't you open with a story, perhaps an anecdote about the best moment you had working there, or the devastation of the day you lost your dream job. We need to feel your humanity! But there's nothing of that here, to the point where you can just hear the TM behind Galactic Starcruiser.

The first half of this article continues in this vein, reading like a press release Disney marketing put out, just with past tense rather than present or future tense:

"Essentially, the Starcruiser experience was a 48-hour movie that passengers were actually a part of. It was all facilitated through the "datapad," which was accessed through the Play Disney Parks app."

"To facilitate the overarching immersive experience and storytelling, the Starcruiser built a jam-packed itinerary for each and every guest that would consist of a variety of important activities: the captain's toast at muster, a bridge training exercise, lightsaber training, and more. These types of events were essential to understanding what was happening, as they would give passengers the chance to interact with characters and build their story. This is why the Starcruiser could never be just a hotel; every part of it was designed for enthusiastic interaction."

Like, c'mon. I used to work in television. I've seen and used adcopy in my former job, and this is some serious adcopy. It honestly wouldn't shock me if the author dredged up some old adcopy they had lying around about the topic and just transferred it over, changing the tense. You're not here to sell us this product, because there is no product to sell. It's gone, it's been gone for a year, you don't have to sell us on IT. Speak about your experiences.

The next part is yet another topic that Jenny Nicholson pointed out, the bad faith excuses that influencers and advertisers made for the extreme price point:

"What many people don't know, however, is that the price included much more than just a room. The passengers' food, park tickets, recreation activities on board, non-alcoholic drinks, and more were all included - with merchandise being one of the few additional costs on board."

Which is absolute bad faith reasoning, especially when there are plenty of other vacation options that are ALSO all-inclusive, but are MUCH cheaper and offer MORE amenities than the Galactic Starcruiser did! Including Disney Cruises, owned by the same company! Seriously, you can go on a halfway decent sounding cruise or all-inclusive resort somewhere warm for, like, a week or two and spend far less than GSC cost.

Then the last part is essentially: "All the workers liked working there and the bad reviews afterwards make the workers who worked on it feel sad. :("

Which, like, companies have been hiding behind that reasoning for ages. Curiously, the author never offers....any reasons or stories. WHY did working on it impact you so much? What set it apart, what were the people like, what did you like about working there, why are you so passionate about it even a year later? There's nothing, just a generic sort of "We worked hard." and "We're sad it's gone." Why? How? What happened? The video you're obviously writing this in response to is filled with personal anecdotes and stories, it's the backbone of the video! Again, you need to give us something to show your humanity!

Especially when you consider that Nicholson repeatedly points out that the only highlight about her experience, the only thing that kept the damn thing going was the workers.

She had nothing but praise for them, and nothing but contempt for the higher ups who wasted and abused that enthusiasm, to the point where one of her last points was "Hey, Disney is basically exploiting labor."

Much like Jenny, I'm also not condemning anyone who had a good time working there. Good! If you were having a good time at work, that's great. If you have good memories about the people, awesome. But I'll note two things:

a) That doesn't meant you weren't being exploited, and

b) That doesn't mean you have to be a useful idiot for the corporation you worked for afterwards.

I'm not conspiracy brained enough to go "Oh, Disney TOTALLY forced this article into being.", because a cursory examination of the author's prior works and such suggests a lifelong passion for Star Wars, she did work at the hotel, and she's a Star Wars Editor (whatever THAT means in this day and age) for Screen Rant. Apparently one of the heads of Screen Rant says that Disney had no hand in it either.

Though, I can see why people would think that way. It READS like a press release, not something a normal human being would write about an experience they feel passionate about.

#jenny nicholson #star wars #galactic starcruiser #disney #screen rant #star wars hotel #disney world #you can't defend with adcopy #you just sound super fake

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taylorswiftstyle · 3 months ago

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MTV Video Music Awards | September 11, 2024

Dior Resort 2025 Lorraine Schwartz earrings Stuart Weitzman ‘Ultrastuart Maverick Leather Boots’ - $1,550.00

Dior’s latest cruise collection was an ode to Scotland and the house’s first runway show held there in 7 decades. Creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri said of her inspiration, “Scotland is an important reference in the fashion world and I wanted to interpret it in a different way. For my generation, it’s so associated with punk.” The result was an offering full of voluminous skirts, dramatically cinched dresses, and hourglass jackets rendered in historically accurate tartans and, indeed, set off with certain punk sensibilities thanks to studded leather accessories and clompy buckled boots.

The VMA dress code typically leans towards the wacky and the outrageous. Hence why Taylor has felt comfortable appearing in alphagetti soup baby onesies (aka The Incident, circa 2014). I’ll put it on record again and again that I may pull a face at that look (and still do, a decade later) but I will always appreciate a risk (relative to the wearer). Fashion should be fun!

The collection filters Scotland’s most historic women into its fabrics. Namely, Mary Queen of Scots: a fiery Sagittarius woman I’d like to think Taylor might feel kinship with. During her years of imprisonment in England by QEI, Mary would insert veiled - often political - symbols into her embroidery. At one point even the phrase, "In my end lies my beginning" was embroidered into her state's clothes. Doesn’t that feel, “In the death of her reputation, she felt truly alive”?

In his review of this Dior runway, Mark Holgate for Vogue described the collection as one that “drew on the geopolitics of fabric[s …] and the way [Mary] gave political commentary through her embroideries.” He described the series as full of “defiant beauty and an equally defiant energy. It felt uncompromising. But then maybe women can’t afford to be anything but that, especially now.” If a possible connect, I admire this evocation in the wake of Taylor’s major political endorsement. Especially given Chiuri worked with the iconic Harris Tweeds for their artisan, loomed wool. This teed her up nicely for an onstage call to action to remind viewers to register to vote.

All-in, this felt like a cohesive night of looks to underpin TTPD’s aesthetic. The runway’s interplay of proportions and bustier-like top are very TTPD - sensual, emboldened, playing with what to reveal and what to hide. A look that’s dark academia adjacent.

I do find the biker gloves (also by Dior) confusing and I’m searching for insight on their ‘why’. At the Grammys, I could buy into the ‘Albatross’ reference in her black elbow-length gloves. These? I’m still trying to make sense of. A straitjacket allusion, perhaps? Were I to make some styling tweaks, I would have removed the gloves, opted for the coordinating tartan shorts from the runway, and changed the boots out to an equally tall but caged style to tie into the patterned effect of the ensemble.

Photo by Dimitrios Kambouris via Getty Images

#taylor swift #award #dress #accessory #shorts #jewelry #shoe #dior #stuart weitzman #lorraine schwartz #september 2024 #mtv vma

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piracytheorist · 1 year ago

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I find it really important that in the last episode, Operation Strix didn't even cross Twilight's mind for a single moment. When he stands outside early in the morning, he becomes determined to "traverse the difficult obstacle" before him... but it quickly becomes apparent that this "obstacle" is simply Anya's inexplicable mood swings.

And while he goes by the entire day going along with whatever Anya asks to do, mentally noting what makes her excited and happy - and what makes her upset, like losing at mini golf - not once does he even mention the "mission". Subconsciously, yes, if asked, he'd say that Anya's happiness and stability is what Operation Strix depends on. But in his immediate thoughts, it's just him trying to make sense of the behaviour he sees, and trying to encourage things that will bring out positive behaviour.

Waiting until Anya gets a scoring point in mini golf. Letting Anya read comics while in the library - and taking note when she starts at the puzzle, then looks upset by it (though he misunderstands the reasons of her change in expression there, as he doesn't know she realized the puzzle wouldn't be an effective distraction for him). Taking her roller-skating, taking her to a magician show, getting her food she seems to enjoy.

And while you could say he's being a little too methodical with it - with all his "observe, analyze" internal orders... that's not really that far from what an actual caring parent does. The ship offers a lot of opportunities for entertainment, and just like a parent who wants to take some time off and offer stimulation and fun to their child, Loid takes a step back and allows Anya to guide him through activities, taking note of the ones she seems to enjoy.

And yet, Anya ends up looking like this.

But this time, Twilight doesn't resort to his usual "I'm a failure of a spy" rhetoric. He is confused, very much so, but he doesn't despair as much. Though getting upset, he puts his determination to see things through in priority.

And at the end? He fears that what will break apart is the Forger family, not Operation Strix.

Subtly, we start to see how his priorities are starting to change. Without him even understanding it, he focuses so much on keeping the family together "for the sake of the mission"... that he completely forgets to even think about the mission.

And then, he tries a quiet and kind approach, fitting it to Anya's needs. He asks Anya if her stomach hurts, he's glad to hear she's having fun but keeps his worried expression to encourage Anya to tell him what's really wrong, and when she shares her feelings, he's supportive, even showing sympathy by saying he would have liked it too if Yor could join them.

His final inner thoughts are him reminding himself that Anya is young enough to sometimes express her emotions in an unpredictable way, and that it was something as simple as missing Yor that made her look upset.

And thus, though he's being realistic about the possibilities of meeting Yor, he offers to try and communicate with her in order for them to meet up. As soon as Anya expresses her concern, he takes the role of understanding her reasons and providing comfort... and all without ever talking about how it would benefit his mission. In this episode, he's simply trying to make a little child feel happy and entertained, listening to her concerns, and offering solutions. And though he may not realize it immediately... the fact that he hasn't been wearing his WISE pin during the entire cruise speaks for itself.

Working as a spy and fully dedicating himself to this way of life is how he's managed to survive in a world of war politics, so it's certainly not easy to fully discard it in one go. But how he goes from "The Handler knew Anya relaxing was about Operation Strix all along" in the previous episode to "Focus on what Anya likes, be supportive and understanding, mission what mission" in this one is very carefully handled to show how even though his methods stay similar, his priorities are slowly shifting.

(Anime only fan here, don't spoil me for the manga)

#Spy x Family #sxf meta #Loid Forger

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anton-luvr · 1 year ago

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# WHEN YOU REFUSE TO SIT IN FRONT ; 7riize.

𖦹 bf!riize x fem!reader | fluff | prank (?) au 𖦹 note ; in case yall dont know about this prank, its basically just people telling their partners that they're not gonna sit in the front seat and capturing their reactions!! i found it quite funny, so hence the birth of this fic... enjoy! hehe + reqs are open !

