#tips long haul flight

[skyjetairtravel-blog]

20 Essential Tips for a Comfortable Long-Haul Flight Journey

Flying long haul can be challenging, but with the right preparation, you can make your trip more enjoyable. Check out these 20 essential tips to stay comfortable on your next long-haul flight. Learn how to choose the best seat, stay hydrated, and pack smart for a smooth journey. Discover the benefits of compression socks, neck pillows, and staying active during the flight. Whether you're a frequent traveler or flying internationally for the first time, these tips will help you arrive at your destination feeling refreshed and ready to go!

[verstappenverse]

Pairing: Camgirl!Reader x Obsessed!Max

Authors Note: NSFW still working on the details for the upcoming fic but having fun with the concept. Let me know what you think or send any additional ideas 😉

Max can’t remember how he found your page—maybe it was a suggested post on Instagram, or maybe some random link caught his attention. It doesn’t matter how it started, what matters is that now he’s addicted.

At first it's just curiosity, he wasn’t the type to watch cam streams or really spend any time on adult content, but something about you was different. You weren’t like the over-the-top, hyper-curated content he’d expect from this kind of thing. You were sweet, soft-spoken, almost shy in the way you interacted with the camera. And Max sitting alone in his Monaco penthouse couldn’t look away.

He tells himself it’s just a passing distraction, a way to unwind, but then he starts getting… attached. His obsession grows quietly at first. He subscribes to your page, buys your exclusive content, and sets notifications for your streams. It doesn’t matter if he’s at a racetrack, a sponsor event, or a hotel halfway across the world - when you post about your next stream, he checks the time difference and tries to plan his schedule around it.

The first time someone else drops a high tip and you thank them by name, Max feels it. That sharp, irrational sting of jealousy. He knows it’s stupid, he’s one of thousands of viewers, but the way you smile for them? It makes him want to punch a wall. So he does the only thing that makes sense - he outbids them.

When you say his username in that soft, teasing tone and add “Thank you so much, you’re incredible!”—it’s like a shot of adrenaline straight to his chest.

It starts small a few high donations here and there, but soon enough he finds himself spending more of his income on you than he’d ever care to admit. From there it spirals, he’s tipping more, requesting more, even messaging you privately. You respond graciously of course, you always do, but Max convinces himself that your replies to him are different. More personal.

Custom videos, private streams - whatever gets him a little closer to feeling like he’s the only one you’re looking at. He tells himself it’s harmless. He can afford it after all.

It doesn’t take long before his obsession starts creeping into the rest of his life. Between races, he’s refreshing your page to see if you’ve posted. During long-haul flights, he’s watching your videos on repeat. Even at the paddock while his team is running simulations or tweaking the car setup he catches himself checking for notifications.

There are nights he barely sleeps staying up to catch you live, even if he has an early training session the next day. Between races he’ll watch your older streams on repeat, memorising the way you speak, the way you smile. Max knows he’s in too deep, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

His spending ramps up. When someone else tries to steal the spotlight in your chat, he doesn’t just outbid them—he obliterates them. He’s dropping tips that make everyone else look like amateurs, just to keep your attention squarely on him. And it works. His messages get bolder and more desperate too.

I can’t stop thinking about how good you’d look in my bed.

It’s torture watching you touch yourself, knowing I could make you feel so much better.

Tell me I’m your favourite, just once.

You should be sitting on my lap right now instead of talking to them.

Do you know how hard it is to sit here and watch you, knowing I can’t touch you?

The things I’d do to you if you were mine… you wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. Your lips part in surprise at that one, and you quickly cover your flustered reaction with a laugh. “Well, that’s… quite the statement,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. I never make promises I can’t keep.

But it’s not enough.

The idea of being just another fan starts to gnaw at him. Max Verstappen isn’t “just another” anything. But Max is nothing if not competitive, and the idea of being just another fan doesn’t sit well with him for long. He’s used to winning, to being first, to having the best. He wants to be the one you think about when the stream ends.

He wants to know you in ways the others never could. Where you live, what you liked to do when the camera was off, whether anyone in your life treated you as well as you deserved.

What would it take for me to get your attention?

And when you reply, laughing softly, “You’ve already got it,” it’s game over for him.

Max is playing a dangerous game. Balancing his life as one of the most recognisable athletes in the world with his growing obsession for someone who doesn’t even know who he really is. But that’s the thing about Max - when he wants something he gets it. And right now, there’s nothing in the world he wants more than you.

[alchemistc]

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

[yearning-for-autumn]

Stay Stay Stay - Azriel x Reader

Summary - You and Azriel try something new in the playroom...it doesn't quite go to plan. (Aka. Azriel is the master of aftercare and would quite literally bend over backwards for you, or in this case, squeeze himself into a box). Fluff and Angst.

Warnings - BDSM, ddlg, safewording, allusions to smut, petplay maybe?? not really?

Word count - 1740

Pairings - Azriel x Reader

A/N - This is based on my ideas for a 24/7 dom/sub Azriel situation, this fic is barely proofread and written a while ago so it's not perfect.

“You’re going to stay in there, babygirl.” Azriel said, pulling on his boots at his desk. 

You were on your knees in a large, Fae sized crate – like that for a dog – decorated with plush blankets and pillows and a few of your favourite stuffed animals. You blinked up at him owlishly as he sauntered over to the bars, the heavy sound of his boots on the wooden floor of the playroom. 

“Daddy will be back in a few hours, there’s a shadow with you so I know you’re safe, and they can unlock it in an emergency, ok?” His scarred fingers stroked your cheek through the crates thin grid of bars, and you leaned into his touch, savouring it. Training was usually followed by breakfast at Cassian’s, then a long-winded flight home to stretch his wings. You were in this for the long haul. You whimpered.

“I’m nervous.” You said quietly, and Azriel’s face softened, he unlocked the crate and let you crawl to him, kneeling down in front of you. You breathed in his familiar and comforting scent as he wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in it.

“Do you want to tap out, sweetest? Daddy won’t be upset at all if you decide you don’t want to do this.” 

You shake your head. The warmth of his body soothing you, the low rumble of his chest as he hummed gently, spending as much time holding you as you needed before he left for training, left you in the crate, alone. 

“I want to try, daddy.” You said, and you did. The idea of Azriel keeping you in here as he went about his day sent a shiver down your spine. You were his plaything. His little girl. Not trusted to walk about and get on with anything without his supervision. It was still early, you would be going back to sleep as soon as he left, you could do this. 

“If you need to tap out for any reason, just say your safe-word. My shadows will hear it. I’ll be with you immediately.” He assured, kissing the top of your head. “Try to sleep, sweetest. Daddy will be home before you know it, then we can do something fun.” His tone was sickly sweet, condescending in just the way you liked. You nodded, and tipped your head up for a kiss, which he pressed softly to your lips, before you crawled back inside the crate and curled up against the pillows. It was cosy and warm, Azriel’s shadow wrapped around your wrist, a reminder of him. Your hand drifted up to play with the heart shaped tag on your collar, a band of pink leather around your neck. Azriel’s boots grew quieter as he left the room, and you drifted to sleep.

–

You woke up slowly about an hour later, warm and comfortable. The playroom was gently lit with faelights that grew brighter as you sat up and rubbed your eyes. You looked over to your left, expecting to see Azriel, sat working at his desk like he usually was. Then you remembered. The realisation settled in your chest like a block of ice. Azriel was at training. You were all alone. You couldn’t get out. 

Your heart rate picked up as you crawled to the door of the crate and tested the lock. Stuck. You were stuck. Daddy was gone. You couldn’t get out. Daddy was gone. Were you not a good girl? You stayed like you promised. Where was he? 

“Daddy?” You called, tears pricking at your eyes, “Daddy?”

You waited a moment, hopeful, but there was no response. Your face crumpled and you started to sob, flopping down onto a pillow and squeezing it tight. The shadow around your wrist flickered nervously, but you brushed it away, it wasn’t daddy, it wasn’t who you wanted. Your eyes shuttered closed as you fell into a fitful sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. The tears continued, even as you dreamt, the nightmares of Azriel leaving you, of never returning causing you to cry out in your sleep. 

The shadow stroked your forehead, wiped at your eyes, anxiously fiddled with the crate lock before thinking better of it. When you woke from another bout of restless sleep you observed it quietly, nose streaming and eyes sore from the salty tears. It floated over to you, like it was looking at you, and you remembered. 

“Red.” You said, your voice hoarse. The shadow drifted down a little in relief then unlocked the crate door. You scrambled out, and a second later Az was in the room, his arms hooking under you and picking you up to his chest. 

—

The feeling of control didn’t leave Az when he left the room. He strode onto the training grounds, grin forming as he warmed up, ready to get his hands dirty and destroy Cassian. 

He was mid spar with his brother. Preparing to block an incoming punch to his left, when his shadows vibrated in worry, one of them relaying your safe-word. He didn’t even stop to explain, he let his shadows pull him off the training grounds in seconds, sending Cassian tumbling forwards and face planting the dirt. 

Az was in the playroom instantly, and found you outside of the crate, having just crawled out. He picked you up easily and held you to his body, letting you smell him, feel his warmth. He had fucked up. 

The look in your eyes was one he was familiar with, he had dealt with a fair few sub drops in the past, and he could see from the tear stains down your cheeks that if you weren’t already there, you would be soon. He held you firmly, humming a calm illyrian tune as you slowly relaxed into his embrace.

“Daddy?” You said, so quietly he didn’t hear you, and a shadow repeated your words to him instead. He hummed. 

“Yeah babygirl, it’s me, I'm here.” He said, not letting any of his own panic through in his voice. To you, he was in control, he had everything covered, there was nothing to worry about. In his head, he was as nervous as the shadow he had left with you, that was currently separate from the pack and jerking uncomfortably in the air behind your head.

“Where did you go?” You asked, looking up at him like you had only just noticed he was there. He let out a slow breath.

“I went to training, remember? We talked about it this morning babygirl, that I would be home in a few hours, to let you out and play.” He said, slowly, calmly. 

“But…I woke up and you weren’t there…” You say, your mind fuzzy and confused. He cursed softly under his breath. He carried you over to the huge bed against the far wall of the playroom. Placing you down on the soft, brushed cotton sheets, he turned for a moment to pour some water from the jug on the nightstand and the bond in his chest screamed. He turned so quickly some of the water splashed over the side of the glass. You were sat up, eyes wide, tears falling down your cheeks. He put the glass down and got into the bed, gathering you into his lap and wrapping his wings around you. 

You curled into his body, heart rate evening out as you were engulfed in his huge wings, dappled light filtering through. He looked down and kissed the top of your head. Reaching for the glass, he carefully shifted you up without you losing any contact with his body. 

“Take a sip.” He commanded. You reached up and tried to take the glass from him but he shook his head. He brought the glass to your lips and tipped it gently, letting you drink until he was satisfied before pulling it away. 

“Good girl.” He praised, and felt the bond shimmer happily. The two of you sat quietly for a while, Azriel humming gently and stroking your hair. 

Slowly. Very slowly. The fog cleared from your eyes, and you seemed more lucid. The panic in his chest calmed.

“What happened, Azzie?” You asked, a little shy and embarrassed. He smiled warmly, kissing your forehead. 

“You had a subdrop.” He said, “Can you tell me what happened before you used your safe-word?”

You thought for a moment.

“I was asleep. I woke up and you were gone. I was really upset, but..I couldn’t remember what to do…I went back to sleep..” Azriel’s breath quickened, “I kept waking up I think…then I remembered to safeword and you came.” You said. Azriel’s eyes were wide.

“You were uncomfortable for that long? Why didn’t you get out of the crate, princess?”

“I couldn’t..It was locked..” You said quietly, ashamed. Azriel could have kicked himself. His hands tightened around you.

“My shadow should have unlocked it. I should have been more explicit in what I told it to do. I’m sorry baby. You did everything right. It’s not your fault you were too fuzzy to safeword, next time the shadow will unlock the crate as soon as you become upset.” He said, angry at himself. 

You looked up at him, worried. Biting your lip you said, 

“Um..I don’t think I want there to be a next time…” He nodded slowly. 

“You don’t want to go in the crate again?” He asked. 

“No!” You said quickly, “I like the crate. I just, want you to stay in the room.” 

“Of course princess. I will sit at my desk, or just outside the crate. Cauldron, I’d get inside with you if you wanted.” He said. You giggled at the image of him squeezing himself in and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“I want to get you a snack, would you like me to carry you with me, or can I leave you cosy in bed and come back?” He asked, peppering kisses on your hairline. You dropped your head to his chest, cheeks flushing. 

“I could just walk with you?” You offered.

“No.” He said simply, already lifting you into his arms as he rose from the bed. “Not possible,  sorry. I want to carry you. It’s good for my mental health.” He continued as your embarrassed smile grew. 

“Ok daddy.” You said, letting him cradle you in his arms as he carried you upstairs to the kitchen.

[sorrowedpickle]

In my arms

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Summary: times are hard for Jenna while filming for Wednesday, so you decide to pay her a little visit

A/N: I was eating Reese pieces while making this

A lil short once again

Warnings: none? I think

Your fingers drum on your knees as you stare out the window, eyes watching the trees and buildings pass in the dark night as the Uber drives you from the air port to your girlfriends apartment, well her temporary one.

It had been hard on her, the filming of Wednesday was a difficult process. She would wake up earlier than the rest of the cast to get ready and film, practicing different things to make her role perfectly.

Then, without even having a break from her hours of work, her Cello instructor would be waiting inside her apartment for her to start their session. Leaving her absolutely exhausted with not much sleep, the most she can get is only about six to seven before getting up and repeating the whole process.

She had called you a number of times, crying her eyes out and seeking your comfort late at night. Ranting about all of it while all you could do is sit there and listen, heartbreaking as you listen to the poor girl as she speaks and cries.

