#and when august comes. if it’s still only the 3 of us. they won’t let me take that time off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seresinhangmanjake · 7 days

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Stolen Angel - Part 4

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 1793

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“You didn't eat.”

You don’t flinch at the intrusion of his voice, not this time. While it was peaceful without his deep tone in your ear, you knew him finding you was inevitable, and honestly, you’re surprised it took him this long. Although, it’s possible that he didn’t need to find you at all; he could have been watching you from afar. Just because you haven’t seen his face in almost twenty-four hours doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen yours, and you’ve certainly provided him with an unobstructed view. But then you wonder why he hasn’t dragged you back to your room.

You weren’t going to run. You just needed to see it, feel it, for yourself. Maybe that’s why he’s let you be; why he’s not scolding you until your brain melts. Maybe he knows that you won’t have logic overpowering your emotions when it comes to this, because even if you had some semblance of which direction to go in, you wouldn’t know what to do once you got there. To be anywhere other than here, like it or not you need him. You need his guidance and support, and worst of all, his permission.

“I ate some of it,” you confess.

“Not enough,” he says.

When he steps in front of you, his body eclipses the sun. The field around you untouched by his shadow still radiates its vibrant shades while you sit in the darkness he is creating. You look up, and his blond hair is glowing almost blindly from the backlight of the sun.

“Why are you out here, Angel?”

You turn your attention to your hand that’s nestled in the grass. “I had to see if it was real,” you say softly as you twirl your finger around a green blade.

He hums. “And are you satisfied with what you've found?”

Satisfied? You could scoff. What a foolish question; a disrespectful question. You can’t be satisfied with what you don’t understand. Feeling the dirt between your fingers and toes doesn’t provide you with the wealth of clarity he has been denying you. Clarity that you’re owed.

“Come on,” he says at your lack of reply, reaching out a hand. “Out of the grass.”

“Tell me what this place is,” you say.

“I can explain it to you later. You’re not completely healed and we need to—”

“No,” you snap, meeting his eyes. “Now. Explain it to me now.”

Jake sighs, his hand dropping back to his side. “Angel—”

“I could become a lot more difficult, you know.”

He lets out a huff of a chuckle. Little crinkles form in the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I do know.”

“Then tell me.”

His smile settles. He mutters something under his breath before he glances over your head to the structure behind you. When you turn to get a look at what has stolen his attention, you find only an empty doorway.

“You want me to like you, don’t you?” you ask, knowing that will draw him back to you.

A blond brow raises in curiosity and suspicion. “This will make you like me?”

“It would help,” you lie. “The truth is important to me, and I don’t understand how you can expect me to want to be here if I have no clue what ‘here’ is.”

As he bites the inside of his cheek, you begin to worry that the promise of your affection is not a strong enough offer—that he might want more than just your words, he’ll want proof that you intend to follow through with what you say by your actions—but then he turns where he stands and lowers himself into the grass beside you. He’s close, and when his wing brushes over yours as he makes himself comfortable, he’s quick to pull it away, as if your feathers could set his aflame.

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before he rests his elbows on his bent knees. “It’s called The Tower,” he eventually says. “It was a prison, technically, until about two months ago.”

“A prison,” you repeat. “How fitting.”

He shoots you a look. You’ve offended him and you need to reign yourself in. “If you bothered to behave, it wouldn’t have to feel like one,” he informs you.

You hold back from rolling your eyes. You’re the textbook definition of a prisoner and you both know it. He can deny it to your face all he wants, but you have a right to feel like this place is a prison, even if it doesn’t exactly have the look of a prison. At least, not where you’re from. You don’t know of many ‘cells’ that include wardrobes, open windows, double beds with thick coverings, and fireplaces. Before you left your room you were imagining many possibilities for the cage you’ve been kept in, but among those were large estate or small castle, not a home for the naughty winged people.

“It’s awfully fancy for a prison,” you say.

“Our offenses weren’t so horrible.”

Our?

Your brows almost shoot off your forehead until you take a half-second to soak it in and then accept the shame of being shocked. “Of course, you’re a criminal,” you say, nodding to yourself. “Did you kidnap a few other innocents and turn them into monsters, too?”

Jake doesn’t look you in the eye as he swallows hard, so you turn your head back to the horizon. “You’re not a monster, Angel. You’re perfect,” he tells you, then shakes his head. “But no. There were no others. I broke a rule—the same rule—a few times, which got me three separate six-month sentences in five years. Four months into my last one, the prison was dissolved here and set up elsewhere. Everyone was released; I stayed.”

Your brow pinches. “Why would you stay in the place you were captive?”

“I liked my room—well, your room right now. I liked the view. I thought it would be a good place for us once you joined me,” he says. “Secluded. Intimate.”

Stomach flipping, your heartbeat gives a sharp thud. Instinctually, you think to move away, make an early retreat back to your room, but for once he’s actually answering your questions and you can’t sacrifice that in case you’re never given the same chance.

“What was the rule that you broke?” you ask.

“Out past curfew, so to speak.”

“Out where?”

Jake goes silent, contemplating, then he says, “That's enough for now.”

But it’s not enough for you. “Out where?” you press to no response, so with a huff, you push off the ground to stand.

He grabs your wrist as you’re about to take a step. “Sit,” he says. “I'll tell you if you stay.”

Subtly smirking at the win, you return to the grass.

Jake blows out a breath. “The Below,” he tells you.

“The Below…” You roll the words around on your tongue. They mean nothing to you until Jake makes a face like he might come to regret what he’s just done, and then they mean everything. “My world?”

Jake groans. “How many times do I have to tell you that that is not your—”

“You were there more than just that one time?” you interrupt, stunned that you momentarily forgot that your home is where he met you. It must have been the anger or fear or lasting daze from the week of pain, but somehow it didn’t register that you could potentially return as well. “How?”

“No more questions,” he scolds.

“But I thought you wanted me to like you,” you counter.

Shifting to sit on your hip with your legs bent at your side, you set your hand on top of his. He stares at the new touch, then his thumb begins to rub along the line of your index finger in soft, slow motions.

He doesn’t stop his staring. He doesn’t stop his thumb’s gentle caressing. “Yes, I was there more than just that one time.”

Despite your carefully restrained excitement at the plethora of new information, you forget the game you’re playing and jerk your hand away from his just as he’s about to intertwine your fingers. “So you can go whenever you want?” you ask. “Then take me.”

At the demand, his teeth clench, jawline sharpening. “No, I cannot go whenever I want, and no, I am not taking you.”

“Why not!”

“Because you are right where you should be,” he says decisively.

You feel his heightening irritation, so you quickly place your palm on his shoulder and slide it down to his toned bicep where it stays.

“I just want to see it,” you tell him before you scoot yourself closer to his side, your hip a couple inches shy of pressing against his. He looks down to where your bodies are nearly touching, then back up at you. You try a light smile. “Please, Jake.”

His eyes lock on to your smile, your lips. He darts his tongue out to wet his own, and you prepare yourself for the kiss you’re sure he’s about to give you—a kiss you won’t say no to if it helps get you home—but it’s a kiss that never comes. He just thinks; drinks in your smile and thinks.

The green of his irises in the sunlight is overwhelming when directed at you for such a long pause, and you don’t initially notice when he opens his mouth.

“If you show me that you can listen to me and do as I tell you, I’ll consider it,” he finally says.

Your head flinches back, mind immediately going to the worst of what he could want from you. “What will you be telling me to do?”

“To start, you’re going back inside. You haven’t finished healing and because you took yourself on a little adventure, you stressed your wing and now part of it is inflamed. You need rest.”

You must have been so mentally preoccupied that you blocked out all physical transmission to your brain because it’s only when he says it that you feel the return of the ache.

“And you’re going to eat,” he continues. “Everything, this time.”

“Fine,” you relent.

“You’re going to wear something made of more comfortable fabric than that,” he gestures to your smock, “And you’re going to stop arguing with me over every damn thing. You can’t change what’s been done, so being pissed at me doesn’t do you any good.”

It takes extra effort to muster up an agreement to that last one. Your swallow you can only compare to trying to get down a sponge soaked in wet cement. “Fine,” you grit out.

“Fine,” he says, standing. He extends his hand out toward you again. “Let’s see if you’re capable of behaving, Angel.”

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @fandom-life-12 @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me @eloquentdreamer

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rebeliz7 · 7 months

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AUGUST - PART 3

August 3/3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

…

August, 21th

You walk slowly down the hallway, your eyes firmly locked on the ground and your moving feet. Maybe you’re dreaming, you certainly feel like it.

You try swallowing down the metaphorical knot tied around your throat, but the action only makes your chest ache and you can’t focus on anything but that, no matter how hard you try.

It was always going to end like this, you knew it. You always knew it.

“There she is!” Steve’s voice finally makes you look up, and his face is the first thing you see because he’s coming towards you with a big smile on his lips and open arms.

“Hey,” you manage to say right before he hugs you against his chest, and you hold onto him for a few long seconds before he pulls back.

“Were you sleeping? Sorry to wake you.” He’s smiling, and you know everyone else is gathered behind him, but you can’t look - not yet.

“You couldn’t find a razor in the Middle east?” You ask him, referring to his bushy beard and he laughs, before he wraps an arm around your shoulders and turns back around, dragging you along with him.

He tells you something about beards and everyone laughs, but you don’t listen to any of it as all the blood in your veins rushes to your ears the moment you see them together.

And you have no right, you know it. But to see Wanda’s arms wrapped around Natasha from behind, huge smiles planted on both of their faces, makes you feel as if they’ve shot you and they don’t regret it.

Logically, in this analogy, you know you’ve shot yourself but you can’t help but feel what you feel.

“Told you I’d have his back,” Natasha tells you as she disentagles herself from her wife’s arms, and walks towards you.

You don’t look up, firmly focusing on her face and her dark hair, since she’s dyed it somewhere along their mission. Steve promptly lets go of you to give her way, and you desperately wish that he hadn’t.

“Hey, kid.” She hugs you, her voice soft as she wraps her arms around you and despite feeling like she’s taking everything away from you, you hug her too. “God, you’re tense.”

She smiles, her hands rubbing up and down your arms and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

“Didn’t you tell me you were coming down with something?” Kate is suddenly by your side, throwing an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against her side, and away from Natasha. “I think it might be the flu.”

“Oh, I’ll make you something.” Natasha rubs your arm one last time, and you nod distractedly.

You’re out of it, it feels as if you’re dreaming and you can’t wake up, no matter how hard you try.

“Come on, killer. Let’s let Auntie Nattie here cook you a magic potion, huh?”

“She used to be likable. What happened to her?” Natasha complains and Clint laughs, as does Wanda.

“Clint happened to her,” she says and you finally look up. Her eyes meet yours for a split second, and the emotion unraveling in her hazel eyes almost chokes you up.

But Kate pulls you around and practically drags you out of the living room and down the hallway leading to the elevator.

You can still hear laughter while you wait for the elevator to arrive, and Kate hugs you a little tighter, which you appreciate.

The two of you ride the elevator in silence, walk towards your bedroom in silence and when you go straight to your bed, Kate sits beside you in silence.

…

August, 22th

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the moment you blink yourself awake you realize that you’ve been crying in your sleep.

Everything hurts. Your chest feels like it might be splitting open, and this pain is so real that you could swear that you’ve hurt your ribs or someone kicked the living hell out of you last night.

But the reality is that no one touched you, and the pain that’s slowly consuming you is that of your broken heart.

Kate is gone and it’s only a little after five, and you know you won’t be going back to sleep.

To think that only five hours ago you were happy, and now - God! You can’t feel like this, it’s not fair for you to feel like this. You have no right.

A soft knock on your door makes you look up and before you can think of getting up, Wanda walks inside and quickly shuts the door behind her.

She hesitates the moment the door clicks shut behind her, and she presses her back against it as she looks at you with a pained expression on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she says after a beat, shaking her head and then she rushes to your bed—to you.

There’s a moment where you think that this might be a dream, but the way she gets under the covers, her cold hand reaching to cup your face and her lips pressing a hard kiss on your temple, tells you that this is real.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, her lips kissing your cheeks and your lips repeatedly.

She hugs you close and you hug her too, and you finally let yourself cry and she’s there, cleaning your tears away as soon as they begin to fall and kissing you again and again.

You don’t know how long you cry for, but when you stop Wanda’s arms are still wrapped around you, her lips still pressing soft kisses on your temple. All pretenses are gone, she can’t deny knowing exactly what you feel for her anymore and you don’t know what it’ll happen.

You’re afraid to speak, knowing that once you do you’ll have to accept whatever comes out of her mouth in response.

“Let me grab a tissue,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper and she reaches to your nightstand to grab the box of tissues you keep there.

“Thanks.” You take a tissue and she sets the box behind you, before she takes the tissue from your hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says as she cleans your cheeks, and you know your chin is trembling when she delicately touches it with two of her fingers.

“I feel like a mess,” you tell her and she kisses you, her lips pressing against yours in a soft and familiar kiss that steals your breath away.

“None of that, you’re beautiful.” She kisses your nose, and although you don’t feel pretty you still try to smile through your pain.

“Was that our last kiss?” You ask her and she takes a deep breath, and lets the air out slowly. You watch her swallowing hard, her own chin trembling as her eyes turn glassy while she looks at you.

Your stomach tightens, like it always does when you know you’re about to be sucker punched, and Wanda kisses you again.

This is it, you think, as you return her kiss. This is your last kiss, and you don’t want it to be.

You kiss for long and excruciating seconds, it might even be a minute but it ends, and she pulls back slightly.

Her hands are still cold as they cup your face, and her eyes reflect pain the longer she looks at you. It almost seems like a storm is unraveling behind her eyes, and you desperately want to know what she’s thinking.

What does she see now when she looks at you?

“That was our last kiss,” she says and although you knew she’d confirm that, it still feels like a stray bullet is piercing through your chest.

“Okay.” Your voice breaks as you nod your head twice, and she takes in another shattering breath.

“We agreed,” she reminds you, her voice breaking as well and you almost gather the necessary courage to ask what you’ve been wanting to ask her for a few days now.

“You did listen to my warning.” You point out and a few tears escape her eyes, and as if she can’t help herself, she kisses you hard and you let her.

She kisses you demandingly, as if there’s a part of her that wants to devour you, take all that she can get from you with one last kiss and you let her.

The pressing of her body against yours makes you lay on your back, and she follows you in kind, her body sliding on top of you with the liberty that you’ve granted her.

But this kiss ends too, and when she pulls back you cradle her face in your hands one last time.

You don’t want it to end, you don’t want this to be the last time that you feel her breath against yours. You don’t want to have to miss the weight of her body on top of yours, and you don’t want to dream about the smell of her shampoo this close.

“Your order, you mean?” She asks you with a hint of humor, though her eyes keep you prisoner of the emotions swirling in them.

“I - Wanda, I - ”

The frightening realization that you almost spell those words out for her, has you both freezing on the spot.

She kisses you again, and you wrap your arms around her as she sneaks her hands under your shirt. You’ve never retorted to tears for any situation you’ve seen yourself involved in, and now crying is all you can think about.

“I’m so sorry,” she says the moment she pulls back, when you haven’t even opened your eyes again yet.

“You keep saying that,” you tell her and she kisses your cheeks, holds onto you and presses her forehead on your shoulder, as if she can’t stand the idea of leaving you.

“Ask me to stay,” she tells you, pulling back and looking into your eyes with a little bit of desperation.

“What?”

“Ask me,” she says, almost pleadingly and although you’re confused you still kiss her silly for a few hopeful seconds.

“August is not over yet,” you tell her, perhaps sounding way more desperate than she just did.

“August.” The word leaves her parted lips in a sigh, or maybe a prayer. “August isn’t over yet.”

…

You go about your day as normally as you can, and you might not feel happy with the way things seem to be about to unfold, but at least you’re not feeling completely destroyed. You think.

Natasha meets you in the meeting launch with a cup of a steaming drink, that she tells you to take to help you feel better. You only meet her stare with a sinking feeling in your stomach, while you try hard not to think about what you’re doing and what it means for her, or you.

There’s a debriefing, not that you’re paying the necessary attention to everything that’s being said.

You do gather a few points. Natasha apparently discovered some very dark and important state secrets that will secure the team’s freedom for good. She’ll no longer have to answer the Government's shady calls, nor do their dirty work ever again.

You only notice Rhodey’s presence when he claps his hands twice, before standing up and hugging her tightly. He’s so proud of her, and he’s not afraid of showing it.

“You did good,” he tells her in earnest and Natasha smiles, but not fully. She’s proud too, you can tell by the way she keeps trying to hold back her smile.

She’s happy that she’s done this, she’s happy because the White House will no longer call upon her with these less than ideal missions anymore.

“It was long overdue.” She shrugs, but everyone else takes turns in congratulating her.

You do your part, of course, as one of her oldests friends you hug her too and congratulate her sincerely. Natasha squishes you, she pats your arms and smiles widely at you, a real smile, a big one and your heart seems to break for a very different reason.

You know she holds a special place in her heart for you, you know she feels somehow responsible for you and you really do love her and appreciate her, which makes all of this immensely harder for you.

The realization that you don’t want to lose her friendship hits your full force. If there was anyone who deserved your unwavering loyalty, that someone was Natasha.

The thought flies out of your mind the moment Wanda’s lips are insistently kissing a path down your neck the second you two find yourselves alone though.

…

August, 23rd

Daisy is a ball of energy around Natasha, she’s eager to know what’s next for her and to be completely honest, so are you.

It’s clear that Natasha’s grown attached to Daisy, at least it’s clear to you, you’re not sure if it is for the rest of the team. She’s never been an S.O. before, and taking over Daisy’s training was a personal favor to Fury more than anything.

“Hey, rookie. Warm up, I’ll be right back.” Natasha calls out, and Daisy gives her a thumbs up without being able to suppress the grin on her face.

“You gotta show me those tapes,” Natasha tells you next and you nod, before the two of you begin to walk to your office.

She’s heard about the simulation you ran since the night she came back, and you know she’s about to give Daisy a small mission, maybe as soon as today or tomorrow.

“What do you think?” She asks you conversationally as you walk through the main reception area. You don’t need her to elaborate, and although you wish you could still see her in the eye, you pretend to check your phone as you answer.

You can’t look at her face, not without wanting to blurt it all out.

It should be easy, you tell yourself. It should be easy to keep this secret from her or anyone for that matter. You’re a trained spy, one of the best, and holding secrets is your specialty. It turns out that you’re still learning though.

“I think starting her off with a low risk mission is the next step to go. You know how it goes from there.”

Your voice carries out and the lull silence that follows it tells you that she notices how hard you’re trying, not that she knows exactly what you’re hiding, at least you hope she doesn’t know.

Which reminds you, you still haven’t talked to Kate and each time you're with Wanda, talking is the last thing you two do.

“You think she’s ready?” She asks as you walk inside your office and you open your laptop, her voice gives nothing away.

You remind yourself that she’s never been an S.O. before, and if she’s asking you this then she wants an honest answer.

You’re her friend. Before you knew anyone else in this team, in this country, before you even knew that Wanda existed, Natasha was your friend and the person who ultimately gave you a second chance.

You owe her.

The guilt settles in your stomach heavily, it feels as if your insides are getting tangled up inside you and it makes you slightly nauseous.

“You think she has what it takes?” She asks you, as you bring up the video of the simulation on your computer, and you finally turn to look at her fully.

“She’s special, Nat.” You nod, and a small proud grin appears on her lips. “She could very well one day lead this team. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“She’s got heart,” she says as you both sit in front of your desk.

“She’s got heart.” You agree, and you press play.

The video is just starting when your phone vibrates with a new text message, and the second you see Wanda’s name on your screen you almost panic.

Meet me in your car. Is all it says, and you’re on your feet before you can even think of an excuse to tell Nat.

“I’ll be right back,” is all you say before you rush out of your own office.

You make it to your car in record time and Wanda’s lips are on yours in an instant. You kiss her back, you hold onto her and when she pulls you onto her lap, you willingly straddle her.

“God, I’ve missed you.” She combs your hair back, a pretty smile on her lips as she smiles up at you.

Watching into her eyes, you can see nothing but sincerity. She’s happy to see you, her hands are touching every inch of you that she can reach and the guilt that was threatening to swallow you whole just a few minutes ago, is gone for now.

“Nat is taking Daisy on a mission tonight,” she tells you, confirming what you suspected . “Clint and Kate are going too.”

“It doesn’t sound like a small mission if they’re all going,” you tell her and she kisses your lips softly, her eyes still shining with mirth as she presses her lips against yours.

“They’re just retrieving a hard drive. It looks like Kate’s contact came through. But you know Nat, she won’t take any chances this early on with Daisy.”

You do know Nat, and in the blink of an eye the guilt returns. This is wrong, and you know it.

It’s wrong to be with her wife like this, to have been with her wife like this.

It’s wrong, and you care. You do care.

“You talked to Kate?” You finally ask her and she nods her head, her hand still on your hair while the other one squeezes your waist slightly under your shirt.

“She won’t say anything.” She assures you, her eyes shining with something else that you can’t fully read, as she stares up at you.

“How can you be sure? If she mentions anything to Clint - ”

“She won’t.” She cuts you off and the sound of her voice tips you off. What swirls in her eyes it’s something you haven’t seen before, sadness maybe.

“You’re okay?” You ask her, as you cup her face in your hands. She turns and kisses the palm of your hand, and then your wrist and the action makes your chest ache. You still think that she might lo - she might have feelings for you.

“I’m okay.” She says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay.” She repeats as she wraps her arms around your waist and hides her face in your neck, breathing you in.

You hug her too, pressing yourself closer and when minutes begin to pass by, you realize that you’re content. What more could you ever want? With her by your side, with her acting like this, you’d never need anything more.

And yet, now that every single thing seems to have fallen in place again, you know that you can’t have her, not for good.

God, you should have never agreed to this. You should have kept your distance. You should have respected Natasha the slightest bit.

“Can I come over tonight?” She asks, lifting her head with unsure eyes, as if you could ever say no to her and completely oblivious to the storm unraveling inside your head.

You should say no, even though you don’t want to, you should.

“Of course.” You nod, although you still feel like there’s something that she’s not telling you.

Maybe she’s going to break this up sooner than you thought she would. God knows you don’t have the strength to do it yourself, so she needs to.

…

August, 24th

It’s past midnight when Wanda slips inside your room quietly. She must think you’re asleep because you watch as she leans heavily against your closed door, her face the picture of anguish but she takes a deep breath, unwilling to cry.

Your stomach drops at the sight, and you feel a pang in your chest.

She’s gonna end this. She’s gonna tell you that she can’t see you anymore, and you’ll accept it because you know this has to end.

“Wan?” You call out, nervous and afraid despite everything.

She takes a moment to take one last deep breath, and then she walks over to your bed with a wide smile that you know is not genuine.

“Baby, I’m sorry.” She says as she takes off her long sweater, leaving her in only a tank and sleeping shorts. “I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” you tell her. She gets under the covers as you turn around to face her. That sadness you saw on her face in the parking lot is still there, now more prominent than before.

A part of you knows that she’s hiding something from you, and you’re not sure you want to find out what that is.

“I want to hold you,” she says and you feel something snap, you can’t take it anymore.

“Why do you sound like that?” You ask her and she frowns.

“Like what?”

“Like you already regret whatever you came here to do.”

She’s immobile for a moment, her eyes just taking you in as she ponders on her answer. When she finally moves, she presses herself close to you, to the point where your chests are touching and her hand is pressing on your hip.

“I don’t regret being here with you.” She speaks slowly and tenderly, as if the mere act of talking is hurting her.

If there’s a knot around her throat then you know the feeling well. But she’s fighting against the need to cry, and you can see that clearly too.

Maybe she’s feeling the same way you are, maybe guilt is also about to swallow her whole. You know what the right thing to do is here. You know.

“Then what is it?” You ask her.

“I want us,” she says and you stop breathing. “I want you, all the time. You’re in my mind all the time, and I want you.”

She might not be here to end this after all, and you don’t know how to react to what she’s saying.

“Wanda, I - ”

“Is this what you feel for me?” Her voice breaks, her hand pulling you impossibly closer to her own body. She knows the answer to that question. “I don’t regret you. It’s just - it pains me to have to wait to see you, to touch you, to kiss you.”

She presses her lips against yours harshly, as if desperate to kiss you and you wrap her in your arms in response, kissing her back.

She’s still the love of your life, you bitterly realize.

“I want you,” she fiercely tells you, the torment in her eyes no longer easy to hide as she looks at you. “I want us.”

“But I’m yours already.” You tell her easily, knowing well that you’ve never spoken truer words before.

You caress her cheeks with your thumbs, holding her close. She knew this from the beginning, you never hid the fact that you’re in love with her and although a part of you is elated to know that she does feel something for you, you’re also very much aware of how much she’s hurting because of the same reason.

She looks like she’s about to burst into tears, but she doesn’t cry and she doesn’t speak again either and when she reaches down between your legs, her hand slipping past your sleeping shorts and panties, you don’t stop her.

Gasping against her mouth, you hold onto her as she enters you with her fingers, fast and a little roughly, and you allow it because you can tell how much she needs this. She has a lot to think about but right now, she needs the distraction and you understand that.

When you cum, she doesn’t stop and your strangled cries seem to only fuel her need to feel you closer. She takes off her clothes in a rush before helping you out of yours, just as fast, just as desperate. She’s rough in a way that speaks loudly to you.

She’s not trying to mark you, or to claim you. No, she’s trying to find the answers to this predicament in your body, in your skin, in your scent and the way you gasp out her name each time that she makes you cum.

You want to touch her, but she pins your hands above your head the second you try it, a silent command in her eyes as she lowers herself between your legs one more time.

…

When you open your eyes, you realize that you must have passed out. Not that you can be blamed for it… you have no idea how many times you came and Wanda was - Wanda was insatiable.

“You okay?” She asks you, and with a start you notice that she’s hugging you from behind, and she probably hasn’t slept at all. The small clock on your nightstand points at five thirty, and a heavy weight settles on your chest all over again.

You feel guilty to be here, so guilty that you can’t be fully present even.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You reach for her hand, resting comfortably on your belly, and intertwine your fingers through hers. Your bodies twisted in the bedsheets tell the story of a passionate and slightly wild night and you love it to an extent, but it also scares you.

You love everything about last night, about her words, about her actions. You want her too, you want everything with her and yet, you still know that this is wrong and you both need to put an end to it.

“Wanda, I - ”

“Please.” She presses her cheek against yours, cutting you off and moving fast, as if she knows exactly what you’re about to say. “Please, baby. Give me a little bit of time, please.”

Knowing that she doesn’t want to talk confuses you, no matter how hard you try to put yourself in her shoes. You want to understand, and you do to an extent but to you the answer is simple. You’d never doubt when it comes to her, you’d choose her in this lifetime and every other lifetime because she’s the only person you’ve ever loved like this.

But she’s not free to choose, choosing her right now will mean hurting someone who’s friendship you value. Choosing her will mean hurting her, and Natasha.

She was already in love when you started this, she was never yours, not completely.

The pain she must be feeling, the thought of it is enough to devastate you. You never wanted to hurt her in any way, you never wanted her to experience pain like that because you knew how agonizing it was.

“You meant it?” You still ask and she hugs you closer, pressing her front to your back with relatively more force than necessary, as if she were afraid to lose you.

“Baby,” she whispers, the pet name falling from her lips pleadingly. “I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice breaks and you panic, but when you try to turn around she doesn’t let you, keeping you where you are as she takes deep breaths.

“Please,” she begs again and your heart breaks for her. “Please.”

“You love me,” you speak, without being able to hold it back any longer. You didn’t want to say it out loud, afraid that she’d deny it but that’s no longer an option, is it? And she can’t expect you to say nothing when it’s obvious that this, what you two have together, has stopped being fun.

“Please.” She begs again, her voice sounding more broken and you think she’s crying now.

“Do you?” You ask her softly and she takes a deep breath, her body shaking against yours as she does.

