#i know everything but those tiny pacific islands

[poseidons-lovechild]

new hyperfixation: jetpunk countries of the world quiz

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #8

xxx forced to stay awake

"Do not let him sleep!" Louisa's voice, sounding strange and distant. It reminds River of the vinyl records he used to listen to with the OB as a kid, the really old ones that made his granddad get that wistful look on his face that disappeared again as soon as he caught River looking at him. Things were so much simpler back then. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he's back there...

"Cartwright!" Lamb snaps, shaking him a little. "Do you want to be fired from the Service for good?"

In this moment, that actually doesn't sound like too much of a bad thing if River is being honest. He doesn't say so.

"That wasn't rhetorical." Lamb's voice is loud, sharp. "We both know how your last job interview went. No one that's any good'll take you, which means you'll be stuck behind a desk at some basic mid-level office job. Or maybe a private firm'll take you on, like your old pal Webb! Imagine working for those arseholes. Is that what you want?"

"No," River mutters.

"No? Then keep your fucking eyes open!"

River forces himself to comply. There's not much to look at, really: the back of the passenger seat; the blood on his hand; Jackson Lamb's knees; the back of Louisa's head and, when he lifts his gaze a little, a glimpse of her worried face in the rear-view. The inside of his eyelids offered a better view.

The car hits a bump, jolting him and ripping a cry from his throat as pain tears through his side and chest where the bullets had struck. His vision goes dark for a second, and then he's pulled back to awareness by the sound of Lamb's raised voice.

"Jesus Christ," he's saying. "Who taught you how to drive?"

"I'm sorry!" Louisa, voice pinched. "River, come on!"

River groans, and prying his eyelids apart is harder this time. Breathing is hard, too. Everything is hard.

"River, talk to me! You okay?" Louisa cries.

"Yup," River gasps. Another groan. "Hurts."

"I'll bet it does," Lamb says. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before running off on your own like a fucking dickhead, eh? Course, I thought the same thing the last two times you did it. It's like you never learn, no matter how many times I tell you to stop doing stupid shit."

"You can..." River really shouldn't be wasting his breath on this, but he can't help it. "You can lead a horse to water."

Lamb makes a noise that could be a snort of laughter or, more likely, he's hacking up something disgusting.

"I don't know that I could lead you fuck-ups to water if we were on a-a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific."

River tries to draw in another breath to respond, but his chest hitches and he lets out a wet cough. His mouth fills with the taste of iron and he almost gags, but coughs again instead, blood flecking his lips, and he just keeps coughing. Panic is creeping in, black dancing at the edges of his vision. He can't get enough air...

"Keep breathing," Lamb commands, his words filtering through the ringing in River's ears. The pressure he's been holding on the hole in River's chest increases as he tightens his grip.

He doesn't know how long it takes, it feels like a lifetime, but the coughing fit finally subsides. His chest is burning, head pounding. He can't catch his breath. And, more than anything else, he's so, so tired. It's a deep, heavy exhaustion. He just wants to sleep.

"Cartwright! You open your fucking eyes, now."

Fucking Lamb. Louisa is speaking too, but River can't discern the words. She's too far away. He suspects she wants him to stay awake too, though, damn her. Damn both of them.

"Now!" Lamb repeats, tapping River's face. "You hear me, Cartwright? That's an order. I know you're shit at following those, but you had better follow this one. Come on. Eyes open. If you won't do it for me, do it for Guy. You saw what happened after Min. What do you think'll happen if you die in her backseat?"

That sparks something, the faintest bit of anger, and River's eyes open a little. He doesn't know how he manages it.

He doesn't know if he'll manage it again.

xxx

[keanureevesisbae]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 01. jailbreak

Spencer Reid x Elodie Price (asian/pacific islander/moluccan OFC)

Summary: When serial killer Rowan Rancher escaped from prison, it's up to the BAU to not only find him, but also his daughter.

Serie warnings: Mention of murder, blood. Mention of rape (not described). Eventual smut.

Chapter warnings: Mention of murder and blood. Indirect mention of rape. Just a murderer in general already.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: So, believe it or not, but I am not a genius 🤷🏽‍♀️ So everything Spencer says is either literally copy paste from Wikipedia or I attempted to do math and calculate shit myself. So I hope you like 😘

Masterlist // Beyond Words Masterlist

Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were - Marcel Proust

■□■□■□■□■□■

Them

‘We’ve got a situation,’ agent Aaron Hotchner, unit chief of the Quantico’s Behavioral Analysis unit, says to his team, as they’ve all gathered for this case. ‘Rowan Rancher has escaped the prison facility in Texas.’

‘Rowan Rancher murdered twenty four women aged twenty seven to forty one—that we know of—over the course of seven years. His preference was for brunettes with blue eyes, which is a clear resemblance of his mother Megan Rancher. However, victim number twenty five was a man named Wendall Regal. It was actually the first murder he confessed after he was arrested and it was the only murder he didn’t deny.’ Spencer Reid’s eyes go through the file, absorbing the information he practically knew by heart already. ‘Rowan Rancher had a daughter. Rossi, weren’t you the one who interrogated her?’

SSA David Rossi leans back in his chair, looking at one of the pictures in the files. It was a graduation picture of Elodie Rancher, the daughter of Rowan Rancher. ‘I was,’ he answers. ‘She led us to the fifteen burial sites.’

Rossi remembers the pain and hurt he saw in the eyes of Elodie, a fragile seventeen year old, completely damaged by her serial killer father. Because Rowan and Elodie traveled a lot, the burial sites were scattered over the country. Some in Nevada, others in California, a few in Florida, one in Hawaii, more in Maine and the remaining ones in the Washington state, where Rancher finally was caught.

‘I helped her with a new identity,’ Rossi continues, ‘gave her a bit of a boost to start her life. Therapy, more counseling and eventually she stopped updating me I assumed it went well.’

‘Elodie Rancher now goes by Elodie Price,’ tech savvy Penelope Garcia says, pulling a newer picture of Elodie on the screen. She lost the innocent look, the deep dark circles under her eyes and the sunken cheeks. She grew her hair out, the shoulder length waves made way for long luscious locks of black hair. A septum piercing, a few hints of tattoos. While back when she still lived with Rowan Rancher she had almost a girly and angelic aura, she now looks tougher.

Broken.

‘Where do we think Rowan Rancher went?’ JJ asks. ‘Because judging from the enormous amounts of deranged fan mail this man receives, he has plenty of places to hide.’

Rossi shakes his head. ‘No, there was only one thing that set this man off. That made him irritable and that was the absence of his daughter. He’ll use the women who sent him those fan mails and were stupid enough to put their addresses on it to get him closer to who he truly wants.’

‘Elodie Price,’ Derek notes. ‘Baby girl, is she on a lot of social media?’

‘Nope,’ Garcia says. ’She has a tiny social media footprint. The only times facial rec got a hit was because she was partially in a picture of someone else, but this girl is practically a ghost.’

‘Where does she currently live?’ Emily Prentiss asks.

‘Right here in Quantico,’ Garcia answers. ‘She works from home as a translator. English to Dutch and vice versa.’

‘Dutch is a West Germanic language spoken by approximately twenty five million people as a first language and five million as a second language. Actually it’s one of the closest relatives of both German and English and, like the English language, hasn’t undergone the High German consonant shift, therefore it doesn’t use the Germanic umlaut, has largely abandoned the use of the subjunctive and has leveled much of its morphology, including most of its case system.’

While Spencer takes a deep breath to continue, agent Hotchner figures it’s the best moment to divide tasks. ‘I want Prentiss and JJ on the jet to Texas, to help out the local police departments and prison employees to communicate with the public. Rossi and Reid, go pay Elodie Price a visit. Morgan, you and I will stay here and set up a task force in order to locate Rowan Rancher. Garcia?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘I want you to try and trace Rancher’s steps. I want an exact step by step track record of when he escaped, his route and where he can possibly reside.’

■□■□■□■□■□■

Her

Sometimes I am not too sure whether or not my ability to spot lies from miles away is a blessing or a curse. I’m one hundred percent certain the Starbucks barista who just wished me a nice day, rather wished me and every customer prior and after me would get hit by a bus. The slight tension in her jaw, the dark eyes.

She is not in an excellent mood.

With my Chai Latte with a pump of caramel, I make my way back to my place. I barely leave the safe walls of my apartment and when I do leave, it’s to do groceries, grab a coffee and go to the local independent bookstores. 

My life is simple and simple is all I need.

Once back home in my studio apartment, I sit down at my dinner table that serves as my work space for the next upcoming three hours. I’ve finished a lot of my work already, meaning I can either work ahead or call it a day.

Becoming a translator is honestly not the job I thought I’d do for the rest of my life, but translating technical manuals, school texts books and other boring things requires very little interaction with others and for now, that is what I need. 

The fear of someone recognizing me as Elodie Rancher is a fear I assume I will carry with me till the day I die. 

Three knocks on my door and I stretch out my neck, as if that enhances my hearing. Thinking it’s my senile neighbor Dolores again, I stand up and look through the peephole, before deciding if I’ll be home to deal with her antics again.

But it’s not Dolores. It’s someone else.

Two people. Men. And they both look familiar.

When I open the door, I see David Rossi standing there, the man who helped me gain footing again after my father was arrested back in Washington. ‘Mister Rossi,’ I manage to choke out. 

‘Elodie,’ he says, ‘how are you doing?’

All of the sudden, I am seventeen again. Traumatized, fearful and not too sure what to do with my life. ‘Something happened,’ I conclude, not answering the question. ‘Something involving my father.’

David Rossi lets out a deep sigh. ‘Elodie, can we come in?’

I take a step to the side, letting David Rossi and the man next to him inside. He’s tall—like, a lot taller than to my below average height—and says: ‘I’m Doctor Spencer Reid.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I listen to your seminars sometimes.’

That piques his interest. ‘Seriously?’

’Yeah,’ I answer, closing the door behind him. Seeing these agents standing in my living room, causes me to nearly shake with anxiety. ‘What happened?’

‘Rowan Rancher has escaped prison.’

Five words, but they are enough to knock all air out of my lungs. My father escaped prison? He’s been incarcerated for eight years, how on earth did he manage to do that? My father is smart, no doubt, but escapism appeared to be something that was part of fiction.

Not reality.

‘Oh,’ is the intelligent answer I manage to muster up. 

‘We have reason to believe that you are in possible danger if he figures out where you are,’ David Rossi continues, ‘therefore we want to offer you a deal.’

‘Okay?’

‘You help us with an eventual profile, tracking his steps, since you are truly the only one who knows him better than anyone. We’ll make sure you are in safe hands, always flanked by an agent.’

Deep down I want to say no. I don’t want protection, but knowing the lengths my father goes through to finish what he started, I have to help them.

Otherwise the Rowan Rancher victim count will only increase again.

■□■□■□■□■□■

‘The Maluku Islands are an archipelago in the eastern part of Indonesia. Geographically they are located east of Sulawesi, west of New Guinea and north and east of Timor. The islands have been considered a geographical and cultural intersection of Asia and Oceania. Actually—fun fact—the islands were known as the Spice Islands, because of the nutmeg, mace and cloves that were exclusively found there.’

Believe it or not, I didn’t ask for this explanation about the Maluku Islands. However, when I said to Spencer Reid my mother was a Moluccan woman born in The Netherlands, it ignited something in him to tell me all about my heritage. 

But honestly I am not complaining about said history lesson. While I told the doctor I sometimes listen to his seminars, little does anyone know I actually listen to his seminars to go to sleep. The tidal waves of information that rolls from his tongue in a fast pace, causes me to dive into a deep night sleep. Not because I’m bored, but because I’m calmed down.

‘Sorry, Elodie,’ the man who introduced himself as Derek Morgan says, ‘there isn’t an off switch on this kid.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘No need to turn him off.’

Back at the Quantico headquarters, I’m quickly adopted by their technical analyst Penelope Garcia, under the close supervision of David Rossi. I’m staring at the last picture of my father, one pulled from security footage ten miles away from the prison. Ever since that moment, it almost appears like he’s a ghost. Evaporated into thin air. 

‘It had been my father and I since I was five,’ I whisper, but it’s loud enough for the other two to hear me. ’My mother ran off, unable to live with Rowan, because of his personality.’

Penelope turns to me. ‘And she just left you there?’

‘Yeah. When… When mister Rossi reached out to her after my father was caught, she hung up the phone after telling him I was doomed to fail anyway. She now lives in Australia, has three kids and is the stepmom of a girl who was my age. Who apparently wasn’t doomed to fail.’

Penelope places her hand on my shoulder and whispers: ‘I’m sorry.’

I quickly push aside the thoughts, before I tell them I have to use the restroom. Once done there, I walk passed the bullpen, witnessing Spencer bowed over a map. I push open the door and walk up to him. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘According to the traceable steps of Rowan Rancher pulled by Garcia, it occurred to me that he travels predominantly east.’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘That’s what he always said to me. When in doubt, go east. No idea why, but he just said that.’

‘It is essentially what you did,’ Spencer says. ‘Going from Washington state to Wyoming, then Iowa and then settling in Virginia, is traveling east.’ Spencer continues on to tell me about the landmarks Rowan Rancher will encounter when he continues to travel east, however I say: ‘He met my mother in Columbus, Ohio.’

When David Rossi first found me, I barely could muster up the energy nor the memories to tell him this information. Instead of talking about it, I pushed it down. My mother wasn’t a USA citizen and considering she at first was practically untraceable and then made it very clear she didn’t want to talk about Rowan Rancher, every bit of information about him came back to me. 

But I was useless when I was seventeen.

I will not make the same mistake at the tender age of twenty five.

‘They met at the botanical gardens, if I remember correctly,’ I say.

Compared to Spencer Reid, my memory was severely lacking. 

‘The Franklin Park Conservatory and Botanical Gardens,’ he recites. 

’Yeah, somewhere near the Pacific Island part.’

‘Pacific Island Water Garden.’

‘I think so.’

Spencer Reid tilts his head. ‘We don’t know why exactly Rowan Rancher escaped. In the time he was incarcerated, he only received fanmail, had zero visitors and doesn’t interact with fellow prisoners.’

‘He escaped because he thinks he didn’t do anything wrong,’ I say. ‘Murdering Wendall Regal was different, but according to the way he would think, I only assume he’d think his sentence is done with the eight years.’

I did it for you, baby. No man can do what he did to you. Shivers run down my spine as I hear my father’s voice, covered in the blood of Wendall Regal.

‘I think he just wants to retrace the steps of happiness. When he met my mother, I guess he was happy. When I was born in Miami, Florida during a storm in a hotel room, I guess he was happy.’

‘Can you tell me all the places where you remember your father was happy?’ Spencer asks.

And all I can do is nod, before I go back deep into my memory, hopefully able to help the people catch my father. 

■□■□■□■□■□■

Five days. It took them five days and one female victim before they caught my dad in Miami Florida, near the same hotel I was born. The female victim was one of his fans, one of the people who was stupid enough to write down her address on the fan mail, instead of a post office box. She wasn’t my father’s normal type—this woman was fifty years old, had died red hair and had brown eyes—but she also wasn’t murdered in a manner it would be recognized to be murdered by my father. 

The only thing that gave away what he did, was the ERR carved in her skin. Elodie Rowan Rancher. My real name. The name he gave to me. It was him who named me Elodie. It was him who insisted on having a middle name identical to his own name. It was him who laughed at my mom for possibly thinking it would be okay I was gonna have my mom’s surname. 

ERR.

I sometimes think he killed because of me. I wondered what I did to make him do that.

My time here at the BAU has come to an end. After saying my goodbyes to everyone, together with Spencer I step into the elevator. I accidentally told him how the 1994 movie Speed with Keanu Reeves is my favorite movie.

‘The movie premiered in Hollywood on June 7th 1994, only to be released to the rest of the United States three days later. It became critically and commercially successful and the fifth-highest-grossing movie of 1994.’

‘It won two Academy Awards,’ I interject. ‘For Best Sound Effects Editing and Best Sound.’

Spencer turns to the side, a wide smile toying on his lips. Those puppy eyes nearly glimmer, almost like he’s delighted that I’m adding information to it. ‘Exactly. The sequel Speed 2: Cruise Control was actually nominated for eight Golden Raspberry Awards, winning the Worst Remake or Sequel category. The Golden Raspberry Awards is a parody award show honoring the worst of cinematic failures. They say it’s due to the absence of Keanu Reeves, who decided not to reprise his role as Jack Traven.’

‘Who is the most awarded actor?’ I ask. ‘Of those awards?’

‘Sylvester Stallone. He was nominated thirty three times and won eleven Golden Raspberry Awards.’

The way to my place is filled with these types of conversations. Including Spencer Reid reciting a good ten minutes of the movie Speed. I knew his brain was mesmerizing, but there is something so endearing about seeing it in real life.

Once we’re standing in front of my door, I say: ‘Thank you, for making these odd couple of days bearable.’

‘Five days,’ he says, because he simply can’t help himself. 

‘Five days,’ I repeat. I open the door of my place and say: ‘Thank you, Spencer.’

‘Thank you for your help. Thanks to you I could make a clear geographical map of important places for Rancher, meaning I could better pinpoint the spots he could be, thanks to Garcia’s sightings. Also, thank you for identifying the mark on the victim.’

‘Of course,’ I say, clenching my jaw, trying to push it down. ‘Well, you should go home. It’s been a rough few days.’

‘Actually, the best time for me to go to bed is either at eight in the evening or eleven. Considering it’s nine fifteen now, I have to wait one hour and forty-five minutes before I can fall asleep. However, it still is a thirty minute commute back to my place and if all goes well, I’ve got enough time to read the entire Harry Potter series and the first book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I could then read approximately eighty percent of book two, the Two Towers.’

‘Right,’ I say, my head spinning a little because of this load of information. ‘Well, you better get going then.’

He smiles. ‘Yeah, I should.’ He awkwardly holds up his hand. ‘Bye.’

And I watch Spencer clutching onto his bag, making his way to the elevator and for the first time in a long time, I feel a smile on my face.

 ■□■□■□■□■□■

Beyond Words Taglist: @raccoon-eyed-rebel // @beenthroughalot // @chickensarentcheap //

[waterspoutskies]

I could write a novel on this one. But I will settle for a few examples, starting with the fact that I experienced both ends of this in a twenty minute timespan today during my physical geology course's supplemental instruction timeslot.

Actually it was probably ten minutes. I think I broke my SI tutor's brain when I explained that I learned most of the igneous rock samples when I was four. And then I correctly answered another question but was unable to identify what the question was when asked to clarify my answer... After having it repeated to me I still have no idea what the question was. Couldn't tell you why my answer was the right one. Couldn't tell you how I got the answer without being able to recall the question, but I know dead certain that I knew the answer.

~ Bonus round: My favorite instance of my failed memory ~

In an absolutely furious display of how ridiculous I truly am, so there's a Geography Bee in the same way the Spelling Bee works, and I qualified for it all three years in middle school, I won in 7th grade, and I did not remember the final question that won me the whole thing.

I just need to stress here. They're down to me and this eighth grader. I am TERRIFIED of public speaking at this point in time, and I have been on the cafetorium stage in this school event for about three hours now. We've gone through everything, it's quick-fire time where we both answer the same question in rounds until one of us gets an answer wrong.

First question was something to do with the Rockies or something along those lines, we both got that right.

Second question, mind that I'm paraphrasing because it's been a LONG time, was something to the effect of "name the Pacific volcanic island chain stretching west of Alaska" and This. This is where I have it. See, I know the answer to this question, and I also know what ISN'T the answer. The answer is not the Hawaiian islands. I don't know if the other guy knows this, but I do. And I, in my tiny little nerd geek world of only watching Discovery and PBS and History channel content while growing up, know very well that this is the Aleutian Islands in the Bering Sea, leading to the Bering Strait. Yes, this is my full admission that one of my cornerstone TV shows in childhood was Deadliest Catch.

But as mentioned, this is hour three if not four of stage and people heavy activity and I am small and tired and undiagnosed with a handful of things, and also I ran a workout that morning. I am out of gas. And the only thing I can remember is that the island chain is in the Bering Sea. So that is what I write, scribbling it down at the last second. [Extremely loud incorrect buzzer]

At least the other kid wrote Hawaii.

Here's where my full swing memory kicks in.