So, you did the only thing you knew you could do. Bought the expensive ass plane ticket, went through the whole process of getting through security only for the flight to be delayed for a few hours next to a screaming baby.

But, it was all worth for her, especially since she’s gone through worse in the past few months you two have been apart. It’s the least you could do instead of just lazing around your home worrying about her.

Eventually, you arrive at the apartment building and get out, hauling your duffel bag over your shoulders and paying the uber a decently large tip and stepping inside making a beeline for the elevator and luckily, the lady at the front desk doesn’t question you.

You feel a mixture of emotions running through your body as you wait for the elevator to take you up to Jenna's apartment. On one hand, you're excited to finally see her after being apart for what feels like forever. On the other hand, you're a bit anxious about how she'll react to your surprise visit.

The elevator doors open, and you step out into a quiet hallway. You make your way down the hall, feeling a bit nervous as you approach the door to Jenna's apartment.

You feel your heart race as you knock on Jenna's apartment door. A few moments later, you hear soft footsteps and the sound of locks being undone. The door opens, and Jenna stands there in shock, her eyes wide and her mouth open.

Before she can say anything, you step forward and wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace eager to feel her in your arms again. She immediately melts into you, clinging to you tightly.

You feel her shudder slightly, tense body relaxing under your hold and you take a moment to realize how much you’ve actually missed her. Her smell, the way she felt, her holding you. "You're here," she whispers.

"Of course I am," you respond, running your fingers through her dark hair. You breathe in the scent of her shampoo and feel the weight of her head on your chest. It's like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and all the tension and worry of the past few weeks dissolves into nothing.

For a moment, you stand there, simply enjoying the sensation of her in your arms. You had gone too had been too long without holding the petite girl and she seemed to agree as her grip tightens on you.

You slowly pull away but not too far, reaching one hand up to rest on the side of her face causing her to look up at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

You smile, pressing a gently yet needy kiss to her soft lips that she immediately returns, placing both of her arms around your shoulders to pull you closer.

Then, with a sigh of contentment, you slowly pull away and gently lift her up bridal style and carry her inside the apartment, kicking your duffle back to sit beside the door.

As you make your way through the apartment, you take the time to look around the place. It was small but enough room for one person, her things liter around the place made it seem fit just for her. The take out boxes helped with that too.

You enter her room and gently set her down on her bed, noticing how exhausted she looks after the long hours she’s been working. Her skin is pale, and she has dark circles under her eyes from fatigue. You brush her hair back from her face, noticing how long it's grown since you last saw her, and kiss her tenderly on the forehead. "I'm here now," you say softly. "You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Jenna looks up at you with a soft look on her face. The small smile made your heart melt, and you can feel her arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly. You smile down at her, feeling the way your heart beat started up and warmth that filled your stomach. She seemed to always have that affect on you no matter how long you’ve known her.

"I missed you so much," Jenna says, her voice trembling.

"I missed you too," you reply, brushing a strand of hair from her face. A smell smile rest on your face as you stare at her, deep brown eyes tired but so full of life, freckles scattered across the pale skin she had earned from the lack of sun in Romania. "Let's get you some rest, okay?"

You help her shift into the bed and get comfortable, moving to lay beside her in the her back pressed into your front as you wrap your arms around her and pull her impossibly closer. Her arms wrap around yours, gripping tightly as she’s in a dream and you’ll disappear when she wakes.

You simply just kiss the back of her head, legs intertwining with hers and you take her hand, linking your fingers together and squeezing them gently.

You both lay there in the bed, listening to the gentle sound of each other's breathing, lost in each other's embrace. You feel your limbs growing heavy with weariness, but you don't want to let go. You want to stay here, in this moment, with her forever.

Just as you think you might drift off to sleep, you hear Jenna's voice, soft and husky. "I love you," she says, her breath warming the skin on your arms causing goosebumps to run along your skin.

You smile, your heart swelling with love. "I love you too," you say, your voice just as quiet and tender as hers.

As you drift off to sleep, you're filled with a sense of peace and contentment. This is home, her in your arms.

—

Tagslist: @bluetreecloud20 @skate-to-breathee @wol-fica @raven-ss @restlessdot @dumb-fvck104 @tabberthecat @crazyoffher @rhythm-catsandwine @makncheese12 @alexkolax @jennasfav @melthedwarf @t-wylia @unknownuserzdjdh @pnsteblnme @eevelyn

A/N: something I had saved in my notes for a bit.

Also please let me know what you think, I’m not sure about it😭

[vividwritinglove]

Mile High Club - Carlos Sainz

I was inspired by Carlos' Instagram story 😂 enjoy!

pairing: Carlos Sainz x fem!reader

warning: smut

word count: 1.5K

____________________________________________

"What are you doing?" you ask Carlos as he busily types away on his cell phone. You see that he's composing a text and wonder what he's so meticulously writing down.

"I'm giving my followers on Instagram, some tips on how to prevent a jet lag."

You and Carlos are currently on a flight from Madrid to Dubai, then transferring to another plane to Melbourne. You usually accompany Carlos to race weekends in Europe, as the short distances are clearly more pleasant to travel. You've only flown long-haul twice before, and that never in First Class. The comfort or rather luxury made the long flight a lot more pleasant.

"Which would be?" you inquire with interest, putting your book aside and leaning in further towards him. You two share a cabin. Somehow, it's disconcerting that despite the number of passengers on board, you were able to be so private and secluded. On top of that, your little compartment was very cozy.

"You can read all about it in my story..." he mumbles as he continues typing.

You pull a pout. All you wanted was some attention and affection from your boyfriend. Carlos has always been very reserved and especially in public. He loves you, more than anything in the world, but physical touch is not his love language compared to yours. He loves spending time with you, but hugging, caressing and kissing you in front of everyone is just not his thing. He is loving and caring, but only ever in your private togetherness.

"I want you to explain it to me though..." you continue to pout and start a new attempt to get Carlos' undivided attention. He looks up at you from his phone and sees you leaning in close, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Oi, cariño! Don't look at me like that..."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Please just don't..."

You fall dramatically back in your seat and cross your arms in front of your chest. Again, there's that pout and this time it's justified.

Carlos groans a little annoyed, but then relents. "So..." he begins, explaining his stay-awake method for the first flight. You watch him closely. In everything he does, he is always so passionate. Even if it's just about a simple Instagram post. When Carlos talks, it's always with his hands. His long and talented fingers which he knows exactly how to use. Your gaze wanders to his face and gets stuck on his lips. His full and beautiful lips.

He is such a good kisser. You'd love to fall around his neck right now and nibble on that plump lower lip. Just as he's telling you about the importance of light conditions, you're done. You put your hand on his thigh and it completely throws him off his game. He looks at your hand and then back at you. He knows this look all too well and has to swallow hard, "Mi amor, please...".

Innocently you look at him and have that smug grin on your lips, "Go ahead!".

Nervously, he shifts in his seat, making sure no one can look into your separate compartment. He clears his throat and tries to remember the last point on his list. Which is getting harder and harder as your hand continues to move up until it's on his crotch. Carlos puts his head in the back of his neck and moans a little excited. Within a few seconds he is hard, this can be clearly felt under the fabric of his jeans. You take your other hand to it and open his pants with skillful grips, "I know another method to keep you awake.".

"Ay, Dios mio..." he moans out as you finally reach into his boxers, freeing his hard cock and gently taking it in your hand. With an animalistic look, he looks at you. His pupils so dilated that barely any of his amber iris can be seen. His hands grip the armrests of his seat even tighter and his hips jerk eagerly towards your hand. Now he is addicted to your touch and wants you to intensify your movements.

"Please don't stall me like this..." he literally begs you, whispering so that the passengers around you don't notice anything, or at least as little as possible. You smile triumphantly and slide off your seat to kneel between his legs. The sight of his cock excites you too and without hesitation you take him in your mouth.

Carlos bites his lower lip at this contact to prevent a loud groan. A rumble escapes his throat, this only sports you further on.

Carlos is big, too big to take him completely into your mouth. You struggle until you feel him deep in your throat. Tears shoot into your eyes as Carlos rhythmically thrusts his hips forward. He holds your open hair together in a ponytail with his fist and now sets the rhythm. You give yourself to him and let him fuck your mouth. As loving as he is to you, he could also be dominant and you would be lying if you said you didn't like it at all.

Carlos is getting closer to an orgasm, but he doesn't want to cum in your mouth. "Come here." he prompts you and pulls your mouth from his cock. Now you look at him a bit surprised. Neither he nor you are people who are quiet during sex, but Carlos is so driven by lust that he doesn't care about anything around him now. Hesitating slightly, you climb onto his lap and lean down to kiss him. Luckily you opted for a long wrap dress today with the springy temperatures in Madrid, so Carlos quickly pushes the skirt of the dress aside to get to your underwear.

"Already so wet for me?" he asks bluntly with his strong Spanish accent, which sounds as sexy as never before and grins cheekily. His fingers roam over the top of your thong, feeling how damp the fabric already is.

"You're rude." you admonish him in a whisper and kiss him greedily again to prevent a groan. Carlos immediately takes this chance and pushes your thong aside to enter you with his index and middle finger. His other hand fumbles with the bow of your wrap dress and opens it. In front of him the sight of your slightly transparent lace bra. Then he puts his hand on the back of your head, so you don't have the chance to pull your head away from another kiss. You moan into his mouth during the kiss, fortunately this muffles all sounds from both of you.

Carlos barely gives you time to get used to his fingers and already withdraws them from you. Only to place his cock in front of your entrance. You want to feel him, you want him to fill you. Quickly you settle on him and take him inside you almost effortlessly. A familiar feeling for both of you, which you can never get enough of. You let your eyes roll back and begin to grind your hips. Carlo's hands linger on your hips to keep them as low as possible, so that he is deep inside you. Again he sets the rhythm and you bury, your face in the crook of his neck. The desire for each other and also joining the Mile High Club now, makes your adrenaline level rise higher.

"Carlos, I'm about to cum." you moan barely audible into his ear.

"A little more..." he murmurs back and you feel his hard grips on your hips. You increase your pace and feel the knot in your abdomen tighten. Your legs are already shaking and your breathing is also completely uncontrolled. Carlos watches you struggle with yourself, as you try to delay your orgasm. This only turns him on more. You both exchange intense glances, trying to admonish each other to not make any telltale sounds.

"Okay." he nods at you, out of breath.

"Okay?" you assure yourself and again Carlos nods at you in confirmation.

Carlos has already given you several breathtaking orgasms, but you can never remember one as intense as this one. You ride your high out on him completely and Carlos watches as you do. You look so damn sexy while doing it. This memory will stay with him forever. After your climax, you smile at each other. Carlos puts his hand lovingly in your neck and pulls you down to kiss you again. You are only too happy to return this tender kiss.

"I don't think anyone heard anything." you whisper against his lips after breaking away from the kiss.

"Even if they did..." grins Carlos mischievously and you slide off his lap, back into your seat. You both get dressed again and fix your hairstyles, in the small mirror in front of you.

"Maybe I should add the Mile High Club to my stay-awake-list." Carlos mumbles with another cheeky grin on his lips.

"And the company should better wear a dress..." you add, joining in his laughter.

[lightyaoigami]

what are everyone's favorite long haul (10+ hour) flight comfort tips?

[sadaveniren]

Hi! The sisters are heading to la and they might get papped with B and F and spend there several weeks pretending to be one big happy family. How not to feel anxious about their circus? I know they are not my monkeys but still I feel uneasy when it comes to bg

Well. For starters last I checked we don’t know FOR SURE where they are going but yes. Clearly they are painting this story that they are going to the USA for that big family trip they’ve talked about.

As for how I don’t feel anxious? Simple. They’re telling us it’s happening. And in this fandom if we’re being told something private life about Harry or Louis is happening it means…. It’s not their private life. It’s FOR US.

Like. Louis has shown a lot of the last couple of years he can go and do stuff and not advertise it and no one knows he’s there. Just think back to all of the adventures we saw his band/crew go on with him over tour. We didn’t know those things were happening when they did. We found out eventually but no one was posting “hey what’s a good thing to do in Iceland?” Or “where can we go ride ATVs?”

I’ve talked before about analyzing sources when it comes to the boys (and other things) and one of the biggest things is what is trying to be sold.

We didn’t NEED to be told they were doing a family vacation. Phoebe doesn’t NEED to ask IG for tips on long haul flights with a 9 month old. She has an older sister with a baby of her own. We were told about the big family vacation and Phoebe ASKED IG because the stage is being prepped for “look at our big happy family” and “look at our big happy family” is inherently going to mean Freddie should be there. So. Either we get Freddie content (and maybe that means he won’t show up for Christmas, who knows) and in that case - oh look we were prepped for it! - or we don’t 🤷🏼‍♀️

Either way. This trip is meant to be seen. Whether you like the Tomlinson twins or not (gonna go out on a limb and assume more people in fandom DONT) they are influencers and they TELL STORIES with their social media to sell people shit. And part of what they are selling is this idea that they are being transparent about their private lives (plot twist they definitely aren’t)

So basically… I don’t get anxious cause this is just something being sold to us. If this was an actual private vacation we wouldn’t know about it. So if Freddie shows up - lol kay… you should be in school buddy cause the USA doesn’t have breaks like that - but it’s just…. It’s just the story.

[jusst-you-race]

57. “There is enough room for both of us.” For sebmark

it was impossible to resist only one bed-ing them so here you go anon (there is something about sebmark that has me writing like this... learning much about myself) prompt list

“There is enough room for both of us.”

Mark basically walks into the back of Seb when he stops dead in the doorway of their hotel room. Confused, and slightly frustrated, Mark looks up from where he had been frantically composing a text to see what Seb’s doing. He peers over the top of the blond curls in front of him.