Just when you start to believe that she won’t give you an answer, she pushes lightly on your shoulder for you to lay on your back, her hand still holding yours and her red, raw eyes now looking down at you as she hovers over you.

She’s been crying, and she’s in pain, which is the last thing you ever wanted. The last thing.

She’s beautiful, even when her hair is this much of a mess and her eyes looking swollen. She’s beautiful and you don’t want to lose her, ever…

...and maybe you already have.

“I do.” She speaks the words so softly, a whisper that seems to break her and sew her back together again. “I love you.” She’s frowning, her eyes firmly locking you in.

“Wanda.” She reaches out to wipe away your tears, tears that you didn’t even know were shedding.

She’s just told you everything you wanted to hear, and that only makes your resolve clearer.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says as her face twists in pain and without a second thought you wrap your arms around her, just as she begins to cry.

Hiding her face in your neck, she cries for nearly fifteen minutes without stopping and clinging so hard to you that you almost feel suffocated by the intensity of it all.

She loves you, and you know what to do.

…

August, 25th

She’s gone when you wake up.

You tried to stay up when she stopped crying, but you were so tired and your mind was quiet, knowing well what you’ll have to do to make things right.

The heavy weight of your actions and their consequences seem to settle in the pit of your stomach, and you know the uncomfortable feeling of it won’t leave you alone anytime soon.

So much for your analogy of don’t dwell on things that already happened, and that you can’t control. This guilt is eating you alive and you can’t get past it.

This love-this all consuming love you feel for Wanda is unprecedented, but it’s making you see things as you’ve never seen them before. After what you’ve heard about love, as one does more often than not, you expected it to somehow blind you, to make you lose control of yourself.

In a way you guess it did that, but it also has you thinking that as infinite as love truly feels like, it’s also very limited.

There’s so much you’d do for Wanda, to keep her with you and to make her happy, to make her want you. You can’t imagine yourself saying no to any of her requests, but there are things that you’re not willing to do, there are things that you’re not willing to change about yourself and that’s something that you’ve just discovered as well.

You won’t be this person, you won’t stay and be the one who broke off a marriage, who caused so much pain. You can’t.

The minutes seem to drag on and the day becomes the longest of your life. You don’t look for Wanda, and she doesn’t look for you either.

…

August, 26th

The team arrives early in the morning, all smiles and proud grins in all of their faces. Daisy’s a natural, but you knew that already.

It is with a pang of melancholy that you congratulate her and welcome her on the team. You can’t think of a better person to fill in your absence. She’ll keep Tony on his toes, and Natasha will still have someone to look after in this place. You know she needs it to ground herself.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks you, effectively preventing you from looking over at Wanda when she joins everyone in the hanger.

“I think the sun is setting, Stevie.”

He sighs heavily, a protest dies in his tongue and his shoulders tense at the same time. He’s still the most expressive guy, even after all your effort in trying to make a spy out of him.

A very long time ago, when you were still apprehensive of this team and this place, he made you promise that you wouldn’t run, not that you were planning on it but he needed you to commit to the Avengers fully, and he needed to hear you say it.

So you did, you promised and he promised to understand when your time was up in return.

“You sure?” He asks you and when you kiss his cheek in response, he smiles sadly while nodding his head. “Of course you are.”

…

She finds you in the locker room, and she’s not happy to have been ignored for the last few hours. You turned off your phone for a reason, and a reason alone.

“I tell you I love you, and that’s code for you to ignore all my texts?” She asks, and your stomach drops.

You want, and you want.

You just came to pick up your clothes, but the moment you look at her, a tidal wave of emotion washes over you completely.

“I love you too, you know?” You tell her softly, somehow feeling defeated and that is not how it should have gone. The first time you exchanged these words should have been in a completely different setting, under very different circumstances. “But you already knew that.”

“You don’t think that’s a good thing? Us, loving each other?” Tears are quick to gather in her eyes as she asks you this question, and despite wanting nothing more than to give her the answer she’s looking for, that weight in the pit of your stomach reminds you of what’s right.

“It could have been.” You nod, trying hard to swallow the knot around your throat. “It could have been the best thing.”

“I-I don’t know-” she sighs, the tears gathered in her eyes roll down her cheeks and you want to take away all that pain from her. You never wanted this, you never wanted to see her hurting.

“You don’t know what to do.” You finish for her, and she takes in a deep breath, trying to collect herself.

You always knew, and she told you from the very beginning that she plans to stay married, but that doesn’t change how it affects you. She’s already chosen, that’s why it hurts like it does.

“I know I love you,” she says, her voice sounding much more confident that she looks and you smile, however small.

Yes, you think to yourself, you did want her to love you. But ultimately August was never meant to turn into this, naively you believed you’d make memories that could carry you through the rest of your life. You wanted to know, you wanted to feel, you wanted to experience her but you never wanted to hurt her.

“I love you too,” you tell her as you close the distance and finally reach out to touch her. She’s tense, the hands resting on her hips are slightly shaking, she’s scared.

“I love you so, so much.” You take her hands and pull until she gives in and lets you hug her, and she hugs you back.

“What am I gonna do?” She asks after a beat and you close your eyes, willing your brain to remember what it feels like to be in her arms.

You always knew. You always knew you’d be the one who’d end up losing. You knew.

“I love you, Wanda.” You tell her and she pulls back, a frown on her face as she stares at you. It must be something in the sound of your voice that tips her off.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she fiercely tells you.

“I don’t want to lose you either.” You cup her face, and you notice how hard she's gripping your shirt, she’s still trembling. “But I’m not gonna stay here just to be your mistress.”

Her eyes show nothing but uncertainty now, her grip on your shirt somehow tightens and you know what she’s gonna say even before she does.

“Stay here?” She asks, suspicion lacing her tone and the frown on her face now more prominent, her accent thicker. “You’re not leaving.”

“Is that an order?” You ask her with humor, despite being uncalled for and her frown somehow deepens.

“You’re not leaving.” She shakes her head, her voice stronger and you smile, although the heartbreak you feel might be making it seem more like a grimace.

“This was never supposed to turn out this way,” you tell her and she shakes her head. “You weren’t allowed to fall in love with me, remember?”

“You can’t leave. You can’t. You can’t leave me.” Tears are still rolling down her face, now faster than before.

“You’re hurting, and that was never part of our deal. August was never supposed to make you feel this way.”

“August,” she whispers the word as if it was cursed. You’re starting to see it that way too, so you wouldn’t exactly fault her for it.

“August.”

It doesn’t surprise you when she kisses you, no matter how demanding and desperate the kiss feels. You’d do anything, you think, to stay here with her and forget about the world outside of these four walls.

“You can’t leave,” she tells you, the moment she pulls back, and there’s something different in the way she says it this time around.

“You’re gonna stop me?” You challenge her, but as soon as that wave of bravado comes, it’s gone and you deflate almost instantly.

If you’d been more careful you would have caught the look on her face as she pondered your words, but the moment passes quickly and you take a step back from her embrace, and you try to center yourself again.

“I’m not gonna be this person, Wanda. I’m not gonna be the person that ruins someone’s marriage, I’m not-”

“You’re not ruining anything.” She cuts you off. “I’m not getting a divorce, I’m not-”

“Exactly.” You interrupt her too, her words, like daggers to your heart, give you the necessary push. “There’s a bigger picture here, Wanda. You told me that this is more than just a team, and I get it.”

“We’re not talking about the team right now.”

“We are, whatever happens here-”

“Nothing has to happen. Nothing has to change.” She tries to cut you off again.

“I’m not gonna be your dirty little secret forever!” Your voice echoes in the otherwise empty locker room, and she looks away, at a loss of words.

You have no right, you always knew. You always knew what this was. God!

“I know you’re not getting a divorce, I don’t want you to.”

“You’re not a dirty secret,” she tells you and when she takes your hands, you seem to breathe a little easier. Her hands are cold, which is a reminder that even though everything changes, also everything stays the same.

“Tony knows,” you blurt out as an afterthought, which is absurd because you should have told her a lot sooner.

“He does?” Wanda asks, worry suddenly swimming in her eyes, clear for you to see.

“Yes, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have.”

“I’ll talk to him.” She assures you, her hands squeezing yours lightly.

Looking into her eyes you can almost breathe in her anxiousness, her slight panic, her confusion and above all, her pain. But there’s something more there too, a quiet and dangerous determination that you’ve seen before, but you don’t know what to make of it.

“What are you thinking?” She asks you softly, her hand reaching out to cup your face, as if things were still the same.

“I’m leaving, Wanda.” You tell her, and she shakes her head.

“No, you can’t just leave.”

“I can, and I will.”

“No, you can’t.” The red mist of her powers swirls in her eyes threateningly, and you flinch back instinctively. Despite having been as close as you’ve been to her for the past month, you’ve never seen her powers this up close, not like this.

“I’m sorry.” She apologizes quickly, her hands holding you close.

“It’s-it’s okay.”

Your heart is beating fast, even after she jumps back when the door bursts open and Steve walks inside, Bucky following close behind.

“Hey, Wanda.” Steve smiles as Bucky takes off his shirt, and you try to get your heart rate back to normal. “Natasha’s looking for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll go find her.” Wanda answers absentmindedly, her eyes still trained on you. “Don’t do anything until we talk. Please?”

You can see her trying to keep her tone casual, although the look in her eyes betrays her. The way she spoke about Kate not saying anything suddenly strikes you differently. You know what she’s capable of, the possibility that she actually made Kate forget she ever saw anything is there.

“Okay.” You agree quickly, and although she takes a moment to leave, she still does.

…

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of uncertainty for you, but however curious you grow about what you think might be happening, you refuse to call or try to contact Wanda.

She doesn’t contact you either.

…

August, 27th

You wake up to the sound of the alarms blazing, and red lights flashing around your bedroom. Friday is repeating a warning message, and you slide off your bed with the utmost care, picking up the gun you keep under your mattress on your way.

Pressing your back against the side of your bed, you try to make contact through your phone but the signal is down and there’s no wifi connection. Friday is still repeating the same message, over and over again, which means that whoever is doing this knows what they’re doing a little bit too well.

You’re about to make for your door when it opens from the outside with a hard shove.

“It’s me!” Wanda shouts when you raise your gun, your finger about to pull the trigger and you let out a hard sigh.

“What is going on?” You ask her, standing up and walking quickly towards your closet. “I almost shot you.”

“Friday is down, Tony is freaking out and we can’t reach Fury, or anyone outside of this place for that matter.”

You dress quickly, changing into one of your tactical uniforms that you keep in your room for emergencies, and load yourself with a few rounds of bullets and two more guns.

“There’s no wifi connection,” you tell her as you pick up your hair and then secure two hand knives onto your boots.

“I know, come on.” She says, and before you can make for the door she grabs your hand, and you finally take a long and hard look at her.

She’s still wearing the same clothes she was wearing before, when you were talking in the gym, and her eyes look red and a little swollen. She looks disheveled, as if she hasn’t slept in days and you’re only barely noticing.

“Where’s everyone else?” You ask her, as you take in her appearance, but she doesn’t answer, instead she pulls you closer until her lips are crushing against yours and you have no other option but to kiss her back.

Frowning, you kiss her quietly and wantonly, even under the circumstances you’re under, you can still feel yourself weaken under her spell.

You don’t want this to be over, you don’t want to have to miss her, you don’t want to have to dream about kissing her and miss the way her lips once felt against yours.

But you know what the right thing to do is.

You have to leave, and you have to do it soon.

Her hand is gripping your hair and her lips bruisingly pressing against yours, when the earpiece you’re wearing crackles to life and Tony’s voice comes through.

“I have control again. Is everyone alright?” He asks, and you pull back.

Cupping her face, you quickly wipe away a tear that’s slowly making its way down her pale cheek.

“You’re not leaving,” she tells you and you feel your heart breaking.

“I have to.” You argue, and her chin trembles as tears begin to roll down her face faster.

“You don’t.” She shakes her head, her hand still gripping your hair and keeping you close.

You hear a shot being fired, and Tony’s loud voice comes through. You have to move, but somehow you find yourself rooted to the spot.

“Wanda.” You sigh and she shakes her head again, refusing to see your point.

“You’re not leaving,” she says and you see her eyes shining red, and a wave of panic hits you unexpectedly.

“Tony?” You ask her and she grabs your waist with her free hand, pulling herself that much closer to you, until she’s pressing her forehead against yours, her other hand still buried in your hair.

“He won’t say anything,” she assures you with morbid confidence.

“What did you do?” You finally ask her, fear lacing your tone, fear that’s quick to spread to every inch of your body.

“August was supposed to be ours,” she says and you grip her wrists as you try to look into her eyes.

“It is. It has been.” Your words don’t seem to register to her, and she lets out a sob that breaks you completely.

“August was supposed to be ours.” She repeats, as if she didn’t hear you in the first place.

“Wanda, what did you do?” Your voice breaks, and she finally looks at you.

There’s an explosion somewhere close, you can hear the team’s voices in your ear shouting, fighting and grunting in pain. Everyone else is battling an enemy somewhere close and you can’t look away from Wanda’s crazed look in her eyes.

“You’re not leaving,” she says again. “I’d rather you stay-”

“Wanda.” You plead, not knowing what’s happening completely.

“-even if you don’t remember us.”

“Wanda, no.” You try to pull back from her hold, but her grip is iron tight.

“I’ll remember for us both.” She assures you, as you become terrified. “I’ll remember for us both.”

She cries, her eyes glow red and she kisses you one last time, however short and bitter.

…

August, 28th

…

August, 29th

You wake up in a Hospital room, alone and confused.

Your head hurts, and your throat is sandpaper dry.

You have no idea how or why you’re in this bed.

“Hey, you’re finally awake.” Natasha enters your room, and when you try to speak and fail, she rushes to pour some water in a cup for you.

She helps you sit up a little bit, and holds the cup to your lips for you to drink.

“There you go.” She puts the cup aside as you lay down again.

“What-what happened?” You ask her, and she sits on the edge of your bed before taking your hand in hers.

“The Compound was attacked. We found you unconscious in your room. You were probably standing too close to one of the bombs that went off.”

You have no recollection of a fight, and the more you try to remember what happened, your headache gets worse. Natasha’s forehead is patched up, and she’s sporting a nasty large bruise on her collarbone and neck, all signs of a battle that you have no recollection of.

“The team?” You ask her, worrisome creeping up on you and she squeezes your hand lightly.

“Clint was shot, and Tony took a hit. He’s being watched, Bruce says he’ll be alright.”

“Bruce is here?” You ask her, as you struggle to swallow, which she immediately notices.

“Here,” she says as she gives you more water to drink. You thank her, and she takes your hand in hers one more time. “You feeling alright?”

“Confused more than anything.” You admit, a frown taking over your expression. “I can’t remember the attack, or what was happening before.”

“It was the middle of the night,” she tells you calmly. “You were probably asleep, we all were. Wanda left to find you, but she never made it to your bedroom.”

Wanda. You think you’d remember if she was ever in your room.

“I must have hit my head pretty hard, huh?” Natasha smiles, however sadly and you realize that she must have been worried. She’s always felt somewhat responsible for you, ever since you joined the team.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says. “You had us worried for a bit there.”

You’re about to say something when Wanda walks inside the room, and if you believed in cliches, you’d think that she just stole your breath away. As it is though, you look away, barely catching her eyes in greeting.

She’s dangerous to look at, you’ve learnt.

“You’re feeling okay?” She asks, and the anxiousness in her tone catches you by surprise. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Natasha says. “Just a bit confused, as was to be expected.”

Wanda rushes, or you think that she does, to the side of your bed, her eyes glancing at every inch of your face. Which confuses you even more, the way she’s behaving, since you two have never been that close and you actively try to avoid spending too much time around her--for reasons.

“You’re okay?” She asks you, her hand reaching out as if to touch your face, but she pulls back at the last second.

“Yeah.” You try to nod, and her eyes frantically search for something in your face. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” she says quickly, too quickly for it to be genuine. “I’m fine.”

You learn about a new terrorist group, hellbent on eliminating the Avengers and every other heroic initiative around the globe, claiming freedom, true freedom, whatever that means.

Natasha has to tell you about a mission she and Steve apparently left on for most of August, not that you can recall it.

The Doctors, and Bruce have to go over several tests with you. They do an MRI and they keep you in observation, trying to figure out how you might have forgotten an entire month, but none of them can explain it.

Wanda stays when Natasha is needed in the Compound, and she keeps a close eye on you, nervously pacing each room you’re taken to and paying close attention to each interaction you have.

“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Kate asks you conversationally when she comes by to visit. Her left hand is patched up, after apparently she stopped someone from stabbing her with her bare hands.

“August is just a month.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. You hit your head and you forgot a few weeks of your life, but overall, you’re okay and you can always make new memories.

“August was important,” Wanda says from the couch where she’s been sitting inside your room. Her voice trembles, and you catch it with yet another wave of confusion washing over you. “August meant something.”

“There’s nothing I can do now though,” you tell her and just when you catch her eyes, she looks away in a rush.

You try not to look at her for long, you make a point of not being close to her, or try to understand what exactly each tone of her voice means. This crush you harbor for Natasha’s wife is dangerous, and you know it.

“I guess not,” she says, her voice uncarestalistaclly soft. It almost sounds as if she’s one step away from falling into the abyss, and you don’t understand why.

“You okay?” You ask her again, and she swallows with obvious difficulty before she nods her head.

“I’m fine,” she says one more time. “They attacked our home, and it just-it scared me, that's all.”

…

August, 30th

The hardest part about being the only one who remembers something, is the constant need to talk about it and knowing that she can’t.

Wanda drives you back home with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She drives your car, the same car you used countless times to drive her away and kiss her silly.

You sit in the passenger seat, looking outside the window and avoiding looking at her, all things you used to do before August tenth.

She continuously tries to swallow down the knot around her throat, but she’s aware that the damn knot is there to stay. No matter what she does now, she can never take back what she’s done. She can never undo what she did.

“You feeling better?” She asks you, and you nod your head. She knows nothing is wrong with you, physically at least, but she can’t help but ask.

“Yeah. I’m okay. Kinda curious about August, but no more than that.” You admit, and she clears her throat subtly, if only to keep her tears at bay.

It seems like your logic about not being able to change the past is back in full force too.

“You spent most of the time with Daisy,” she tells you and that spikes your interest, you turn to look at her fully, while she continues to drive.

“That’s Natasha’s rookie, right?”

“Nat asked you to keep an eye on her while she was away.”

“Did I torture her? Did I make her want to drop the towel? I’m not sure if I’m a good teacher to be honest.”

She smiles, appreciating your usual sense of humor, while a wave of nostalgia curses through her entire body. She misses you.

She misses you so devastatingly hard, and you don’t know because she made sure that you don’t.

Wanting to scream, she grips the wheel with both hands and grits her teeth instead.

“You’re a good teacher,” she says, her voice breaking as she speaks and she sees you catching it, but you’ve gone back to being the person you were before august.

“Why, thank you.” You grin, but you also look away. You look away because you were always respectful, you always kept your distance and you would have never crossed any line if she hadn’t asked you to.

…

August 31st

She doesn’t sleep, she can’t, and Natasha notices.

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” She says again and again, when Natasha gives her that look that means she knows something, but won’t say anything until Wanda is ready to talk.

Wanda might never be ready to admit to another living soul of what she’s done in August.

She tracks you down without even noticing. She makes a point of starting lunch when you’re in the kitchen, just so she can see you for a couple of minutes. Because that’s all she gets now, just a couple of minutes that aren’t really hers to have.

She doesn’t eat, she's not hungry.

“I’m okay. I’ll have something later.” She tells her wife when Natasha notices.

Natasha doesn’t push, she’s not that kind of person.

Wanda tracks you down to the gym, where you’re sitting on the mats, trading jokes with Daisy and Kate, and a new wave of guilt threatens to break her.

Flicking Clint’s memory wasn’t that hard, she barely wished for it and the next moment all the suspicion he was harvouring for you vanished. Making Kate forget was a little harder, however young, Kate’s always been the one with the strongest will among the lot of you.

You never knew, although she’s certain that you were close to figuring it out.

She never wanted August to end like this, but the thought of you leaving for good made her panic. She’d rather carry the story of you in her mind, all by herself, than never see you again.

You won’t remember, but she will for the both of you.

After all, August was always meant to be hers and hers alone.

...

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #scarlett witch x reader #august

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myseungsunglove · 8 months

Text

The Art of Meeting | Bc

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff to wrap it up

Word Count: 5.4k (whoopsies)

Summary: the reader and Chan are meeting up after their unlikely connection via bubble and Instagram. The reader is heading to LA to meet Chan and the boys. Will this meeting be everything she hoped for or make matters more complicated than she imagined?

A/N: Part 3. For The Master of Flirting - This one really, really got away from me. Sometimes I include so much detail because I just feel like you NEED to know, you know? Anyway, I very much enjoyed writing this part, so I really hope you guys enjoy it.

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

Feedback Welcome

「© September 3, 2023 by mysweethannie」

Saturday, August 19th 12:15 AM CST

Chan: *received video*

Hey there, beautiful. We are on the plane and about to head out. It’s a long flight, and I’m exhausted. I can’t believe I’m going to see you in a little over 12 hours. I’m literally on cloud 9 just thinking about getting to see you.

“Is that our lovely y/n?” you hear Han’s voice in the background.

“Did someone say y/n?” Seungmin quickly interjects.

It’s not long before both boys' heads pop into the frame. Stupid, goofy grins plastered on their faces.

“Oh my god, Y/n Hi! We’re gonna see you soon. Get excited because this is going to be the most exciting weekend of your life,” Han practically yells at the screen.

Seungmin scoffs, a small smirk briefly appearing on his face. He always pretends to be annoyed with Han, but you know the opposite to be true. His eyes don’t lie. He is extremely fond and protective of Han.

“Seriously, you’re so loud,” he says, shoving Han playfully. “Can’t wait to see you, y/n,” He waves a tiny little wave that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. Han leans up and kisses the camera before Chan can swat them both away.

“Anyway,” Chan laughs, rolling his eyes playfully. “Seems I’m not the only one excited to see you,” he smiles fondly. “Maybe for different reasons, but still those two don’t shut up about you. Hell, I don’t either,” he laughs at himself. “Now I’m just rambling, but I just wanted to let you know we boarded and are heading out. I know you probably won’t be up for a few hours, or at least I hope you took my advice and got some rest. I’ll text you when we land. Our flights are scheduled to arrive pretty close together, so I’ll see you at LAX,” he smiles at the camera, his eyes becoming tiny slits.

“Byeom, darlin’”

The video ends there and you smile contentedly at your phone. You watch the video over again, laughing at the interruption of Han and Seungmin, your heartbeat quickening when Chan admits that he can’t stop talking about you and is excited to see you. You type out a quick response, hoping you’ll catch him before his phone is put on airplane mode.

Y/N: I’m so nervous and excited, I can hardly sleep. Though, I am getting a little tired now that I know you’re headed out. I can’t wait to see you. I’m not sure words can even explain how I’m feeling if I’m being honest.

Chan: I was hoping you’d be asleep, but I get it. I’m gonna have to take something to make me sleep. Ah, they’re telling us to prepare for take off. I gotta go. Please get some sleep, baby girl. It’s gonna be busy once we’re in LA, trust me. My life is kind of crazy. See you soon, y/n

Y/N: I’m not sure how one misses someone they haven’t actually met, but Channie, I miss you.

Chan: I know exactly what you mean. I miss you more, baby girl.

Y/N: Travel safe, Channie. G’night babe.

Chan: G’day, darlin’

You lock your phone, switch it over to silent and place it on the wireless charger. Sleep suddenly feels imminent now that you know the boys are about to be in the air. You smile to yourself as you roll over and cuddle up to your body pillow to fall asleep.

August 19th 4:30 AM CST

Morning comes much more quickly than you anticipate. You wake with a jolt at 4:30 AM. Whoever is taking you to the airport is due to be at your house at 5:30 sharp. You peel yourself out of bed and drag yourself into the bathroom to go through some kind of morning routine. You debate on whether you are going to travel cozy and casual or dress up and actually put on makeup. You settle for something in between the two, a simple tinted moisturizer, a light powder, and some mascara. You have pretty healthy skin and it is glowing this morning despite your complete lack of sleep. Your freckles, one of your more charming features, dance across your round cheeks. Chan has mentioned absolutely loving them, so you decide to let them shine today.

Your outfit isn’t complicated. You don’t want to look like you are going on a business trip but equally so you don’t want to look like a bum either. It is hot as hell at home, so you grab a purple sundress with white flowers on it and throw on your favorite pair of cons.

You slip on your jewelry, a simple diamond pendant necklace, a few low statement rings, and your earrings. You assess yourself in the mirror and figure you are about as ready as you’re going to be. Your hair is short, so a little spray and a few tossles here and there do the trick. You look at the clock and it’s near 5:00, so you move to refill your water bottle and double check your luggage. You are a meticulous planner, so the likelihood you are forgetting anything with all the lists you have made is slim to none, but it doesn’t stop you from triple checking everything.

Your phone rings at 5:30 on the dot, the person accompanying you on your journey arriving at your door right on time. You swing it open and are immediately greeted by a warm smile and a small Korean woman who looks to be about ten years older than you.

“Y/n?” she asks.

“Yeah that’s me,” you bow and reach out a hand to shake hers all at the same time, so nervous about the day ahead. She laughs softly and it’s a pleasant sound that calms you in an unexpected way.

“I’m Lee Jia. It’s nice to finally meet you. Chan speaks of you with the highest regard,” she smiles and bows.

You blush. “It’s lovely to meet you. Come in, I’ll grab my things,” you say as you usher her in. Lovely to meet you, you ask yourself. Who even are you right now, y/n? A nervous fucking wreck, that’s who.

You scurry off to gather your things and you return to see Jia standing in your entry, looking down at her phone.

“Ready,” you breathe.

“Shall we?” she asks as you pull open your front door. She leads the way to the car and you’re off. The ride to the airport flies by. When you arrive at the airport, a large Korean man joins your little entourage. He introduces himself as Seok-Jin. He explains that he is your bodyguard and gives you a quick rundown of what to expect. Before you know it, you’re in line to board the plane after clearing security.

“We can chat more on the plane,” Seok-Jin explains, “but essentially, I say, you do. Your safety may depend on that specific instruction especially once we are in LA.”

You hadn’t even considered this side of your meeting. And suddenly you are starkly reminded that Bang Chan is in fact a world wide superstar. Internationally known. He doesn’t get to just exist like a normal person, and you’re hit with the fact that, from this point on, you may not either depending on the outcome of this trip.

“Of course. You say, I do. Got it,” you repeat back to him. He gives you a small nod as you move through to board the plane. Chan had booked first class seats and that experience alone is shocking. You settle into your seat, both Jia and Seok-Jin close by, pull out your headphones and open up your phone. You type out a quick message to Chan even though you know he is currently somewhere over the Pacific Ocean.

Y/n: Settled and about to take off.

*picture sent* in the photo you have your eyes closed and your face scrunched up in a cute closed lipped smile. You hold up a peace sign feeling like a goober.

Y/n: Guess I’ll see you in about 4 hours. I can’t believe this is real.

You turn your phone on airplane mode, listening to the preflight instructions before take off. You look at your watch. 8:20 Everything is going off without a hitch and that makes you a little nervous but you try not to dwell on or overthink it. Things are allowed to go your way, you tell yourself.

You stick in your headphones and turn on your music, Chan’s soft voice lulling you to sleep as you close your eyes and settle in for the flight.

August 19th 11:00 AM PST

The flight is uneventful. You sleep most of the three and a half hour journey. Changing time zones always throws you for a loop, but with the difference only being two hours, you’d adjust easily enough. Easier than the boys would for sure.

“The boys’ flight just landed,” Jia tells you quietly as the two of you settle at a table outside Urth Caffe & Bar. It’s located close to the terminal the boys will be arriving at. You can tell because the amount of people with cameras around is insane. Some of the people are from News Outlets, but others are just regular people, probably STAYS excited to see the boys arrive in LA.

