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vanseerra · 8 months

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Home - An Elucien One-Shot

The Winter Solstice should be a time for joy and celebrations, so why is Elain awake so late and why does the house feel so dark and cold? Lucien should not be awake either, and yet, there is something in his chest compelling him to listen and follow to its cause.

G Rating | 3.5k Words

Elain

The evening was finally winding down. A still air has crept over the townhouse, bringing with it the deep chill of the winter night. Gone were the comforting thrills of a room full of laughter and excitement from only hours before. The winter solstice was always a big event here. With the festivities as well as Feyre’s birthday, everyone could be assured a day filled with joy. Nyx’s arrival had added an extra layer of warmth- watching his bright eyes light at the sight of every new toy and gift didn’t fail to spread smiles across everyone’s faces.

Seeing her sisters, Nesta especially, leaning into the celebrations and letting go of that past that seemed oh so close was a sense of peace for Elain. A bud of light was ripe in her chest as she played her role as a quiet and respectful observer with pride. It was in those moments that the newly turned fae believed she could adjust to this life, where she could hope for the ease that her family bore these days. That optimism clung to her with desperation but as the night inevitably drew nearer, when the sun began to descend behind its sunken veil, she fell with it.

The fire before her hummed with life. With drifting eyes, she stared into the flames. They bounced and danced around each other, their flicks of yellows darting skywards. To watch so closely caused her lids to sting but there was little she could do to look away. How could she deny this final chance of warmth? How could she turn from this tiny kindle of comfort while her siblings lay sleeping, huddled against their partners, their families.

With a sorrowful dip, the well in her chest widened, its darkness wrapping her ribs with weights. It was not an unusual feeling to her now and had stopped being a stranger to her a long time ago- before this house, this place, these lands. She wondered when they had become so acquainted but to bring up these memories now… she could not bear it.

Elain sighed, deeply and purposefully, arms curling around her knees on the sofa as she held the flames gaze. In her transfixed state, she did not hear the small creak of the oak door, nor heard the two hesitant footsteps that entered the main sitting room. The visitor paused, seemingly awaiting a moment to speak when she groaned loudly in pure frustration, flailing her head backwards. Deep golden eyes met her upside ones. With a gasp, she straightened her body back up.

“Gosh Lucien, don’t you know how to knock?” She exclaimed, a small pink tinting her cheeks.

“…To enter the living room?”

Elain was stunted. Truly, she hasn’t known why his sudden appearance had shaken her so visciously. She turned her body to face him, noting instantly the casualness of his attire: the way his linen shirt hung from his body, showing the slightest hint of muscle and the loose red braid that hung over his shoulder. She swallowed. No words could rise to her lips.

“I…”

“It’s late, I’m surprised to see you up.” Lucien's voice was crisp, warm and smooth, a delicate ember. His brows were knitted together in concern, the gentle pupils of his eyes examining her carefully as she sat before him. “Is something wrong?”

“I was just about to retire.” She answered simply.

It wasn’t a lie per-say, more of a non-truth. How could she explain what had been going through her mind moments before? Would she even want to? Seeing Lucien before her like this though, without all of the awkward formalities she swore to upkeep around her family and friends, was new but not unwelcome. She wondered what was going through his mind.

“May I sit for a moment?” He gestured to the couch she was perched upon. “I couldn’t sleep.” He grimaced.

She gave a gentle nod. He made his way over and slowly sat himself beside her, their bodies angled slightly away from each other. Her heart lurched in her chest. Had she ever been this close to him before? She’d certainly never picked up on his scent, the woody depth of cedarwood mixed in with something of slight sweetness. Cinnamon. Her instincts cried to her, begging for her to indulge, to sweep her arms around him and breathe in that cosy warmth. She dug her nails into her legs.

Lucien

Lucien's day had never really ended. He’d excused himself from the festivities relatively early, hoping to get a long rest before his return the following day. However, tucked up in the sheets of the guest room, his mind turned and turned. A pressure sat on his chest, similar to the shame he held some days but was somehow different.

The feeling was an ache. It dug deep into his chest and seemed to pull at his lungs, at his heart, searching for a response. It was a hollowed darkness. The weight called to him, echoed a sense of loneliness, of emptiness, of pain. A pang of recognition hit him suddenly, causing him to bolt upright. The pain was not his.

He had found her huddled on a couch before the fireplace. Even with her body turned from him, his breath paused at her beauty. The dim light of the lit fire flowed around her, illuminating the delicate outline of her pink dress. Sat there like that, she looked like a goddess. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be struck by her presence- sometimes just being in the same room as her would render him frozen. Never before though had he witnessed this side of her, performing no acts of properness, no walls guarding her. A need to protect her rung through his bones.

Beside her, he carefully examined the delicacies of her face. The softness of her features, the light rosiness that brushed her cheeks, the subtle curve of her long lashes. Breathtaking yet… her eyes ached, her jaw tightened, her brows twitched. It was clear how many words were turning in her head, how many thoughts she wanted to spill and clear from her.

“You can talk to me, you know…” His invitation was weak and he silently cursed himself for it. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

His attempt at humour had not struck true. Elains brows further burrowed, a finger gently rubbing her knee. Self-soothing.

“I barely know you.” Her voice was but a whisper.

He supposed she was right. The two of them were barely more than strangers. For a couple of years now, he had done all he could to respect her and her boundaries. He kept his visits brief, words short, only coming and going when he was needed. There was nothing that caused him greater pain, but he had done it and done it well. The fact that the two of them were talking, albeit awkwardly and with tension, was more than could be said about the last few years. He was eternally grateful regardless.

“You could know me.” His offer was bold yet sincere. Gently, his heart thumped behind his ribs and he knew she could hear it. Elain turned to face him and he almost cried. The softness of her brown hair fell over her shoulder as she moved her head. It was angelic. He watched with eagerness as her eyes flickered through many thoughts and he silently prayed for an invitation. Please his mind willed. Her eyes turned back to the flames as she spoke.

“This house is so quiet at night…” She started.

“When the sun sets its like… it becomes a new place. The silence is so loud, it’s weird. With so many people here you’d never think it could be like this. To be awake at this time of night it…”

Hesitantly, she held a hand before the flame, letting it heat her palm. He noted the soft curves of her nails, the blushed skin of her fingers, and wondered how it would feel on his own.

“I know I should be grateful. Feyre has been so good to me, too good to me. She’s done everything she can to help me adjust, despite everything. But still…”

A small tear bubbled at the corner of her eye and he could not resist the hand that leaned to wipe it. She did not resist.

Elain

She was speaking before she could even comprehend what was happening. Somehow and for some reason, the words fell from her with ease, her heart opening in a way it hadn’t for so long. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider? Not a part of Rhys and his Inner Circle who had tried so insistently to ease her into their group. No it wasn’t that, it was… When she turned to look at him, she saw herself in the reflection of those gentle eyes and wanted to weep instantly. His gaze held such care, a sense of longing bubbling beneath its surface.

The matter of the mating bond had been so tricky for her for so long, and for good reason. Everything had been taken from her against her will and she was expected to just accept it? After everything she had lost? After every sacrifice she had made? Here was a man, handed to her and expected to be a companion to her. How could she ever be okay with that?

Lucien was not the fae she thought he would be, however. The fact she had little to do with him was proof of that. Where she had expected him to be forthcoming and insistent on their bond, he has been the opposite- out of the picture and respectfully so. Their distance had been a physical strain, one she knew to be purely biological but he had listened and demanded nothing from her.

Gazing at him now, she could see him for who he was. Feyre’s friend. Loyal, caring, dependable. Before her like this, he asked nothing of her, only offered an open ear, one she needed so desperately. Maybe it was because of that, because of his quiet acceptance and patience that she continued speaking, honestly and with a heavy heart.

“This isn’t my home. I don’t know if it can ever be. I don’t even think I know what the word means anymore.” Gods did that truth ache.

A flash of understanding passed through Lucien's expression and he appeared to think over his response for a second before speaking.

“What do you want home to mean?”

Elain was struck. What did she want home to mean? The heaviness of the question was unexpected and yet, it pulled on a cord so deep she couldn’t help but tug, searching for her answer. Home. Home should mean a place, should mean family, friends. The words that came up surprised her.

“Warmth.”

Now that she thought about it, when was the last time she had felt it authentically? Sitting here, before this fire, was different. Her chest didn’t hold the heat like it used to, surrounded by her two sisters and her Father, back before everything here. That was a past she could never return, no matter how much it ached; perhaps that’s why it had all been… so hard.

Lucien

Lucien held his breath as she spoke, every word quaint yet charged, filled with feelings so deeply personal he wondered why he had been privy to hear them. Not that he was complaining about it. The truth of it was, everything she was saying resonated so strongly with his own beliefs- the conflicts he had faced and continued to each day.

He should be satisfied with his life. He was safe, protected, surrounded by people who accepted him for who he was and yet… There was always that final piece missing, that yearning he felt to live rather than just exist. As a little boy, he had felt that same gap, even more so in his family home. His brothers were in name only, the weight of his outcast nature isolating him from the warmth he saw between his Father and siblings. Why was he so different? Why did they not love him in the same way? These questions had plagued him for a lifetime.

Feyre had been good to him also. His role in the Night Court was not something he turned his nose up at. It was a stable job that allowed him to do what he did best. He also took deep joy in celebrating with them all over the holidays, laughing alongside new friends and old but, it was never the sense of completeness that he was constantly longing for.

Warmth. There was a great irony in how deeply he related to her truth. Lucien was warmth personified. His upbringing had been surrounded by ‘warmth’ in the Autumn Court and yet, it was more like fire- something that burnt and stung those that fell victim to it. He supposed ‘warmth’ was nothing like that at all. His powers were different, they were innately him, his nature. At times, he felt shame at his abilities: they reflected his heritage in ways he never wanted to be entangled with. But, at its core, there was no element he knew better.

He could provide Elain with what she wanted. He could warm her with his powers, with his words, with his affection. What a painful thing it was to be on the brink of something so great and to withhold it like a forbidden truth. Clenching his teeth to stop the words from dropping from his throat, he watched her carefully. What would Elain want to hear right now?

“I think that’s beautiful…” He started, watching Elains interest slip with slow disappointment. She faced the dwindling flame, her head resting upon her knees.

“Yes…”

It struck him. She did not need to hear approving words, didn’t need someone to be agreeable and offer her no solutions. She had probably had a lifetime of it. He straightened his back, glancing to the ceiling as he recalled a memory.

“When I was a boy, we had this massive oak tree in our back garden.” He started and noted her eyes sliding to watch him.

“Its leaves were every hue of orange and red you could imagine. And its canopy looked like the tip of a mushroom. When I’d hold my hand up towards the sky…” he demonstrated for her, raising her palm upwards as he spoke.

“It wouldn’t even cover half of it- it was that large. It was my favourite tree by far, so grand and majestic and I would spend hours and hours in its shade.”

“What would you do beneath it?” She asked inquisitively.

“Oh, everything. Some days I would draw, read, sometimes even sleep under its cover. The best day I had was when I owned this little paper sword. I would swing it back and forth around it, pretending to fend off monsters from its trunk.” He scoffed at the memory, shaking his head.

“Did they win?”

“Did they win!” He chuckled, eyebrow raising at her sly sense of humour. “Now that is just cruel Elain. I think even I could fend off pretend monsters.”

The small painted smile on her face was all he could ever wish for.

“Anyhow, the tree was planted beside a big window into our home. It was always wide open to allow in the breeze and so, when I was beneath it, I could often… hear the comings and goings of the house.” His grin slipped.

“It was from that place, resting against that great oak that I overheard many things. Hushed talks of diplomacies, debates and arguments, dinner conversation and most poignantly…. celebrations.”

Elains brows sunk at this revelation, the confusion and hurt on her face evident. She went to speak but he continued.

“I was never not invited to those moments but… to say that things were different when I was around would be an understatement. I was just a kid and still, my family, my brothers especially resented me so strongly. It made me so confused.” The tears were caught at the back of his throat and he fought his resolve, trying to keep them from falling. He could not look towards her, in fear of his restraint slipping and the pain becoming too evident.

Elain

Elain could not believe what she was hearing. To know Lucien had suffered so much in his earlier life, had been so alone… her heart sunk for all that he had endured at such a young age. Her own life had not been so perfect as a child, but to be so isolated, in a family that large, she could not imagine the toll it would’ve taken. It was clear from the pained expression that overtook his features just how low the memory was.

A part of her had been relieved when he’d first started the story, grateful that he wasn’t just going to nod and move on from the openness of her confession. Gods knew she was sick to death of being coddled and agreed to. “Yes Elain.” “That sounds nice Elain” “What a good idea Elain”- she was sick of it. However, this was a different type of pain, one she felt within her own bones and chest. She could not help the hand that reached over to grasp his, tentatively and sheepishly.

His eyes were instantly upon hers, his body going deathly still. He did not move away however, only considered her in his gaze. A grateful smile tugged on his lips and it was so bright and warm that Elain was equally as frozen. How could such a small movement have such an effect on her?

“That means to say…” he carried on, “that on some levels and in some ways, I believe I understand. To be without warmth in your home, that is a scar that does not so easily heal and admittedly, makes it hard to find the right, true step forwards.”

“Yes.” Her reply was a little breathless, hardly believing someone else understood it as she did. The words were direct echoes of her own thoughts.

“Where do you go when you don’t know where to look or what to do?” It was a question she aimed less at him and more at herself. A question she had spent the last few years turning and turning in her mind.

“I’ll admit, I don’t have the answer for myself but I think you have to start somewhere.” He gestured to the room before them with his spare hand, signalling to the space.

“If this isn’t making you happy then, despite what feels right, what feels like the acceptable thing to do” he clarified, “then you should explore the alternatives. This world is a lot bigger than the Night Court, regardless of what your sister and the others like to believe.”

“I can’t just… up and leave.” There was a deep sadness to her tone.

“Says who?“

“Says… everyone. I think Nesta would have a heart attack.”

“This is your life Elain, not hers.”

“Then how do you suggest I go… where do I even start?”

Lucien

Lucien was determined. Elains true thoughts and feelings had been blown open wide to him and the doubt that plagued her so closely was fuelled by so many things that he knew to be untrue. She was not stuck here in the Night Court. Not on the level she thought to be. There would be some resistance from others, of course, but when wasn’t there in life? And if it was making her so unwell to be in this place…

A thought hit him. It was wild and childish and completely nonsensical, especially considering this was the most the both of them had spoken in all of those years but, when if not now would be the perfect chance to try? With a newfound determination, the red haired fae placed his free hand upon their joined ones, leaning towards her slightly.

“Come with me.”

“Lucien…”

“Not for long, for a single trip if that’s what you wish. I’m leaving in the morning for another court, relaying some messages and that is all. I could have you back here within the day.”

A small ember of light shone behind the woman’s pupils, it was hopeful and sparked with a sense of hope that he had not seen from her before. It was a stunning sight.

“But Feyre… Nesta…”

“Will be fine. I will even get on my knees and beg before Rhysand if you’ll accept.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at his playful nature but the small tug on her lips told him what she would say before she spoke.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He had to be sure.

“Yes. Yes I will go with you. One trip.” She emphasised, holding her finger up with importance.

“You’d better pack your bags then, lady.”

Lucien grinned, ear to ear, the song in his chest ringing and ringing and ringing.

A/N: I wanted to say thank you for my support on my other fics and to ask for your patience while I figure out Tumblrs formatting- things like this really make me feel my age haha. AO3 will be my next big hurdle. Elucien is a ship I hold so dear and getting to write for them brings me a lot of joy. In the future, I hope to continue pre-existing fics and perhaps open to suggestions for one-shots! All the best :)

#elucien #pro elucien #acotar #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #fanfic

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timotey · 4 months

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Ficlet: Believe You Me

The Sign. Phaya/Tharn. Missing scene from ep 5. Unbeta’d.

Promise me you won't die on me...

(Pseudo-medicine. I use it. Hand-wave all inaccuracies. Artistic licence is my motto!)

***

“Can you get up?” Phaya asks quietly, squeezing Tharn’s shoulders gently.

“I think so, yeah,” Tharn replies and tries to get off the floor. He’s aching all over and the coldness of the concrete seeping into his bones really doesn’t help.

In the end, Phaya has to help him because his abdomen really hurts now, little tendrils of pain spreading out from the stab wound, forcing his muscles to seize. Tharn grits his teeth, because, damn, it hurts.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Phaya says anxiously when Tharn leans heavily against him. He pulls Tharn closer, letting him rest against his chest for a while, rubbing his arms and back.