I won on the next question. I do not remember what it was, my answer, the other guy's answer, nothing. It is GONE from my memory, so gone that after I am congratulated and cheered and photo taken and freed, it's been maybe ten to fifteen minutes, my mom has been called to inform her (this kills me in retrospect), I wander lackadaisically into the band hall to stow my instrument with my heart still pounding and everything vibrating, and when the band directors ask me how I won, what I won on, I don't have an answer.

NO ONE who I'm friends with or a teacher I have was in the cafeteria in the final few minutes. No one knows. I don't know. I'm too shy to ask the school officials about it. And given the elapsed time since, I will probably never know.

I suppose the upside is I'll never forget the Aleutians.

movies where someone hears an important message only once and retains all the details….

girl if that were me, we’d be fucked. I have to reread emails like 4 times.

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[dragynkeep]

Hi. I really like reading your posts, and I wanted to ask about your opinion about one of the (many) things that I’d change in RWBY. I’m specifically talking about Blake and how she and her parents were revealed to be the richest family in Menagerie, and how they’re the only family who isn’t in a small cramped shanty house, and are telling everyone to basically lie down and take the oppression or “you’re as bad as the racists”, which is stupid (understatement of the century). Barring everything that we know about Blake V6 onwards and how they mistreat Sun, I feel like if the Belladonnas weren’t focused on as much to be the face of Faunus mistreatment in Remnant and actually acknowledged the nuanced and heavy issue of racism, then they wouldn’t be as disliked as they are now, even if they had more money than the average Faunus in Menagerie (though the sheer disparity with their wealth and everyone else’s is extremely uncomfortable, so they should tackle that too). Any thoughts, criticisms and/or additions?

hi!

i think this is genuinely a good place to start in acknowledging the disparity in wealth and power that the belladonnas have over other faunus, all while pushing their perversion of pacifism as a political stance to endear humans to .. not be as racist to them?

it’s always been an irl white moderate stance that if you fight back against your oppressors then you’re just as bad as them & it’s absolutely right to feel uncomfortable with the fact that mkek as two white men also push that in their racism plotline & honestly continue to push it in the show proper.

like you said, if other faunus  —  who are actually oppressed in their day to day lives & had been shown that on screen like adam, ilia, marrow, sun, velvet, etc  —  were centred in the conversation around faunus rights & what should be done instead of the privileged, light skinned belladonnas, it would be a different story. the comparisons between this & the existence of marginalized people who further oppress their own people while siding with oppressors wouldn’t exist or be so uncomfortable to see promoted. if the belladonnas weren’t so rich & perhaps lived in the same situations as the faunus around them that they preached to, the message wouldn’t come off as so hollow. especially with the hypocrisy of blake claiming that all the faunus did this  —  pointing to the mansion she lives in that she set on fire while applying collective responsibility which is racist in & of itself  —  when she was a major part of the white fang for five years & had been implied to have done some pretty horrific stuff there before rwby just decided to forget that part.

& the sad thing was, she was wrong. humans did do this. an oppressive society run for & benefitted by humans that means all faunus essentially have to suffer racism or be squished together on a tiny, semi uninhabitable island while their leaders are in a mansion did lead to this. the humans that oppressed faunus in atlas & led to them being murdered via negligence in a cave in lead to ilia becoming who she was. those same humans who scarred & branded a child slave who was the prime suspect for radicalization led to adam becoming who he was.

blake was wrong. humans did this. humans & their lack of care for faunus & their continued oppression in so many ways did this. that fault isn’t on faunus who were just trying to survive on an island or the faunus who were fighting back, even in ways that humans & the white writers, didn’t deem was “acceptable.”

my hot take is that ilia was completely right in v5 & she deserved to have her pain heard while finally holding human society accountable for the atrocities it did & still does against faunus.

[jennamacaroni]

other set now! *going* for it: two, six, fourteen but you don't have to answer, twenty-one, twenty-four, twenty-nine but only if you have a specific answer, forty-one, forty-two, fifty, fifty-five, sixty-one, seventy-five, seventy-six again if you want, eighty-eight, ninety, ninety-seven, ninety-nine, one hundred

aren't you glad they got rid of the ask character limit (apparently??) so i can ask you one million questions?

late night train asks (i love you and you writing out all those numbers you absolute precious gemstone) going to leave a cut so not to clog yalls dashes

two. what kind of emotions do the stars evoke for you, if any? the ocean, the sky, the moon?

stars: a feeling of utter insignificance and just awe because space is literally infinite? like our petty human brains can't even wrap around what that even fucking means, you know? we are just all specks of stardust and its a fucking miracle to even exist the ocean: helplessness but freedom. there's no controlling the ocean or bending it to your will. when you're in it, you're totally at its mercy, and truly just floating in the waves or surfing or boogie boarding or sailing on the ocean make me feel just totally authentically me. like nothing else matters but existing, ya know? the sky: awe. like how wild the biosphere where all of life exists on this planet is like a tiny sliver of atmosphere??? somehow conditions are just right that we can thrive? idk its kinda romantic. the moon: kinda indifferent ngl. like its cool that it waxes and wanes and is big when it's rising and sometimes you can see it during the day, but plenty of our planets have moons so i dont think ours is all that special

six. if you have siblings, are you similar to them, and in what ways?

i have one brother who is a year and a half older than me. i'd say we're not that similar aside from we look like twins and people tell me that all the time. we also have very similar taste in music, but that's because when i was younger i did everything my brother did, including stealing and ripping all his music :) otherwise i'd say we're not really that similar?

fourteen. what are you worried about right now, if anything?

i actually worry about very little. i used to worry a lot as a kid and i guess i just got it all out of the way back then. it infuriates most people at how little things bother me ha

twenty-one. what's the luckiest you've ever been?

after the patriots won that super bowl vs seattle on the goal line interception, my dad in i were in arizona (we tried to go to the game but alas tickets were stupid expensive) so we went to a casino and i won like a grand on a slot machine

twenty-four. does your name suit you? do you think you 'look' like your name?

i think it does, yeah. i like that it's not very popular so usually i'm the only jenna around

twenty-nine. how do you want your body to be treated after your death?

donate my organs if that's a possibility. then cremate me, then spread half of my ashes into the pacific here in socal and the other half into the atlantic in rhode island where i grew up

forty-one. do you find it easy to ask for help?

lol no not at all i'm an 'i can totally do this myself' kinda person with mixed results

forty-two. does affection come easily to you?

physical affection, less so. emotional affection you can't shut me the fuck up

fifty. what qualities do you find charming?

when people are just their genuine selves! and you can tell they're not putting on a show or a disguise or trying to be what others want them to be or trying to meet some fucking made up societal expectation. when people are open about what they love and what brings them joy and are unashamed to be who they are

fifty-five. what reminds you of your childhood?

del's lemonade. pawtucket red sox games (rip paw sox). eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on narragansett beach. sailing. clear chowder and clamcakes. steamed lobster. tailgating at the tractor trailer park in foxboro for patriots games. trick or treating. building forts in the woods around the neighborhood.

sixty-one. are you a romantic person? why?

yes. stories made me this way. also because the universe is chaos and random and its easy to be overwhelmed with the vastness of existence, or on the other hand, stuck in the pettiness of everyday life and living in modern society and there's so many awful things happening like literally the ONLY point to me of all of it is love. human connection. love and respect for nature and life. its a very romantic perspective imo

seventy-five. what is your favorite fairy tale?

does the stinky cheese man count?

seventy-six. what do you label yourself as, if anything? what subcultures do you identify with, if any?

lesbian. new englander. californian. austinite. hope that clears it up lol

eighty-eight. what's an unusual but useful trait or talent you have?

not the most unusual, but i'm a great cook. i love it all: looking through cookbooks, prep work, cooking, baking bread, making dessert. people always ask me what my favorite things to cook are and my answer is i can never choose a favorite because i hardly make anything multiple times unless someone asks specifically. its really become clear to me how unusual that is when i watch a show like top chef this season and all these chefs are like, oh i've never cooked [insert a regional cuisine here] and i'm like oh yeah ive done that. and that. and that. and that too.

ninety. what surname would you choose for yourself?

something much easier to spell and pronounce

ninety-seven. what is a trivial hill that you are willing to die on?

i am spacing on literally all the stupid hills id absolutely die on so i asked taryn and jen and their answers (for me) were: blinkers (use your fucking blinkers people this is not a joke i will be annoying about it if im in the car with you), always squeeze the lime (it's not there for decoration, people! it's there for ACIDITY and is an important COMPONENT of a dish or drink or whatever), and never skipping intros to tv shows (it's an important piece of the art i do not care if you've seen a hundred times i will NEVER skip it. unless its yellowjackets bc that one gives me a literal headache)

ninety-nine. do you enjoy 'slice of life' media?

tbh i had to look up what that means, but yes, if done well, absolutely

one hundred: what do you want an answer to?

why is money the most important thing in the world? when there's mountains and rainforests and oceans and deserts and plants and animals and books and friendship and dogs and

[pascalpanic]

Picture Perfect (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Summary: You reflect on a perfect vacation with Marcus.

Warnings: language, talk of flying in planes, mentions of food, implied sexual content and sexual flirting

W/C: 3.6k

A/N: happy Easter loves!!! I really adore this fic and hope you guys do too! It’s part of the Beyond the Sea series I’m writing with the lovely @mandoalorian

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

You never thought you’d see the day when Agent Marcus Pike relaxed for more than a few hours at a time. Luckily, your hand holds three Polaroids, all of them proof of the wonderful week of rest and recharging the two of you just experienced. The plane is leaving now, the islands of Hawaii behind you and endless ocean outside of your plane window. Marcus is snoozing softly, head pressed to your shoulder, and you press a kiss to his beautiful temple. This is the man who holds all of your heart in his hands, and you’ve never been so sure that someone would protect it with their life.

He stirs at the sensation and you chuckle quietly. The roar of the airplane’s pressurized cabin makes everything quieter, and you smile as those brown eyes flutter open. “Just me. Love you. Go back to sleep, babe,” you murmur, and he complies, eyes slipping shut as he nuzzles closer. You look down at your hands again, at the three Polaroids.

The first photo makes you giggle. It was taken the first full day the two of you had in town. Marcus holds a tiny crab in his hands, a look of wonder on his sun-kissed face. He’s shirtless and crouched down, wet sand packed beneath him and patterned swim trunks bringing color to the photo.

The second photo melts your heart. Marcus lies in a hammock in the Polaroid, asleep in the shade. Stripes of light peek through palm fronds, illuminating bits of your boyfriend’s warm body. He wears board shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, his normally gelled hair forming soft waves. The sun you’ve spent your days in lightened it, leaving light brown and even blonde streaks in the top layer. A soft pink covers his nose and cheeks- a result of the sun as well. His ukulele is lying next to him in the hammock.

The third photo makes you tear up at the memory. Two dark silhouettes- one clearly yours and one clearly his- are just outlined against an orange, sunset-colored sky.

-

You and Marcus arrived at your condo late at night, tired after the long flights, both cross-country and then across the Pacific Ocean. You’d flown first-class, Marcus insisting he spoil you. It was comfortable, but the pressure of the cabin made your body ache and your joints swell. It was impossible to sleep, even with him to use as a pillow.

The first morning, Marcus rises late: it’s about 10 A.M. local time, and he sighs as he finds you still snoring next to him. You look so peaceful and sweet that he can’t bring himself to wake you.

For the next half hour, he sits on the condo’s porch, overlooking the water. He smiles softly as the occasional breeze passes through, noticing that the air slowly warms.

When you finally wake, you wander out to find Marcus on the balcony. You gasp in excitement as you see the rushing surf. “Oh my god,” you grin and wrap your arms around him from behind. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Good morning to you too,” he teases as his hands rest on your arms. “Isn’t it though?” He leans back against you, watching the seagulls play in the splashing water. “How did you sleep?” He asks, still eyeing the sprawling ocean. There’s a small reef a few yards from the shore, shallow enough to walk in.

You notice it too. “Good. Can we make some coffee then go explore those little tidal pools?” You ask excitedly as you point at them, resting your chin atop Marcus’s chocolate-brown bed head.

“Of course,” he chuckles, turning to kiss the side of your face. “It’s the perfect time to get some sun, too. We’ll get our swim gear on.”

You press a soft kiss into the top of his head, smiling contentedly at the ocean and Marcus’s steady breathing beneath your arms.  “I love you,” you practically sing to him, overwhelmed by the happiness of the morning.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” he murmurs back and turns to kiss you softly.

Twenty minutes later, each of you finished with one cup of coffee and changed into your bathing suits, you head down to the water and wade in. You squeal as the cold water laps at your ankles, your pink Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. One hand clutches at the pink plastic, lifting it instinctually to keep it dry. Marcus laughs and takes your free hand, the two of you commenting on the water and the sun as you wander to the rocky shoals a few yards out.

The volcanic rock in front of you is filled with holes and crevices, and it’s teeming with life. Marcus’s eyes widen in excitement as he sees a tiny crab. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “Look at this little guy!”

Walking closer, the crab doesn’t scuttle away. “Oh, do you want to be friends?” Marcus coos, squatting down.

“Careful of the waves, babe,” you remind him, a hand on his spine, between those gorgeously thick shoulder blades. “Don’t wanna get a concussion.”

Marcus shakes his head, absolutely beaming as he scoops up the little crab. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest thing,” he mumbles to it, admiring its brown shell and tiny claws. “You remind me of that guy from Moana.”

Of course your boyfriend would draw that connection. He mutters the lyrics to Shiny from the movie to the crab as he turns to face you, holding it up. “Look, this is our baby now.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, I suppose our child needs a name,” you chuckle, daring to stroke the back of the crab’s shell. It snaps its little claws in return, grabbing at nothing in the air.

“Well, how about the crab from Moana? The Tamatoa?” He asks. The little thing’s claws are clacking rhythmically to some inaudible beat.

“Hmm.” You think about it for a moment, lifting the camera and snapping a photo of Marcus holding the tiny crab. “It’s a snippy little thing. Maybe we should name it Teresa,” you snort, laughing to yourself at your own joke.

Marcus frowns. “No, I like it much more than her. You’re our little Tamatoa, aren’t you?” He coos, holding it up to give it a little kiss on the back of his shell.

Classic, typical Marcus. Giving all of his love with no regard for his own safety. You almost see it in slow motion as the tiny crab snips the tip of Marcus’s nose. “Motherfucker,” he cries at the feeling, setting the crab back down immediately.

It makes you laugh much harder than you should. Leaning onto your boyfriend’s tanning skin, you wheeze out laugh after laugh. He joins you too.

When you both finally settle down and catch your breath, you giggle up at Marcus. “Okay, so that little shit was definitely a Teresa.”

Marcus laughs this time, giving you a brief kiss. “You are the absolute love of my fucking life, baby,” he chuckles and the two of you continue your walk.

-

Marcus has always been an early riser, and you forgot to close the shades last night before you passed out in the ridiculously plush bed. The early sunrise warms Marcus’s face until he wakes. He rolls over with a yawn and a stretch before kissing the side of your face. You grunt. “Hi.”

“Good morning, angel,” Marcus’s soft voice coos to you, an arm snaking around your middle. “The sunrise looks beautiful. Want to see?”

“No,” you frown. “Wanna sleep more.”

Marcus pouts, kissing your forehead. “Baby.”

“Fine,” you groan, the sleep starting to wear off anyway. “Only because I love you so much. And because I love your dick and don’t want it withheld from me this week,” you tease, sitting up and kissing him softly.

“Yeah yeah,” he laughs and stands, wandering over to the large window in the bedroom.

Your eyes widen at the beauty as you see the gorgeous colors of the sky. The sunrise is behind you, but the horizon is still shifting in hue, pinks and purples and oranges with the dark blue slowly fading away. Marcus wraps his arms around you as you stand next to him. “See. This wasn’t so bad to get out of bed for.”

Nodding, you rest your head against his chest. “I suppose it wasn’t. I’ll go make us coffee,” you murmur and press a kiss to his bare pec, giving his ass a light squeeze as you walk past him.

The two of you make your plans for the day over the coffee, discussing your options and ultimately choosing that today would be the perfect day to find a secluded little beach and just relax in the sun. They wouldn’t be hard to find around here: unlike other places you’d been, it seemed like the shore was endlessly beach.

Parking in a free lot, locking your ragtop Jeep behind you, you and Marcus wander down the beach for a while until you find the perfect spot. How did you know? Marcus spotted the perfect marker: a hammock.

Tied between two palm trees, under the shade of the fronds, was a woven hammock. It had no pillows, blankets, no one around and no belongings. Marcus decided it was yours now- or at least for the day.

The white sand is warm beneath your feet, flying out as Marcus chases you. You’d stolen his sunglasses just moments ago and now you’re running. “Get back here!”

“Only if you fuck me right here and right now!” You teasingly call over your shoulder.

Marcus stops, as if he’s considering it. You do too. Then he picks up into a faster run. “There’s too much sand for that, you little shit!”

Giggling, you stop and let Marcus crash into you, his warm body slick from the tanning oil he’d slathered on. You naturally wrap your arms around his neck. Marcus plucks the sunglasses from your head and puts them back on. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Pikey,” you tease and kiss him softly as his arms wrap around your waist. That was the name you’d called him when you first met, when you were young, up-and-coming interns for the FBI.

The two of you wander back, lying on your beach towels for hours and absorbing the warm rays. You and Marcus snack on some packed food, staring out into the ocean and chatting. It’s absolutely perfect.

Marcus is ever the early riser. You’re usually the one to end up taking a nap if the last night of sleep didn’t satisfy you or Marcus woke you up for some godforsaken reason. As he lies next to you, though, you hear a yawn slip from his lips. “Sorry, what was that?” You clarify teasingly.

Marcus scowls. “I get tired too.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh. “Do you want to go cuddle in the hammock?” You ask, and he nods as he sits up.

Marcus is wearing just his board shorts, but there’s a cool breeze in the shade. He tosses on his Hawaiian shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He looks so effortlessly cool, that brown hair starting to get slightly wavy from the salty air. His sunglasses sit just slightly lower on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and it makes you grin. You toss a t-shirt on as well, and you grin as you realize Marcus opens his ukulele case.

“I knew you’d use it,” you grin at him as he settles in the hammock. He’d debated bringing it along, contemplating the hassle, but you’d told him he practically had to- you’re in Hawaii, after all. You scoot in next to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Will you play me a song by Abba?” You ask him softly, the rush of the ocean and the wind filling your ears.

Marcus nods and kisses your forehead before giving the strings a strum to test some chords. He finally starts playing a soft version of Andante Andante, and your eyes slip shut. His voice is so beautiful and soothing, and you can’t help but quietly sing along.

“I’m your music… I’m your song…

Play me time and time again, make me strong…”

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, ever prayed to whatever being up there that you’d meet the right person for you someday. He’s soft and warm and strong. He’s protective but gentle and the most caring man to ever walk the face of the earth.

Marcus starts noodling around on the ukulele, playing some random chords and notes. “I love you so much,” you sigh and snuggle in tighter against him.

He puts down the ukulele and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple gently. “I love you too, baby. So much, endlessly.” He’s so perfectly cozy that you cuddle on top of him, and he welcomes the position. He wraps his arms around your body and kisses your neck.

The two of you stay cuddled up like that, tired from the long day in the sun, for quite a while. Before long, you recognize the different breathing pattern Marcus has slipped into- sleep. Smiling softly, you allow yourself to remain nuzzled into your boyfriend’s body for a while longer.

After some time, you sigh and realize you should probably wake him and return to the condo. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky: not enough to be sunset, but enough to know what’s approaching. Careful not to wake him, you clamber out of the hammock and grin at the image. It’s too perfect.

You grab your Polaroid and snap the photo: Marcus is asleep, sunglasses fallen down his nose, Hawaiian shirt open, ukulele next to him. The hammock sways in the breeze, peeks of light from between palm leaves shining down on him. You giggle when the photo develops and it’s the sound of your laughter that wakes him. “Huh?” He groans, sitting up and losing his balance as he realizes his resting spot is moving.

You walk over on your knees, the sand moving with you and allowing you to do so. You kiss him gently for a moment before breaking away. “You fell asleep, love. It’s just about time to head back to the condo.”

“How long?” He asks groggily, pushing up his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.

“You were only out for about half an hour,” you assure him and rub his arm.