# SHOTARO. - he's concerned. why don't you want to sit in front?? do you not trust his driving skills??? do you not want to be his passenger princess anymore???? feels like his whole world crashes down and tries to understand why you're so insistent that you want to sit in the back. the moment he realizes it's just a prank to see his reaction, he's instantly relieved. there's nothing else he loves more in this world than having you as his passenger princess.

# EUNSEOK. - he's confused. he wouldn't get why you didn't want to sit in front, and he'd honestly just let you be. but he knows you love sitting in front and controlling the music while he cruised down highways too much to give it up. talks to you to make sure you're okay, and will just start driving if you continue saying you'll sit in the back. he won't be surprised when you confess that it's just a prank and starts clambering back to the front ten minutes into the drive.

# SUNGCHAN. - he's amused. the moment you dramatically announced you weren't going to sit in the front seat today, he knew something was up. he finds it funny and kinda cute at what goes through your brain in hopes of 'pranking' him, or to get his attention. plays along and convinces you to sit in front, using the excuse that he 'needs someone to accompany him' on the 'long and weary drive' - you were going to a taco bell that was only fifteen minutes away. rolls his eyes jokingly when you tell him it's a prank.

# WONBIN. - he's chill. don't wanna sit in front? okay, whatever. don't get him wrong, it's not that he doesn't care. but wonbin is just genuinely a chill person, so he'll let you do whatever you want to do. even if you wanted to sit on the roof, wonbin would let you do so. he respects your gaslight gatekeep girlboss decisions, even when he doesn't get them. even after you told him it's a prank, he'll reassure you that he doesn't mind, and that you can sit wherever you want at any time.

# SEUNGHAN. - he's worried. it's rare that you don't want to sit in front. so for you to suddenly sit in the back, seunghan will start questioning his entire existence. he'll wrack his mind trying to remember if he did anything wrong or offended you in any way recently. in the end, he resorts to just talking to you about it and asking you to sit in the front seat. he's too used to driving with a hand on your thigh while you sang your heart out to songs that it felt weird to not have you by his side. lets out a huge sigh of relief when you tell him it's just a prank.

# SOHEE. - he's upset. how could you not want to sit in front?? do you not love him anymore???? i think sohee would go two ways in this situation - it's either he feels terrible and guilty and starts crying (even tho he did nothing wrong) or he'll act all emo and silent and let you be. if it was the latter, he'd simply start driving, the entire car in complete silence. he's a bit immature in that way, because he knows he should talk it out, but give the man his five minutes of pettiness. he'll talk it out with you later on and feel a bit of an idiot when you tell him it's all a prank. makes you make it up to him with cuddles and kisses.

# ANTON. - he's stubborn. oh, you don't wanna sit in front beside him? don't worry, anton will sit in the back with you. the car's not going to move because no one's driving it? anton doesn't care. he just wants to be beside you and as close to you as he can at any moment; he's attached to you like a magnet with metal. takes you a while to convince him it's all just a prank, and he finally agrees to drive the car when you move to sit in front.

#riize #riize fics #riize fluff #riize icons #riize anton #riize seunghan #riize sohee #riize shotaro #riize sungchan #riize eunseok #riize wonbin #kpop fics #kpop fluff #kpop #riize moodboard

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physalian · 7 months ago

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11 Underexplored settings of post-apocalyptic worlds

Inspired once again by my recent binge of abandoned explorations.

The greatest hits of the sprawling city scapes and farmland that feature in everything from post-alien invasions to zombie takeovers to just worlds gone by in a not-so-distant future tend to be:

Generic office buildings

Churches

Schools

Water parks

Suburbs

Famous monuments

Cruise ships

It’s come to my attention though just how many architectural abnormalities there are, in their own current post-apocalyptic states, that would absolutely befuddle archaeologists centuries from now trying to figure out their purposes.

So whether you want to go hard into “this new world has completely forgotten what came before it” or your very own and unique road trip through desolation, here’s some suggestions for cool and/or practical settings!

1. Disney/Iconic Theme Parks

2000 years from now after X disaster strikes, survivors completely removed from historical context stumble upon…. Disney World. They presume Mickey really was a giant mutant mouse, or a mouse-shaped deity worshiped by the local populace (and I mean… are they wrong?). People who might have never left the local area without planes and feasible transport, or knowledge that land across the ocean even exists, might be astounded by the buildings of Epcot’s World Showcase, or any of Disney’s themed resorts.

Water parks are done to death, but not enough emphasis is put onto how bizarre these places would look without context, even to a younger generation that has no idea what it used to be.

Orlando has a hotel with its own rainforest in a massive atrium, with ponds and boats and boardwalks inside. But, you know, I guess strolling through Chicago or New York City is cooler. It may be unfilmable, but it’s not unwritable.

2. The foundations of unfinished construction projects

The remains of an office building that never was, a veritable modern Stonehenge with how little would survive an apocalypse. Inexplicable areas of land with massive pits for unbuilt parking garages, or sprawling swimming pools and lazy rivers.

Or massive, skeletal towers that would have been the monument to a much larger estate that just lost funding. Buildings still surrounded by scaffolding, only half-complete with their windows.

3. Survivor’s encampment landmarked by a monument/hotel/theme park that was never built

In one of those abandoned videos, a company in China was trying to build a discount Disneyland and all that remains is an unfinished Cinderella Castle with steel shells of the gables… behind a modern shopping mall.

Any structure that would have been deeply out of place either in the country it’s built in, or the newer buildings that surround it, immediately looks more creative than just ‘generic strip mall’ or ‘generic high school’. And it’s also realistic, as projects like this fall through constantly, as a unique piece of your worldbuilding. Or, it did have its run as whatever the strange building was part of, and through bankruptcy and selling the land around it, it ends up being the only structure that remains.

4. Hotels that are made up as if the staff vanished instantaneously

Or, many, many Covid victims. Having your characters scrounge for resources through a hotel with beds still made, coffee cups on the breakfast tables, serving spoons and plates ready to go by the buffet. Halloween, Christmas, or Valentine’s decorations still on display.

The schedules for the final week of business still hanging in the offices, unopened mail, packages for guests still in the mail room, pallets of new soaps and supplies still in the delivery bay from the distribution center, linens still in the industrial dryers. I worked in a hotel scheduled for eventual demolition and the disrepair the interior fell into because, what’s the point of managing mold and bed bugs when it’s all getting gutted anyway, makes it super creepy knowing guests are completely clueless on the other side.

Places that have been completely ransacked and destroyed are creepy, sure, but places that are almost frozen in time despite the decay around them are both eerie, and rather dark. Cruise ships/confined spaces like ships tend to be used more for horror, but these, too, as if they’re frozen in time.

5. Cargo ships/shipping yards

An easy-ish one to film in. Looters breaking open shipping containers, or building entire communities and homes out of those containers either on land, or on the barges and ships. A community that can weigh anchor and move once resources and scavenging dries up, or another violent group moves in on the land.

Or, in the case of a viral apocalypse, a community relatively spared from the violence out on the open ocean.

6. IKEA/Furniture Warehouses and DC’s

Warehouses especially have few entries and fewer windows to secure, but as their contents (except the showroom floor) are in mint condition at the time of the world ending and probably stored in plastic and crates, they’d be relatively spared from the elements as a good base camp.

Furniture is also too heavy to loot in a panic and absconding with a brand new mattress probably wouldn’t be at the top of people’s minds as doomsday approaches.

Your little community each having their own lavish living spaces with whatever eclectic furniture they either liked or could now get their hands on for free would just be cool to read about.

7. Penthouse suites

Climbing those stairs would suck and depending on the build quality, the safety of the structure over time would degrade, but maybe your community has manual cranks for the elevators. There might be one way down, but there’s also only one way up, and you can see invaders and catastrophe coming for miles.

These places tend to be dripping in luxury your characters might otherwise have never experienced and they could either make a base there, or have a grand old time trashing the place up because the rich are dead and gone.

8. Historical forts

They lasted this long, why not a few centuries more? The fort that comes to mind is the Castillo de San Marcos in St. Augustine, Florida, right on the beach with a built-in defense wall and a huge courtyard for your community of plucky survivors.

Castles, too, though they’d likely be prime real estate for all manner of interested parties. Aging, famous forts are just never in these types of stories, unless it’s a picture of where the military used to be, now overrun or destroyed.

9. Ski resorts

Similar to the made-up hotels and theme parks, this one comes with presumably multiple buildings, potential use of the slopes and ski transports, isolation via elevation and remoteness from major cities, and the threat of bitter winters and blizzards.

Never been to one myself in winter, but remote locations for a post-apocalypse story tends to just be shorthand for “generic farm or small town,” which isn’t super immersive.

10. Luxury malls

Seen in The Last of US, it gives you a microcosm of so many different environments all slapped together and there’s no limit on what kinds of stores you could include, or all the kiosks, all the mini attractions like trampolines, kiddie parks, massage tables, and even VR flight simulators.

Maybe it has a theater tacked onto it, or a double-story book store, one of those rental spaces dedicated to fancy cars or candy stores. Great for the main setting or even just passing through, especially as they’re already a dying breed you can go ham with. ‘Luxury’ and designer items collecting dust right across from the discount store with everything for under &14.99 could strike a powerful message about social constructs.

11. Science museums

Sure you can make some poignant message about priceless artwork being left to rot, or. When I was a kid, I went to a science center with natural disaster simulators like house fires and tornadoes and a whole-ass IMAX theater where I saw Night at the Museum, the only movie I’ve ever seen in a proper IMAX dome.

There was a whole kids section with a ropes course, area for exploring the human body, a NASA-sponsored mock up space module, mock up grocery store, and little exhibits here and there about optical illusions and the physics behind laying on a bed of nails and how it doesn’t kill you. It’s just something unique and fun that your characters can interact with and gives them plenty to play off and give little anecdotes to make them feel more human.

—

Point is, your post-apocalypse doesn’t have to be limited to the usual suspects. We’ve all seen the strip malls and Walmarts and suburban homes and farms. There is no special effects budget or filming restraint in a book and I’d love to read more stories set in unique and descriptive places, or just fresh takes on your standard survival camp that isn’t just “build a wall around a section of neighborhood”.

It’s the apocalypse. All real estate becomes free real estate.