“Fuck.”

Seb snorts. Then he walks into the room, hauling his suitcase behind him. Mark makes an aborted attempt to stop him but he doesn’t quite manage to grab Seb’s shoulder. He pinches the bridge of his nose instead. 

“Seb, stay here. Don’t do anything ridiculous. I’m going to go sort this out with reception.”

Seb tips his head back and groans. 

“Mark, please. It’s two in the morning. We have just got off a long flight. I just want to sleep. Can’t we sort it out tomorrow?”

“Sleep where? There’s only one bed!” Mark splutters. 

Seb rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“There is enough room for the both of us.” He dumps his suitcase in the corner and kneels down to start unzipping it. Mark continues to stand in the doorway. 

“It won’t take long to sort,” Mark tries, but he’s running out of steam quickly and he knows Seb can sense it.

“It will take ages.” Mark can’t even argue this, Seb’s right. “Mark, please.” Seb looks up as he says this, and the image of him on his knees, next to the bed they’re about to share, begging— Mark clears his throat and shuts the door behind him. 

“Fine. I’m taking this half.”

They get ready for bed efficiently, and in total silence, both of them too tired to even consider conversation at this point. Seb gets into bed first, wiggling his way under the covers. Mark flips off the overhead light, leaving just the bedside lights on, and turns to face the bed. Seb looks ethereal. The lighting is soft, dim, and Seb’s golden curls have fanned out across the pillow like a halo. Mark swallows. 

Carefully, Mark climbs under the sheets, keeping himself as far to one side of the bed as he physically can. He tries to position himself as comfortably as he can while hanging half off the bed, and makes the mistake of turning to face Seb. Seb is watching him, eyebrow raised. 

“You don’t have to be all the way over there, you know. I don’t bite.” A wolfish grin spreads across his face. “Unless you want me to.”

Mark turns away from him so aggressively that he falls off the side of the bed. Seb cackles. Embarrassed, bruised, and seconds from marching downstairs to somehow get another room, Mark turns back to glare unhappily at Seb. Seb holds his hands up placatingly, clearly trying hard to stifle his giggles. 

“You’re a menace,” Mark huffs. 

“Yes, yes, you’ve said many times.” Seb is still grinning, but all of a sudden something in his face shifts, goes soft, fond. He lifts up the corner of the covers, invitingly. “Come to bed?”

It’s ridiculous. A stupid cheesy line that should be weird and awkward coming from someone who should be little more than a coworker. But. Seb’s voice is quiet, vulnerable, warm, and his eyes are wide, imploring. Mark feels like he’s half in a trance as he nods and slides under the covers once more. He’s closer this time – too close. 

Seb doesn’t move away. 

Instead he smiles, and Mark jumps as he feels cold feet press against his shins, featherlight. 

“Night, Mark,” Seb whispers, before he closes his eyes. Mark heaves in a deep breath. Seb’s eyelashes cast delicate shadows across his cheeks. Heart pounding, Mark reaches his hand out, slowly, fingers inching towards– 

He leans over Seb and turns the light off, plunging the room into darkness. 

When he settles back down, he leaves his hand between them. An impulsive invitation that he doesn’t expect Seb to even notice, let alone take up. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to fall asleep.

Cold fingers find his in the dark.

[sanjoongie]

Mile High Club

ღPairing: Reader (f) x Jung Wooyoung ღGenre: smut with no plot ღAu: mile high club au, biker au, rich ceo au, established situationship lmao ღWord Count: 1,347 ღWarnings: public sex, exhibitionism, dom! wooyoung, sub! reader ღRated: 18+ MDNI ღSummary: Wooyoung has to leave the city but he's not leaving you behind and he certainly does not fly economic either. ღDedication~ in conjunction with @thelargefrye who is writing mile high club! seonghwa, @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland for beta reading ღA/N: Happy birthday woo bb, my spirit animal, light of my life

Wooyoung's eyes followed you as you sat hesitantly across from him on the private jet the both of you had boarded. Wooyoung had to fly to his offices on the other side of the country and that's why the two of you were here. Wooyoung refused to leave you alone in this city without him and your work was used to Wooyoung yanking you from your life by now. What he did love was pampering you with everything he had to give. And that included a private jet.

"Okay?" Wooyoung raised his eyebrows in question to you. He grabbed a water bottle and opened it. He tipped his head back to give it a swig. The wonderful line of his jaw and adam's apple and neck wasn't something to laugh at. His eyes slid your way and was happy to report that you had crossed your legs anxiously. He knew it had nothing to do with the flying.

"Did we have to come on your bike instead of the car?" You bit at him which he let fly over his head. You often bit at him but he liked it. All Wooyoung wanted in a partner was someone to verbally play with.

Wooyoung laughed silently, his shoulders shaking. "I won't be able to drive in the city, it'll be mostly drivers."

Your hands twisted as well, and when that wasn't enough, you began to dig half-moon's into the palms of your hands. "Pretty, come sit over here," Wooyoung suggested.

You said "ha!" mirthlessly. "I don't think so, Woo."

Wooyoung cocked his head 'innocently'. "What's wrong?" He leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, hands covering his mouth. The bill of his cap barely hid his inquisitive eyes. 

"Do not, Wooyoung," You bit even harder.

Wooyoung was happy his hands were over his mouth or you'd see his smirk, and then he was pretty sure that meant not getting what he wanted during this flight. And he really, really, really wanted to get this.

"Come on, sit with me. I'm a spoiled rich guy who still hates flying. Come hold my hand." Wooyoung held out his hand and waved his fingers.

You sighed loudly, well aware that this was a trap, and Wooyoung was luring you in. But if you could have resisted him, you wouldn't have even been on this plane. You lost your ability to say no to Wooyoung a long time ago. 

So you stood up and sat beside Wooyoung. He took your hand, placed it high on his thigh, put his hand over yours and sat there, eyes toward the nose of the plane, waiting eagerly for the staff to tell them to prepare for assent. And the bugger didn't do a damn thing… until the plane was miles high in the air and the staff receded.

Once the staff closed the folding doors, Wooyoung's hands wrapped around your waist and hauled you on top of him, straddling his body on the bench seat you two had been sitting on. "Hi," He said cheekily, like he didn't just put you in a very compromising position.

"Wooyoung!" You hissed, head snapping towards the doors that had just finished shutting.

"No one will hear us," Wooyoung grinned. His tongue was between his teeth and he was doing nothing to hide his grin now either.

"I am not--Wooyoung!" You slapped his chest.

Wooyoung began to chuckle and it went straight to your core. "I'll rip your jeans right now if you keep that up; expose the fact that you have no underwear on and take full advantage of that."

Your nostrils flared at Wooyoung's gall. "You wouldn't give me my underwear and we had to rush out because of your antics, Jung Wooyoung."

"I still have them in my pocket. I like the red." Wooyoung smiled teasingly.

You gripped Wooyoung's face between your thumb and forefingers. It squished his cheek together comedically. "Stop running your mouth." Wooyoung simply puckered his lips and made kissy noises.

You made a noise of disgust and moved to get up but Wooyoung's arms locking behind the small of your back made it a bit impossible to leave. Your thighs lifted your ass up and then you landed back on Wooyoung's thighs, except this time you were higher up Wooyoung's body and your eyes widened. 

"Come on, pretty. Fuck me. Let's join the mile high club."

Like you said, you had lost your ability to say no to Wooyoung a long time ago. 

Your pants had been discarded, Wooyoung's down by his feet, but there was a blanket drawn around your waist to hide your nakedness. Wooyoung's hands were around your waist, sometimes skimming up your ribcage to admire the body in front of him. You already had him fully seated inside of you, something that was never done easily with Wooyoung, who adored suddenly bucking up into you and causing you to gasp. 

"Where the hell did you find condoms that say mile high club?!" You demanded incredulously. 

Wooyoung's head was tipped back on the seat, eyes glimmery under his hat. "I know a guy."

You were about to grumble under your breath that he always said that, when Wooyoung rolled his hips against you, and turned the grumble into a groan. It didn't take long before the two of you were earnestly fucking each other. To Wooyoung's greatest glee, you were unable to keep your noises to a minimum so the staff--maybe all the way to the pilot!--knew you two were fucking on this plane. 

Wooyoung was having a hard time deciding where he wanted his eyes at. Watching his dick drenched in your wetness continuously pound into you was making his hand itch to film but he knew you would shriek at him. You wouldn't put it past him to leak it 'accidentally'. But he also wanted to watch your eyebrows furrow in pleasure and you bite down on your forefinger, your hand raised to your lips in an effort to keep yourself quiet--and failing. Your boobs in the high collar t-shirt were bouncing gloriously in front of him and he just wanted to lean forward and capture your pert nipple in his mouth. 

"Fuck, Wooyoung, shit," You cursed him. Your hand slapped onto the slanted ceiling above you in an effort to brace yourself as Wooyoung waved his body between your thighs. 

Wooyoung's hands moved down to your thighs, squeezing them ardently. "Feels good, pretty, bouncing on my dick this high, huh?"

Your eyes snapped open, part angry, part horny, and Wooyoung couldn't have been more turned on at this moment. "Stop gloating."

A slow, smug smile pulled across his lips as he raised his head. "Why don't you worry about coming first?"

You opened your mouth to scold him again but this time Wooyoung snapped his hips up into you, pushing a fervent noise from your throat. You clapped your free hand over your mouth and Wooyoung knew you had embarrassed yourself. Wooyoung let loose one "I told you so" and then tensed his pelvis and fucked you at just the right angle to have you coming apart above him immediately.

You collapsed against Wooyoung's chest completely and bonelessly, twitching and fluttering around him. Wooyoung had come once your walls started squeezing down on him. He had filled the condom and was regretting keeping this clean. He wanted to lick a creampie out of you suddenly. He knew you would never let him on the plane, but it was nice to think about. 

"Wooyoung," You panted into his neck, giving him goosebumps. 

Wooyoung was running his finger tips up and down your spine, returning the favor of goosebumps. "Pretty?"

"We are--NEVER--doing that--again!" You said into his slightly damp skin. 

Wooyoung's chuckles reverberated in his chest and you felt them through your own body as well. "I can't promise that."

You bit down on Wooyoung's neck, teeth threatening lightly. Except now Wooyoung was groaning. "I give up," You groaned in frustration.

Wooyoung patted your butt lovingly. "At least the staff don't have to clean up after us." Taglist: @hijirikaww @flurrys-creativity @mingsolo @starlitmark @pyeonghongrie @k-pop-ology

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Lavender Haze Chapter 1: Anarchy in the UK

A/N: Hello and welcome to the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed the prologue (I mean if you're here, you likely did). Anyway, this isn't beta read or proofread. This is just for fun and my procrastination from doing my grad school work. As always, this blog is 18+ only. Word Count: 7.9ishk....It was 16 pages on docs... Warnings: 18+ only, enemies to lovers trope, close proximity, friends scheming, eventual smut, Much Ado About Nothing, use of Y/N, reader insert, she/her pronouns for reader Chapter 1: Anarchy in the UK Synopsis: Reader leaves for London for her cousin's wedding, Dustin and Suzie scheme, and someone from the reader's past returns.

SIX MONTHS LATER 

The hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the soft rustling of travel brochures fill the air as you step into the airport terminal. You clutch the wedding invitation in hand, the edges slightly worn from handling, the elegant gold lettering on the cream-colored paper showed a sharp contrast to the utilitarian surroundings. 

The air smells faintly of stale coffee and the distant whirr of vending machines and buzzing of neon lights. The walls are lined with large, laminated posters advertising far-off destinations in cheerful fonts, but your mind is fixed on London, England — specifically the wedding of Dustin and Suzie, which has become a beacon of joy and anticipation. As you approach the check-in counter, the sounds of muffled announcements echo through the cavernous space, and you realize that in just a few hours, you'll be across the ocean, heading toward a new chapter in the lives of two people you hold dear. 

You check in with ease, muttering a quick thank you to the attendant before starting your journey down the LAX’s vast labyrinths of terminals and gates. With your boarding pass in hand, you wander toward the gate, a slight bounce to your step as you escape the rush of the check-in counter. The gate is quiet now with only a handful of early birds settled in for the long wait. You find an empty seat near the window, the soft hum of overhead ventilation mixing with the faint chatter of fellow travelers.

Settling in, you pull a well-worn magazine from your bag—a glossy travel issue from a few months ago, its pages crinkling at the edges as you flip through articles on London’s hidden gems and tips for surviving long-haul flights. You adjust your walkman, pop in your favorite mixtape, and press play. The soft click of the cassette starting up is followed by the familiar crackle of the first song, an instant wave of nostalgia sweeping over you as the first notes of the track fill your ears. You lean back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, eyes half-closed as you drift in the music and the pages of your magazine, the world outside the terminal window fading into a blur of airport tarmac and distant planes. 

Time seems to stretch, and for a moment, the noise of the world falls away — just you, the rhythm of your music, and the thought of London waiting at the end of this journey. The quiet tap of your foot to the beat and the occasional rustling of your magazine are the only sounds, until the overhead announcement breaks the calm, signaling that boarding is about to begin. 

You hand your boarding pass to the agent, who scans it with mechanical efficiency, then gestures for you to move toward the jetway. Your eyes scan the cabin as you enter the plane, relieved to see that the seat next to yours—an aisle seat by the window—remains empty, all through boarding too. You settle in with a deep sigh of relief, knowing you'll have a few hours of peace before the inevitable chaos of London and the wedding week. You stow your bag in the overhead compartment and adjust the seat belt around your waist, a soft hum of contentment rising as you nestle into your seat, slipping your headphones back on and starting another song on your cassette player.