His eyes are still closed but he smiles at that. “I heard you take that Polaroid,” he chuckles, and pulls you in for another kiss that muffles your noise of defeat.

-

Two days later, you can hear Marcus singing along to his music in the shower as you get ready for the evening. Sitting at the vanity in the suite’s luxurious bathroom, you apply your makeup, opting to keep things light. You wear a nice outfit and fidget with your appearance in the mirror, touching little things here and there.

A few minutes later, Marcus wanders out with a towel around his waist, his skin reddened from the hot shower. “Hey. You look… amazing,” he grins as he looks at you, taking in the sight. “I can’t compete.”

You grin and walk closer, putting a hand on his warm skin. “It’s a good thing it’s not a competition,” you tease, faces close together. “You’re going to look wonderful too.” You kiss him softly for a moment before he breaks away to get dressed.

The sun is above the horizon, just about to sink into sunset. Fuck, Marcus thinks to himself as he realizes he needs to move quickly. He puts on the nice outfit he’d picked earlier, messing with his hair in the mirror. Not more than few minutes later, he’s back at your side. “Ready?” He asks.

You nod with a smile. “You hurried.”

Marcus shrugs, pursing his lips and shaking his head. You know that look, you’ve known it since the very first time he did it. He’s terrible at bluffing. Something is hidden behind those eyes. “Just… don’t wanna miss sunset,” he murmurs and kisses you on the cheek, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You’d planned on dinner at a luxurious restaurant located within a fancy hotel, but Marcus insisted that you’d be at the beach for the sunset. When you finally reach the resort, you wander through the gorgeous surroundings until you find the white sand beach in front of you.

Marcus walks with one hand in yours, the other in his pocket. He’s quieter than normal, holding back his remarks about the wildlife and gorgeous architecture of the buildings.

There’s a small gazebo just off the sand, and Marcus walks you up. “Well… surprise,” he chuckles, showing you the little shelter. It’s strung with twinkling lights and white gauze, the ocean’s breeze rippling the fabric. There’s a table with a white cloth covering it, champagne glasses at the ready and flowers sat in the center.

“I thought you said we were eating at the restaurant,” you exclaim but laugh in surprise, setting your purse and Polaroid camera next to the chair.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. “Well, they offered this. How could I choose the restaurant when we could have dinner in our own little private gazebo?” He chuckles. “They won’t start the service for a little while. Want to go walk on the beach a little longer?”

“Marcus,” you coo and take his arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. “You’re the most romantic man on the face of the earth.”

He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “Only for you. Come on, let’s walk.”

The two of you stroll along, the gorgeous sunset behind the dark and rolling ocean. The breeze rustles Marcus’s hair, and you grin as you see it happen. “This is… amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he mumbles and nudges you with his shoulder, making you stumble to the side and laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking up at him, you breathe out a small laugh. “When have you ever asked first?” You tease him, but you stop when he stops walking.

His hand squeezes yours a little tighter and he moves so you’re no longer standing side-to-side but facing each other. He takes both of your hands. “You know how much I love you. I really can’t imagine you wouldn’t, because I know you love me just the same.”

Your brain flies a mile a minute as he starts talking. It sounds too planned, not at all the spontaneous man your Marcus is and has always been. Wait-

“You are, without a doubt, the best thing in my life. I’ve been burned by love before, but you’re everything I’ve ever needed. You’re the only one who has ever reassured me and calmed me and silenced that endless buzzing of fear in my head. I know you’d never leave me, and I hope you know I’d never leave you.”

“Marcus,” you whisper, and your eyes well with tears as he falls to one knee in the soft sand, his own eyes shimmering with tears.

“And, if it’s alright with you, I want to promise you I’ll never leave you. I want to make it so official that nothing can ever separate us, not time or distance or anything. And I figured the best way to do that is, well… fuck, I messed it up,” he winces.  “I had all the words, I swear-“

“Just ask me the question, baby,” you laugh, the tears falling down your face. You know what’s coming now, as he reaches into his pocket and presents you with a velvet box.

He opens it and inside is the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen. It suits you. Of course it does: Marcus knows you better than you know yourself. You can tell when you look into his eyes that no one else ever would or could know you like he does.

He stutters for a moment before you fall to your knees in the sand in front of him. “It’s okay, you know what I’m gonna say,” you say quietly, cupping his face with both hands. “Just… say it. Please.”

He bites his lip then looks into your eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him happily. “Yes, Marcus Pike. I will marry you. I love you so much,” you murmur in between kisses.

“I’m so pathetic,” he laughs as the happy tears trail down both of your faces, him sitting back on his heels and you following suit.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh and hold out your left hand. Marcus takes the ring from the small box and slides it onto your finger, grinning as he notices it fits just right.

Swallowing hard, you laugh at the fact that your makeup must be trailing down your face. Marcus wipes the tears with one large hand, his other cupping yours and admiring the way the ring looks against your skin. He kisses your knuckles and you giggle uncontrollably.

“I get to be Mrs. Pikey now,” you grin and he nods.

“Of course. I mean, if you want to take my name. You don’t have to,” he rushes, shaking his head and blowing a raspberry. “I didn’t even think about that really, just figured that you’d tell me what you wanted first.” His words are a blur of relief, the anxiety fading from his body.

“Marcus,” you laugh softly, your hands cupping his face once more. “It’s okay. Just… relax,” you laugh as one of his hands covers yours, his fingers slotting between yours.

He nods. “I think I finally can now,” he chuckles and kisses you one last time.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @sugarontherims

[tu-mint]

Amendment

A/N: Sooo I’ve been meaning to share my Mortal Kombat stuff on here for a while, I wanted to wait for the movie to come out first 😅🤣

TW: mentions of torture & sexual assault

In which Shang Tsung and the Black Dragon are officially put down and Earthrealm's defenders are able to return home, but Raelynn is stuck in her thoughts, but one of the young Kombatants is able to help her reconsider the negativity in her mind. (Based around MK11 & Aftermath but w/ a twist?)

Raelynn knew this all too well. With her entity as a half god, a change in time would do nothing to erase the horrifying memory in her mind back in the Black Dragon's dungeon -- at least, that's what it felt like. Hours upon hours of nothing but brutal beatings, each kick, punch, and swing as harsh as the last. While it wouldn't have hurt too much being that she was stronger than the average mortal, the bindings fused with the dark power of Shinnok's amulet extracted much of her godlike strength and left her as a helpless bait to be shredded and mauled at by the jaws of vicious and starved predators, desperate to take a leap at the prey before them. It still seemed unbelievable how she was alive even after all the bruises and cuts and blood...but she managed. After all, those shallow wounds were all but nothing comapred to--

The demigoddess shivered involuntarily and inhaled sharply. Thankfully, everyone aboard was too immersed in their own activities to notice her sudden actions, but she knew she wasn't stable enough with where her thoughts were treading. Her eyes searched for her son who was currently speaking in a group of the younger Kombatants. A yellow strip of cloth with an intricate design she couldn't make out was fastened around his bicep, and she wondered where it had come from until her eyes peered at the young male he stood beside. Takeda, son to Kenshi and pupil under Grandmaster Hasashi, was missing the usual yellow band that adorned his head as a reminder to those that he was a member of the Shirai Ryu clan. His short onyx locks blew freely but he didn't seem to mind all that much, instead grinning down at Haru who wore the cloth proudly. Cassie and Jacqui mirrored the telepath's reaction, the blonde pulling out her phone and snapping a picture. The sight warmed her heart and she was thankful the young fighters didn't look upon her son with irritation, but rather genuine care and happiness. When Haru had told her of the adventures and stories spent with them, a pang of guilt struck her for the early misjudgement on her part, believing they were just frivolous juveniles that only gained their high positions due to the status of their families.

Wishing not to allow her brooding to draw unwanted attention, Raelynn slipped silently to the back of the ship. Her efforts did not go unnoticed by Raiden who stood near the hull of the ship, but he decided against speaking with her in that moment.

He recalled the time he had found her, bound like a dog and covered in welts and lacerations big and small. She was curled into a ball, shaking and burying her face into her knees. It was then Raiden became aware of the state of her clothing, torn and barely covering her form as if someone intentionally ripped and pulled at it to expose more of her. Immediately he slipped out of his own robe and pulled it across her trembling form, respectfully averting his eyes. As he helped Raelynn stand to her feet, his eyes widened as countless more bruises and marks made themselves visible, tiny splotches of smooth brown skin barely surviving. These people had clearly put her through a very long, thorough beating, and it was evident that they were in no means hoping to show mercy. No, they wanted her dead. Raiden had teleported into the SF ship and rushed her to the infirmary room. People cleared the way immediately and knew better than to question his sudden appearance as he brushed past them while carrying the barely conscious woman to a bed near the back. He knew the Kombatants would be able to handle themselves well, so he stayed and began the healing process.

It was during this time he realized that Raelynn was no mere mortal, but a half god created by the hands of Cetrion. While it was difficult at first for him to fully trust her said intentions due to her creator's betrayal upon the Elder Gods, he had seen her heart's purity during the mission. The thunder god knew that she was making the best of efforts to redeem herself of past mistakes, and Liu Kang recognized this as well. A twinge of concern fell upon him just then as he knew that she still had much she needed to recover from. Whether she would eventually open up to him or not didn't matter, he would be patient and assist her as best as he could.

Raelynn took a seat upon the thick wooden rail and swung her legs over to face the bloody depths of Netherrealm's ocean. She wasn't afraid of falling nor coming across any odd sea creatures knowing that she had flying abilities, but of course she also wasn't dumb enough to try and test her strength or reflexes. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked on at the overlapping waves, allowing her mind to space out and roam. Her fingers tapped on the rail in a rhythmic pattern, and she suddenly was reminded of something. Her hands came together and moved in a circular motion, stretching further until the form of her solar powers had become a guitar. She clutched the neck and hugged the body of the instrument under her other arm smiling to herself.

Upon visiting the islands of the Pacific in the past, she had learned about the aspect of music through vocals and tools that produced a pleasant audio. The demigoddess found that these brought her a sense of peace and tranquility, and immediately she wanted to learn the ways of this fascinating revelation. What came as an interest to her in the beauty of music was the endless techniques for a new sound, new sensations, new reactions, and day by day, there was always the creation or discovery of another. She allowed her fingers to delicately pluck and strum a mix of chords, a tingle settling in her chest at the euphoria beginning to wash over her. Her hands moved on their own accord, finding a steady tempo and following a pattern with an occasional switch. The nerves that built up in the pit of her stomach had eventually disappeared into wisps of nothingness. Her eyes began to slowly close and she hummed quietly wanting no attention to be drawn to the back of the ship. It seemed to work decently, until-

"Wow, you're part god and a singer? Gotta say I'm definitely jealous."

The woman’s fingers froze in place already in position to strum a new chord. She craned her neck just enough to glance over her shoulder at the intruder, already knowing it who it was. “My life is nothing to be envious of, Specialist Briggs.”

Raelynn heard footsteps tread closer and tapped on her guitar. The younger woman climbed onto the rail and threw a leg over the other. They sat for a moment in silence, staring off at the deep scarlet waters swishing and rolling about. “I owe you an apology, Specialist.”

Jacqui’s eyebrow quirked and her eyes fell upon the half god. Raelynn took her silence as a sign to continue. “I apologize for my behavior towards you and your friends throughout most of the mission. Even after I had caused harm upon your lives and nearly killed your fiancé, you still ensured trust in me. That I could never understand, but-"

"It wasn't easy." The half goddess shifted her attention to the soldier. Her face was impassive as she watched the waves. Raelynn couldn't tell if her expression was a good or bad thing, but she decided against trying to get her hopes up. A great deal (if not all) of her acts under Cetrion were cruel and groundless, and she held no anguish up until the time she had to come face to face with the truth of her doings. It tore her day and night, and meeting Hajoon had her convinced that she would be able to leave the life of corruption far behind and start fresh. Of course, the facts couldn't be hidden forever, and the half goddess found herself back in the deep hole of falsehood, surrounded with nothing but fabricated offers to a better life. She scoffed mentally. That opportunity was officially closed off to her. It seemed as though disaster was always a few steps away, eager to ruin her chances at something sound, and risking it a third time was nowhere near appealing.

"There were many instances where I questioned why the Chosen One defended you to such an extent, especially after it was SF that provided for your recovery." Jacqui's voice had brought her out of her thoughts. "Trust me, I was beyond ready to blast a hole or two through your head a hell lot of times." She paused. "But spending time with Haru and hearing your whole deal...I understood you." Raelynn's brows raised slightly, not expecting such a considerate response.

"I couldn't imagine a life finding out that the one who was supposed to be my caretaker, my protector, my safe haven, was actually the one who robbed me of all that. My mother..." Her words trailed off and she peered down into her lap. She tightened her jaw and bit her lip to keep from releasing the tears awaiting just behind her eyes. Raelynn almost reached her hand out in an effort of comfort but stopped, not wanting to ruin the intimacy in the moment. Jacqui lifted her head and continued. "Man, it would kill me if she'd ever done something like that...growing up believing that everything was all good and sweet, and everyone just hated her for doing what I thought was the right thing, thinkin' it was my own folks who were the crooks trynna steal me away and take my power from me..." She scoffed. "Seein' my dad as a revenant then manipulated by Kronika was betrayal enough, and it hurt like hell. Point is, I realized that you truly had no malice in you. You were just takin' orders and tryin' to keep your mother—uh, Cetrion, happy."

And it was true. Raelynn trusted completely in the virtue goddess as any child would their guardian. She worked vigorously in carrying out the Elder Goddess' wishes, longing to eventually gain any sort of praise or affection, but it was rare that those occurrences came to past. Most of her upbringing revolved around unanswered questions and the constant urge to do better, trying at all costs to win approval. But like a fool, she allowed her heart to get the best of her, put her through the worst of hells just to seek out a foolish desire that would never be anything close to genuine. That's what messed her up in the first place, and she couldn't—no, would not dare to do something as stupid as that again. It was only her and Haru. Nobody else.

"I am...appreciative of your understanding, Ms. Briggs," Raelynn spoke after a long moment of silence. "You and your comrades are owed a huge debt on my behalf."

Jacqui chuckled and shook her head, then turned to look at the demigoddess. "You're damn right we are!" The two women shared a laugh on the rail. "Actually, I believe there is a way to pay back this debt."

"How so?"

"Well, Takeda and I's wedding was put on pause due to this whole mission, and it cost a lot to find decent live music. Cassie offered, but we're trying to have a simple proper wedding, not a drunk karaoke session. And you have the voice of an angel—well, a god in your case. If you can strum a few chords and sing a few notes for a few hours, I'll consider you free of deficit."

Raelynn cocked her head and raised a brow. "That's...that's all?" She figured the woman would request of something more extravagant, like a prolonged lifespan or giving her supernatural abilities. Jaqui nodded and crossed her arms awaiting an answer.

"I...very well, Ms. Br-"

"Jacqui. That formality stuff is weird if it's not comin' from General Blade." The demigoddess was taken by surprise again. She gave a single nod and looked on at the waves which now fell into to a more mellow and calm pattern.

Perhaps it wasn't just Haru and her against the world. Every person aboard had their story, their differences, their fall outs, but they were able to cast it all aside at an effort for peace upon a world that did almost nothing for them in return. Some aspects of the Earthrealm were odd, she thought. It was going to take a lot of time to get used to these people, but maybe, just maybe...

There was a sense of hope.

[joe-mazzello-archive]

Two Lost Souls

A Eugene Sledge x Fem!Reader fic

Rating: PG

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: references to the war/violence (duh), references to ptsd, panic attack/nightmare, snafu being his crass self, so much awkward flirting, a teeny tiny bit of angst

A/N: okay story time -- one day a few months ago i rewatched the last episode of the pacific and then took a nap and proceeded to have a lovely dream about cuddling with eugene in a train booth and running my fingers through his hair sooooo here we are. i’m extremely nervous to post this as it was a labor of love and it’s almost my first full period piece. i hope you enjoy! also bonus points if you know what book the reader is reading.

moodboard by @brianmays-hair

--

The nightmares started while Eugene was still in Peleliu. Flashes of blood and corpses and metal and dirt. Screaming and explosions, the sound of bodies hitting the ground. But then he’d wake up to the same visuals, the same sounds. His reality was one long nightmare. There was no escape, no end in sight.

Now Eugene was afraid this was all a pleasant dream. No screaming, no blood. From the moment he set foot back on the mainland, he was in constant fear that he’d wake up and be back there. Especially when the nightmares felt so real. Sometimes he didn’t know what was his true reality.

It had taken a while to get the dirt out from under his fingernails, to get the stench out of his hair, but eventually he did feel clean again.

You can’t shower away the memories. Those linger much longer.

Distractions helped. He read, he smoked. He chatted with his fellow marines. He enjoyed the good food he was given, tried to find comfort in the bed he got to sleep in. He thought about Mobile and his parents and Sid and how he’d be home to them soon. He was hyper-focused on everything and anything, knowing that if he let his mind wander, it’d wander right back there.

It’s how he found himself people-watching at the bustling San Diego train station. The boys were prattling next to him about some girl Snafu had gone fishing for, but Eugene was more engrossed in the crowd around them. Sure there were tons of other marines around, but they were mixed in with parents wrangling their children, businessmen with their briefcases, lovers saying their goodbyes.

A flash of dark red caught Eugene’s eye. A woman, probably around Eugene’s age, stood alone on the platform, clad in a burgundy blazer and matching skirt with a brown trunk resting at her feet. Whereas most of the platform was hectic and frazzled, she stood firm and patient, a calmness about her. She seemed unperturbed by the world around her, lost in her own thoughts, her eyes cast downward as she let out a sigh.

She was beautiful.

Not in the way that the nurses back on the island greeted soldiers with their red-lipped smiles and white uniforms. Not in the way that the girls had primped for the Murphy High prom, practically fighting to dance with Sid while not paying Eugene any mind -- which seemed a lifetime ago now. No, this girl was beautiful in a way that Eugene couldn’t put his finger on. She was beautiful in a way that stopped him in his tracks like no girl ever had before.

The whistle of the train finally arriving at the station and a hand on his shoulder pulled Eugene out of his trance.

“Last leg, Sledge,” Burgie commented with a nod towards the train. Eugene replied with a half-smile before following the corporal, Snafu already ahead of them. Sneaking one last quick glance in the direction of where he last saw the beautiful woman, Eugene was greeted with a sea of people - no flash of burgundy in sight. With a sigh, adjusted the duffle on his shoulder and boarded the train, ready to get home.

--

You weren’t a big fan of long train rides. The rumbling of the cars, the confined spaces, the stale air, the bad food -- it was miserable. Last time you’d boarded a train, it had been under bittersweet circumstances - excitement mixed with worry. But three years had passed since you had arrived in San Diego, and after finding yourself jobless with no place to stay, your time in the port town had come to an end.

So you booked your ticket back home, with nothing but your childhood room and your disillusioned parents waiting for you. What a way to make an already miserable form of travel even more miserable.

You found your only solace was in reading. Luckily you had grabbed a newspaper from the stand at the station -- and snatched a book from your sister’s home before you left. You planned on losing yourself in words while the American countryside passed by your window. You had quite the trek ahead of you.

You sat at a table in the dining car, a bottle of barely-sipped cola accompanying the plate of lunch that had been hardly touched. You held the newspaper in one hand as you used your fork to idly push around your roasted potatoes.

“Is your meal alright, miss?” sounded the voice of a slender waiter above you. With a deep sigh, you lowered your paper and plastered a polite smile, meeting the young staff member’s stare.

“It’s just fine, thank you,” you replied, your voice cheery despite your true demeanor. The gentleman nodded before leaving you be, stepping to the next table. As you watched him leave, your eyes drifted across the aisle of the car. A lone marine sat at the table catty-corner to yours, a private first class by the looks of his uniform. His auburn hair was neatly coiffed and a striking nose divided his face. His eyes were downcast, staring out the window, an almost solemn look to him. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he was handsome - in a genteel boyish way.

But he was no boy. Many of the servicemen you had encountered in the past few years maybe were boys before they left. But being sent overseas to be met with nothing but violence and death -- those boys grew up quickly. This marine was no different. You could see it in the distant look in his eyes. He had seen terrors and lived to tell the tale.

Your thoughts were disturbed by a drawling southern accent behind you.