“The guys are on the way,” Yai says as he steps closer, pocketing his cellphone. He stops and frowns a little when he sees them standing there like this, Phaya propping Tharn up, Tharn a little pale and with his eyes closed, breathing in and out, slowly, deeply. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Phaya looks over Tharn’s head at Yai. “He got stabbed,” he says.

Yai’s eyes widen. “Stabbed?!” he exclaims in dismay and reaches out to turn Tharn around and check for himself. He freezes though when Tharn hisses in pain.

“Easy there!” Phaya snaps at Yai, glaring, and pulls Tharn back into his arms, hand on the back of Tharn’s neck as Tharn swallows convulsively, eyes tightly shut, and continues breathing in and out through his nose.

“Sorry, sorry!” Yai apologizes, raising his hands as if in surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to!”

After a moment, Tharn lifts his head from Phaya’s shoulder and straightens up, and though he pushes away a little, he doesn't let go of Phaya’s vest, gripping it tightly with one hand. He looks at Yai. “It’s okay. It’s not…” He presses one hand to his stomach, feeling the rip in his vest under his fingers. “It’s really not that bad.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Phaya says, still a little anxious, a little shaken, but with one clear objective in his mind now which is letting him find his feet again: take care of Tharn. “I’m taking you to a hospital.”

Tharn looks up at him; his eyes are clear even if a little pinched around the corners with pain. “That’s not necessary. It’s not even bleeding much, look.” He shows them his hand, devoid of any red stains.

Yai leans down a little to look at the hole punched through the vest, squinting a little. “Yeah,” he drawls when he straightens up again. “And next you’re going to tell us that it doesn’t even hurt, though you look ready to keel over. Brother, you are going to the hospital, Phaya is right.”

Phaya nods firmly and his grip on Tharn’s shoulders tightens. Tharn is obviously not getting out of this one.

Tharn sighs a little, closing his eyes for a moment. “How about a compromise?” he offers. “The infirmary at the headquarters. I’ll let them look me over and if they think I should go to the hospital, I will. But let’s keep that as a backup plan, alright? Going to the emergency room is a pain.” He really doesn’t feel like spending hours upon hours there, waiting for his turn. Especially when it really isn’t that bad. It just… hurts, is all.

Tharn can feel Phaya and Yai exchanging glances over his head as if he's not there. As if he got punched in the head instead of his stomach and somehow lost the capacity to decide for himself. It annoys Tharn a little. Even though he, well, he did kinda hit his head at one point or another, and pretty much every other part of his self, too, but… let’s not add fuel to the fire.

In the end, they agree to his plan despite their reservations. They’re worried - actually, Tharn can almost feel the waves of anxiety still rolling off Phaya - but they agree. Tharn’s relief is almost overwhelming. He’s tired, unusually so, and he doesn’t think he would have the strength to fight them on this if they put their foot down.

Phaya helps Tharn up the stairs with one hand around his shoulders, the other holding his arm, staring down at Tharn with such intensity as if Tharn could collapse on him and die any moment. Or maybe simply vanish into thin air.

Yai stays behind to coordinate the proceedings at the crime scene, calling after them to let him know how it goes.

They make it out of the cellar and into the bright sunlight - and then Tharn can’t hold it in anymore. With a hand pressed against his lips, he mumbles, “I’m going to be sick.”

The wave of nausea that overcomes Tharn is so strong and the muscles in his abdomen are suddenly cramping up so badly that he barely registers Phaya helping him to the side, towards a row of bushes where he can have some privacy and there he holds him up, rubbing his back, while Tharn throws up. Which makes his stomach hurts even more. He groans.

When Tharn’s done, shaky and sweaty and drained, he looks up at Phaya who pulls out a tissue and wipes Tharn's lips for him. Tharn wonders what he must look like. Because Phaya wears a distressed, unhappy expression on his face and he’s propping Tharn up altogether too gently for someone who just a few hours ago wanted to punch him. Unhappy Phaya makes for an unhappy Tharn.

That’s why Tharn tries to smile, despite aching all over, and pats Phaya’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to die on you.”

Tharn's flippant words make Phaya’s unhappy face even unhappier, though. His eyes look suspiciously shiny. “Tharn…” he breathes out.

Pulling himself up with Phaya’s help, Tharn tells him, “It’s just… he packed a helluva punch, is all. Made me feel queasy.”

Having been on the receiving end of many more of their culprit’s punches than Tharn, Phaya has to concede. “Yeah,” he says, leading Tharn towards the car. “Still, we should take a look at your wound. Maybe it’s worse than you think and you should be going to the hospital, after all.”

Leaning against the car door that Phaya opens, Tharn accepts the offered bottle of water and rinses his mouth, shaking his head a little. “I would rather not,” he says, resting his hand on his wound. “It still hasn’t bled through and I’m thinking that the vest is keeping pressure on the wound, you know? Better to keep it that way.”

Phaya drops his eyes to where Tharn’s hand is resting on the torn vest and reaches out, running his fingertips over the back of Tharn’s hand butterfly light. For a moment it seems that he’s going to argue but then he just nods and helps Tharn into the car. Phaya does it as gently as possible but it still hurts and Tharn has to breathe through it, slowly and deeply.

Phaya slides into the driver’s seat but instead of starting the car, he just sits there, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and stares straight ahead at the green wall of trees in front of them.

Tharn looks at him, turning his head slightly on the headrest. “Phaya?” he whispers quizzically.

“Do you promise?” Phaya asks hoarsely, swallowing hard.

Tharn furrows his brows a little. “Promise what?” He keeps his voice soft.

“That you won’t die on me,” Phaya says a little harshly as he turns towards Tharn with an intense look in his eyes. “Do you promise?”

Tharn stares at him, his heart breaking a little. Because he knows that no one can promise such a thing. He knows that, very well. And yet…

He reaches out to rest his hand on Phaya’s thigh and squeezes gently. “I promise,” he lies.

Phaya drops one hand from the steering wheel, turns Tharn’s hand around and laces their fingers together. And though he hears the lie in Tharn's words, he says, “I believe you.”

#the sign #the sign the series #my fics #my the sign fics #mé

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littlefankingdom · 4 months

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Gege's writing of Gojo Satoru is lazy and bad

Here, I said it.

And I'm of the opinion that "lazy" is an ableist and classicist term thrown around to shame people of their situation, so if I'm using it, I mean it and I'm pissed.

I have been angry since chapter 236 and I fell on an Instagram post, by a fan page, full of the normies fan (aka allocishet boys/men) earlier, which just made me lose it. So, I'm finally going full rant.

I'm using they/them pronouns for Gege, as they use non-gendered pronouns in Japanese. They didn't want their gender to influence the publication (which is a huge problem in the art world, in manga but also in comics and bd (the French-Belgium comics), and I can salute that.

"The Strongest" is not a bad character trait

It is totally possible to tell an interesting story with a character describes as "the strongest in the world", and the idea that Gojo is immediately boring and needed to die for the story to progress is wrong. Superman is an example of this "strongest in the world" character, and he has been thriving for decades. And in manga/anime, we have the great One, who has given us One Punch Man and Mob Psycho. In those two, TWO, stories, One tell us the tale of "the strongest in the world", and One is known to be far from the best artist. So, to sell and have people publish (One Punch Man was originally a webcomic, and the manga isn't drawn by One, but still) and read those manga, it means that One's writing is fucking good. If you have never seen/read Mob Psycho, go do it immediately, it's, imo, the best anime ever. I am still certain that if Reigen was in the jjk's world, everything would be fine, and yes, he still would be a con. One was able to write not one, but two stories about a strongest where you are still sitting at the hedge of your seat during the fights and are so invested, where the other characters still shine and develop their capacities. How? Well, one might be the strongest in a fight, but what about mentally? Emotionally? One explores his characters' flaws and feelings. And the thing is, Gojo has a LOT of flaws that could be exploited to make the story more thrilling. How about how careless he is when fighting, which lead him to be super destructive or letting someone WAY weaker than him get away (Gojo never won a fight perfectly if you look at it)? How he barely shows emotions to others or let himself affected? How he is lonely because of the pedestal the jujutsu society has put him on, and if he got off of it and opened up, he would be way less? A lot of flaws, of "weaknesses", that could be exploited to work on Gojo. That's literally what they did when Gojo got pokeballed, exploited how Gojo does not know how to deal with his emotions because of his upbringing and status, and so, is so deeply affected by the ghost of his one best friend. But it was only to get rid of Gojo, instead of dissecting him. Because, no, we can have that, because it would make him interesting, and Gege hates Gojo.

Hating your characters is an issue

Gege hating on Gojo is funny, until it impacts the writing. And it does, A LOT. Just like loving your character too much can lead you to fail to see the issue in your writings (Catra in She-Ra), hating a character as the same effect. Gege's hate for Gojo led them to be unable to develop him, and to contradict their own writing. For example: Gojo is said to not care about anyone multiple times, Gege even mentioned, outside the manga, that he didn't care about Yuuta or Yuji's lives, he just saw the potential. However, they also wrote Gojo being annoyed at the fact that a teenager was on the death row in jjk 0, Gojo mad that they killed Yuji, Gojo getting angry that civilians are getting killed, Gojo being shaken STILL 10 YEARS LATER by his best friend's betrayal (He cares sooooo much about a man that betrayed him 10 years ago, it's borderline impossible. Like, it's been 10 years, time to stop being soft about this genocidal man, dude. I'm pretty certain that people, after 10 years, either don't care anymore or are pissed at their traitor ex-friend). There's a part of Gege, who is writing an interesting story, that started to develop Gojo, and then, there's the part of Gege that hates Gojo and need to go against this development. When Gojo dies, his dead classmates affirmed he never really cared and was only doing all of this for fun, and it's the final nail in the coffin for me. Gege has a constant need to diminish Gojo's character, that was the issue with Gojo's writing. Gojo couldn't become an interesting "strongest in the world" character because Gege couldn't let him shine. Gege sees Gojo has this uncaring asshole that people only like for his looks (they said that Gojo won the popularity vote only because female readers voted for him, which is so sexist, like women and girls only like a character's looks and cannot appreciate a character's personality and values, but also really diminishing toward his own character, as it would imply nobody could see something interesting in Gojo apart from his looks, but boy, if your character is that popular, it's not just for his looks.) but they could have made it different, a part of them clearly wanted it to be different and knew it was the way to do it. But no! Gege always comes back to hating Gojo and must make him emotionless suddenly. He is never shown to care about the two children HE RAISED for more than 10 years, while still being attached to the man that was is bestie for 3 years more than 10 years ago. That doesn't make sense at all. And he lost the two children he raised while he was pokeballed, after he got distracted. Being distrated by his ex bestie ghost cost him his surrogate family, and we are supposed to believe he is heartless enough to not care??? Gege hates Gojo, and so they keep taking away anything that could make him more interesting. Damn, Gojo wanted to make his students as strong as himself and to change the jujutsu society for the better, and he FAILED. His students are dead (Megumi was at least gone when he was alive) and he never build the new society, so him being fine with his death is so annoying. The strongest actually didn't get what he wanted, he just had "fun" and that was enough, apparently. Yeah, no, fuck you.

YOU WROTE HIM

I'm scared for the futur of jjk

Gege is the creator, the writer, the artist, the mangaka behind Jujutsu Kaisen and so, Gojo Satoru. They are their god. They had the power to make Gojo's interesting, to develop him more, to make him more weak in other aspect, to use his flaws against him, but they didn't. And that's why Gege is lazy to me. Because they refused to do the work to make things better, they chose the easy way to deal with a strong character: killing them. They kept on complaining about Gojo, like they had no power over the writing. And look, they hated Gojo for being "too strong" so they killed him, but now Sukuna and Kenjiro are too strong. Gege just keeps shooting themself in the foot.

This is my personal opinion, and you can disagree completely (don't try to change my mind, tho)

Gege has also mentioned not liking my son, my sun, my boy, Yuji, so what now? Will he also hurt his character because of that? And he has already killed like half of the characters we have been following since the beginning, which is disappointing. Like, I was invested in them, and now I'm supposed to watch some new guys, I have no interested in, fight the big bad? I'm not saying they're bad characters or boring, but it's not the fucking same. It feels like it has just become a "Who is the strongest?! Fight! Fight! Fight!" story, and sorry, but I can watch sports for that little connections or interests in the personal stories or goals (fr, I feel more connection to Teddy Riner, French Judoka, and the strongest in the world. Damn, another strongest interesting guy. He actually lost at the last Olympic Games, we were shocked). I love One Piece (and this is why it is a success) because the characters are following their dreams. They have been going into fights for more than 1000 chapters, and I read them all MULTIPLE TIMES because there's a deep connection to the characters. I love watching Luffy fights because I want him to be the King of the Pirates, because I want the people who have been wronged to get justice, because I want the pos in front of him to get their ass beat. And, as he fights to become King of the Pirates, it has a butterfly effect on the whole world and the oppressive system is crumbling. It's not just a fight. And Jujutsu Kaisen is becoming "just a fight", which seem to be enough to most male reader, but I personally find it boring.

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk spoilers #in this house we only trust the queers and the girls fans #boys/mens must pass a test to prove they are valuable members of the fandom #you can not care and just want to enjoy the anime/manga it's ok #but bad boring takes are not okay #the number of times I have seen discussion from boys/men fans only being “X is the strongest tho!” BOOOOOOORING

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khoipyan · 1 year

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shaken and stirred!

(GI) diona!like reader x octavinelle trio

(diona is a character from genshin impact. for more information, you refer to this wiki page.)

warnings; gn!reader, reader is not diona herself, just similar. READER WILL NOT BE A CHILD LIKE DIONA! can be seen as platonic or romantic, im not writing about diona!reader's daddy issues im sorry :sob: reader is not stated to have cat features in this (ears, tail), sorry :( i can write for a partial cat reader sometime else though ^_^

notes; im very tired and sleepy skull BUT I LIKED THIS IDEA TOO MUCH TO PASS IT UP LMKODHIUHD i got a bit too self indulgent in azul’s whoopsies ALSO THERES AN OMORI REFERENCE IN ONE OF THE PARTS!! see if you can find it >:)

azul ashengrotto

you can... mix anything into a drink and it'll still taste good? even butterflies, conches and lizard tails..? well, you know... if you need a job—

first thing he does once he hears about this is try to get you to do a contract with him, of course! you don't want your magic, and he can give you something you actually want. however you just narrow your eyes at him, cross your arms and sigh. this isn't magic; it's actually a curse.

is appalled at the fact you could call such an ability, a skill! a curse. he would die to have that skill. however, he softens just a bit when he hears your story.

"when i was younger, i believed in the spring fairy. i spoke my feelings and poured out my soul to the moon reflected on the water's surface... on my seventh birthday, i heard a voice talk to me. surprise surprise, it was the fairy herself! that was the day i received the blessi— i mean, curse." you explained.

it was silent for a few seconds.

"you don't have to believe me, but you're the one who aske— STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!"

besides your curse of making the best drinks ever, your tsundere-like personality really confuses him. VERY.

you offered to walk him to his dorm one time while you both were hanging out in the library, fearing that he may get lost or something of sorts. when he told you that he was fine by himself, you shot him with a:

"whatever! i wasn't worried at all, i just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you so that you wouldn't blame me."

...????././??

azul has yet to understand by what you mean with your confusing and contradicting sentences, but he's willing to try! after all, you seem to care for him with actions, not words.

jade leech

you picked the wrong guy to be a tsun-tsun with, i'm telling you that.

picks up an interest with you right away, but keeps it confidential to himself for a week or two before approaching you to learn more.

the first time you two met is when he caught you scheming how to take down the wine industry... in which you told him to leave immediately.

“oh? what do we have here?”

"H-HUH? DON'T LOOK AT MY PLANS! AAAGHH, GET OUT-"

although he knows it’s probably not possible, jade has to admit that he admires your burning rage passion in taking down the wine industry.

haha, remember what i said about him being the wrong guy to be a tsundere with? well, he teases you SO much and pretends to be a complete saint about it. you absolutely CANNOT catch a break from him but hey, you brought this upon yourself!

(not really, but we all know how jade is…)

he notices very quickly under all the light slaps to his arm and the ‘cross arms and turn away’ motions that you seem to care about him very deeply. how interesting.

and for this, this must be what he loves the most about you.

…

oh well, it’s a shame that the show must go on. after realizing this (which doesn’t take too long), he uses it as even MORE material to tease you with.

jade feigns sadness, but it’s getting hard not to crack a smile at your exasperated expression. “i thought you were concerned about me getting hurt just now, were you not?”

“SCREW. YOU! I HOPE A PIANO FALLS ON YOU!”