#sci fi #fantasy #post apocalyptic #world building #worldbuilding #writing advice #writing resources #writing a book #writing tips #writing tools #writing #writeblr

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denim-devil · 2 years ago

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Reader sucking off Rick Grimes to get off a speeding ticket (pre apocalypse) 🤭 rick kinda cocky/degrading/smug cums on readers face 🙈🤭

☆ Private Eyes | R.G ☆

Summary - The streets of Cynthiana, Kentucky were usually busy, although due to frequent flow of tickets being given, a certain smug Sheriff manages to catch you slip up, not wanting a ticket you attend to your last resort…

──────. • ☆:*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ• . ──────

The streets of Cynthiana were quiet, much quieter then usual. You found yourself, often cruising throughout the barren roads, trying everything in your power to get home as quick as possible.

Humidity surrounded both you and your car, the nights air nothing but thick and heavy, even though the sun had set hours ago it still lingered automatically forcing your foot down on the gas.

You never managed to eat at work, the stress that ran through your veins daily often had you skip lunch rather waiting until you clocked off.

The grumble in your stomach was like a brewing storm, low and loud, churning away at the emptiness your hunger clinged to. Your foot was now level with the floor, passing by the few scattered cars hastily.

It was almost out of now where when loud sirens drummed away in your ears, alerting your focus to the flashing bright fluorescent blue and red lights of the pale teal cruiser following you.

“Fuck-“

It was almost as if your hunger had taken control, not even noticing the speed that you had been going. Quickly you lift your foot, turning your wheel as you nervously tap away, slowly pulling over to the side allowing the pristine 1973 Ford F-250 to park itself in the slot behind.

Everything stilled as if the whole world knew the very outcome of your dangerous choice, if not a ticket then definitely something worse. You click your tongue, sighing to yourself before glancing into your left wing mirror.

Carefully you watch the taller, older male approach your vechile, his boots clacking against the concrete pavement.

You take in the deep muddy-like jacket that clung to his body, the pale buff coloured shirt underneath and the deep vibrant hazel of his trousers, you had managed to sus out just by the way he was dressed, how the hat sat perfectly atop of his head, how the golden badge he wore with pride glimmered underneath the dull street lights that he was in-fact the county’s sheriff.

The tapping grew heavier, much louder against the thin leather of your steering wheel, your heart beat strumming away rapidly in your ears you had almost ignored the sharp knock on the taint glass of your door.

An unsteady finger of your own presses with urgency to break the shield protecting you, coming face to face with your current consequences. The glass rolls down, disappearing from view completely, the town’s sheriff appearing attractive more so underneath the yellow lights.

With confidence, Rick unveils the hat that he wore moments ago before pressing it to his chest lightly. His cheek bones pulse knowing how much wasted time you had already caused, his teeth clamping together before he speaks.

“You even realise what speed you were going?”

The words were a mere echo within your head, bouncing back and forth from each corner, rolling over the rocky seas the sheriff’s appearance caused. You shook your head with the overconfident to not interrupt him, his pale blue eyes catching your glance.

“Well if I was certain, it was over the speed limit…can’t help but wonder why you were in such a rush?”

His accent was thick, definitely southern. His quirked up drawls and his stance already showcased the authority he held over you, even the eye contact he had managed to keep hold of had you in grasps of splurging out the truth.

“I- uh, I have no excuse really- I just clocked off of work and-“

“Can you step out of the vehicle sir?”

Instantly you could tell he had no remorse, nothing. Infact he replaced himself by taking a few steps to the side, allowing you to slowly tug on the one sided handle, unlocking the door to allow yourself out and into his space.

“Please- I can’t- mom’s gonna be pissed”

The words usher out of you as if you had been asked to ramble about your current worries. It had no affect on the sheriff, instead, once you stood fully upward in-front, he scrambles for the small notepad in his pocket which matched the brown of his attire.

“Listen kid, we both know what happened here…”

It eventually settles in as you watch the cop jot down a few things, scribbling his signature somewhere out of your focus. A wave of panic washes over you knowing a scolding was on it’s way but you somehow thought, maybe you could change the sheriff’s mind…somehow.

“Sheriff-“

He pauses before settling his arms, side by side, shoving the notepad back in his pocket.

“It’s Sheriff Grimes, Rick Grimes…”

You had seen in the paper of the newly appointed Sheriff and just how scary he could be up close although that hadn’t managed to change your mind, infact it helped you to gain the confidence you needed to plead playfully.

“Sheriff Grimes…I’d do anything to get this ticket off of my name…anything, I can’t go home with this otherwise-“

He allows a small grunt to surpass his reddened plump lips, feeling the small twitch in his briefs. He watches you closely, how your whole demeanour had changed from shy and shameful to playful and almost lewd if he hadn’t caught that lip bite.

Tilting his head to the side and disregarding his pointed hat on the hood of your car, you close in on him, the same ringing from before had crept upon you stealthily, heart beat as loud as the soft exhales you managed to let out.

Looking down he watches as you extend an arm carefully but lower, low enough that your finger tips graze the slowly growing tent between his crotch.

“What do you think your doing?”

His tone was low, half curious half stern, still trying to hold the slowly dissipating authority he held once before. He grunts when you begin to passionately grope the area, giving him a slight uncertain squeeze, looking up into his darkened eyes for approval.

He steps back momentarily, his held tilting once more in confusion and guilt but the glimmer in his eye suggested otherwise as if he to was just as curious to see where this would go.

“Ya could get into a lot of trouble wasting my time…”

You shudder, the air had gone colder as if the worry had completely left you alone, instead it was replaced by the lack of judgment and how much Rick craved the indwelling of his morals and how much he yearned for that touch.

It had been months, if that since he last had anything, anything worth time away from his busy schedule, this intrigued him, so much so he doesn’t move any further, the risk was the only thing pushing Rick further into the lustful spiral you casted.

Unexpectedly he moves back into place, back into your open palm. He felt heavier than before, filling out the rest of your hand as he settled against your passenger door. Giving him another testy squeeze, you pull back, a pale pink dusting of blush covering both cheeks.

“I- I wouldn’t want to do that…Sheriff”

He composed himself before standing up, not even bothering to ignore the growing ache his erection currently sported, closing in on you this time, he checked both left and right before turning his head bringing most of his focus back onto you.

“You wouldn’t?”

Before you could comply his lips were attacking your own, the same hunger that ate you from the inside out had engulfed Rick entirely, forgetting the risk of being caught and potentially losing his job his tongue rolled against yours, once or twice before pulling away, panting heavily.

Still you lacked the knowledge to understand that this was just to get off of a ticket, not to eagerly attach yourself to the town’s sheriff, but it proved hard when he towered over you, keeping an arm above your lowering form.

Knees hitting the cold concrete of the road, the bulge that continued to grow repeatedly gained your attention. Rick had no idea what had managed to possess him to go such limits to reward his own greed but he couldn’t let this go, not now.

“Y’gonna unzip my trousers…take me out, maybe, just maybe I’ll let you off”

You waste no time in following his instructions, finger tips tampering with the metal zipper before you pull it down, a desperate hand sinking into his confines, easily fishing for the protruding muscle.

Succeeding in your task, you eventually pull him out, fighting with the small hole that you could only pull him through. He was thick, thicker then you had seen before, the tip a dark shade of red, angry, almost as if he was seeking some sort of pleasure out of this also.

You gawk at the view, almost uncertain you couldn’t possibly except such size into your mouth. Meeting his eyes once again he manages to slide you a knowing glare.

“God Rick- how do you even- just how?”

You question before giving him a few teasing tugs, his balls full and heavy at the same time making it much more intimidating. It felt right to have him fully engrossed in your palm, Rick was a fumbling mess already, his own hand couldn’t compare to another’s, to yours.

“Fuck-“

A sense of pride ran through you in waves which inevitably pushes you to wrap your lips around his tip seductively, forcing his attention back down, watching as you slowly surpassed each inch.

“Y’gonna take it all sweetheart, no holding back now”

Anticipating the eventual moment you reach the trimmed levelling of hair, Rick’s hand grow heavier in your hair, bunching up the locks, guiding you down until your nose settled against his pubic bone, taking in the overwhelming, natural musk that spoke nothing but of Rick himself.

The officer above clutched the roof of his cruiser which slightly grounded him before allowing a subtle grunt to surpass his open lips, almost immediately he couldn’t contain his want to see how far you would go with this, how far your limits would take you.

“God you’re sweet- come on honey, show me how much you don’t want this ticket”

Resting the back of your head against his car door, you feel every ridge and vein pull away, just enough until he stood proud again before ushering most of his length back in, cramming the rest into the back of your throat.

Rick was big, to big to not worry about, you convulse, choking around the tip that claimed your awaiting throat which was now full of him and his manhood.

He smirks, almost seeking the moment you would turn into the mess he knew you can become, watching how your lips stretch into an “o” to accompany his size.

“Such a cock slut, wonder what ya daddy would think? How easy you are, how much of a slut ya are”

His mouth was vulgar which resembled the quickened pace he set, rolling his hips back and forth to force your throat to accommodate his size, to worship what he was giving. Trying your best to nod, Rick chuckled at your weak efforts, to busy using the mouth you were so willing to give to bother with his words.

The comforting presence of Rick’s hand lightly on your head had you desperately slurping him between your saliva slicked lips, each glob trickling down your chin with every roll of his hips.

“You were fuckin’ hungry for it sweetheart, look at ya, takin’ it like a champ-“

When he sped up, the noises got louder, lewd and slick which resembled your current state, tear stained cheeks and abused, puffy red lips. You sucked harder, Rick’s voice became strained as a string of profanities fell from his mouth.

“Fuckin’ close-“

He growled, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf, claiming what was his. Each twitch of his manhood followed the rest, the weight of him growing heavier by the second.

“So wet, so fuckin’ inviting- ya were made for me, a fuckin’ dream”

Each pummel of his hips, each pressing of his groin into your face had you achy and leaky between your thighs, making a mess of your jeans. He kept you still, the cool metal of his car door keeping you grounded enough to eye the man above, vision blurred by the continuous tears he created.

His cheeks were flush and his panting grew heavy, each second that passed he grew tired and sloppy, his hips rolling languidly, pressing himself impossibly deeper, triggering your gag reflex until he couldn’t go any more.

“Gonna cum, paint them pretty little features, open wide for me honey-“

Just as you were about to pull off with a pop, he yanks himself back and outwards, hands tugging on his slick cock. Once his eyes roll back and the same low groan from before slips from his chest, deeply, you stick out your tongue, collecting each streak of white liquid that shot from his bulbous tip.