“Hiya,” the voice greeted. You glanced over your shoulder to find another marine trailing behind a woman. The woman turned at the greeting. “I’m Merriel Shelton. How about I take you to the back and you can show me your caboose?”

You spun back forward, eyes wide and your hand shooting up to cover your mouth, hiding your smirk. And when a resounding slap echoed behind you, a short giggle escaped your lips. The woman stomped down the aisle in a tiff, while the extremely forward marine and his buddy took their seats, joining the lonely marine you had been admiring.

You shook your head at the antics, turning your attention back to your paper. The boys’ voices across the aisle carried over to your side, but you tried to tune them out, not wanting to unintentionally eavesdrop. You urged yourself to focus on the words in front of you, but your ears betrayed you. After reading the same sentence over four times, not digesting a single word, your gaze drifted back over to your marine, who had taken up buttering the biscuit that had been sitting on his plate. His posture and manner had shifted, he seemed more relaxed in the presence of his fellow soldiers. His eyes were soft and friendly, and the ghost of a smile had taken up residence on his face.

“Guess I’m gonna find out soon enough whether I’m getting married or not,” the colonel who sat across from your marine declared wistfully before turning his attention to your marine. “What about you, Sledgehammer?”

You grinned at what you assumed was a nickname. How a seemingly mild-mannered fellow like your marine could have gotten the moniker of “Sledgehammer” was beyond you. Your eyes drifted back to the man, interested in his answer. He seemed to ponder the question for a moment, a flash of uncertainty briefly crossing his face as he picked at his biscuit.

“I’m just hoping this Florence girl comes to her senses,” he finally cracked with a smirk. So he was clever, too. You found that you couldn’t help but smile through the exchange, your gaze dropping back to your lap.

“Got a job lined up in Mobile?” An Alabama boy. That was an interesting development.

“Nah,” he revealed, his apparent uncertainty no longer bothering him. “No job, no girl…no plans.”

You and the lone marine had more in common than you had originally thought.

“How long you think that’s gonna last?” the flirtatious marine from before inquired, relaxing back in his seat. But the laughter of a pair of businessmen passing by your table concealed the marine’s answer. You shot a glare towards the rowdy gentlemen’s backs. How dare they prevent you from snooping on some strangers’ conversation!

Your gaze fell back to the trio of boys, and you couldn’t help but admire the redhead’s smile. The way his eyes lit up with warmth at his friends’ jokes, the way the dimple between his brows appeared and disappeared -- he was beautiful.

You were lost in your musings when for a brief moment, your marine’s eyes suddenly locked on to yours.

His smile fell and a look you couldn’t identify -- confusion? recognition? irritation? -- flashed across the features of his handsome face before you broke the spell and looked back down at your paper. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you stared down at the black ink on the page. How embarrassing. You had been boldly staring at the man for an inappropriate amount of time -- listening to his conversation, no less -- and now you had been caught.

You couldn’t help but think about the marine’s reaction. In the fleeting moment that he held your gaze, it was almost as if he’d seen a ghost. You didn’t want him to think you were some creep or some crazy woman.

You lifted your eyes slightly, glancing across the aisle. Your marine’s cheeks were pink as he gazed back at you softly - but only for a moment before his eyes quickly fell back down to the plate in front of him.

And that became the game you played. As the train chugged through the desert - what you assumed was Arizona - you and your marine took turns stealing glances at each other. First you, then he’d notice and you’d look away. Then he’d stare and you’d catch him. Each time, a rosy color would come to his cheeks and a hint of a smile would appear. Your own shyness began to fade with each time you’d catch him, even throwing him a wink at one point.

After another hour or so, your marine’s friends elected to head back to their coach seats. You assumed your game was over, and you tried to not let yourself be too disappointed. You closed your paper, having finally read every word -- though whether you absorbed any of it was up for debate. You gathered your things, pondering your next move. Maybe you’d wander to the observation car - it tended to be quieter as the sun went down. You slung your messenger bag over your shoulder and were about to step into the aisle when you were met with the sight of your marine, alone once again, staring out the window. Just like the first time you noticed him.

You took a deep breath, channeled your sister’s boldness and took a seat at the marine’s table.

--

It was her. The mystery woman. The beautiful girl clad in burgundy from the train platform was sitting across from Eugene.

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts as he gaped at her. He had spent the last hour stealing glances at her across the aisle, unsure if she was real or simply a vision. Now there she was, close enough for Eugene to reach out and touch her, gazing at him with soft eyes and a friendly smile.

“Hi,” she spoke after a few moments, breaking the silence and Eugene’s daze.

“Hi,” Eugene practically whispered, unable to find his voice. He cleared his throat before starting again. “I do apologize for staring, miss. You know, before.”

The young woman let out a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, let’s not pretend you were the sole offender, private. I believe I was staring at you first.” Oh how wrong she was. But Eugene would keep that correction to himself.

She offered her name and her hand across the table for a shake, and Eugene almost immediately felt at ease in her presence. She certainly was not like the girls back in Mobile.

“I’m Eugene,” he offered in return, trying to ignore how soft her hand felt in his. She smirked as she let him go.

“So where does ‘Sledgehammer’ come from then?” she questioned with a quirked brow, and Eugene flushed at his nickname falling from her gentle lips.

“My last name. Sledge,” he explained. “Private First Class Eugene Bondurant Sledge, at your service, miss.” His explanation earned a bright smile from the girl, and Eugene decided right then and there that he’d do anything he could to make her smile again.

“Well, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sledge,” she said with a nod.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine, miss.”

The woman playfully narrowed her eyes at Eugene, as if she were examining him.

“Was all that true? Before?” she asked before pursing her lips.

“Was what true?”

“No job. No girl. No plans,” she recited back to him, adding a twang to her normal voice. Eugene could feel the heat in his cheeks once again. He let out a nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of his neck.

“‘Fraid so, miss,” he responded, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Hope you don’t think less of me.” The woman shook her head as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

“Of course not,” she assured him. “I just don’t believe you.” She shrugged and cocked an eyebrow challengingly. Eugene was thrown off by her answer.

“You don’t believe me?” he inquired with a furrowed brow. She casually shrugged once again, as if she was making perfect sense.

“No way you can be this handsome and charming and not have a girl waiting for you back home.”

If the young woman was on a mission to make Eugene blush at all costs, she was extremely successful. Eugene shakily laughed as he stared down at his lap, unable to meet her gaze after that.

“My apologies, Mr. Sledge,” she spoke again, and Eugene let himself glance back up to see her timidly looking away this time. “That was awfully forward of me.”

Eugene was so thrown by his woman in burgundy. The prettiest dame he’d ever laid eyes on had gone out of her way to talk to him. Ask him questions. Compliment him. Yet he could see that she was just as nervous as he was. It was disarming in a way.

“No apology necessary, miss,” Eugene affirmed, offering a friendly smile when she met his gaze once again. “I’m just not used to getting attention from a gal as beautiful as you.”

A new game began. Eugene and his woman in burgundy took turns trying to make the other bashful, his confidence rising with every clever quip and retort to her own flirtations.

Eugene wouldn’t realize until much later that he hadn’t thought once about the war the entire evening.

--

“I feel like I should ask,” Eugene spoke up, rousing you from your thoughts. The two of you had relocated from the dining car to the observation car. You had been correct: it was virtually empty at this time of night, and the two of you were enjoying the peace. “Where are you off to?” You gave him a lopsided smile.

“Home,” you replied. “Tallahassee, Florida. Lived there my whole life until a few years ago.”

“Florida, huh? Why we’re practically neighbors,” Eugene commented with a grin. “So how did you end up in San Diego?”

“Few years back, my older sister married some businessman from California. Didn’t even get a chance to meet the man myself before he was drafted and shipped off to Europe.”

Eugene listened intently as you told your story. You knew he understood the horrors of war more than anyone else you’d ever spoken to.

“She demanded I come out to San Diego to stay with her,” you explained. “She’s always had terrible nerves and couldn’t bear to be alone in the house. So I took the train out, got a job at a bond office, and spent my free time keeping my sister away from the radio.” You let out a sigh and let your eyes fall to your lap before going on. “By the end, we assumed he’d be coming home safe and sound. They told us he was shot two days before the ceasefire was called.”

“To say my sister was distraught would be quite the understatement. After locking herself in her room for a week followed by five months of her ignoring my existence entirely, she told me I had until the end of the week to leave. Perfect timing really, since the bond office had terminated me that morning. No more war meant no more war bonds.” You shrugged as you recalled your story, as if it wasn’t such a fresh wound. You chanced a peek at Eugene, expecting a look of pity. But instead you were met with his warm hazel eyes, expressing nothing but understanding.

“So now here I am. Headed home. No job. No man. No plans,” you finished with a wink. Eugene smiled at your quip before turning to gaze out into the darkness.

“It seems like we both deserve to just do nothing for a while,” he suggested. Doing nothing. You quite liked the sound of that.

“Inspired idea, private.”

Eugene’s warm eyes locked on to yours once again, and you swore everything stopped and fell away. Nothing mattered except the marine in front of you, his bright smile, the lock of auburn hair that had fallen out of place. He was beautiful and clever and sweet, and though you knew he was haunted by his past, you’d never hold that against him. Gosh, you knew it was ridiculous, seeing as though you’d only met the man a few hours ago. But there was a part of you that wanted to pull him into your arms and never let go. Be there to make him laugh and make sure he knew he was safe. Listen to his stories and share yours in return. You wanted to do nothing for a while, like Eugene had said, but do that nothing with him next to you.

As you continued to gaze at the handsome man before you, you absent-mindedly tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. And you swore that for a brief moment, Eugene’s eyes fell to your mouth.

You practically lept to your feet, letting out a shaky breath before speaking.

“Well, I’m going to get some shut-eye,” you announced as you collected your things. “I suggest you do the same, private. Or at the very least you should spend some time with your friends before you have to see them off tomorrow.” Eugene, seemingly confused by the suddenness of your exit, nodded a few times before finding his voice.

“Right,” he said, “Well, goodnight.”

You cringed at what sounded like disappointment in his voice. You hadn’t meant to offend him - you just got startled is all.

You offered him a warm smile. “Goodnight, Eugene.”

You spun on your heels and headed for the doorway before you could change your mind and kiss him the way you really wanted to.

--

Eugene didn’t get much sleep that night, but that was nothing new. What changed is what kept him up. Thoughts of his burgundy girl swam through his head most of the night. He replayed every conversation they’d had, half of the time berating himself for what he said and the other half thinking about what he wished he’d said instead.

Snafu made sure to point out the bags under Eugene’s eyes that morning at breakfast.

But Eugene didn’t pay him any mind. He was too busy keeping an eye out for the woman, hoping he could flag her down to at least wish her a good morning.

By the late afternoon, there was no sign of the woman, and Eugene, Snafu, and Burgie had moved back to a booth in the coach car. Burgie was antsy, knowing they were not far out from his hometown of Jewett. He was recalling his excitement to see his little brother again when Snafu interrupted him, tapping his hand on Burgie’s chest.

“Would you look at her,” Snafu drawled out. Eugene glanced over his shoulder to where Snafu was indicating, only to be met with the sight of the very woman who had been on his mind all day, casually walking down the aisle towards him. She had traded out her burgundy ensemble for a cream colored blouse and a navy skirt. Eugene perked up, sitting up straight in hopes of getting her attention. But Snafu was faster, rising to his feet and cutting her off. She was surprised for a moment, but a look of recognition flashed across her face.

“Afternoon, miss,” Snafu greeted as the woman eyed him warily. Then her eyes flitted over to Eugene and a hint of a smile appeared. Then she looked back at Snafu.

“Something I can do for you, soldier?” she asked, arching an eyebrow and folding her arms across her chest.

“Ohh, there’s a lot you can do for me, girlie,” Snafu countered. “Hows about we head somewhere private and I’ll show you?”

Something in Eugene’s chest tightened at Snafu’s words. Sure, he had watched Snafu use line after line on any girl in his vicinity since they boarded the train. Even laughed at the man’s antics at times. But something was different about him putting the moves on his girl--or at least his friend. Acquaintance? Eugene didn’t know what the two of them were.

“Tempting,” she responded, rousing Eugene from his thoughts. “But I think I’m gonna sit and enjoy my book instead. Thank you for the offer, private.”

Snafu seemed confused -- Eugene assumed he was used to either getting the girl or getting a slap. He probably wasn’t used to getting no reaction at all. Snafu plopped back down in his seat, his brows furrowed, and Eugene chanced a look at the woman. She shot him a wink before settling in the booth directly across the aisle from the group of men and pulled out a book.

Eugene fidgeted in his seat -- his instinct was to go join her. But he respected her wishes. Maybe he’d ask her to dinner later.

--

It wasn’t long after you had settled into your booth that you watched Eugene say goodbye to his sergeant.

The mutual respect was evident, and the goodbye was definitely bittersweet. The normally chatty boys fell silent after he left, and Eugene’s far away look returned once again.

Eugene’s flirtatious friend then announced he was headed to the dining car to get a drink, and Eugene simply nodded, his gaze never leaving the window.

You waited until the audacious marine was clear out of the car before you shifted across the aisle to grab his empty seat. Eugene perked up immediately, sitting up and grinning.

“Afternoon, miss,” he greeted with a nod. “Sorry about Snafu before. I think he’s determined to pester every woman on this train before he gets off.”

“Oh, no apologies necessary,” you assured him with a chuckle. “I found it quite funny.”

Eugene’s eyes sparkled as he looked at you. Gosh, you’d almost forgotten how beautiful he was in the sunlight. Those hazel eyes you could just get lost in. You noticed the littlest bit of stubble had formed across his upper lip and around his jaw since last night.

Then you realized you were staring again and you quickly dropped your eyes to your lap out of habit.

“How’s your book?” Eugene spoke up, easing the awkwardness. You appreciated the gesture.

“It’s good so far,” you explained, patting the cover. “Not the most uplifting thing to read on the train, but I’m hoping it ends on a happy note.”

“What’s it about?”

You sighed as you stared at the book in your hands. “It’s about family hardships. Talks about poverty and alcoholism.” You paused to think for a moment before looking back up at Eugene with a smirk. “I don’t mind reading sad stories usually. But I can’t help but wish I’d stolen a happier book from my sister on my way out.”

That earned a chuckle from Eugene.

“Well, I--”

“Now now, what have we here?”

The two of you had been so focused on each other that neither of you had noticed that Eugene’s friend -- you remembered Eugene called him Snafu -- had returned, and was leaning against the side of the booth with a bottle of Coke in his hand.

“Thought you wanted to read your book?” Snafu continued, a playful tone to his voice. He cocked an eyebrow before taking a sip of his soda. You glanced over at Eugene to find him beet red in the face.

“Actually, I was just inviting Mr. Sledge here to grab some dinner with me,” you improvised, not wanting to have to lose your alone time with Eugene. “If he’d like.” His eyes lit up.

“I would be honored, miss,” Eugene replied, getting to his feet and holding a hand out for you. Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were smiling as you placed your hand into his and let him help you from the booth. Eugene looped your arm under his and began to lead you down the aisle when Snafu’s slow, southern dialect called out behind you.

“Oh, I see how it is. Well, don’t have too much fun, you two!”

--

“So what did you miss the most while you were away?”

The question surprised Eugene a little bit. It was the first time she had asked him anything that had to do with his experience in the war.

“My dog,” he replied, his eyes dropping to his half-empty plate. “Closest friend I’ve ever had. He passed while I was gone.”

She nodded in understanding, and Eugene appreciated that she didn’t offer him pity.

“Dogs really are better than humans sometimes.”

Eugene simply nodded as his gaze drifted out the window. Time passing in the pacific had been a blur, even with him keeping track of the days in his notebook. He couldn’t even remember when it was he got the letter about Deacon. Maybe it was sometime during Okinawa? It must have been. He was just so angry --

“Where do you go?” The woman’s voice interrupted Eugene’s thoughts, and he blinked rapidly as he realized he had been zoning out.

“Sorry, what?”

The woman seemed unfazed. She simply looked at him with curiosity, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“When I first saw you yesterday, you were staring out the window. Eyes glazed over, lost in thought. You’ve done it a few times actually,” she explained. “You drifted off the same way just now. So my question is, where do you go?”

Where to start? Should he sit there and detail the horrors he’d seen? How every second he spent on those islands would flash before him, his brain forcing him to relive the atrocities he’d witnessed and been a part of? And could he even begin to put into words how affected he was? Was it fair to unload his burdens on this innocent girl, who’d brought him nothing but peace since he had set foot on the train platform?

“Back there,” was all he said, hoping it would be enough. It seemingly was, as his dinner date nodded her head once again. A silence settled over the pair, and Eugene couldn’t help but kick himself. If he hadn’t gotten lost in his thoughts before, she wouldn’t have asked and they could have continued their lovely dinner.

“I’m no expert,” the woman spoke up, and Eugene’s eyes locked on to hers. “But I have a feeling it’s going to take some time for you boys to fully leave that place.” The woman leaned forward, and Eugene was struck by how warm and comforting her eyes were. “And in my humble opinion, the world shouldn’t expect you to be okay right away.”

Eugene was blown away. This woman -- this beautiful, funny, clever, smart woman, who’d never set foot on a battlefield in her life -- somehow got it. Sure she hadn’t physically seen the things that Eugene had seen, and she never would, so she couldn’t completely understand. But she respected him and what he’d been through. And not in a superficial way, like when strangers on the street would thank him for his service. But in a way that made him feel seen and heard -- without having to speak a word of the horrors out loud.

With a nod of his head, Eugene finally spoke up.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Now if only the rest of the world agreed with you.”

--

By the time Eugene and you walked back to the coach car, the sun had gone down completely. You could tell Eugene was beat, and you wondered if he even had slept the night before with how large the bags under his eyes were.

You tucked yourself back into your booth across from the boys, continuing where you left off in your sister’s novel.

The boys were relatively quiet next to you, and you realized after only a few moments that Eugene was out cold, slumbering against his duffle.

It soothed you to see him so peaceful. Your conversation over dinner had confirmed what you had expected to be true: Eugene could put on a face, but behind the facade he was extremely haunted by his time overseas.

It truly wasn’t fair. No one should be subjected to such horrors. Young boys with their futures ahead of them, shipped off to some foreign country, to either die or come back missing a piece of themselves? Tearing families apart and turning cities to rubble? It all seemed so pointless.

You were just one person. Just a simple girl from a small town, lost in your own life, unsure of where the path ahead would lead. But you had a loving heart and a warm embrace. And you’d give them both to Eugene, no questions asked. You could see yourself walking down that path with his hand in yours, figuring out how to navigate the future together. The thought of Eugene being there made it a little less terrifying. And you wanted nothing more than for Eugene to go through the rest of his life never feeling unsafe ever again.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when the train slowed to a stop. You watched as Snafu slowly got to his feet and grabbed his duffle from the bunk, swinging it over his shoulder. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking back at Eugene before stepping into the aisle. His eyes locked onto yours and he cocked his head back towards the sleeping marine.

“It’s rare to sleep well these days. Don’t want to ruin that,” he mumbled, clearly feeling like he had to explain himself to you. “I’m not one for goodbyes either.” You offered him an understanding nod and a friendly smile. Snafu returned your nod before heading down the aisle and out the door.

Sometimes you didn’t understand why men did the things they did. But you’d also never be able to understand the connection and camaraderie between servicemen. So you didn’t question Snafu’s decision to leave without waking Eugene.

Another hour or so had passed after the stop in New Orleans when you heard a whimper from across the aisle. Your eyes shot over to Eugene and your heart practically stopped. His eyes were closed tightly, his brow pinched, and he was gripping his own arms so hard his knuckles were practically white. He shook and thrashed in his seat, small cries escaping his lips that seemed to increase in volume each second.

You lept to your feet, throwing your book into your booth behind you before plopping next to Eugene and gently resting your hands on his.

“Eugene,” you whispered, trying not to wake him too harshly. He was clearly having a nightmare, and you didn’t know if trying to startle him awake was the right move. “Eugene, honey, wake up.”

He continued to shake, sweat forming on his forehead and his cries growing louder and louder. You moved your hands to his face, cupping his jaw gently and running your thumbs over his cheeks.