“ouch. so hurtful… at least you didn’t wish that i had fallen down the stairs.”

floyd leech

just like his twin brother, floyd's interest with you is almost instant. you can make beverages out of anything? even the most nastiest things to ever exist? and your personality makes you even BETTER for him to target you.

when he heard about your ability, he absolutely convinced you to make drinks with him and give it to the people at mostro lounge. one, he wanted to see if it was true. two, MAYBE he needed an excuse to slack off from work.

to floyd’s surprise, it was true; anything you made into a drink was surprisingly delicious. floyd even had to try it for himself, because even he doubted you for a second.

tries convincing you to join mostro lounge. aww, why not?? come ooon! you can make money, make delicious drinks for customers AND he gets to mess around with you on shifts!

he laughs when you tell him about your plans to destroy the wine industry.

what’s so funny, floyd? stop laughing! this is a serious matter—

so playful yet teasing with you, especially seeing how annoyed and frustrated you get when he does something that even slightly inconveniences you.

“give me my textbook back!” you’re chasing after floyd in the halls. it’s bad to run, but you need your book back!

“when you catch me!” floyd responds, running at a fast pace.

ultimately thinks it’s so cute to see you deny how you care for him. floyd is smarter than he makes out to be, he knows. he acknowledges the times you get flustered when he compliments you, or the worried glances you spare him when he’s having a bad day.

he appreciates you so much! even if you do punch him a bit hard sometimes, he’ll always be sure to playfully bite back (but be more gentler, of course).

— due to be edited at anytime —

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tooloudamind · 7 months

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Okay so I’m not the only Byler who is now in the clutches of Good Omens, and I’ve seen cases for Will as the Aziraphale and Mike as the Crowley equivalent in a hypothetical Good Omens Byler AU. But really, the possibility of the vice versa is what grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go. Will is the last person you’d expect to be turned a demon in a Good Omens AU, but he also has the biggest association (besides El) in canon with the Upside Down (The show honest-to-goodness started with him being dragged off to Hell the Upside Down.) And obviously, Will and Mike translated through this lens are not going to be expies of Crowley and Aziraphale— but we don’t quite get canon Will and Mike either. Since the Good Omens universe is not overtly queerphobic, I also had to draw on other ideas for why Will may have been considered different (but obviously, the gayness is still there lmao)

And so, have this: a Byler x Good Omens Angel!Mike/Demon!Will AU character study. Complete with footnotes.

Also, did I take one look at Mike’s full name being Michael and run away with the Archangel associations? Yes.

Dramatis Personae

WILL, reluctant Demon, known to his compatriots as Maldonado.

On his bitterest days, he can't help but think that perhaps he was made to Fall.

MIKE, short for Michael, an Angel who is just trying to do his best.

He was more shaken by Will’s Fall than he’d like to admit.

If anybody (usually Mike [1], who for some reason never tires of the question despite the fact that the answer never changes) asks Will how he had ended up in Hell in the first place, Will usually just shrugs and gives a non-committal grunt. Anyone who didn’t know Will very well (which were most people other than Mike, really) would take that nonchalant exterior at face value, and assume Will hadn’t Fallen so much as Sauntered Vaguely Downwards. But Will had indeed thrashed and screamed quite an embarrassing amount, really, when he’d first been dragged to Hell— something that he doesn’t care for the other demons to remember.

For even after all these years as a demon, Will fears that there is still something all too soft about him, too corruptible— he keeps it deeply, safely hidden, but he knows there is a part of his being, the inmost core of him, that would turn to putty in the hands of the right person. He chooses to hang out with Michael, disgraced Archangel [2] that he is, and isn’t that enough proof for anyone who’s looking? He doesn’t quite know why he was ever thrown out of Heaven, but he’s learnt since then that supernatural entities such as himself— whether occult or ethereal— aren’t supposed to be quite so… attached. It’s funny, he thinks, how angels are supposed to be practically made of love— yet Will has always been enough of a bleeding-heart that it was too much even for the angels. It’s not like he fits in any better with the demons, for that. (Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.)

It’s despite this, or perhaps because of it, that no matter how many humans may describe Will as “a bit of a soft touch”, Will has made sure that his fellow demons themselves don’t pay too much attention to him for any of the wrong reasons. He likes being stationed on Earth, the life that he has made here for himself being something he couldn’t have even dreamt of in those darkest first days as a demon [3]— and he’s not, at any cost, going to let anyone take that away from him. And Will may be a mere tool of Hell like any other demon, but he can’t afford to lose any more of himself than he already has. So, whenever Will goes about his Hellish business, observers (in the rare cases that there have been any) often note a young man who exudes a detached, but fierce competency— which, in Hell, is functionally equivalent to an aura of quiet danger. The other demons don’t quite understand his methods, but his work is respected enough by those who do matter. No one really looks close enough to see that constant roiling simmer of internal conflict that he keeps tightly wound, just under his skin, and so much the better for that. [4]

He is never again going to risk being accused of caring too much.

And so, over the years and centuries, the demon who calls himself William Maldonado has gotten very good at hiding.

Mike would never admit this to anyone, not even to Will himself, but he still remembers the angel that Will used to be— specifically, the angel he had met before the Beginning, illuminating the various forms and shapes of things that were to populate the Earth, painting color into very existence. [5]

It hadn’t been supposed to be anything special, no more than a regular check-in. But Michael hardly ever visited upon the angels who did this sort of work, and he most certainly hadn’t expected to happen across an angel such as this— one that had thrown himself into his work with all the fervor of the very young, and was in fact so engrossed that he had failed to even notice Michael until, very awkwardly, Michael had to prod at the angel’s shoulder. And then, when the angel had turned to face Michael after startling just the tiniest bit, Michael suddenly found himself struck by the sheer dazzling grace that radiated off the angel in waves— the way he looked Michael up and down without restraint, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a guileless half-open smile. It was usual to feel the warmth of love in the presence of one’s brethren— but Michael felt it so intensely, and so strangely, in this angel’s presence that he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

You have done some fine work here, Michael had said. The detail does such justice to Upstairs’ conception of it all.

Whereupon the other angel had grinned with obvious pride, a brilliant red flooding into his cheeks— Michael hadn’t known it was possible for an angel to blush— and then started vigorously explaining all the little intricacies of the work he’d done, all the efforts he’d put in here and there. And as Michael listened, he couldn’t help but be entranced by how obviously devoted the angel was to his craft— the expressiveness of his voice like lilting music to Michael’s ears— but still, there was a growing uneasiness in Michael’s heart of hearts. The emotion that sparked in this angel’s eyes was unquestionably love for the miracle of Creation, as all angels are enjoined to partake in, but there was something so unchaste about it… Like he weren’t a mere tool of Creation, but almost as if— as if he were claiming this small part of the Creation as his own. The artist’s heart, realized Michael, that’s what beats within this angel. Which was problematic, considering human artists, or even humans hadn’t been created yet— and angels did not have human hearts, anyway.

It was quite unconscious on the angel’s part, Michael was sure— he must have been alone with his work for so long that perhaps he had forgotten some of his angelic ways. But Michael felt duty-bound, now, to give this angel at least a nudge in the right direction. So he told the angel about the Almighty’s Great Plan, and how the Earth was not meant to last forever— and watched as the angel’s face fell, disappointment writ plain as day on his countenance. And the Archangel Michael noticed how this angel wore his heart so on his sleeve, and he trembled. And he wondered, if perhaps he had made the wrong call… [6]

But for now, the young angel has stars in his eyes that have been dimmed only slightly by Michael’s information, and he is bright and shining in a way that none of the other angels can ever match, and for a moment Mike does not stop to check the blasphemy that rises, unbidden, in his thoughts.

——

1) Will calls Michael “Mike” in human company, and Mike has a secret soft spot for the nickname no matter how much he outwardly protests it.

2) Mike was indeed the Archangel Michael. He got demoted to Principality after the Great War because he was seen to sympathize with a Rebel angel (no points for guessing who that is)

3) Mike, in his human life, does run a regular D&D campaign as DM. Will is a constant presence, and given D&D’s reputation, likes to tease Mike that he is in fact spreading Satanic influence on Earth.

4) There is, of course, one exception to this. There is always one exception, and Will has very mixed feelings about Mike being the only living creature who can always see through him.

5) Will had a bowl cut during his time in Heaven. One of the few perks of him being a demon is that he gets to wear his hair cooler. Although, he probably still wears a lot of (dark-colored) plaid to offset the coolness factor.

6) In no universe can it be said that it wasn’t Mike’s fault for Will (F)alling.

#byler #byler fanfiction #byler fanfic #good omens #byler good omens au #good omens 2 spoilers #will byers #will maldonado #mike wheeler

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variety--girl · 1 year

Text

Blame It On The Liquor

Lo’ak x Tsireya x Metkayina!reader

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, vaginal sex, oral sex, fingering, gxg, face riding, alcohol

Synopsis: Lo’ak finds a bottle of liquor and convinces you and Tsireya to drink with him.

‘This Way!’ Tsireya signed as you followed her through the ocean, she had been your best friend since birth and she was leading you to one of her favorite hangouts in the underwater caves. You swam through the entrance of the cave and soon enough you had a place to surface for a breath. When you reached the surface, you inhaled deeply, a satisfying feeling after holding your breath for so long. Tsireya smiled at you, “Welcome to paradise sis!” You looked around, eyes wide with amazement— the cave was huge with stalactites hanging from the ceiling and crystals sparkling in the walls.

You gasped at its beauty, “Reya, why have you never showed me this place?” You questioned, she shrugged with that beautiful smile on her face, “Only Lo’ak knows about this place..” She sighed and hoisted herself out of the water. You were shaken by your friends words, yes Lo’ak was her future mate but how could she not show you— her best friend — a place that was so sentimental to her until now? You sighed and hoisted yourself out of the water onto the cold stone floor of the cave. “By the way, Lo’ak is coming here.. He said he had something to show us.” Personally, you had hated Lo’ak since he had arrived in your village with his family,

“Oh really?” You mumbled unamused, “Tsireya.. I love you and all but you know how much I dislike him. He just has this energy around him I can’t trust.” Tsireya looked at you with those eyes, oh how you loved her eyes. “Please Y/N, just give him a chance. You’ve never actually hung out with him.” You rolled your eyes, “Fine…” Tsireya had not lied, you had never officially hung out with the Omatikayan boy, but something about his aura just didn’t sit right with you. Y’all sat in silence next to each other as you waited for Lo’ak, thighs rubbing together slightly as you each moved.

Soon enough, Lo’ak surfaced from the water in front of both of you, “I’ve got something for us!” He exclaimed excitedly as he exited the pool of water. In his right hand was a dark substance in a bottle, “What is that Lo’ak? A drink?” Tsireya asked, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. You blushed and squeezed hers back as Lo’ak responded, “It’s something called liquor Reya. I took this from my dad’s stash. He had a lot of bottles of this stuff!” You looked curiously at the liquor and glanced over at your best friend, “Are you sure it’s safe?” Skepticism came naturally as he pulled himself out of the water to sit on the other side of Tsireya, you began twisting your hair— a coping mechanism you had always used when you felt uncomfortable, “Yes Y/N. I can assure you that it’s supposed to make you feel really good.”

Lo’ak pushed a braid out of his face, “Look I’ll even take the first drink.” He broke the seal on the bottle and proceeded to unscrew the lid before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a large gulp. The way his face twisted in disgust left you feeling unsettled as he passed the bottle to Tsireya. She took a deep breath and brought the bottle to her lips, a sip was all she drank and her face twisted into a similar expression Lo’ak had. “It burns Y/N. Be aware.” She passed you the bottle while you attempted to ease your mind. Fuck it, if Lo’ak and Tsireya could do it— you definitely could too. You brought the bottle to lips and took a large gulp that was similar to Lo’ak’s, a hiss protruded from your mouth as you began to feel the burn Tsireya had mentioned.

“Lo’ak that shit is absolutely fucking disgusting. How does your dad drink this?” You questioned as you passed the bottle back to him, he screwed the lid back on the bottle and put it to the side. “I don’t know Y/N, but he always has a drink of this stuff after a long day. I really thought it would be good but I refuse to give up on this liquor. There has to be some reason for my dad to have as much of it as he does.” You shrugged and focused on Tsireya, she seemed to be in a moment of bliss, staring deep into the water wasn’t something she normally did and it worried you. “Reya, are you good?” You asked, she blinked a couple of times and looked at you,”What? Oh yeah i’m fine, just feeling a little warm is all.”

Lo’ak reached for the bottle and took another swig, he passed the bottle to Tsireya who didn’t hesitate to take a swig herself before passing the bottle to you. This cycle repeated until you had each had about five drinks, “I’m starting to feel weird..” You murmured, the feeling that had come over you was new. Your skin was tingling and you felt like everything was moving in slow motion, Tsireya looked at you with droopy eyes, “Me too, Y/N..” Her voice trailed off as she began rubbing her hand up and down your thigh, the feeling was intense as it began to send tingles to your pussy. Her hand slowly rubbed higher on your thigh and you stared into each other’s eyes. It didn’t take long for you to pull her into a kiss. When your lips touched hers, an intense shock went through your body and you brought your hands to rub her sides.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to get heated and your tongues began to battle for dominance. You noticed Tsireya beginning to push you onto your back so you just went with it, she laid on top of you and continued to kiss you. Your hands slipped down her back to grip her ass and she began moaning into the kiss. “Fuck..” You heard heavy breathing off to the side and that’s when you realized Lo’ak was still here. He was sitting off to the side stroking his painfully hard cock. There was a stream of pre-cum dripping from his tip and down his shaft, you casually broke the kiss with Tsireya who was clearly disappointed, “Look,” you pointed to Lo’ak and she smirked, allowing you to get up. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Tsireya asked and you nodded before y’all both began crawling over to him.

“What a nasty little boy. You like watching us kiss?” You cooed as you placed yourself on one side of him and Tsireya was on the other. Naturally he turned his head to Tsireya first who began to kiss him, you broke their kiss and pulled Lo’ak’s lips to yours. You felt your kiss break as Tsireya pulled him back into a kiss, “I-I..” He stuttered as you replaced his hand and began stroking his cock, Lo’ak couldn’t believe what was happening as you and Tsireya continued to share his kisses. “You-You what?” She mocked in his ear and began to kiss on his neck, he became a moaning hot mess for her as she found his sweet spot. You decided to be more adventurous than normal, tightening your grip on his cock. You began teasing his tip with your tongue causing moans to erupt from his mouth. Lo’ak jolted when he felt your mouth around his tip and his moans became louder. Tsireya shook her head, “We’re going to have to do something about these moans, Lo’ak..” She proceeded to lay him down on his back before removing her loincloth and taking her seat on his face.

His moans were muffled as he began to focus on Tsireya’s pussy as you began moving your head in an up and down motion, using one hand to massage his balls and the other on his leg to steady yourself. You made sure to swirl your tongue around his tip as well as go down on his length as far as you could. Without warning, he shot a hot, thick substance down your throat. His legs began to squirm as you continued sucking on his now sensitive shaft, soon enough you removed your lips from his shaft with a pop of your mouth. Meanwhile, Tsireya was a moaning mess from riding Lo’ak’s face, her hands gripped her tits as she continued rocking back and forth on his mouth. It was an amazing sight, seeing her come undone from his tongue was something that turned you on even more. Lo’ak’s cock was still standing tall even after the work your mouth had done so you decided to use it for your own pleasure.

You lined him up with your entrance and slowly lowered yourself onto his cock. “Fuck!” You cried out breathlessly as you took in all of him deeply, slowly you began moving yourself up and down on his length. You moaned and looked at Tsireya who was clearly going to cum soon. She stared at you with drunken lust in her eyes as she grabbed your chin, pulling you into another kiss. You moaned into her mouth as you continued to bounce on Lo’ak’s cock, “Fuck Reya..” You moved your hands to her breasts and began pinching her nipples roughly as she rocked back and forth on Lo’ak’s mouth. Soon enough an orgasm overtook her body, watching her was almost enough to send you over the edge, almost enough. Tsireya arose off of Lo’ak’s face to give herself a breather and Lo’ak inhaled deeply, realizing that you were still bouncing up and down on him. “Fuck Y/N..” He moaned as he grabbed your hips, using them to slam you down on his cock. One of his thumbs found your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion, which only made your orgasm come faster than you intended. “Lo’ak!” You screamed as you came all over his cock, he pulled out and motioned for Tsireya. She listened and sat beside him on her knees, he pumped his cock three times before cum sprayed all over her face and hair.