“Take it all- fuck-“

Rolling your tongue back after he stilled, catching his breathe, you finally taste what he was all about, swallowing the thickness that lingered on your tongue, tangy yet sweet, almost earthy.

Pleased with his work, sea-like blues resting back onto the face he just ruined, it couldn’t get any better, his thumb traced over your bottom lip, running through the saliva-cum mix before pressing his thumb upwards into your mouth.

His cock now flaccid still covered with spit and the reminder of his finish, he uses his other hand to tuck himself away before watching you swallow what his thumb offered, pulling away, he wipes it on your shirt, retreating to his trouser pocket to fish out a yellow piece of paper.

Inside was his number, although you had no clue, the indents of numbers on the folded paper had told you enough.

“I have a feelin’ i’ll be seeing you around…”

#male reader #x male reader #rick grimes #the walking dead #twd #smut #fluff #andrew lincoln #I-#I really tried with this one #so enjoy-#S1!Rick Grimes #Sheriff Rick Grimes #pre apocalypse

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carionto · 7 months ago

Text

Not "Party Hard" Enough...

As the Galactic cruise ship "Vinogradova" exits hyper space, the wealthy guests congregate at their viewing stations for the scheduled milling about in fancy dress and secretly getting wasted while some tour guide recites Galactipedia about whatever planet they're orbiting now.

"Here we have the illustrious Nestrall'anwa II, a most unique ocean world due to it's near perfect stillness. Eons ago a cataclysmic event destroyed it's only moon, creating a temporary ring around the planet, which we can see in this holographic recreation."

A massive array of projectors from the cruise ship emanate around the planet itself, creating a literal holographic debris ring. A most spectacular sight indeed.

"The tectonic activity is unusual as well, the plates are all moving in roughly the same directions, a sort of secondary spin cycle if you think about it. The planet spins around its axis, and the crust rotates around the mantle. Though this will become more chaotic in about six million years when one of the smaller plates will catch up and start creating underwater mountains. It is estimated that one day this planet will be incredibly mountainous and likely be able to support life."

Suddenly, the ship was being hailed by a signal coming from the water planet. After the automated system verified it is a valid source, Human no less, they opened the channel. Instantly, they were greeting by loud and obnoxious Human music, Rock'n'Roll it is called.

"Sup dudes! We saw that light show you guys put up earlier, could you do it again? That shit was sweeeeeet! Surf up!" The audio message was followed by a strange single hand gesture emoticon with the first, second and fifth appendages extended, and the third and fourth bent inwards.

Upon complying with the Human's request, the crew decided to go into manual mode and check what the fuck was going on here.

Apparently, the Humans had set up a series of floating platforms on the planet, using typical resort and amusement design patters. The Humans were mostly engaged with consuming various colorful liquids, undulating in strange patterns on a colorful floor with a mirror ball drone floating overhead, and many more were on colorful boards of some kind. Standing upright and trying to keep balance. On waves.

Wait.

Uhh...

There's three moons now.

Um, Humans?

"Sup brah! Yeah we brought the moons over. This place looked dope, we were hoping for the perfect surf world, but it was so boring when we got here a few months back. But then my bro remembered he worked on one of those space experimental projects or whatever, but after running out of funding, they had some spare moons just lying around Jupiter. So we figured, 'Hey, nobody is using these, this planet needs some juice, win-win.' Amirite!

And, um, did the Coalition approve of the moving of celestial bodies into neutral systems, per the Jimothy Law?

"Pshaw, nah bruh. Paperwork is for the computers, we're meant for the thrill, dude or dudete or dudit. Dudethem? Dudio! Dudorama... wait, is it Deuteronomy? Dudada!"

The Human continued to count variations of the term for the next several minutes, perhaps inebriated by some kind of mind altering substance, though it can be hard to tell with some Humans.

The captain of the ship decided that it's beyond his pay and they're just gonna continue the tour. Some of the Human tourists and even a couple of heavily intoxicated others did decide to cut their trip short and visit this newly tidally active world with it's Human introduced activities. Surfs up!

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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femininenachos · 9 months ago

Note

Hello lovely. I’ve been thinking about vacation au. Please tell me Clarke runs into Lexa swimming in some crystal clear Grecian water and wells has to close her mouth for her.

(Not quite, but close!)

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

By mid-morning the narrow streets near the harbour are already swarming with island hoppers fresh off the ferry. More line the quayside, waiting to board the day cruise that takes in the larger, more populous archipelago further down the coast. So-called ‘jewels of the Aegean’, they’re feted for being playgrounds of the rich and famous, boasting a slew of luxury resort hotels, designer boutiques and staggeringly expensive seafront restaurants.

For all its charm and scenic vistas, at least Polis has one foot in the real world. Here, craggy-faced fishermen and dock hands in scruffy overalls are hard at work unloading the morning’s catch, doing their best to ignore the clusters of tourists floating around, or at least tolerating their presence with stoic indifference.

And—it’s possible Clarke might be biased—Polis has Lexa, currently leading the charge like a woman on a mission. Clarke sticks close, her hand in Lexa’s sure grip, hurrying to match her loping strides as they make a beeline for the marina. Along the way they pass an assortment of small motorboats in all shapes and sizes, from dinghies and jet skis to skiffs and cabin cruisers and everything in between, until a gleaming white single-masted sailboat comes into view at last.

Clarke stops dead in her tracks on the cobblestones, fingers slipping from Lexa’s.

Her jaw drops.

“Is this yours?”

Lexa glances over and laughs at Clarke’s expression. “I make good tips, but not that much.”

She points to the modest vessel moored next to it, an open-top vintage deck boat with a walnut veneer interior and burnt orange leather upholstery that’s bleached from exposure to the sun and the salty sea air. ‘Spirit of Polis’ is written in blue cursive script on the hull.

“I mean, this one’s great too,” Clarke is quick to respond. She styles it out. “Not so flashy. Compact. Classic. Nice, uh, sleek lines.”

Lexa peers over the top of her sunglasses, lips subtly twisting to the side. “It belongs to my uncle, so you don’t have to worry about offending me or the boat.”

She puts down the cooler containing their provisions of cold drinks and extends a hand to help Clarke aboard. A little unsteady on her feet at first, Clarke holds on tightly for support while she finds her balance, shifting her weight to counteract the bobbing motion of the boat as water sloshes against the sides. Once she’s confident she isn’t going to fall flat on her face or, worse, into the harbour, she takes a few cautious steps to reach the small seating area at the rear. She shrugs off her tote bag to stow under the bench and situates herself, the sun-scorched leather burning hot against the backs of her thighs.

From this safe perch (and prime ogling spot), she watches Lexa collect the thick rope that tethers the boat, tossing it onto the deck before she gracefully hops across with the cooler and gets behind the controls. Full of poise at the helm, like it’s second nature to assume command, the signature pout in place as Lexa lifts her chin like she’s surveying her nautical domain.

It goes without saying that the whole preppy, boat-captain vibe is one hundred percent working in her favour.

Shades on. Hair spilling down her back in glossy chestnut waves, the ends getting whipped around by the wind. Appealing in her pale pink button-down worn over a snug white tank. Shirt open and catching the light breeze, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a hint of muscle definition and the ink that encircles her bicep. Tight little navy blue shorts hug her hips and ass in ways that are about to cause a major international incident at sea, because Clarke is far from looking respectfully.

“Ready?”

When her eyes snap up, she spies the half-smile on Lexa’s side profile, as though she detects the unholy thirst emanating from mere feet away.

Clarke gives a slow, absentminded nod, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as her eyes make another involuntary sweep down Lexa’s form.

“Clarke.”

She gets a hold of herself, breathing in deeply, and with it the spell is broken.

“Mm? Oh, yeah,” she says, feeling a resurgent wiggle of anticipation about this mystery adventure they’re about to embark on together. All Lexa was willing to divulge when they met is that it’s Polis’s best-kept secret, a spot known only to locals, unreachable except by boat, and so far unspoiled by tourists. Clarke had feigned offense on the last point, but soon dropped the act when Lexa tilted in for a kiss that went on and on and made her stomach clench. Each time Clarke started to retreat, Lexa would chase her mouth and draw her back in for more.

Her lips are still tingling.

(Both sets.)

“At least give me a hint about where we’re going?”

The enigmatic smirk that plays around Lexa’s mouth widens a fraction. “I thought you liked surprises.”

“Oh, I do. But I’m also stubborn as hell and won’t take no for an answer, so jot that down.”

It earns a laugh, one Clarke is fast becoming enamoured with, and she can’t control the warm tingle that goes through her when she hears it or the rush of elation she gets from bringing a rare grin to Lexa’s face.

“Good to know,” Lexa says as she reaches for the ignition key. Her next words are almost lost to the splutter and chug of the engine before it roars to life. “I like a challenge.”

~*~

Within an hour, they reach a small, secluded cove surrounded by sheer limestone cliffs, the ancient rock sculpted by wind and waves, where sparse scatterings of tall, rugged pines sprout precariously from narrow ledges in defiance of the elements.

It appears like a mirage, shimmering into view: a bay of dreamy, pristine, white-gold sands and crystal clear turquoise waters, serene and inviting, and there isn’t a soul in sight. The closest thing they had to company was the pod of dolphins they spotted off the starboard (Clarke learned) side about twenty minutes ago. She’d gasped and clutched Lexa’s arm, bouncing on her heels in sheer delight. But it was the look they shared, brimming with joy and something unaccountably softer and fonder, that made it all the more magical, the moment already locked into Clarke’s memory.

“What do you think?” Lexa asks.

Lost for words, Clarke shakes her head in silent awe.

She turns to Lexa, and the smile Lexa directs at her, eyes bright and glowing in the sunlight, leaves her just as speechless. When Clarke finds her voice at last, it comes out thick, clogged with emotion; touched and amazed by the incredible beauty of what she sees—the place, and the woman who brought her here. So moved that she’s dangerously close to shedding a tear, her vision glazing over.

She blinks the moisture away.

“It’s…” She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. Lifts her eyebrows. “Wow.”

She doesn’t second guess the impulse to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist, to plant a soft, grateful kiss on her jaw.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Full lips twitch at the corners. “My pleasure.”