“Eugene!” you spoke louder and suddenly his eyes shot open and he sat up, gasping for air, but your hold on him prevented him from going too far. He blinked rapidly as his chest heaved, trying to get his bearings, but you continued to caress his face, murmuring affirmations to help him.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” you assured him. His big, hazel eyes were so sad as they stared into yours, and tears had begun to fall to his red cheeks. He let out a sob and you pulled him to your chest, cradling the back of his head as you wrapped your other arm around him. You held him close to you as he cried, your heart breaking at seeing him like this. You wished you could take every burden away from him. He didn’t deserve this. No one did.

A few nosy guests began to peek over their seats to see what was happening, frowns painted on their faces. As if this poor man’s trauma was an inconvenience to them. You glared daggers at them, and they shied away, slipping back into their seats.

You lost track of time, absentmindedly running your fingers through Eugene’s auburn locks as you held him. You began to softly hum a melody, a song that always comforted you when you were upset. Eugene’s cries began to quiet down, and his body shakes ceased.

Suddenly, he tensed in your arms before pulling away entirely. He wiped at his cheeks roughly as he sniffled, eyes locked on to his lap. You watched him carefully, unsure of what to do.

“Sorry,” he croaked out, his voice scratchy. “I, uh -- um, thank you for…” he trailed off, gesturing towards you with his hand.

“It’s okay,” you replied timidly. You knew he was embarrassed but you wanted to pull him back into your arms and assure him that he had no reason to be. But you waited, wanting him to come to you. His brow furrowed and you could practically hear his brain thinking.

“Now I guess you can see how broken I really am,” he said after a few moments and your heart ached.

“Eugene,” you practically cried. But he didn’t respond, instead turning sharply to face the dark window and letting out a shaky breath.

A tear escaped down your own cheek, your heart stinging at the rejection. But you opted to respect his space. With a sigh, you stood and shifted back over to your booth. You didn’t bother picking up your book, instead deciding to pull your own trunk and coat down from the rack and settling against them, hoping maybe you could get a little sleep.

--

Eugene didn’t bother trying to fall back asleep -- he knew wait awaited him in his dreams. Instead he focused on what he could see out of the train window. The sun eventually rose into the sky, and Eugene could finally see the greenery of Mississippi just before the train crossed the border into his home state.

He hadn’t taken a moment to look over at the woman he knew was still in the booth across from him. He couldn’t bear it. He was so ashamed of her seeing him like that. And then even more ashamed at how he’d pushed her away after she had been so kind to him. She hadn’t needed to comfort him, she had no obligation to do so. Yet she held him anyway. And Eugene had thanked her with a cold shoulder.

As the train pulled into the Mobile station, Eugene’s eyes scanned the platform. He couldn’t help but smile when he spotted Sid, leaning against his car.

Eugene slid out of the booth, grabbing his duffle and throwing it over his shoulder. A small voice sounded next to him.

“Eugene?”

The marine turned to find his woman in burgundy, eyes filled with so much worry, holding out a piece of paper.

“If you want to write. You don’t have to,” she explained, her voice uneasy. Eugene could feel his chest tighten. He hated that he had hurt her, made it so that she was so unsure around him. He gently took the piece of paper from her hand, his finger brushing hers just slightly. He was so tongue-tied, he had no idea what to say to her. So he simply offered her a soft smile and tucked the paper into his coat pocket.

As he made his way down the aisle, Eugene took a deep breath. Maybe one day he’d work up the nerve to write to her. He’d explain his actions and apologize profusely for his behavior. Hope that she’d forgive him but would understand if she didn’t.

But what was the point if he was always going to be broken?

--

You didn’t think you missed Tallahassee. But after settling back into your childhood home, visiting some of your old haunts, and reuniting with old friends, you’d begun to realize its charm.

Now that all the men were home from the war, jobs for women were scarce. You spent most of your time helping your mother around the house or taking walks downtown. Every so often you and some girlfriends would drive down to the beach, but other than that, you didn’t get up to much.

It had been a little over two months since you’d gotten home. You would have been lying if you said you hadn’t checked the mailbox religiously -- each day hoping a letter from Eugene would arrive. You knew the two of you had parted ways rather awkwardly, and you understood if a letter never arrived. But you really hoped you’d hear from him.

You opened the mailbox, only finding some random letters for your father. With a sigh, you headed back inside the house, dropping the letters on your father’s desk before heading down the hall to your room.

You collapsed on your bed with a groan, staring up at the ceiling. You needed to get Eugene off your mind. Maybe some of your friends knew some local servicemen who weren’t spoken for.

You were lost in your musings when a knock sounded at your door. Your mother called your name from the other side.

“You have a gentleman caller, dear,” she explained through the wood. “I didn’t know you knew any marines!”

You sat up with a jolt, eyes wide. Could it be?

“Be there in a minute, ma!” you called out, rushing to your vanity. You quickly checked yourself over, fixing your hair just slightly and patting down your skirt. You cursed at how your bed had wrinkled your blouse, but you didn’t have time to fix it. And if your caller was who you thought it was, you were sure he wouldn’t mind.

You practically flung open your door, pausing in the hall to take a deep breath before stepping out.

You were greeted with the sight of Private First Class Eugene Bondurant Sledge, adorned in his uniform, standing in your living room.

Eugene’s face lit up at your entrance, a huge smile plastered across his face. You grinned as you took him in -- he was even more handsome than you remembered.

“I’m sorry I didn’t write,” he said, breaking the silence. “I needed some time to get settled back home. And I figured you deserved an in-person apology for my actions.”

“Eugene, you have nothing to apologize for, I promise you,” you assured him as you took a step forward. You itched to reach out to him, but you knew your mother was watching nearby. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. Eugene was here, in the flesh, in your living room in Tallahassee. You could barely believe it.

“Ma’am? Do you mind if I take your daughter out for a walk around the neighborhood? I promise we’ll be back before supper,” Eugene inquired, addressing your mother, who had been lingering in the doorway of the kitchen. She grinned as she clasped her hands together.

“As long as you promise to join us for supper, Mr. Sledge.”

“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” Eugene said with a sharp nod. He turned back to you and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

With a beaming smile, you looped your arm through his and let him lead you out the front door.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, soaking up each other’s presence in the warm Floridian air. You nudged his shoulder slightly.

“I was right, you know,” you spoke up.

“About what?”

“You do have a girl.”

--

Permanent Taglist: @queenlover05 @mrhoemazzello @johndeaconshands @sadhwstudent @theblossomknows​ @stardust-galaxies​ @im-an-adult-ish​

[gumnut-logic]

Gordon the Octopus

I finished one of the WIPs on my list. Admittedly, this is an older one amd I had a good chunk of it written, but I found an end to it tonight :D

Totally @godsliltippy​ ‘s fault. She sparked the idea back in August last year, I just took a long time to see it through.

Marks & Wings AU, lots of Virgil and Gordon, complete fluff, silliness and self indulgence. The first bit has been posted before, but that was ages ago and it works better as a whole rather than in bits so I’ve reposted the whole thing. 2332 words.

Thank you to all the kind Thunderfam who commented on my WIP list ::hugs you so much:: You guys continue to be amazing.

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

The sun touched the horizon and lit up everything in gold.

Virgil closed his eyes and let its waning warmth soak into his skin.

The breeze was gentle, little more than a tease. It caressed his cheeks, lingered in his hair and tantalised the tracings of his mark across his bare back.

He shivered.

He was wearing only an old pair of cut-off jeans between himself and the warm rock. His feet were bare and dangling in the cool water, his toes teased by the ebb and flow.

His soundscape was filled with that water. The ripples of the lagoon splashing against the rock he was sitting on, the distant surf outside the safety of the caldera.

The squabbles of the petrels on Mateo as they argued about roosts for the night.

It was home.

The day had been a good one. No rescues. A moment to relax and sit back. Each of them had disappeared to their own corners, dabbling in their own pastimes in order to wind down.

Alan had taken to the air in the morning. He hadn’t managed to escape a cautionary word from Scott about staying close to the Island, but that was nothing unusual.

Scott said that to all of them.

Their youngest hadn’t been gone long, choosing only to stretch his golden wings with a few loops of their tiny volcanic rock in the middle of nowhere. Virgil had taken the moment to look up and watch his little brother swoop and dive, golden wings quite a sight in the early morning sun.

Scott and John, of course, were all about catching up on work. Virgil had to intervene at about midday and demand they eat. John was yanked down from orbit with a little extra threat from Grandma.

Virgil had been so happy to see his space brother. A little math and he realised he hadn’t seen him in the flesh for over two weeks.

John indulged him a hug as he knew Virgil craved a physical connection to ground him. Virgil was gentle, knowing that those two weeks in zero gravity would make his brother sensitive to touch.

But he had to.

The spark of connection as their minds reacted was like a tension release. Virgil sighed into his shoulder with relief.

John held him.

But after that, it was all Grandma and eat something, kid. Fortunately, lunch hadn’t relied on her cooking. Virgil had done a supply run on the way back from a minor situation just the day before and the larder was stacked with lazy day goodies.

It was a good meal. For once, everyone was there.

They had spent a good part of the afternoon just lazing about the comms room talking. While they lived most of their lives together, it had become rare being together all at once with no dire emergency needing attention.

There had been sun, conversation and rest.

John. John, of all people, had fallen asleep on the couch.

That had prompted a number of things. Lots of quiet. An interrogation of Eos from the kitchen regarding their brother’s sleep schedule.

This was promptly followed by grounding him for a week to play catch up.

Grandma was not happy.

And no doubt, John would be even less when he woke up.

But hey, the man needed to take better care of himself.

A blanket had appeared.

Virgil may have snuck in a medical monitor and gently clipped it to his shirt to boost the basic vitals his gravity wear provided.

John slept on.

So, they left him there and returned to doing their own things in other parts of the house.

As always, Gordon gravitated towards the sea as late afternoon rolled in. This time Virgil followed him to the water’s edge.

His fish brother’s forays out into the ocean always made Virgil just that touch nervous. There had been times where the aquanaut had gotten himself into trouble…alone, out in that vast wilderness under the surface.

It wasn’t that Gordon didn’t know what he was doing. It was just…Virgil couldn’t reach him.

And he worried.

But Gordy was as much a part of the sea as it was part of him and while the brat respected his concerns, he was still a brat. When he leapt up, morphed into his favourite eagle ray form, and made a splash large enough to soak his engineer brother, it was not unexpected.

There was a reason why sting rays always looked like they were smiling. At least this one thought he was funny.

The smart ass.

A flicker of shadow beneath the surface and Gordon was gone.

Virgil felt him grow distant, only to have a sun shower of mental energy thrown in his direction.

Clearly a ‘cheer up, Virg, I’ll be fine’.

Virgil grunted as he stared out at the water that had swallowed his brother. Gordon would be gone a couple of hours at least. Virgil would occupy himself for the rest of the afternoon, but he knew that come sunset, he would be down by the shore, waiting for him.

And here he was.

Staring out at the sea and the sunset, waiting for that little spark to return.

It wasn’t a chore. It was just something he felt he had to do.

Part of him wished he had brought his sketchbook or his tablet, but the risk was too high. Gordon wouldn’t intentionally soak his stuff, but accidents did happen.

And besides, he didn’t mind taking a moment to just...be.

The sun’s warmth was a caress on his skin and he revelled in it. He let his eyes close and just felt and listened.

Sun.

Water.

Wind.

Birds.

A wet touch on his shoulder.

He couldn’t help it, he flinched. Instinctively he knew what was happening, he knew his brother was being a little shit, but evolution tagged human receptors with flight response for a reason.

Suckers grabbed at his skin.

He stumbled on the rocks as he flung himself to his feet.

The tentacle did not go away.

It had friends.

Virgil suddenly found himself wrapped in several long, wet, suckered appendages.

“Gordon, what the hell are you doing?”

But then cephalopods weren’t the greatest of listeners since they didn’t really have ears.

Gordon, fortunately or unfortunately, did have the ability to transmit emotion to his brother, despite the muffle of transmutation, and the laughter sparkled across Virgil’s mindscape like a rain of sunny stars.

The evening was still golden and warm, but just a touch less relaxing. Virgil stood amongst the rocks with a giant Pacific octopus wrapped around his torso.

He idly stared at the flickering colours of laughter strobing across the chromatophores he could see.

“Gordon, you’re a shit.”

That, of course, only increased the mirth.

Virgil settled his mind and came to terms with the fact he was currently wearing a cephalopod and instead turned to problem solving.

The giant molluscs were quite fascinating. If there was one thing Virgil shared with his fish brother, it was a fascination with life in general, and because his brother spent so much time underwater, Virgil had done his fair share of reading on the topic. Unbeknownst to Gordon, Virgil found cephalopods quite fascinating, both in their communication methods and for painting subjects.

But then, this kraken was a whole different kettle of shellfish.

Virgil stood still for a few moments, waiting to see what his brother would do and, if he was honest, see if his brother would simply let him go.

The mental snickering pretty soon negated that response, so Virgil had to look for a more proactive retaliation.

He prodded a tentacle wrapped around his belly. It wriggled back at him.

Virgil was ticklish. He stifled the thought that his brother might take advantage of that while possessing eight arms.

He could lift. That would bring eight metres of black feathers into the equation, but Gordon was physically in contact with his mark, the feathers would likely phase through him like a piece of clothing.

A tentacle caressed his ribcage and he shivered.

He felt Gordon’s outburst of glee and before he knew it, all of those tentacles were moving, suckers puckering along his ribs and belly, a riot of tickle and tease. There was even one in his hair, its tip dangling in front of his eyes.

His brother’s maniacal mental laughter was all consuming.

Swearing, Virgil spun and leapt into the lagoon, the drop-off immediate enough to take the dive.

His world became a rush of bubbles.

Several tentacles came loose in the chaos and Virgil twisted in the water, hoping to dislodge the rest.

But the water was Gordon’s native environment, and the engineer didn’t have a hope.

The giggling was obnoxious.

Breath soon became an urgency and Virgil pushed towards the flickering light above. He surfaced with an octopus head bopping his nose. Somehow Gordon had slithered around to hang off his front instead of his back.

Virgil glared at his brother through the hair dripping in his eyes.

The head tilted and squirted water into his face.

“Gordon!”

Damnit, Kayo needed to show him some self-defence skills against cephalopods.

The thing was octopuses were strong, but their bodies were somewhat fragile and part of Virgil was worried he might hurt his brother.

Knowing Gordon, he knew that and was playing it to his advantage.

“Why are you doing this?”

Because I can.

Virgil didn’t need telepathy to answer that.

But there was a spark of something beyond the humour. Beyond the rain of sunshine sparkles there was a deep red, a welling of emotion his brother was reluctant to share.

A frown and Virgil reached out mentally to his little brother just that little bit more.

The octopus scrambled up his torso, over his face – to Virgil’s muffled protest – and perched on his head like a turban.

Virgil spat into the water and rubbed his face with both hands. “God, Gordon! Why?!”

But the answer wasn’t built with words, it was built with emotion and it suddenly washed over him.

An overwhelming need to touch, to hug and to feel.

But…?

Virgil reached for his cephalopod hat, but Gordon slipped off into the water with a splash and darted away.

Virgil dove to follow.

He didn’t have a hope in catching up, no matter his brother’s form, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

But Gordon had disappeared.

Damnit!

Oxygen became a necessity far too quickly and, yet again, Virgil cursed his inability to follow his fish brother.

Surfacing dragged his hair into his eyes.

How had he missed it? Gordon could be as in need of touch as Virgil was at times. How had Virgil not seen that his brother just needed a hug?

He mentally kicked himself.

“Virg, it’s not a thing. Don’t tie yourself in knots.”

He spun to find his little brother in human form treading water quietly behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a hug? Hell, why didn’t you just give me one?”

Gordon snorted. “Is that a prescription, bro? You dispensing brotherly hugs?”

“I’m dispensing whatever works, Gords.” His head tilted just a little as he stared at his brother. “C’mere?” He held out his arms, his legs doing the best to keep him stable in the water.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Don’t drown yourself.”

“Gordon…”

When his brother didn’t respond, Virgil took matters into his own hands and dove at him. The fact he was successful in grabbing a flailing leg proved that Gordon didn’t really want to escape.

A little manhandling and Virgil had his brother in the biggest hug he could manage. It was complicated by the fact that hugging was not conducive to swimming and if Virgil didn’t surface soon, he was going to start losing brain cells, but it was the best he could do with a wriggling fish brother.

Ultimately, it was Gordon who threw them to the surface with a spark of exasperation.

“Virg, I’m fine! What the hell?”

But the emotion bouncing across their connection told the truth. There was little but fondness and love for his silly brother.

“I’m not silly.” Virgil wrinkled his nose.

“Never said you were. However, you did nearly drown yourself trying to give me a hug.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Gordon!”

“What?”

Virgil glared at him.

Predictably, Gordon just smirked at him.

It was Virgil’s turn to be overwhelmed with fondness and love.

Gordon groaned. “Oh god, you are so soppy.”

“What? You’re my brother. I’m allowed to care.”

Gordon fell silent, and for a moment, those brown eyes just stared at Virgil.

Then he found his arms full of brother again. “Love you, bro.”

Surprised, but touched, Virgil’s arms tightened around Gordon and again they dipped below the surface.

Hugs were really conducive to drowning.

And disturbing to sleeping brothers as John startled awake with a rain of confused midnight stars.

Oops.

Virgil made to kick back up to the surface, but suddenly found his arms full of cephalopod again.

Damnit, Gordon.

The sparkling sunshine giggles were back and it was with resignation that Virgil kicked towards the surface.

Perhaps Gordon had a reason for the change and for the cling because when Virgil walked back to the villa and into the comms room wearing his rather heavy cephalopod brother wrapped around him, it brought Scott’s tirade of lecturing John to a sudden halt.

Both brothers stopped and just stared.

Virgil stared back. “What?”

“Is that Gordon?” Scott pointed with both hope and a little fear at the octopus back-pack headwear combination.

A tentacle poked at Virgil’s nose from his forehead. He ignored it and shrugged. “Gords wanted a hug.” He turned away. “I’m going to go have a shower.” An absent wave of a hand.

If his brothers stared as he walked out, he could only smile to himself.

The rain of sunshine laughter from his hat just turned his smile into a grin.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[adrenaline-roulette]

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word Count: 5.5K+ Warnings: Language *Disclaimer, Hi everybody. I first of all would like to apologise to those who have been waiting for months for a new chapter, this chapter has been partially written since September, however in that time, my aunt passed away. It has hit me very hard, and during this time, I needed to take a step away from writing, to be with my family, and also to take time to look after myself and my mental health.  I’m doing better now, and with that means I am slowly updating my works which have been neglected as of late. So for those who are returning viewers of this series, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming back and waiting with me. And for those new to this series, welcome and I hope you stay with us. Much love to you all!

Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine can be found here! (That’s right baby, we’ve officially reached double digits for chapters!)

Chapter Ten: Darkest paradise I’ve ever seen

Flying into Noumea, your headphones pressed snuggly against your ears, you watch as miles upon miles of crystal blue ocean spans ahead of you. From just about every direction you look through the small aeroplane window, all you can see is blue. That is aside from the tiny speck on the horizon, which you can only assume is in fact, your destination. It seems awfully far away, and a part of you has managed to convince the less logical section of your brain, that you still have plenty of time before you arrive. Before the plan takes motion. Before shit goes down. Or you have months to continue planning your take down of the Lushnick’s…. But as you gaze out the window once more, the tiny speck growing ever larger, your rational mind takes over, reminding you that in less than two weeks, provided everything went according to plan, the Lushnick’s would be yours.

As the plane touches down at La Tontouta international airport, you await the captain’s departure announcement before standing up and stretching your cramping legs, feeling your joints pop, and muscles ache from having spent too long in one position. Once the initial rush of passengers have passed you, you reach up into the overhead compartments and retrieve the navy blue rucksack you had stowed up there. With the bag flung over your shoulder, you disembark the plane, and head towards the baggage carousel within the terminal. Within your rucksack, along with a few emergency items on the off chance your bags were lost, included five various ID cards, all hand made for you by One’s slightly shady yet reliable connection; a wad of Pacific Franc, the currency of New Caledonia, and of course your laptop. One had assured you that the apartment you would be using as a base had all the setup you required, however you felt more confident with your own computer, even just as a backup for an emergency. As you cross the tarmac, you recall the burner phone One had given you upon your departure, the only contacts held within were those of the Ghost’s, though knowing that you still have the ability to communicate with  your team before their arrival helped alleviate some of your nerves. Switching the phone off flight mode, you held it firmly in your sweaty palm, half expecting it to buzz to life with missed notifications, as it would if it were your true phone. The influx of notifications never come, there is however one which does buzz through. ‘Are you safe?’