You were panting after the intense orgasm you just had but Tsireya was not done with you. She crawled to you not bothering to wipe off Lo’ak’s cum that dripped off of her face. Pushing you on your back was the first thing she did, situating herself between your legs, ass up in the air as she began to lick your already sensitive pussy. “Fuck Reya!” You squealed as you tangled your fingers into her hair, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You noticed as she began to moan into your pussy which caused her tongue to vibrate on your clit. You moaned loudly as she licked your pussy expertly, making you question where she learned this from. Meanwhile, Lo’ak had began rubbing Tsireya’s clit with the head of his cock which had been the cause of her moans. He groaned before slipping his cock inside her without warning, her screams would’ve been loud if she wasn’t pleasuring your pussy but she didn’t stop even for a second. You looked up to see Lo’ak who was staring at you as he fucked her, their skin slapping together mixed with Tsireya lapping at your pussy was an intoxicating sound. Lo’ak eyes were filled with lust as he continued ramming his cock deep inside of her over and over again.

A couple minutes later, Tsireya had finally pushed you over the edge, you cried out as you Lo’ak kept your eyes locked on each other. You were both connecting over your shared desire for Tsireya as you fucked her together. She let you ride out your orgasm as Lo’ak continued to drill her pussy from behind. You scooted back from her so you could hear her moans and catch a break, but Lo’ak had something else in mind. “Lo’ak!” She screamed as his thrusts got faster and harder, sloppy even. He growled in response and motioned for you to come over to him. You did as he asked and sat next to him, after a few more thrusts he pulled out and to your delight, cum sprayed onto your face. It didn’t take long for him to recover as he pushed you down on your back, there were still spots of cum on your face when he entered you quickly. You moaned in pleasure as Lo’ak began moving in and out of you once again, he groaned as his hands moved to your tits, using them for leverage as he began railing you.

Before you could make another sound, Tsireya was lowering herself onto your face. It didn’t take long for your instincts to kick in and your tongue found her clit. You moaned into her as Lo’ak continued fuck you ruthlessly, Tsireya cried out as you worked her with your tongue. That’s when Lo’ak began hitting your g-spot, causing your walls to clench around him. He growled but continued stroking you just right, Tsireya’s moans were becoming uncontrollable as you continued to work on her clit like she had done for you. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum!” She cried before releasing herself all over your face. Her release caused a domino effect as you came on Lo’ak’s cock, he proceeded to pull out of you, this time cumming on Tsireya’s ass and your tits at the same time.

Tsireya rose from off your face and plopped on the ground, catching her breath, the liquor still had you woozy. You sat up and started to groan, Lo’ak began holding his stomach in the corner, “I don’t feel good..” He whined, quickly getting up and running deeper into the cave. It was clear he didn’t want to be seen, but the cave didn’t hide the sounds of him gagging and the eventual splash of his vomit on the ground. Poor Lo’ak, he didn’t even get to admire how the two of you looked covered in his and each other’s cum. Tsireya looked at you and giggled, “Looks like he can’t handle his liquor.” She grabbed the bottle that had been forgotten, and another drink went down her throat with a gulp before she passed you the bottle wiping her mouth. You did the same and passed the bottle back, “Is it just me or is that shit starting to taste good?” You questioned, finally Lo’ak had returned— his face twisted in agony, holding his stomach.

“We can save the rest for next time.” Tsireya said and placed the bottle into a little shelf that was naturally formed into the wall, “A next time? Maybe without him.” You joked turning to look at Lo’ak who was clearly not in the mood, “Shut up Y/N. You weren’t complaining when you were cumming on my cock— neither of you were actually.” He hissed as you and Tsireya looked at each other with smiles on your face. He did have a point, you each had a layer of his cum on your face still. “Can we head back now?” He asked and you both nodded, you grabbed your clothes and slid them back on. Lo’ak took his chance and dove into the water first, he didn’t bother to wait for either of you. As a result you and Tsireya caught each other’s eyes, “Should we keep drinking?” Tsireya asked and a smirk appeared on your face, “Yes Reya, I think we shall!”

#avatar x y/n #avatar smut #avatar 2 #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #tsireya #loak #gxg ns/fw #gxg smut

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natrogersfics · 8 months

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Game Plan - Chapter 10: Wall

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

He was going to put on a show. That was the plan Steve had going into this game. He didn’t need to tune into the talking heads on TV every night to know that his performance in the last two games had been an abject disaster, and despite the whole team rallying around each other, there’s no denying that the majority of the blame rests on his shoulders. The pocket collapsing and their runs getting stuffed notwithstanding, he's still the one who’s been throwing interceptions. He’s still the one playing distracted. As such, the Avengers’ playoff chances have gone from all but certain to the biggest question of the season.

There’s also the matter of his actions off the field – his silence on them, most especially. The media has been having a field day with that, poking and prodding and speculating at every opportunity about how his situation with Peggy has a direct correlation with his less than stellar performance as of late. He was never one to give their opinion credence, but with the Avengers’ standing in the division suddenly plummeting, for the first time in his career, he has to agree with them.

This Pro Bowl was supposed to be the first step in his road to atonement. His laundry list of things to fix was long, and while making amends for many of those items aren’t as straightforward, one thing he knows is that when it comes to making it up to the team and the fans who still stand by him, the best way to do so is on the field. This game may have no bearing on their season, but it’s a start.

What he didn’t anticipate, however, was running into the one person he knows he owes the biggest apology to just before kickoff. Seeing Natasha for the first time in weeks had shaken what little composure he was holding onto, and it wasn’t because her newly bleached tresses had made her unrecognizable. Admittedly, when he first looked up to see her standing before him, he thought his eyes were playing some cruel trick on him. But one look at the verdant green of her eyes and he knew with certainty that it was her.

And so the concentration he had hoped to channel into this game flickered away. Even now as he lines up inside the pocket, calling out orders he’s long memorized, his mental real estate is occupied with nothing but all the words he wanted to tell Natasha. All the explanations and the mea culpas and his own questions, too. Ever since Wanda had informed him weeks ago that Natasha had been placed on leave, sleep has been harder to find. The night he had made the excruciating decision to let her go, he had told himself that it was the kindest option. Natasha’s career was of utmost importance to her, and he didn’t want it to get caught in the intensifying storm of his past any more than it already was. So to find out that despite his best efforts, Natasha was still cut deeply, he couldn’t help but ask her how she’s been despite knowing he had absolutely lost the right to.

His thoughts wander too to the arrival of the Bartons and the revelation of how tightly knit Natasha was with that family. She had mentioned it in passing before, but it wasn’t until she had her arms around Laura and the kids that he truly realized just how deep their connection ran. Despite the million and one more questions that come up at the thought, though, he doesn’t get to linger on them for long. The second he raises his arm for the throw, he’s reminded of the number one danger of playing distracted.

“And Rogers is sacked!”

He groans as he’s pummeled to the ground, feeling as though the air’s been punched straight out of his lungs. The pocket collapses on his blind side. He doesn’t see it happen, but if the pain radiating from his left is anything to go by, he’s certain that any replay will tell him the exact same thing.

“You okay, Rogers?”

He opens his eyes to see Johnny Storm, the receiver from the Illuminati, hovering above him and offering him a hand. “I think so,” he manages to breathe out, taking Johnny’s hand and groaning once more as he allows his teammate for the day to pull him up to his feet.

“What the hell was that?”

He and Johnny turn to see that the heated question has come from Pietro, their teammate already furiously making his way towards where the defensive line of the AFC is still celebrating the sack a few yards away. As Pietro nears, the player in the 87 jersey – Walker, he recalls from a previous play – meets him halfway. The man’s only in his sophomore season, but already he’s earned a reputation for pushing the envelope when it comes to the rules, and he hasn’t been shy at all about displaying that today. He and Johnny only have to share a quick glance before the both of them start jogging to where everyone else is gathering.

Walker’s smile is all too wide. “Just doing my job, sunshine.”

“It’s a fucking exhibition game!” Pietro exclaims. There’s an unspoken rule players have when it comes to games like the Pro Bowl – always take it down a notch. While injuries have always been part of the deal, rivals or not, there’s no sense in sacrificing a body for a game that has zero influence on who gets to lift the Lombardi come February.

“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give the fans a show,” Walker says, his eyes wandering to him even as he continues to address Pietro. “It’s a contact sport. If you’re bothered by that, you can always shoot 18 down the road.”

Pietro glares, his lips parting with what he can only assume is a heated remark. “Pietro,” he says, prompting the running back to look back at him as he places a hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, it’s all good.”

“See? It’s all good, Maximoff,” Walker interjects before nodding at him. “It’s nothing personal. Right, Cap?”

He doesn’t respond, nor does Walker really give him the opportunity to as he shoots him a smug grin and turns to walk away. Next to him, Johnny scoffs. “Kinda looks personal to me.”

“Bet it felt personal too,” Pietro adds, eyeing the hand he still has pressed to his side.

He sighs. “He’s young,” he offers, watching at a distance as Walker is high-fived by the rest of the AFC’s defensive line before shaking his head. “Come on, let’s close this quarter out.”

“I didn’t realize Natasha and your family were so close,” he says once the halftime whistle is blown and he finds himself in stride with Clint as they walk back into the tunnel.

“My youngest son being named after her wasn’t a big enough giveaway?” Clint quips as he settles down on a nearby bench, reaching for a water bottle and smirking as the realization dawns on him. “I figured Natasha might have mentioned it. Or are you not in her good graces anymore?”

His hand freezes on the cap of his own bottle. “Clint-”

“I’m messing with ya, Cap,” Clint says, much to his relief. “Whatever went on or whatever’s going on between you and Nat is between the both of you. Though those googly eyes you make whenever she’s in the vicinity aren’t really doing you any favors when it comes to discretion.” He shoots Clint a glare, prompting the kicker to chuckle. “But yeah, I probably wouldn’t be able to come home to a family if it weren’t for her.”

He knows better than anyone else what it’s like to not want to talk about the past, so for as much as he’s intrigued, he elects not to pry. Luckily for him, though, his teammate goes on.

“I was in shit shape when the Avengers signed me,” Clint says. “I was coming off my rookie contract, and you have to understand, I grew up in the middle of nowhere, Iowa. My brother and I used to work in the circus for extra cash. Up until I got into the NFL, I never thought I’d see, much less have access to, that kind of money.” He sighs. “Anyway, long story short, I got into it with some bad people, and next thing I knew our savings were burning fast and my reputation was so bad that Laura was let go from her job and the kids were being followed by paparazzi on their way to school.”

“Enter Natasha,” he surmises.

“Enter Natasha,” Clint confirms. “One of the conditions the Avengers gave me when I signed was that I get my act together. Natasha was the newest addition to the PR team, and though she still had a lot of experience to gain, she was the only one that actually treated me like a human being, you know? Like I was more than a means for the team to sell jerseys and get butts in seats.” A fond smile makes its way across his lips. “Not only did she clean up my image and hold me to it, but she also made sure to stop by to see if Laura and the kids were settling in okay in our new home.” Clint chuckles, shaking his head. “She was so relentless in pestering the Finance team that they just gave up and agreed to comp our security detail so the kids could feel safe going to and from school.” He shrugs. “That’s Nat for ya.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a little smile. Not that he needed any more proof to know how good of a person Natasha is or another reminder of how much this isn’t just a job for her, but he feels his heart expand in his chest just the same. “She deserves the world.”

“And then some,” Clint adds, his face suddenly lighting up as he nods forward. “I might’ve lost my angel if it weren’t for her.”

He turns towards where Clint’s gaze is fixed to see Laura approaching, a smirk on her face. “Don’t tell me you two wandered off the field to gossip in a corner like a couple of old ladies.”

Clint chuckles, pulling Laura down onto his lap. “Just telling Steve over here how Nat is practically an honorary Barton and a whiz kid.” He gestures to their surroundings. “Seriously, that one is going to be running this whole fucking show one day.”

“Assuming that’s still what she wants…” Laura says, eliciting a questioning look from both him and Clint. She rolls her lips, eyeing him briefly before shifting her gaze to her husband. It’s only when Clint gives her a reassuring nod that she sighs. “Just between the three of us, I heard someone in the Executive Box trying to poach our girl.”

“I’m sure Nat gets job offers left and right,” Clint says, unbothered. “I wouldn’t sweat it. Whatever they’re offering, I’m sure Pepper will double that without blinking.”

“You know it’s never been about the money with Nat,” Laura says, a hint of admonishment in her tone. “I know Nat loves this team, but she also loves a challenge, and from what I gather, they run comms for quite the network.”

“And this person offered Nat a job? Just like that?” Clint says, brows shooting to his hairline when Laura nods. “Who in the world has that kind of latitude?

“I’m not entirely certain,” Laura admits. “In the midst of all this, I was also trying to moderate an argument between Coop and Lila, so I was only really half listening. But he’s a tall gentleman, short hair, tan skin. Rick… Nelson? Melson?”

“Rick Mason?” he asks, finding his voice for the first time since Laura arrived.

“Yeah, could be it,” Laura says. “You know him?”

He doesn’t get the chance to answer Laura’s question, and despite only getting partial confirmation on the name, he’s suddenly transported back to the first time he ever heard of it – that night at the Griffith Hotel.

“The stakes have changed.”

“The stakes?” he repeats, his confusion only intensifying as he takes in the pained look that finds its way across Peggy’s face. “What are you talking about, Peggy?”

Peggy is silent for a moment, but she eventually sighs when his questioning gaze does not let up. “Back when you were playing for LA, I met someone in the Executive Box during one of your games. We got to chatting and I found out that he owned the company running communications for the opposing team.” She shakes her head. “He was witty, charming… In hindsight, dangerously full of himself. But back then, I didn’t care so long as he was paying attention to me.”

“And this man…” he says, nodding towards her stomach. “Is he the father of your child?”

“This man… was a lot like you in that he too had dreams he would always be more interested in than he could ever be interested in me,” she says. “A few months into our relationship and already he had no qualms about showing me just what his priorities were.” She sighs. “To make up for his absence, he sent gifts. Lots of them. He knew I loved to play, so he indulged my Poker habit, too. And I loved to play, so I stayed and looked the other way… But this man isn’t very trusting. The least of all when it comes to his money.” That word, coupled with the sudden ruefulness that taints Peggy’s expression, causes him to stiffen. “Daniel Sousa was his Chief Financial Officer and the only person he trusted to deliver his gifts to me. One night, as I sat all dressed up and sobbing before a candlelit dinner going cold, Daniel arrived.” She shakes her head. “He didn’t even have to say anything. His very presence only confirmed that once again, a business deal had triumphed over me.” A sad smile makes its way across her lips. “Daniel said nothing of my tears. Only sat and asked me about my day… Next thing I knew, I thought nothing of the man that was meant to be seated before me. All I cared about was the one who was actually there. The one kind enough to ask me how I was doing.”

He takes in the myriad of emotions on Peggy’s face as she stares at nothing in particular, and it’s only when he sees the fear rise above all else that it finally clicks. “You had an affair.”

“I fell in love,” Peggy corrects, and the second her hand falls to her belly, he does not need her to voice the truth for him to put two and two together. “With Daniel… I don’t need to make myself smaller or larger. I’m free to be myself, flaws and all.” A flash of adoration fills her eyes, but only fleetingly. “He was furious when he found out about me and Daniel. He wasted no time in reminding me that I was a washed-up actress he plucked from obscurity.”

He resists the urge to cringe at the way she spits out the words, as if they’ve left an acrid taste in her mouth. “What does he have on you, Peggy?”

“At first, he demanded that I pay him back for everything he’d given me. I’d gambled it all away at that point, but Daniel told me not to worry. He’d have to drain his savings, but he could pay him back… And we could move away. Far from this mess. Just him, me, and our child.” She shakes her head. “By the time we were prepared to pay him, though, he had decided to change the stakes.”

“Why?”

“You won,” she says simply. “That night against the Guardians, you led the Avengers to a win and kept leading them to victory.”

His brows furrow. “So his problem isn’t just with you and Daniel, it’s with the Avengers too,” he posits, watching as Peggy nods in confirmation. “All of this over a vendetta for a football team? It still doesn’t make sense, Peggy.”

“The power, the money… these aren’t always things he’s had,” Peggy explains. “Back when he was starting out, the Avengers had just appointed their new CEO-”

“Tony,” he adds.

“Yes. He had gone to Tony Stark to offer his communications services, but I reckon he wasn’t taken seriously… Practically dismissed before he could pitch his proposal. As you know, the Avengers were quite a mess the last few seasons, so they hadn’t been on his radar. But this season, when he saw the team beginning to look like a championship contender and that you were the center of its success, he saw an opening.” She sighs. “He knew we were once married, so he gave me a choice. Either I help him topple the empire from within or he would frame Daniel for fraud.” Her hand falls to her belly once more. “Contrary to everything that’s unfolded, I don’t take pleasure in hurting you, Steve, but I’m not going to allow my child to grow up without a father.”