The steady pulse of the plane fills your ears as passengers shuffle past, finding their own seats. The overhead announcements are drowned out by the rush of activity, but you can still catch the tail end of the call: "Final boarding for Flight 348 to London. Please make your way to the gate immediately." It’s a soothing, routine moment—until you hear the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps approaching, and a voice calling out in a half-panic, “Wait! Wait for me!”

Your heart sinks as you turn your head. There, running awkwardly down the aisle with his oversized bag flopping to one side and a wild look in his eyes, is Eddie. Of course. Eddie. The last person you’d ever want to sit next to. You barely manage to mask the irritation creeping across your face as he barrels past rows of seats, scanning the numbers, his hand outstretched toward your aisle seat. He’s panting, cheeks flushed, and there’s that obnoxious grin of his as he makes eye contact with you—like the fact that he’s invading your space is some sort of joke.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Eddie says, his voice dripping with that smug, self-assured tone you can never quite shake off. "Looks like this seat's mine, huh?" He practically drops into the seat next to you without waiting for an invitation, his bag thudding heavily against the armrest, leaving you no choice but to shift uncomfortably to make room.

“Hi Eddie,” you mumble, waving a hand haphazardly. “I guess it’s yours.” 

“What? Your fiance didn't come?” He mocks, sliding his carry on underneath the seat in front of him. “Or did you leave for London unannounced?” 

You should have known he would be coming to the wedding. Suzie did mention that Dustin had made him his Best Man during her bridal shower when she had asked you to be her Maid of Honor. Maybe you should have prepared yourself better, but nothing could have prepared yourself for a transatlantic flight sitting directly next to him. 

And spending an entire week together in London. 

“He didn’t come because I called things off.” You say simply, pulling a book from your bag before shoving it back under the seat. “We weren’t right for each other.”

Not long before the trip, you had ended your engagement with Billy and dropped out of law school, forgoing your internship. Your life was seemingly a mess. No school. No job. No engagement. You had none of it and while you felt free, you felt lost. 

You didn’t know what you wanted to do in your life. Maybe London could help you figure that out. 

“Oh. I - well, good for you?” Eddie didn’t know if calling off your engagement was a good or bad thing for you so, he left it as a question. He couldn’t find anything witty to say about that. 

The flight attendants close the cabin doors, and you can hear the final, automated announcement: "We are now preparing for takeoff. Please ensure your seatbelt is fastened and all carry-on items are properly stowed." But the noise in your head is louder—the dread of having Eddie beside you for the entire flight, the rest of your peaceful journey shattered in an instant. You force a smile, but it feels as fake as his disingenuous charm. With a deep breath, you settle in, knowing it’s going to be a long, long flight.

HOUR 3

The plane hums steadily through the night sky, the soft vibration beneath your feet a constant reminder that you’re crossing the ocean. You’ve managed to ignore Eddie for a while, your headphones on, book open, your mind elsewhere, but the dull thud of his knee against yours—a little too close for comfort—pulls you out of your bubble. He’s not talking yet, but you can feel his eyes on you, the way people sometimes stare, hoping for a reaction and when he finally speaks, you almost wish he hadn’t.

"So, Billy, huh? You really called it off," he says, his voice low enough to sound casual but with that sharp edge that cuts through the hum of the plane. It’s not a question; it’s an observation laced with something you can't quite place—like a mix of curiosity and judgment, a little too pointed for a conversation that wasn’t invited. “You really ended it for real this time? It’s not just a break?”

You glance at him, resisting the urge to snap at him. Eddie leans back in his seat, tapping a finger on the armrest, as if he’s just casually passing the time. His tone, though, betrays his attempt to feign indifference, and you immediately tense. His eyes glanced over to the ring finger of your left hand, noticing the lack of the engagement ring you wore only six months prior when he last saw you. 

It feels like a weight suddenly pressing on your chest, but you fight the lump in your throat.

"Yeah," you reply, keeping it short, hoping that’ll be the end of it.

Eddie, though, doesn’t take the hint. "Must be tough, huh? After everything…." His words are laced with a touch of something you can’t tell if it’s pity or schadenfreude, but it’s uncomfortable all the same. You brace yourself, feeling that flush of anger creeping up your neck, but there's something in his voice, a softness that wasn’t there before, that makes you hesitate.

You shift in your seat, trying to find a polite way to end this. "It wasn’t… like that, exactly," you mutter, focusing on the view outside your window, the blanket of stars now spread across the sky.

But Eddie’s not done. “I get it,” he says, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful, but with that unsettling edge of rudeness still there, like he doesn’t know how to stop prodding. "I mean, relationships, right? They can go from everything to nothing in a heartbeat. Or they can just fizzle out. And you’re left thinking, Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You know he was alluding to your prompt exit after spending the night at his apartment and how he just viewed you as nothing. You knew it deep down that this wasn’t about Billy or your engagement at all. This was about you and Eddie. 

His words hang in the air for a long moment, and you're unsure if he's trying to sympathize or just trying to make you squirm. Eddie leans forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, a kind of half-apology playing out in his gaze. It’s a strange, fleeting moment, but you almost catch the flicker of something close to empathy there—before he ruins it.

"You must be glad to be getting away from all that. A wedding in London... kind of a perfect escape, huh?" He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional territory he's ventured into, but he doesn’t pull back.

You nod stiffly, your hands folding in your lap. "Yeah, I suppose," you answer quietly, the words tasting bittersweet. "It’s not what I expected but it’s a fresh start, kind of a bookmark to where I am in life and where I’m not."

Eddie sits back, finally, and for a moment there’s a silence that’s just loud enough to be awkward. He gives a small, half-hearted shrug as if he knows he’s overstepped, then mutters, "Well, everyone needs a fresh start. Especially after that kind of mess." 

And just like that, the empathy vanishes, replaced by the familiar sneer that you’ve come to loathe.

You turn your attention back to the window, trying to shake the unease in your stomach. The rest of the flight stretches on, the tension between you and Eddie hanging heavy in the cramped cabin. It’s a strange, uncomfortable dynamic—part judgment, part unwanted camaraderie, and it makes the miles to London feel like they’re stretching on forever.

HOUR 5

It starts small—just a little comment during meal service, a careless remark, but it’s enough to set things off. Eddie, leaning back in his seat with his hands behind his head like he's settling into his personal throne, taps the armrest between you with his fingers. You barely notice at first, too lost in your own thoughts, but then he mutters, "I still don’t get why anyone would choose tea over coffee, you know?"

You glance at him, frowning slightly. "What?" you ask, thinking you might’ve heard him wrong.

"Tea," Eddie repeats, his voice dripping with that condescending tone again, "I mean, seriously, what’s the appeal? It’s just hot, bland water with a leaf in it. Why would anyone choose that over coffee?”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. This is where he wants to take the conversation? Of all the things in the world, he’s bringing up tea versus coffee?

But then you remember where you first met Eddie and your interaction with him. You had ordered tea that day and he had bought it for you, pretending to be your husband. His comments now made complete sense. 

"It’s not about waking up," you reply, a little incredulous. "It’s about comfort. Tea’s soothing. It’s calm. You don't need a jolt of caffeine to feel good." You feel your voice rise a little, the absurdity of the argument making you defensive. “Besides, not everyone needs to feel like their brain is on fire every time they drink something.”

Eddie scoffs. "Well, it’s not like tea is doing anything for you except making you fall asleep faster." He gestures like he's trying to make a grand point, though it only makes you roll your eyes. "And honestly, you can’t even get it right half the time. Too hot, too cold, weak, strong, whatever. At least coffee works."

You feel the annoyance bubble up in your chest. "You don’t even know how to make a proper cup of tea," you snap, irritated that he’s dismissing something you actually enjoy. "You just throw a bag in hot water and call it good. You have no appreciation for it. You probably think chai is just fancy spiced milk."

Eddie's face goes mock-serious. "Are you really going to lecture me about tea right now? Like, are we actually having this conversation?" He leans forward again, locking eyes with you, a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Honestly, you’re the one getting worked up over a beverage. You need a hobby, or something."

“You’re literally the one who made the first comment, Eddie. This is incredibly stupid. To think this is all a grudge because you bought me a cup of tea all those months ago. You’re really going to hold a grudge on tea?”

You can feel your face heating up, but it’s not just from embarrassment. It’s from the ridiculousness of the situation—the way Eddie is so casually dismissive about something that feels so trivial, yet somehow so personal to you. You cross your arms, biting back a laugh at how ridiculous this is. But it only seems to egg him on.

"Look," Eddie continues, almost too smug for his own good, "I get it. Tea’s a ‘thing.’ But coffee is the thing. It’s a culture, it’s an experience. You know, things with substance, not just hot leaf juice."

You shake your head, now feeling a bit silly for being drawn into it. "You’re unbelievable," you mutter, throwing a glance out the window just to escape the conversation for a second.

Eddie leans back with a smirk, clearly enjoying the way he’s ruffled your feathers. "Well, hey, I can’t help it if I have taste."

Your jaw clenches as you open your mouth to respond, but the flight attendants begin making their rounds again, offering drinks. And for a moment, you realize that the argument, though petty, has somehow managed to distract you from everything else—Billy, the awkwardness, the gnawing frustration of being stuck next to Eddie for hours on end and him seemingly just finding entertainment from annoying you.

The stewardess pauses by your seat, offering you a drink, and you glance at Eddie, who’s still smirking at you, clearly proud of himself. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself it’s just a stupid argument. A dumb, pointless, small thing—but somehow, in this cramped, turbulent space, it feels like the most important thing in the world.

"Tea," you say, to no one in particular, as you place your drink order. "I’ll take the tea. No sugar. No milk."

Eddie rolls his eyes dramatically. "Of course you will."

The stewardess, a cheerful woman with a kind smile and a no-nonsense air about her, smiles softly as she hands you the tea she effortlessly prepared. Her eyes flickered between you and Eddie, who’s still wearing that smug, amused expression after your little "tea vs. coffee" debacle. She glances back at the both of you with a soft chuckle, her tone light and warm.

"So, I see we’ve got a newlywed couple here," she says, her voice almost like a comforting murmur. "First lover's spat already? Happens to the best of us, you know. Cramped quarters will do that to even the best of us." She grins at you both as if it’s all part of some adorable little story.

The words hit you like a slap in the face. Your stomach tightens, and your cheeks flare with heat. Newlywed couple? You force a smile—teeth gritted. Eddie, of course, doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward, suddenly playing the part with ease, his voice dripping with theatrical charm.

"Oh, yeah," he says, all too casually, giving you a playful side-eye. "First big argument on our honeymoon." He winks at the stewardess, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "But you know, we’ll get over it. It’s all part of the ride, right?"

The stewardess giggles, her smile widening. “Ah, young love. So sweet,” she says, as if this is all some innocent joke. “Well, I hope it doesn’t ruin your trip, sweetheart,” she adds, turning her attention back to you for a second longer than you'd like, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ll just put you down for a romantic glass of wine to ease things over."

You sit there, completely frozen, the rage bubbling up like a pot about to boil over. Romantic? Eddie’s playing along like this is all some stupid farce, and the thought of him leaning into it, making light of your personal space and your frustration, twists something deep inside of you. This is the moment where everything—every last shred of patience—snaps.

“Excuse me,” you interject sharply, suddenly too aware of the weight of Eddie’s smirk next to you. “We are not a couple.” The words come out clipped and too loud, and the stewardess’s face shifts, a moment of confusion crossing her features. You push forward, as if you can physically distance yourself from the very idea of Eddie. “And I’m definitely not on a honeymoon with him.”

Eddie, for the first time, falters. He’s clearly caught off guard, his grin dropping for a fraction of a second, but then that trademark smugness returns. His eyes glint with mischief. “Whoa, hey,” he says, leaning back in his seat with his hands raised as if in mock surrender. “She’s just kidding. You know, a little fun on the flight. Can’t blame a couple for trying to help spice things up.”

The stewardess is now visibly awkward, trying to regain her composure, but it’s too late. The damage is done. The entire cabin seems to hold its breath for a moment, as if waiting for something to break. You can feel your face burning with embarrassment and fury. You can’t believe Eddie is playing this part, and the more he tries to make it sound like harmless fun, the more you want to snap at him.

“Listen,” you say through gritted teeth, your hands clenched tightly in your lap. “I’m just going to stick with my tea,” you bite out, your voice colder now, eyes narrowing. 

The stewardess, now a little flustered and clearly not sure how to navigate the awkwardness, nods quickly, offering a sheepish smile before she retreats down the aisle, likely trying to avoid the awkward energy you've just created.

But Eddie, damn him, isn’t done. "You know," he says casually, shifting to lean in a bit closer to you, as if he’s completely oblivious to how much he's irritating you, "If it makes you feel better, we can still make up in London. I’m sure the city’s full of romantic spots." He laughs softly, that teasing edge back in his voice. "I mean, we’re going to a wedding, after all."

You clench your fists, trying not to say something you'd regret, the heat of embarrassment still lingering in your chest. You don’t even want to entertain him anymore, but Eddie, as always, doesn’t give you the option.

"Alright," he says, grinning wide now. "I’ll let you have your space but you know, that’s not the worst idea—London? We should totally go out, the two of us. Just the two of us.” His grin widens, and the worst part is, you know he’s doing it to get under your skin, playing into this whole ridiculous scenario he’s crafted in his mind.

You can’t even respond for a minute, completely caught off guard. The thought of him pretending to be part of your life like that, of him forcing his way into your head like this, makes your blood boil. You stare ahead, shoulders stiff with frustration, and the seconds drag on in a tense silence until the stewardess returns with your tea. She hands it to you with a nervous smile, and you take it, grateful for the distraction, but nothing seems to shake the odd, lingering bitterness that Eddie’s managed to infect everything with.