With one hand resting on the wheel, Lexa drapes her free arm around Clarke’s shoulders. They remain like that, Clarke hugging Lexa’s side and taking in the spectacular scenery as Lexa guides the boat in at a steady rate of knots.

“I can’t believe this place has stayed under the radar. You’d think tour operators would be running excursions out here every hour until sunset.”

“Clarke.” Lexa grows serious all of a sudden, and that only makes Clarke want to kiss her again. Coax another smile. “You must promise not to tell anyone. It’s how we preserve it for future generations.”

Clarke schools her features, pretending to match Lexa’s gravity.

“Well… it’ll cost you. My silence doesn’t come cheap.”

The slight frown Lexa wears smooths out as soon as she catches on. A quizzical eyebrow flexes in a way that’s rudely attractive.

“Name your price, but don’t forget I work in hospitality.”

“I’m not interested in your money, Lexa. What I want” - Clarke trails her hand over Lexa’s hip and the perfect curve of her backside to give it a slow, purposeful squeeze, relishing Lexa’s intake of breath and the darkening of her gaze as she glances at Clarke’s lips - “is you.”

She meant to say “your body” but she doesn’t correct the verbal slip. Because, yeah, she does want to bend Lexa into all kinds of shapes like a pretzel, but she also has a deep desire to learn more about Lexa as a person, to find out what makes her tick, beyond what she likes to do in bed.

Lexa takes it in stride regardless, easing back into the confidence she has in spades.

Something about the slope of her smile signals she’s about to gain the upper hand.

She shrugs.

“Okay, deal.”

The enduring gleam in Lexa’s eyes before she turns her attention back to the sea gives Clarke palpitations. Her pulse thunders in her ears, drowning out the engine noise and the crash of the boat breaking the waves.

~*~

They drop anchor a short distance from the shore, an easy swim from the dazzling white sands. Not yet ready to take a dip, preferring to bake in the heat for a while first, Clarke spreads a large beach towel on the deck for sunbathing. She senses Lexa’s attention on her as she shimmies out of her shorts and shucks her loose tee to reveal the red halter neck two-piece that Octavia helped pick out after breakfast.

(“Hellooo, mama,” Octavia had drawled after Clarke emerged from the en suite and gave a reluctant twirl. She’d let out a low whistle as she ran her eyes up and down. “Almost wish I was tagging along just to watch Sexy Lexy’s head spin 360-degrees before it explodes. The twins ain’t playing.”)

At the time, Clarke had rolled her eyes and fought a blush but she’s glad she went with O’s suggestion.

Aware of her present captive audience, she proceeds to get comfortable on her back. One knee bent, an arm tucked behind her head as a pillow, showing off her best assets like a 1950s calendar pinup girl. Even behind the dark tinted lenses of her sunglasses, she sees Lexa’s eyes hungrily trace the shape of her body. Clarke basks in it, a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth, secure in the knowledge that she’s not just a snack, she’s the whole damn meal, and Lexa looks like she wants to devour every last crumb.

But Clarke’s smugness is short-lived, because in the next moment she’s the one left gawking when Lexa wordlessly strips down to the skimpiest pair of bikini bottoms and not a stitch else, brow quirking up as she peers over her shoulder then dives off the deck, slicing through the water with barely a splash.

Clarke quickly levers up onto her elbows to watch Lexa surface seconds later, hair slicked back and plastered to her skull, a sly little tilt to her lips as she treads water.

“Come on in. The temperature is perfect,” she calls out, looking every inch the siren that lures thirsty sapphic sailors to their deaths.

Clarke tries to cling on to the last vestiges of composure she has remaining.

“Gonna work on my tan for a little bit.”

The pout returns and she laughs, “Soon!”

Grabbing the tube of sunscreen from her nearby tote, she squeezes a large dollop into her palm. While Lexa does slow laps around the boat, Clarke liberally reapplies the lotion, slathering it on until all the exposed skin within reach is covered.

Before long, she hears Lexa climb the ladder onto the swim platform, accompanied by the rush of water cascading off her body as she rises out of the sea.

The soft slap of wet footfalls draws nearer.

“Lex?” Clarke twists around. “Could you do my—”

She stalls mid-sentence, only cognizant of her fingers closing hard around the tube in her hand when a spurt of lotion shoots out, splattering across her thigh and the towel.

She doesn’t even flinch.

All Clarke can do is gape and stare, watching rivulets of water run down the slope of Lexa’s bare chest. Eyes drawn inexorably to taut nipples and golden skin that glistens under the sun, to the long, lean lines of Lexa and the scrap of luminous orange fabric that sits low on her hips.

Clarke’s belly tightens, arousal flaring hot between her legs.

(A voice in her head that sounds disturbingly like Wells tells her to close her mouth.)

She has to remind herself to breathe.

Is thankful for the oversized shades that partially mask her expression, because she isn’t in control of what her face is doing right now. But if Lexa’s lip-bitten smile is any indication, it’s a lost cause anyway.

Casually wringing the water out of her hair as she approaches, Lexa glances at the milky white streak on Clarke’s inner thigh.

“Not the first time I’ve made a girl squirt.”

Clarke mutters a sarcastic “ha ha”, rubs the lotion into her skin, then wipes her hands on the edge of the towel before she reclines again. She fakes nonchalance when Lexa sinks down beside her, but it’s impossible to ignore the butterflies.

She rolls her shoulders and stares at the sky above, fixating on the solitary vapour trail that cuts across the endless blue.

“Speaking of previous liaisons... do you bring all your conquests here?” She’s mostly kidding, but there’s an undercurrent of needing to know too. She peers at Lexa. “Or am I one of the lucky few?”

A slow shake of Lexa’s head before she leans over on her elbow, closing in and partially blocking the sun, and Clarke’s skepticism must be plain to see, because Lexa looks so intensely sincere now, no trace of a smile or any disingenuousness when she says: “It’s the truth, I swear.”

Still, Clarke has her doubts. There’s no way Lexa isn’t tripping over hot women throwing themselves at her feet and this boat trip is too well-orchestrated not to be a tried and tested seduction technique.

Clarke peels off her shades to look Lexa square in the eye, and that frank, steady gaze pierces straight through her.

“I mean it, Clarke.”

The space between them shrinks.

Lexa’s pupils dilate as her focus shifts to parted lips. “You’re special.”

Water drips off the ends of Lexa’s hair onto Clarke’s shoulder and chest, and whatever rebuttal she had dies in her throat. She’s the one to reach out, gripping Lexa by the neck to tug her the rest of the way and kiss her like Clarke’s been dreaming of all morning.

As soon as Lexa throws a long leg over Clarke to straddle her, knees bracketing her hips, she needs no further convincing.

It’s on.

She dips her tongue inside Lexa’s mouth and slides both hands up Lexa’s rib cage to cup her breasts, a shiver running through Clarke when she feels the hard poke of nipples against her palms. She kneads, and the low, throaty noise it earns her sets her nerves alight, warm tingles suffusing her body.

They kiss deeply, greedily.

They kiss until Clarke has to drag her mouth away to gulp down some air, only to have the oxygen punched out of her lungs once again when Lexa uses the opportunity to shove her bikini bottoms off, scoop her mane of wet hair to one side and resettle against Clarke’s thigh. With her hands planted on either side of Clarke’s shoulders, Lexa holds herself up as she starts to work along the tensed muscle.

The slick, molten feel of Lexa, sliding against her skin, riding Clarke, makes her burn. She lurches up into the next kiss, hungrily reclaiming Lexa’s mouth, urging her on with a grip on her ass, and that shaky little hitch of breath in the back of Lexa’s throat whenever the friction gets her just right succeeds in getting Clarke wetter and wetter too. At this rate, she might come before Lexa does, and the odds only increase when Lexa takes Clarke’s hand and guides it between her legs.

“Use your fingers.”

Another surge of heat floods through Clarke at the instruction, hearing the normally smooth, modulated tone of Lexa’s voice roughed by need.

Clarke studies Lexa’s face, watching for the tiny flickers of reaction as she runs her fingers lower, fascinated by each and every twitch and jolt and slight gasp as she explores. She dips in and drags the wetness up to swirl around Lexa’s clit and is rewarded by the sharp jerk of Lexa’s hips and quite possibly the dirtiest kiss of Clarke’s entire life. She needs no prompting to slide through slick heat to tease at Lexa’s entrance again, fingertips doing a couple of slow swirls before she pauses.

For a beat they remain suspended in a freeze frame of anticipation. Each holding still, a breath caught in their throats.

On the exhale Clarke pushes inside.

And fuck, she missed this. Touching yourself is great and all, empowering, fantastic for stress relief, et cetera. But nothing beats the sound another woman makes when you enter her for the first time, when you hear that shaky intake of breath and you feel her clench around your fingers.

“Good?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods, bottom lip held between her teeth as she looks down at Clarke with hooded eyes, the green of her irises nearly eclipsed by black.

Part of Clarke can’t quite believe this is her reality. That she’s buried to the knuckles and Lexa is moving on her, rolling to meet the steady pump of her wrist.

She glances between their bodies and a groan escapes, another sharp twist of lust coiling in the pit of her stomach once her eyes fasten on her own two fingers coated with Lexa’s arousal, fucking into her. But Clarke pries her eyes away, roving over tight abdominals, taking in the curves of Lexa’s tits and the jut of her nipples, torn between wanting them in her mouth and watching her fingers disappear inside again.

It’s Lexa’s half-stifled whimper when Clarke’s thumb finds her clit that sharpens her focus.

Winding her arm around Lexa’s lower back, Clarke sits them upright and swiftly brings their lips together. The abrupt change of angle has Lexa gasping hotly into her mouth. Again, louder, when Clarke’s palm rubs in. Lexa grips her by the shoulder and the back of her neck, blunt nails digging in as Lexa grinds down harder, faster, speeding towards the climax—the first of many, if Clarke has her way—sucking in short, sharp gasps while Clarke keeps pace, despite it being hell on her wrist.

They’re hardly kissing at all now, mouths hanging slack and sharing the same air, noses pressing into cheeks as they pant against one another’s lips.