For all the pain this entire ordeal has caused him, that much he can understand. Nevertheless, he finds himself unable to keep his disbelief at bay. “Who is this person, Peggy?” he asks. “Who could possibly have this much power?”

“His name is Mason,” Peggy says. “Rick Mason.”

It’s only when he feels a nudge to his shoulder that he’s brought back to the present to see Clint and Laura looking at him, concern heavy on their faces. Clint arches a brow in question. “You okay, man?”

“I have to go,” is his only response as he hands Clint his helmet and takes off, full sprint, in the direction of the front office.

Clint calls out to him, but he ignores the man as he weaves through the crowd, warning everyone in his path to give him space. He’s nearly by the hall leading to the wing of offices when someone doesn’t heed his warning, causing their shoulders to collide. An apology forms on the tip of his tongue, but it dies the second he looks up to see who it is.

“Off in such a hurry, Cap?” Walker asks, the facetiousness in his tone unmistakable.

“Not now, Walker,” he says, stepping to the side only for Walker to do the same, blocking his path. His eyes narrow into a glare. “Move.”

“Or what?” Walker challenges with a smirk. “The Great Steve Rogers, so used to giving orders. So used to being the man.” He scoffs. “Those days are over.”

In his periphery, he notices the crowd beginning to form around him. For as much as he’d like to put Walker in his place, he shakes his head, refusing to dignify Walker’s jab with a response and opting instead to maneuver his way around the man, but he only makes it one step before he feels a forceful shove between his shoulder blades.

“What the hell is your problem?” he spits out as he turns back, and the last thing he recalls is watching Walker charge at him before chaos ensues.

Natasha runs into the clinic to find a number of the Avengers being checked by the medical staff. For a brief moment, she and Steve lock eyes from across the room. He’s seated on one of the exam tables, the nurse before him applying an antiseptic to a cut above his brow. The look in his eyes is one she can’t quite place. There’s distress – par for the course, she tells herself, given that he was just in the midst of a brawl – but also a tinge of what she thinks is fear, though she doesn’t know why. Confused as she is, she doesn’t get the chance to dwell on the thought further as Strange is suddenly by her side, informing her that save for some bruises and scratches, none of the players are being treated for any serious injury. Relief washes over her, but it’s temporary as seemingly in the same breath, Pepper enters the clinic, frantic.

Pepper informs her that the media is buzzing, and even though there isn’t any evidence, the headlines are already trying to pin this entire fiasco on the Avengers. Natasha is far from thrilled, but does her best to keep her composure and tells her boss that she’ll formulate and release an official statement as soon as possible. Pepper tells her not to bother. Daisy is on it, and she’d be better served trying to reach out to the sponsors and beginning their apology tour to see if they can salvage their relationships. Despite what she told herself in her office merely moments ago, Natasha’s gut sinks at hearing that a task she was once trusted to do has been given to Daisy, but she does her best to not let it show. With a nod, she tells Pepper that she’ll start making the calls and turns to leave.

Natasha makes it a few steps into the hall when she hears Steve call out to her. She has half a mind to keep walking – between this PR nightmare and the news about Daisy, she’s hanging on by a thread – but something about the way Steve says her name, as though it’s a plea, prompts her to turn around.

“Please don’t take that job with Mason,” Steve says without any preamble.

“What?” she asks. “How do you- how do you even know about that?”

“That’s not important right now,” he says, “Nat, please, I just need you to listen to me-”

“Why?” comes her immediate response, her chin lifting in defiance. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

“Natasha…” he begins, only to press his lips back together again. It’s in that moment, with only a few feet of distance between them, that she realizes that what she saw in his eyes moment ago was real. The fear in them – it’s clear as day now from where she stands. A million and one emotions flicker across his face then, as though he’s at war with himself, and that only deepens her confusion. She looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Surely, if his reasons were important, if they were worthy of the fear in his eyes, he would let her know. Instead, he sighs. “Please, Nat, just trust me-”

“Trust you?” A scoff involuntarily escapes her. It’s then that she has to sink her teeth into her bottom lip, the only way she can keep it from quivering. After all that’s happened in the last few weeks, all she’s put on the line, for the life of her, she can’t figure out why this man seemingly cannot stop playing games with her. Now more than ever, she feels as though her job – the last thing she has left – is on the line, and she’s not going to risk it for him any longer. She shakes her head. “I wish I could, but I have nothing left to give you,” she says, and with that, walks away.

As Steve drives out of the stadium, Natasha’s question echoes in his mind. Why should she trust him? In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to tell her everything, the words practically hanging at the tip of his tongue, just begging to be said. He wanted to tell her that he and Peggy are the farthest from being back together. That the pictures of them and his answers to reporters – they’re nothing but a ruse, a carefully crafted cover to keep Mason believing that his plan is working. To keep Mason from forcing Peggy to leak the recording of them at the Point Break offices to the media. To protect her. Because ever since that night he went to confront Peggy, that’s all he’s been trying to do. He and Peggy – they’ve been working together, biding their time so the police can build a strong enough case to have Mason arrested.

He wanted to tell her all that, to apologize for all the pain he’s caused her, all the pain he could still see swimming in her eyes at that very moment. To tell her that he misses her with every fiber of his being. But he also knows that telling her all of that would implicate her even more in this mess, and he couldn’t bear to add on any more to her pain. So once again, he chose to withhold the truth, powerless to do anything but stand there silently as Natasha’s words cut him deeper than anything else.

Steve visits Peggy at her hotel. Daniel has arrived and has been helping them gather evidence these past few days. Steve informs them that Mason’s offered Natasha a job, and as such, he can no longer afford to wait. Peggy is dismayed – their ducks aren’t in a row yet, and if they make a mistake, with all his connections, Mason will walk free, and this will all have been for nothing. Steve remains adamant that they act now. Natasha is directly in the line of fire, and he will not allow it. He’s going to do what he should have done from the start – involve the people Mason is truly after.

Natasha is in her car, watching coverage of the brawl and listening to the media starting to pin everything on the Avengers, pointing out that their brief period of stability as an organization was merely a façade. For the first time in her career, this challenge before her feels insurmountable. Add to that the fact that Pepper’s slowly but surely delegating her duties to others, she can’t help but wonder if maybe she’s spent too much of her time wanting this job, with this team, that maybe she’s narrowed down her options for no valid reason.

Her mind wanders to Mason and his job offer, but inevitably, that brings her back to Steve’s warning. The minute she recounts their conversation in the hall, though, the resentment she’s been trying so hard to keep at bay bubbles all the way up to the surface and she wonders if maybe she should have pushed him to explain. She sighs. No more. If she’s learned nothing else in the last few weeks, it’s that she can’t and won’t spend anymore of her mental real estate analyzing Steve Rogers’ actions. Not when she’s finally started to put herself back together again, throwing herself into her work and feeling more and more like the person she was before all of this began.

Her decision comes to her right then and there. The old her would never have let an opportunity as big as running an entire communications wing pass her by. That is, after all, how she got to her position in the first place. Taking Mason’s offer could change her life, and while this would require her to uproot everything… Well, she’s never met anyone who’s complained about the California sunshine.

“Call Rick Mason,” she finds herself saying aloud, waiting for the telltale ding from her phone as it executes her command.

The line rings once, twice, before Mason’s voice filters through the speakers in her car. “Didn’t think I’d hear back from you so soon.”

“Neither did I,” she admits. “Let’s talk.”

Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

Disclaimer: scenes in this chapter have been abbreviated in light of my decision to step away from writing. As such, a shift in writing style from the earlier chapters may be noticed.

#Game Plan #Romanogers #one night stand AU #Steve Rogers #Natasha Romanoff

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abeautylives · 10 months

Text

Trip Around the Sun - Day Three

Read Part One Read Part Two

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 13k this part

summary: A persistent and charismatic stranger disrupts the serenity of your tropical escape. What’s the harm in a vacation fling?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, summer Josh, language, drinking, mentions of sexual situations, explicit sexual content, minimal warnings here so as not to spoil anything

☀️☀️☀️

You wake with the sun, as you have nearly every morning since you’d arrived here. The curtains framing the door to your room’s balcony haven’t moved since you first stepped foot into the space, granting all celestial bodies permission to observe what you do in private.

Until last night, you haven’t given them much of a show.

Eyes still closed against the glare, you let your legs stretch to the end of the mattress and immediately notice two things: a distinct ache between your thighs that has nothing to do with unfulfilled need, and your bed is full of sand.

Oops. Last night…

Uncharacteristically quiet, as far as you could tell, after he’d reached orgasm, Josh had unknotted the bandana from around his neck and used it to wipe his cum from your pubic hair. You’d found it humorous but he didn’t seem in the mood to giggle with you, tossing it near his backpack and settling into your side, an arm and leg draped over your body and his face tucked into your neck. You heard him inhale deeply, and you definitely didn’t imagine him sighing into the aroma of your shampoo.

He’d assured you he was okay, “perfect even”, so you left it alone and petted over his hair, twirling the curls around your fingers until they were sticking out wildly, letting him drop kisses to your shoulder and run his hand over your skin in silence.

…Until he had shaken himself of the pensive state and grinned up at you, and asked if you were ready to go skinny dipping yet.

Rolling to your back and cracking your eyes open, you let your head fall to the side of the bed that he’s occupying. He’s laying stomach down, arms hugging the pillow to his face, white sheets tangled around his legs and resting so low across his back that his buttcrack is peeking out. His skin doesn’t seem to burn all that easily, light freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks and his shoulders a little more golden than they had been when you’d met him. He looks good, naked and in your bed.

On the moonlit beach he’d been reluctant to put his clothes back on, telling you that humans come into the world naked and are meant to be that way. You had agreed, and told him that he should absolutely be nude, always, but that you would prefer to be clothed to walk back to the resort. Steadfast in his beliefs, he’d shaken out the blanket and wrapped it around himself in lieu of stepping back into his shorts. Upon entering your room, he’d immediately ripped it off, thrown it across the bed and pulled you onto it. Hence the sand.

You watch the corner of his mouth turn up and relax again, as if he’s dreaming about the same things you’re remembering. How he had undressed you carefully the second time, lips trailing after his fingers, he’d acted like it was his first time seeing you stripped bare for him.

Not wanting to disturb his slumber, but unable to resist reaching out and touching him, your hand slides over the sheets until your fingertips meet the skin that’s stretched over his ribs.

“Mm, now who’s watching who sleep?”

“God damnit Josh!”

His voice had croaked past barely open lips, and still managed to startle you. He grins into the pillowcase. “It just never gets old… Why are you awake?” He peeks at you from under a heavy lid.

“Maybe I always wake up early, you’ll never know.” There’s that regret again, as soon as the words leave your mouth you wish you could pluck them out of the air and shove them back in but he just rolls to his back and yawns into the crook of his elbow.

“Your only flaw, I suppose everyone has at least one.” His eyes have both slipped closed again, arms lifted and hands tucked under his head. You’re searching his face, the broad expanse of his chest, the cut lines of his waist down to where they disappear beneath the sheets. Looking for his flaw, but you can’t manage to find it.

“Um… do you want coffee? I was thinking about going downstairs…”

“Don’t leave,” he pulls a hand from beneath his head to reach for yours, fingers laced together, “Isn’t there a coffee pot in here somewhere?”

“I want good coffee, a latte… cappuccino… macchiato. Something that doesn’t taste like dirt.” You raise to sit, tugging against his hold, urging him to come with you.

��So order it up here, call room service.”

Not really an option. “The coffee downstairs is free, you’re just lazy.”

He rolls to his side, head propped up on his fist to face you. “No…” He lifts your fingers to his lips. “I just would prefer to keep you au naturel and in this bed for as long as possible. In fact, why don’t you kiss me? The coffee can wait, mm… an hour or so.”

His turn to tug against you, he tries to pull you into him but you plant a palm onto his chest and keep your distance.

“No! You probably have morning breath!” Both of his hands are on you now, the sheets resting over his lap and your laughter ringing out as he tries to haul you on top of him.

“If you don’t kiss me now, you’ll never find out!”

That sting, that sudden pang of truth hurts just a little worse when it comes from him. Your body recoils from it with a tight gasp, he releases you as if your skin has sprouted thorns.

“Hey hey hey, are you okay?” His dark brows are knit together, his eyes bouncing around your face and down to where he’d been gripping your arms. “Did I hurt you?”

Wide-eyed, you meet the dripping honey and crystallized amber shining with concern in the soft morning light, and you realize you can’t live without finding out. Shaking your head, you slide back into his hold and onto his lap, the sheets pushed away and nothing separating his bare skin from yours. There’s still worry etched into his features as he watches your face, his hands settling on your hips with a hesitant touch. You try to smooth it away with your fingertips over his brow before cupping his face in your hands.

“I need to know,” your whisper lands on his lips, “I need to remember you just like this.”

Understanding washes over him, his eyes are warm pools of commiseration as he realizes what he’d said, and how you took it. “I’m sorry, I-“

You cut him off, pulling his face to yours and silencing his apology with the kiss he’d been fighting for. He’s stiff against you, irritated with himself for causing you even a moment of suffering but your lips are soft and sweet on his, and your hips tuck themselves tight into his lap. You feel it when he lets it go and melts into the kiss.

His hands squeeze the softness at your hips and slip lower, smoothing over the outside of your thighs and drawing a quiet hum from you. Your lips curve up against his before you pull them away.

Your hands move up to his hair, which is flattened on the side he’d been sleeping on and fluffed out on the other, your fingers sinking in and tangling themselves in the disarray. “Will you remember me, like this?”

He smiles, licks his lips before they stretch wide and put all of those perfect teeth on display as his head tilts, just so. Your own hair is a little wild, knotted at the ends and wavy from the humidity of the beach and your sweat from last night. There’s a tiny dark smudge of mascara at the corner of one eye, and a slightly darker smudge of red at the base of your neck, a mark that he’d left there. “I will never forget you, just like this. I promise.”

Promises, promises. He’s offered you a number of them in the time you’ve spent together.

I’ll get you there, I promise.

If you still like me when we get back, I’ll let you feel me all you want. Promise.

I’ll come find you, I promise.

He’s delivered on every single one.

“What else do you want from me, beautiful?” Your eyelids have lowered, your gaze gone dreamy, it’s written all over your face but he wants to hear you say it.

“Everything you’re able to give me.”

Fluidly, as if it takes no effort from him at all, he connects your lips in a heated kiss and shifts you out of his lap, laying you back across the cloud of white comforter that’s pushed to the end of the bed. When he starts to trail away from your mouth, moving across your jaw and down the column of your throat, you try to keep him close but he’s started a journey past your collarbones that takes a sojourn at your breasts.

He draws a fingertip down the line where pale skin meets bronzed before circling it over the pebbled flesh around the peak, and pulling a mewling whimper from you as he sucks the other into his mouth. His tongue rolls over your nipple and now you’re working to keep him there, teasing and torturing you perfectly, your arousal beginning to pool at your core. Redirecting his concentration, he grazes his teeth over your skin and then showers your other tit with the same careful attention.

An unconvincing groan of disappointment creeps from your throat when he pulls away but he murmurs up to you, “Don’t worry, I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

His kisses across your stomach are rushed as he nears his destination.

Reaching the junction of your thighs, the tip of his nose runs through the fine hair there, a quiet hum floating up to your ears that pulls a corner of your mouth up into a charmed grin. When he speaks, his voice sends a vibration through you that has you clenching around nothing.

“Can I worship you, my moon goddess?”

Your grin grows, he did tell you he’s been called dramatic a time or two.

“Yeah Josh, make me glow…”

He chuckles against you, another delectable vibration. “You’re getting better at dealing with me when I’m annoying.”

Your response gets stuck in your throat when his fingers brush against your heated skin, and it pushes through as a low moan when he uses them to spread you open to him. “Josh.”

“Shh, look at you… perfect and pink, all for me.” Face framed by your thighs, he looks ravenous. The tip of his tongue peeks out to moisten his lips, he presses them together, purses them for just a second, then leans in and drags the flat of his tongue through you.

You watch him swallow the taste of you before your eyes close and he does it again.

His lips, those lips that had first irritated you with a confident smirk, then tempted you with seductive words, are working in tandem with his tongue to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before. No one has ever put their face between your legs and acted like it was anything more than a burden, a means to an end, if they bothered to do it at all. But Josh is making love to you with his mouth, experiencing the flavor and texture of you, savoring every inch of you. Moaning directly into your cunt and the sound travels through you like a current, he keeps you from floating away on it with his arms circling your thighs, fingers gripping them tight. You’re echoing him with your own sounds released to the ceiling.