You order a Green Tea Americano, in desperate need of some caffeine. You run to the bathroom while Jia waits at your table for your order. Seok-Jin accompanies you to the restroom, but waits a respectable distance away from the entry. It feels so weird to have someone right there watching every move you make.

You take a few minutes to compose yourself in the mirror of the bathroom, giving yourself a little pep talk. You are about to meet someone you never expected to meet. Bang Chan still felt a little bit like a fictional character. Your brain can’t fully comprehend that you are about to actually meet him. Not only that, you are going to meet all of Stray Kids. You had formed a quick bond with Han and Seungmin, but your interactions with the other boys had been minimal thus far. That was all about to change.

“You can do this you idiot,” you tell yourself in the mirror. “He’s just a guy. At the end of the day, he wants normal as much as you do,” you remind yourself. With that, you straighten your hair and dress one last time and exit the bathroom.

Seok-Jin leads you back to the table where Jia is seated. Your drink is sitting on the table and you snatch it up, eager to have that rush of adrenaline in your veins that the caffeine will provide.

“Okay, so the boys are clearing security now,” Jia starts.

You stare at her, your mouth agape.

“Wait, already?” you ask, a slight panic in your voice.

Jia smiles softly at you and it’s reassuring as you will your heart to slow down.

“Already,” she confirms. “Your luggage is already on its way to the hotel. Now we just need to go meet up with them. Chan insisted that you would be riding with them from the airport to the hotel, despite my advice.”

“Your advice?” you ask.

“I’m not sure it’s the best idea for your first meeting to be here. I swear he forgets the level of his notoriety sometimes,” she sighs and you can tell she is a little exasperated. “They all do.”

“Ah,” you nod in understanding. “That he does. Should we just go ahead to the hotel?” you ask, suddenly doubting the plan to meet with Chan here.

Jia shakes her head.

“We’ve got everything figured out as best as we can,” she assures you. “Seok-Jin will be right there. If he says…”

“I do,” you answer with Jia.

“Exactly,” she smiles. “Let’s move. We are going to head to the meeting place. We will basically meet up with them. There won’t be time for a grand meeting. Essentially, we will simply walk up and join the group. We will head to the cars from there,” she tells you.

“Got it,” you nod nervously.

You both stand, Seok-Jin close behind as you throw your cross body bag over your shoulder. You take a deep breath. You can feel your anxiety bubbling up as you take a step forward. There are so many things you hadn’t accounted for. So many factors you hadn’t considered. You briefly feel a little foolish for rushing into all of this, but there is no turning back. Not now.

The three of you cover a lot of ground fairly quickly and suddenly you are rounding the corner. The noise of the crowd hits you before you actually see it. It feels like there are hundreds of people around you. They aren’t there for you, though, you remind yourself, though that doesn’t entirely help ease your anxiety. But you have a guard. You’ll be fine, y/n you tell yourself.

“Oh my god, is that her?” you hear someone say, and you turn to look at whoever the voice is mentioning. You don’t stop moving, but when you look, you realize that the eyes are on you. That isn’t right. No one should be looking at you.

“It is her!” someone else says, and suddenly it feels like the wolves are descending. There is a swarm of people closing in on you. They are shouting questions and pointing cameras in your face. Seok-Jin’s hand is on your back, his other on your arm as he shields you from the crowd, but he is just one person. It feels like the walls are closing in and you instantly feel like you can’t breathe.

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you working on a collaboration with Stray Kids?” someone shouts from not far enough away. “Do you have plans to showcase your singing soon?” Another shouts. Your head is spinning. How did these people know your name? Why were they talking about your singing? You can feel your chest collapsing in on itself as you become so overwhelmed you aren’t sure you can keep going.

You haven’t remotely paid attention to where Jia and Seok-Jin are leading you. At this point, meeting up with the guys is the last thing on your mind. You just want to get into a car and drive away from this chaos. Your breathing is quick and you stop, clutching your chest, trying to will yourself to keep breathing. You had not anticipated any of this.

It’s then that you suddenly feel a pair of strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into their body. The person is too short to be Seok-Jin.

“Y/N, I’m here. It’s okay.”

He strokes your hair and gently kisses the side of your forehead. “We’ve gotta move, baby girl,” he whispers in your ear and suddenly you realize it's Chan. You are wrapped up in Chan’s arms and that’s all the strength you need to move again. You don’t know where he had come from or how he knew anything was wrong, but the two of you move together and head for the door which is much closer than you realize.

What you hadn’t realized was that Jia had been communicating with Chan’s team the second things went south and people started recognizing you. She had been trying to get to the bottom of why anyone even remotely knew who you were to begin with. Chan had been filled in and demanded that he move ahead of the group to come to you.

Chan’s arms are wrapped protectively around you as your group of five; you, Chan, Jia, Seok-Jin and Chan’s bodyguard, suddenly becomes a much larger group. You haven’t looked up at Chan yet because you are surrounded by people and completely overwhelmed. You finally take a chance to pay attention to your surroundings and you realize that the rest of the group has joined you. The crowd of people now feels further away as there were many people surrounding you and the boys. You take a deep breath and scan the faces.

Your eyes meet a pair of round hazelnut eyes and he smiles, giving you a tiny wave. His eyes squint up almost closing completely, and even though you can’t see his smile because of the face mask, you know the person is smiling brightly at you.

“Seungmin,” you breathe.

You step outside the doors and the bright LA sun hits you along with a nice breeze and you take another deep breath. You feel as though it’s the first time you’ve breathed since you left the caffe.

Chan’s guard rushes ahead of you and opens the door to an SUV. Chan’s hand is resting on the small of your back.

“You first, darlin’” he says, guiding you into the car and following quickly behind you. The two of you settle in the back seat and Han and Seungmin jump in the seats ahead of you which are facing backwards so that you are all facing each other. You toss off your cross body bag, and let your head fall against the headrest behind you.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your breath coming out in a shutter as you run your fingers through your short hair.

Chan places a firm hand on your bare thigh and squeezes lightly.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You can hear the worry in his voice. “I don’t know what happened,” he says, speaking to the situation back in the airport.

For the first time you look up and your eyes meet Chan’s. He has a soft, concerned smile on his face, his hand staying firmling on your thigh as his round eyes hold your gaze. His skin on your skin is enough to send a thrill through you despite everything that has transpired in the last twenty minutes.

“I’m okay now,” you chuckle a little. “Hi,” you add, not knowing what else to say.

He laughs then with his entire body, his head thrown back at the gesture.

“G’day darlin’” he smiles.

You grab his hand that is still resting on your leg and squeeze it. He turns it over and interlaces his large fingers with yours. His eyes never leave yours except for the brief moment they dart down to glance at your lips. You can feel the heat rising in your chest at that small action.

“I don’t know what happened,” he repeats again. “I don’t know how anyone even remotely knows who you are or that you are connected to us in any way,” he says.

“I don’t know,” you echo.

Just then Han looks up, a nervous look on his face. He’d been fiddling with a rip in his jeans the entire time you had been in the car.

“I might know what happened. Shit, I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, looking away from you both, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Han-ah?” Chan looks at him questioningly.

“I may have posted that clip of y/n singing Iris to our instagram story before we took off,” Han admits, his head falling into his hands.

Seungmin clears his throat.

“And I may have mentioned something in a story post after it about meeting you in LA and not being able to wait until I got to work with you in person,” Seungmin groaned, mimicking Han’s motion, putting his head in both of his hands. If it wasn’t so sad to see them beating themselves up, the gesture would have been cute.

“Oh,” you breathe out. Suddenly you’re laughing. It’s a little bit panicked, a little bit relieved, a lot of bit manic. “You guys are kind of idiots,” you tease as you pull your hand away from Chan’s to rub your hands over your face. “I was so not prepared for this. For any of this,” you admit looking at all three of them.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Han half sobs. You can see that he is absolutely beating himself up. Seungmin is quiet and you realize that he is crying.

“This is all my fault,” Seungmin manages, stuttering out his words before looking away.

You glance at Chan, a desperate look on your face at the despair of your new friends. Chan’s face is unreadable, but you can tell from his body language that he is frustrated. You on the other hand just want to comfort Han and Seungmin.

“Hey,” you say softly, reaching across you and putting a hand on Seungmin’s leg. “It’s okay. We made it through,” you smile reassuringly.

Han reaches out and squeezes your hand that is resting on top of Seungmin’s leg, placing his other hand on the shoulder of his friend, rubbing gently.

“You guys were excited. Hell, I was too. It could have easily been me,” you tell them.

“Except you don’t have millions of followers like us,” Han groans.

“Yeah, except that,” you admit.

“Actually,” Chan speaks for the first time in a while. “Might better check your Instagram.”

You grab your phone, open Instagram, and have thousands of requests to follow your account. Thousands. Your message requests are practically overflowing.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, your small hand clapping over your mouth as you sit up and pull away from Han and Seungmin.

“Looks like the video was screen recorded and shared a shit ton before anyone on our end realized it was on our story,” Chan says scrolling on his phone. “Look,” he says, scooting closer to you, your legs pressed firmly together.

“Holy shit,” you breathe as Chan scrolls through countless posts, all about you. STAYS had quickly shared your video, most of the feedback fairly positive to your singing. They had also put on their mega detective hats and found your private Instagram handle and shared it far and wide. “I can’t believe this,” you admit.

“We’ll figure it out,” Chan smiles at you. “Together, yeah?”

You look up, meeting his eyes and practically melt. The frustration that was there before is now replaced with determination. You’re fascinated by how quickly he can mask his feelings in order to deal with a problem. You admire it, but it also concerns you a little bit.

“I mean, you deserve all this attention. I just wish you had been able to brace yourself for it,” Chan adds. “Obviously we aren’t the only ones who think you’re incredible.”

You click off your phone, no longer able to look through all the posts. You’re incredibly overwhelmed and so unsure how to handle yourself. You’ve only just arrived in LA and it feels like your entire life has already been turned upside down. You slide the phone into your bag on the floor and bring your hands to rest on your legs as they ball up in small fists. Your knuckles crack at the movement, and suddenly Chan is reaching out and grabbing your hands once more.

“It’ll be okay. I promise,” he says, holding both your hands in his, his thumb rubbing the top of your hand in a soothing motion. He has moved so that one leg is resting up on the seat between the two of you, the other resting on the floor.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Chan drops both of your hands and moves them so that he is gently caressing your face. A small tear trails down your cheek and he gently wipes it away. He closes the space between you.

“I will always protect you,” he whispers, his breath now warm against your lips. His eyes search yours for permission and you don’t pull away. He takes that as a positive sign, and closes the distance that remains between you.

His mouth meets yours in a tender, hesitant kiss. His lips are soft and full. He tastes like sweet mint and smells like fall. The kiss is short, yet surprisingly intimate for a first kiss.

“Always,” he murmurs against you and you are chasing after his lips at those words, this time the two of you meeting in a much more desperate kiss. Your hands drape around his neck as he tilts your head slightly, his fingers dancing along the nape of your neck. Your head is spinning again, but this time in the best way possible. You knew the two of you were connected, but you couldn’t have possibly imagined any of this.

“I think we’re almost to the hotel,” Seungmin meekly whispers.

You and Chan are reminded then that you are not alone and pull away from each other hesitantly. You’ve never felt this immediately bonded with someone before and it’s a little overwhelming.

“Okay, good,” Chan chuckles, moving to sit up properly in the seat again, his hand finding yours once more. “Guys, we’ll all figure this out. Don’t beat yourselves up, yeah?” he assures the two younger boys across from him. “We’ve got a busy couple of days ahead of us. We’ll come up with a game plan,” Chan says, looking at all three of you. “I’m sure Jia is already working through it all.”

“She is,” Jia chimes in from the front seat and you all chuckle. None of you realized she had joined the four of you in the car. “Everyone can get settled in at the hotel, rest up and then we can all meet to talk about logistics.”

“All meet?” you question.

“Yes, all 9 of you. Everyone needs to be on the same page,” Jia says and turns back around in her seat.

You had completely forgotten about the other members that weren’t currently in the car with you. This would likely affect all of them in some way, and you could feel your nerves creeping back in once more.

“We’ll be fine,” Chan says beside you as if he knows the thoughts running wild in your head. He squeezes your hand reassuringly. “We always are.”

You chuckle nervously as the car comes to a stop. Someone comes out to the car with key cards for your rooms and Jia passes them out quickly. With that, the four of you retreat from the small cramped space and step back out into the sunlight. It seems that people don’t know where the boys are staying because there aren’t throngs of people waiting here for them. As if Chan can read your mind he speaks.

“Our hotel is always a safe haven. No one will bother us here,” he says with a confident smile. You walk into the hotel and it’s beautiful. Chan leads you to the elevator, pressing the top floor and entering it with you, Han, and Seungmin. Your car arrived before the others, so you have yet to lay eyes on the rest of the members of Stray Kids at this point.

The bell of the elevator dings and you all step out of the small space. Your room is the last one on the hall, past all of the boys’ rooms. As Han and Seungmin depart, murmuring their apologies once again, and you realize that you are situated across the hall from Han and Seungmin, their rooms adjoined by a door inside.

Chan opens the door of his room and pulls you in behind him. You notice a door inside other than the bathroom door and closet door and realize then that your rooms must be joined as well. In fact, the door is open.

“That room is yours,” he says with a smile, gesturing to the open door. “I didn’t want to have to be caught in the hallway every time I wanted to come see you, so I figured requesting a set up like this would be easier,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Smart,” you chuckle.

You walk into your room and see that your luggage is all safely there, just as Jia assured you it would be. You throw your cross body bag on an empty chair and retreat into the bathroom. You take one look at yourself in the mirror and realize what a mess you look like. You glance down at your watch and it reads 1:00 pm. You hadn’t realized so much time had passed from getting off the plane, the whole airport disaster, and the car ride to the hotel. Traffic must have really been crazy, but you were so caught up in your own world with the boys, you had had no time to notice anything like that.

You wet a hand towel down with cold water and dab your face gently. You decide that you can refresh your makeup later, after you’ve rested. You use the bathroom and exit the room. You immediately notice Chan laying on the edge of your king size bed, an arm draped over his eyes.

“Are you as tired as I am?” you ask as you sit down gently beside him.

He chuckles and it's a low pleasant sound that sends a thrill through you. Sitting here with him feels so natural. Like it’s something you’ve done hundreds of times. It feels safe.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” he says as he moves his arm away from his face and softly smiles up at you.

You suddenly stand, holding out your hand to him.

“Then I propose a nap,” you say, offering your hand to him. He takes it without hesitation and stands, his free hand landing on your hip and pulling you close to him.

“That’s a proposal I don’t think I could possibly refuse,” he smiles down at you and damn it if you don’t go completely weak in the knees as his eyes lock with yours. You can see that he wants to kiss you again, but he hesitates this time. Something about being in a hotel room makes a kiss feel much more intimate and you both know you aren’t ready for where that could lead. Not after a day like today.

“I’m gonna change real quick. I don’t want to sleep in my travel clothes,” he laughs and steps away and back into his room.

“You’re too right,” you agree, moving to your luggage.

You open it up and the urge to unpack everything like you usually do is strong, but you’re also completely exhausted. That type A OCD trait will have to wait, you tell yourself as you search for an oversized T and a pair of shorts. You find your shirt that reads, “President of the Big Tiddy Committee” on it and burst out laughing. You had entirely forgotten that you had packed this. You throw it on and slide on a pair of black shorts.

You turn around, moving towards your bed and Chan is suddenly in the doorway between your rooms again. He is wearing a black tank top that sticks to him like his skin and a pair of loose black basketball shorts.

Suddenly he laughs out loud, his head falling backward as he laughs with his entire body.

“Oh my god,” he giggles, his hand going over his mouth. “Your shirt.”

You look down at it with a proud smile, pulling it away from you and reading it as if you’re reading it for the first time. You shrug, a smirk spreading across your face as you look back at him.

“Iconic, right?” you smile at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“That’s one word for it,” he laughs, shaking his head at you.

You wink at him and he blushes, a red tint spreading across his chest and face.

You pull back the comforter on the bed and crawl in, turning on the lamp beside the bed and grabbing the remote that closes the curtains, pressing the button. The room goes practically dark as night despite the fact that it’s 1:30 in the afternoon.

“You coming or what?” you ask, like you’ve done this with him a hundred times.

“Yeah, okay,” Chan responds nervously, but doesn’t hesitate to crawl into the bed from the other side. He quickly scoots close to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest without hesitation. You melt into him and suddenly feel ten times more tired than you had just moments ago. You feel him sigh contentedly and you can’t help but look up at him.

He is smiling down at you, his arm rubbing up and down your back gently.

“This is gonna be the best nap I’ve ever had in my life, I can feel it,” he whispers, pressing his lips against your temple.

“Hmm,” you hum in agreement and drift off to sleep, the chaos of the day on the back burner of your mind.

“Sweet dreams, darlin’” Chan whispers against your head before falling asleep too. You aren’t sure what you will have to face when you wake up, but in Chan’s arms, you feel like you can tackle just about any issue that comes your way.

< Pt. 2: The Mystery of You |Pt. 4: The Complication of Life Connecting >

MoF Tags: @hoeinthehouse @drhsthl @chrizzlaptop @dna-black-and-blue @lynlyndoll @hufflepuffanddurinsdaughter @amararosesblog @flirtyskzbutterfly @spearb-99 @jascurka21 @colorguardlover14 @bangchansbiggestfeet08 @vxllxnsworld

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #Bang Chan Series #the master of flirting series #Bang Chan Fluff #Bang Chan Fanfiction

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chamberlainyuh · 2 years

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𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐞? | 𝐧.𝐫.

author’s note (important): as you all know, this is gayerthanevertbh’s blog but if some people didn’t know: hi! i’m going to be using my secondary blog until this whole shadowban thing is gone. i have already emailed them but i’m losing hope, somehow. but to the anon who is reading this, i hope you like what i wrote <3

requested by anon: reader is married to wanda but she goes away on a mission they fight before wanda leaves, wanda says horrible shit. reader finds comfort in natasha, they have an affair.

(it was originally supposed to be yelena but i had to change it to wanda, the anon knows the reason why and i didn’t realize that the whole one-shot is based on august *crying emoji* i still hope you enjoy this, i’m very sorry if this will disappoint you.)

pairings: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, rough smut, vaginal fingering (r ! receiving), oral sex (n ! receiving), dirty talking, and fluff <3 18+!

word count: 3.7k

masterlist

if you have any requests or questions, i suggest leaving it on my primary blog because i’m only using this secondary blog for the mean time. if my primary blog doesn’t come back the way it was, i might permanently stay here so... yes </3

let me know your thoughts on this!

I always thought that relationships weren’t as complicated as it seems. So when Wanda asked me to marry her, I immediately said yes. Why wouldn’t I? Me and Wanda have loved each other ever since she saved me from that burning building. At first, I was only admiring her for her bravery and her superhero liked. But as I grew to know her; I was merely attached to her love that I thought I deserved.

Unfortunately, as we were married for a couple of months, Wanda’s true self becomes vaguer. Transparent. Her words were more vulgar like one time she called me a useless rat and then storms off to grab a couple of beers to cool her head off. I was stunned at first then I began to realize that she was incredibly being a prude. When she came back home that night, she knelt on the floor and kept kissing my hand; offering me an apology that I thought I deserved once more. I, of course, forgave her and slept by her side that night.

And after a few months, that incident never happened again. We were happier, I was happier. She was the love of my life, as I presumed. And I honestly couldn’t live without her, right?

I was making me and Wanda a warm cup of coffee when Natasha walked by the kitchen, her hands shoved inside the light gray jacket that was wrapped around her. I offered her a kind smile and said: “Do you want a cup, too?”

She smiled back and leaned against the countertop over her stomach. “I think that would be nice.”

I walked back and grabbed a mug that was on the drawer shelf and poured the coffee inside of it slowly. I asked aloud, “Do you want it with sugar?”

“No, thanks.”

I then put the mug on the countertop and smiled at her kindly. She smiled back and I continued cleaning the mess that I made in the kitchen since it would be embarrassing enough not to.

Natasha has always admired me ever since I moved to the tower with Wanda. If she could say it out loud, she would be mesmerized and fonded by my company. Although that’s something that she could never admit, it’s something she would say silently. I was beautiful to her eyes, a doll to take care of. But, she could only do it from afar – as usual.

I pretended not to care about her presence so I dragged the brim of my cup to my lips, sipping quietly of my coffee that was too hot; I almost choked.

“When’s your next mission?” I asked in the midst of our long broad silence that was between us and Natasha gave me an amused smile, as if she was glad that I talked.

“I won’t be going.”

“So then, Wanda and the rest are going to leave?”

“Most likely,” she responded while holding a mouthful of coffee that was inside her mug. Then adding, “I guess it’ll just be me and you for two days. I hope you won’t get bored of me, I don’t talk a lot.”

“I actually appreciate the silence sometimes,” I say with the context that she was implying. “Silence speaks for itself. It could be love, hatred, or just annoying. I don’t know… I’m not good at explaining things.”

“Well, I understand you perfectly well.”

I looked away from her gaze quickly and took an interest in my cup to just avoid that feeling that is giving me. I could still feel her gaze after a minute until I heard footsteps coming through the kitchen and knew that it was Wanda.

“Was I ruining a moment?” she asked bitterly with the tip of her tongue that rolled perfectly inside of her mouth as I shook my head, poured the coffee on the sink, and gave her a tight-lip smile.

“No, your coffee is there.”

“I’d like to have a moment with you if you mind.”

Boom. I knew where this was coming from, especially the way she spoke to me with such venom in her voice. I gulped and turned as I followed her to the room, cursing to myself that I didn’t even say anything when Natasha was left all alone in the kitchen; I hope she understands. Or maybe I just want her to find out the staggering problems between me and Wanda, which is an awful thing to think about considering I have a crush on another redhead.

Wanda put her hands on her hips and asked with a raising tone: “What was that.”

“What was what?” I replied with confusion. I honestly don’t even want to fight about this right now, she’s about to go on a mission, and stressing her out will do a lot of damage. Maybe I shouldn’t have made that coffee for Natasha.

“Natasha and you,” she stated, as a matter of a fact – which she wasn’t wrong either way. “That tension between you two–”

“I’m a little intimidated by her.” I was. Standing in front of the black widow would seriously curl your toes until your stomach is a fluttering mess.

“Oh fuck off, Y/N. Is that your best excuse?”

Sometimes Wanda can get a bit too mean – especially when she sees something she doesn’t appreciate; that concludes my smallest talk with Natasha. I do appreciate possessiveness and jealousy, in fact, it just heightens up my arousal. But not to the point that I would be asked every day how I talked to and all that jazz, it’s exhausting to even talk about it.

“That’s not an excuse, it’s a mere fact.” I tell her with a buzzing tone in my voice, turning away from her as I packed her clothes inside of her bag.

“You’re full of shit,” she wheezes, throwing a piece of clothing in the bag and immediately I looked up at her, arching my eyebrows at the sudden degradation.

I scoffed loudly enough for her to hear, “Sorry?”

“Just–” Wanda then grabbed the bag aggressively off my hand and stood up, throwing it across the room like some mad child. “Leave me alone. I don’t even want to see you right now.”

Quickly, I smiled with sarcasm and opened the front door, murmuring: “The feeling’s mutual. Have fun on your little trip.”

As I kept walking away, I could hear faded noises of her saying you’re a whore and you’d come back running anyways, fuck you! And I’d just laugh on the inside at how Wanda is so desperate for my attention. This has always happened, anyway – it’s tiring to always hear her blabbering about how other women are flirting with me and that I’m giving the same treatment back which is extremely false.

“Are you okay?”

I turned and see Natasha who was standing by her doorway, arms crossed that prod out her chest seemingly. I smiled tightly and replied, “Hi. What’s wrong?”

Natasha looks behind her to see Wanda’s room, then looks back at you and said, “Is she yelling at you?”

“Sure,” I mumbled. “I mean, it’s always been like that–”

“She shouldn’t treat you that way.”

I smiled sadly at her and shrugged, “How should I be treated then?”

Natasha then motions me to come inside of her room and my body gladly did – but my mind said something else. I’ve always had a crush on the infamous black widow with her martial arts skills and her heart for saving the world. She had a name for herself, she was always the talk in town. And, she was very kind towards me too. Maybe add her lingering at me sometimes but other than that, she was kind and very attractive.

I found myself gazing at her bookshelf where she has these hardbound books on the top shelf, then at the second and third row, they are paperbacks that I didn’t understand because they’re mostly in Russian. Somehow, that intrigued me because I can only speak one language; speaking in another language is way too complicated for me. Even if I was given a chance to learn it, I’d probably just back out.

“You like them?” she asked while I turn and see her smiling at me as if amused that I was in the same room as her. I nodded.

“ты прекрасна (you’re beautiful),” Natasha said as she took a step forward to me, unconsciously tucking a strand of my hair inside my ear as I was too far to notice it. And then she added, “Would you like to know what that means?”

I smiled and walked away from her as I could feel my heart thumping loudly, like banging through my chest, as I could be lost in her translation.

“Amuse me.”

Natasha walks behind me and leans against my neck, smiling to herself when she gets this close to me. But, I couldn’t see what she was doing as I would die if I did so. This felt wrong, terribly wrong to be exact, but my body was not moving as I began to notice that I like her attention – or whatever that is.

“It means you’re beautiful,” she whispers now, and I turned around, my eyes looking up at her hooded ones. “Very beautiful.”

I could say it back but I was gazing at her eyes that I didn’t feel my fingers trembling as she creeped onto it, holding it gently. I looked down at our intertwined hands and I remembered that I was married. Fucking married.

“Natasha,” I whispered as I pulled my hand away, looking at her while shaking my head, trying to laugh it off. “We–We can’t.”

“I know she’s been horrible to you.”

“But still,” I said with a pleading tone as I made my way towards the door and twisted the knob but Natasha’s strong hands were pressed against the wooden door. “Natasha, you can’t do this. We really can’t.”

“Leave her,” she said simply with confidence in her tone. “I can’t see you getting hurt by her, you don’t deserve that.”

What do I truly deserve? Was I some kind of toy to be messed with and played with? Who was I to say that I deserved more? At first, I merely didn’t believe her but as that sunk in, deeper into my soul, I realized that she was right. Although committing adultery is something I can’t do.

Maybe.

“You’re making me feel things,” I chuckled nervously as I could feel the sweat from my forehead, quickly wiping it with the back of my hand. Natasha carefully places her hand that was on my cheek and gave a gentle squeeze, gasping lightly from the simplest touch.

“Like what, doll?”

My consciousness could not hold my eagerness for the woman as I latched my arms around her and kissed her lips which made the woman completely off-guard. Natasha brings her hands to my neck as she licks my top lip, asking for entrance. I gladly did and I could feel her tongue swirling inside of my mouth, like an expert. I was so bundled with joy that I didn’t realize that I was cheating on my wife. Who gives a shit? She treated you awfully.

“Nat,” I pulled away with a smack between our lips as I heave for air, my forehead touching hers. “I–God, I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, pretty one,” she smiles at me with no teeth, kissing my lips eagerly – pecking it. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I met you. Wanda just… took you away from me.”

“Took me away huh?” I teased, arching my eyebrows and she shakes her head in response, laughing mischievously.

“You have no idea how much I’ve waited for you.” she purs to me as her arms carry me to her bed until I am plastered all over her silk soft sheets. She climbs on top of me and nips on my jaw with pure hunger and lust. “You’re going to be mine.”

She takes my mouth with her lips while her hands are maneuvering all over my torso until she has reached for my breasts. Natasha then grabs me by the throat and pulls me close, are you going to be a good little whore for me, hm? She whispers into my ear hotly.