You scan over the message again and again, reading just about every possible subtext into it within a matter of seconds, before finally, you take a deep breath in, hold it for ten seconds, then release. ‘It’s Four, don’t be so dramatic. He actually cares about you.’ You remind yourself, just as your thumbs tap against the phone keyboard. ‘Just landed. Collecting bags then heading to the apartment. Should be there within the hour.’ You reply, pocketing the phone again and keeping your eyes peeled for you luggage.

The phone vibrates again, but this time you ignore it, opting instead to find the Taxi rank now that you had procured your bags. On you way through the airport, you discard you boarding pass into a trashcan, saying a mental goodbye to the alias of Ginevra Connelly. Of course you still kept the ID card with Ginevra’s details in your bag just in case, but the aim was to only use each alias once. One for flying, one for working, and one for personal business. The others were just there if any unexpected events should arise. Once outside, you only need wait a few minutes before a taxi pulls up, the driver popping the trunk of the car for you to deposit your bags. Once the trunk is closed, you slide into the back seat, sitting directly behind the driver. “Bonjour.” The driver offers with a small smile, meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror.

You smile gently back. “Bonjour.” You greet, before reciting off the address to the apartment in Noumea which One had insisted you memorise.

With a nod of his head, the taxi driver speeds off, either ignoring or simply disregarding all speed signs which he passed. As he drove like a bat out of hell, you check your phone once more. ‘That’s good. Glad you’re alright.’ Four had replied, earning a small smile to creep over your lips.

‘Well, the flight didn’t kill me. Can’t say the same about my driver though….’

‘Axe murderer?’

‘Nothing quite as exciting. Or at least, I didn’t notice an axe when I checked the trunk…. Just a crazy driver is all. You’ll see when you get here. It looks to be a trend.’

‘Can’t wait!’ Before a rapid second response of. ‘Stay out of trouble until I get there please?’

‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Love yo-‘ You begin typing, before frantically deleting the characters. As much as you wanted to send the message, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. Something about sending those words, via a burner phone while you’re in a totally different country, just felt wrong. Perhaps that was the nerves of the mission talking? No matter, you would saver the phrase for when you saw Four in person.

You put your phone away after that, not trusting yourself to continue the conversation with the direction it was headed. You knew Four was still, not necessarily mad at you, but disappointed that you hadn’t told him of your early departure. You were also acutely aware of his fear for you being in a foreign country all alone. You were positive that if it hadn’t been for the sudden announcement of your leaving, then he would have tried much harder to convince you and One to let him arrive with you. Of course, deep down you knew that despite Four’s protective nature, he understood why he was unable to arrive with you, or with the others. But it didn’t stop him from disliking the plan any less.

The driver watches as you put your phone away and takes this time to engage you in the typical taxi, passenger chit chat. “Parlez-vous français?” He enquires, and it takes you a moment to comprehend what he had asked. You had a slight knowledge of the French language, but it was very, very basic.

“No sorry, I don’t speak French.” You offer with a half smile, shrugging lightly as you turn your attention to the scenery blurring past you.

“Ah, a tourist then. Here for a vacation, are you? He continues, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel as he changes lanes in what would be considered a highly illegal maneuver literally anywhere else in the World.

Deciding that if you looked out the window any longer you may become motion sick, you turn your focus to staring directly at the back of the drivers head. “Mhm, I’ve always wanted to visit, go snorkelling, maybe go for a ride on one of those glass bottom boats? Who knows!” You ramble on, though nothing you say is quite a lie. In truth, you had always wanted to visit Noumea, and were supposed to when you were thirteen. You were supposed to go on a cruise to the South Pacific Islands as a birthday present, however that never quite happened. You suppose in the long run, it’s a good thing you never came here as a child, if you had, then this mission may not be going ahead. Or at least not with you at the helm.

“My cousin owns a glass bottom boat, he runs tours every day. Here, take this card, it has his details.” He pulls a crinkled business card out of his shirt pocket, and passes it back to you. You take it graciously, taking a moment to read over it before stowing it away in your bag.

“Thank you.”

As you drive through the city, the driver points out the occasional tourist attraction, to which you nod and play along with the façade you had created. Most things he says go in one ear then out the other, but there is one which catches your attention. “Over the is the hospital. Might be good to know where that is just in case.” He offers with a grin, gesturing to the large building on your left.

Your head whips around to face that direction in an instant, eyes growing wide as you drink in the sight. “That’s the hospital…” You whisper, mouth going dry as you watch the building disappear into the distance behind you.

The rest of the drive is kept in relative silence, mostly on your part. Having finally seen your destination for this mission, it all suddenly felt so real. Inside that building, which should be used for good, were two of the most vile and wicked people you know to exist. They had nearly two weeks left before they met they’re match however, and that thought alone set a chilling grin on your lips.

*****

Once you arrived at the apartment you were faced with a serious problem, a lack of keys to the front door. Surely One should’ve thought of this, he owned the fucking place! “Well that’s just great. Now what?” You hiss to yourself, glaring daggers at the wooden door that currently separated you from your new, temporary home and work space.

Reaching behind, you fish around in your bag in search of your phone. Muttering swears beneath your breath, until finally your fingers clasp onto the cool, smooth device. Scowling at the screen as you scroll through the limited contacts, you press call against One. Standing with your back leaning against the front door, one arm folded across your chest, and your left foot tapping the ground impatiently.

“Don’t tell me you’re already in trouble.” One grumbles after the sixth ring. His words causing your sour mood to only worsen.

“No I am not.” You hiss, lowering your voice to a whisper as you hear voices out on the street.

“What do you need Eight?”

“I want to know how I’m supposed to get into the bloody apartment! There’s not fucking keys!”

There’s a pause on the line for a minute or two, and for the first time ever, you realise that you’ve rendered One, the fearless leader, utterly speechless. “The keys are on the table.” His voice is mumbled, and you barely catch what he says.

“I’m sorry, what was that now?”

One groans, and you can almost picture his frustrated face, perhaps he would even be pinching the bridge of his nose… “I said, the keys are on the table, inside the apartment.”

He sounds disappointed in himself, and rightly so. “Well, that’s helpful isn’t it?”

“Don’t get sassy with me missy.”

“Why not? This is your house isn’t it? Shouldn’t you have a set of keys with you?”

“It’s one of my houses..”

“That doesn’t make this any better.”

“Did you bring your lock pick?”

“Of course I did. The question is, which bag is it in….” You mumble, gazing around at the bags you had discarded by the door.

“I think you know what to do. Good luck kid.” There’s a grin to One’s voice now, and you have half a mind to tell him off for his stupidity, however before you get the chance, the line goes dead.

With a deep sigh, you resign yourself to do the only thing you can, break in. Well technically it wasn’t breaking in, not when you were supposed to be living here, though you imagine that logic may not stand up in court if someone were to catch you in the act.

Withing ten minutes, all of your bags lay open on the ground, items of clothing strewn about the place, as you had frantically searched the brown leather pouch which housed your lockpick tools. Upon finding it, you groan at the mess you had made, stuffing everything back in the bags haphazardly, you would deal with the unorganised mess later.

Gazing around, you double then triple check that there is no one around to see you. The voices on the street had long since faded away, leaving only the sounds of birds chirping, and the distant crash of waves.  Confident you’re alone, you bow over the door handle, and begin picking the lock. It occurs to you that perhaps this was One’s plan all along. After all, he was the one to provide you with said lock picking kit. You brush that thought off, and return to the task at hand, fiddling with the handle for roughly fifteen minutes until finally you hear a click. “Eureka!” You declare quietly yet triumphantly. The door swings open, and dusty air breezes out past you, causing you to cough and sneeze. Blimey, this place must’ve been closed up for months!

Inside the apartment, you don’t take too long looking around, you’ll have time for that later. You take note of where the master bedroom is, and claim that as yours by dumping your bags atop the bed, and seek out the bathroom. With everything in order as far as you could see, you take your laptop and bring it out into the main living area where what you can only assume is your area has been set up. There are three monitors set up on a large oak desk, which looked wildly out of place in the otherwise, holiday home themed house. The largest sitting in the middle of the desk, with two smaller screens on either side. It’s not a perfect set up, but it will work for what you need, and that’s all that really matters, especially considering most of your work would be done from inside the hospital.

Settling down at the makeshift study desk, you take a final moment to glance around the apartment, spotting a set of what you presume is house keys sitting on the dining table. “Well, at least One was right about where you were.” You mutter quietly, glaring at the object in question.

*****  

Infiltrating the hospital database took far longer than you had initially expected. Over the past few weeks, you had made practice runs of worming your way into other systems for different hospitals around the world, however at no point had you thought to test your access to the hospital you actually needed entrance to. “It can’t be any different to any of the others.” You surmise, squinting at the screen before you, elbows propped up on the desk, and chin resting on your interlocked fingers. Truth be told it wasn’t that much different, not in the scheme of things, however someone, and goodness knows who, had made the entire system nearly impenetrable! Key word being nearly. However, if there was one thing you had learned after years of sneaking your way into systems you shouldn’t, it was that no matter how tricky a program may first appear, there is always a way in! And this system was no different.

One pizza delivery and three energy drinks later, the start of a migraine -which was either caused by your frustration, or the copious amounts of caffeine- and you were finally in! The hospital was, in every sense of the word, yours. The possibilities, oh the possibilities! Your first task only took a few moments, scanning through encrypted lists until you came across the one which housed the contact details for all members of staff. The list consisted of the staff members name, followed by their position of work, contact number and email, and finally a next of kin. Truly, this list looked to have been composed specifically for you and your needs. Copying the details you required for a one Mister Frank Sea, and pasting them momentarily into a word document, you move onto your second task. Page upon page you read through, jumping between links and praying that perhaps this time you had found the correct page, you finally make it to the hospital security system. You blame your caffeinated jittery hands for how long it took you to find. Once in the system, you begin changing over a few simple details, nothing too extreme that could potentially be cause for concern if anyone were to see, but the changes you made were imperative to the mission. The contact name for the security recruitment agency remained the same, however you now deleted out the previous phone number, adding in One’s phone number as planned. Finally came task three, which you had been dreading since you woke up this morning. The guilt of what you were about to do had been gnawing at you all week. You weren’t a bad person, not really; you kept telling yourself, hoping that perhaps if you said so enough, it would be true. You feared sending this email would ruin Frank, that it would destroy him… ‘It’s just business.’ You can hear One telling you, his exact words after you had both come up with this plan. “It’s just business, I’m just doing my job. It’s for the greater good.” You whisper, your voice catching in your throat. You don’t give yourself another moment to dwell on things, and instead quickly write up your email on the address you had created specifically for the mission. The email informs Frank of his urgent presence being required in Scotland to discuss the legalities of his and his wife’s separation, and custody of his children. Holding your breath, you hit send, watching impatiently until the message had left your outbox. By the time Frank would arrive in Scotland, the company you had pretended to work for would be closed for three weeks due to renovations. He would have no way of contacting them to find out why his presence was required, and of course try as he might, there was no chance he would receive a reply to any of his emails to you. So for three weeks, he would stick it out at home, arguing with his wife, all while you take over for him at the hospital.

*****

Soft pinks and oranges had begun to coat the evening sky as dusk rolled in, and for the first time in years, Four found himself staring up at the sky, envisioning a future. A future which didn’t involve hurting or killing people, no matter how evil and vile they were. Just a plain, normal future. He didn’t quite know what had brought these thoughts upon him, they were the types of thoughts he had managed to banish into the deepest parts of his mind. In fact, the last time he had thought about a normal life, was shortly after Six had died. They all mourned him of course, but the reality of losing Six had weighed down on him greatly. And for close to three months, Four had seriously considered abandoning the Ghosts, and starting a fresh life far away from them. At the time though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t leave the team. And besides, he had no where to go, and no one to run to. But now? Now was different, he had you. The two of you could run away together, leave the Ghosts, leave this life behind. Start over wherever in the world you wanted you, far away from One and his plans of revenge against those who had wronged the world….

He shook his head, the images of normalcy which had formed in his minds eye, fading away, just as the sun was. He couldn’t leave, not when this was the closest thing to a family he had had since he was a toddler. If there was one thing he knew for sure, you don’t abandon your family. His own parents had taught him that the hard way.

Carefully, Four pushed himself up from where he had been relaxing atop his trailer. His back was stiff after having been laid down for what felt like too long, but he paid it little mind. As he leapt down to the ground, a loud yell echoed throughout base.

“Will somebody answer my phone? I can’t get to it right now!” It was One, yelling at the top of his lungs from god knows where, his voice sounded muffled though.

Next came Five’s screamed reply. “Where are you then?”

“Garage!” One yelled back.

“Coming, I’ll get it!” Four watched as Five went darting across base, kicking up red dust in her haste.

For interests sake, Four made his meandering way towards the garage, just to see what was so urgent about this phone call, and why One couldn’t get it. He strolled in, hands in his pants pockets, and hood drawn over his head. His eyes darting between Five, who was reading from a script scribbled in an old notebook while on the phone, to One who’s feet were sticking out from beneath a silver Audi R8.

“Good afternoon, leader security how may I help you?” Five recited in what was either the worst or perhaps best Dolly Parton imitation Four had ever heard. “Oh sure, you need a new head of security? How soon do you need them to start?” There was a pause, and Four stepped further over to the Audi, titling his head to the left as he lifted a quizzical brow. “Asap? Well where are y’all located?... Oh I see, let me transfer you.”

“You alright down there mate?” Four smirked giving One’s foot a gentle kick.

“Yep, never better. Why do you ask?”

“Well it’s just, you’re only like, ten steps away from your phone… Not sure why you couldn’t get it yourself is all.” He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest, and rocking back on his heels.

One pauses for a few moments, selecting his next words carefully. “I just didn’t want to stop what I was doing midway through.”

Four crouched slightly, peering at the floor creeper One was reclined on beneath the car. One of the wheels had popped off entirely, while another on the same side was horrendously bent out of shape. “You’re stuck aren’t ya?”

“Yes I’m stuck.”

*****

Two hours later, your mobile rings with One’s caller ID flashing, grinning you answer with a bright smile. “Good afternoon, Leader security recruitment how may I help you?” You recite in an overly practiced voice, not that the person on the other end of the line could tell, but it sure made you feel better, knowing you weren’t about to trip over your own words. One had done just as was planned, and upon playing receptionist for the security company, had transferred the call directly to you, and now it was time to get yourself employed.

The female voice on the other end of the line begins speaking frantically, telling you about how the current head of security for her hospital had just left unexpectedly, and that they needed someone to fill in for him until they could find out when he would return.

“Ma’am, it will all be fine, I assure you. Now can you please tell me your company code?” You smile, while typing aimlessly into a word document. So long as the woman on the phone could hear you typing, you would not raise any suspicion, even if all you were typing was smiley faces. “I see, and this is a hospital based in Noumea New Caledonia, is that correct? – Mhm no problems at all. How soon do you require someone to commence?” You type out the few details she tells you which are actually important to you, before returning to the faces. “I will have to see who I have in area who may be able to assist you. One of contractors recently moved to the area I believe for a change of scenery.  May I put you on hold and see if I am able to call her?” The moment the woman agrees, you place the call on hold and laugh to yourself. The temptation to have an actual conversation with yourself just to keep the charade up is there, however considering as it had only been a few hours of you living alone, you felt you should at least attempt to keep the bouts of insanity to a minimum for now. “Hello, are you still there?” You ask a few minutes later.  “Anastasia Breaker will be available as of tomorrow morning, if you could please forward all details regarding her employment to the following email address, then she will see you in the morning.” The woman is nearly in tears as she thanks you, promising she would send the information within minutes. “Of course, no problems. Have a lovely evening, and once again, thank you for choosing leader security.”

As the phone goes silent, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms above your head. You’d done it, you were in. Or rather Anastasia was in, but no matter who’s name was on the contract, you were the one who would be doing all the work.

*****

For the next few hours, you read through the multiple emails which arrived for Anastasia Breaker, advising you of where to go tomorrow morning, and who you would be meeting upon your arrival. It was nothing too unusual, or anything unexpected, the only downside was that you had been requested to arrive at 6 am. To some that may be ok, normal even. But to you, a perpetual night owl, it felt like torture. After laying out your clothing for the following morning, to allow for a slight sleep in, you lay down in the double bed you had claimed as yours. You knew it would likely end up being shared once the others arrived, but for now, it was all yours. The lights had all been turned out, leaving you in near complete darkness. The only light was that of the shining silver moon, peering down on you through a forest of thick trees. Try as you might however, sleep seemed to escape you. Perhaps it was nerves of tomorrow and your new ‘job’, or maybe it was just the fact you were sleeping in a new bed. No matter the cause, after tossing and turning for nearly an hour, you eventually gave up. Sitting upright, you grab the burner phone off the nightstand, having left it beside you with an alarm on for the morning.

You stare down at the bare screen, so used to your own which was filled with various apps. On this phone however, there was nothing of interest to do. Your thumb hovered over your contacts, and you bite your lower lip in thought. You knew One would be furious if he found out you were using the phone as anything but emergency contacts and an alarm, but at the same time, you found yourself having a rather difficult time caring about him and what he thought while he was so far away. Finally, you press down on the contact, and listen to the phone ring on loudspeaker.

“Hello?” Four’s distinct voice carries through, and you feel a wave of comfort roll over you. His voice alone felt like home, and it almost frightened you to think that, especially considering how brief your relationship had been so far.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh, Oh! I’m sorry love I had no idea. This number isn’t programmed into my phone, I genuinely thought it was a telemarketer or something!” He was rambling, and you could almost see the pale crimson blush which would be creeping up his neck and cheeks, as he too realised, he was rambling.

“It’s totally fine, I’m not really supposed to be calling you. But I needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Who says you’re not supposed to call?”

“One.”

“Fuck him and his stupid rules!”

“I would really rather not.”

“You know what I mean, you idiot.” You can practically hear his eye roll through his words, and you can’t help but smile at that. At how well you know his mannerisms these days.  “How has day one gone? Everything going according to plan?”

You nod, before recalling that he can’t see you. “Yep, things seem to be rather smooth sailing for now. I’ll be starting at the hospital tomorrow morning, and from there I can get everything else set in motion.”

“That’s brilliant, at this rate it’ll all be over before we know it!”

You pause for a moment, resting the phone on the pillow beside your head. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“What’s wrong hm? You don’t sound convinced?”

Rolling over, you lay flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I suppose I’m just trying to come to terms with how quickly this is all happening, you know? Like, I feel it was just yesterday One announced who the targets were, and now suddenly I’m here? It’s all happening so fast.”

“I know exactly what you mean, I can’t quite wrap my head around it all either. But look at how far we’ve come. How far you’ve come! Remember that day when the targets were announced-“

“You mean the day I ran out of the briefing and nearly killed us both?” You interrupt, smirking slightly at the memory.

“Yes, that day. But look at you now, look at where you are! You’ve changed so much in such a short period of time. You’re far more prepared than any of us here at base are, and for us, this is either our second or third mission! For you, this is your first, and you’re already doing better than any of us could’ve imagined.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying it so I stop panicking?”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life Eight, I promise.”

“Thank you, I – thank you.” You whisper, rolling to your side and looking down at the phone. You sigh deeply, closing your eyes tight before allowing them to slowly open. “Tell me something that no one else in the Ghosts knows about you.”

You hear him chuckle, a deep rumble which you wish you could wrap your arms around him and feel as it flowed through you. “Do you want something to laugh at?”

“Yes, I don’t want to cry tonight. Make it funny.”

Four hums to himself, and you curl around your pillow, cradling the phone near your chest. “Right, here’s one. Bet you didn’t know I have a criminal record as an arsonist!”

He sounds proud of himself, and for the life of you, you can’t fathom why. “You what now?”

“It was my first charge, long before the cops ever figured out I was stealing, which I had been doing for years before this occurred.”

“How long have you been a thief, Four?”

“A long while… But that’s a story for another time. This is about fire lord me!”

You groan, rolling your eyes at the nickname he had given himself, while leaving a mental note to ask him about his past one day, when you weren’t in the middle of a mission.