Scratching gently into his scalp, your fingers suddenly tighten to fists full of his curls when his tongue comes to a point and flicks over your clit.

“Fuck!”

“Mmm?” He doesn’t even pull away for a moment to ask if you want it again, if you want more.

“Yes! Yes, more, please!”

It’s slow at first, kitten-like licks to the most sensitive part of you, drawing you up, up, up… until he’s doing something you’ve definitely never felt before. Your eyes dart down to him and find that he’s already looking back, and somehow you can tell that if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, he'd be wearing a devious grin.

Ohh, shit.

You know it’s his tongue that’s pressed against you, but it feels like something more. The way it’s moving feels familiar, almost like something battery powered that lives in the drawer of your nightstand at home.

“Josh what- how, oh fuck!”

Up, up, up until your hips are grinding into his mouth, your back arching away from the mattress, your hands pulling his hair at the roots. You can feel it coming, you’re right there, his head nodding and muffled mhm, mhmm, mhmm’s rumbling deep in his throat.

It hits you viciously, slamming into you like a rogue wave, pulling you under until you’re unsure which way is up, or how you’ll ever kick your way back to the surface. You cry out to him but you can’t even hear yourself through the rush.

He hears you though, his name spilling from your lips as he laps at the release spilling from your cunt. His own hips are rocking gently into the bed, unimaginably turned on and rock hard, he can’t help it.

When you’re able to draw a normal breath, able to open your eyes, the sunlight is almost too bright but you drop your gaze from the ceiling to where Josh’s cheek is rested on your inner thigh. He’s staring with unfocused eyes up your body, his mustache is a mess, the hair on his head isn’t much better. Somehow he shines even brighter.

“Get the fuck up here.” He blinks, your whisper breaking him out of his daze and lifting his eyes to you. You lift your eyebrows, trace a fingertip over his cheek until it dips behind the hair on his chin, coaxing him to rise and crawl over you. As soon as his face is hovering over yours, you pull him into a careless, wet kiss, your tongue pushing past his lips to swirl over his for the first time this morning. When he breaks away, a thin string of saliva keeps you connected until it snaps, you tuck your bottom lip behind your teeth and savor the remnants before you purse them in thought.

“Hm, that’s weird…” He quirks an eyebrow up, tilts his head for clarification. “Your morning breath tastes like pussy.”

He barks out a laugh, his nose scrunched up and his head thrown back so the sound cracks out into the room before he tucks his face into your neck, shoulders still shaking with his amusement.

“Only on good days, really good days.”

Leaned against the wall behind you, wearing a wrinkled white t-shirt and relatively unmarred green shorts, Josh is grinning at your reflection as he watches you brush your teeth.

“You’re lucky I like you, I could stay in bed all day. Dazzle you with my personality until I wear you down and convince you to just order the fucking room service.”

Your eyes roll just before you bend to spit into the sink. “Once again, the coffee and the food downstairs are free, and I’m starving. Also, no one said you have to come with me.”

“But-“

“But… You want to.” Turning to him, you loop your arms around his neck and twirl a damp curl at the base around your finger.

In bed, the taste of you still lingering between your lips and his dick resting heavily against your thigh, he’d continued to kiss you without making a move to slide inside despite the constant twitching of his hips. You reached between your bodies, an attempt to touch him, guide him to you but he’d refused.

“Josh, I want to. I want you.” You’d pleaded with him, confused and on the verge of being offended.

“I’m filthy, and not in a good way. There’s still sand all over me,” a kiss brushed over your lips, a soft reassurance that there could be nothing in this world that he would want more than you. “And a pretty distinct layer of sweat, and sex. I need a shower.”

“Take one with me?” A coy smile and an opportunity to get what you both needed.

He’d pushed off the bed and walked around it as your eyes followed, comfortable in his nakedness and unashamed of the erection leading the way and bobbing in the air as he moved. “You coming?”

You allowed him the time to wash himself, lazily doing the same as you watched his hands massage his own skin, suds of the hotel-provided body wash pushed over his chest before they followed the water down the center line of his torso and circled his navel. Below the trail of hair there, his dick still stood at full attention, and he had done a convincing job of ignoring it, cleaning himself as if his teeth weren’t gritted and the head wasn’t swollen and sensitive to his touch.

Beneath the spray, you’d rinsed yourself and squirted more soap into your hand, worked it into a lather and started to rub it into his shoulders.

“Mmm, took you long enough.” His head dropped forward as you washed his back, he watched your hands slide around him once you’d reached the bottom.

Chin tucked over his shoulder, you both watched your fingers still before they’d reached below the line of his tan. “Josh?”

In front of your eyes, his cock had jumped at the sound of your voice. “Yeah, beautiful…”

A hand reached for his and brought it forward, wrapped his own fingers around himself again. “Show me how you do it, when you’re alone. I wanna know what you’ll look like when you think of me.”

Stood like that for a few long moments, you watched him tighten his grip and pull slow strokes over himself, took note of the way he rolled his wrist, but when he ran the pad of his thumb over the head he had cursed sharply. Your arms unraveled from around his waist and you stepped out from under the spray, moved to observe from in front of him. His stomach tensed with each stroke, his breaths stuttered as he forced his eyes to remain open and on you.

“Lovely, captivating even.” His chuckle was tight in his throat, his own words repeated to him on a breathless whisper, his description of you from your first meeting.

“Do I captivate you, pretty girl?” His fist began moving faster, you could see the urge to reach his end written between his eyebrows, pulled together and creasing his smooth skin. Those brows shot up his forehead when you lowered yourself at his feet, dropped to your knees before him.

Face upturned, your eyelashes batted up at him, you settled your palms on your thighs and watched his thumb brush over his leaking tip again.

“Endlessly. Cum for me, Josh.”

“Fuck, yeah, okay.” His teeth pulled his bottom lip between them and bit down, it bounced back into place, pink and slick. “Open your mouth.”

Without question you did as he commanded, tongue pushed past your lips and laid flat for him. Just as he’d done on the beach, when he pulled himself from your body and pushed the head directly to his target, he pressed himself into the wet warmth of your tongue and spilled his release onto your tastebuds.

Pushing away from the wall, Josh pulls your arms from around his neck and lifts your hands to his face. Those lips press kisses over your fingers.

“You’re right, I’m gonna do whatever you want. I’m at your mercy.”

At your favorite table against the window, you’re sipping on your second latte laced with a generous dose of Kahlua. Across from you, Josh is shoveling food into his mouth like he can’t remember the last time he had a meal that wasn’t you. Your own plate had been cleared and pushed to the side but he’s on his second heaping helping. With an appetite like that, you wonder how he never grew past five-foot-nothing.

Mouth full of some kind of eggs covered in salsa, he talks around his food. “So, what would you like to do today, if not me?”

“Good question, you do make that decision incredibly difficult. You’re very attractive right now.”

He grins, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk and somehow, it’s endearing. His gaze drifts past yours and follows something behind you, you watch him swallow hard and wipe around his mouth, fingertips pushing over his mustache. Suddenly, his brows lift in acknowledgment, his chin juts out with an upward nod of his head. Curiosity wins out and you turn in your chair to find whoever has caught his attention.

Across the bustling room, over the heads of dozens of perfect strangers, the only thing that stands out to you is one familiar face. Well, sort of familiar. Something about it sparks awareness in your brain, though you’re positive you’ve never seen the man with dark hair hanging well past his shoulders, or the raven-haired woman with her arm looped in his. But they’re looking right at you, the man nods his head in your direction, the same way Josh had.

The same exact way Josh had. He looks just like Josh. Only… different.

Your head whips back to him. “Who is that?”

He considers the question for a moment, takes a sip of his own coffee. “Would you believe me if I said I have no idea and I was just being polite because he looked at me first?”

Turning back to get another look at the guy, you find that the couple are already gone. “No….” Your eyes meet Josh’s again and for the first time, you see anxiety in them. “Is he related to you? Are you not here alone?”

Another sip of coffee before he sets it onto the table, pushes his plate to the side and folds his hands together in front of him. “He is, and I’m not. Not really.”

Your mouth is hanging open but as the confusion wears off, you realize that you’d only just assumed he was alone, because you had only ever seen him alone. “Okay… well, I mean, that’s cool I guess. I just thought- you never mentioned it.” Before you can stop it, you’re laughing a little harder than seems appropriate and Josh is looking at you like you’ve completely lost it.

“Am I missing something?”

“Sorry, it’s just… ironic. Maybe we were destined to meet, we’re a little too alike.” It’s his turn to be confused so of course, he tilts his head. Just so. “I’m not here alone either, not really.”

“Wait, seriously? Who are you here with?”

“You go first.” This revelation is funny to you, knowing nothing about each other only to find out you have the same secret.

He goes on to tell you how he ended up here with them, that the man with the long wavy hair that looks nothing like his, is his brother, his twin, and the woman on his arm is his girlfriend.

“Work has just been… hectic lately, insane, really. We work together, me and Jake-“

“His name is Jake?” The inappropriate laughter is back, remembering how you’d thought that Josh looked like a Jake and realizing that in some way, you were correct. The former is looking at you like you’re crazy again. “Sorry, sorry, keep going.”

“Yeah… so, we work together and there was finally just a break in our schedule, and they planned a vacation-“

“And you barged in? On their couple’s vacation? Is this just a habit of yours?”

He smiles and the apples of his cheeks turn a pretty shade of rosy pink. “Okay, I deserved that. But no, Jake asked if I wanted to tag along, just to get away. I usually prefer the mountains, more of an escape to nature kind of guy, but it was a sort of perfect opportunity. His girlfriend is great, like a member of our family, and if I had felt like I needed to, I could hang out with them.”

You like that, the tiny glimpse into his life, a peek at the relationships that you didn’t know he had.

“But instead, you found me.”

“I found you.”

You hold each other’s gaze for a moment, allowing the last couple of days to sink in before your curiosity gets the best of you again. “What do you and Jake do? For work?”

“Oh, uh, we’re sort of, in the music industry.” His eyes drop to the table, his bottom lip working between his teeth while he debates on whether or not he should elaborate, not wanting to give you any information that may change the way you’re looking at him. You don’t seem to pick up on his hesitation and in the end, he decides against it. “So tell me, who is your mystery travel companion?”

“My mom.” His features transform, a bright grin with only a hint of judgment in his eyes.

“You’ve left your mom alone here, this whole time?!”

“No, she’s with her best friend. I’m here purely by accident, a change of circumstance. Their other friend was supposed to be here, it’s like a… ‘girl’s getaway’ thing they do every couple years, but she had to cancel last minute. Everything was already booked and paid for, no refunds and all that. My mom asked if I wanted to take her place.”

All of this was an accident, serendipitous. Fate, or something less whimsical.

“Well where have they been?” He’s replaying every time that he’s come upon you, sunbathing by the pool, tipsy on champagne in the middle of the night, eating dinner at this table. Alone.

“Around. I was hanging out with them more, before...”

“Before I laid siege to your entire vacation.”

You can’t help but let the corners of your mouth turn up at the truth of it. “Exactly. But that’s why I can’t charge things to the room. Like the room service you were so insistent upon.”

His hand moves through the air, waving the notion away, “You should’ve told me, I could’ve had them charge it to my room. We could’ve had breakfast in bed!”

“I’ve seen you eat breakfast, I don’t think it would’ve been as sensual as you seem to believe it would.”

After only a small amount of grumbling in protest, you’re able to persuade Josh to spend some time at the pool, but not without a little compromise.

“I have a bikini that you haven’t seen me in yet! I get this weird feeling that you’ll like it.”

Hand in hand you’re walking the corridors that lead back to your room. There are other people about, coming and going, walking past you as if there’s anything perfectly average about your pairing, and Josh lowers his voice to avoid being overheard.

“I’ve seen you naked in the sand, spreading your pussy for the stars, beautiful. I think I’ve moved past getting my rocks off over a bikini.”

His words slow your stride until you stop, tugging him to a halt a step ahead of you. It strikes you then, the things you’ve let a stranger inspire you to do, to say, the way he’s changed you.

He’s watching you curiously, a knowing smirk pulling one corner of his mouth up and his dimple to the surface of his cheek until you step into him and wrap your arms around his waist. When your head drops to his shoulder he holds you like that, his own arms circling your back, palms pressed to you and pulling you in tight.

“Thank you, Josh.”

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s done to deserve your gratitude, but he accepts it anyway. “Hmm, happy to be of service. But I’m not going to the pool unless you swim in the ocean with me first.”

You parted ways at your room, both of you needing to change clothes but reluctant to leave each other. He kissed you there, in the doorway, unconcerned with anyone who might see as he pulled your bottom lip into his mouth and sunk his teeth into it.

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t wanna invite me in? Give me like, fifteen minutes, tops.”

Hands against his chest, you push him away, just far enough to separate his mouth from your neck. “Sounds riveting, how could I pass up fifteen minutes of bliss?”

“Okay, give me thirty.”

Pushing him out of the door frame, you blow him a kiss. “Go change, then come find me.”

He backs away slowly, two steps out into the hall. “You know I will.”

Changed into your swimsuit, you’re standing in front of the full length mirror fluffing your hair and debating whether or not you want to throw it up into a top knot before you head out, when a knock on your door causes your heart to shoot to your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Stepping hesitantly to the door, a peek through the peephole reveals none other than Josh, terrible sunglasses in place, donning his swim trunks and Tevas and nothing else. You crack the door open slowly and prop yourself against the frame, a knee bent and hip cocked out, arms crossed over your chest.

“Is impatience going to be the theme of the day?”

He’s staring, lips parted as if he had something to say but instantly forgot it. You can only tell that he’s scanning the length of your body because he’s doing nothing to hide it, his eyes are shielded but his face distinctly drops to your hips and moves back up as he takes in the rest. When it levels back with your own face, he reaches up and slides his Oakleys away, revealing wide, hungry eyes.

“Oh, I thought you’d moved past getting your rocks off over a bikini, handsome.”

He swallows thickly before he speaks. “Learn something new about myself every day, beautiful. You gonna let me in?” You know exactly what he means, and you’re in no position to deny him this time, not with the way he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. Turning back into the room, you nudge the door to swing open farther and allow him to follow you.

“What the fuck is this contraption?”

Your bathing suit, casually described on the website as having bondage detailing, consists of a few satiny emerald green bits of nothing held together by tiny silver rings and strappy pieces that cross-cross and sit high on your hips and outline your tits.

“You like it?” You turn back to him and continue to move backwards, deeper into the room, and he looks like he’s still trying to make sense of it as he discards his sunglasses on a table.

“Do I like it? I don’t even want anyone else to see you in it. Fucking hell.” His hands are reaching for you and you stop to let them make contact, his fingers immediately tugging at the straps over your hip bones and snapping them back into the thin skin there. The sharp sting shoots straight to your cunt, the way he’s laying claim to you already has arousal dampening the material that covers it.

“They’re gonna see me in it, but they won’t know what I let you do to me in it.” He groans, a low rumbling sound that sinks into your ears as his fingers move to your chest and he steps into you. Just like the first time he touched you, he slips one under the strap that’s curved to the outside of your breast and runs his nail along your skin.

“What are you planning to let me do, hm? And don’t say ‘whatever you want, Josh’ because I can think of a great many things that would surely ruin you for the next man privileged enough to have you…”

The hand not brushing over your nipple has slid around your back and down, bypassing your swimsuit completely to grip the bare plushness of your ass. With your body pulled flush against him, you can feel how badly he wants to do just that. Ruin you.

Your own voice sounds foreign to you, dripping so heavily with lust that you’re surprised you can’t taste it.

“Whatever you want, Josh.”

In a flurry of movement, your body is turned away from him, a fierce grip on your hip and a forceful palm on your back put you in position, bent over the foot of the bed. Moving against the back of your thighs, you can feel him lose the swim trunks and shimmy them to the floor, immediately followed by his fingers slipping between your legs and jerking your suit aside. Those fingers dance over your skin before spreading you open to him and swiping through the slick that’s collected there.

“I’ve hardly even touched you, haven’t touched you. What are you so hot and bothered for, pretty girl?”

All you can do is whine, wiggle your hips and beg him without words to keep going, to do something. Desperate to see him, to know his next move, you crane your neck to watch him over your shoulder and catch the exact moment that he brings his hand in front of his face, and spits into his palm.

He meets your eyes as he strokes it over himself, his lips stretching into that devilish grin that tells you to brace yourself. You think you’re prepared but as soon as he lines himself up, he’s plunged inside you to the hilt, crashing into your cervix and knocking you off your hands. Your cry is muffled by the bedding, and when you try to recover and lift yourself back up, he pushes your face back to the mattress.