“I love the way you talk, Nat,” I admitted, moaning breathlessly as soon as her hands explored inside of my shirt, her hand traveling to my nipples and pinching it, hard. “Oh god, please don’t stop…”

“You like that, huh?” Natasha asked while giving me a smug look as I turned around until my whole front was pressed against the mattress. She pulled down my shorts along with my panties and saw how bare I was. Her lips spread a seductive and hungry smile and squeezed my right ass gently, moaning when her warm hand hits my cooler skin.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” she compliments and her hands both squeezed on my ass, but harder this time. Clearly, she was enjoying how I had become submitted to her. “What a slut. Do you like it when Mommy calls you a slut?”

I nodded, biting my lip down as I let out an mhm before I shrieked when her hand slapped on my left cheek.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” I stuttered as I thought how stupid that was. But, I can feel that she was smiling at my response. She palms harshly on my cheek and leans closer to my ear, kissing my earlobe.

“What’s your safeword?”

I thought about it for a while until I whispered out, “...Penis.”

She lets out a deep chuckle before taking my earlobe inside of her mouth, sucking it with a long low moan. Pulling away, her nose was pressed against my cheek. “Alright then. I’ll go hard on you, is that okay?”

“You can do whatever you want with my body, Natasha,” I reassured her with my head frantically nodding as excitement was about to burst out of me. “Please just–fuck me?”

“You want me to fuck you?” She taunts while pulling off my shorts and throwing them across the room, lifting my hips up until it was in the air; asking for it to be fucked. “You want mommy to just fuck your tight pussy?”

“Yes!”

She spits on her fingers, smothering it until it was completely lubed. I looked behind her as I could see her smiling to herself at how submissive I was to her like I was the only girl that could ever be like this. It surprised me how much Natasha wanted this, did she have a crush on me too? Or do we have the same feelings for each other?

“Turn around,” she demands and took off her tight gray tank top, revealing her abs that made my stomach churn with want; how much I want to grind my pussy against those beautiful abs. “And open your mouth wide.”

I did as I was told. I turned around and rested my head against the soft pillows, looking up at her and noticing how turned on she was despite her hooded seductive eyes and her mouth hanging a little open. I licked in between my lips and opened it wide, sticking out my tongue.

“Such a good girl,” she praises with whispers and gurgles something inside of her mouth, then spits on my tongue and chuckles darkly at how large the spit was. “I may have masturbated to this kind of scenario; just didn’t think this would be real.”

God, she’s hot.

I felt nauseous, in a good way. I wanted more of her, no – I needed more of her. I want her to kiss me, touch me everywhere, and fuck me to the brim. She knew how much I was getting impatient so she closed my mouth and I swallowed her spit, tasting the coffee from it.

Her fingers moved down to my pelvis until she was spreading her fingers all over your folds, gasping at how warm and slimy I was – it’s like she couldn’t get enough of it.

“God, you’re so wet,” she purred, batting her eyelashes as her thumb played with my clit; teasing me. “You’re going to be my good girl, yeah?”

“Mhm…” I nodded as I succumbed to her touching me that felt like inevitably, I was losing so much control that it was hard for me to push the breaks.

“You make mommy so wet, baby. I’m so fucking horny…” she whispers to me with her eyes closed while playing with my folds, as if taking in everything that I have. She hallows her cheeks out and spits on my bare cunt as I watch a wad coming down from her mouth. Her saliva felt warm and prickled down until to my tight hole. I was going to come at the moment, I was so ready to–

She slipped two fingers inside of me and I screamed, “Natasha!”

“Shh,” she groans, deepening her fingers inside of my warm hole. “You’re so fucking tight too… can’t believe I’m fucking you now. You’re going to be my dirty whore, my only dirty whore.”

“Keep talking to me like that,” I mewled as I begged and rolled my hips to feel the heel of her hand against my clit – which I successfully did. “God Natasha–”

“Call me mommy,” Natasha begs while kissing my chin, then closes her lips onto mine hungrily. “You’re the best fuck toy that I’ve ever had…”

She pumps roughly inside of me as I can feel the headboard hitting against the wall to emphasize that she was railing me. Natasha grunts within each thrust, whispering: “You’re so beautiful, oh god… you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Oh mommy,” I licked her lips while I rolled my eyes within my lids as her fingers spread into me, making me scream into the soundproofed room. “Fuck me harder, please! Oh god, you’re going to make me come… I feel so full.”

“I bet you’ll feel even fuller once I fuck you with my dick,” she says, her eyes averting to the closet that probably had her strap in. She looks back at me and licks my cheeks, sloppily. “Tell me you’re mine, fucking say it to me. Now.”

“I’m yours!” One hard thrust.

“I want you to become my good girl and come all over my fingers,” she demands with a rough tone as she curls her fingers deep in me, hitting that spot that I eagerly want to feel. Her other hand is squeezing my right tit hard and slapping it, making me shriek in pleasure like some pornographic girl.

“Please let me come,” I begged and I could feel my core tightening as my climax was about to rise. She presses her forehead against mine as she adds another finger, making my cunt feel undeniably full. “Oh god, I’m so…Ugh!”

“This is so hot,” she comments while whimpering into my mouth, kissing me with passion. “Come now, baby. Let mommy feel your cum.”

I closed my eyes as I arched my back with a sensational orgasm that has reached my core. I could feel my cunt tightening around her fingers while I can practically see stars within my eyes, screaming in pleasure. I held onto her tightly with one arm while the other was supporting me against the bed, I felt alive while she was feeding me with her fingers deep inside of me; I barely couldn’t get enough.

“Lay back,” she softly demands, and I laid my head back against the pillow. She caged me with both of her legs beside my head and lowered herself down, her cunt was on my face and she asked, “Open your mouth, sweet girl. I’m gonna–Fuck–Mommy’s going to cum, please open it.”

I thrust my tongue deep inside of her cunt and Natasha screams, closing her eyes tightly as she held my head, pushing my face until my whole mouth was against her pussy. She starts humping me with eagerness and hunger, not caring if anyone could hear us because I know for a fact that we are being really loud.

“Your mouth feels so good, doll,” she pants, her hand gripping my hair tightly as her chest heaves rapidly. She used her other hand to hold onto the headboard as she fucked my face with her cunt and buried me in it, which she enjoyed. “Yeah, eat me like that. You’re going to make mommy come so–Mmph–inside your pretty little mouth, bet you can’t take my cock once I fuck you with it.”

I moaned as she spoke to me in such a vulgar way, I could feel my pussy throb again with want. She holds on to my face steadily and chants with a wail, “Yes, oh god…yes! I’m coming so hard, open that mouth–Ugh…”

Her cunt spasms and moans wantonly, whispering the sweetest things in the air as she mindlessly grinds on my face; biting on her bottom lip hard as she kept coming inside of my mouth, I could taste her forever. She felt magnificent.

I drank her come until she couldn’t give anymore and fell her body beside me, panting against my ear as she wheezes with a laugh. Out of curiosity, I turned and couldn’t help but asked: “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she sniffles and pulls me close to her, my front pressing against hers. Natasha kisses my side temple and travels her hand all the way to my ass, giving it a tight squeeze. “You were so hot when you cum, I can’t fully fuck you until you barely walk.”

“Wow, you want that to happen?”

Of course, there was a hint of a joke inside my tone that she laughed. She hums quietly and presses another kiss, this time longer and lingering. The sight of me smiling softly at her makes her smile as well. She touches your cheek with her knuckles grazing on it and whispers, “I can be better, you know?”

“I know,” I whispered back, looking at her dreamfully.

“Then be with me,” she asked while bringing my hand to her lips, giving wet kisses against my palm that I gasped at how passionate she was about it. “Please? I’ll never hurt you the way she does. I promise that, Y/N.”

Maybe things will be different if I go to her, maybe then – I’ll be happier. I don’t have to worry over a wife who will call me hideous and horrendous names, I don’t have to worry about her coming home late when I already have an idea she’s cheating on me, I don’t have to worry about that all if I just say yes to Natasha.

I sighed and gave her a curt nod, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m already with you, aren’t I?”

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha smut #black widow x you #black widow x reader

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mushyblushyredhead · 7 months

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DAY 9: Lie ˚✧₊⁎・⁎⁺˳✧༚ (Marvel)

TickleTober 2023 🎃

Presented by @august-anon

Lee!Peter 3

Ler!Doc Ock

Words: 2,400

Summary: Spider-Man’s snarky quips have always helped him out of intense situations. Except when one particular Spider-Man (Peter 3) quickly realizes that his iconic quips aren’t enough to hide the silly weakness he “totally doesn’t have” from a certain eight-limbed, but surprisingly playful, scientist.

Peter 3 hummed to himself as he dangled upside down on one of the infamous actuators of Doctor Octavius. He never thought he’d be casually sitting in the same room with the once notorious villain from Peter 2’s universe.

The three Spider brothers had decided to hang out together earlier that day in the oldest Peter’s world. Except, Peter 2 had forgotten that he had to help assist Otto in the lab that same day.

“Aw don’t tell me you’re secretly helping him build another doomsday machine,” Peter 3 had joked.

The oldest rolled his eyes. “Relax. He’s dropped out of the villain gig for good. I was only supposed to help him sort and organize stuff around the lab, that’s all.”

The youngest Peter pouted. “Awww so what does that mean? You won’t be able to hang out today?”

Peter 2 was about to say something when the younger spiders both gave him their best puppy dog eyes stare. He grimaced. He could never deny his little bros with those looks. “Okay, look,” he finally said with a sigh. “Even though I’m supposed to help Otto today, I guess…you guys can…tag along too? As long as you don’t break anything, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind your guys’ company.”

“Alright!” The younger brothers cheered. “Let’s go!”

Things went smoothly upon arrival. Doctor Octavius was a bit surprised that all three Peter Parkers showed up, but he didn’t mind. While he and his Peter worked away at sorting through cabinets and desk drawers, the doctor let the younger Peters play around with his metal tentacles to keep them occupied.

Peter 1 was having a blast; swinging and dangling from the actuators, and letting them hold and lift him up.

Peter 3, however, wasn’t exactly having the same amount of fun. He simply sat down on a nearby swivel chair, pretending to be occupied with his web shooters. He was still a little unnerved about Doctor Octavius.

Okay, he had to admit, those artificially intelligent metal arms of his were really cool in a way. But they still seemed kind of…scary? Intimidating? The way those pointy claws curled and snapped shut, and the fact that were intelligent with a mind of their own that used to take control of their maker’s mind. Shudder.

It wasn’t until Peter 2 announced for a coffee break, that got the younger Spider bros’ attention.

“I’m just going to grab a couple coffees from Starbucks for us,” he said while grabbing his coat. “Anyone want anything from there?”

“Oooh! Oooh!” Peter 1 frantically waved from his upside down position on the actuators. “I’ll take a mango dragonfruit lemonade! Make it a venti!”

“Got it. Peter 3? You want anything?”

Said Peter hummed in thought. “Umm…a mocha cookie crumble for me. Make mine a venti, too.”

Peter 2 nodded. “Got it.”

The youngest spider chirped. “Wait! Can I come with you? You might need an extra pair of hands to carry all the drinks, heh.”

“Good thinking, little bro.”

“Awesome! Okay, uhh…can you guys let me go?” Peter 1 sheepishly asked the clingy actuators. They whirred understandingly and set him down, and all took a turn to give him a quick hair ruffle.

“You guys need me to come, too?” Peter 3 asked, getting up from his spot.

“Actually…” said the oldest. “Peter 1 and I can handle it. Thanks, though. In the meantime, you can hang back here in the lab. We won’t be long.”

“You can chill out here with Doc’s cool arms!” Peter 1 chirped. “They’re really fun to be around. Super clingy, too, but affectionate.”

“Oh. Okay then…” the middle brother eyed the mechanical arms wearily from the corner of his eye.

Peter 2 wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, I know what you’re thinking. There’s no need to be afraid or intimidated by him. It’s all good now. I know you don’t know Doc as well as I do or even like Peter 1 has gotten to lately, but this is a chance to get to know him, too. Oh, and don’t be scared about those metal arms of his. They won’t bite.”

Peter 3 rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, whatever. Just go get my coffee already. I need my caffeine!”

“Relax, bossy,” the oldest said with a poke to the middle’s ribs. “We’ll be back in a little bit.”

Peter 3 flinched and bit back a smile. It got super quiet in the lab now that the other two left. It was a little too quiet for Peter 3.

Doc Ock noticed how uneasy the middle Peter looked. He gave a little sigh. He must still be intimidated by me. He couldn’t blame the young Spider-Man. He knew he must’ve always looked intimidating to anyone who came across him.

But still, he didn’t want the young Parker to be afraid of him forever. Maybe his Peter’s suggestion earlier about leaving the two of them alone wasn’t such a great idea after all.

Then one of his nearby actuators chirped. Oh, yes. I almost forgot about that. Let’s just hope that what my Peter says about him is indeed true.

The scientist cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence. “Y’know, you can have a look around my laboratory if you’d like. You don’t have to be confined to one spot.”

Peter 3 nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Octavius shyly extended a metal tentacle towards him. “Would you…like to have a seat?” I know your other counterparts really enjoy it. Especially the littlest Peter.”

The middle Spidey hesitated or a moment. “Well…okay.” He climbed on top of the extended actuator. It suddenly lifted him up high off the ground. “W-Whoa! What the heck?!”

Doc Ock had to bite back a smile. “Sorry. Too high?” The actuator lowered. “That better?”

Peter 3 nodded. Feeling a little more relaxed, he let himself instinctively dangle upside down from the metal arm. Huh…he had to admit, this was nice. “Yeah. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Sometimes I forget those metal arms of yours have a mind of their own.”

The scientists hummed in agreement. “They can be quite a handful sometimes. But in reality, it’s like having four puppies attached to my back at all times.”

As if on cue, the other actuators slithered over to Peter 3, chirping curiously as they closed in. Peter 3 shrunk back a little. “W-Whoa uhm…they aren’t—they aren’t gonna like, attack me or anything, right?”

“Relax, they don’t bite.” Otto paused. “On second thought, technically they do, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Wait, what?!”

“Easy now, Peter,” Otto chuckled. “Before you get alarmed, I must ask…are you ticklish by any chance?”

Peter 3 could feel his cheeks grow warm in an instant. The question caught him so off guard, and already made butterflies fill his belly. “U-Uhhaahm…” he laughed awkwardly, averting his gaze. “Um…n-no..?”

“Hm. Your hesitance and the color of your cheeks says otherwise.”

Peter 3 awkwardly rubbed at his face, as if that would wipe away his blush. “W-Well I’m not hesitating. So…yeah. A-And I’m not ticklish, either.” He scoffed. “I mean, why would I be, right? That’s just not something that really works on me, y’know?”

Otto nodded. “I know, Peter. Which is why I’m gonna do this.”

Peter 3 suddenly squeaked like a mouse as he felt a jab to his side. “AaHHEAA!” Another squeeze, this time to his other side. The culprit? Two sneaky actuators. “Whoa, hey, d-don’t get any ideHAA! HaHAHeheheyyy! Nohohoho!” This time, both curious actuators simultaneously nuzzled against Peter 3’s sides.

The tallest Spidey was starting to lose his balance so he hopped off the metal tentacle. But as soon as he touched the ground, all four actuators surrounded and hovered over Peter 3, their claws teasingly pinching and wiggling in the air just above him.

Peter 3 squeaked and curled in on himself. His arms wrapped around his torso protectively. Air tickles always drove him crazy! It made his spider tingle go off over and over, which made the fuzzy feeling of anticipation even worse!

“Oh, and another thing, Peter,” Doc Ock’s voice cut in. “Your other two partners in crime explained to me how you’re still hesitant to be around me. I don’t blame you, boy. I now I can look very intimidating, but you don’t have to be afraid of me. I can be very fun to be around with, y’know!” He smiled over the sound of the tall Spidey’s cackles.

Peter 3 couldn’t answer properly with his mad giggling and squeaking. He couldn’t believe how teasy and casual the scientist was being! Okay, maybe his other spider bros were right about one thing: maybe he didn’t have to be intimidated by Doc Ock anymore.

But still, he couldn’t shake off the feeling like he had been set up. His question was immediately answered.

“I was also told by my Peter that the best way I could warm up to you was through silly play like this,” the scientist emphasized his point by having two metal arms squeeze at the boy’s ribs. “Since you love to play round and laugh. His words, not mine.”

“WhaHAAAhat?! I-I knew you guhuhuys were uhuhup to somethiHHEEE!! Something eheeHEE—evil when you were tahahahalking!”

“Why, I did no such thing,” Otto innocently answered. “I’m simply trying to show you how friendly and warm I can be. You, on the other hand, have brought this upon yourself by lying to me!”

“WhahAHAt?! I nehehever lied!”

“Mhm, did so. You lied about being ticklish, and I will not tolerate any liars in my lab!”

“B-Buhuhut I wahahasn’t lying! I-I swear!”

“Then lift your arms up.”

“W-Whahahat?!!”

“You heard me. Lift your arms up. If you aren’t ticklish like you say, then clearly this shouldn’t affect you, right?”

“Riiiihihight?”

“Well, then go ahead.”

Being ever so stubborn, Peter shook his head and wrapped his arms even tighter around his torso. “Noho wahahay! I knhohohow what you’re gonna do!”

Otto couldn’t help but laugh at the flustered Spider-Man. “Good lord, you must be extremely ticklish to be this jumpy and giggly.”

“I-I aham nahahahat!”

“Another lie right there! That’s it, now you’re going to get it!”

The four actuators descended onto Peter 3, two grabbing his wrists, making him screech. “NAAAAHAHAHAO PLEASE!”

The scientist actually jumped back at he sudden reaction and quirked a brow. “Too much? I’m sorry, I’ll tone it down if you’re too overwhelmed by this.”

The metal tentacles pulled away like nothing had happened. Otto stole a quick glance at Peter 3, and was sure his heart was going to melt at the sudden look of shock and disappointment on his face.

Was he…pouting?

“Something on your mind?” The doctor asked with a soft grin.

“U-Uhmm….I-I hhhmmffhh…” the flustered Spider-Man averted his gaze and fumbled with his hoodie sleeves. “Y-You don’t—you didn’t have to…necessarily stop…”

“Oh? Is that my cue to keep going?” The metal tentacles were back, pinching the air above Peter 3’s sides.

“W-Whoa! Watch ihihit with those thihihings! A-And what? Keep going?” Peter’s 3’s face flushed as red as a cherry. “You couuuuld if you wanted to…” His lips suddenly curled into a cheeky smile. “But you’re wasting your time ‘cause I’m not even ticklish!” He stuck his tongue out and made a run for it as soon as the actuators descended on him again.

Otto shook his head with a smile at the Spider-Man’s cheekiness. His Peter warned him about how stubborn Peter 3 could be when admitting something like being ticklish. But he also said that was just Peter 3’s silent way of asking for more tickles or to keep going as he always provoked the other person instead of asking for it; he was just too shy to ask the dreaded question.

Otto had his metal tentacles make a grab for him again, resulting in Peter dashing for the door. He, of course, didn’t make it and was once again grabbed and pinned by the actuators. “What is with you lying to my face? You’re literally giggling and squirming already and I haven’t laid a finger on you!”

Peter 3 just shook his head, sputtering more giggles as his blush darkened and reached the tips of his ears. “I-Ihihit’s your freaheeheeheaky arms! Make them stohohop thahat!”

The older scientist was confused at first, but quickly caught on when he saw his actuators hovering over the boy’s body, the claws teasingly wiggling and slowly lowering and pulling away at the last second. “Ohhh I see. You can’t stand anticipating tickles, can you?”

Peter 3 stuck his tongue out in response.

“My goodness, you just have quite the attitude today. I’m guessing you don’t want me to go easy on you then. For that extra lie, you’re getting all four actuators!”

“W-Wait huh? What does that me—HEEEEEEheahaHAAAAAhaha!!” Peter 3 didn’t have the time to finish his sentence because all four metal tentacles attacked him at once. One was squeezing at his ribs, another shoved under his arm, another scribbled at his belly, and the last one was trying to get at his kicking feet.

Despite not being restrained at all, Peter 3 made no real attempt to get away. He just laid there on the floor, squirming like a worm on a hot sidewalk, and cackling like a hyena.

“AaaHAAAAhahaeheAAAAheeHEEEEEEHEE!! HeeheHEEEEheHAAAAhaha!!”

“Interestingly enough, you’re not making much attempt to get away. I don’t even have to hold you down with my extra arms!”

“ShsHDHSHshuhuhut uhUHUP!! AAAAAHH! Wahahahait!! NAAAAAAHAHAHAO!! EEEEEEK!!”

“Oh? Is this a bad rib of yours?”

“YEHEHEHES!!” Peter 3 shook his head madly. “T-Thahahat one’s off limits—NAAAAAAHAHAAA!! N-Not there EHEEEHEHEEE—either!!”

Octavius shook his head with a chuckle. “Is there any part of you that isn’t ticklish?”

“I-I d-HAAAAAAHAHAA don’t knoHOHOW!! *snort*”

“Dihihid you just snort?!”

“N-NOHOHO—*snort!*”

Unbeknownst to them, two figures were watching the playful spectacle from the slightly ajar door.

Peter 1 giggled behind his hand. “Peter 3 does sound like a hyena!”

Peter 2 lightly shushed him. “He sure does. I’m just glad Otto took my advice after all when we left. Well played with you too, little brother; tagging along with me to get those two alone.” He ruffled the younger spider’s hair.

Peter 1 squeaked happily at the touch. “Hey, you don’t think Peter 3 will get mad at us for doing this to him on purpose, do you?”

“Nah,” Peter 2 shook his head. “You know how much he secretly loves to be tickled. Besides, this way he won’t be afraid of Doctor Octavius anymore just like we all once were. Despite the scary metal arms, he really does have a soft playful side.”

THE END (*´꒳`*)

#tickle fic #spiderman tickle #tickletober 2023 #augtickletober2023 #sfw tickling community #sfw twords #marvel tickle #ticklish!spiderman #lee!peter3 #ler!doc ock #marvel fluff #tickle fluff #mushy writes stuff #mushyblushyredhead #spider bros

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babypudge · 10 months

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Pudge’s “Good Boy Calendar” 2023 - June Update

Hello everyone, and Happy 4th of July to my American followers! I’m just hanging out in my USA Mickey romper (not to mention a Str8Up & XL booster) and doing my monthly calendar update. Apologies that this account has mostly been these updates lately, I’ve just been busy with work, but I do have 3 different photos already shot for future Petey Pottypants stories, so those should be coming soon.

Like I mentioned in May’s update, I was on the road for about 8 days in June while attending a family memorial - and while I was padded the whole road trip there, I needed to use one of my four “black out” periods while taking a pull-ups break around my relatives. I only have two more of those, which will probably be used over the holidays, so hopefully I won’t need any before then. Anyhow, 22 days fully in diapers isn’t too bad, but hopefully July’s numbers are stronger. The only actual frowny face this month was from my first full day back home, when I spent a little too long out of diapers while letting my skin air out after bath time and was thus disqualified from earning a smiley for the day. Long story short - I managed to avoid a punishment this month, but not by much.

My side account connected to the calendar program, @diapercheckpudge, is exactly 100 followers from 1000 at the moment - at which point my monthly requirements go up by one (27 "diapered all day” smiley faces & 25 “no sticky diapers” gold stars,) so I’m expecting August to be a little tougher.

July is also the half way point for the 2023 calendar program - so it’s time to introduce a new element to the @diapercheckpudge account and raise the stakes just a little. Starting today, the person who has sent me the most diaper checks since January, @newsie24601, has been appointed to the position of “senior diaper checker” and now has the following privilege:

Bedtime setting: Once each calendar week, @newsie24601 can set Pudge’s bedtime for the day, with 7pm being the earliest possible time. Pudge will reply to the bedtime message at the set time, showing that he is changed into a thick nighttime diaper and tucked into bed. If Pudge is unable, or unwilling, to go to bed at the set hour on that day, the number of days the bedtime applies to raises by one until the bedtime requirements have been fulfilled. If all bedtimes haven’t been fulfilled by the end of the month, Pudge will earn a punishment (a small buffer will be allowed for bedtimes sent on the last 2 days of the month.) To allow Pudge time to plan his day accordingly, bedtimes must be submitted by noon pacific time - after that time, they will apply to the next day.

I tend to stay up too late for someone still in diapers, so this will hopefully help me adjust my sleep schedule on a whole to something more appropriate for a big toddler such as myself. If you’re not familiar with the calendar program, I’m pushing myself to wear diapers as much as possible this year - click here for the full breakdown.

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campbyler · 9 months

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acswy ch04 update

hi! you might have seen this coming, but chapter 4 is getting pushed back to being posted tomorrow, august 5th, due to Life Life-ing and wanting to make sure that this update lives up to the same quality we've been bringing you for the past 3 chapters! we apologize for the inconvenience and any disappointment this may bring, but we promise, it will be worth the wait <3

to tide you over, please enjoy the following extended snippet from chapter 4, beneath the cut:

As the name implies, the Isolation Cabin sits, isolated, at the very top of the trail all of the other cabins are grouped off of, right at the edge of Camp Whiteman property. Most of this area is taken up by woods, towering pines of various shapes and sizes keeping a watchful eye over all of them – save for the small ropes course tucked in behind the girls’ cabins, the rest of the area remains untouched. Even the trail itself practically stops, spreading out into a clearing that they sometimes use for recreational activities, when pressed for space.

If you know where to look, though – and Mike has made knowing where to look his business – there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sign indicating the start the small path leading to the Isolation Cabin, identical to all of the other informational markers throughout the campground. A chain connects the two trees bracketing the entrance to the walkway, a small wooden notice hanging from the center that reads, in ominous, capital letters: DO NOT ENTER.

Mike has never particularly cared about it before now, only ever acknowledging that the area existed when one of his campers inevitably let curiosity get the best of them and started wandering places they shouldn’t be. He’s tapped a finger against that sign more times than he can count, watched the chain shake with the movement and the sign swing back and forth and his campers’ eyes go big as he wiggled his fingers at them and made spooky noises to get them to scurry away and steer clear.

Now, he has to stop himself from rolling his eyes as Hopper pushes past where Will has paused, pouting, and moves to unclip the chain blocking the way. The links jingle together as he smiles at them, all too cheerily, and says, “Lead the way, boys.”

Mike tries to catch Will’s eye, because if there’s one thing they can always agree on, it’s a shared, unspoken, is this guy serious? – but Will still won’t look at him, breezing past Hopper, once again, before he has a chance to even finish his sentence. Mike sends his is this guy serious? look to Hopper instead, who smiles brightly at him and shakes the chain pointedly, all clinks of metal and clattering of wood and an unspoken response of get going, Wheeler.

Things are truly bleak, Mike thinks, if he’s getting along with Will’s dad better than he’s getting along with Will himself. Still, neither of them indulged his is this guy serious? look, so he does roll his eyes, thank you very much, and starts up the trail after Will, more acquainted than ever with the back of his stupid, dumb head. The sound of the chain clicking back into place follows soon after, but Mike doesn’t look back, feeling petulant and slighted.

It’s really not a long walk to get to the cabin – two, maybe three minutes at most – but it feels like it is, by virtue of the path narrowing out, of woodchips giving way to earthy, forest floor. The foliage has started to thicken, shrouding them from the setting sun, and the silence feels like a fourth member of their party, awkward and palpable as they make their way up the trail. It’s not long before the trees start to part enough to offer a glimpse of their destination: the Isolation Cabin, in all of its isolated, lonely glory.

Mike hasn’t ever actually been up here, since he never had any reason to before now, and he’s almost disappointed, as they come up on the clearing in front of the cabin’s steps. Part of him expected something straight out of a horror movie – all dilapidated, breaking shingles, broken windows, a wrought iron fence, maybe a bat or two – and is disappointed to find it’s – a cabin, just like every other cabin they left behind on their way up here. It is a little worse for wear – the tone of the wood a little more desaturated, the bushes lining the porch overgrown, the dust clouding the windows visible, even from here – but it’s just a cabin, at the end of the day. A manifestation of punishment, where happy children and their dreams of a perfect summer go to die, but no more menacing than the Blue Cabin is right now, with how pissed Mitchell is at him.