“I was maybe 15 or 16, and was with this girl who I thought was made of pure heaven. I practically worshiped the ground she walked on, and daydreamed about her all day every day. To her though, I was a kid who was a year or two younger than her, and she just loved the attention, not matter who it came from. I knew she only spent a month with each of her boyfriends, but naive young me thought that maybe I could convince her to be with me forever. Spoiler alert, that didn’t work out. One night I decided to surprise her when she came home from dance lessons, her parents were out of town for the week, and I figured I would make a romantic evening for the two of us, and would allow her to be my first.” He pauses for a moment, as if wanting to see if you wanted to hear where this was going.

“It’s fine Four, just keep telling the story.” You giggle, shaking your head softly at where this was all going.

“Well I got super fancy, ordered takeout because heaven knows I cannot cook, even managed to nick a bottle of champagne from the local liquor store. It was cheap nasty stuff now that I think about it, but at the time, I felt very grown up. I lit candles all over her townhouse, there were some in the kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms and even the kitchen. I think I went through an entire matchbook that night. So finally she gets home, and I’m nervous as hell. Legs jittery, forehead sweaty, and look the exact opposite of sexy like I had hoped for. She’s all smiles, and even thanks me for setting up a lovely evening.  After we eat, she steps outside to have a smoke, and I clean up in the kitchen. The next thing I know, she’s shouting from the front door, and then the smoke alarming is blaring throughout the house. I run outside, and find her staring up at the second floor at her bedroom window, where billows of dark smoke are seeping out. Turns out, she had a cat I didn’t know about, and the fucker knocked down one of the candles, it landed near her bedroom curtains, and the flames engulfed pretty much the entire room. Cops and firemen came, shockingly they didn’t believe me when I said it was the cat. And the fact that I had been in her home without her for so long didn’t help my argument either….”

“Oh my goodness, so you were actually innocent? The cat got you a record?” You laugh, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. That cat is the reason I don’t do romantic anymore.” He grumbled playfully.

“Aw, and why’s that? Cat got your tongue?!” You chortle, you were definitely borderline tired now, because to you, that was officially the funniest pun in the world.

“Oh dear, oh no…. Eight that was terrible, please never say anything like that again.”

“Aww, come on! It was funny!”

“No love, no it wasn’t.”

There’s no use in arguing the point, you knew you were funny and that was all that mattered. “Fine, I’ll stop with the cat puns especially seeing as you’re not feline it…”

‘You are very annoying, you know that right?”

“Of course, but it’s part of my appeal!”

“Whatever you say. But I do think You need some sleep, because you sound hella tired right now.”

As if on que, a yawn slips from your lips, giving away just how tired you now were. “You may be right.”

“Good night love, good luck tomorrow. I know you’ll be amazing.”

You smile at his words, tracing your finger along the edge of the phone. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Ok.”

You end the call, and place the phone back on the nightstand. As you allowed your eyes to drift shut, you can’t help but feel just that little bit more confident that things were going just as they were planned.

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Chapter Eleven here!

[twiceblackvelvet]

Can I request Twice Mina honeymoon with her fem idol gf in Hawaii?? Fluff with smut?👀

A/N; sorry for the wait, i hope you enjoy anon. thanks for the request!

Blistering heat settles itself throughout every bone in your body and radiates throughout the entire hotel room. The sun’s glowing beams bursting through the balcony window to illuminate your figure alongside another. Another whose own brightness could easily rival that of the rays threatening to shade both of your skin to a deep and bruising red.

If you had to describe the perfect day, nothing would come close to the experience you’re currently living out. The secluded area surrounded by palm trees with a backdrop of the Pacific Ocean could not be any more fitting for a honeymoon where escaping is the first thing on the agenda.

From a very early age, you’d dreamt about finally getting to walk down the aisle towards someone waiting at the altar, all eyes focused on how breathtaking you both look and to feel overwhelming adoration for the person you’re about to spend the rest of your life with.

Now that the moment is complete, with all of the things you imagined and more happening, you can’t help but focus on the said person you promised forever to just a few short hours ago.

Whoever you ask will gladly tell you that the idol world is intense and full of pressure. Yet, no one could predict you’d find solace in the arms of another navigating through those same struggles. Someone who was so terrified at first to even begin a relationship yet has now become your wife. Pinching your own skin several times throughout the day has put a stop to any doubts that all of this is just a fantasy you’ve dreamt up.

Mina is effortlessly beautiful no matter the place, time or reason. Yet, seeing her in all white with tear-brimmed eyes and a smile wider than the very ocean you find yourself staring out upon from the balcony, you’ve never felt more in love and content.

Whilst the wedding had been organized by the two of you alongside an event planner. The honeymoon was left entirely down to Mina as she vowed to make it the most special getaway to finish off what turned out to be just as she predicted, a perfect wedding filled with emotion. Your cheeks can still feel the outlines of the floods of tears you let out upon seeing Mina ready to commit the rest of her life and love to you.

Hawaii has always held a special place in her heart. There’s a calmness to the tiny island that no other place on Earth holds according to her. Something you’ve never fully understood until now since it’s a tourist hotspot. But as the waves slowly roll in and out, couples idly pass by the beach and the sun causes the sand to glisten, you get why Mina loves it here.  

Arms slowly circle around your waist as she presses the front of her body to your back. Gentle kisses placed on your shoulder blades as you sway back and forth within her embrace.

“It’s perfect here Mina.” You practically whisper, not wishing to disturb the peacefulness surrounding you both even slightly.

“Just like you.” One last gentle kiss reaches your neck as she drags your body back through the balcony doors and crashing the two of you back down onto the bed.

A minute passes with the two of you just holding each other close and looking into one another’s eyes softly, full of love. Your fingers intertwined as she idly rubs her thumb across the side of your face.

The sheets still tangled from the two of you sleeping off the jetlag as soon as you entered the room, suitcases and bags scatter the floor not yet opened. Mina’s body shifts first to hover above your own as her stare remains intense. Her nose almost brushes softly against your own until she finally leans in to capture your lips with hers.

No matter how many times you feel her soft, plump lips against your own, it always manages to drive you insane. She’s addictive and tastes like champagne as her tongue requests access to your own. It’s unclear whether your stomach or your heart is the one doing somersaults from Mina being so filled with passion and lust but your body is ready to reciprocate it all.

Her teeth drag along your lower lip as she hurriedly removes your shirt almost ripping it in the process. Your hands are quick to catch up with where your new wife is trying to get to as they roam her own body and undo the button on her shorts. She stands on the bed, eyes remaining on your own from above as she steps out of them and throws her vest over her head.

“Take those off.” She demands and motions towards your jeans. Without hesitation, you move your body to sit up and remove them for her viewing pleasure. A slow roll of her tongue across her mouth as she practically salivates at the sight of your thighs. She slowly kneels back to eye level with your own body as her hands push your shoulders back into the mattress. Her legs straddle your waist as she places lazy kisses to your cheek, down to your neck and to coat your collarbones.

“This next.” She pulls back the left strap of your bra and lets it snap against your skin as you once again comply immediately.

Her eyes turn dark at your obedience to her every command as she lowers her body to places kisses across your chest. Her movements to anyone else would be considered antagonizing and slow, but you know better that she prefers to take her time to love every single body part equally rather than rush the experience of making love to each other.

Her tongue draws circles around your nipple, suckling and biting lightly to allow you to release sharp moans that she’s fallen in love with listening to. In fact, if someone were to ask her, she has no idea if hearing you say “I do” or letting yourself go to pleasure like this is more pleasing to her ears which are currently burning red.

A warm hand gropes your tongue-less breast and applies pressure as she moves her body lower down your stomach. As she reaches your pelvis, her teeth pull on the underwear blocking her path until she raises her head and removes her hand from your chest. Despite the warmth outside, losing her touch makes your body shiver.

“Now this.” Before she’s even finished speaking you’re entirely bare for her eyes only and they refuse to look at anything but your own, only drifting to your naked form once she’s ready to continue.

Confidence is not an easy thing to gain, and yet, Mina’s eyes wandering across your sun-kissed skin brings about a sense of freedom to just be in this moment, deeply in love with someone so passionate about giving you every bit of pleasure you desire.

“Beautiful” She whispers before tugging your chin upward to press a rough kiss to your lips. Her fingers slowly running down the expanse of your neck, chest and resting firmly on your hipbone. “How would you like me, Mrs. Myoui?”

Her flirtatious tone as well as finally being addressed by your new family name is enough to drive you insane, and yet you manage somehow to stop yourself from releasing a gleeful yelp.

You can feel her body tense with anticipation as she awaits instruction on how you’d like to finally consummate your marriage. Her lips curl into a smirk as she slowly begins to suck at the pulse point on your neck.

A shudder of pleasure and low whine makes Mina relax, satisfied that she’s warming you up to whichever main prize you’re craving from her.

“I just want you inside of me, now.”

Without hesitating for a second longer, her hands begin to lightly claw down your body once more. Her lips following as she places light kisses to your naval, inner thighs and already dripping core. She inserts two of her fingers first into her own mouth and then allows them to steadily find their way inside of you.

Her fingers rest there for a second as her face twists with uncertainty.

“Talk to me, tell me what you want, tell me how badly you need this.” She demands once more. You try your hardest to gain any form of friction, however, her free hand forces your hips down into the mattress as she once again repeats her request. “Tell me, or I’ll make you wait and beg for it all week, you know better than to act up like this.”

She’s right, you do. Yet, you can’t help but try to push your luck with her every single time. Now is not the time to rebel, however, as your body is practically begging for her to get to work and bring about your release.

“I want you to fuck me, Mina.  I need you to fuck me, please.”

Her fingers curl against your walls as your breath hitches in your throat at finally being able to feel her working her fingers back and forth inside of you. A thumb quickly joins to draw slow circles against your clit. You desperately cling to the messy bedsheets as her tongue sucks on the inside of your thigh, nibbling every now and then.

Everything about Mina is intoxicating and carnal. Passion emanates from her very being and creates a bubble of ecstasy that only the two of you exist within. Both of your eyes remain trained with each other. Her seductive brown orbs filled with lust awaiting to watch your body squirm with pleasure as she begins to pick up the pace, hungry to give and hear your climax.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” She purrs and moves her red lips to replace her thumb positioned on your clit. Your head rolling back to break the eye-contact finally as she laps at your juices, her tongue pressing harder every time and flicking around in circles wildly.

Your body jerks at the increased pressure and speed as you let out a low groan, wrapping one of your legs over Mina’s shoulder.

“Mina,” your voice husky and stuttering. “Mina, I’m gon- Fuck,”

You crumble and dissolves into pleasure as your orgasm courses throughout your entire body, leg shaking against the side of Mina’s head still firmly attached to your entrance as she laps up all of your juices and allows her fingers to slow to a stop.

As your body begins to tense,  she raises her head from between your legs and removes her two fingers. Her tongue suckling on her digits to make sure she’s tasted every part of you possible.

Before your brain can register anything other than the pulsation from where her fingers were previously positioned, Mina is straddling you once more. Grabbing your hands and placing them onto her hips as she begins to grind herself down onto your thigh positioned between her legs.

“Come on, baby. Help a girl out.” She breathes out.

Almost on instinct, your body jolts forward to press light kisses against her breasts still covered by a black lace bra. Your hands are slow to help rock her hips back and forth, still overwhelmed with pleasure. However, her pace is quick by itself as she throws her arms around your neck and teeth gnaw lightly on your ear.

You can feel her wet slit squelching against your thigh as she gives up on biting and nuzzles her head into your neck. Moaning breathlessly against your hair as she edges closer to coming undone from simply pressing herself against you.

Mina has always had a thing for your legs, but this is the first time she’s attempted something like this. Her hands would always linger towards them and she’s developed a bit of a kink for placing small bites to the skin on the inside of them. Even going as far as seeing how low she can place the marks without anyone realizing what they are from.

Quite frankly, you can’t think of a better time or way to introduce new things to your relationship than your honeymoon and you’re more than happy to indulge her, forcing her hips down further and shaking your leg against her core.

“Yes, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.” she whimpers and repeats several times over before her body flops beside your own to the mattress.

Your eyes once again find her own as they flutter open and shut several times. A small smile graces her lips as she crawls to clean up your slick coated thigh with her tongue and using one of her fingers to gesture some of her juices towards your own mouth, which you accept not-so gracefully.

“Thank you. I’ve wanted to do that for so long now.” She lays flat on her back and tugs at your arm to join her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but we really must discuss this thing with my thighs.” You chuckle at your own words as she covers her face with embarrassment.

“Sure, but later. We aren’t finished here.”

Your bodies continue to entwine themselves in a web of sensuality as the sun begins to set. Hawaii is a special place for Mina before today, but now, it means so much more to have you here in her arms as you both begin your married life fulfilling desires and having your confessions of undying love and pleasure washed away with the ocean.

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Ghosts from the rainforest

Captain James Conrad x Reader

Summary: A simple rescue mission will bring him back to a place full of nightmares, and maybe this time he could find redemption. Situated in 1975, 2 years after the events of Skull Island.

Warnings: Violence, blood, wounds, mentions of war, cursing, implied smut, smoking, angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

I finally manage to write the end to this tiny fic, I hope you like it, and I'm going to start on my ideas for a Jonathan Pine adventure, but I haven't decide yet.

Chapter 7: Fever [Final]

The helicopter was already on motion, and the rescue crew that Brooks had sent for you were charging everything for the trip. The guys were excited to finally going back home, the Celebes Sea was ahead of you in the military base you were staying, and waiting in the Pacific the majestic USS Constellation  (CV-64) waiting to take all of you home.

Home? A country that had make more damage and taken everything from you, your family, and had force you to live away to mend some of the atrocities they had committed in the name of freedom.

"Not looking so charming today are we?" You said to him once he walked in your room to pick up your bags, you have finally stop the hostilities after he had offered you his shoulder to cry while you mourned Shukri on his funeral and after all the physical torture he had endured so you could safely leave Borneo.

He had been clear about letting you stay if that was what you wanted, and even when the rest of the crew asume you were coming back to USA, he knew you would have to say goodbye sooner or later, so instead of telling him all the things your heart was keeping from him you kept teasing him and pretending the chopper was not waiting for him.

"I have a minor headache love, but it's okay, are you ready to say goodbye?" He said and you noted how his temple had a few wrinkles, he was trying to smile over the pain in his head "It's a shame you don't come with us, I have a lot of things I wanted to show you" he grabbed your hand and all your alarms started to scream.

"Conrad are you okay?" Those words were all you have hoped for, however the radiant heat from his skin told you he was not exactly fine. "Dear God you are burning up" You said touching his head and looking desperately for a thermometer in your belongings.

"I like you too doctor, but why don't we wait until we get to the ship, we can share a bunk bed" He was definitely not himself.

"103° damn it Conrad!" You said, and for some oddly reason remember the night he told you about Randa and how much he complained about mosquitoes while he was dressing "Look at me, I'm not kidding, did you take Chloroquine before we leave Malaysia? I told you guys you had to..."

He nodded negative, and before he could speak he simply throw up in the nearest trash bin, making you suspect of the worst, specially since all the medicine was now gone and the only viable solution now was the aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific waiting for you.

"Also you have perfect legs you know that? I could spend my life sleeping on them." He kept saying things like that while you helped him to the heliport "Come here princess your prince charming needs your love" he said trying to kiss you.

"Later dear, preferably when you're not dying or smelling like vomit" you tried to stop him.

"Well you didn't mind me covered in dirt and sweat" He tried again but he stopped to scream "Reg! I love you man, you are like a son to me" and also tried to kiss the boy on the forehead.

"What happened to the Captain?" Slivko asked concerned once you help him to board the chopper while carrying his luggage and your medical bag.

"I have no idea, but I'm afraid it might be Malaria" you said bluntly and all of them looked concerned at you, while he vomited again "Do you have medical equipment here?" You asked the pilot and he only raised his thumb while you make sure he was steady on the helicopter floor, and almost didn't feel the machine take off while you tried to put an IV on his arm.

After one hour that felt like ten you could no longer see the island, only the immensity of the Pacific, and growing in the horizon the USS Constellation, even when you despised war and everything it represented the enormous carrier was enough to let you speechless, specially when a team of nurses and a doctor was already with a stretcher waiting for him.

"It's going to be ok James" you told him holding his hand while the experts rushed him inside.

"You really like men to die quite literally for you right?" He tried to joke, fighting the impulse of vomiting again, "Hey it's okay, I have to take care of you remember?" He smiled and you hold his hand trying to not get on the way of the medical staff, but he was too weak and fall asleep.

After they had stabilized his temperature, and take samples of his blood to determine the pathogen they let you in, the beds inside the medical bay of the ship were oddly spacious, and you could be sited next to him without any other person listening.

"Y/N?" He asked opening his beautiful eyes, "Hey it's okay love, I'm feeling better" He said and tried to reach for the glass of water on the table.

"Let me" You said and put it closer to him, "I know, once they identify the plasmodium they will know what is the best treatment for you, they take test and interrogate all of us, don't tell him I told you but Reles almost passed out when he saw the needle " He attempt to laugh but was still weak so he only smiled.

"Well is rewarding seen you on my dead bed, I'm quite honored, tears look oddly beautiful on you" He said and a small smile form in your lips.

"And you are still delirious" You said looking for a piece of cloth, and cold water from the sink to put on his head. "Here, try to rest, I'll come see you later" you told him but before your hand could leave his head he hold you still "What?"

"I might be dying, so you owe me at least listening me like adults" He said forcing you to stay next to him.

"You are not dying" you said trying to sound like it didn't matter and failing miserably "you are not, but fine. Let's talk" you concede.

"I'm sorry" he started contrary to what you had expected. "I had no idea how you looked before we met, and i was under no circumstances trying to seduce you to lure you back to America" you blush and regret your decision to stay by his side.

"I'm sorry too" You responded after a while "You have done so much helping me, even when half of the trouble I caused was preventable if I haven't trusted in the wrong people." You said and he hold your hand softly, he didn't want to hear about that, and you knew it so you took all the courage you have to continue. "And I'm sorry I over reacted, I am so used to people coming to me with second intentions that I just pushed you away to avoid getting hurt, and I just end up making other people hurt you"

"I'm sorry I make you come to the ship, I knew you wanted to stay" he said sincerely.

"It's okay, I have to make sure you stay alive, you know for the boys, maybe working at Monarch with you and Brooks won't be so bad"

"Well you can always run away from us in Hawaii, or maybe... we could run away together" He gave you a pleading look, and for moment you could imagine that life, keep running away, by his side, the soldier that never came home, and the idealist doctor, and keep leaving ghosts in every island, trying to find happiness apart from the world, but together. He kissed you, but this time it wasn't a lusty hunger kiss, nor passionate and angry like before, it was reassuring and you knew no matter what your answer was, he was on your side, for the first time you had someone on your side "So what do you say?"

But you couldn't answer because out of nowhere your stomach make you nauseous and you rush to the toilet to empty its content.

"Are you okay dear?" He screamed from the bed "I'm trying bloody hard to not take this as criticism"

"I'm okay, but I'm going to check your tests and start taking the pills before I end up confessing my sins on the fever like you" you said and walked out of the bathroom to saw him "We can talk later" you assure him.

You marched inside the medical office and started to look in the cabinets, when the young doctor that had received Conrad walked in.

"I'm sorry, I start feeling the symptoms and I thought it would be better if I start on the chloroquine before it gets worse" you excuse yourself.

"That would be great, if any of you had Malaria" he said offering you a seat that you take since he speak with a Texan accent and an authoritarian voice that made up from his young face "But we test all of you and what our SAS friend has is more likely a stomach flu from some bad shrimp, I was just on my way to tell him." He said and you sigh in relief, but also concerned about your own symptoms

"Oh that's great, but I start barfing too, and I didn't had the shrimp last night" you said and he took out a small file with your name that the nurses had put together earlier.

"Well it may be motion sickness, we are in a boat after all, or maybe... you told the nurse you didn't remember when was your last period?" He said looking the file.

"Well we have been in the jungle almost a month so I wasn't exactly counting" you tried to joke.

"The change of environment can trigger the vomit, or if you had sex in the past three weeks you might be pregnant" He smiled and all the weight of the world fall into your shoulders instantly. "In any case you should rest and let alone my medical cabinets, go with nurse Matthews she will give you some vitamins" he said but you were not longer listening.