“Stay just like that for me, baby.” His hips start to rock, “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.” He puts his weight into it, your body already bouncing off of his with each push into you. “Do you understand?”

Your head nods under his hand, but his fingers wrap themselves in the hair that you’d left down, and they pull. Hard.

“Tell me.”

“Yes! Yes I understand Josh, I do, keep go-“

He slams into the backs of your thighs, over and over, the sound of your skin meeting is echoing through the room. His hold in your hair loosens, both hands brought to wrap around the sides of your ribcage then dragged down your torso until they reach the straps hugging your hips. They tangle themselves there, shoved haphazardly through the elastic and pulling you onto his cock. Again, again, keeping your ass raised high and your body from being pushed flat to the bed by his.

You’re all but screaming into the sheets, the fabric muting the sound but he can’t be deterred, hypnotized by the vision of himself sinking into you, the shiny green fabric between your legs moving with him, soft and dragging over his dick, collecting the wetness that’s coating him.

“God damn, I need to see you, more of you.” In an instant you’re left empty, gasping at the loss of him, legs trembling as they try to support you without his hold. Your knees almost buckle when he rips your bottoms down over your ass, but he pushes you onto the bed before they can give out. Flipped onto your back, you’re met with a sight you promise yourself that you’ll never forget.

He looks… untamed, wild. His hair is stuck to his forehead, a sheen of sweat shining there, matching the layer sitting on his flushed and heaving chest. With your legs pressed together, he wrenches them straight up to rest against him, your tanned skin against his freshly sun kissed shoulder as he kneels to the mattress and slides himself back into you. Your mutual sighs float into the air.

“Do you even know how gorgeous you are? Every part of you.” His sweetness is back, causing your teeth to ache and your pussy to throb around him. He presses his lips to the side of your calf, rested beside his cheek, murmuring into your silken skin. “How will anyone else ever compare?”

It’s probably not what he’d intended, but he had just succeeded in ruining you completely.

You respond through a tight throat in the only way that feels safe.

“Josh…” His eyes meet yours, his lids heavy and pupils distended and dark, you’re sure yours look the same. “Fuck me, harder, please.”

He twitches inside you and wraps his arm around your legs, pushes another fast kiss into your calf before his lips curl back up into that grin that promises to give you what you want. His other hand reaches for the bikini bottoms still wrapped around your thighs, pulls on an elastic strap until it won’t stretch any farther, and releases it with a snap.

“Fuck!”

“Yes, dear.” He unleashes on you with a force you wouldn’t have expected to be contained within his small frame, your body being pushed toward the headboard and his knees crawling over the sheets, never letting himself leave the searing heat of your cunt. When you hit the pillows and can’t be pushed any farther, he grunts past a tense jaw, his lips barely opening to form the words.

“Why don’t you show me those perfect tits, since you wanna be on display so badly.”

As if his voice commands your muscles, your hands spring to your chest and pull the straps and triangles of your top aside, your breasts bouncing their way free. Your bottom lip is trapped between your teeth, a feeble attempt to keep yourself from shrieking and howling like an animal as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Stop doing that, I wanna hear you.”

“Josh- shit, it’s like 9:30 in the morning!”

“Whose fault is that? Touch yourself, tell me how it feels.”

Your legs are crossed at the ankles and still propped over his shoulder, so you keep your hands at your chest and squeeze your tits, pushing them together as his eyes burn holes in your skin. Locked onto the spectrum of colors wrapped around your curves, he growls as the beads of sweat across his brow start to break free and drip down his face. You feel his own fingertips dig into the meat of your thigh as yours brush over your nipples.

“More, tell me.”

Under his total control, you fondle yourself, pinching and twisting, moaning your satisfaction, mumbling your words of ecstasy.

So good, you fuck me so good Josh.

“I know I do, tell me how you feel.”

“Soft… too soft- oh!” He’s losing his punishing rhythm as you speak, jerking into you sharply. “Let me touch my clit, Josh please!”

He rears back and pulls himself from your body, a sob wracking your chest at the sudden and overwhelming emptiness, but he rips your bikini bottoms down your legs, tosses them over his shoulder, whips one of your legs around him and pushes his hands to your inner thighs, spreading you wide, an immediate ache in your hips.

Through labored breaths, his body streaming sweat, he whispers, “Do it.”

As your hand snakes down your stomach, he pushes his head against your entrance again. When your fingertips make contact with your overstimulated flesh, he slides into you slowly, eyes darting from your yellow and green tipped fingers beginning to draw circles, to your cunt sucking him inside until he disappears.

“I’ve taken a thousand pictures of you in my mind, beautiful. This one might be my new favorite.” He rocks into you softly, watching you bring yourself pleasure, feeling the effects of it as you tighten around him. “Who fucks you better, me or you?”

You Josh, you you you.

You’re peering over the edge of the cliff, nothing but bottomless ocean below and it’s calling to you, its voice sounds like his. Your fingers pick up speed, but he continues to move slowly inside you, watching, waiting.

“Close, I’m close…”

“Take yourself there, I’ll catch you when you fall.”

His touch on your thighs goes soft, and that’s all it takes. Every muscle tenses, but when you take that leap it feels like you’re floating away on the breeze.

From above you, he sees it take you, feels it grip you as your body bows off the bed and squeezes him until it feels like he could pop. But you’re murmuring quietly, no guttural moan, no high pitched whine or curses, just his name, over and over as your head sinks deeper into the pillow.

“Come back to me, baby…” When your eyelids flutter, he pumps his hips into you until they open and your eyes try to focus on him. “There she is, that looked like it felt heavenly. Did it?”

Vision hazy, your voice sounds distant to your own ears. “Yeah… You didn’t…?”

“No, not yet. Wanted you to have that one to yourself, you earned it.”

He’s smiling down at you, a subtle upturn of his lips, gentle and sweet. It hurts your heart. “Need you to cum, Josh. I earned it.” Summoning the strength to reach for him, you grasp at the back of his neck, meeting him in the middle and pushing a hard kiss to his lips. He snaps into you, once… twice.

“Yeah you did, I’m right there. Lay back.”

With a hand to the center of your chest, he pushes you back to the pillows. He works himself back into a faster rhythm, you watch the way it changes his demeanor. No less sweet, but a little less gentle. He grabs at your hands, pulls them back to your chest, cups each of your breasts in your own palms.

Your hips are pushing up to meet his thrusts, curiosity raising one of your eyebrows.

“I’m gonna cum on them, can I?” His throat is tight, barely hanging on.

“God, yes,” You push them together, how you had before. “Whatever you want, Josh…”

He jerks away, out of your body and hauls himself over you, pushing one of your legs flat to the bed. You pop up to your elbows, hands still pushing your chest forward for him, presented to him, and as soon as he takes his cock in his fist and strokes it, he’s shooting his release into your cleavage.

“Fuck! Holy shit.” He’s cumming hard, fist pulling rope after rope from his body, painting the curves of your chest with it. With a final shudder of his shoulders, his hand falls away and he collapses, rolling to lay at your side.

His ragged breathing is the only sound to be heard for several long minutes, until you start giggling. When your giggles grow louder and turn into a full blown fit of laughter, he manages to roll from his back to look at you. He watches you for a moment, your eyes squeezed shut and smile stretched wide.

“What is so funny?”

“You got it all over my bathing suit!”

“Hm…” After a glance to assess the mess he’s made of you, he shifts to his back again, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “I guess you can’t wear that one. Damn.”

“You did that on purpose!”

“Yeah, maybe.” He knows he doesn’t have the right, not that he would even if you were his, but he really didn’t love the idea of anyone else getting to see you, wrapped up like a gift that should have been only for him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, we have swimming to do.”

You can feel his eyes on you, keeping hold of you whenever his hands aren’t, alternating from a soft caress to a firm grip and back as the hours pass. He doesn’t seem to care who’s watching as you float together in the crystal clear sea, your legs wrapped around his waist as he holds you there, fingertips tucked beneath the lemon-yellow fabric of your swimsuit and pressed into the soft swell of your ass. Kisses are casually given, his lips touching you whenever they’re near enough, which is often.

Stretched across the sand, drying in the early afternoon sun, he’s on his stomach while you’re flat on your back, both of your heads rested on crossed arms. When you sigh, a content but dramatized sound, he props himself up on his elbows to watch you answer his impending question.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, beautiful?”

Your eyes remain closed and shielded behind the lenses of your shades, but a wistful grin tugs at your lips. “Can you imagine if this was our life? If we didn’t go home to our jobs and our bullshit, we just wasted away in paradise together?”

You crack an eye open to catch his smile stretch before he hangs his head and lets out a sigh of his own. “I can imagine it,” he has, “I don’t think Jake would appreciate that too much but it does sound… idyllic.”

“Jake?”

“My brother, I work with him, remember?” Ohh, right, Jake.

“Right, of course. Can you just let me be delusional for the next, like, twelve hours or so?”

“We can both live in delusion for a while, if you want.” You let your head fall to the side, an eyebrow raised in silent challenge for him to elaborate. Rolling to face you, with his cheek settled onto his fist, he focuses past your sunglasses and does just that. “I’ll tell everyone here that we’re on our honeymoon,” he pauses as you laugh, then continues to make it more ridiculous, “High school sweethearts who finally took the plunge and tied the knot, two kids at home staying with my parents for the week.”

“No one would believe you, I don’t even have a ring!” You lift your hands, arms outstretched toward the sun and fingers wiggling to prove your point.

“Left them at home in the safe, not smart to travel with them.”

Now you roll to face him, testing his commitment to the bit. “Hm, how old are the kids?”

As quickly as you’ve asked it, he has an answer. “Three, they’re twins. It’s genetic, after all.”

Pleased with himself, he grins as you giggle at the life he’s fantasized for you.

“So, my dearest, would you like to grab something for lunch?” It dawns on you, with his frivolous use of an affectionate pet name, that your opportunities to share a meal with him are quickly running out. Your expression must have taken a turn toward seriousness, because his mirrors it as you sit up and pull him with you.

“Darling?” The crease between his eyebrows smooths as the delivery of your own name for him lands and blooms within his chest. Mischief returns to his eyes and his head tilts, just so. “Why don’t we go back upstairs…” You’re already standing, sand falling from your skin until you’re left with only a fine layer coating the backside of your body, tugging at both of his hands.

“And?” He’s brushing the sand away from his stomach without breaking contact with your eyes, eager to hear whatever you may be suggesting. Without question or second thought, his arms circle their way around your waist when you step into him and press a kiss to his jaw, whispering into his ear.

“Let’s order room service,” his earlobe tugged past your lips by the tip of your tongue, your teeth nip into it and you feel the shiver run through him, “I want you to fuck me on the balcony while we wait for it.” The groan that creeps past your ear is quiet but his hands pull you in tighter. “And again when we’re done. I need you, again and again.”

Less could’ve been said and he would have been convinced. You eye each other carefully as you rinse quickly under the tepid spray of an outdoor shower, hungrily as you fumble with your key card, Josh’s fingers dancing along your spine. As soon as the handle turns he’s pushing you through the doorway and following closely behind, but instead of pulling you into him, he sprawls across your freshly made bed and grabs the room phone from the side table.

“What would you like, dear? Anything you want, you can have.” The honey and amber are sparkling up at you, laughter dancing in their warmth. You play along.

“You know what I like, darling. Just hurry up and order it, I’m so hungry.” From the foot of the bed, you watch his eyes follow your hand as you drag it down the front of your body, between your breasts and over your stomach. “Starving.”

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t lifted the handset from the receiver to place the call, he looks like he’s hardly taking in breath but you can see that he’s growing hard in his shorts. Seconds are ticking by and all you can imagine is time wasted, time that you don’t have.

“Josh…” His eyes snap to yours at the sound of your voice, a commanding whisper. Feeling bold, feeling desperate, your hands move quickly to pull at the strings holding your bathing suit together, allowing it to drop from your body and hit the floor. “I said hurry.”

You turn from him and make your way to the balcony door, flipping up the lock and sliding it open. With a final glance over your shoulder, you look back to find him with the phone up to his ear and a finger on the button to call the front desk as you cross the threshold and step into the heat, leaving the door open behind you. Within a minute, a seemingly endless sixty seconds as you stand exposed, bare for anyone who might chance a look upward, you hear the phone slam into the receiver. A strong arm wrapped around your waist pulls you back into the room and against his own bare skin.

His breath over your skin raises goosebumps as he growls into your ear. “You want them to see me taking what’s mine, dearest?”

Yes. God yes. You’re sure no one would actually notice you, three floors up and tucked away behind the fronds of several palm trees, but the risk of it has you slick with need between your thighs.

“Please.”

He does, his hands covering yours, wrapped together around the balcony’s railing as he loses himself inside you slowly, deliberately, whispering against the skin of your shoulder to keep quiet. Your bottom lip is tucked tight between your teeth, you’re sure it’ll be swollen and bruised when you’re done but you’ve never cared less about anything.

A quiet whine escapes you when he pulls out of your body but he’s far from finished with you, he just needs to be closer and he tells you so as he tugs you back into the room and eases you onto the bed.

Just as he coaxes a gentle, fluttering climax from you, the food arrives. You almost yell for it to be left in the hall, but you find that your voice is weak and his is full of amused laughter.

“Coming!” He bounds from the bed and wraps one of the hotel robes around himself, tying it closed but doing little to hide the arousal standing straight out from between his legs. The servers pretend not to notice, and Josh ushers them away with his natural charm and a smile on his face, pulling the cart into the room and locking the door.

He must have ordered one of everything on a menu you’d never even seen, along with two bottles of champagne.

🌙🌙🌙

You don’t make it back down to the pool, or the beach. The sun is setting and the only time you’ve left your room is when you stepped back out onto the balcony, giggling like children and drunk on champagne, feeling distinctly adult as he sat and pulled you into his lap and onto his cock.

You’d found yourself there over and over again since the food arrived, bodies connected even as you picked over the selection, he slipped inside you for minutes at a time, fucking into you at his leisure, whenever the moment called for it. He hasn’t cum once, not since this morning, after breakfast. You, however. He’s brought you up and over that crest so many times you’ve lost count, sometimes while he’s buried inside you, other times with his mouth, every time with intention and incredible restraint. He’s edging himself and you’re reaping all of the benefits, he’s hot and rock hard as you do little more than roll your hips into his lap.

“I could live here forever, just like this.” His hips are barely moving, his self-control unmatched as he murmurs, sounding lost to the feeling. “Your perfect cunt wrapped around me. I could die like this.” A quiet groan slips from his mouth as your body squeezes him.

The alcohol loosens your lips. “Tell me more, Josh. Tell me how you’d live and die to be inside me, to fill me up.” It ends on a gasp as his hips nearly catapult you off of him, but his hands around the small of your waist keep you close.

The sun has disappeared completely, giving way to the moonlight and cloaking the impenetrable bubble of your balcony in darkness. Your back meets his chest as he pulls you against him, his arms encircling you, a hand finding its home over one of your breasts.

He breathes into your ear, “I’d give anything, everything I have, for the chance to fill you completely, let you have it all.”

The way you whimper at his words is pathetic, laced through with submission. You want it, need it.

“Josh please, just do it.”

The groan elicited this time is louder, longer, thick with yearning. “I can’t, baby. I just- can’t.” He’s stopped rocking beneath you, but you’re rolling into him harder, begging him to give in.

“You can, it’s okay, I need to know what it feels like, what you look like.” Your ass is grinding into his lap as hard as the angle will allow, but his fingers sink into the meat of your thighs until his grip is hurting you, halting your movement. “Josh…”

“Get off of me.”

It hurts worse than the death grip he still has on your legs, stunning you into a lingering silence.

“Go lay on the bed, beautiful.” The hurt sitting like a stone in your stomach blooms into something warm, an excitement that you can feel tingling in the tips of your fingers and toes. His hands fall away from you and he waits, ever patient, for you to do as he asked.

You hear him suck a hiss through his teeth as you slide off of his lap, off of him. Wordlessly, you leave him there, taking only a second to look back, to find his head leaned all the way back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his hands flexing against the narrow arms of the chair. His dick still standing straight up from his lap.

There’s a cloak of severity covering his features when he finally comes inside, his face hard set, jaw now flexing as he clenches and releases it. You’ve waited for him, not too long, hair splayed out over the pillows, staring at the ceiling and counting the seconds. He didn’t let too many pass.

When he reaches the side of the bed, his hand immediately finds one of your ankles and tugs gently, just enough to shift your body toward him, his eyes raking over you from where his hand rests, up until he reaches your eyes. The crystallized amber sparkles in the dim bedside light, and you know he’s about to say something that will either make you laugh or make you want to cry.