He’s always taken those overactive imagination comments on his grade school report cards as a compliment, but now it’s left him feeling a little disappointed.

“Alright,” Hopper says from behind them, and both Mike and Will whip around to face him, duffels flying with the momentum and knocking into each other. This earns him a certified Will Byers Glare, which warrants a certified Mike Wheeler Dramatic, Theatrical Eye Roll, which causes an Act Now! Once In A Lifetime Opportunity! bucket drop from Hopper, and the sound of it hitting the forest floor and its contents clanging inside cause them both to snap their heads back to where Hopper is looking at them, somehow both amused and completely and utterly done with their shit at the same time. “Welcome to the Isolation Cabin.”

#acswy #yippee #so sorry u guys. i did call in today to get this done and it just didn't happen.#it will definitely be up tomorrow tho and i'll try to get it up earlier in the evening :)#please be kind this is just a fanfiction and my mental health is hanging on by a single fraying thread. ty <3

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year

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Under Orders - Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1 🔹Part 2🔹Part 3🔹Part 4🔹Part 5

Pairing: (soft?)Dom!Marshall x reader (Described Marshall x reader)

Summary: August comes home after a business trip, only to find out his princess is under some highly inconvenient orders...

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, BDSM, D/s dynamic (technically D/s/D), praise kink, bondage, anal sex (toys, fingering, p-in-a) (f receiving) (unprotected, anal creampie), double penetration, slight hurt/comfort, use of pet names/titles (Daddy, Sir, princess, kitten, sweetheart, love and darling), established relationship, extra light dacryphilia, spanking, phone sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, humiliation/degradation kink xxs?, bratty behavior (XXL), punishment/funishment, edging, orgasm denial, Also check-ins and aftercare... Tell me if I missed any because... Yeah, it's a lot.

A/N: So this took a slightly different turn, but I'm happy with it... If anyone still had any doubts if subbing for these two guys was intense, they'll be gone after reading this. Ask about part 3, I dare you ;)

I'm tagging everyone who expressed any kind of interest in a second part of this

✨filth✨

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @peaches1958 @know1udno @dedicated-to-mr-cavill @7eamfan7asy @ylva-stark @summersong69 @kingliam2019 @mayloma @sloppyzengarden @youve-yeed-yer-last-haw

Anyway: loads of smut under the cut

It’s almost seven when your cab pulls up to Marshall’s house. The lights are on in the kitchen, and you can see him through the window. As you walk up to the door, your hips sway with every step because of the heels you’re wearing, and it exaggerates the movement of August’s latest gift. The cold air of the night causes goosebumps to erupt all over your legs, and a particularly harsh gust of wind sends shivers down your spine when it finds its way underneath your trench coat and directly brushes past the sensitive skin of your pussy. The one time August can’t – or won’t, you’re not quite sure – drive you and he insists you wear nothing but that damn coat.

“Hey,” Marshall says as soon as the door opens, and he grabs the bag you’re holding, “dinner’s almost ready.” You sigh in relief. At least you get to breathe before you’re toast for your disobedience from last weekend. That being said, you’re not exactly looking forward to having dinner naked, so you’re not in a hurry to discard the only garment you’re wearing. Your stomach growls when you take in the scent in the hallway; whatever Marshall is cooking smells fantastic.

“It’s a simple pasta,” he says when you comment on it, “can I get you anything to drink? Water?”

“A glass of wine, maybe?” Your breath catches in your throat when you see him shake his head.

“No alcohol tonight, darling.” You don’t know what to make of it. All you know is that he needs you sober tonight, and that can be for all kinds of reasons.

“Aren’t you going to take your coat off?” Either he hasn’t caught on yet, or he’s pretending. In any case, it makes you feel insanely uncomfortable – in a way that exaggerates the sticky situation between your legs, and you cross your arms in front of your body to shield yourself from Marshall’s helping hands. It’s enough for him to realize what’s going on – he’s a detective, after all – and the grin on his face proves it. You aren’t surprised at all when the next time he asks if you are going to take your coat off, it isn’t really a question. He takes it from you with the calmest expression on his face and hangs it up before telling you to go to the kitchen. He deliberately walks behind you; Walter Marshall loves a good ass, and he’s especially fond of yours.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says as you walk into the kitchen. He means ‘sit down’, but he’s not in the mood to give orders outright yet. It’s happened before that he waits with that until after dinner.

Let the records show that you love food, and therefore had never expected to find yourself in a situation the phrase ‘suffering through dinner’ would apply to. Yet that’s exactly what’s going on here; it’s not particularly warm in the house, and the hard plastic of the chair you’re on feels weird against your skin. You’re barely even able to enjoy the meal Marshall has prepared, which is a shame; he’s quite a good cook. By the time you’re almost done eating, you’re completely unable to sit still anymore.

“Darling, stop squirming,” Marshall says for the second time, and you whimper. Your legs are shaking, you just can’t help it, but you can tell Marshall is losing his patience. After a while, he gets up from the table and disappears for a minute.

He returns with something in his hand, and you immediately recognize the icy blue silicone.

“Get up.” He seems to have moved past dressing up his demands as request, and seems to think you are in dire need of direct orders right about now. He might just be right… You do as he tells you, shaking on your heels, and he looks down at the chair with a sly grin on his face.

“Are you making a mess of my chair, love?” “No, Sir,” you answer before thinking about it, then bite your lip when you realize your mistake.

“And lying about it, too.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and you gasp when his hand connects with your ass in a rather unfriendly manner. “I had really hoped he’d have taught you some manners by now, but I guess not. Bend over.” You lean forward, putting your hands on the table and sticking your ass out behind you. Marshall’s warm, large hand roams your back and kneads the flesh of your ass roughly before dipping between your legs.

“Now, let me ask again: Are you making a mess of my chair?” You whimper again when two of his fingers find your entrance and he pushes them in harshly. It doesn’t hurt – you’re dripping – but it’s unexpected and startling.

“Yes, Sir,” you say through clenched teeth as he moves his fingers inside your core. Apparently something feels unexpected to Marshall, too, because you hear a low chuckle before he takes a small step back, and his fingers withdraw, leaving your drenched pussy clenching around nothing. He spreads your cheeks to get a better visual, and laughs again when he sees the only thing August allowed you to wear apart from the shoes.

“That’s new.” The observation is followed by a few swift spanks that make you squeal, and then you feel the tip of the toy he’s holding between your lips, teasing at your entrance. “It’s bigger, isn’t it?” He begins to push the toy into you, easing it in so agonizingly slowly that you’re sure you’re going insane.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Is Daddy stretching you out for me?” His mouth is next to your ear now, and you can feel the warmth of his breath and the scruff of his beard on your skin. Of course he doesn’t accept your furious nodding as an answer.

“Yes, Sir.” Marshall laughs when you throw your head back and moan when he finally slides the rest of the dildo inside you. The feeling is amazing, even though the toy isn’t anywhere near as big as either of your guys – neither of the toys comes even remotely close to their sizes.

“Sit.” What? You look at Marshall wide-eyed, and you are met with the no-nonsense look he saves for those times where he really isn’t going to take any attitude from you. Still, your mouth opens to protest, even though you can’t for the love of everything that’s holy figure out what the fuck is wrong with you that you would dare.

“I don’t think it was a question, darling,” he says before a single sound can escape from you, and you give in, gasping loudly as you sit down. If you couldn’t sit still before, you sure as hell can’t manage now that both of your holes are filled.

“Squirm all you want, love, but you’re not allowed to come until I say so.” You mentally curse him to hell and back, but wisely keep your mouth shut as you sit as still as you can possibly manage. It’s safe to say dinner is done, and you push your plate away with an agitated sigh.

Marshall tells you to stay put as he clears the table, and it becomes harder for you to sit still with every passing second. He doesn’t mind your pitiful whining and moaning, in fact, he seems to relish the noises you make while he cleans up. When he’s done, he joins you at the table again.

“I think we need to talk, darling,” he says. His tone is serious, and so is the expression on his face. You swallow hard, and the butterflies from before you arrived return to your stomach. There’s guilt in your eyes as you look at him, which makes him grab your hand and squeeze it lightly. “Would you come upstairs with me?”

You follow him to the bedroom, keeping both toys inside you, which earns you an impressed smirk from Marshall. The first thing you notice when you step into the room is the rope that’s lying on the foot of the bed – the same kind he used to tie you up the week before. The sight alone is enough to send shivers down your spine and set fire to your core, and you wonder what he’s got in store for you. Marshall tells you to sit on the bed, and you oblige with newfound enthusiasm.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks. The tone of his voice is sincere. He joins you on the bed and pulls you into his broad chest before you can answer the question.

“Yes, Sir,” you murmur. It’s not a lie, per se; it’s almost ridiculous how nice it is to feel filled up like that, it’s just annoying that you’re not allowed to come, and the fact that you keep unconsciously squirming and clenching the toys is inconvenient and distracting. You expect to be reprimanded for saying all of that, but Marshall kisses your neck instead.

“Good girl,” he says before pulling the dildo out. You whine at the loss and glare at Marshall, who no doubt misinterpreted your words on purpose. “Sweetheart, I’ll let you come as many times as you want, and then some, but right now, I need your undivided attention. Can you give me that?” You nod and tell him you can, which he really seems to appreciate.

And then he starts the conversation you’ve been anxious about for a whole week, but not in any kind of way you had ever expected.

“I’m sorry I left you to make a call about the ropes by yourself last week, baby,” he says softly as he strokes your skin. You look at him as if you don’t understand. It was you who didn’t listen to his orders, why is he apologizing for that? “I should have considered the possibility that you wouldn’t listen to what I told you to do. August told me off about it, and he was more than right to: I never should have risked your safety, and I really do apologize.”

“But I didn’t listen…” The words are barely audible, muffled by the fabric of his sweater as you murmur them into his chest.

“That’s right, and you’re not off the hook for that, darling,” Marshall says, “but it’s my responsibility to keep you safe. I should have made you aware of the risks that came with going against that order. Which is what I want to do today, are you okay with that?” You look at him, your eyes no doubt glistening with curiosity.

“Yes, Sir!” The words sound eager even to your own ears, and Marshall laughs.

“It’s very important that you do as I tell you, and that you pay attention, alright, sweetheart?” Now you know why he needed you both to be completely sober tonight… You answer him with the same amount of enthusiasm and do what he tells you immediately when he orders you to sit on your knees.

The next few hours are filled with explanations of different basic knots, practicing them, and a very detailed safety briefing on circulation and nerve damage, and you’re loving every second of it. You start by practicing on yourself, which is quite exciting.

“That’s too tight,” Marshall warns you every so often – especially in the beginning, “you have absolutely nothing to prove, darling.” He says that a lot, and you can use the warning. It’s almost as if you’re tempted to pull every single knot tighter than you actually want it to show Marshall you’re tough, that you can handle it, but he stops you every single time.

“Sweetheart, when I ask you whether you’re still comfortable, always tell me the truth.” He says when he catches you lying about your comfort level, and he shows you a knot that’s shifted to a place where it’s no longer safe. “It’s okay to be uncomfortable, it’s not okay to be unsafe.”

As if the little shibari-masterclass you’re getting wasn’t exciting enough on its own, Marshall has you practice some of the things on him, which is strange, but also extremely fun. Your cheeks heat up when he compliments you.

“You’re getting good at this,” he says. At first, everything he tells you to do to him happens in his sight, and you find the way he’s watching you while you work very exciting. And then he makes the big mistake of letting you tie his hands behind his back. In your defense; he should have known better. You ignore the warnings he gives you as you secure the end of the rope to the bedframe, and smile deviously as you make your way to the foot of the bed, grabbing the toy you used earlier off the nightstand on the way there.

“I’m giving you one final chance to reconsider this.” His tone is annoyed, but his eyes are not, which tells you he is secretly having fun – probably thinking about all the ways in which he will be punishing you for your bratty behavior later. Right now, you can’t be bothered by it, though you know you should probably know better.

“Are you uncomfortable?” You ask, knowing very well that the only reason you’re risking taking that tone with him right how is because he can’t smack the brat out of you – yet.

“I’m not.” There was a significant part of you that didn’t expect the answer you’re getting from him. There’s no doubt in your mind he’s telling you the truth: Marshall lives by his own rules. That being said; the last thing you want from him right now is for him to fake discomfort so he can get untied to gain the upper hand again. And he knows that.

You sit at the foot of the bed and smirk at Marshall, who seems to get calmer with every passing second – which you don’t like one bit. Slowly, you spread your legs to give him a good view of your pussy. You shudder when you slide the tip of the toy between your lips and tease yourself a bit, using your fingers to spread yourself even wider for the entertainment – or torment – of your spectator. He didn’t bat an eye; he didn’t scowl at you or tell you to stop, nor did he give you the impression he was enjoying this. His indifference is provocative, so much so that you go as far as looking him straight in the eye when you push the dildo all the way in, and don’t break eye contact as you start fucking yourself with it.

Something in his eyes drives you wild, pushes you to keep going, until you can’t keep your eyes on his anymore because it’s just become impossible to keep them open altogether. One hand pumps the toy in and out of your pussy while the other finds your clit and rubs tight circles around the sensitive bud until you can’t take it anymore. Fuck, you’re going to be in so much trouble. You have a decision to make, and you don’t have a lot of time to do it.

It’s either time for some serious damage control, or you finish making your bed with needles and pins. You make your decision a split second too late, deciding it isn’t worth it just as you tumble over the edge. When your eyes open again, they’re met with an icy blue gaze that tells you you’re more than screwed. The feeling you get from it is surreal. There’s a whirlwind of butterflies in your stomach, fighting to make their way out of you, and your breath catches in your throat.

“I hope you enjoyed that, baby, because that was the last one for the foreseeable future.” He means it, everything about the way he says it tells you that immediately, and there is absolutely no part of you that is willing to challenge him right now. You know you can’t keep him there forever. Everything you do that goes against him is just going to piss him off more, yet you’re frozen, both unwilling and unable to deal with the aftermath of your attitude just yet. So you sit there, in front of him, with a guilt-ridden look on your face and a trembling bottom lip.

“You made the conscious decision to go against me. Now you’re going to have to make the conscious decision to face the consequences of those actions. Untie me.” You move as slowly as humanly possible, until he tells you to speed it up. With each knot you untie, your heart beats faster and harder, your thighs clench together and the knot in your stomach tightens.

“What do I do with you now?” It’s usually a rhetorical question, but the way he asks it today is a bit different. He also doesn’t seem to appreciate your silence; he’s genuinely waiting for an answer.

“I said; what do I do with you now? You’re clearly in charge here, so tell me.” His fingertips gently stroke your cheek, which makes you shiver even more than you were already doing. “What do girls like you get for behavior like this?”

You’re frozen, unable to answer – perhaps because you don’t have an answer to his question – and incredibly curious as to what is actually going to happen to you.

“You don’t know?” he asks you, and his fingers move to the back of your head, where they grab hold of your hair. “You don’t want to make a decision?” You violently shake your head in reply to his question, but it’s not good enough; he tells you to speak up.

“N-no, Sir,” you say as you avert your eyes. He orders you to get on your knees and you listen. Your insides are on fire, anticipation courses through your veins, driving you wild with desire, and the insane curiosity is making you jittery. Marshall starts ties you down in your kneeling position, making sure your hands are secure behind your back. Then he retrieves your favorite vibrator from the box in his nightstand, and you know you’re screwed.

“No, please, no,” you beg as he walks over to you with a sadistic grin on his face, but it’s too late now. He straps the toy to your thigh and turns it on before briefly leaning on your thighs and bringing his face close to yours.

“And before you even so much as think about asking if you can come, the answer is no.” The vibrator is a corded wand, so you don’t even have the luxury of knowing the battery will run out, and within minutes you’re squirming, breathing heavy and whining. Not long after that, the whines turn to cries and pleas. And he just sits there, in front of you – the fucking bastard – for what feels like an eternity, slowing the speed of the vibrations every time you’re close to orgasm. Somehow, it’s better than when he gets up and takes his phone out of his pocket. He sits behind you on the bed, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Squeeze my hand, darling?” He follows the question by checking for damage in a few other ways before turning to you again. “Where are you, comfort wise?” You understand his question immediately – and sigh when he presses his lips to your neck.

“Green,” you say, “pushing yellow.” You’re beginning to reach an uncomfortable stage of overstimulation, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy every second of it.

“Good girl, keep talking to me, okay?” There’s something special about his check-ins, and you especially love that he stays close to you now, even though you’re fairly sure you won’t love what’s coming next. You feel another peak coming and you beg Marshall to let you come, but he denies you again.

“Please, Sir, please let me come, please, I’m begging you.” It’s all music to his ears, you’re sure, but he’s enjoying this far too much to just let you off the hook.

“I don’t know, you don’t seem to be listening to me very well, lately,” he says and his phone appears in front of you. The first thing you see is your face. You’re fairly sure there is no more mascara left on your eyelashes; all of it seems to be smudged across your cheeks from the tears you can’t fight back anymore because of the overwhelming sensations, and your lipstick is ruined from biting your lip.

“What did you do, princess?” Fuck. Your eyes widen as soon as you hear August’s voice through the phone, and you turn around to look at Marshall.

“Answer him,” Marshall says bluntly.

“I didn’t listen to Sir,” you murmur while heat gathers in your cheeks.

“I think you did more than that, sweetheart,” Marshall says. There’s a subtle threat to his voice that you can’t make out completely. You tell August the whole story, in between cries and gasps as Marshall keeps edging you relentlessly.

“So, a week?” August asks when you’re done talking. The question is clearly not aimed at you, but at Marshall, who gives a decidedly affirmative answer. You whine as you’re denied yet another orgasm – and because you won’t be having any for at least a week. You curse yourself. Marshall loves a little bit of defiance, but you just had to tie him up

“If she keeps misbehaving, I'll have to make it two. It would be a shame, though.” Marshall says. He’s smiling, and so is August. The guys clearly have something special planned.

“I understand, although I agree it would be a pity. But I know our little princess can be a good girl.” He turns his attention to you: “Can’t you, kitten?” You cry when the vibrations slow down again, keeping you away from yet another peak, and you know you can’t take more of this.

“Yes, Daddy, I can. I can, Sir, I promise. I won’t disappoint you, please, please let me prove it!” Tears roll down your cheeks and your words are interrupted by cries and sobs, until you finally hear the click of a button and the vibrations stop altogether. It leaves you with a strangely empty feeling, and you clench your thighs instinctively.

“You did very well, love,” Marshall says softly. He gently traces his fingers over the skin of your thighs and calves, raising a hand to August when he tries to ask a question.

“How are you doing, darling?” Je starts untying your wrists, which is very welcome. He was definitely pushing some boundaries, but you loved every second of it. August chuckles when you tell Marshall that – you can hear the sound come from somewhere on the bed. He loves it when you push yourself for them. Once your hands are free and Marshall is working on freeing your legs of their confinement, you reach for the phone, only to receive a literal slap on the wrist.

“Ask.”

“Can I talk to Daddy, Sir?” The look on his face – an unamused, eyebrow-raised side-eye kind of look from the ‘watch it’ category – tells you enough. “Please, Sir?”

“Of course, love. As a matter of fact, I think he mentioned he’d love to see what I’d do to you for last week’s disobedience.” Your eyes go wide. Somehow, somewhere along the way, you managed to forget about that.

“But, Sir, you just-“

“I just what, love? So far, we have unnecessary and distracting squirming during dinner, and making a mess of my kitchen chair,” he counts your infractions on his fingers for dramatic effect, “tying me up, playing with yourself and coming without my permission, an absolutely insufferable attitude, and several counts of disobedience while you went about it. Everything up until now has been for the trouble you got yourself into today.” For some reason, you grab the phone off the duvet and look at August.

“Daddy!” Big mistake. Both of them laugh and you feel smaller and smaller every second.

“Oh no, Princess, you made your bed, now you lie in it. Besides, I think I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Not as much as I am,” Marshall says as he sits on the edge of the bed and gestures at you to come over. He puts you over his knees without trouble.

“Can I hang up the phone?” you try, but you’re met with scornful laughter from both men.

“I don’t answer silly questions, love,” Marshall says as he pinches your backside hard. Ten slaps on each side, he says, and you have to count them. Mess up and start over. It’s pretty standard, but they’re going to drag this out, you just know it.

You do pretty well until the eighth smack is a particularly harsh one that makes you swear.

“Language!” You clench your thighs when they say it, and you feel a jolt of electricity shoot straight to your core. Your little fuckup means you’re starting over. You mess the next one up on purpose – who knew eight comes before nine, not after? And then Marshall is done warming you up. You love it when he starts playing for keeps; he’s brutal, and it’s nearly impossible to keep your head on straight while counting. So much so, that you mess up two more times.

“Do you need a break, sweetheart?” You want to tell him you don’t, but it would be such a blatant lie you’d be in trouble all over again. Your ass is on fire, and you know the next set will bruise – marks you’ll wear with pride, no doubt – so the break is welcome. Marshall’s soft touch is soothing on your red hot, stinging skin, and you love to hear August’s voice.

“Good girl, taking your punishment so well for us.” Now your cheeks – the ones on your face – are burning as well.

“She’s doing fantastic,” Marshall says as he very, very gently squeezes your ass, “enjoying it, too.” You can feel your blush deepen as he says it, and it’s all because his fingers dip between your legs and he runs them through your folds. He takes a minute to tease your soaking wet pussy. You squeal when two of his fingers slide in, and a third follows nearly immediately, stretching your drenched little hole out so good it makes you want to cry – and you do. There’s no need to hold back, your makeup is already ruined and both of your guys get off on the sound, anyway.

“Is that good, baby? Do you want me to keep going?” Your answer is a weak moan that prompts both Marshall and August to ask you to use your words. Of course, as soon as you say ‘yes’, Marshall’s fingers disappear from your core. They reappear on your lips, a clear order for you to open your mouth and let them in.

Sucking Marshall’s fingers clean while August watches does something to you; you clench your thighs and wriggle in Marshall’s lap as you take his fingers as far down your throat as possible.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl, princess,” August groans, and you swell with pride when you realize he’s getting himself off to the sight of his little princess being smacked around by his friend. You put on a little show for him, sucking on Marshall’s fingers with an abundant enthusiasm both men really seem to appreciate, giving August your best ‘fuck me’-eyes while you choke on the digits that occupy your throat. You whine when Marshall pulls back.

“Think you can make this the last set?” he asks, as he gives your ass another gentle stroke.

“Yes, Sir,” you say determinedly, and you look at the phone to see August smile proudly. He praises you all the way through while Marshall focuses on spanking you, and this time around, you make it to ten without any more problems.

“Good girl,” he says, “I’m impressed.” August agrees with him. You’re burning, skin tingling all over and butterflies are roaming free through your body as they shower you with compliments and affection.

“I’d love to stay, kitten,” August says, “but I have some work to finish. Be good, I love you.” It’s a little sad when he hangs up the phone, but your attention is captured by Marshall again when he gently takes out the butt plug you’re still wearing. For a moment, you feel empty, but you have a feeling it won’t be for long.

“Are you still up for it, darling?” You want to scream that you are, but you think it over for a moment.

“Can I move around for a bit, Sir?” you ask him, and Marshall gladly allows you to. It’s one of the easiest ways for you to figure out just how sore and ‘done’ you are. The first thing you do is ditch the shoes, and your calves protest slightly when your feet are flat on the floor again.

You’re good, you decide, which Marshall seems very happy about, but you do ask to go a little slower. Naturally, he complies. He’ll be pushing you enough trying to work his massive cock into your ass. The thought is intimidating; he’s bigger than August and a part of you refuses to believe it’s going to fit. A substantial part. But something about the way he goes about this, almost as if he’s urging you – but not in a way that pushes you past any limits, convinces you that he’s doing this for you. The boys have something planned and you have an inkling it involves two excessively large appendages shoved into two relatively tiny holes; it’s better to be prepared. You need to know you can take him.

His approach reminds you of the exact reason you’re happy he wasn’t your first. He’s gentle, but the pace is significantly higher than August’s was last week. It’s a good thing August wasn’t born yesterday, and that the two are well acquainted, because without his preparation throughout the week, you would have been startled by it to say the least – and you might just have given up on the whole endeavor altogether. He’s already fucking three fingers into your ass by the time you get out of your head and back to the present.

It’s harder to match his rhythm while you’re on your back, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. Marshall checks in on you constantly. You pull at his sweater, impatient to get it of him so you can curl up against the fur of his chest, and he happily obliges. You whine when he pulls his fingers out, but you don’t get a lot of time to mourn the loss, because they find their way back swiftly, along with copious amounts of lube.

His naked body feels good against yours; you’ve missed him, and you take some time to let your fingers wander over his skin, lingering a bit longer at that one scar he never gave you an explanation for other than ‘he got shot but it was no big deal’. He takes his time with the last digit and slows his movements to gently work you open until he reaches a point where he feels comfortable to even ask you if you’re ready to proceed.

“Yes, Sir,” you say, unable to open your eyes due to the overwhelming sensations of the experience. He surprises you when he shakes your head and shushes you.

“Use my name,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. You push him away from you again to look in his eyes, and you see it. He’s reached a limit: aftercare starts now. You stroke his cheek and pull him back in, kissing him gently for a moment before pulling back and grinning.

“First name?”

“Never,” he says before you both burst out in laughter. Where there is a certain solemnity to aftercare with August, you and Marshall have a tendency to turn into idiots. He grins widely as he asks you if you still want to finish what you started, and you sigh.

“Will we ever make love like normal people?” You wouldn’t want to, he knows that, but he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t play along.

“We still can?” You feel the head of his cock slide over your pussy and you moan.

“I need to know,” you say, “I have a pretty good idea of what you and August have planned for next weekend, and I have to know…”

“Smart girl,” Marshall mumbles as he presses his lips to the sensitive skin of your neck. You feel the coolness of even more lube against your skin, and you hear the obscene sounds of him, stroking his cock, coating it in the same cool wetness before positioning himself. “Don’t be a hero, baby.” He winks – tries to – and gently applies pressure.

“Fuck!” That vowel lasts a solid two seconds as you’re being stretched tight around his dick. “You’re way too big, this is rude. Rude!” You both laugh at that, which helps ease him in further until his pelvis rests against yours. You’re fortunate that the position you’re in doesn’t allow him to go deeper, because you see no way those logistics would pan out – ever.

“Rude, darling,” Marshall groans in your ear, “is the fact your arse is so tight, I think I’m going to come on the way out. Fuck.”

“Come on, you can give me at least a few good thrusts, can’t you?” He doesn’t seem to need any more motivation to begin moving; he gently rocks into you. He’s careful not to hurt you, and it works.

“No pain?”

“Just the amazing feeling of gigantic dick up my ass,” you moan in between gasps. His lips find yours again and he kisses you. It’s still gentle, but passionate, and your mouth opens automatically. His tongue slides into your mouth, dancing with yours for a moment before he pulls back and breaks the kiss.

“I can’t- Sorry, love,” he groans as he thrusts in a last time and fills your ass up with cum. He lies on top of you for a minute before pulling out and moving away. “Come take a shower with me?”

You nod and let him pick you up, asking for the same minute you did when it was August last week. Again; There are some things your not-boyfriend-but-boyfriend’s-college-roommate-bestie-who-you-also-kinda-fuck-questionmark… Fine, things your other boyfriend – or something – doesn’t need to be a part of. Just yet, or maybe ever. He turns the water on before he steps out of the room, and patiently waits for you to call him back in. You’re already the shower, and he steps in behind you, hissing as the water that hits his skin is far warmer than his preferred temperature, but he sucks it up. Marshall wraps his arms around you and kisses you on your head before he starts gently massaging your neck and shoulders – a welcome massage he’ll surely continue when you get back to bed.