No, it couldn't be that, right? You tried to convince your mind, but deep down you knew it was true, what would he think? He was a soldier, a man of the field, not a father, and you were obviously not a mother, what will happen now? Now that he wanted to run away in the world next to you, a baby had a place on that plan?.

Two days later Conrad was out of the medical bay and trying to approach you, offering you a fresh start from the afternoon you pause all those weeks ago in Malaysia.

But the stolen kisses on the hallways, and his nightly incursions on your cabin only made it harder for you to find a way to come clean about your news, even when the idea had already sink in your mind, because it was a baby, and it was his baby, how could you not be happy and grateful? Yet you haven't say anything to him.

Four days later he had spend the whole day walking on the deck with you, like if the planes and choppers were an appropriate sighting for a date.

"We'll be in Hawaii soon" He started "If you want to go out for a walk in the morning and get lost in the jungle we have to star planning now" he said and you were looking at the ocean trying to make up your mind.

"Maybe... I was wondering about the work you do at Monarch, maybe I will give it a chance" you start not sure how the whole we are having a baby situation will fit in your speech "I mean if you want to travel the world it might help to have a paying job for a while" you were nervously touching your hands.

"Of course, also when the baby comes I would like to have a proper house for him to be... or she, I don't care you know? as long as they're healthy" he said and you nodded yes.

"Yeah of course... what??" You look at him and he had the most radiant smile on his face, and he was clearly holding his laugh and apparently tears, of joy? "How do you know?

"Well nurse Matthews saw us kissing and then she complained about how Children this days keep having children out of wedlock" he said and you hide your face on your hands.

"I was really going to tell you... for real is just..." but you didn't have the words in you, and the tears were running on your face

"I know, it's fine, I mean is a little soon but if I'm honest I'm tired of running, and after all we've been trough I couldn't imagine a single person to share this experience with" He said cleaning the tears from your face.

"You sure?" You asked again, needing to hear it from his mouth.

"I'm sure, I fall in love with you when I saw you scaring local vendors in Malaysia and then fighting guerilla liders in Borneo, I even loved you when you vomit after kissing me for real, I'm completely taken by you Y/N"

"I fall in love with you too James" you said, and his expression got serious for a moment. "What?"

"Nothing, is just that I'm going to miss Prince Charming" he said giving you again the disarming smile that had started all this adventure.

The end

@damalseer

@kinghiddlestonanddixon (I hope you like the end)

[aion-rsa]

What’s Happening With Marvel’s X-Men?

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This article contains spoilers for recent Marvel X-Men stories.

A long time ago, back at the beginning of the interminable, endless month of March that the pandemic has trapped us in, Marvel’s X-Men books were barrelling towards their first big post-Dawn of X crossover, X of Swords. And then the world stopped, and plans changed for the X-Men while everything was paused.

Now that we’re back, plans have changed, and books are coming fast and furious. So what’s going on with Marvel’s Merry Mutants? Which book did Storm get sick in? What book should you read for a good Laksa recipe? New Mutants, but we can answer all your other questions on what’s going on with the X-Men below. 

While we won’t rehash the entire thing, House of X/Powers of X reset the entire X-Men line. Mutants can’t die anymore (or rather, if they do, they’re resurrected from clone bodies and emergency backup minds by The Five and Professor X). The X-Men, and all mutants alive, are now living on Krakoa, a living, mutant island in the Pacific that, at some point in the distant past, broke in half, sending one part of it to a dangerous, monster-infested realm with Apocalypse’s first Horsemen standing guard making sure it didn’t return. 

Humans are back to hating and fearing mutants on a wide scale, but this time it’s mostly because the mutants are vehemently anti-capitalism, flooding markets with cheap, life-extending and health-improving drugs and vowing to take down the human world with economic weapons of their own making. This has the humans initiating some pretty intense Sentinel programs, particularly around the sun, where Nimrod – the adaptive Sentinel whose existence dooms mutantkind in one Powers of X future – was very nearly created. 

And amidst all of that, Moira MacTaggert, the secret mutant mastermind with the power of Groundhog Lifeing (when she dies, her consciousness is immediately transported back to her prenatal self to be born again with all her old memories. She’s on life ten now, btw), is frantically trying to manipulate events so that mutants continue to exist in the long run as the next phase in human evolution, averting a future where man-machine hybrids (like Omega Sentinels and the Children of the Vault) develop while humans and mutants are busy fighting among themselves. She’s also not allowing Charles and Magneto to revive any mutants with precognitive powers, expecting them to see her plan and ruin Krakoan civilization.

X-Men

X-Men, by mastermind Jonathan Hickman with art mostly from Leinil Yu, is where big ideas are being seeded for later use.

This is where the story of Krakoa and its estranged, otherdimensional partner Arakko was further developed (following its introduction in Powers of X and setting up X of Swords, the first mutant crossover of the Dawn of X era). X-Men introduced Hordeculture (think the Golden Girls if they were also ecoterrorist botanists); reintroduced the Children of the Vault; showed how depowered mutants get in line to get their powers back; and saw Magneto and Apocalypse threaten humankind with the most terrible weapon of all: finance capitalism.

New Mutants

It also, just prior to the break, X-Men had a spiritual crossover with New Mutants, initially a split book by Hickman and Rod Reis on the space issues, and Ed Brisson, Flaviano, and Marco Failla on the Earth issues. Brisson, Flaviano and Failla’s story follows a group of Earthbound mutant kids (including Glob Herman and Boom Boom) as they track down stragglers to Krakoa, like Beak and Angel.

Hickman and Reis took the original New Mutants plus Chamber and Mondo into space to go pick up Cannonball (who was living on Chandi’lar with his wife, Smasher). On the way there, they stole a King Egg from the Starjammers and brought it back to Earth, where it turns out, we discover in X-Men, the King Egg is a bioweapon created by the Kree to control the Brood for an eventual war with the Shi’ar. Broo, the supersmart mutant Broodling from Wolverine and the X-Men, eats the egg and becomes the Brood King.

Excalibur

Excalibur is the shining star of the line so far. Tini Howard and Marcus To are growing the mythos of mutant magic with a very odd team that includes Betsy Braddock (now back in her original body and the new Captain Britain); Rogue and Gambit; Jubilee and her mysteriously dragonified son Shogo; new earth mage Rictor; and Apocalypse, who is clearly up to some stuff. Apocalypse picks a fight with Otherworld and places a newly resurrected but still batshit Jamie Braddock on the throne of the magical realm.

Excalibur was one of the first books to return from hiatus, and it came back with maybe the best single issue of the entire relaunch in issue #10. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Marauders

Marauders launched as the story about the Hellfire Trading Company, the corporate arm of Krakoa that distributes the miracle drugs around the world while also smuggling mutants in trouble home to Krakoa. But Gerry Duggan and Matteo Lolli’s book quickly turned into the mystery of Kitty Pryde – why she’s not able to use the Krakoan gates that allow instantaneous travel around the galaxy, and whether she can be resurrected by The Five. That story has just about come to a head, but it is worth noting that it still contains a great deal of Hellfire Trading Company intrigue between Emma Frost and Sebastian Shaw, and a lot of drunken pirate antics. The resurrected original Pyro does get a tattoo of the Marauders skull on his face at one point. It’s fun.

X-Force

X-Force, by Ben Percy and Joshua Cassara, immediately killed Professor X. He was resurrected, of course, but it served as both a notice that everyone is fair game, and alongside Marauders, keeps some slight mystery to character death alive post-The Five’s perpetual resurrection machine. It’s also the story of the Krakoan CIA, so it sets up the global threats facing the mutant nation, and then sends Wolverine to get cut in half fighting them. Also, Forge creates a bio-mech loader suit and smashes the two halves of Logan back together at one point. If that’s something you find yourself chuckling at, this book is going to exceed expectations.

Fallen Angels

Fallen Angels focused mostly on resetting the current Psylocke’s status quo. Kwannon was brought back to life and placed in her old body shortly before the reboot (very quickly: Spiral switched Psylocke and Kwannon’s bodies, then before they could be reverted, Kwannon got the Legacy Virus and died, then when Betsy used a villain’s powers to recreate her old body and reinhabit it, Kwannon…uh…got better…). Here, she teamed with X-23 and Cable, with ops backup from Mister Sinister, to track down Apoth, a technological being selling cybernetic drugs to humans.

It’s mostly setup for Psylocke, X-23 (now Wolverine again, I think), and Sinister while adding another technological foe to the mix. It leads almost directly into Zeb Wells and Steven Segovia’s Hellions, a book about Sinister’s team of mutants who are all gleefully, unrepentantly screwed up and are currently on a mission cleaning up some old clones Sinister left lying around.

Cable, Wolverine, and More…

Cable, Wolverine and the Giant Size issues, are still mostly seeding future storylines. Cable, from Duggan and Phil Noto, has only had a couple of issues so far, but it’s brought the Galadorians (the Spaceknights minus ROM, who belongs to IDW now, I think) into mutant orbit and given Nathan a sword for the crossover.

Wolverine, by Percy, Adam Kubert and Victor Bogdanove, has Logan tracking down illicit Krakoan flower dealers, and also Omega Red works for Dracula now. And the Giant Size issues are mysteries piled on mysteries piled on incredible art. Hickman has scripted all three, and so far, Storm caught a technovirus from the Children of the Vault in the Jean Grey/Emma Frost issue (drawn by Russell Dauterman); we find out what’s up with Cypher’s techno-organic arm in the Nightcrawler issue (from Alan Davis); Magneto buys Emma an island from Namor with art from Ramon Perez; and we get actual backstory and incredible Rod Reis art in the Fantomex issue. 

Empyre

The recently wrapped Empyre: X-Men’s opening scene is simultaneously one of the most important to the metanarrative of mutant struggle that’s been developing since the Professor’s “No More” scene in House of X #4 AND the best setup/punchline in any Dawn of X comic. It also starts to deliver on some of the rumored-but-never-announced X-Men ideas that were floated early after the reboot – Angel and M are two of the leads, playing out a little of the boardroom drama we hoped for after an X-Corporation book was rumored.

X-Factor

X-Factor, from Leah Williams and David Baldeon, more or less just launched. It’s about the team investigating and verifying mutant deaths, to put those lives into the queue for resurrection. This feels like the book set up to deliver on the weirdest promises of the relaunch, and the creative team are inventive, fun storytellers, so keep an eye on this. Williams has a very sharp ear for patter and knows her characters well – while it’s not an X-book, Amazing Mary Jane is a stunning accomplishment of delightful character work. Early X-Factor is more of the same, with more mutant high concept.

And all this is leading to X of Swords, the new X-writers room’s attempt to outdo X-Cutioner’s Song: a 22-part Tini Howard-led crossover where everyone swordfights over half of Krakoa. And still dangling in the ether, unannounced but long discussed, are Vita Ayala and Bernard Chang’s Children of the Atom, following a group of mutant teenagers who idolize the X-Men, and a Moira X book that’s expected to fill in some of the gaps in Moira’s many, many timelines. 

The post What’s Happening With Marvel’s X-Men? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[perogipoj]

all this before coffee

Dedicated to my black sheep family, who will always be golden.

 Barbed wire, blank walls and an empty sky. Cocoa Beach.  Brevard County, FL. Jail.  Also known as SHARPS.  Tammy walked into the classroom with an air of bravado coupled with the eyes of a child. I never met a teacher before she said shyly, glancing at her handcuffs on the uncomfortable chair.  Even … I hesitated, even in school, I asked gently. I adjusted my own hips to adjust for the cold hard beneath me.  I mean, a teacher for real.  Her eyes looked down, and I implored with my eyes this time to the corrections officer to remove the handcuffs.  Her shoulder length hair was marred by black roots and mustard colored ends.  There were scars on her arm from cutting.  Her teeth were perfect when she decided to smile. Opening the GRE materials, I joked that I am useless at math but fairly good at grammar.  Tammy looked beautiful.

 Some of us take many things too far.  That has seemed to be my pattern.  Even healthy habits turned into obsessions.  Jogging turned into running which became marathons and a cruel treatment of my body.  Some can run into their seventies without injury as some people live to a hundred while smoking and drinking whiskey to the end.  Mindful eating became anorexia and bulimia.  Going organic made me broke with the kombucha and hemp that flowed through my veins.  Being tidy led me to compulsive house cleaning, often with bleach scouring my hands and my eyes colored in pink tears.  Personal grooming turned to hours and dollars of hair coloring, clothes I could not afford, Botox, and breast augmentation. Wanting affirmation led to dangerous and toxic sexual situations.  

 Jaylen, I was warned, was “special.”  I would normally groan inward, used to so many parents highlighting their children as such, usually to explain poor grades.   The volunteer walked all twelve years of Jaylen, his mannerisms large and chaotic, into the room in which all toys and colors were removed.  I hate reading, he said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him like a knight.  Why? It’s stupid.  Can you read, I asked, opening the second-grade reader I was given. I don’t need to read, I can dance.

 I met The Peruvian on a last minute, pathetic online date.  I was at a job expo to acquire my first teaching job after finishing my master’s degree at a world-famous university.  I almost flunked out.  I could not focus.  I cried over social histories in German, a language I lacked grammatical skill in, dreading the meetings with just my professor and another grad student. Black tea, discussions of Marx I got lost in, his approval nodding at the stout Russian girl I already had difficulty understanding in English, never mind in German.  In college, I was stellar.  On time to each class, writing papers late into the night with a gusto of my fingers and a smile on my face.  The world looked bright. On a sweltering day with an incompressible and unimportant commencement speaker, we burnt in the sun and passed around a flask of vodka under our graduation gowns.  Life is beginning.  I held the parchment color graduation schedule. My name had a star next to it.

 I saw that Tammy was no longer shackled when she entered the gray room.  Since the week I met with her, she had elevated herself to the trusted inmates who could clean, deliver meals, and hand out the dog-eared pages of books on a squeaky cart.  So, you scored extremely high on many levels, Tammy.  Let’s take a look at the reading comprehension packet I assigned on The Scarlet Letter.  She smiled more brightly.  I pressed her for intrigue. Ma’am, she said glowing, my commissary is so lit now I don’t have to eat the garbage they give us.  They try to pass off expired food when I deliver it.  I wanted to call them out on those pistachios.  I don’t have time to answer these packets you give me. But I read the book.  What did you read, according to you?  We clasped hands.  Of course, the minster got off and Hester had to wear the giant A over her pilgrim costume.  I dipped my head. Of course.  She could read Hawthorne.  

 I will be the gladdest thing

           Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

           And not pick one.

 I will look at cliffs and clouds

           With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

           And the grass rise.

 And when the lights begin to show

           Up from the town,

I will mark which much be mine,

           And then start down.

-          Edna St. Vincent Millay  

 Jaylen came running into the room from the play center and basketball court which I assumed was a courtesy to me.  He needed to get the wiggles out.

 Nassau Point in the summer at Aunt Tillie’s, driving the Long Island Expressway until it ended to countless grey and white mottled roads.  Passing vineyards that used to be potato fields, cramming my mouth with the last bit of contraband Doritos which were called a Special Treat to nullify us on the vast expanse from New Jersey to the tiny white house.  Decorated in “Early American” with a front glass porch smelling oddly pleasant of moth balls and sunlight.  The huge lawn rolling into the bay with a dock that appeared and disappeared with the tide.  Kids took showers in the dank basement, carved out of a space teeming of a hoarder. A crusted bottle of prell shampoo and a withered sliver of ivory soap.  I met Man-Boy With Very Hairy Legs for the first and last time.  Stroking my legs up and down, he asked if I had a boyfriend.  I was ten, and smug that I could run through poison ivy and never get a rash.  Do you want to fool around, like do stuff?  He whispered into my ear everything I did not know yet.  That’s what married people do!  With his laughter, I leapt my long legs and ran, up the hill, to the driveway where my father was shucking corn.  I got away. This time.

 I was so excited to see Tammy.  But she was not in attendance.  I left the CO the beat-up copy of Antigone for her. I never saw Tammy again.  “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when his course is wrong and repairs the evil.  The only evil is pride.” This quote was for my betterment, not for Tammy’s.

 A time of reckoning, and a time of complete growth.  A time of a schedule not placed by us.  A journey into us through the connection of others, who became best friends.  Vitamin fusions, lining up for medication in ribbed short paper cups, and Group.  Totally released from responsibility, my linens and clothes were washed, returned the same afternoon in compact squares surrounded by plastic wrap.  Jokes of communal constipation. So, this is my brain mapped.  Here is what displays depression, here anxiety, this is insomnia, that part shows a lack of memory and concentration.  What is that big blue of the Pacific Ocean?  She looked at me, clicked her keyboard.  PTSD.  

 I want to draw a Parrot! P-A-R-R-O-T and speak like one! Wordless, I handed him the blue and black expo markers for the old white board.  With precision, he drew the bird.  I need more colors, he explained in one breath can I talk like a parrot.  I smiled at him at led him to his desk. Let’s try to pay attention today, and I will get you more colors and you can show me how a parrot talks. I began my lesson, and his eyes drifted into imagination.  I needed to get him more colors.  

 I told The Peruvian I was pregnant.  Now I can never afford to divorce you he muttered, enraged.  Married two months earlier, I realized our honeymoon baby was not welcome.   The protesters were angry, and I felt sick. Him on his laptop, me crying to a social worker.  Do not sedate me, I plead, I need to feel this sin.  Sliding my shoes off in the car, my trunk grinding with mountain rolls of cramps and uncontrollable sobbing coming from a divine place, I declined lunch in West Palm.  I never want to do anything fun.  Changing my pad alone in a car beneath the ceiling of the parking garage in City Place, I then tilted my head and fell asleep again.  My birthday came and went.  You didn’t remember my birthday.  With that evil glint in his eyes, he turned his head and told me that was because he did not love me.

 I purchased a ream of paper and a new box of 42 colors Crayola, legit, sharpener in the box, for Jaylen.  He immediately sat down and drew and drew.  Can we put some words to these if we use the colors you want?  He looked up at me shyly and wrote down five words from the fifth-grade reader.  How did you know that?  Easy, my Grammy teaches me.

 I did not smoke to fit in. I smoked because it felt good out in the parking lot, vying for shade, with the Tech supplying communal cigarettes and a light.  The wave went through me and my lips burned with the dirt and smoky taste.  You look like Strawberry Shortcake trying to smoke a cigarette!  My mother was a sophisticated Virginia Slims smoker, sitting on the brick steps in her tennis skirt, so beautiful, watching my brother play in the backyard waiting for my father to return from work.  I sat next to her in awe, breathing in the sprinkler water and counting its pattern, hum hum-hum-hum, hum hum-hum-hum.  

 I took a cigarette break on my Uber ride home.  I knew I would not smoke much when I got home.   However, I did not consume much except cigarettes and black coffee.  I felt Parisian.  The house got messy, and my thighs grew softer. Investing only in ponds cold cream and drugstore mascara, I laughed deeper and threw myself into work more than ever, with determined concentration, forgetting my posture, hunched over in zeal working sixty hours a week.   Anxiety attacks did not make my head and hands shake while driving. I binged watched Law and Order.  Being unhealthy never felt so healthy.  

 I called the jail to let them know I am available for other inmates if they needed me.  I went the next day to help a young man learn English as a second language. All went well until he stood up screaming asking for a guard then switching to Spanish.  

 Here is your key, you can find your mailbox in the teacher lounge.  Here is the form to join the union, Mr. Pescatelli will most certainly find you about that.  Do you know what a block schedule is?  In the morning you will be teaching Advanced Placement European History to our magnet students.  After lunch, you have sophomore World History in the fourth wing. The afternoon will have different challenges.  If you ever need assistance, security is just down the hall.  Welcome to Ft. Lauderdale High School.  Welcome to my first year of teaching.  

 …

 I met the Sophisticated Scandinavian Man in Boston in the Spring.  A PhD candidate from a social democracy intrigued me.  I was twenty-two and he was twenty-eight.  I felt like a puppy taken in from the cold.  There is a long story for this, maybe later.  The times in which he devoured me, lavished upon me, he loved a short story I wrote, “All this before coffee.”

 Sonya met me in the prison classroom.  In anticipation of a new student, I posted Jaylen’s parrots, travel posters, pictures of presidents listing their failures before they took office.  Hello, she said, reaching her cuffed wrists out to me.  I am Jaylen’s mother.

 All this before coffee.  All this after a DUI.