He starts with your name, rolls it around on his tongue and shapes it with those lips, pushes it past those teeth. “Can I be delusional for a few minutes? And I mean that, this will only take a few minutes.”

That much is obvious, he’s been bringing himself to the edge of an orgasm for probably five, maybe six hours. You giggle as your head nods permission for him to live in delusion.

“Thank you, darling…” Timidly, as if for the first time he’s feeling shy, he climbs onto the bed and hovers over you. You would swear there’s a tremor in his muscles as he holds himself there, eyes locked onto yours, dick resting heavy and low against your abdomen. His hips begin to rock almost imperceptibly, as if he’s lost all control and simply can’t stop them. “Will you let me… Could I love you? Just for a few minutes, just to feel it. Please?”

The laughter dancing on your lips dies swiftly, but a soft smile remains, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes that you refuse to let spring forth. You don’t trust yourself to speak so you nod your head again, and he only sighs, giving in to what he desires.

One of his hands drops between you, wrapping around himself and wasting no time in lining himself up at your cunt, weeping from overstimulation and the anticipation of something completely different. He pushes inside you slowly though your body offers no resistance, sucking him in until he’s seated exactly where he belongs, hips pressed flush against yours. You stay just like that for a long moment, unmoving until you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer, his lips finding yours in a kiss coated in unspoken emotion.

His body covers yours completely, no space left between you as he starts to rock against you, breaking from your kiss to look into your eyes, his hand coming up to rest at your cheek. “What have you done to me, love? I don’t even know myself anymore.”

You feel the same, knowing that the woman leaving here tomorrow is not the same one who had gotten off the plane just days ago, but you don’t know how to tell him that. You allow your body to express it, legs pulling him in with each shallow thrust, hands sliding up the sticky skin of his back until they sink into the tangles of his hair and pull his lips back to yours. Your tongues meet in a shy caress to match the soft pleasure coursing through your veins.

He breaks away to tuck his face into the crook of your neck, whispering into the space. “Are you sure about this? I need you to be sure, for both of us.”

Understanding dawns on you, his trepidation to cross this boundary is giving way to your need to have all of him. “I’m sure, it’s okay Josh, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t. Do you trust me?”

It’s irrational, senseless, the way he trusts you. For no reason other than he’s chosen to. The gentle rhythm of his hips stutters, just slightly, and you know he’s about to succumb to what he’s been denying himself for hours.

“Let go Josh, let me see you…”

Lifting himself over you again, allowing you a perfect view of tensed muscles shining with beads of sweat, he glances down to where you’re connected, his thrusts picking up speed as his brows knit together. He offers no unnecessary warning, no verbal alert to his intention as he slams into the backs of your thighs once, meets your eyes with his and does it a second time.

It happens in slow motion, or that’s the way it etches itself into your memory anyway, the way his face contorts almost as if he’s in pain just before you feel the heat of his release seep into you. His jaw slackens and a string of curses and praise float past his lips as he pumps you full, blinding you with the beauty of his complete satisfaction as you feel it overflowing from between your legs.

His own overstimulation takes over before he’s even empty, his quiet exclamations turning into soft whimpers as he rides it out, giving you everything.

“That’s it baby, so fucking good…” You offer encouragement from the pillows, he sucks in a sharp gasp as it finally ends.

“Oh my god-“ His body gives out and he collapses onto you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

You’re not sure how long you hold him there, fingers trailing everywhere that you can reach, mapping out the feeling of him just like this. He grows soft inside you, a mess left between you that you cherish, already mourning the moment that you’ll have to wash it away. You might have fallen asleep that way but neither of you will let it happen, laying in silence for what could’ve been minutes or hours.

“I’ll remember you like this.”

He shifts to lay beside you and you turn to each other, he reaches for your hand and brings your fingertips to his lips before tangling his with them. “You say that as if this is over. Do we end here, beautiful?”

“Let’s figure it out in the morning. We can live in delusion until then, right?”

☀️☀️☀️

For the first time in six days, the shrill sound of a phone rips you out of sleep and out of an unrealistic, but eerily tangible, dream. Beside you, Josh jolts awake, seemingly confused as to where the offensive tune is coming from.

“What the fuck,” his voice is little more than a croaking whisper as he forces himself from the sheets to find the source of the disrespectful racket, digging his forgotten phone out of the pocket of his shorts. As he grumbles an irritated “what do you want”, you stretch for your own phone to check the time, your stomach knotting as you realize you should start getting ready to go. While he has a muted conversation, you drag yourself from the bed and into reality, immediately heading to the bathroom and turning the water on for a shower.

Your eyes are closed against the spray when he joins you, his hands coming to rest at your hips cause your heart to race, his last chance to startle you and chuckle against your shoulder when you slap at him playfully.

His lips move over your skin as the steaming water threatens to rinse away any evidence that he’d ever been there. “I ordered coffee to the room. Don’t worry, I’m paying for it,” he adds before you can protest, though you know he’d done the same for the food he’d ordered yesterday. “Jake needs to see me, wouldn’t tell me what for.”

A lump forms in your throat so quickly that you struggle to swallow it down as you twist to face him. “No, not yet. Please don’t go yet.”

He brings a hand up to cup your jaw in his palm, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. “No, of course not. I’m not going anywhere.”

His kisses are sweet and sad as he places them to your lips, across your jaw and trails them down your neck and back up. His hands are possessive and generous as he works conditioner into your hair and washes himself from your body.

You compel yourself to get travel-ready, drinking your latte as you moisturize your skin and dry your hair. He watches and sips his own coffee, perched on the bathroom counter. You wait until the last possible second to put your clothes on, a pair of soft denim shorts and a loose-fitting t-shirt hiding your body from him for what feels like the first time and the last time.

“What time do you have to head down?” His question is quiet, as if he had to force it to exist at all. Before you can answer, his phone starts ringing again.

“Do you need to get that?” Your own question is merely a whisper laced in anguish over these being the beginnings of the last moments you’ll spend in his light.

He shakes his head, but as soon as the ringing stops, it starts again. You can see the barely contained, seething anger on his face.

“What Jacob?!”

The volume of his voice alone rattles you, he’s venomous over the interruptions but you can’t say that you don’t understand. The seconds are once again ticking by too rapidly as you stare blankly, his frustration written into his features.

“Can it wait, like,” his eyes dart to yours, you never told him when you had to be downstairs to check out and board the shuttle to the airport. Your lips move silently, an hour, “Fuck, can it wait an hour?”

The words can’t be made out by you, but you can tell the answer he receives isn’t the one he’d wanted as he agrees to go to his brother, a sharp curse on the tip of his tongue as he ends the call and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“I will be right back, I promise. Will you stay here?” His eyes are wide and wild, conflicting emotions swimming in pools of honey. You can feel your head nodding solemnly.

“I’ll be here.”

The kiss he leaves you with is fast and hard, pushed into your lips as he pulls your face to his and he’s out the door just as quickly. As soon as it closes behind him, your fingertips are pressed to your mouth, holding onto the feeling he’d left behind. You turn back into the room, surveying the last of the items that you need to tuck into your suitcase.

At some point leaning toward the middle of the night, you’d untethered yourself from Josh just long enough to pack your things haphazardly, knowing you’d likely regret it once you were home. You couldn’t bring yourself to care then, with him propped against the headboard, watching you quietly. He’d pulled you back to the mattress once you’d decided to finish in the morning, wrapped himself around you and battled sleep at your side. You don’t know what time it was when you eventually lost the fight.

The sound of your own phone vibrating on the nightstand where you’d left it snaps you out of your contemplation.

You find a succession of texts on the screen.

Mom: Hey hun, hopefully you’re awake

Mom: Change of plans, we have to meet the shuttle in about 35 mins

Mom: If you don’t respond in 5 I’ll call, but I didn’t wanna interrupt anything lol

She knew you’d been spending your time with someone else, you’d had to explain away the time you weren’t spending with her.

The news she’s delivered is like a punch to the gut, it steals your breath.

Me: Ok, I’ll be there

Fuck.

Josh made it to his brother’s room in record time, nearly sprinting down corridors and flying down and back up stairs rather than waiting for elevators. It’s not a particularly short journey to the other side of the sprawling hotel, he’s panting and almost dripping sweat as he slams his fist against the door.

Jake makes him wait, in no hurry to grant him access, knowing that he’s already pissed and he’s about to make it worse. When a fist meets the door again, it finally swings open. Josh doesn’t move to enter the room however, remaining in the hall with both eyebrows raised expectantly on his forehead.

“What,” Josh’s breath is still heaving, “is so important that it couldn’t wait one fucking hour?”

Casual and irritatingly calm, his twin seems damn near relaxed, black linen shirt hanging open, lower half still adorned in the sweatpants he probably slept in. “Why don’t you come in for a minute, Josh.” Jake steps back to allow him inside, leading him through to the glass door of the balcony. “Want a smoke? You look like you could use one.”

Only grumbling in response, Josh follows to take a seat opposite his brother at the table outside, Jake’s view only slightly better than the one from the balcony he’d fucked you on so many times yesterday. There are fewer palms in the way of the crystal turquoise ocean, which Josh stares out over as Jake lights a cigarette and passes it to him. Without meeting his eyes, he plucks it from his brother’s fingers and takes a deep drag.

On the exhale, he mumbles, “I don’t have time for this, I have to go back to her-”

“That’s precisely what I’d like to speak to you about.”

That garners Josh’s attention, his head whipping to the side, eyes narrowed. “What about it?”

Jake’s lips are pursed, cigarette held firmly between his first two fingers as his arm rests on the table. The smoke curls in the air between them, and he meets Josh’s fiery gaze through the veil of it. “I’m trying to prevent you from doing something incredibly stupid.”

He watches Josh’s mouth fall open, indignant. “Like what? Say goodbye? Jake I’ve been fucking her for three days,” it’s almost true, the details unimportant in this moment, “You don’t think I owe her at least a ‘goodbye’?”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” They stare at each other for a long moment, very nearly identical eyes boring into one another’s. “You weren’t just fucking her, were you?”

There’s no way he could possibly know that, no way he’d even be able to make an assumption. Josh has hardly seen or spoken to him in days, but it seems he’s somehow forgotten about a twin’s intuition. Besides, the fact that he’s kept his distance has been telling enough.

Jake chooses his next words carefully. “What exactly do you think happens when she leaves here?”

Exasperated and defensive, Josh sighs. “I don’t know, honestly, but I want to find out.”

Head shaking, Jake sits up in his chair and leans toward his brother. “It’s not a good idea, just cut it off.”

Josh is already stamping his cigarette out in the glass ashtray between them, standing from his chair and shuffling past to re-enter the room and get the fuck out of there. A firm grip around his wrist stops him in his tracks.

“I’m serious Josh. It’s not gonna work out, what the fuck are you thinking?” Jake rises from his chair just in time for Josh to shake free of his hold and shove him backwards.

“You’re wasting my time! I didn’t even properly say goodbye to her when I left her room, because you-”

“Why do you need some drawn out, heartfelt goodbye? You’re never going to see her again, do you get that?” Jake can’t understand how this isn’t making sense, how Josh can’t see how foolish it is to stay connected to a stranger, who he’s positive has no idea who either of them are, what they do. “Is all of this,” he gestures to the situation in front of him, Josh’s frantic breathing, the panic in his eyes, “worth the pain of not just letting her go?”

His other half feels things deeply, he knows because he does too, they are one in the same. He can feel the battle between Josh’s head and heart as if it’s happening within himself. He knows Josh’s heart is winning, and this is not going to end in its favor.

“Fuck you, Jake.” There’s no heat behind his words, just an urgency to get back to her room. Regardless, Jake knows he’ll be the one that’s there to pick up the pieces when this ultimately explodes.

When Josh finally slides the door open and disappears into the room, Jake calls after him. “Don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you!” He slumps back into his chair and finishes his cigarette, his girlfriend slipping silently out onto the balcony and into his lap.

“So… I caught the tail end of that. Didn’t go well?” Her hands push a few fallen tendrils of hair behind his ear.

“He doesn’t even know her. What if she’s fucking crazy? If she finds out who he is and she bolts, or just wants him for his money? Either way, he gets his heart broken. He’s so fucking stubborn.” Jake drops his forehead to her shoulder.

“Yeah babe, it runs in your family.”

Where the fuck is he?

You’d waited as long as you could, twenty minutes before you’d left your room behind and made your way down to the front desk, rolling your suitcase behind you. Another seven before you’d made it there, the corridors long and the hotel itself massive, your steps slow lest he pass you on the way. Your mom and her friend are already checked out and waiting for you, chattering happily amongst themselves as your stomach turns and your eyes dart back and forth across the lobby. Looking for him.

He won’t even know I’m down here. Fuck!

Of course he didn’t. He’d thought you still had at least thirty minutes before you had to check out. He ran the fastest route to your room and knocked on your door, met by silence. He knocked again, until his knuckles turned red.

He’ll find me, he always finds me. He promised.

You feign normalcy and composure but you can’t stop your eyes from scanning the huge open space as you turn in your room key and allow the clerk to cut the resort bracelet from your wrist.

“You okay sweetie?” Your mom notices your anxiety, of course she does. You lie.

“Fine, Mom. Just not ready to leave, ya know?” Okay, not a complete lie. You’re not ready to leave him. You never even got his phone number, you can’t call him now and tell him to run, that you’ll make them wait. How are you going to reach out to him? Why didn’t you realize this sooner?

There was no way you could have known the morning would pan out this way.

You turn to inspect the lobby again, not sure what direction he’d even be coming from, if he were coming. From behind you, the telltale sound of a vehicle pulling up has your eyes misting over, vision gone blurry.

It happens so fast, you hardly have time to register that he really isn’t coming, your luggage loaded into the shuttle and a coordinator checking your names off a list before ushering you onto the bus. Before you dare to step foot inside it, you turn away from it completely, one last long scan of the expansive space.

He’s not there.

“Bye, Josh.”

Your whisper lands on no one’s ears but your own, your gaze lingering out the window once you find a seat. Just a few more minutes you wait, staring out, as other passengers board but when the shuttle pulls away, he still hasn’t appeared.

Josh rounds a corner and makes it to the front desk, unsure if you’d even be there, out of breath and on the verge of something drastic as his eyes sweep the area for you. There’s no one, no one that looks like they’re waiting, no one standing around idly next to their luggage. He has no idea what to do.

“Sir? Can I help you?” The clerk speaks up, only slightly alarmed by the panic-stricken man breathing heavily and very obviously searching for something.

“Maybe,” he presses himself into the counter, the intensity rolling off of him causes the clerk to take half a step back. “Is there a bus coming soon?”

Warily, the clerk types something into a computer nestled below Josh’s line of vision. “Not for a couple of hours, sir. The ten-thirty shuttle just left.”

“It’s only ten,” he pulls his phone out to verify, “oh three. When did it leave?”

“Yes sir, it was rescheduled to accommodate a change in flight time. It left about… oh, two or three minutes ago.”

Below the counter, Josh’s hand balls into a tight fist as he sucks his teeth and resists ruining this man’s morning by cursing in his face. He takes a grounding breath instead.

“I believe that someone got onto that bus that I really need to get in contact with, and I don’t have their number. Are you able to look that information up for me?” His words come out slowly, calculated, knowing that what he’s requesting is absurd.

“No sir, I can’t give out the personal information of our guests.”

No, of course not. He considers bribing this poor guy for just a moment before it occurs to him that the room was not even under your name, your contact information probably nonexistent in their system. He doesn’t even know your last name. You don’t even know his. He never even told you who he is.

“Right, yeah, I know. Um… right, thank you.” Think, think, think.

“Is it possible to call up a cab to the airport?” It’s a long shot, really long, assuming you’d be flying out of the nearest airport but having no clue what airline or when your flight is. The clerk nods his head and lifts a phone from its cradle, but another voice interrupts.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you though.”

Jake. He takes Josh by the shoulders and moves him away from the counter, opens his mouth to tell him to let it go, it’s for the best. Josh shrugs his hands off and puts distance between them.

“Don’t say anything. This is your fucking fault, I missed her by minutes Jake! I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” His twin is unapologetic in his stance, his face expressionless even as Josh’s voice cracks.

Dejected, Josh turns away, ignores his brother as he calls to him. There’s nothing else he wants to hear, nothing he can do. The only logical option being to stop into the first shop he passes, purchase two bottles of tequila and hole himself up in his room for the next three days. Three days to wallow in the complete and utter idiocy of missing you by three minutes, the moronic lack of foresight in not just exchanging numbers.

Three days and three long nights nearly blacked out to forget about the three it had taken him to fall for you.

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