“I wouldn’t even go out with you if you were the last man on this planet, Eddie.” You spat, sipping your tea, hoping he gets the hint that you just want to be left alone. “We just have to get along for Dustin and Suzie. Besides, I thought I was nothing to you.”

This was supposed to be a peaceful flight to London. Now it feels like a slow, insufferable game of one-upmanship, with Eddie gleefully playing the villain and you stuck in the middle, trying not to explode.

As the plane continues its journey, you can’t help but wonder just how long you’ll have to endure this forced “comedy” of his, before it finally stops.

-------

The plane’s descent is gradual, the city lights of London beginning to twinkle below like a field of stars. You’re thankful the flight is over, but the prospect of what awaits off the plane brings an entirely new set of anxieties. As the plane touches down and the cabin lights flicker on, you hear the familiar chorus of seatbelt signs being clicked off and passengers stretching, gathering their things. You manage to stand, gathering your bag from the overhead compartment exchanging a few uncomfortable glances with Eddie, who’s now leaning back in his seat with that infuriating, too-casual grin on his face.

“You know,” Eddie says as the line at the gate starts moving, his voice almost cheerful again, “I’m actually starting to think we’re like a couple now. I mean, we’ve had the ‘first fight,’ and now we’re going to be the Best Man and Maid of Honor at Dustin’s wedding. It’s practically destiny.” He winks at you like it’s some kind of joke.

You don’t dignify his words with a response. The only thing you want is to get through customs, grab your luggage, and get away from Eddie, but the chaos of a busy airport only makes that more difficult.

Finally, you clear customs and head toward the exit. The hum of excitement from all the passengers fills the air, everyone gathering near the baggage claim area, talking about their travels, snapping photos, and exchanging excited greetings. You scan the crowd, finally spotting Dustin and Suzie standing near the front, waving at you.

You smile at the sight of them—Dustin’s easy grin and Suzie’s wide, radiant smile are enough to wash away most of your irritation. Despite the awkwardness of the flight, you feel a flutter of relief at finally being here and you hurry toward them.

“Hey!” Dustin greets you warmly, pulling you into a hug. Suzie follows suit, wrapping her arms around you in a tight embrace. The sight of them together is like a balm to your nerves—everything about this feels so right. They’re glowing with excitement for their wedding and the days ahead, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget about everything else.

“There’s my favorite cousin!” Suzie says, holding you at arm’s length and taking a good look at you. “You look great! How was the flight? No disasters, I hope?”

You smile, shaking your head. “It was��� fine. Uneventful,” you lie, not about to get into the details of your flight companion just yet.

Dustin, as usual, is grinning from ear to ear, clearly in his element. “Well, you’re here now, that’s what matters! We’re so glad you could make it. Everything’s been a little chaotic with all the guests arriving, but it’s going to be amazing. We’ve got a lot of fun things planned this week!”

You nod, your excitement building again now that you’re here. But then, as you start to follow them toward the exit, Dustin’s expression shifts, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes as he glances at the two of you—Eddie still hanging nearby, looking like he’s trying to seem as unbothered as possible.

“Uh, so,” Dustin begins, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We’ve got a little… situation with the hotel rooms.” He clears his throat. “It turns out we didn’t quite account for everyone when we booked. There are some constraints with the space, so… some of the rooms had to be reallocated.”

You frown, already sensing where this is going.

“What do you mean by that, Dustin?” You adjust the bag on your shoulder, casting a few gazes 

Dustin’s gaze flickers nervously between you and Eddie before he continues, “And with a few last-minute changes, it looks like... well, you and Eddie are going to need to share a room.”

For a moment, your brain doesn’t quite process the words. “Wait, what?” you ask, blinking in disbelief. “You mean, together?”

Dustin nods, looking sheepish. “Yeah, I know it’s not ideal, but we really couldn’t get another room. Everything’s booked solid for the wedding. You and Eddie will just have to make do. It’s only for a couple of nights, and it’s... well, it’s just temporary. You’ll be fine, right?”

The words hit you like a cold slap to the face. You and Eddie? In the same hotel room? You feel your chest tighten, your stomach doing flips, and you turn to look at Eddie. He’s wearing that too pleased expression again, like this is some kind of twisted little joke he’s getting off on.

"Oh, this is going to be great," Eddie says, his voice so overly chipper you can almost hear the sarcasm dripping from it as he approaches the group. "I mean, what could possibly go wrong? It’s just two adults who just so happen to hate each other, alone in a room. What’s the worst that could happen?" He chuckles, clearly trying to make light of the situation.

You feel your pulse race with a combination of rage and disbelief. You want to scream, to tell Dustin no way in hell would you share a room with Eddie—of all people—but you know it’s not his fault. They did what they could with the limited space, and it's just one night, right? You try to remind yourself that this is all for Dustin and Suzie, and they’re already dealing with enough stress. You can handle this, even if it feels like an impossible request.

But then, of course, Eddie’s next comment isn’t helping. "I’m just saying, it’s kind of poetic, right? I mean, a wedding, and here we are, forced to share a room. Maybe we should start a tradition, huh?"

Your teeth grind together, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, the tension in your chest threatening to break loose. "This is not funny," you mutter through clenched teeth.

Dustin, clearly sensing the awkwardness, quickly tries to smooth things over. "Hey, hey, no need to stress! I know it’s not ideal, but it’s just for a week and it’s for Suzie and I. Think of it like a... bonding experience? Besides, London’s a beautiful city. You’ll both be so busy with the wedding stuff, you won’t even have time to think about it. You’d only be there to sleep"

You stare at Dustin, then at Eddie, who’s still grinning like this is all some ridiculous prank he’s pulling on you. You want to say something sharp, to make him understand how uncomfortable this is—but you just nod, knowing there’s no other option.

"Yeah, sure. A bonding experience," you mutter, already dreading the next week of this forced closeness. You try to remind yourself that it’s just for a week, that the wedding is the focus, but you can’t help the sharp knot of tension that’s already building in your stomach.

As you pile into the car, heading toward the hotel, you feel every second stretch out before you, knowing full well that this is going to be a full on migraine of a trip.

The car ride to the hotel is a blur of muffled chatter and the hum of the engine. You’re still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you’re about to share a hotel room with Eddie for the entire week. The whole idea feels surreal—like a nightmare you’re waiting to wake up from.

Dustin and Suzie chatter excitedly in the back seat about the wedding plans, about the guests they’re excited to see, about everything going perfectly but all you can hear is the steady thrum of your own heartbeat and the tick-tick-tick of your brain reeling. You steal a glance at Eddie sitting next to you and you can almost feel the smug energy radiating off him, like he's already mentally preparing for the next round of “jokes” he’ll try to get away with. 

When the car pulls into the hotel’s narrow driveway, the low hum of the city outside feels strangely distant, almost muffled. It’s not until you’re standing at the check-in counter, trying to force a smile while you’re mentally drafting all the ways you might strangle Eddie in his sleep, that it really sinks in: You’re stuck with him. For an entire week. With no reprieve. 

You try not to glare at him as the clerk hands you both your room keys. You’ve been bracing yourself for this moment, but it hits like a punch to the gut.

"Here you go," the hotel clerk says, handing each of you a key card with a polite smile. "You’ll be in Room 204, just down the hall on your left. Enjoy your stay."

“Thanks,” Suzie says, giving you a quick, apologetic smile. “I know it’s not ideal, but—"

“It’s fine, Suzie,” you force out through clenched teeth. “Really.” You wave it off, trying to mask your frustration. Suzie looks like she’s about to offer some comfort, but you can’t bring yourself to let her fuss over you. Not when the real problem is still standing right next to you.

“See you guys at dinner!” Dustin calls over her shoulder as he and Suzie head off toward the elevators to return to their room down the hall. 

You and Eddie stand there for a moment, the weight of the awkwardness between you hanging thick in the air. You avoid looking at him as you head toward the hallway but Eddie can’t leave well enough alone.

"Well, this is gonna be fun," he says, his voice dripping with too much sarcasm to be anything but a deliberate jab.

You roll your eyes and quicken your pace, but Eddie easily matches your stride. "You know, I’ve stayed in worse places," he continues, his tone light, almost carefree, as if he’s genuinely trying to make the situation seem less horrific. "This place looks... quaint. I bet it’s got charm."

You grunt, resisting the urge to snap something rude. You’re beyond sarcasm at this point. When you reach Room 204, Eddie reaches for the door, fumbling with the keycard like he’s trying to make a point. “You wanna do the honors?” he says, his face a perfect mask of innocence.

You roll your eyes and swipe the card yourself. The door clicks open with a soft sound, and as you push it open, your stomach twists.

The room is small, nothing particularly luxurious about it—standard hotel fare. A double bed sits against one wall, a small desk by the window, and a bathroom tucked away in the corner. There’s a single chair, a tiny TV on a dresser, and a faint smell of bleach still lingering in the air. The single bed, of course, stares back at you with the same quiet challenge that Eddie’s presence brings. It might as well have a neon sign above it that says “YOU’RE GOING TO HATE THIS.”

You try to take a deep breath, but Eddie steps in behind you, making himself at home as he casually tosses his bag onto the bed nearest the window.

“Well,” he says, looking around and letting out a long, exaggerated sigh, “this place is charming... like I said. So, what do you think? You wanna take the bed or the chair?”

You spin around to face him, frustration making your voice sharper than you intended. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Eddie grins like he’s enjoying the very sight of your discomfort. “Hey, it’s a double bed, right? Just slightly smaller than a queen size - guess we’ll have to get cozy.” 

You stare at him, mouth open, not sure if you’re supposed to laugh or punch him in the face. "This isn’t ideal…That isn’t ideal,” you finally manage to say, your voice dripping with barely contained irritation. “But clearly you’ve already made yourself at home.”

He shrugs and flops back onto the bed like he’s lying down for a Sunday nap, grinning wide. “Well, you didn’t seem to have any objections when they handed us the keys. You could’ve spoken up earlier when Dustin gave us the news.” He pats the bed beside him. “But it’s fine, really. I’m cool with it. I’m a great roommate.”

You throw your bag onto the desk and stand there, trying to breathe through your nose, but the air feels too thick. You take a deep breath. You’re here for the wedding. You’re here for Dustin and Suzie. You can survive this. However,  the very idea of sharing a bed with Eddie, even if it’s just for one week, makes your skin crawl.

Instead of answering, you turn to the window, trying to ignore the heavy weight of his presence behind you. “Fine,” you mutter under your breath. "We’ll just... deal with it. We’re going to have to make a pillow wall though."

But Eddie’s voice cuts through the silence again, too light, too cheerful. "We’ll make it work, right? I mean, it’s just a week. We’ll probably be so busy with wedding stuff, we won’t even have time to think about it."

You noticed how Eddie repeated Dustin’s exact words from the airport. You give him a nod before starting to unpack.

"Right. Just a week." You turn back around to face him, hoping your exasperation isn’t showing too clearly. “Just…don’t be a bed hog.”

Eddie is already sprawled out, hands behind his head, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s clearly just ruined your entire sense of personal space and your trip to London. You try to calm yourself down. You can do this. You’re just here for Dustin and Suzie’s wedding. You’re not here for Eddie’s games.

But as you continue to unpack your things in silence, you can’t help but wonder if this week might end up being the longest one of your life.

After unpacking and getting ready for the first dinner of the festivities,  you sit down on the edge of the bed, trying to put some space between yourself and Eddie—who’s still sprawled out across the other half, clearly settling in for the long haul—you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The whole situation feels like it’s spiraling into one big, awkward mess, and all you can think about is how badly you want to escape it. You try to focus on the fact that you’re in London, here for a wedding, and you can’t let this stupid room arrangement ruin everything. 

This was for your cousin, after all.

There’s that feeling, gnawing at the back of your mind. It’s too perfect, too convenient. Eddie's here. He’s always here. And for some reason, you can’t stop wondering if this—this weird, uncomfortable situation—isn’t just a random mistake. Nothing is coincidental.

First the flight. Now this?

Eddie isn’t making things any easier. He’s lounging on the bed, flipping through TV channels with an exaggerated, over-the-top disinterest, occasionally glancing over at you with a look that’s part smug, part playful.

“I gotta admit, I didn’t think this would be the way we’d end up in a room together,” he says, flipping the remote with a sigh. “But I guess life’s funny like that, huh?”

You shoot him a glare, the frustration bubbling up again. “Yeah, funny,” you mutter under your breath, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or he doesn’t care.

He stretches out, looking entirely at ease in the tiny, cramped space that should have felt like a disaster but instead, he somehow makes it feel… normal—like he belongs there. You can’t even figure out how to deal with that, or how much it’s irritating you. You shift awkwardly on the bed, feeling every inch of your personal space being invaded.

It’s then that the door opens with a soft creak, without a knock and Dustin and Suzie walk in, both looking way too pleased with themselves. You raise an eyebrow as you glance up at them.

“We just thought we’d check in, see how everything’s going," Dustin says, his grin far too wide, the kind of grin someone wears when they’ve just orchestrated something deliberate.

You’re about to respond with a polite, "It’s fine," when Suzie suddenly glances over at you and Eddie, then back at Dustin with a look that’s half conspiratorial, half completely over-the-top sweet.

“So,” she says brightly, her tone a little too casual. “Everything going okay with the room situation? You two, uh, getting along okay?”

You blink, not sure if she’s joking or not. You glance at Eddie, whose brow furrows just slightly, clearly picking up on the weird vibe. He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the way she’s asking. "Uh, yeah, we’re good,” he replies, though there’s a trace of suspicion in his voice. “Just... you know, making the best of it. It’s fine.”

Suzie just keeps on smiling and it’s a little too bright for comfort. “Good, good. We were just so worried you might be... you know, uncomfortable. You are both so busy, what with the wedding and everything. We didn’t want you to feel... cramped or anything.”