She soon feels the first flutters, the growing tension in Lexa’s form, the choppy motion of Lexa’s hips and the careless scratch of her nails at Clarke’s nape. She curls the tips of her fingers on each partial drag out then slams back in, lifting Lexa an inch off her lap with each thrust. Clarke keeps the heel of her palm tight against Lexa’s clit, the pressure firm and constant, and in the next collection of halting, rapid breaths, Lexa’s whole frame pulls taut. A ragged cry is torn from her throat and she clenches hard, coming in a hot spill around Clarke’s fingers. Lexa shudders through it, a tremble in her jaw when she catches Clarke’s mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss, licking into her with a groan that makes Clarke gush in turn.

They remain in a heavy lip lock long after the tremors subside, neither inclined to separate. Restless hands weave through Clarke’s hair then seek out her curves, roaming down her chest with purpose, pushing under the top half of her swimsuit. She gives a low hum of approval when Lexa’s thumbs roll over the tight tips of her nipples, the ache mirrored in the dull, pulsing emptiness between her legs.

She feels close to orgasm already, like if she got even the tiniest bit of friction she’d go off like a rocket. Just a small shift of her hand to grind against her own knuckles would do it. But the way Lexa is touching her breasts, palms running all over, teasing her nipples into stiff, hypersensitive points, might be enough to get Clarke there.

And all the while, she’s still inside Lexa. Fucking her lazily with slow presses of her fingers, incapable of much more vigour when her wrist is screaming. She’s debating what to do next, whether to withdraw and flip Lexa onto her back for round two or continue like this, when a distant droning noise intrudes, faintly audible above the gentle lap of water, the thick, wet squelch of Clarke’s hand working between Lexa’s thighs, and their combined heavy breathing.

Growing more distracted by the second, Clarke draws her mouth away. She squints at the horizon beneath the shade of her free hand while warm lips meander along her jaw and down her neck.

She ceases her movements, despite Lexa’s meaningful buck of her hips and the subsequent small growl of complaint when Clarke fails to take the hint.

“What’s—” Teeth nip at the fading hickey on her throat and she gasps, hand flying to tangle in Lexa’s damp, curling hair. But as the object begins to resolve itself, Clarke tenses for a different reason. “Is that a boat?”

Lexa abandons her sulk to look too.

A white shape is rapidly approaching, throwing up sea spray, sunlight glinting off the surface and the waves and making it difficult to discern from this distance until… oh. Oh, yeah.

Letting out a string of (presumably) expletives in her native tongue, Lexa scrambles off Clarke to scoop up the clothes strewn across the deck. She pulls on her tank top, yanks the shorts up her legs, and has just enough time to arrange herself into a casual pose beside Clarke before the other boat reaches them. The occupants are obnoxiously young; late teens or early twenties, as far as Clarke can tell from a distance; a bunch of bikini-clad girls and lanky guys in board shorts hanging off one another as music blasts.

She sighs inwardly. Grits her teeth and refrains from giving them the middle finger while they whoop and cheer in passing, beer bottles held aloft as they thunder towards the wooden jetty.

So much for the sexy beach idyll. Clearly, not everyone has such reverence for the tranquility of this spot.

“Shall we stay a while or…?” Clarke hedges.

Lexa purses her lips and casts her stormy gaze around, jaw working side to side in rotation, but a gentle touch on her leg pulls her focus back to Clarke.

Consternation softens into regret.

“You didn’t even get a chance to swim or feel the sand between your toes.”

“I’ll cope. Besides…” Clarke wets her lips and drops into a huskier register. “It wasn’t a total bust.”

Lexa’s mouth twitches, clearly fighting a smile, and to Clarke that’s a win.

“Come on, don’t let these pesky teens ruin our hot date,” she continues in a playful tone. “I bet you have a few aces up your sleeve; other favourite haunts to wow the ladies with.”

One shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “We do have the boat for the rest of the day. I could take you somewhere else. For lunch, if you’re hungry yet?”

Clarke gives a noncommittal hum, lightly trailing her wet fingers along the soft skin of Lexa’s inner thigh. “I could eat.”

The suggestive undertone isn’t lost in translation. Their eyes meet and Clarke dares to make it explicit.

“But lunch wasn’t what I had in mind… unless we’re counting pussy as a food group.”

Lexa loses the battle against keeping her smile under control. The tips of her ears are tinged pink. “Are Americans always so forward?”

“Um, I don’t recall any shyness on your part two nights ago.”

Dainty little ears burn brightly while Lexa’s smile grows, becoming toothier, and Clarke just wants to smooch that perfect face all day long.

“Anyway, I prefer the term ‘go-getter.’ As in, I see someone I want and I go get her.”

A pained groan. “I should leave you stranded on the beach for that.”

“Hey!” Clarke swats at Lexa’s knee in retaliation, but Lexa catches her hand, holding it captive. Clarke sniffs for dramatic effect. “I was going to let you strip me out of this bathing suit later, but now I’m strongly reconsidering.”

“If it helps sway your decision, I’d definitely appreciate seeing you naked again.”

“And how would you show your gratitude?”

“Mm. At least three times, and maybe twice more with the strap if you’re into toys.”

God.

“Okay. Alright. Well, lucky for you, I’m kind of dying for you to fuck me so I guess that clinches it.”

It’s about as far from playing it cool as could be, but Clarke doesn’t care. The truth is she’s soaked, aching for relief, and she isn’t picky about whichever method Lexa might use to get her off, as long as it happens soon.

Eyes flashing dark, Lexa cups a hand behind Clarke’s neck and pulls her mouth to hers. Clarke reacts without thought, already opening up to accept the slide of Lexa’s tongue before her brain catches up and she remembers they’re not alone.

Cracking an eye open, she’s relieved to see nobody on the other boat appears to be paying them any attention. She attempts to evade the next kiss, only for Lexa to pursue it more doggedly, and that makes Clarke smile even as she lays a palm on Lexa’s chest to gently hold off her advance. The mini pout on Lexa’s face when they pull apart is a treat, and Clarke can’t conceal her enjoyment of it. Unable to resist the lure, she steals one final peck.

For a few indulgent seconds, she luxuriates in the softness of Lexa’s full bottom lip, until it dawns on her that an hour-long return journey stands between them and more orgasms, and she sighs.

“Why isn’t teleportation a real thing yet? Having to wait a full 60 minutes to get you under me is so unfair.”

Slowly, with the greatest delicacy and patience, Lexa brushes their noses together, one side then the other, nudging the tip before she withdraws. Despite the sun beating down on her back, it gives Clarke chills, shivers running down her neck and arms. For the duration she just holds still and melts while her stomach flips, and the butterflies that had lain dormant return in full force.

When she opens her eyes, she’s greeted by the slight, sloping smile on Lexa’s lips and her stomach does another somersault.

“I’m starting to think you’re only interested in me for sex,” Lexa says lightly.

Clarke lets out a small scoff. “You’re the one with a one-track mind. I was minding my own business, soaking up the rays, until you pounced.”

“Can you blame me?”

Lexa’s heated stare roves over several inches of cleavage before she forcibly drags her eyes back up.

“Actually… I have a confession to make.” She draws that plush bottom lip, still slightly swollen and red from kissing, between her teeth. “I dropped a tray of drinks at work yesterday because I had a flashback to you sitting on my face. Anya yelled at me and I didn’t even give a fuck that she deducted it from my tips.”

Heat rises in Clarke’s cheeks, triggered by her own vivid recollection of events. She won’t forget it in a hurry and she’s flattered to hear it was just as memorable for Lexa too. But also, it feels like a point of pride that she made Lexa’s cool girl veneer slip, even if she wasn’t there to witness it in person.

“Now I feel partly responsible for this tragic loss of earnings and broken glassware.”

“I said you were trouble.”

They inch closer, eyes glued to lips, their breath hot on one another’s faces.

“How can I make it up to you?” Clarke asks.

“I have some ideas.”

Her mind can’t help going to the aforementioned strap.

All smiles, they surrender to the magnetic pull. The world around them recedes. There’s only Lexa’s mouth on hers, soft yet urgent, and the tingles that erupt all over, Clarke’s pulse accelerating when long fingers thread into her hair again.

And it’s sublime.

Close to perfection.

She can almost hear the swell of imaginary violins soundtracking the moment—until a smattering of shrill wolf whistles pierces through the bliss.

The kiss breaks on a huff of shared, quiet laughter. Clarke’s eyes slide across to the jetty, where they’re being enthusiastically toasted by their neighbours. She groans and drops her forehead to Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the saltwater, sun-warmed scent of her before showing her face again.

“I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Clarke says.

The long, lidded look Lexa favours her with, eyes shaded darker by desire and the hint of some deeper emotion that feels altogether too big, too soon to acknowledge, has Clarke battling the urge to launch herself at Lexa’s lips again, regardless of the unwanted spectators nearby.

“Keep that up, Lex, and they might really have something to holler about—and possibly livestream on the internet.”

A faint smile reappears. “What am I doing, Clarke?”

“Looking. Giving me those” - she gestures vaguely - “eyes.”

It loosens a small laugh. Lexa lowers her gaze and Clarke regrets mentioning it now, because it feels like the sun momentarily disappearing behind the clouds when Lexa’s thrilling, singular focus isn’t on her.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Lexa looks up, and the restored eye contact makes Clarke’s blood pump faster.

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Maybe I like it more than I should, considering.”

“Considering…?”

“I won’t be here next week.”

Pragmatic; matter-of-fact. A reality check and a casual reminder they both need to hear before they throw themselves headlong into�� whatever this thing is between them: it has an expiration date.

In the lull, Lexa scans every millimetre of Clarke’s face and she hopes the nerves don’t show through the front she’s putting on.

After a moment, the corner of Lexa’s mouth lifts into a smirk, but it seems slightly forced. Her eyes are more pebbly, neutral grey than green. “Then let’s make sure you have good memories to take home with you.”

#vacation au #cool for the summer #clexa fic #my fic

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joelswritingmistress · 11 months ago

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You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 38

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

I made myself paranoid all day. At work I avoided going down the long hallway to the isolated bathroom for as long as I could. I had been in that bathroom more times than I could count without a thought. My coworkers were right there. There was no chance this mysterious lady killer was in our building. Still, I felt anxious, peed quickly and hurried out there.

The same thing happened on the ride home and the stop for gas. I wanted to get out of there. I felt like death was a dark hanging cloud over the area and I just needed to go. My parents practically begged me to come home, but I assured them that a “girl’s weekend” away was the best thing for me. I didn’t know when I planned to tell them about my much-older boyfriend - who happened to be my professor. I was planning on leaving that detail out.