“Is there anything we need to discuss?” He asks as he turns you around in his arms and pulls you into his chest. You shake your head and tell him everything was perfect. Marshall is quick to agree with you. He knows all too well that he gets ten times the attitude August does, but he doesn’t mind at all.

“Are you excited for next week?” It’s a redundant question and he knows it, but you meet his gaze with a wide smile on your face.

“Yes, Sir.”

#walter marshall x reader #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall #august walker x female reader #august walker x reader #august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker smut #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill

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unfinshedsentec · 2 years

Note

I miss manila mikey so may I request him teaching f!reader to shoot a gun, but reader is so out of focus because mikey is so close, hands touching, and reader can smell his sweet scent combination of taiyakis and baby cologne, she’s feelin dizzy & too tempted to hug him

Hey love! Thank you so much for requesting! It’s Mikey’s birthday so I figured, what better time to write this than now?

Hope you enjoy!

HUGS AND GUNS—MANJIRO SANO

happy birthday to Mikey! I love him but he makes me sad…oh well, here’s fluff for his birthday <3

reader is gender neutral!

character pairing: manjiro sano x reader

tw: cursing and mentions of guns/shooting

MONDAY, AUGUST 1ST, 8:00 AM

The morning was particularly cold for a summer morning. Although the morning sun shined over Tokyo, you shivered. Even your jacket wasn’t enough to keep you warm. Casually, you leaned into your boyfriend as he led you into one of the many buildings he owned.

“How much longer, Mikey?”, you quietly asked, wanting to escape the cold.

“Just a couple more minutes” he replied, rubbing your shoulders. Carefully, he held onto his gun, making sure it was in a safe place. You couldn’t help but feel some sort’ve anxiety to be the one to hold that very handgun.

You had to admit, you never thought you’d be someone to be in a place to have to learn to use a gun. The dammed things were illegal in Japan, and you, being a normal citizen of Japan, just never looked in a gun’s direction. That and you were never put in a place where you even thought about using one.

But then, you met your boyfriend, Mikey.

Mikey is dangerous man. He’s the leader of one of the most, if not the most dangerous gang in Japan. Naturally, he gets into some pretty nasty situations, and has done some pretty bad stuff. But no matter how terrible he is, he’s the person you love. Your past self might look down on you for loving someone like him, but you don’t care. You love him, and he loves you all. That’s all that matters.

Unfortunately, loving him has consequences. Namely, his enemies.

Ever since you and Mikey became serious, a lot of his enemies started targeting you. They’d aim to hurt, kidnap, and even kill you…all to get to Mikey and Toman as a whole. Luckily, you’ve had Mikey’s or his goonies protection when enemies attack, so you were safe. But that won’t always be the case. They could strike when you least expect it. Therefore, you had to learn to protect yourself.

And what better way than to learn how to use a gun?

Now, you’re here, following Mikey into a quite building, holding your own gun. It was a strange feeling to hold a gun in your hands. And to be honest, a part of you was anxious knowing what you could do with it. But you knew Mikey would teach you how to use it and how to use it right, and you’d be just fine.

Plus, you had to admit, you were a little excited to get some one-on-one time with Mikey.

“Y/n?” Mikey said, snapping you out of your thoughts. The heat of the warm building flowed onto you, allowing a sigh to come from your mouth. You couldn’t be happier to be inside.

“Hmmm?”, you hummed, looking in his direction.

“You ready?”

You looked at Mikey for second and noticed the hint of worry in his eyes. Even he was hesitant about this, but you do what you have to do.

“As ready as I’ll ever be”

“Good”, he replied, taking some Taiyaki out of his pocket. “Let’s gear up then”

Silently, you followed Mikey to some gear that was left out. It wasn’t much, just some eye and ear protection, but it was a precaution Mikey wanted you to take. Not that you minded. You’d do anything to stay safe. Mikey on the other hand, only put on the glasses. He didn’t need the protection quite as much. You had to admit though, he looked really good with them on.

In fact, Mikey in general looked really good that day. Since he too had just woken up, his black hair was still a bit of ruffled mess. His eyes were droopy, and his voice was raspy from being tired. That morning he threw something quick and easy on, so he walked out the door with his usual tank top and joggers, forgetting his button up. You weren’t complaining though, the tank top really showed off his muscular arms. And as he walked over to you and placed his hand on your back, you couldn’t help but blush.

He looked really good that day.

Unfortunately, he was only leading you towards the shooting range; much to your disappointment.

“You ready?”, he whispered, his voice still husky.

“I suppose so”

“Alright”, he sighed, running his fingers though his hair. “Let’s go over some things first.”

For the next few minutes, Mikey explained the process of shooting, and what it would feel like. He told you what to expect and reassured you would absolutely be fine with him there. Intently you listened but you had to admit, you couldn’t help but get silently distracted by how good your boyfriend looked. The way his hair fell slightly of his place on his forehead just made you melt.

“Let’s give this thing a shot now”, Mikey said, finishing his explanation. Shakily, you nodded your head and faced the wall. Step-by step, he told you how to pred the gun and load it. And luckily, you were doing great! You managed to do everything fine! You looked over at Mikey, only to see a proud smile on his face, and slowly you became more confident.

That was until you were actually shooting. You couldn’t help but still feel nervous. And as you pointed to gun at the target in front of you, that became apparent. A cold sweat dropped down on your face as you began attempting to focus, when suddenly, you felt a warm hand on your waist.

Mikey’s body pressed against yours as he placed his hands over yours. The scent of his cologne and Taiyaki filled the air, and instantly, your focus went away. The way his hair just barely fell over his eyes, and the way you could feel his muscles pressed against you made you dizzy. The focused look on his face only made him look even better, so much so that you could feel your own focus slip away.

“Just relax”, he huskily whispered in your ear. Slowly he laid his finger over top yours on the trigger and began putting pressure on it. When he noticed you weren’t responding, he took a glance at you. Instantly, your eyes snapped away, and a bright blush formed your face. Once again, you tried focusing on the target. But your nerves just wouldn’t let it happen. You couldn’t help but look back at Mikey and lean into him.

As you looked at him, you realized how much you just wanted a hug from him. This was all overwhelming, and you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms. You wanted to bury your head into the crook of his neck and let all the stress slip away. But you were determined. You were going to shoot this, and then you were going to hug Mikey whether he wanted to or not.

“Are we gonna shoot or what?” you whispered, looking at the target determined. You had to admit, as dazed as Mikey was making you, he definitely made you more relaxed. Though, you were most definitely fighting against the urge to look back at Mikey and tightly wrap you arms around him.

Mikey grinned, before adding more pressure to the trigger. “Let’s get this show on the road then”

Then, you felt a surprising amount of pressure and an unimaginable loud bang. A shock came back and hit your hand, and surprisingly, you felt yourself flinch. But other than that, you felt exhilarated. Excitedly you looked back at Mikey with a big smile, only to see the proudest look on his face.

“I DID IT!” you yelled, finally leaping into Mikey’s arms. Mikey, although slightly taken back, gladly hugged you. His arms tightly wrapped around you as he rested his head on top of yours. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and relaxed into the touch you longed for so much.

“You sure did”

You couldn’t help but laugh from excitement. Sure, this was shooting a gun, but still it was exciting. It gave you a feeling like no other. And shockingly, you found yourself looking forward to giving it another shot. But not right now. Right now, all you cared about was being in Mikey’s arms, inhaling his scent and leaning into his warmth. And trust me, nothing made you happier than to stay in his arms for the next few hours, just talking.

This man really is your savior, whether he realizes it or not.

masterlist || reblogs are very appreciated <3

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whumpinthepot · 2 months

Text

@febuwhump 2024

Day 19. “Please don’t”

Content: BBU adjacent pet whump, caretaker is new master, child oc mentioned? (mouse),

Thank you @ilasknives for looking it over <3

…

Ratty waited on the staircase for Mouse to come home from school. They leaned their head against the bottom of the railing poles and watched the door. They had been sitting there since Mum left this morning, and would continue to sit until someone came home.

There was a sound of a car pulling into the driveway, then footsteps coming up to the door. Ratty perked their head up, watching as the doorknob rattled with the movement of a key. It turned and opened.

Doug walked through it, wearing an unbuttoned suit with a loosened tie around his neck. His locks were pulled up into a bun. He was home early today, and Ratty leaned their head back against the poles in disappointment.

“Hello, sir,” Ratty greeted half-heartedly.

“Oh, Ryland, I didn’t see you there.” Doug sounded surprised. “Where’s your mother?”

“She left to run some errands. Said she would be back later and to wait for Mouse to come home.”

“I see…” Doug sat down beside Ratty on the staircase. It weirded Ratty out, and they shifted an inch away from him. He was too close to them.

Doug was staring at his hands in his lap, and kept his voice quiet. “I know you miss August, and that your mother won’t let you talk to him. I don’t think that’s right of her. I tried to talk to her about it but she, well, it might take some time for her to accept the idea.”

Ratty didn’t know how to respond and just stared at him with distrust still clouded over them.

He continued. “So, what I was getting at is… If you want to call him on my phone while everyone is out, you can. If you don’t tell your mother or sister.”

Ratty blinked. “Wait. Really?!” Was this a trick? “Really, sir? Are you serious?”

“Yeah. You can call him right now if you want.” Doug pulled out his cellphone and held it in front of Ratty. “But it can only be a small phone call for now. Is that okay? I’m sorry it can’t be longer but maybe next time.”

“Yes, sir!” Ratty practically shouted. Their hands trembled with anticipation. Was he really going to call Auggie right now?

“Okay then.” Doug winced and tapped in August’s number. He put it on speaker and handed the phone over.

The phone rang a few times until a nervous voice picked up. “Um… Hello?” It was Auggie.

Ratty’s words were caught in their throat. “Hi,” they managed to croak out.

“Tee? Is that you?” August asked incredulously.

“Yes, Auggie. Mr. Doug let me use his phone in secret. He told me not to tell Mum.” Ratty curled inwards against the phone.

“Oh. Huh. Are you okay?” He asked.

Ratty assured him that they were more or less okay, and the two had a little back and forth of worried small talk.

Ratty was building up to their main question until they finally dared ask. “Auggie? Can you come and get me now? I did everything you told me to. I've been good. I’ve been here for so long, when can you come and get me?”

A pause, then he sighed. “Ratty, I can’t come and get you. You know that. You’re going to have to stay there a little longer. I’m sorry.”

Tears welled up in Ratty’s eyes, fogging their glasses. “Please don’t leave me here, Auggie. Please don’t…”

“I’m sorry, Tee. It’s not that simple. Keep being good for them, alright? You just have to wait this out. I’ll see you as soon as I can, I promise.”

Ratty clutched the phone with a lump in their throat as tears dripped off their chin. “Please come soon…”

“I’ll try. I miss you.” August’s voice gripped around Ratty’s heart.

They gulped in some air. “I miss you too, Auggie.”

Doug waved to get Ratty’s attention, then tapped his smart watch. He put five fingers up then closed his fist.

Ratty got the gist and sniffled. “Auggie? I have to go now. Please come soon, okay?”

“I’ll try, Tee. I’ll try…”

—

General writing tag list: @frogkingdom @coppercoyoti @alittlewhump

Febuwhump tag list: @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @blackrosesandwhump

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weepingfromacedartree · 6 months

Text

Ten Milestones: Meeting Each Other's Friends

Chapter 3 is now live!

Warning: angst.

His grin falters. Slightly.

“What does it say?”

Penelope’s question comes out a little sadder than she had expected it to. While she may have argued that this whole idea is flawed from the start, a part of her is disappointed that it could be over so soon. If nothing else, arguing with Colin is usually her favourite part of these silly little games.

“Something we never managed to cover in our twenty years of friendship?”

“Nope,” he says, eyes still locked on the screen before him. “It’s something we’ve done many times before. With varying degrees of success.”

Intrigue getting the best of her…

“What does it say?”

He clears his throat before reading.

“Number Two: Meeting Each Other’s Friends. Friendships are an essential and impactful part of any person’s life. Meeting the people whom your significant other considers friends is valuable for many reasons. Not only is it a first step in merging your lives together, but it also teaches you things about your partner that you could not learn when alone together.

After the briefest moment of silence…

“Well, I believe you’ve met my friend Eloise. So —”

“I have met plenty of your friends, all of whom are very kind and lovely people. Just as one would expect from a kind and lovely person such as yourself. Clearly Eloise — and perhaps also myself — is an outlier.”

“Hey, that’s not —”

“I believe ‘meeting each other’s friends’ has only ever been an issue when my ‘friends’ were involved.”

Penelope bites her lip.

“It was really just that one time.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Twelve Years Earlier: August 27th, 2011

Relationship Status: Friends

꙳

“Remind me why we’re doing this again.”

“To act like irresponsible teenagers who love parties and socialising with their peers.”

“That doesn’t sound like us.”

“Exactly. That’s why I said ‘act like.’”

Penelope has always been a good bullshitter. Since she was a child, she’s had an innate talent of bending the truth on a dime. It comes naturally to her; bullshit falls from her lips before she even has a chance to think it through. She never does it for fun — that filter is just built inside of her. There are certain truths that she simply can never say aloud, so her mind grew adept at talking around them.

The truth: Colin had invited her to this party, and if there is one talent that Penelope does not possess, it is saying no to Colin Bridgerton.

Another talent Penelope does not possess is walking into any type of social event by herself. Even at family gatherings — Featherington or Bridgerton — Penelope always finds herself clinging on to someone else. Usually Eloise. Sometimes Colin. Occasionally Prudence or Philipa — if she’s really desperate.

Despite the fact that he invited her here, Penelope knows she won’t see much of Colin tonight. She knows this party will be filled with at least a hundred people he considers friends. She knows that she will not be able to cling onto him all night — and that she absolutely shouldn’t.

That’s how Eloise Bridgerton found herself being dragged towards her worst nightmare: a house party filled to the literal rooftop with loud, obnoxious teenagers.

“This isn’t Skins, Pen. This is gonna suck.”

“It’ll be fun.” Bullshit.

“So fun!” Eloise mocks. “Why not continue the fun tomorrow and go shopping with your mother. I heard Primark is having a sale on yellow dresses.”

When Penelope forces out a sarcastic laugh, Eloise pulls her in even closer.

“Seriously, Pen. You owe me for —”

“Let’s see how the other side lives for a little while. If it is truly tortuous, we can leave and go get chips. You know… how we usually spend our Saturday nights.”

The offer does not smooth over any of the sourness present on Eloise’s face.

“You say that like there is something wrong with chips. There is absolutely nothing wrong with chips. Chips have never belched in my face or spilled a pint down the front of my shirt.”

At this point, Penelope does not know whether to protest, laugh, or agree with her friend. Ultimately, she decides on the first option.

“What are you talking about? You’ve never even been to a party like this.”

Eloise gulps. Her eyes flash wide, like she’s just been caught in a lie.

“Well… no. But I’ve seen Skins and —”

“Oh, for god’s sake El.”

Penelope wiggles Eloise’s phone from between her fingers. After typing in the four-digit passcode, she clicks on the little clock icon.

10:09

“What are you —”

“I’m setting a timer for 20 minutes. If you’re not having fun when the alarm goes off, we’ll leave and get chips.”

“Fine,” Eloise grumbles, grabbing her phone back from Penelope. “You got yourself a deal, Featherington.”

At 10:10 PM, Eloise and Penelope step foot into their first house party.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

Fife’s house smells like piss.

There’s a lot happening in the room Colin has found himself in. There’s a lot happening in this little corner he has found himself in, surrounded by a group of his “friends” from Eton. They’re talking about the girls they’re gonna fuck at uni in the fall, meanwhile Colin can think of nothing other than the rancid smell of this room. Parties packed with hundreds of people are never going to smell nice, but this is just ridiculous. He almost wonders if the Fifes recently got a puppy and are still potty training him, but he can’t imagine that could account for such a stench. It would take at least a hundred puppies to —

“Ready for the birds up at Cambridge, Bridgerton?” Fife asks, breaking Colin from his thoughts and back into this piss-scented reality.

“Hmm? Oh — yeah. Sure.”

“No longer interested in the ladies, Col?” his “friend” Edward chimes in.

“For all his money and looks, he never had much luck with them in the first place, did he?” taunts his “friend” Fred.

“Are you calling me pretty?” Colin shoots back, an insincere smile pulling at his lips. He’s been forcing it so much tonight that it’s starting to ache at the corners. “Flattered, truly.”

Thankfully, the conversation quickly redirects to one of Fife’s embellished stories — this one about a girl he picked up at a pub earlier in the week. The commentary around it is just as mind numbingly boring as Colin has come to expect over the years. It’s just mind numbing enough for him to mentally check out of it completely, his smile fading as he glances around the rest of the room.

It’s 10:11. The party just started, and yet the den is already packed with people. Most faces are recognizable to him, either from his time at Eton or his lifetime in Mayfair. No one in this room, though, does he have any particular interest in. His eyes scan the room thrice, searching for the one person he’s actually interested in seeing tonight. By the third attempt, he accepts defeat.

When he turns his attention back to the group around him, he finds that Fife has already moved onto another story. This one smells of potent bullshit. Something about spending 20 minutes in a broom closet with a literature TA at Eton.

Once again, Colin’s mind is adrift.

Fife’s father is a member of Parliament — why does his den smell of piss?

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

10:29

Somewhere in this massive estate, Eloise’s phone is blaring an alarm, asking her whether or not she is having fun. Penelope has no idea what the answer is, because within 20 minutes of stepping foot into this party, she managed to lose her best friend in the crowd. She also failed to find Colin during that time, but that matter is not as pressing at the moment.

She steps into the back garden, hoping her luck will turn around in the fresh air. After all, surely Eloise would rather be out here than in the crowded interior — which, frankly, smells like someone pissed on the walls before the party started.

Unfortunately, the garden isn’t any less cramped than the halls inside.

As she continues forward, Penelope pays special attention to where her feet land in the crowd; the last thing she wants to do is trip over a forgotten beer can or get elbowed by someone taking a shot of liquor. This sort of manoeuvring isn't anything new to Penelope. When you’re as short as she is, you need to learn how to get out of other people’s way. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is when you’re the one who ends up crushed.

After her second loop around the garden (and about a dozen texts to Eloise), Penelope feels a prickle of anxiety run up and down her spine. She’s about to turn on her heel and look inside again, but before she can, her feet make an unusual misstep.

She slams chest-first into someone’s backside. Someone tall.

“Oh, hello,” he snickers, turning around to look down at her. “That’s certainly one way to get a man’s attention.”

“Sorry, I —”

It’s Fife, she belatedly realises.

Penelope has never actually spoken to him before. She’s seen him from afar on a few occasions, but certainly never this close. Despite them being friends since primary school, Colin never brings Fife (or any of his other school friends) around his house on Grosvenor Street. Penelope always found this odd; she’s a friend of the Bridgertons and spends more time at their home than her own.

“I —” she starts again, but still cannot find the words to finish the sentence. She tries to conjure up something logical to say, but it’s difficult to focus on words when you’re hyper-focused on other matters. Particularly, her feet and how she can move them far away enough to get her breasts off of Fife’s abdomen. Unfortunately, the crowd behind her does not grant her the space to do so.

Thankfully, someone else speaks before she can stutter out another mindless syllable.

“Hey! Back off Fife.”

It’s Colin. He positions his body between her and Fife, creating space that wasn’t there just a second ago.

“Woah, mate! She bumped into —” Fife starts.

“It was my fau—” Penelope starts.

“Yeah, yeah. I think I’ve heard that one before. Never your fault, is it Fife?” Colin interrupts. His tone confuses Penelope. She can’t tell if he’s teasing Fife, or legitimately wants to punch him in the face.

“Colin. Really, it was my —” she starts again. This time, someone new cuts her off. Another guy, standing close behind Colin.

“Do you know this chick, Bridgerton? Or do you simply enjoy saving random girls from becoming Fife’s next vict—”

“This is Penelope. My friend,” Colin cuts in, that confusing tone not letting up. Before she knows it, his arm slings around her shoulder, fingers gripping lightly into the fabric of her shirt. “Pen, this is —” With his free hand, he starts pointing to each of the men now forming a circle around them. “Edward. Fife. Louis. Michael. Fred.”

In response to Colin’s curt introductions, each of the five men nod, smirk, and/or unblinkingly stare at Penelope’s chest. She feels a nervous blush creep up her cheeks as she says, “Lovely to me—”

“No need for flattery, Pen,” Colin cuts in again. “Even this lot is self-aware enough to know they’re all shit.”

Michael snorts. Penelope gasps. Fife starts making a joke. Colin’s hand moves from her shoulder to her elbow, pulling her away before Fife can reach the punchline.

Once they’re out of earshot from the group, Colin lets out an agonised groan and says, “Sorry about them. They’re —” He groans again, then drops his hand from her skin, just to run it briskly through his hair. “They’re fucking arseholes.”

“They weren’t that ba—”

“When did you get here by the way?” he interrupts, his usual light-hearted tone making a reappearance quickly. Almost alarmingly so. “I was looking for you.”

“You — you were?” The words slip out before she has the chance to stop them.

Logically, such a statement shouldn’t be so surprising. They’ve been friends forever. He literally invited her to this party. But still… A part of Penelope cannot help but be surprised that Colin Bridgerton would seek her out in such a crowded group of people.

“Of course,” he says nonchalantly. He raises his eyebrows, reminding her that he had asked a question.

“Oh! Uh —” She looks down at her phone.

10:43

Shit.

“About a half hour.” She lets out a quick, nervous laugh. “Have you seen El? I lost her rather quickly, it seems. And I kinda promised her that we would be gone by now if she wasn’t having any fun.”

Colin scowls, then lifts his gaze from Penelope’s eyes to scan around the back garden. After about 15 seconds, he announces that he’s spotted her (and Penelope wonders how nice it must be to have an extra foot of height at your disposal).

Scowl suddenly lifting…

“Well, I don’t think you need to leave quite yet.”

Following his gaze to a bench on the other side of the garden, Penelope finally spots her best friend. She looks absolutely giddy.

On the other side of the bench sits Theo, a boy Eloise met through an internship at Danbury’s publishing house last summer and has had a massive crush on ever since. They’re holding hands. They’re both laughing. They’re getting closer. Then, even closer. Then —

“Yeah, I don’t need to see that,” Colin grumbles from beside her. His hand wraps around her elbow once more.

“Let’s go.”

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

“Are you sure this is… safe?”

“Live a little, Featherington.”

After climbing through the window himself, Colin extends his hand for Penelope to take. Begrudgingly, she takes it.

They’re sitting on the north side of the roof, facing the street. Colin pulls out the beer bottles he had stashed under his arm on the way up here, then flicks the caps off using his car keys. He hands one to her; it tastes like liquified grass, but Penelope tries not to grimace when she takes her first sip. Thankfully, Colin is looking up at the stars, so he doesn’t see her nose crinkle as the beer slides down her throat.

“Beautiful night,” he muses, eyes turning back to her.

She looks up, towards the moon. It’s barely a sliver in the sky.

“Yeah. It really is.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for all that irrelevant noise in the background.

Penelope likes the quiet. She always has. Her entire life it’s been there, taking on different shapes and useful qualities for whatever situation she finds herself in. A cover. A cushion. A comfort. With Colin, it’s a comfort. When she’s with him, she rarely feels the need to fill the quiet spaces of air between them.

Colin is typically more inclined to fill them.

“Sorry, again, about Fife. And the other dickheads.”

“Colin, I told you. It’s —”

“‘It’s fine. They’re not that bad,’” he dramatically mimics. “Yeah I know. But speaking from the perspective of someone who actually knows them, they are shit and should be regarded as such.”

Penelope could continue brushing all of that shit to the side, but she doesn’t. Even if bumping into Fife was her fault, she didn’t like the way he looked down at her in the moment after. She didn’t like how he didn’t step away until Colin forced him to — when he surely could have done so on his own. And she didn’t like the way all five of them looked at her when Colin introduced her — as though her tits were more interesting than anything he could have been saying.

Instead of brushing it off, she simply asks: “If they’re such shit, why are you friends with them?” Her own tone confuses her.

Through the corner of her eye, she watches as Colin’s lips start to drop into a grimace; he takes a swig of his beer before it can fully take shape.

“Good question.”

He goes quiet again. When Penelope presumes that he is finished answering her question, she opens her mouth again.

“I —”

“Maybe I’ve outgrown them.” Swig. “Or maybe it’s just that I’m shit too.”

Penelope laughs lightly, praying that tiny breath of air will help lighten Colin’s mood.

“The former, I think.”

“I think you give me too much credit.”

Penelope doesn’t know how to respond to that. Her entire life, Colin has only ever existed in her mind under a golden ray of light. He’s always been the one who makes her happy. The one who can draw a smile out of her, even on her darkest day. The one who is always there for her. The one she’s always wanted more of.

How could claiming he’s not shit be giving him too much credit?

Penelope doesn’t know how to respond to that. So instead, she asks, “Are they also attending Cambridge?”

“Not all of ‘em.” Swig. “Michael’s off to Edinburgh next week. Edward and Fred are both staying here for Imperial.” Swig. “Louis will be up at Cambridge with me, but he’s not so bad. When he’s away from Fife’s bad influence, at least.”

“And Fife?” she questions. “Where is he going?”

Colin groans. He looks like he’s about to raise the bottle to his lips again, but doesn’t.

“Fife was admitted to Cambridge, but deferring a year to ‘go find himself.’ Hopefully, he finds himself at King’s College when he’s finished.”

“What’s Fife’s real name, by the way?” Penelope asks, unsure of what else to say. “Why does everyone just call him by his surname?”

For the first time all night, Colin laughs.

“Oh — uh. Cornelius. Cornelius Fife.”

Despite herself, Penelope snorts.

“Oh god, that’s bad. Perhaps even worse than ‘Penelope Featherington.’”

“What’s wrong with ‘Penelope Featherington?’” Colin asks, his tone earnest.

“Um…” Pointing her eyes to the little sliver of moon above, Penelope silently prays that the sky is dark enough to hide the blush currently warming her cheeks.

“A bit of a mouthful I guess. At least ‘Corn-eel-ee-us-Fife,” she punctuates each beat with one of her fingers, “is only five syllables.”

“I don’t know. I happen to quite like ‘Penelope Featherington.’”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, either.

She should be used to this by now — existing in such close proximity to charming Colin Bridgerton. She should know his flirtatious words are just that. Words. That just because they tug at her heart does not mean there was any intention on his end to do so. She should know by now that there is — that there never will be — any intention to do so.

She should be used to this by now, but she’s not. Even now, her cheeks burn red as he unknowingly fractures what little resolve she has left.

“You ready to leave London?” Colin asks, his voice breaking Penelope from her thoughts.

Next week, she and Eloise are set to leave for Cheltenham to begin their Sixth Forms. Literally, she isn’t ready (there are about a million things she needs to get done before she goes). But in her heart, she is ready. She’s been ready to leave home for the past two years — ever since Colin left for Eton.

“Oh — yeah.” She takes another sip of her beer. It still tastes like grass. “I think so.”

“It’s nice that you and El will have each other there.” He chuckles softly, turning the bottle over in his hands a few times. “With your good influence, maybe she’ll make it through an entire semester without being sent home.”

Penelope chuckles too, louder than Colin had a moment ago.

“Eloise will be fine, with or without me. She’s all talk.”

“Yeah. The ‘talk’ is exactly what I’m worried about. Also fist fighting, but at least she doesn’t have the balls to do that in the middle of class.” Swig. “Usually.”

As much as she wants to defend her best friend further, Penelope holds her tongue. He has a point. Last term, Eloise made a hobby out of backtalking their maths teacher.

“Really though,” he continues. “Leaving home is amazing, but it also kinda sucks. Having your best friend there… It’ll be good.”

“Why does it suck?” Penelope asks, little alarm bells ringing in the back of her mind. She and Colin rarely discuss Eton in detail, but the little he does say is typically positive.

He keeps quiet for a moment, seeming to search for the answer in the stars above them.