Dustin clears his throat. “Yeah, and hey, if you two need anything, just let us know, okay? We’re here for you.”

You exchange a glance with Eddie, but this time, it’s more bewilderment than irritation. The whole thing feels... off. You want to say something, to ask what’s going on, but before you can, Eddie speaks up with a low chuckle, though you can hear the slight edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this when I came all the way to London. The whole ’rooming with a woman who ghosted me’ thing isn’t exactly on my bucket list, you know?" He flashes Suzie and Dustin a wry grin. “But hey, what do I know? I’m just here for the two of you.”

Dustin’s grin gets a little wider, if possible. “Yeah, we get it, man. You’re both so busy, with the wedding and all. So, really, enjoy the downtime together. Make the most of it. It’ll be nice, just the two of you after all the festivities…. Being here alone.” Dustin continues to grin, grabbing Suzie’s hand as he turns toward the door. “See you guys at dinner!”

There’s something about the way he says “alone” that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and suddenly it hits you like a bucket of cold water. This isn’t an accident. This wasn’t some weird hotel room mix-up or scheduling error. No. Dustin and Suzie have done this on purpose.

You stay silent as the couple leave, watching them closely and curiously. You swore you heard Suzie’s giggle down the hall. Quickly, you close the door and lock it, returning to sit next to Eddie in silence, just for a moment.

They did this shit on purpose. Dustin and Suzie set you and Eddie up—and you don’t know whether to laugh, scream, or throw something at the wall.

“They did this on purpose, you know.” You say, refusing to look over at Eddie. You nervously pick at your nails silently pleading he also caught onto Dustin and Suzie’s scheme. “You had to pick up on that, right?” 

“Dustin has never been the most subtle guy.” Eddie laughed, running a hand over his face as he continued to lay on the bed. “I picked up on it, sweetheart.”

There’s silence between the two of you. A silence so thick you could choke.

Eddie, ever the unpredictable one, breaks the silence with a casual chuckle. "Well, I have to admit, this is almost impressive. I didn’t think Dustin had it in him." His eyes glint with amusement, the kind that always seems to follow your frustration like a shadow.

You shoot him a sharp look, still processing everything, but there’s something in his expression that makes you pause. He’s not upset about this. He’s… enjoying it. Suddenly, a realization clicks in your mind. You can’t tell if it’s panic or pure frustration, but you know what’s coming next.

Eddie knows you and you know him. You both realize, at the same moment, that there’s no escaping the trap. It’s not like you can tell Dustin and Suzie the truth—they’re already too invested. And you certainly can’t go around making a scene. You’d have to lie low, play nice for the wedding and get through this uncomfortable, forced proximity.

You cross your arms over your chest, standing tall in the face of his amused gaze. "Okay. Fine," you say, voice low but firm. "We’re stuck together for the week but for the sake of Dustin and Suzie’s wedding, I think it’s best if we just… play along so they focus on their wedding and not us." You hate the words as they leave your mouth, but it’s the only sensible thing to do.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. He doesn’t seem to be fighting the idea, which only makes you more suspicious. “Play along, huh?” he repeats, leaning back into the bed as if he’s settling in for a long conversation. “You mean, like, pretend we’re head over heels for each other for their wedding?”

You throw your hands up in mock exasperation. "I mean, what else do you want me to call it? We pretend we’re into each other, act like we’re happy, and get through the wedding without anyone suspecting we can’t stand each other. Then we never have to see each other again."

Eddie smirks, clearly weighing the idea. He lets out a soft laugh, almost like he’s trying to stifle his enjoyment. “Fake dating, huh? Yeah, I can see that. It’ll be like a rom-com, only with more sighing and eye rolling.” He eyes you up and down, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Alright. I’m in. This should be fun.”

You narrow your eyes, not quite ready to let him get the upper hand. “You better not mess this up, Eddie. I’m not in the mood for your jokes or your... whatever this is.” You gesture vaguely at him, already regretting the entire idea of having to spend more time in close proximity to him than absolutely necessary. 

He raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. I’m a professional. You’d be surprised how good I am at this,” he says with an exaggerated wink. “And don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You stare at him, suspicious, but you don’t have a better option. The whole “fake dating” thing might actually be the lesser evil. At least this way, you don’t have to worry about awkward explanations to Dustin and Suzie about how you really feel about each other. You just have to get through the wedding weekend, put on a show, and keep the peace.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Alright. Fine. But you better not ruin it. We’re not going to be all lovey-dovey, okay? We’re just... two people who are pretending. Got it?"

Eddie grins like a kid on Christmas morning. “Got it. You’re not going to catch me making googly eyes at you or anything. We’ll just act like we’re having the time of our lives together. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You glare at him, your nerves already fried from the thought of what’s to come. "I don’t know, Eddie. Maybe you’ll actually start believing it,” you say, your voice tinged with sarcasm.

Eddie laughs, flopping back on the bed. “Oh, believe me, I don’t want to get any ideas since you’re a flight risk,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "I’m all about the performance here. Strictly professional. I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

You turn to face the mirror by the desk, staring at your reflection for a moment. You really thought you’d come to London to celebrate a wedding, maybe enjoy some time away from the madness. Instead, you’re stuck with Eddie, playing pretend for the sake of two people who have no idea that you’re not just friends anymore.

And yet, a strange, nervous energy flickers beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s just the tension of the situation—that’s what it is. You’re not actually… curious about what it would be like to have Eddie’s arm around you again or what it would feel like to pretend to be in a relationship with him. You can’t be. That’s ridiculous. He said you were nothing to him. That couldn’t have changed. 

Still, as you glance over at him, still lying on the bed with that carefree smirk on his face as you begin to get ready for dinner. You can’t help but wonder if this week might turn into something completely unexpected - more likely a cruel joke than a fresh start but, you’d take a little bit of excitement over the mess you had created for yourself back home.

“Alright. We’re really doing this” you say, swallowing any remnants of doubt. “Let’s do this, then. Let’s pretend to be the perfect couple.”

Eddie’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re on, babe.”

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

somewhere only we know

—or, herc visits captain fairbairn’s new office.

They walk through the terminal, the same way they once did all those years ago, though now Herc can sometimes be a little unsteady on his feet. It should be difficult to reconcile with the robust captain Linda remembers from the beginning of her career, who had been a bit of a health-nut even before it had been overly trendy, but—everyone who has loved Linda, and she has loved in return, is getting older. Such, she reckons, goes the arc of life.

“All right?” she asks him, who has a hand looped through her arm. He sends her a positively sappy look, and she rolls her eyes. Beside them, a respectful distance away, walk the two other pilots on this long-haul flight. The first officer operating out tows Linda’s flight kit along with hers.

“You’ve come such a long way, my dear,” Herc tells her as they continue down the terminal to their gate. He hasn’t been flying for a little over two years now—he had seen his last student to a multi-engine certification before hanging up his hat and bowing from the flight-school enterprise that Carolyn’s airline had metamorphosed into, the one Arthur had inherited and was currently managing back in Fitton. “You’ve worked so hard.”

“But you are to thank for…a lot of it,” she returns, focusing on guiding him onto the moving walkway ahead of her first officer and relief pilot.

“I’m honored to have been part of your journey, in that case.” He pauses, and Linda looks aside and sees the twinkle in his eye. “Captain Fairbairn.”

She feels her ears grow a little warm, and she ducks her head with a shy smile. It has taken some getting used to, but after moving from short-haul legacy A320 to long-haul A330 and subsequently bidding into one of the inaugural A350 captain positions, she finds that it’s less of a foreign title than when she began at Swiss. It’s just that when Herc calls her Captain, or her dad…those are the only times it makes her blush.

They approach the gate; a gate agent comes up to them. “Good morning, captain. You requested a non-rev seat for a guest today?”

“Yes,” Linda nods aside at the man on her arm, who’s now staring outside the terminal windows at the glistening A350 on stand at the apron, its fuselage narrowing into a daintily pointed nose and its wings gracefully curving up at the tips. She doesn’t blame him—the A350 is objectively a beautiful aircraft. “Hercules Shipwright,” she tells the gate agent, and Herc tears his gaze away from the airplane to acknowledge the agent with a nod.

She can’t wait for him to see inside of her aircraft.

“Wonderful,” the gate agent says. “Welcome, sir,” she says to Herc. “We’ll give you priority boarding, as requested.”

“Thank you.” Herc disengages himself from Linda, and she misses the comforting presence of her friend at her side. “Linda, I’ll find a seat by the window. I’ll see you out there, yeah?”

“See you,” Linda tells him, and leads her flight crew down the jetbridge.

The previous crew has left the plane turned around and ready for them; Linda pops her head into the galleys while her first officer starts preflight checks, greets the flight attendants, and reminds the purser about her guest.

As preboarding approaches, the first officer excuses herself to do the walk-around, and Linda is left alone with her thoughts in the flightdeck.

She peers out of the wide windows, past the six touch-screen LED displays. Though kitted out with more technology than she could ever have dreamed of, the family resemblance is clear in the design philosophy of the flightdeck—it’s very clearly an Airbus, from the fold-out tray tables to the blatant absence of a yoke. There had been a time when she’d thought she might make the switch to Boeing, but when Swiss had decided that the A320s it had taken in the merger with Cal would stay in the fleet, Linda’s future as a true-blue Airbus pilot was cemented.

Not that she’s complaining about it, when some of her happiest memories are framed by an Airbus-designed flightdeck.

Herc, true to his word, has taken a seat by the window of the terminal and is staring out at her with a smile.

Linda gets up, leans over the displays, and holds a hand up to the window in greeting; in return, Herc languidly waves at her. She grinned as he holds up a finger, one minute, and gingerly takes his phone from his pocket to snap a picture. Once finished, he lowers his phone, checks the photograph, and flashes a thumbs-up at her through the terminal window.

A knock at the doorway, and Linda turns to see the redcap peeking inside. “Captain?”

“Yes,” Linda acknowledges, and rises from her seat.

Before long, her first officer has returned, and the boarding time is flashing on the chronometer. Linda feels strangely nervous.

“You okay?” the first officer asks. “You look a little…” she trails off.

Linda shakes her head. “I’m fine, it’s just…” she casts a look out the flightdeck windows. Herc is no longer at his post by the terminal window. Her heart begins to pound.

“He’s…” The first officer ponders a little. “He’s not your dad, right? I forgot. I know you told me earlier.”

“He’s my best friend,” Linda replies automatically. “We haven’t been in a flightdeck together in—years.”

“I see. Well, I’ll just greet passengers outside,” her first officer tells her sympathetically, squeezes outside, then Linda hears her say, “Oh! Welcome onboard, sir.”

“Thank you,” says a voice she would know on any frequency, anywhere in the world, and Linda is immediately at ease. A second later, Herc pokes his head through the door, bracing a hand on the doorway. “Hello there, Captain. May I enter?”

She rises from her seat. “I’m coming, Herc.”

Linda stands at his side once more in the doorway, and he stares all around the A350 flightdeck with an expression of wonder on his face. “Good Lord, Linda, so many screens. How do you manage?”

“You pull the stick for up and push the stick for down,” she replies dead-pan, and Herc lets out a laugh so loud that several flight attendants and boarding passengers look in their direction. “Herc!” she hisses reproachfully.

Still grinning from ear-to-ear, Herc loops an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close to him. “Yes, Linda?” he asks, maddeningly innocent, and she rolls her eyes.

“Come on, let’s sit,” she says, and begins to lead him further into the flightdeck.

“You’re on the wrong side,” he points out, and Linda realizes she’s automatically drifted to the right seat and her first officer’s already-configured chair.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Captain Fairbairn,” Herc returns with the patience of a primary school teacher.

“I want you on my left.” She knows she sounds like a child insisting it, though she’s got several strands of silver running through her hair and glasses on her nose, but—she knows also that having Herc on her right in a flightdeck like this is not what she had envisioned when dreaming of bringing him up here. “Please,” she adds, as an afterthought.

He cracks a smile. “How very silly,” he says, and it doesn’t sound patronizing from him—it’s got all the affection she remembers. Yet he sits anyway, situates himself in the captain’s seat next to her, and—

The technology is so different from the ancient A320s of Caledonian, and yet—the flightdeck is so familiar.

Like they never left it.

Herc looks across the console at her with a breathtaking smile, and it’s like he’s de-aged about twenty years—maybe more.

“We should have done this,” he says softly, and despite the smile on his face, his eyes are suspiciously bright. “Even if it had been just once.”

“Done what?”

“Long-haul.” He casts a glance over the screens, the evolution of the same instruments that must have guided him for longer than Linda has existed. “Linda, I’ve half a mind to steal this plane,” he changes the subject.

She laughs at him, knowing that regret and Herc are two things that she’s careful not to let mix too much, and goes along with it. “I’m sure you could figure it out if I set it up on the ground,” she says lightly. “If I weren’t concerned about such things as, you know, keeping my job.”

“True, that is of slight importance.” Herc looks behind him, then curls his left hand around the sidestick lightly. The sight sends a wave of nostalgia through Linda—he could very well have been preparing to lift the nose at V1 on Bristol’s runway. “In any case…” He lets go of the sidestick, turns to Linda, and smiles gently at her. A single tear is tracing the groove of a smile line. “I wouldn’t steal an A350 with anyone else in the flightdeck but you.”

Linda reaches across the flightdeck, brushes the tear away with her thumb, and rests her hand on his face.

He leans into it, still smiling.

[benjaminthewolf]

Internal Glow (Vore Story)

HAPPY VORE DAY!

I'm probably not coming back because I'm moving into my college dorms in a little over a week and then it's back to school. But I am here with you now to celebrate this special day!

I can't wait to see all your interpretations of this piece!