My eyes hit the rearview mirror as I cruised around. I was tempted to swing through the Dunkin Donuts drive through for a quick pick-me-up, but my nerves even talked me out of that. I couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor and his odd behavior as of late.

Could it be him? Was he actually sneaking up behind me the night he got into it with Dr. Miller on the sidewalk? Would he ever be crazy enough to follow me up this way?

I was suddenly thankful I had put my social media on private. At least there was a digital barrier, not that that would help me in the physical world. When I was certain no one had followed me home from work, I made the turn up the driveway to Dr. Miller’s mansion. I still couldn’t think of it as ours. I probably never would, even if I was lucky enough to marry him one day.

When I got there, the gate was open and I could see him loading up some luggage into the back of the pickup truck. He gave a wave and after parking I greeted him with a quick hug and a kiss.

“You okay?” He asked me, putting a hand on my cheek.

I nodded. “This just feels surreal.” I sighed, “I’m glad we’re getting out of here for a few days. “I need a break from the gloom and doom and the death.”

Dr. Miller nodded and pulled me in for a hug, kissing my forehead. “Now will you consider dropping Dr. Stevenson’s class? I don’t want you on campus.”

“I’m paranoid everywhere,” I admitted, glancing up at him. I shook my head with a little laugh, “I was nervous going down the hall to the bathroom at work today after they told me about the third body.”

“I get it. It shakes you up. If it didn’t there’d be something wrong.”

I looked up into his eyes and we shared another peck of a kiss. My eyes stayed locked on his as I stared up at him.

“What?” he asked.

I gave a half-smile. “Nothing. I’m just thankful I have you.”

Dr. Miller smiled back, “Let’s get the last couple things and we’ll hit the road.” He grinned and tugged on my sleeve, “Don’t forget your bathing suit.”

The ride to the resort gave me time to decompress. With each half-hour that passed, I felt the weights of Woodbridge falling off my shoulders. We alternated taking turns listening to songs we chose, talked about anything except for the murders and even played a silly game from passing cars’ license plates at the tail end of the trip.

And then, by nightfall, the gorgeous, illuminated snow slopes came into view as we made our way through the final stretch of the Vermont countryside. It was even gently snowing as we pulled onto the grounds of the resort. Another perfect winter wonderland.

“I wish I knew how to ski,” I said with a laugh, “This looks awesome.”

Dr. Miller, linked his hand with mine as we cruised down the long, bumpy driveway. “Well, there’s always time to learn. I think there’s a hill for snow tubing if you’re up for it.”

“No way.” I knew my face perked up like a small child at the thought of tubing down a hill.

“Way.” He chuckled at my reaction.

We found a parking spot and made our way to check in.

“I wonder who’s here yet from the wedding party,” Dr. Miller said aloud. We approached the front desk of the on-site hotel. “Here for the Brennan-Miller wedding,” he told the woman behind the counter.

“Ahh, yes.” She grinned to herself and glanced up at him. “What’s the name?”

“Joel Miller.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, handing her a card to put on file for the room.

After punching in the information to the computer and retrieving a pair of key cards, she looked back at us with a smile. “You’re on the top floor, room 522. Pool is on floor one. Gyms are on every even numbered room. Continental breakfast runs from 6-10 every morning.”

“Great,” Dr. Miller said with a nod. “Thank you. Have any of the other wedding guests checked in?”

“I can’t really tell you that,” she said, but whispered, “A few of the rooms have already been claimed but I can’t tell you who.”

He chuckled when she winked. “Thanks so much.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

I gave a friendly goodbye wave and made our way with our luggage toward a visible elevator. When we got inside and the doors closed, I glanced over at Dr. MIller.

“You know what being in this elevator alone with you makes me think of?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him, and he took the hint, giving in to a laugh.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Dr. Miller pulled me for a playful kiss.

“You had me wrapped around your finger that first time I had a drink with you.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said what I said, “ he told me, still with a sly grin.

“Yes, you should have.”

Our lips met again and we kissed until the little bell rang and the doors swung open at floor five. We both read the little golden plate on the wall across, tell us with numbers and directional arrows which way to go for room 522.

Each window along the way gave a snapshot view of the slopes, where skiers and snowboarders still whipped around in the dark under the display of bright lights. It was a cool, new atmosphere that I wasn’t at all used to - but would be happy to embrace.

At 522, Dr. Miller placed the key card up to the slot and a blinking green light let us know we could enter.

“Here we go.” He glanced over his shoulder at me with a wink and I trailed him inside.

Just as I had suspected, the room was another little slice of heaven. King sized bed, small kitchen, small hot tub on an enclosed balcony. When I walked into the bathroom I called him in.

“This shower has like four shower heads,” I exclaimed, “And two more down by your legs.”

“Well, I know what our first activity should be.” Dr. Miller huffed a laugh and gripped his tongue between his teeth.

“We haven’t tackled that one yet.” I wrapped my arms around him and we indulging in making out for a moment. “I really could use a shower.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time.” Dr. Miller unzipped my jacket and then reached into the pocket of his when his phone buzzed. He read the text aloud, “Meet for drinks in the lodge at 8?”

“Carol?” I asked him.

He nodded. “It’s seven-fifteen now.”

“Plenty of time.” I grinned and unzipped his jacket now. In a jokingly sexy manner I slowly took off mine to reveal the striped sweater I still had on from work.

Dr. Miller laughed out loud and did the same, giving another wink for good measure.

I then tiptoed toward the shower and cranked the lever, almost immediately sending a pool of steam into the small cubicle when I shut the door.

I proceeded to strip down in front of him, flicking my lacy thong toward him with my toes and he hummed a, “Mmm,” of approval.

“I see you’re in a lighter mood,” he pointed out the obvious, still grinning as he removed his jacket and tossed it out the door onto the floor.

“I know a way to make it even better.” I opened the door to the shower and the pitter patter of the water grew louder.

When he joined me inside, the stress of real life all but disappeared. Dr. Miller was the perfect medicine for that. A getaway with him was just icing on the cake.

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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adlertours · 4 months ago

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mittensmorgul · 3 days ago

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Merry Beachmas Words: 3k Rated: T

Holiday 2024 mittens fic, featuring new holidays that still somehow go sideways, making it up as we go, found family, and toes in the sand!

It's set in the Evergreen 'verse, but it does stand alone as post-canon general happy holiday fluff fic :)

Read it now on AO3, or below the cut right here:

None of this was in the detailed plans they'd made five weeks ago. Jody had insisted they all were required to report in for a real family thanksgiving dinner. Not just the Winchester clan, but their entire extended network of friends and found family. Nobody objected, of course. It was a universally beloved idea. They all had a hell of a lot to be thankful for.

Nobody honestly could’ve predicted that gathering several dozen severely traumatized folks to break bread (and half a dozen pies) would’ve led to some general airing of grievances. That was supposed to be an entirely different holiday, after all. But in a world where so many holidays seemed to all tie directly back to Chuck and his own self-aggrandizing story, it naturally followed that while the idea of spending a holiday with the whole family like this was universally beloved and a tradition they absolutely wanted to continue as often as possible, they just didn’t think that the specific holiday of Christmas was necessarily the right way to go about that anymore.

“Well,” Garth said as they sat around the massive makeshift table assembled in Jody’s backyard after a long and leisurely meal. “If you still want a reason for the season that’s got nothing to do with Chuck, you can always make it about something else.”

Dean sat up in his chair so fast he nearly knocked over Cas’s beer on the edge of the table beside him. He looked over at Cas as he scrambled to catch his drink, and just stared at him for a second.

“You said it yourself, Cas.”

“I’ve said a lot of things, Dean.” Cas sat back in his chair, slightly aggrieved and this time holding on to his drink since Dean seemed to be gripped by one of this wild notions. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Dean snorted out a laugh and shook his head as he sat back with his own beer cradled in his hands. His momentary wave of realization had congealed into a proper idea, though. He grinned around at the expectant faces of his friends before finally turning back to Cas.

“We’re making it up as we go, right?”

It took Cas a second to remember the exact moment Dean was talking about, but the instant he did, he understood what Dean was getting at. Sticking it to Chuck all over again.

“We can make up our own holiday.”

Dean nodded sincerely and took a sip of his drink. “Screw all Chuck's holly jolly crap. We need a toes in the sand kind of holiday.”

After a moment of silence, Garth asked, “So are we talking about a Caribbean cruise or is this strictly a sandbox event?”

Dean shrugged. “No sand out in the middle of the ocean. I was thinking more Cancun, less cruising. Maybe one of those all inclusive resort type deals, where we don’t gotta worry about anything for a week.”

“And you’re footin’ the bill, right?” Donna asked, waving a hand around the table at the crowd of interested onlookers all thinking this was just a slightly tipsy pipe dream and not the foundations of a real plan. “Those places don’t come cheap, especially during the winter break season.”

Charlie waved a dismissive hand. “Financing it isn’t an issue. If everyone’s in, we will make it happen.”

“Well, in that case,” Claire said, smirking at Kaia, “count us in for beachmas.”

Hours later when they finally took their leave from Jody’s house, arms full of leftovers, their plans had completely come together. Dean proclaimed effusive thanks to each and every person present, and then spent half the drive back to the bunker lovingly detailing all the amenities at the resort Charlie had booked them all into. After a few hours, Sam had grumpily complained from the back seat, half asleep and truly wishing he was entirely asleep.

“Don’t forget this still involves air travel, Dean.”

Dean glanced nervously at Cas beside him on the front seat. Cas simply stared calmly out the front window, lulled into a contented state by a full belly and the sound of Dean’s happy excitement pattering on as he drove. Dean swallowed hard. That had been the one part of this whole harebrained trip that he’d really been trying not to think too much about. Cas understood, though. He reached over and patted Dean’s knee reassuringly.

“I will be right there with you, and nothing bad will happen on the airplane, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean said weakly, gripping the steering wheel just a bit harder as Sam finally, blessedly had enough silence in the car to doze off.

Over the next few weeks, they’d fallen back into their usual patterns. There were a few odd hunts that kept them occupied, but while they were home in the bunker, Dean had been getting visibly more excited about their impending trip. He brought out his best tamale recipe— the one that had even impressed the old Death— and it had equally impressed even Sam. And that wasn’t the only Mexican delicacy that Dean had tried to perfect in the kitchen. By the time the day of their trip neared, Sam had actually suggested they might all be let down by the food at the resort after Dean had spoiled them so thoroughly.