“It’s different for everyone. It might not suck for you at all. But for me…” Swig. “Maybe it’s just because I was so used to living with seven siblings and an overprotective mum. But going from that to Eton so suddenly…” Swig. “Felt a bit isolating at first.”

The alarm bells continue ringing. They’re a bit louder now.

“Colin, I —”

“It gets better, obviously. You adjust. It took me a while to be comfortable living without the people I lived with all my life, but eventually I did.” Swig. “Your friends really do help with that. Hopefully you can learn from me though, and cut them off when you realise they’re all bloody arseholes.”

She waits until she’s certain that he’s finished speaking before opening her mouth to speak again. But when she does, before she can even suck in a full breath of air, he keeps going.

“Sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to scare you or anything. I just thought it would have been good if someone told me that before I left for Eton. Prepared me for it, at least.”

“You didn’t scare me,” she insists. “And I appreciate your candour. Truly.”

Colin opens his mouth again, looking as though he’s about to say something else. Penelope knows she should let him talk. That she should allow him to alter the course of the conversation, if that’s what he wants. But she also can’t ignore those goddamn alarm bells ringing in her ears.

“You know you can tell me anything, right? Even if — hypothetically — it could scare me. I just — I’m always here to listen. About anything.”

For the briefest moment, something new passes on Colin’s face. Even with what little light is left in the sky, Penelope can tell that she’s never seen it there before. She can’t quite put a name to it, but it almost looks… desperate. And then it’s just gone.

Turning his gaze away from her and towards the sky above, Colin shifts in his spot and — for the second time tonight — wraps his arm around Penelope’s shoulder. His fingers just barely graze the fabric of her shirt.

“Yeah, Pen. I know.”

She should be used to this by now. Colin is her friend. His touch is innocent, always. It doesn’t matter if her breath quickens when his body settles against hers. It doesn’t matter if her skin burns beneath his lightest touch. None of this matters to Colin — at least not in the way that it matters to her.

She lasts about 25 seconds before squirming out of his hold. She scoots back a few inches and turns so her entire front faces him. “What’s the distance between Cheltenham and Cambridge again?” she asks, as if the exact mileage has not been burned into her brain for months.

Colin scowls. “200 kilometres. Give or take.”

Penelope nods. Mayfair and Eton were only 35 kilometres apart. There were times over the last two years where it felt as though Eton may as well have been located on the moon.

“Chin up, Pen,” he says, his demeanour already lightening up. “It’s the twenty-first century. We can always Skype.”

“I know…” She raises her bottle, letting the glass rim rest against her lips. She can’t bring herself to take another sip, though. “Even then, I’ll still miss you.”

“Well, obviously,” he says through a smirk. Penelope scoffs, hiding her own smile behind her hand.

Charm and arrogance do tend to come hand and hand.

“That’s —”

“I’ll miss you, too. Obviously. But that’s no reason to stay home and prevent ourselves from reaching our full potentials. We owe it to the world, Pen. We can’t possibly be that selfish.”

In the time that it takes Penelope to think of a single sensical response to that, Colin goes to take another swig, comes up empty, then peers one eye into his bottle to confirm its lack.

“I sup—”

“To Cheltenham.” With that, he raises his bottle towards her.

Penelope smiles. Resisting the urge to remind him that toasting with an empty glass is bad luck, she clinks the butt of her bottle against his. Hers is still half-full.

“To Cambridge.”

The quiet returns. It sits between them for a while. Penelope likes it.

She likes it all.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

After spending an hour on the roof and beneath the stars, Colin and Penelope return to the spot where their night had started. The back garden has become less crowded, but only slightly so. She still has to look where she steps as they weave between the other bodies in the crowd.

“Bloody hell,” Penelope curses, ducking to avoid the crushed beer can hurdling towards her head. Inadvertently, her movement causes the aluminium can to strike Colin’s shoulder instead. “Shit! Sor—”

“You okay?” he asks, pulling her into his side even closer than she already was. His hand hadn’t left hers since he helped her climb back inside through the window five minutes ago. (She spent those five minutes praying that Colin attributes her sweaty palms to nothing more than the August humidity.)

“Of course. Are you okay?”

Colin’s smile makes a reappearance as his hand gives Penelope’s a gentle squeeze.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Suddenly fully cognizant of just how slimy her palm has gotten with her own sweat, Penelope pulls it out of Colin’s grasp. She raises all ten of her fingers to the sky and hopes her forced smile will distract from the pink of her cheeks.

“Fair point. Why wouldn’t you be having an amazing time at an amazing party like this?”

Colin laughs. He uses the hand that was holding hers just a second ago to run his fingers through his hair.

“You mean the one we were just hiding from for an —”

“Wait — Colin,” Penelope interrupts. On principle, she typically tries to avoid doing that, but alarm bells are ringing in her mind again. This time, for a different Bridgerton sibling.

“Have you seen Eloise anywhere? It’s been like two hours since I last talked to her. I hope she doesn’t —”

“Yeah,” Colin interrupts — a more common occurrence on his part. He rolls his eyes. “We passed her inside. She was in queue for the loo.”

“Oh,” she sighs, a bit confused by his sudden change in demeanour. “So she was by herself?”

Colin does not respond with words. First, his face contorts into an expression that falls somewhere between embarrassment and disgust. Then, he shakes his head.

“Oh.”

At least one of us is getting lucky tonight.

For a moment, the two of them stand side-by-side. Neither looks at the other. Neither knows what to do with their hands. They both listen — Penelope to the people, Colin to the music. They open their mouths at the same exact time.

“We should go ba—”

“Do you hear that?”

“Hmm?” Penelope mumbles, eyebrows shooting up. She has already forgotten what it was that she was about to say.

Colin smiles at her, just as he did a hundred different times in the past hour. It’s annoying how every single one of them has made her stomach flutter.

“It’s our song.”

Eyebrows shooting downwards in confusion, Penelope attempts to filter out the shrieks and gasps and fights and drama around them and just hear the song in question. Within seconds, she recognizes the familiar notes in the air.

“This is not ‘our song,’” she tells him, voice definitive.

“Sure it is.”

Before she can get another word in, his hand is in hers again. He’s pulling her towards the other side of the garden, where the music is louder and a small group of people sway to the beat.

“What are you doing?” She hates how shrill her voice sounds, but she doesn’t like the outcome he is pulling them towards, either.

Dragging her forward with a tightening grip, Colin spares a glance over his shoulder. “We’re dancing,” he says, as if the answer is obvious. Or at all sensical.

“No we’re not,” Penelope insists, but only with her voice. She makes no attempt at standing her literal ground against him, her footsteps trailing closely behind his. Their intended destination is less than five feet away now.

“Sure we are.”

That’s the end of it; as soon as the words leave his lips, they’re on the little patch of grass that will serve as their dance floor. Colin falls into position immediately, one hand grabbing hers, the other landing delicately on her waist. Penelope is slower, but ultimately compliant. Her right hand matches his grip while her left hooks onto his shoulder.

Their feet start moving beneath them and, at first, it’s not so bad. They’ve danced like this a few times before. (Three times, to be exact — at his cousin’s wedding, New Year’s Eve 2010, and that one time at Aubrey Hall.) With each instance, it becomes a little more natural — a little easier. A little.

Other than the places where their hands lie, their bodies remain separate by about a foot. But god — her skin is just so hot beneath his touch. The cloth between her waist and his palm feels like it’s about to go up in smoke.

Attempting to distract herself from his touch, Penelope tilts her chin up and asks the first question that pops into her mind.

“Do they teach you young men how to dance at Eton?”

“Why do you ask?” He looks down at her with a familiar smile gracing his lips. Then, he wiggles his eyebrows in that childish way that instantly takes her back to a time when his touch felt so innocent. “Have I improved since last summer?”

In truth, Penelope can’t quite remember what point she had been trying to make. Her brain is so hazy that it’s possible she never had one to begin with. Nevertheless, she continues forward, pushing words out of her mouth too fast for her mind to stop her.

“No… But there’s always Cambridge. Perhaps they can give you some useful pointers.”

Unphased by her teasing, Colin leans in a bit closer, a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t act like I’m not your favourite dance partner,” he tells her.

With that, it becomes painfully evident to Penelope that any attempt to neutralise this situation with words will ultimately fail her. Lips disappearing into her mouth, she smiles up at Colin and gives him the faintest nod of her head.

With her lips sealed tight, Penelope’s mind cannot help but linger on Colin’s hands — on the parts of her he holds so carefully. On her waist, separated by a fabric too thin to dampen the startling effect of his touch. On her right palm, pressed flat against his and growing damper with each passing second. On her left hand, suddenly drawn away from his shoulder so he can guide her away from him and twirl her back just as quickly. On her lower back, where his right hand settles far more firmly than it had on her waist.

Now, their bodies aren’t so disconnected.

Even though she can no longer use her voice to do so, Penelope feels an inherent need to protest this insane, silly, embarrassing situation. One Colin quite literally dragged her into.

Looking up, she attempts to protest with her eyes alone. In response, all she gets is that goddamn smile of his. It’s maddening. She tilts her head into his shoulder, just to give her eyes and heart a reprieve from its most detrimental effects.

They didn’t start dancing until nearly halfway through the song. It’s almost over now, which should make Penelope happy. She should be grateful for this fact. She should thank the universe for delaying their start, because at least that means the ending will come quicker. That she will spend less time doing something so embarrassing while surrounded by a group of her peers. That she will spend less time reminding herself that Colin is just her friend, while also being tucked into his chest and held tightly in his arms. But as the music picks up speed again, she isn’t happy or grateful.

She’s bitter.

She’s greedy.

Penelope Featherington may be a realist, but she’s equal parts a willing fool. She wishes this could continue on forever.

But she can’t wish for that, can she?

You’ve danced with him like this before. This is nothing new.

He’s your friend. He’s only ever treated you like a friend.

You had one beer. Your head should not be spinning this badly.

He’ll never —

“Pen?”

“Hmm?”

With her head still very much spinning, Penelope lifts her cheek off his chest and looks up. Thankfully, his smile has since dropped. His face is almost neutral now.

“Thanks for coming tonight.”

“Oh,” she whispers, mind barely beginning to clear. “You don’t have to thank m—”

“No, I do,” Colin insists. The faintest hint of a smile reappears on his lips. “For full transparency, it was for purely selfish reasons. I would have been miserable, had I been forced to endure Fife’s bollocks stories all night.”

Penelope laughs. It’s only half forced.

“Oh! Are you saying you like me more than Cornelius Fife? I’m honoured. Truly.”

Her tongue had been heavy with sarcasm, but for a moment, Penelope wonders if she should have laid it on even stronger. Colin is squinting at her like she just said something deeply offensive.

“I —”

Before she can finish that sentence, Penelope’s mouth is muffled by the cloth of Colin’s shirt. Once again, her face is positioned against his chest and out of his view. Unlike last time, the change in position had not been her decision.

His right arm is slung around her shoulders, pulling the two of them into a position not too different from a hug. But while Colin and Penelope have hugged plenty of times before, he has never held her quite like this. Like he’s scared she’ll slip away from him at any moment.

“I like you more than everyone,” he belatedly answers. There isn’t a single drop of sarcasm on his tongue.

For what little life is left of their dance, Penelope can’t summon the strength to lift her cheek from his chest. She can’t bring herself to say another word. She can’t even force herself to repeat the words in her head that have just barely allowed her to remain sane while in situations like this before. Instead, she listens intently to the music, hoping and praying that it will drown out everything else inside her.

Look how they shine for you

Look how they shine

“Pen!”

Before the song can reach its final note, it’s over.

She literally jumps out of Colin’s embrace, taking several steps away from him before her mind can even register what is happening. With wide, guilty eyes, Penelope turns towards the person who had just called out for her.

“El! It’s not —”

“Oh my god, Pen! I can’t believe I tried to weasel myself out of coming here. You will never believe what I was doing all night. Or who I was doing it wi—”

“Dear God, Eloise,” Colin grumbles rather loudly from out of view behind her.

In a flash, Eloise’s eyes go even wider than Penelope’s. Apparently, just now realising that her older brother stands before her.

“Colin?! When did you —”

Cutting off her own words with a huff, Eloise rolls her eyes, then turns them back to Penelope.

“Nevermind. Pen — let’s go get chips. I have so much to tell you about!”

With that, Eloise wraps her fingers around Penelope’s wrist. In the split second before she gets pulled away, she looks over to Colin again.

It takes everything in her to meet his eye. When she does, she can’t help but see longing staring back at her. She can’t help but wonder if her eyes are playing tricks on her — inventing a mirror where there isn’t one.

“Goodnight,” she barely manages to say. Using the hand not currently being strangled in Eloise’s death grip, she gives him the most pitiful wave that has ever been waved.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

At 12:16 AM, Penelope and Eloise step out of their first house party. To Eloise, night had been a dream. To Penelope, a brief detour into purgatory.

As Eloise recounts her magical night with the boy she’s been obsessing over all year, Penelope tries to forget the one she shared with the boy she’s loved her entire life. She does her best to ignore the dread boiling in her stomach and simply be happy for her friend.

“I can’t believe I ever doubted you,” Eloise exclaims, laughter light on her lips. “Tonight was fun.”

“That’s great, El.” Penelope tries to match Eloise’s light tone, but her words practically pour from her lips and fall to the ground between them.

Eloise squeezes her hand, still locked in the death grip from several minutes ago. Penelope doesn’t have the heart to turn her head and look her best friend in the eye. At best, she’ll see nothing. At worst, pity.

“What did y—”

“How did you make things happen with Theo?” Penelope interrupts. On principle, she typically tries to avoid doing that. “Didn’t you say that you always chicken out when trying to push things forward with him?”

“Oh.” Eloise chuckles nervously. “I don’t know, honestly. I sort of just said ‘fuck it.’”

“‘Fuck it?’” Penelope repeats.

“Yeah. You’re right. I spent the entire past year pining after him like a pathetic little school girl, too scared to make anything happen. Tonight, I saw him across the garden and it just hit me. I’m leaving for Cheltenham, he’s staying in London. I might never get a chance with him again. Why not get out of my own head and just go for it?”

Eloise laughs again. This time, she sounds victorious.

“And it actually worked! Can you believe it?!”

It was a rhetorical question, but Penelope cannot help but whisper, “No.” Eloise doesn’t hear her say it, launching back into her retelling of the night.

Quickly, Penelope doesn’t hear Eloise either, very much stuck inside her own head.

Penelope has loved Colin her entire life. She has loved him since before she knew “love” was the right word for it — for this longing that has been erected inside her soul. She has loved him long enough to know that this love wasn’t built to fade, even if it is never returned. She has loved him madly enough to pick up tricks that make things bearable — that makes the inevitable heartbreak of love easier to live in.

Since the moment she realised it was love, she has repeated the same string of ten words back to herself whenever things get especially hard. Whenever she risks losing sight of her circumstances.

He’ll never love you the way you want him to.

Those ten words had saved their friendship. They made it possible for Penelope to exist in such close proximity to him as nothing more than a friend. They prevented her from wanting even more than she already did.

But god. What if she has been wrong this entire time? What if those words — repeated back to herself even more than usual tonight — were just that. Words.

What if she had spent so much time in her own head that she failed to see what was right in front of her? To pay attention to the words and actions that actually meant something.

The way his fingers gripped onto her shoulder when he introduced her to his friends.

Back off Fife.

That look in his eye when they sat on the roof together.

I happen to quite like ‘Penelope Featherington.’

How he pulled her into him when they danced together.

I like you more than —

“Pen!”

She stops dead in her tracks, only now realising that Eloise had stopped moments ago while her feet had kept walking.

“Oh! Sorry, I just…”

Eloise laughs, then strides four steps to bridge the gap between them.

“One too many drinks tonight, Featherington?”

“Something like that,” she mumbles. When Eloise interlocks their fingers and starts to guide them forward again, Penelope doesn’t move.

“Speaking of which — I just realised, I really need to use the loo. I’ll run back inside. Can you wait for me here?”

With a tiny scowl pulling at her lips, Eloise reminds her that they have toilets at the chip shop.

“I know, it’s just kind of an emergency and the shop is —”

“Yes, right — of course. You go, I’ll wait here.”

With that, she turns on her heel and retraces her steps to the party.

For the first time in her life, Penelope Featherington runs headfirst into a disastrous situation without a plan in sight.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

The garden is slightly less packed than it had been when Eloise dragged her out of it. Which is to say, much more crowded than Penelope would like it to be.

She doesn’t spot him right away, but after agreeing on just how unbearable the stench inside was, Penelope can’t imagine he’s anywhere else at this party. She lifts herself onto the balls of her feet, but it gives her just as much advantage as one could expect from someone as short as her. (None.)

She continues forward, paying special attention to where her feet land in the crowd. She flicks her eyes up, looking for his outline against the rest. She keeps her eyes pointed outwards, searching for that familiar drawl. She does an entire loop around the garden and comes up empty. Just as she begins to rethink her strategy, she hears something familiar. Not Colin’s voice, but…

“Penelope Featherington?”

She jumps around at the sound of her own name. It had sounded far away, as if it had not been intended for her ears to take in.

It hadn’t been. No — it had been intended for Colin, she realises once her eyes finally spot him. He’s standing with those five dickheads he had introduced her to earlier in the night.

“The way you were dancing with her looked rather… interesting” Fife continues, practically shouting in Colin’s ears. They’re both turned away from her, a few metres off, but his words cut clear through the music and all other chaos. “Are you two —”

“No. No way, mate,” Colin interrupts. Of all the things he could do next…

He laughs.

“You sure you haven’t been keeping her from us this whole time?” His other friend cuts in — Louis, if she remembers correctly.

“Are you mad?” Colin interrupts again, another laugh ringing into the air. “I would never date Penelope. Not in a million years.”

Another one of his friends — the Scottish one — says something else. Another joke. Penelope doesn’t hear it, though. There isn’t anything else she needs to hear.

Those ten words repeat again and again and again in her mind.

I would never date Penelope. Not in a million years.

They ring in her ears as tears well in her eyes and drip down her cheeks. Those tears don’t stop, nearly blinding her as she carelessly pushes past all the people who stand between her and the exit.

I would never date Penelope. Not in a million years.

The way he said it — how his laugh rang out just before… Like it was a joke. Not that the words themselves contained the punchline — what he said was true.

No. She was the joke here.

I would never date Penelope. Not in a million years.

A fact. One she never wanted to hear, but will eventually grip onto for dear life.

꙳ ꙳ ꙳

“I would never date Penelope. Not in a million years.” Bullshit.

It will take Colin several years to finally understand and accept the true depth of his feelings for Penelope. But even in this moment — standing amongst five fellow dickheads in Fife’s back garden — he can recognize the taste of bullshit when it falls from his own lips.

As Fife challenges Michael to “another” pissing contest, Colin staggers off to the side of the group. He finds the nearest bottle of clear liquid and raises it to his lips; he grimaces, but only after realising that not even vodka can dispel that taste from his mouth. Unfortunately, there isn’t a single substance at this party Colin could ingest that would make what he just said taste like anything other than bullshit. Not after everything else he had done tonight.

Not after he lurched forward to place his body between her and Fife, after that bastard bumped into her. How he placed his arm around her and wanted Fife to get the message that she was not his to take.

Not after his eyes lingered on her chest every time she turned away from him while up on that rooftop. That he was ready to murder each one of his “friends” earlier in the night for doing the exact same thing. How his eyes had refused to comply with his brain, reminding him that Penelope is just his friend.

Not after he pulled her in close while they were dancing together. How he felt it necessary to shield her eyes from his own, fearing they would reveal how desperately he wanted her. How he wanted to hold her even closer and never let her go.

Then, she let go. And Colin went back to his “friends.”

There is nothing in this world that could convince Colin that what he said about Penelope wasn’t wrong. But there is no short supply of substances that can make him forget he said it in the first place.

The vodka tastes bitter; he shoots it back desperately.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Colin lets out a groan so loud that Penelope can practically feel it from where she sits on the other end of the rug.

“God, I was such a fucking dickhead.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He scoffs. “I’m being hard on my younger self because he was a dickhead.”

“Maybe,” Penelope relents, knowing this conversation could play on loop forever if she doesn’t. “But hey — better he than you. We should be thankful that we both changed and grew out of our younger selves. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here playing your silly little game. ”

He scoffs, again. “‘My’ silly little game? You —”

“On the other hand,” Penelope interrupts. She typically tries to avoid doing that, but she does have good reason for it. She’s just had somewhat of a revelation. “Your words that night still ring true to this day.”

“I beg your pardon?” Colin asks, aghast.

“Why did you suggest we play this game again?”

“Because I love y—”

“Oh right — it was because you consider the idea of dating me ‘silly’ and ‘unnecessary.’”

Colin scoffs again, although Penelope suspects that this time he’s just trying to cover up a laugh.

“From a respected, ‘honourable’ journalist such as yourself, I would not expect to be misquoted in such bad faith.”

“Oh shush,” Penelope orders, biting back her own laugh. “What’s next?”

#yes this is late #yes I am sorry #fanfiction #bridgerton #polin #penelope x colin #ten milestones #weepingfromacedartree #ao3 #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

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despitethecold · 9 months

Text

My contribution to the GTA summer fest!! Thank you @gtafest for the event (and for proofreading hehe) <33

Being the dumbass I am, I forgot we were supposed to be inspired by a song and I was inspired by a picture instead, but I think parts of Taylor Swift's august might be the song for this fic :D Especially when she says "Your back beneath the sun, wishing I could write my name on it"

Anyway, I hope you enjoy :3

. . .

It’s yet another typical Yankton summer for Michael. In his mid-twenties, the only real bond he has is his best friend and partner-in-more-things-than-crime, and that’s all he really needs. He can drink and be stupid and fuck off to wherever his heart desires with Trevor, do reckless shit without explaining himself to anyone. It’s freedom like he’s never experienced before; it’s like a dream come true, and even though it can feel a little aimless and gloomy sometimes, it never gets lonely. Not as long as he has Trevor by his side. He admits Trevor can be too much, especially when he gets high and acts like an absolute lunatic with zero boundaries and does the most deranged things Michael has ever witnessed. He’s a wild card, maybe even a liability at times.

But the Trevor before his eyes looks the opposite of that. He’s calm in his state of unconsciousness, his face serene and free of all worries, body naked and cheap motel sheets twisted around it. Almost like he’s pure and harmless, and the thought makes Michael want to laugh until he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t because seeing Trevor like this has already taken his breath away.

He had complained about the blinds not working at night when the streetlights battled their way inside the room and chased away his sleep, but he couldn’t get upset at the early sunrise — not when it bestowed him the heavenly sight of Trevor sleeping soundly on his chest, snoring lightly, unfazed by his surroundings. His skin is deliciously tanned, alluring in the orange glow, and although the color reminds Michael of caramel, he knows perfectly well that it tastes much too salty to be that. The brightness accentuates the hairs on his uncovered legs and ass, but despite being a generally hairy guy, his back seems surprisingly smoother to Michael’s tired eyes — that is, if he ignores the scars.

He absentmindedly reaches out a hand and touches the small of Trevor’s back. Warm. His touch slides down to his perfectly shaped ass, and he wants to bite into the flesh so badly, but manages to keep the urge under control. A thin sheen of sweat is visible on the back of his neck, and his long hair is spread messily on the pillow. It’s not soft and shiny like the girls Michael had slept with before, which isn’t a surprise considering Trevor probably doesn’t even use shampoo, but it’s still strangely attractive.

Shuffling closer, Michael presses a light kiss on his shoulder blade, checks to see if it woke Trevor up, and since he doesn’t detect any movement, he shifts to his neck. His lips stay there for a long minute, burning the texture and the taste of Trevor’s skin into his memory. It’s like he’s lost control of his body; all he wants to do is kiss Trevor all over, touch every inch of his skin. He’s usually very high or drunk or horny when he gets sentimental like this, and he’s none of those things at that moment, but for some unknown reason he’s so peaceful that the fondness he feels for Trevor that he normally keeps carefully under wraps doesn’t even bother him much.

After another set of kisses, Trevor eventually stirs and groans in protest, obviously wanting to be left alone and go back to sleep, but how can Michael let the moment pass like it’s nothing? At that second, he is convinced Trevor is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and some of him knows the feeling won’t last forever, so he intends to make it last. “You’re gorgeous, Trev,” he whispers in his ear, caressing his side, his palm flat against the sweat damp skin.

Trevor lets out a drowsy scoff. “Very funny,” he murmurs against the pillow. “Now fuck off.” His voice cracks from sleep, and it’s low in a very masculine way. Michael has a tent in his boxers just from hearing it.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

Michael can practically sense the way Trevor assesses his words, weighs them in his head, and makes a decision. With a beat of silence, Trevor rolls onto his back, kicking the covers off of himself. Michael’s mouth goes dry at the sight; Trevor’s cock and balls are also real pretty in that light, not that he’s ever thought about another guy’s junk like that before. His eyes meet Trevor’s devoted ones, the honey-colored flecks in his hazel eyes daring him to do something, anything, and so he does. He gets on top of Trevor, slotting between his legs, their awakening cocks in complete contact while he takes Trevor’s mouth and tastes him. It makes Trevor whimper quietly, and Michael deepens the kiss to draw more of those needy moans out. He succeeds, and he soaks up all the little sounds Trevor makes. Each and every one of them goes straight to his cock, raising the urge to own Trevor, make him his and his only. The feeling is so strong that he doesn’t even dare fight it.

There’s no draft in the room, and they sweat even more with the union of their bodies, but neither of them care. Trevor’s arms wind around Michael’s shoulders, pulling him impossibly close, and Michael feels feverish from the sun’s rays and Trevor’s innate fire. It takes over his entire being, igniting the kind of flame within that only Trevor manages to stoke, making him feel like this, whatever it is they have, would be his end, and he welcomes that with open arms in his hormone-driven state. Trevor’s cock and balls feel so fucking nice against his own, and Trevor’s precum lubricates them deliciously as they rut against each other like wild animals.

Michael always lasts longer than Trevor, but for the first time, he comes first, biting into Trevor’s shoulder and leaving yet another mark that will remind him in post nut clarity to stop doing this and also why he does it in the first place.

It doesn’t take Trevor long to follow Michael and make the mess between them even stickier, the pleasure so prominent in his tightly shut eyes, flushed cheeks, and fisted hands that Michael can’t help being enchanted by it. He refuses rolling away yet, just kisses Trevor again and again until Trevor comes down from his high enough to properly kiss him back, and after a long moment of making out, he finally pulls back, admiring how satisfied Trevor looks.

The sun is fully up by then. Trevor throws him a small, tired grin, wipes his crotch and stomach with the sheets before snuggling against Michael’s arm, holding him tight. Soon, he’s snoring again.

Michael closes his eyes and tries to convince himself he’ll be fine, that this is okay. He pretends they’re living in a world where loving another man is not wrong, where they can keep robbing and having fun for the rest of their lives. A world where it’s always sunny.

If only.

#gtavfest #gtafest #my writing #trikey #trevor philips #michael de santa #michael townley

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lesvegas · 1 year

Text

New Vegas - Now Under New Management!

In 2301, the city of New Vegas had been a raiders’ paradise for nearly twenty years. In the Jackal-run Ultra-Luxe hotel, with Cal's help, Auguste continues investigating the murder of his dog.

Chapter 3: You’re Gonna Go Far Kid [ao3 link]

I was never allowed in the Tops’ Presidential suite. It had been claimed by Fresno when they took Vegas, and they only ever let my father or the cleaning people in there. My father and I shared a two-bedroom suite with a view, several stories up but not quite at the top. Fresno would’ve given him the Presidential or the High Roller or any other fancy room at the snap of his fingers, but he wasn’t picky. All he wanted was some windows and for me to have my own little space.

Cal took one of the old Gomorrah boss’ suites for himself, but he was almost always sharing it with someone. Unlike Fresno, he didn’t go wasting all that space on just himself. There were three other big suites by his, and they were usually occupied. By who, I had no idea. Judging from the all the noise I’d hear whenever I visited Cal’s room, it was probably more than one raider at a time with as many whores as they could afford.