      The feral, beastly winds of the winter sink a snap of icy fangs into the twitching fingers of your tiny body whilst you grasp, in rigid agony, the curved surface of the screw’s head. A surface caked wholly in a layer of snow and ice, searing the stinging burn of their bitter frigidity deep into the skin of your palm, and down your forearm.

     Forcing an acceptance of the pain’s presence in order to wrench the frozen screw counterclockwise, you close your eyes and grunt whilst gathering your remaining energy into the tingling forearm. The screw makes a sort of metallic scraping sound as it grinds around within its socket.

    Reality roars into both your numbed, solid ears, while flurries of snow-and-ice-packed winds surge onto your being from the left. As if intent on hauling you up and among them, carrying your defeated, spasming form to the drift it would settle to die.

      You yank out the now sufficiently loosened screw, and drop it into the snow where it would meet with its three companions. The cover of the air duct clangs to the ground, the tunnel now open to you.

     You’re instantly pushed by your instincts to shove your quivering body inside, causing the external screams of the wind to give way to the jolt of an internal, tightening warmth. 

***

     Cautiously sliding your hand sideways through the leftmost slit of this new air duct cover, which stood between you and the house’s interior, your still chilled, yet better dexterous fingers tap their tips onto the screw head. The final one to unscrew, no less. You extend your arm further past the cover, in order to firmly grasp the metallic hemisphere. Twisting your wrist counterclockwise, you can feel the screw rising out of place, before pulling it out the remainder of the way. Finally, the screw falls to the carpet, and you slide your arm and hand back through the slit.          

     This duct cover makes a far softer landing onto the dark purple shag carpet, before you enter at last into the room. 

     It appears to be space and alien themed, with a color palette of dark purple, black, and bright green. The blanket on the bed, and many posters on the walls, contain the classic symbol of an alien head: bright green, and guitar-pick shaped, with black, almond-shaped eyes.

     You take a few steps forwards, pondering as to what, exactly, you’re going to do now.

     *THWACK*

     “Wh-ah-.....” the owner of the room stammers in sudden bewilderment, standing in front of the newly wide open door. You know he’s the owner, as the very same alien symbol is present on his black t-shirt. 

     As the stand-off continues, you take the opportunity to vehemently scrutinize the man’s appearance, as to add him to your records of the people you have encountered over the years.

     A purple striped long-sleeved shirt lies underneath his black t-shirt, and he wears a pair of glasses with purple rims and red lenses. His skin is pure white, his teeth are sharp and jagged; and his upwards pointing, somewhat spiky, jet-black hair has hot pink dyed tips. 

     His yellow eyes with black sclera narrow in building rage. 

     Your body stands unable to respond.

     “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?”

     Your eyes dart around in their sockets, searching vigorously for a good place to hide. In doing so, you note the sign taped onto the now-visible front of the door, telling you that, whoever this man is, his name is, (or at least he calls himself), “MJ 182”.

     “YOU…YOU! No. Nah. You know what?”

     MJ 182’s abrupt drop in volume sends a jostle of terror through your nerves.

     “GET’CH’YO ASS OVER HERE YOU PUNY LITTLE SHIT!”

     And thus, your body chooses flight.

     Jerking down onto all fours, your limbs propel you past MJ 182 and into the white carpeted hallway, following the sprinting motions of a wild mouse. Thrusting your arms outwards as your legs finish launching you forth, the slight amount of airtime you experience gives you the moments you need to haul your arms back towards your chest.

     “HEY! GET BACK HERE!” 

     You sense MJ 182 calling out behind you before heavy, rushing footsteps pound out the door. With them progressively gaining volume as time continues, it then becomes apparent that running away is no longer an option.

     Heaving your head upwards, your peripheral vision examines the states of the wooden doors on both sides of you. A slight crack in one door on the left lurches your attention to it, dragging your form behind as a result.

     Skidding to a halt on the dark red striped carpet once hidden behind the door’s shape, you soon hear MJ 182 sprinting past. Thus, you spend a few seconds hunched over, hands on your knees, simply catching your breath. Until the door creaks open and a looming shadow shrouds your field of view.

     Your body chooses freeze, and you find yourself unable to breathe. A pure white hand wraps its fingers around you to hoist you up off the floor. Your being gives a spasm as you brace to meet MJ 182’s furious, poignant face.

     A face bearing a tender, sympathetic gaze meets your frail form instead.

     “...who are you?” the face asks, with a smooth, soft, and gentle tone of voice. 

     “...why are you so cold?” it continues, with discernible rising concern.

     The face bears a pair of round, pink glasses, and a large purple hat with two long strips of cloth at each side. Two yellow strings dangle at the end of each strip, and atop the hat are two yellow horns. A light blue stripe lies upon the hat’s brim, under which hangs strands of jet-black hair.

     “Hey…I’m KC Glow.” The man eventually introduces himself. His other hand, retreated inside the long sleeve of his dark red striped hoodie-sweater which he wore backwards, rises up to give you a cautious stroke. “You were probably caught out in the winter storm…here, I’ll try to warm you up.”

     With that, KC Glow begins blowing humid air onto you from his dark purple mouth, before his sweater-covered palm delicately rubs itself over your body. With each huff, the steamy mist sinks deeper into your skin, ensconcing you within its breadth.

     A wavering exhale shivers out of your lungs, the tension in your muscles releasing.

     “KC GLOW? DID YOU SEE ANYTHING ENTER YOUR ROOM?”

     In the following moments, KC Glow’s instincts take over. With his eyes and sense of time both dilating in tandem, the palm that holds your being flies forwards, flinging you en route to his widened mouth. The instant a heavy weight lands on his tongue, his jaws click together.

     Suddenly, you are consciously aware of your situation. Gazing silently upon the rough ridges on KC Glow’s hard palate, while sprawled out on your back in immobilizing shock, you eventually turn your head to the right. Resting it upon the heated, squishy, dark purple tongue, you start becoming more attentive to the natural heat within the fleshy chamber. A voice then calls from outside.

     “KC GLOW?” MJ 182’s voice, lowered in both volume and intensity, repeats the man’s name. The door squeaks open as he enters the room.

     “Uh…eauh…no…I didt ee aythin…” KC Glow stammers in response, doing his best to not move his tongue or open his lips significantly.

     You press your back deep into the warm, pillowy muscle.

     “...what?” MJ 182 responds with genuine confusion.

     KC Glow’s jaws internally stretch as far as they can before his tongue swings to the right, dropping you into his right cheek. The slick, malleable pocket of dark purple muscle bulges outwards. KC Glow immediately attempts to suck in his cheek as close to his jaws as is comfortable for you.

     “I said I didn’t see anything!”

     You attempt to stand up as straight as possible in the curved pouch, your feet stabilizing you against KC Glow’s lower gum line. 

     MJ 182 raises an eyebrow just slightly. The sudden enlargement of the cheek hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. “Hey, what’s that in your cheek?”

     “What?” KC Glow asks in palpable discomfort.

     “Yeah, I saw that happen!” MJ 182’s voice raises in a subtle, accusatory tone. “What was that?”

     “...........air.”

     MJ 182’s eyebrows drop to his narrowed eyes. “Really, now?”

     With MJ 182 making his suspicions very obvious, reality slugs you in the face. You won’t be able to hide in here for much longer. The second KC Glow’s mouth was pried opened, it would be all over, probably for the both of you. 

     Left with literally no other option, your eyes begin to shift towards KC Glow’s dark purple pharynx.

     “Say aaaaah.”

     Thus, it became your turn for time to dilate around you.

     Crouching down and leaping through the gap between KC Glow’s jaws, your body rebounds upon the springy, sleek surface of the tongue. Swiveling around midair towards the back of KC Glow’s throat, the subsequent bounce launches your momentum forwards, resulting in a collision with the man’s bulbous, dangling, dark purple uvula. Gravity drags you to the ground near the root of the tongue, the uvula swinging frantically above you, where you’re able to gaze into KC Glow’s laryngopharynx below. The front of your face can just barely detect the short, heavy breaths heaving in and out the man’s lungs through his larynx. His vocal cords almost appear tightened from inability to respond to MJ 182.

     Shoving your arms up underneath your chest, you push the weight of your being forwards, and watch as the epiglottis flops over the laryngeal inlet whilst the pharyngeal constrictor muscles slip you past the upper esophageal sphincter.

     And then, everything was over.

     “Come on, buddy. Open up. You don’t have anything to hide in there, do you?”

     “No!”

     “Then open up!”

     That's when KC Glow became aware that you’re no longer inside his mouth. Yet, with his top priority at the moment being getting MJ 182 off his case, he opens it up. Any and all thoughts and emotions about this fact would have to wait until later.

     MJ 182 shoves his face right up to the thing, to find… nothing. Eyes narrowing in instantaneous disbelief, he steps back to angle his view towards KC Glow’s left cheek pouch. Empty. Then his right cheek pouch. Empty as well.

     “Push your tongue all the way out.” he orders. 

     KC Glow obliges.

     Glaring zealously down at KC Glow’s pharynx, his tonsils, larynx, and epiglottis all on full display, MJ 182 spends twenty-three seconds strenuously examining the area. Only to come up empty, again.

     Steadily pulling back his mellowed, yet flabbergasted face, he merely stands still for a few seconds, dumbfounded to his very core.

     “Dang. I…guess I was wrong.”

     Within the resulting silence, KC Glow detects something relatively large and bulky squelching its way down his esophagus.

     “I uh…wow. Sorry about that, man.” MJ 182 continues. Realizing seconds later that KC Glow is still in shock from the whole situation, he turns towards the door, instead of waiting for a response. “I’m just gonna leave you alone now.” he concludes before turning the doorknob, walking out, and closing the door behind him.

     Halfway down KC Glow’s esophagus, you realize you are finally safe.

     Your body huffs out a shudder whilst the esophageal muscles behind you contract. The muscles in front of you simultaneously relax, squeezing you further down towards KC Glow’s stomach.

     And yet, that fact doesn’t scare you at all.

     Why would it?

     KC Glow on the outside, meanwhile, finally processes the situation.

     “Uh………are you ok in there?” he pulls himself together sufficiently enough to ask.

     It’s a little difficult to hear him since you’ve slipped into his chest region by now, causing his heart rate to boom through your form, but you nonetheless attempt to assure him that you feel perfectly safe at the moment.

     “Great! Should I get you out now?” There is a rising undertone of panic present in his voice.

     In an effort to quench this panic, you assure KC Glow with full confidence that you’re going to be perfectly fine.

     The instant your words hit KC Glow’s brain, he jostles in a horrified stun, his brain crackling and staggering in error as it fails to process your words. His nervous system frazzles with confusion and uncertainty. Instinct, intuition, and rationality all come to the same consensus. He inhales a labored breath in an attempt to say something about the danger you’re in, semi-voluntarily lifting a finger as he does. Only to realize after that he has absolutely no idea what to say. Or how to say it.

      Deep inside KC Glow’s dark purple esophagus, a subtle grin of comfort forms on your face as you soak in the tactile sensation of the cushiony esophageal walls which squeeze in against your being before releasing. The rhythmic squelching presses the walls’ natural heat and glossy texture against your skin. Though of course, you know it’s only a matter of time before the esophagus would drop you to your ultimate destination.

     A deep, echoey gurgle releases somewhere below you, and you give a nod of acknowledgment that that time is soon approaching. 

     KC Glow, meanwhile, remains locked in incapacity to wrap his head around your current behavior. Your profound, unwavering confidence in your safety. Any possible logic, any possible interpretation, anything that would make it all make sense. He simply can’t find it.

     “But…how?! How are you so sure you’ll be ok?!” he eventually yelps out, the tension and worry even stronger in his voice. He sits himself down upon the edge of his light red blanketed bed, just in case his sense of balance fails him.

     You almost feel sorry that KC Glow doesn’t know. But you know. You always know. Unable to provide him the full answer, you simply insist he trust you on this. 

     KC Glow senses a twinge in his heart. For a while, the muscle beats at allegro. His vocal cords quiver with well foreseen inarticulacy. What to do in this situation is something entirely lost to him.

     Eventually, however, he resigns himself to silence as he scoots himself into the wall which his bed lies against. He places a sweater-covered hand over his abdominal region, and braces himself for the worst. His heart settles back to moderato. 

     Grounded upon this slow, steady tempo, the low-tone stomach below provides a rumbling melody. Improvised solos of growls and gurgles periodically interject. Occasionally, a high-pitched note is reached, before the peak gives way to the valley once more.

     At last, the lower esophageal sphincter enters your view. The instant your head is squeezed out, you can see that KC Glow’s stomach walls, like the rest of his digestive system, are colored dark purple. Finally, the rest of your body slips beyond the esophagus, and you plunge into the juices below.

     KC Glow convulses as he senses the resulting splash. His stomach begins sloshing and churning more actively, and gives an audible growl from the outside.

     “I-” KC Glow’s eyes begin to well up as the reality of the situation fully kicks in. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! ARE YOU ALIVE?” tears begin to stream down his cheeks as the prospect of receiving no answer ruthlessly overwhelms his mind and senses.

     “Yeah I’m alive!” you respond. 

     Why wouldn’t you be?

     Standing within the pool of harmless stomach juices, you begin to wade your way over to the stomach walls.

     “B-But aren’t you questioning why the liquids aren’t digesting you? ‘Cause I am! Why is it not digesting you? How-how is this working? WHY? HOW?” KC Glow cries with a strained, shaky voice.

     Sealed within KC Glow’s stomach, you are only able to shrug your shoulders. 

     You knew how it worked. You just never questioned why it worked. Why would you question it? What would the point even be?

     You tell KC Glow that there’s no point in questioning it, as you lie yourself down against the squishy, cushiony walls.