Three days before Beachmas was set to begin— because of course Dean had adopted Claire’s name for their new holiday— Dean got a call from Krissy Chambers. He hadn’t heard from her in years, and had honestly assumed she and her little gang of hunters had gotten themselves out of the game. When he saw her name on his phone, he did a double take before answering.

“Krissy, hey, long time no see,” he said, as Sam made a startled face when he realized who Dean was talking to.

“Dean, it’s actually really good to hear your voice,” she said, sounding relieved.

Her tone was so rough that Dean was immediately on alert. He instantly went from being ready to casually tease her, or even invite her and her gang to the Beachmas Party, to being ready to draw the nearest weapon and rush to her aid. Unfortunately, that was actually what she needed from him.

“So you don’t call, don’t write, and then after what… six or seven years out of the blue you finally remember we exist?” Dean asked, putting her on speaker for Sam and Cas. “Shit must really be going down. What do you need?”

Krissy snorted. “Yeah, well, it’s not like you kept in touch much, either. I hear you’ve been a little busy taking down God and all, though, so I guess I can give you a pass.”

Dean laughed out loud. “Thanks for that.”

“No, thank you,” Krissy replied earnestly. “Though if you’d just let it all stay gone, I wouldn’t be here to accidentally trip all over whatever Christmas plans you may have had.”

“We don’t do Christmas anymore,” Cas said. “We celebrate Beachmas now.”

Krissy was silent for a moment, either trying to parse out what that meant, or else trying to figure out who exactly had said that. Dean saved her from having to do either.

“Yeah, that’s Cas. I guess you’re about to meet him, if you need our help with something. But he’s right. We gave up all Chuck’s old holidays and we’re inventing our own.”

Dean’s explanation only seemed to give Krissy more questions, which wasn’t ideal considering they still hadn’t learned why she’d called in the first place.

“Oooohkay? That sounds great and all, but I could still use a hand with a couple rogue ghouls out here.”

Dean glanced at Cas, and then at Sam.

“Where exactly is here?”

“About thirty miles north of Missoula, Montana. I can send you the exact coordinates.”

“Hey, Krissy,” Sam finally said. “It’s Sam. Are you still hunting with your friends, or are you on your own now?”

“Hi, Sam, and yes, Aidan and Josephine are still hunting with me most of the time, but Aidan’s been laid up with a broken foot after our last hunt, and Josephine’s handling a haunting down in Taos and can’t make it up here for another few days. I thought I could handle a measly little ghoul stirring up trouble, but three people have gone missing since I got here, and I’m pretty sure it’s more than one ghoul doing the snatching.”

Dean sighed, rubbing his face. “Well at least it’s not vetala this time.”

Krissy snorted. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have come alone if I’d thought it was.”

“Alrighty then,” Dean said, making the executive decision to abandon their dinner and leave Sam to do the dishes. “Cas and I will be out there by sunup. Text me where you want to meet up, and we’ll see you there.”

“Really? Just like that?” Krissy asked, as Sam expressed a minor disappointment looking around the kitchen at their taco bar mess.

“Just like that,” Dean replied. “Hang tight, and try to stay off the ghoul radar for the night.”

“Will do. And thank you.”

Dean hung up, put his phone in his pocket, and then clapped his hands down on the table as he stood up.

“Come on, Cas. We got packing to do.”

“Weren’t we supposed to be packing for Cancun?” he asked, but dutifully followed Dean to their room.

“It’s just a couple of ghouls. We’ll be back in plenty of time to catch our flight,” Dean replied, trying not to visibly shudder at the mention of their impending air travel. He really had been doing better about it. Having a month to psych himself up for it had actually helped.

Sam snorted behind them in the kitchen. “You better be back in time,” he grumbled.

Of course they weren’t back in time. Which brings us back to where this story began.

“If you hadn’t given Krissy our hotel room in Cancun, there’s a chance we still could’ve made it,” Cas told him as the two of them trudged back through the forest after slaughtering a ghoul family of five, slightly disheveled and smelling strongly of the bonfire they'd built to dispose of the ghouls.

Dean grumbled a little at that and hefted his gear bag over his shoulder, but he could always get Charlie to book them another room. They’d already had this argument when Dean had sent Krissy south to collect Aidan and Josephine on her way to Mexico the day before. Now that they were alone, and a light snow had begun to fall, Dean stopped and turned to Cas.

“We handled the hunt fine without her,” Dean said. “Admit it, she was too banged up to hike out here with us,” he added, waving a hand around the dense forest and rocky terrain. “She wasn’t much better off than Aidan with his busted foot.”

Cas sighed, finally relenting. “And our family trip was the perfect time to bring her back into the family.”

Dean draped an arm over Cas’s shoulder and laughed as they continued their march back to civilization.

“No time like the holidays, right?”

“Especially the holidays we just invented,” Cas replied.

By the time they made it back to where they’d left the car, it was snowing harder. Dean turned on the radio to try and catch a local weather report. Snow had blanketed the entire region, and wasn’t expected to let up for days. Roads were precarious, and some had even closed, and the weather man advised people to stay home at least until the worst of the storm had passed. Dean frowned at the radio, calculating the odds that they’d be able to make it back to Kansas ahead of the blizzard. It hadn’t looked too hopeful. He turned to Cas, who to Dean’s surprise looked perfectly content despite the potentially catastrophic news.

“So maybe we’re not gonna make our flight,” he said, and then laughed nervously.

Cas turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “You weren’t looking forward to getting on an airplane anyway.”

“Not particularly, no,” Dean said, frowning both at the fact that Cas seemed so calm about this potential vacation ruining travesty, but also at the fact that he may have a reprieve from getting on a plane. There was also a matter of probably not getting to lounge on a beach in Cancun with Cas at his side and a fancy drink in a coconut in his hand. With that specific lament front and center in his mind, he made a sincere admission. “But I was looking forward to everything else. Flying for that would’ve been worth it.”

Cas shrugged. “Charlie can probably get us on another flight in a few days. We can still get there in time to spend several days with everyone else.”

When Dean’s mood didn’t visibly improve, Cas leaned in close, his shoulder bumping Dean’s. “We could extend our stay past when the rest of the family has left and enjoy a few days on the beach by ourselves.”

Dean blinked at him, and Cas just stayed exactly where he was, looking up at him with knowing eyes. Dean gave him a kiss, surprising Cas, and then laughed as he pulled out his keys and started the car.

“Okay then. You get Charlie on the phone and explain what happened. Get her on the job of finding us another flight as soon as possible.” As he pulled out onto the road, he added, “Whatever you do, don’t call Sam first. He’s just gonna bitch about us bailing on flying.”

Cas nodded, understanding. “He can’t bitch if we already have new tickets.”

Dean shrugged, turning off the highway toward the one place nearby he knew he could hunker down for a couple days. They hadn’t been out to Rufus’s old cabin in a while, but it would shelter them well enough from the oncoming storm.

“He probably will anyway, but at least by the time we get down there, he’ll have had a few days in paradise to get over it.”

Cas was off the phone with Charlie by the time Dean pulled up to the little market in Whitefish, just a few miles from the cabin. They stocked up on food, and Dean even picked up a bottle of ready to drink margaritas. When Cas side-eyed him, and the obnoxiously pink bottle, Dean just shrugged.

“If we can’t drink one out of a coconut on the beach tomorrow, we’re gonna do the next best thing.”

As they were paying, Dean noticed a display of winter road supplies by the door, including large bags of sand to be used as grit to spread on ice. He dashed over and grabbed one, tossing it down on the counter with a thud. A small amount of sand escaped the bag and left a mess on the counter. The cashier, wearing a festive santa hat with a flashing holly garland pinned to it, made a pointedly un-festive face at him. Dean just grinned back as the guy scanned the bag and added it to their total.

“Merry beachmas,” Dean told the bewildered clerk as they carried their purchases out into the cold.

Half an hour later, holed up at the cabin, Dean had a roaring fire going as Cas finally came out of the bathroom having showered and changed into clothes that weren’t stained with ghoul goo and mud. On the floor between the sofa and the fireplace, Dean had dumped the entire fifty pound bag of sand into a little makeshift beach. Cas just stared at him for a second like Dean had lost his mind. Dean just grinned back like he’d had the best idea ever.

“I thought the sand was to gain traction over icy roads,” Cas said, as he slowly made his way toward their indoor beach, stopping to pull off his socks before stepping onto the sand.

Dean shrugged and handed Cas a margarita, poured into a plastic cup full of freshly fallen snow to chill it. It was more like a margarita-flavored slushie than anything they probably served at the resort, but it was good enough for their wintry celebration.

“It probably will be in a couple days, but for now it’s Winchester Beach.”

Cas just stood there looking down at his less-than-tropically prepared beverage as Dean flopped down on the sofa. Dean patted the seat beside him, and Cas finally stepped onto the sand, enjoying the feeling of his feet sinking down in it more than he’d expected to. He blinked at Dean.

“I can see why you enjoy walking on the beach now,” Cas said as he sat down and curled his toes down into the warm sand.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and it’s even better when it’s been baking under the hot sun for a few hours.”

Cas lifted his foot and frowned down at all the sand granules that clung to his skin. He wiggled his toes and watched sand rain down onto the floor. “It’s very messy, though.”

Dean shrugged, taking a sip of his drink and stretching his legs out toward the fire. “Yeah, it kinda gets in everything. It’s still not as bad as glitter. Or pine needles.”

“So you don’t mind not having a traditional Christmas tree? All the holiday rituals of your childhood?”

Dean sighed, pulling Cas in close and settling in for a long few days in their own private paradise.

“What I miss is being with everyone we care about. But we’ll be there in a few days. Until then, I get to be here, with you.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Plus my childhood kinda sucked anyway.”

Cas snorted out a laugh and leaned back into Dean.

“I’m glad to be here with you now,” he said. “Though I think next beachmas, we need to avoid going off on hunts where there’s a chance we’ll get snowed in and miss our flight.”

Dean grinned at him. “So you’re already planning on celebrating again next year?”

“That is how holidays work, right?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, that’s how they work,” Dean replied with a sigh. “Merry beachmas, Cas.”

link to the ao3 version for all your kudos and comments needs

#spn fanfic #destiel #things i have written #holiday fluff

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