     “.....so you’re going to be ok?” a wholly defeated KC Glow squeaks out.

     Snuggling up against the goopy, churning walls of his stomach, you assure KC Glow that you’re both perfectly fine, and extremely comfortable.

     You nuzzle your head into the warm, pillowy, shifting smooth muscles, before rubbing them over with your hands, hoping this will help him calm down. 

     “...I don’t understand how you can just…accept it. Even if you don’t get hurt.” KC Glow speaks up again. “Don’t you want to know why, and how this is happening? This goes against…everything we know, and you act like it’s completely normal! Like everyone knows that, how, and why this works! You should be getting scientists to do a case study on you! You could be famous! You could take partial credit for any scientific advances that happen from the scientific community understanding what’s happening right now!”

     With the gurgles echoing around your ears, and the stomach’s internal heat ensconcing your skin, you attempt to dissapear into the surrounding ambiance.

     “I was terrified for your life, and you acted like you expected me to act the same as you! Don’t you understand how-” KC Glow’s speech halts. 

     “No…no…that’s enough from me. That’s more than enough.” you can sense deep regret in his voice.

     “Please forget I said anything at all! You just wanted to get comfortable after getting through a life-or-death situation, and now I’m just…” a silent, steady flow of tears trickles from KC Glow’s tear ducts and onto the body of his sweater over his abdominal region. He places his two sweater-sleeve covered hands on top of the area.

     “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!” he sobs audibly before his head falls straight into his chest. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! It wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

     Sinking deeper into KC Glow’s rumbling, cushiony stomach walls, you ponder what you could possibly say to make the poor man feel better.

[thebestworstidea]

I didn't expect to get a cab, not this late at night.

Everything had gone wrong today. My flight had been delayed then canceled after my ride had already left, leaving me in a town-sized airport in a city I didn't know, thousands of miles from home. The airline suggested I get a hotel, with no mention of reimbursement, which, rude, also wasn't really something I could do.

I supposed I could have called my friend who'd dropped me off, but there was a patch of highway where you just could not get a signal between the airport and their home, so it might not even work, and would just worry them. They had enough to deal with, they didn't need to deal with this crisis. I mean, technically it wasn't a big deal right? Flights get canceled all the time. I'm an adult, damn it, I can handle a little upset.

I may have cried at the service desk. I'm not proud, and it certainly wasn't on purpose. I got put on a flight about the time I was supposed to be arriving at my local airport, and went the wrong direction for almost as long as the flight would have taken. I bounced across another transfer flight before I was actually pointed home. The flight didn't even offer snacks, except water and peanuts, and hungry as I was, eating peanuts would not improve the day any.

Where was I? Right, when I finally got into my local airport, everything was dead. There were a few sleepy, grouchy looking employees stationed behind desks, but there were no lines for red-eye flights, no lounge, no open over-priced restaurants, not even a janitor scrubbing the floor. Everything was shuttered and silent.

The airport echoed. There had been other people on the flight- but I didn't see them. Maybe they'd gone to make another connection. The baggage carousel was empty and stationary, so who even knew where my checked bag was. My phone battery was flashing 'low, will automatically shut off' my spare battery was drained and the usb plug block had disappeared sometime during everything. It might still be plugged into the wall at my friend's place, come to think.

Anyway the rental car place certainly wasn't open, and that'd cost more than a hotel. I couldn't call for a ride with my phone like that, besides, fuck Uber anyway.

Outside the airport, it was almost as silent. I could hear cars in the distance, I could see cars parked in the lot, but no one was waiting to pick anyone up. One of those moments where you contemplate the possibility that you just died at some point and have walked into purgatory with a rolling carry-on. I sat on a cold concrete bench near the abandoned taxi stand and wondered if I could just walk to a place that was less dead. I closed my eyes and contemplated it, until I felt the air move.

A cab had just pulled up at the stand. A charmingly old fashioned one, honestly, that looked like a taxi. The passanger's window rolled down and the driver smiled kindly, an older black man.

"Looking for a ride?"

Part of me wanted to say 'no, I'm fine' and the other part of me wanted desperately to just get home. To spend whatever twilight hours were left in my own bed.

"It's a pretty long haul." I admitted. "Like an hour."

"That's fine."

"it's residential, there won't be a return fare." I was looking over the cab, clean and well maintained, with the little 'taxi' sign illuminated on top.

"Sometimes that's the job." He responded. "Still, I like doing it, especially late at night when nobody's got no one."

I huffed a laugh in response, and went to the back door.

"You realize that sounds a little creepy right?"

he laughed back.

"Hon, everything sounds creepy this time of night."

I had to agree, and settled and buckled up, my bag on the floor next to my feet. I gave him the address and basic directions. the cab pulled away slowly and I noticed that the fare reader was an older model. I didn't have that much cash on me, but there was a stash at home, so that should be fine. Unless things went super weird this guy would be getting the best tip I could afford.

The car was well maintained, engine nearly silent. It was a struggle not to fall asleep, after the day I'd had. It helped that the ac was up in the cab, and I assumed it was just a comfortable temperature for the driver, who was humming under his breath as we settled on the long road towards my home. Other than that, the ride was silent, other than the sudden unexpected beep of my phone finally giving up the ghost, which made us both jump. I apologized, and we laughed about it, but then it was quiet for a long time.

Finally I asked a question, just to break the silence.

"Have you been driving a cab long?"

"Oh years." he agreed. "Since I was a teenager. More steady than you'd think."

"I don't normally take taxis." I admitted. "Usually I organize rides from my friends or family."

"Lots of people take cabs for the first time because of emergencies." he agreed.

"I don't know if this counts as an emergency."

His eyes looked over at me in the rearveiw mirror. He didn't say anything, and I decided that silence wasn't so bad.

The night stretched on, longer than I would have thought. I had no idea what time it was, I thought it might have been three when I reached the airport, but with my phone dead there was no place to check. It was still pitchy dark when he pulled up outside my house.

I dug out my wallet.

"I don't have all the fare in cash, but I can hand you what I have, and get the rest from inside. I'll leave my bag here so you know I'll be back, is that okay?"

"Don't you worry about that. It's good."

"Thanks." clambering out, I handed him the emergency bill from behind my license, and turned towards the front door. Behind me I felt the movement of air, and I whipped around. The guy had been so nice, and what did he think my carry on had?! my laptop is not worth an hour-and-a-half's fare.

The cab was gone. Just gone. Leaving me alone on a dark street. Well, halfway between the street and my house, but you know what I mean. I looked up the street, and down the street, and even straight up. I always look up, because people don't. I mean I didn't expect the cab to be there, but who knows. It took my eyes a minute to adjust, and my brain longer than that to contemplate what the fuck just happened.

Finally they adjusted enough that I saw my carry-on on the street. Right were I had left the cab, lying in the same way it had in the passengers foot well. I went and picked it up, looking left right and sideways again, staring down the empty streets.

So yeah, I didn't expect to get a cab. And I'm not sure that I did.

[milestonekestrel]

Poetic Justice (written version! <33)

Fandom: Still Wakes the Deep

Warnings: Drowning

(Story under the cut)

The rig shook again, and Caz lost his balance. He fell backwards, slipping over the edge of the helipad, and plummeted straight down towards the sea. He smacked against the waves and sank like a stone. Of course, he wasn't conscious enough to see it. 

But Addair was. 

He had fallen to his knees after the rig jostled, and he was recovering his balance when Caz´s screams drew his attention. He saw Caz hit the water, and spray from the splash hit him in the face.

Shit. No wonder Caz was knocked out, stuff was frigid. Not too long in there and he'd die, even if he got out.

Addair should probably save him, huh?

He snorted.

Fuck no. 

He was no gonna bust his ass for that fucker. Caz never belonged on the rig anyway— he had no experience. Falling off the rig just proved it. 

“Serves ya right, ya cunt.”

And he stood, watching bubbles trickle to the surface. And he turned and left. 

And as he did so, Brodie and Douglas took his place. But they dove in and hauled Caz out, and they tried frantically to rouse him. 

And from the back, watching them with arms crossed, was Addair. 

Worthless effort, he thought. Worthless effort.

Worthless effort… worthless… effort..

Worthless effort..! 

Worthless electrician!

¨GET BACK!¨ Addair howled, scrabbling over the stack´s ceiling, ¨GET BACK!¨ 

But Cameron McLeary kept running- it was what the bastard did best, after all. Addair dragged himself further, propelled by his many limbs. He saw Caz´s legs disappear up a flight of stairs, and he dropped low to scramble across the underside of the stack. When he popped back up, he saw Caz stood at the edge of the floor, facing the tower with a relighter in his hand. 

¨STAY.. AWAY!¨ Addair shouted, racing towards the tower. 

Caz glared at him defiantly, ¨I´m doing this!¨

He tore the cap off the relighter, blinking as sparks erupted from it, the flame surging upwards hungrily. He wound back, and then threw it towards the tower. Addair scrambled up the tower´s side and jumped into its path. It collided with him, and–

BOOM!

Flames erupted from him, all across the stack. The force of the explosion sent both him and Caz flying. A shrill screech tore itself from Addair as the fire ate at his oil-slick flesh. Caz tumbled down the stairs and landed on his back, and Addair hastily reached out a hand and grabbed the outer wall of the stack, holding on for dear life. His limbs trembled as he gripped the stack with the front two, flailing the others wildly, trying to shake the fire off of him. 

Panting like an injured animal, he nearly slipped when the stack shifted beneath him. 

¨Caz!¨ that was Brodie, ¨For fucks sake– move! It's about to collapse!¨ 

Addair shifted and tried to crawl forwards, but it just made the fires burn hotter. A second later, Caz stumbled by. He saw Addair and grimaced. 

Addair let out a hiss like steam as he struggled to keep ahold of the stack. The ground lurched, and Caz fell. One of Addair´s hands slipped, he met Caz´s eyes. 

¨McCleeeaaAAARRRRRYYYYY!¨ He screamed, falling from the stack and plummeting straight into the ocean. 

The water felt like falling into a pit of knives. The fires were put out, but the salt stung his singed flesh. He began to sink. 

¨CAZ!¨ he shrieked, bubbles erupting from his mouth as he did so. Addair did not hold his breath. He thrashed like mad, but he could not kick to the surface. Too many limbs– worthless– worthless–

He tipped his head back and gave a last, bubbly howl as he drifted further and further from the surface. And when the last of his air was spent, he sagged, and sank and sank and sank, all the way down to the bottom of the ocean. 

And above the water, Caz stood, watching bubbles trickle to the surface.

And he turned and left.

[familyvideostevie]

🐚 SEASHELL: let's look for beautiful things on the beach! send me a line from a book, song, or movie/tv show and a character and i'll write a short (<1k) blurb for you

“ so why don't we go somewhere only we know.” - from somewhere only we know by miki ratsula with Eddie <3

hi darling!! there are so many great versions of this song but i had not heard this one! it's lovely! so here is something for you, also lovely: eddie whisking you away at a party for a quiet moment

--

You've found pretty much the perfect spot to wait for Eddie. The kitchen is crowded, sure, but sitting on the counter gives you some air and a vantage point to see if he's coming back. Someone turns the music up and a few people scream at the song and bulldoze to the living room to dance. It's nice to see a bunch of twentysomethings having fun, your friends among them.

Robin looks like she's making fun of Steve's dance moves and Jonathan and Nancy are standing close in the corner, his entire body curved over hers as they talk. You know probably every other person at this house -- whose house it is you can't really remember -- so you feel comfortable enough alone for the moment.

But the moment doesn't stretch too long because you see a cloud of messy hair making its way towards you. You sip your beer patiently, swinging your feet a little where they hang off the counter. It only takes moments for Eddie to appear in front of you. He puts his hands on your knees and takes a comically large breath as if he's run a marathon.

"Christ," he says. "Bathroom line was a mile long." He flashes you a grin and tosses some hair from his face. "Miss me?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know," you say. "Who are you again?"

He mimes stabbing himself in the heart with a dagger. "Way harsh, sweetheart. Guess you don't want to see the cool-as-shit thing I found."

You hop from the counter. His hands ghost at your hips to help, then he grabs one of your hands. "Very funny," you tell him. "Now show me the cool thing."

Normally he'd mock you a little, tease and ask you to say please -- to which you'd refuse -- but he must actually be excited because he just starts to tug you through the crowd. No doubt many of them think you're going upstairs to fool around. You sort of wonder if that's what's going to happen, too.

But Eddie leads you up the flight of stairs and down a hall and into someone's bedroom. There is no one here.

"Whose house is this, anyway?" you whisper. Eddie shrugs.

"No idea," he says, full volume. "But I saw this from the street when we got here and thought it was a good spot."

You almost protest when he shoves open a window and you actually do when he climbs through out onto the roof. "Eddie!" you hiss. "Are you serious? You could fall!"

"I won't," he says, eyes bright. He reaches for you. "Now you. I've got you."

The excitement in his expression has you hauling your leg over the sill before you can think about it too hard. He does grip your hips this time, steadying you even when you're on two feet again. "Come on," he says. You look around and realize this part of the roof is pretty flat. You can hear the party downstairs, through open windows and spilling into the yard, but you don't think anyone will see you up here.

"How has no one found this yet?" you ask. Eddie stops you and takes off his jacket, spreading it on the roof before pulling you to sit down.

"No idea," he says. "But isn't it fucking great?" He tips his head back and grins. You copy him and gasp.

You have a perfect view of the stars. "Oh," you say. "Well, this beats the kitchen."

Eddie's lips ghost the shell of your ear. "It really does," he says. He drags them across your cheek and to the corner of your mouth.

"Stop that," you rasp. "I can kiss my boyfriend anytime. Right now I'm watching the stars."

He laughs and slings his arm around you. "Fair enough, sweetheart."

join the celebration!