I knew the Ultra-Luxe had the biggest, fanciest suites to match the rest of it. I’d never seen them myself, but one would have to assume from the name alone that they were the best of the best. And like every other raider I knew, naturally, the Jackal matriarch had taken the biggest, best-est suite for herself. At the very top of the Ultra-Luxe hotel was the Penthouse suite, and it was at least twice as big as Cal’s room and three times as big as my father’s. There were armed guards outside of the elevator, and armed guards at every corner as we passed through the corridor and bedroom. I had to wonder what she was so afraid of. These guys weren’t stationed here because she knew we were coming; we barely had to wait two minutes before we were brought up here. Maybe she just liked having a bunch of men watching her at all times. She didn’t even bother to get dressed for us, still laying nude in the pool in the middle of the suite. Shit, I’d kill to have my own pool. “Oh, wow…” She said when she saw me, sitting up in the shallow water, her feet floating. “I haven’t seen you since you were…” She lifted her hand out of the water, holding it a few inches above the smooth surface. “This little. I think it was your birthday. I gave you a teddy bear. Do you remember?” No, I didn’t remember. I’ve got three teddy bears in my room, and two of them used to belong to Brutus. And all three of them were from my father. I also don’t recall having ever seen this woman before in my life. I think I would’ve remembered the sharp teeth, missing eye, and the odd hollow scars along her arms. But instead of saying any of this, I kept my mouth shut and looked at Cal. He’d insisted on doing all the talking, so I was gonna let him. “I don’t think he does. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be this shy.” Cal teased, then put a hand on my head and ruined my hair. I kept my hands in my pockets and bit my cheek before I could do anything stupid. I won’t let him hear the end of it the second we’re out of here, though. “He might get all upset if he starts talking, though. I’m sure you've heard.” She hummed, and took her hair in her hands, squeezing and wringing it out. It reached just below her shoulders and looked natural. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a raider with nice hair before. “No, I don’t think I have. You’ll have to enlighten me.” “Well…” Cal glanced at me, then continued. “Someone shot his dog while he was taking him out for a walk about a week ago.” She gasped dramatically. “Oh, that’s horrible!” “It is.” Cal went on. “And the shot could’ve only come from your hotel.” She was still for a moment, then flung her hair over her shoulder before her hands went under the water again. “Callipho, dear, you’re not saying what I think you are, are you?” “Dee-” “Dia.” She cut him off. "Dia.” He went on. “Your hotel is huge. You’ve got hundreds of men. You’ve got dozens of rooms anyone could rent out with a view of the whole Strip. I’m not saying you had anything to do with it, personally, but someone in the building last week did. And as you can imagine, this place is our only lead. So, if you could help direct us to, I dunno, a guest book to start, that’d be great.” She beckoned one of the men as she stood up, and he brought a towel to her immediately. She wrapped it around herself, but not before I could notice more of those weird scars along her legs. “We don’t let anyone rent out our rooms. We’ve filled them all ourselves. We live here.” She explained, her voice darker now. “If you insist that someone in our hotel shot the mutt, then you’re insisting it was one of us.” “He wasn’t a mutt!” I snapped. “He was a Belgian Malinois, one of the last purebreds around, and he was easily the smartest and most loyal dog anyone could ever hope to have!” “Easy.” Cal put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back a little. “She’s not gonna help you if you’re rude.” I smacked his hand off my shoulder. Why the fuck was he treating me like a child? Dia sighed almost wistfully. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry you lost your puppy.” She went on, stepping out of the pool to stand before us. She smelled almost sickly sweet. “But I promise we had nothing to do with it. And I would never let some stranger stay in my hotel. I do wish I could help, but…” “Then help.” I said sternly. “I just want to know who did it. I don’t care who else was or wasn’t involved, just-” I swallowed. Fuck, this was useless, even if she did know, why would she tell me anything? I didn’t even know what questions to ask her, and neither did Cal. This was a pointless trip, I was never gonna find out who killed Brutus, and I wasn’t even sure Cal would be able to, either. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?” Dia asked, sounding all concerned, touching my cheek. “I couldn’t bear it if you did.” “This has all been a lot for him.” Cal said quietly. “That dog was the only friend he’s ever had.” “Oh, I can imagine…” She ran her hand through my hair, and I refrained from giving her a look as she tried to fix it. “Well… I can’t make any promises, but I suppose I could tell you what I know. I got a noise complaint about a week ago, maybe even on the same day as the… you know. It was said to be gunfire, shot somewhere on the twelfth floor.” “From one of the residents?” Cal asked. Dia hesitated. “If I had to guess, I’d place my bet on Rocco.” She said quietly. “He has a room all to himself with a view of the Strip. That was his only request; a room with a view. His favourite pastime is marksmanship. Now, I’m not saying it was certainly him, but…” “It’s as good a lead as any.” Cal said, putting an arm around my shoulder in a half-hug. “Thank you, Dia. You’ve been a real help.” “Don’t make me regret this, dear Callipho. Get what you can from Rocco, then leave. We have enough issues as it is without outsiders making things worse.” Dia said firmly. Then she gave me a smile. “And Auguste, sweetheart… you should come visit more often. It’s a shame we don’t get to talk more.” “I will.” I said quietly, probably lying. I’d rather never come back here again if I could help it, but I was starting to realize Cal had the right idea bringing me along to meet her. I was like the cute kid door-to-door salesmen brought along to prevent poor saps from slamming the door in their faces. Cal and Dia said their goodbyes, she reminded him again not to make her regret this, and we were led out of the suite and back into the elevator. The man tending it was about to take us back to the ground floor, but Cal politely requested being dropped off on the twelfth. The Ultra-Luxe’s hotel wasn’t nearly as winding as Gomorrah’s, but I still felt lost. Each floor felt nearly as wide as the hotel was tall, with hallways the size of streets and a sitting area around every corner. I wouldn’t be surprised if every room was half the size of the Penthouse suite. There were a lot of people lounging around, well-dressed enough that they almost passed as tourists, but they were all clearly Jackals. I got a lot of stares. Cal did not. He also seemed to know exactly where we were going, leading the way to the far end of the twelfth floor, all the way to the last door. He stopped right in front of it, and I nearly bumped into him. “This is important.” He spoke in a hushed, serious tone that sounded odd coming from him. “I need you to let me handle this. We don’t know how dangerous this man is and it’d be better if I did all the talking. If you don’t think you can keep quiet, wait out here for me.” I just nodded. I’ll do whatever the hell I want, but if I didn’t act compliant here, he probably wouldn’t let me into the room at all. I stood by and waited for him to pick the lock or pull out a master key or something. Instead, he knocked. “‘S open.” The voice was muffled by the door, but not far from it. Gruff and deep enough that it could only be a man’s. I looked up at Cal as he slowly opened the door all the way. This wasn’t a suite. It was a broom closet. A big broom closet, but a closet nonetheless. It was just a little bigger than my own, and most of the space was taken up by a mattress on the floor and a shelf up against the wall with a few metal boxes on it. Cal stepped around the mattress and I followed, closing the door behind me. At the other end of the closet, oddly enough, was a window, open wide with an older man sitting on the ledge and looking down. Next to him, in the corner up against the wall, was some sort of scoped rifle. “Are you Rocco?” The old man didn’t even look at us. Unlike the rest of his crew, he wore ordinary clothes; slacks and a simple button-down shirt that wouldn’t be out of place in a pre-war catalogue for the common man. There was nothing formal about him, but he didn’t quite look like a typical raider, either. He leaned further out the window and spat, then grinned as he must’ve hit something or someone. “I’m Cal, proprietor of the Gomorrah. My friend here is Auguste, son of the courier. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” Cal went on, as casually as he could, trying the get the geezer’s attention. “I saw you come in.” He said, still not looking at us. “Could’ve nailed you then, if I wanted to. But I didn’t see the point.” I bit my cheek to keep my mouth shut. Not yet, not yet… “Thanks for sparing us.” Cal said lightly. “You must have quite a view from up here. Mind if I take a look?” “Get any closer and I’ll jump.” He said quickly, but with a grin. “Then you’ll never know.” Cal showed his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, we’ll stay right here… So you are Rocco?” “Whatever.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “Are you Rocco or not?” I barked. That made him finally look at me. He didn’t look as old as he sounded, but he was dirtier than I first thought. Maybe they gave him a closet to himself for a reason. His eyes were a cold, steely grey that narrowly focused on mine. “Rocco, I am. The fuck do you want, you uppity little whelp?” Cal put a hand on my shoulder, barely containing me as he took over again. “We were told you might’ve shot a dog from up here recently. That true?” “I ain’t talking to you, Gomorrah. I asked the runt a question.” I took a breath before speaking again, doing my best to ignore the smell of dust and something stale. “Did you or did you not shoot my dog?” I asked, firmly. “He was a Belgian Malinois, a big dog, we were walking back to the Tops from Vault 21…” I tried to look past him without leaving my spot. We were pretty high up; all I could see from the door were signs and the top of nearby buildings. “Yeah. I shot a dog.” Rocco casually admitted. “Is that all you came here for?” “Of course not.” I snapped. “I want to know why you shot him!” Rocco chuckled lowly, letting his head fall back against the window sill. He looked at me sideways. “Why? ‘Cause I missed, that’s why.” Missed. Missed? Missed the shot? Tried to hit something, hit Brutus instead, missed… I opened my mouth to ask the next question, but it didn’t come out. I didn’t make a sound. It only made Rocco laugh more. “Oh, you stupid, spoiled little shit.” Rocco went on, staring right through me with that signature Jackal sharp-toothed grin. “I wasn’t aiming for the fucking animal. I was aiming for you. And I missed.” He said with a slight shrug. I forgot how to breathe. My heart felt heavy and my whole chest felt tight, but my hands were twitchy and fast. I went for my gun faster than Rocco could laugh at me again, but Cal was even faster, pinning me to the door with just one arm, his other hand gripping my wrist, keeping my pistol pointed to the floor. “Auguste, look at me, now.” Cal said quietly, but I couldn’t just look away from the murderer. “Step out and wait for me, alright? Just let me take care of him.” Fuck no. If I let him out of my sight for even a second, how the hell would I know for sure he was dealt with? I needed to shoot him. I needed to put a bullet through his head, watch the brain matter splatter all over his filthy mattress, watch him bleed out until there was more blood out than in, then throw his corpse out the window for good measure. I needed to kill him as many times as it took for him to stay dead. For Brutus, and for my own damn life. But the more I pushed back, the harder Cal pinned me against the door. Rocco picked up his rifle with one hand and pointed at Cal with it. “I believe the boy still has his questions.” He said. “Let him ask.” Cal hesitated, but not for long. He kept a close eye on that rifle as he loosened his grip and slowly backed off. I still had my back to the door and didn’t move. If I lifted my gun, even a little… “Now you know why I shot the dog.” Rocco said, turning his whole body so his back was to the rest of the world, facing us, letting his feet rest on the tiled floor. “I really didn’t mean to. I’ve got no reason to kill any innocent animals anymore. There’s plenty of meat around here.” “Why me?” My voice was small and pathetic and not nearly as composed as I’d like it to be. “Why not?” Rocco shrugged again. “I don’t like you. You’re loud. Your clothes are loud. You walk up and down the Strip like you already own it. You piss away all your time and money the same way everybody else around here does. You look even more disgusted looking down from your ivory tower than you do when you’re walking amongst the great unwashed. You can’t even let yourself enjoy the view or the music. You’re a spoiled little nepotism baby with no purpose, a frivolous waste of life. Every single filthy fucking raider you hate so much has done more for the human race than you ever will in your entire fucking life. Even your own mother hates you. It’s a fucking miracle for you that no one else has tried to kill you first. That answer your question?” I wasn’t sure if I was more angry or scared. All I really knew is that he’d been planning it for a while, and it really was a miracle that he missed. A really fucked up miracle. It almost made me think I didn’t deserve it. Brutus sure as hell didn’t. “Is that all?” I asked after a moment. Rocco’s body jerked a little as he half-laughed. “No, that’s not all. I was always content with waiting for the day you die some stupid death. But somebody else sure wasn’t.” Cal perked up at that, but kept quiet. It was my turn to handle things. “Who?” I asked. “I dunno.” Rocco said. “Man didn’t give me a name. Just a few thousand caps and a polite request to blow your brains out. He just walked right up to me while I was taking potshots at some Fiends outside of Freeside. Honestly, I probably would’ve done it for free with how nice he asked.” A few thousand caps. Just a few thousand. Three thousand? Four, maybe? That was all my life was worth to someone. What was pocket change to me was more than enough to motivate almost anyone to kill me. Why wasn’t I dead yet? “Did he tell you anything else?” Cal asked when I couldn’t talk. “What’d he look like, what was he wearing?” “You’re not gonna figure out who he was with what little I know.” Rocco insisted. “He came up to me, complimented my aim, and asked if I was interested in some work. Thought it was odd, but I listened to him anyway, and he just really seemed to want the ‘courier’s kid’ dead. He gave me the caps upfront and didn’t really say anything else. Whoever he was, I think he just wanted to see some chaos. A bit misguided, though. No one would actually give a shit if you died. Hell, if anything, people around here might celebrate.” “What did he look like?” Cal repeated. “I dunno. I didn’t look at him.” Rocco said. “I was staring down my scope the whole time we talked. He sounded funny, though. Talked like he was on official business. Used big words.” “You seriously didn’t get one look at him?” Rocco was still talking, but I stopped listening. He finally stopped staring me down, actually looking at Cal as he spoke to him. It was easier to move when he wasn’t fixing me with his gaze. My hand twitched, just a little, like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to move. Like it wanted to see how perceptive he really was. When he didn’t notice, I let him talk for another moment, then raised my gun and shot him. Then I shot him again. The first bullet narrowly missed, grazing his shoulder, tearing his shirt, but it startled him enough that he dropped his rifle. The second shot went right through his pec, and I didn’t even know where the third bullet went because it knocked him down and out of the window faster than I could blink. He didn’t even scream on the way down. Cal didn’t yell at me right away. He went over to the window, looking down to see where the body fell, then checked out the rifle he dropped. He opened the magazine. “It wasn’t even loaded.” He muttered, then set the gun down in the corner. “He was gonna kill me.” I tried to say, but I choked. I covered my mouth and stared at the floor, bit my cheek until it bled, almost as hot as the spot behind my eyes. I could feel pressure building, threatening to make my head pop as I tried to blink the tears back. I couldn’t keep my eyes shut for more than a second without getting another glimpse of cold eyes and sharp teeth and ripped flesh and- “Kid?” I just choked again. Squeezed my jaw shut as hot tears streamed over my hand and down my neck. My other hand lost grip of my gun, dropping it. Instead of giving me shit, Cal just came over and picked up my gun. He didn’t give it back to me. He pocketed the gun and put a hand on my shoulder, gently. “Ten minutes, then I’m taking you home. Alright?” I didn’t look at him. It didn’t stop him from stepping out and closing the door behind him, leaving me alone. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I let go and gasped. Looking up at the window, at the blood on the sill, it made it difficult to breathe. My head was starting to pound louder than any music or yelling coming in from down below, and I really didn’t feel like alleviating that tension. I dried my eyes on my sleeve, relieved that they seemed to stop crying. There was no way in hell I’d be able to walk out of here sobbing like a bitch. I took a step closer to the window. How far down was the drop? How high up did you have to fall from to die? Did he land head-first on solid concrete? Maybe I wasn’t the one who killed him. Maybe it was just gravity. He was sitting on the ledge, looking down, maybe he was already planning on doing it himself. His rifle wasn’t loaded; he didn’t have anymore bullets to shoot himself. Maybe falling was the next best thing. I wasn’t even halfway to the window when I stopped. The yelling from outside was different, less rowdy and more… angry. If I looked down, I knew I’d be met with ants looking back up at me. I’d see a mangled old murderer in a pool of blood. I didn’t feel like losing what little lunch I’d had, so I didn’t step any closer. I instead opened the door and went back out into the hallway. Cal looked surprised to see me, but he didn’t say anything. He just started leading the way through the hotel again, and I paid even less attention to where we were going, eyes on his back. I was more focused on avoiding the stares and keeping my back straight and my stance confident. If people were gonna know I killed a man, they were gonna know I did it on purpose, and that it didn’t scare me at all.

#fnv #fonv #fallout new vegas #falloutfun #fnv fanfiction #fonv fanfiction #oc: auguste/augustus #oc: callipho

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herrlindemann · 1 year

Photo

Rock Hard - October 1997, interview with Paul

There's no question: Rammstein are definitely THE winners of the hour. The first album 'Herzeleid' is about to go platinum, the singles 'Engel' and 'Du hast' from the second album romped about in the top ten for weeks, and it was foreseeable that the long-awaited album 'Sehnsucht' would also have a huge impact . So Rammstein are well on the way to becoming the most successful German metal band of the 90's - but how are the guys dealing with the new situation?

I can still remember well when I walked past the Motor Music stand at PopKomm two years ago and I was blasted with fat guitar riffs that didn't quite fit the usual program of the Hamburg label. That was a new signing called Rammstein, I was told at the time when I was curious, and somehow I had the feeling that something big was coming our way. This impression was reinforced a few months later by the great debut album 'Herzeleid', on which the band went musically new ways and lyrically wonderfully irreverent. The best counterpoint to the burgeoning PC wave. With their fantastic, effective live shows, they were able to win more and more fans for themselves from tour to tour, but nobody would have thought that they would achieve such a huge breakthrough.

Today everyone is talking about Rammstein, but guitarist Paul Landers, who is sitting across from me, still seems quite relaxed and completely unimpressed by all the fuss that is happening around him. Nevertheless, at the beginning of our conversation, the question arises as to what has changed for Rammstein since the Top 3 hit 'Engel'.

« Actually not that much, because what looks like an overnight success for many people was a very long way for us, which we took step by step. It's like meeting a child once a year and marveling at how big they've grown while the parents don't even notice the child growing because they see it every day. On the other hand, we probably haven't even realized how successful we are at the moment. My phone rang last night and I have a woman on the other end of the line who couldn’t believe that she actually spoke to Paul von Rammstein and that I’m still in the phone book as normal. I may have to change it soon. I just think we're still down to earth and that's not going to change as things get bigger. »

I'm guessing though that mass and mainstream media interest has skyrocketed following the chart success...

« Yes, but since we are six members of the band it doesn't make any difference to us because we can split everything up. And it doesn't matter whether you're talking to Der Spiegel or a school newspaper, the questions are usually the same. »

By the way, some of your older fans were not at all enthusiastic about the fact that your record company pushed the release of 'Sehnsucht' from spring to the end of August for marketing reasons...

"Wait, it wasn't the record company's decision — we're responsible for everything, whether it's covers, videos or singles. We just do what we want, but of course let the record company advise us. Things like Aerosmith, who had to re-record some songs because the company didn't like the first versions, won't happen with us. »

But you must have felt a certain form of pressure, too — for example, the desire of the fans, who simply expect certain things from you, like ambiguous lyrics or elaborate shows, because that's one of your trademarks. You could theoretically run out of ideas...

« That's why we're holding back a bit at the moment, because we don't want to have to land a helicopter on stage next year to meet the expectations of the fans. We still have plenty of ideas, but we're only implementing them gradually so that we still have something up our sleeves. »

On your last tour, did you also have the phenomenon that occurs more frequently with chart breakers, that there were people in the audience who only knew the song 'Engel' from radio and television, but were not familiar with the old material?

« Nope, not at all, because we're not a single band like Fool's Garden, who suddenly appear out of nowhere and of which you actually only know the one song. In my opinion, apart from the title track, 'Herzeleid' only contains good songs, none of which are really suitable as a single, and it's similar with the new disc. 'Engel' pushed us like a fresh battery, but that didn't destroy the whole car. »

I recently re-read the interview I had with Paul shortly after the release of 'Herzeleid', but at the time he said Rammstein had no plans to roam the clubs for months trying to break out by force. But now everything turned out differently, because Rammstein were actually damn often on the road...

"Hm, you're wrong. We've been in the business for quite a long time and accordingly make sure that we don't get crushed. We're often on the road, but our tours are usually quite short, because our life shouldn't consist exclusively of concerts. If other bands enjoy playing up to 200 gigs over the course of a year, that's up to them — we definitely take our breaks and don't let them rush us around. We're just six friends, and when friends see each other every day over a long period of time, it really gets to you. »

Something different: On a recent trip to Sweden, I noticed that your songs are sometimes already being played in clubs there, and you've also had numerous gigs in countries like Belgium, Holland and Sweden. Looks like you're slowly starting to conquer other countries too — despite the language barrier!

«Of course, because at some point we will reach our limits in Germany. We're also excited about new tasks, because actually it's pretty boring to tour as a headliner. It's much more exciting to start all over again in new territory where nobody knows us. We also asked people after the gigs if they would like it better if we sang in English, but most of them think we should stick to German lyrics. After all, music is global and the reactions are often a bit reserved at the beginning, but after a few songs the audience is dancing. We definitely want to tackle the American market in the near future. »

Not a bad idea. In any case, I could well imagine that the Americans are crazy about Rammstein's music - and with such a show you run into open doors there anyway.

Change of subject: The songs for 'Sehnsucht' were all written before the big breakthrough came in the form of 'Engel'. Accordingly, the pressure should not have been too great. Don't you pee your pants thinking about the songwriting for the third disc? After all, you then have to top an absolutely successful album...

« The pressure can't get any bigger, because the first disc was definitely a great success for us. In principle, the songwriting for the next record will be more relaxed for us because we now know that everything will be fine as long as we only listen to ourselves. We've learned that things only ever go bad for us when we let other people talk us into it or when not all band members are present at the creation. So it's our job to make sure that despite all the stuff that's pouring down on us, the band's chemistry is still right. »

Was it an advantage for you that you played many of the songs from the second album live before the studio date?

"Yes and no. The advantage was certainly that we could test the reactions of the fans to the piece. The downside is that the more times you play a song live, the sooner you get fed up with it and have to start composing new material again. »

In the photo session for 'Sehnsucht', Rammstein worked with Gottfried Helnwein, a well-known and respected photo artist who, however, has recently been the subject of negative talk because of his alleged membership in the Schientology skete. Has this collaboration had any negative effect on Rammstein?

"Unfortunately not," laughs Paul. « I wouldn't think it was so bad if we were also put a little in the Scientology corner, which maybe isn't so far-fetched after all...»

The wide grin on the guitarist's face shows that this statement is not meant too seriously, but what’s the saying? Any promotion is good promotion!

"We spoke to Helnwein again after that ominous article appeared in 'Stern'," Paul picks up the thread again, " and I can only say one thing: if the 'Stern' article about Helnwein contains as much truth as their article about Rammstein, then Helnwein is a CDU politician... In addition, the book that the story was primarily about will not appear at all because it is completely far-fetched. Some reports in 'Stern' are apparently as fictitious as stories in 'Neue Spezial'.”

Let's address two critical issues again: Recently, photographers have had to view the photos at your concerts, which gives your management the right, so to speak, and only release certain pics for publication. It's a practice that's especially familiar from big British bands, with the difference, however, that under German law their contracts aren't valid anyway and you can ignore them. However, your management could actually control the photo selection and also use the image material, e.g. from our photographers, for your own purposes free of charge. Why this harassment?

« One of the reasons for this action was - believe it or not - that we don't have any live pics of us in the archive at all, even though we played quite a lot. We also wanted to prevent a picture of Till with the burning coat from being printed in every newspaper. In any case, it's not about wanting to prevent the publication of image material, which we might not have been very good at, or anything like that. We've already considered whether we shouldn't do the same with articles about us, but this doesn't apply to the rock magazines, which thank God only print what we really say, but rather to the countless scraps of paper that sometimes pull unbelievable nonsense out of our fingers that we never uttered. The 'Stern' wrote, for example, that at Rammstein gigs only 30- to 4-year-old mustaches with checkered shirts and beer bellies are in the audience. It's quite funny, but it gets on your nerves in the long run. But actually we can live with all suspicions quite well - as long as we are not put in the right corner. »

The issue should be over by now...

"Are you kidding me? Are you serious when you say that. Of course, everyone who now knows us personally has long since understood that we have nothing to do with it, but thanks to our success, new media are constantly approaching us, and we have to start all over again with the educational work. »

What remains is your quarrel with J.B.O. — what did the boys actually do to you that you or your record company make life so difficult for the boys?

« There is actually no dispute with J.B.O. — we don't think the matter is as bad as it is currently being portrayed by all sides. »

Well, at least J.B.O. sign a cease and desist letter and re-record the track 'A Little Peace'...

« I think it was just that we weren't credited with the music, although it's clearly our samples that J.B.O. have used there. Okay, I also feel a bit guilty because I may not have paid enough attention to this topic, but with the current situation you lose track here and there. If I always ironed out management or record company mistakes, I would go insane. Someone from J.B.O. called me privately, after which I got in touch with our record company and told them to please come to an amicable agreement with the band. If you do a cover version, you just have to register it beforehand. For example, we wanted to change the 'Das Model' by Kraftwerk covers and the lyric to " She's a whore and she's good-looking ". Kraftwerk didn't agree with that, and that was the end of the matter. J.B.O. didn't ask beforehand, which isn't a bad thing, because if another band plays a song of yours, it means that your song must be really good. One day someone called us and wanted to change a line of text from the track 'Rammstein' to "Rammstein - bad breath is in the air" - as long as he reports it, we have no problem with it. I know how difficult it is to finish a record and I'm really sorry that J.B.O. had to stamp a part of their CD because of this. In the future I'll make sure that something like this doesn't happen again, but of course I can't take care of everything — after all, I also have to make music on the side... »

#Rammstein #Paul Landers #Till Lindemann #Christoph Schneider #Flake #Oliver Riedel #Richard Kruspe #interview #translation #*scans #1997 #*

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 years

Text

A Moment's Surprise--Chapter 3

Whether it's called an accident or the fates of the universe, you and Calum find yourselves taking on the next level of your relationship: parenthood.

Reader (Gender Neutral) X Calum. Multi-chapter Series.

Series Note: Across this series, pregnancy is discussed thoroughly. While I have made this series specifically a reader insert and have done my best to avoid coding for cis women, I am taking this moment to acknowledge that this content may not be suitable for every reader. I want to acknowledge even if I've been careful some things (like uteri) are still mentioned and if that causes you discomfort please DO NOT read this. You may keep scrolling (as there is a read more) / skip this as necessary.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3

“Okay, so,” Joy starts, glancing up from the rim of her glasses. It took two months for Joy to get things straightened out enough to come out for the remainder of your pregnancy. And you’re glad for it as now more bouts of morning sickness and fatigue riddled your days. “We’ve got the baby registry together, correct?”

You nod. “Yes. Just heard back from Calum yesterday about the things he wants to add. We had to go with the second rocking chair. Calum--well, we won’t get into that,” you laugh, running a hand over your slight bump. At eighteen weeks, you weren’t showing too much, but you knew.

Joy laughs at your comment. “He’s just nervous.”

Calum wanted everything baby related with the highest safety ratings. You wanted things that would help promote motor skills and other development milestones. It was a struggle sometimes not only just to disagree but to also have hefty time zone differences. When difficult conversations had to be had, Calum’s day was ending as yours was just beginning and yours was ending just as his was ending. Text wasn’t the platform for these conversations either. There were a lot of early morning calls.

Joy took special care not to intervene in those conversations nor to take sides. Her go-to line was, “All I need is a happy grandbaby.” And currently, though Joy is letting you know that Calum’s particular current quirk is because of fear, it’s not a malicious rebuttal to you. Because you know if Calum were to get huffy about your desires, Joy would simply state you just want to raise an independent and confident child. The street with Joy goes two ways.

“I know he is,” you return. “So am I.”

“Being nervous is natural. Nothing wrong with it. But if the registry is super set, then we should be a bit more at when do you want the baby shower? I think I have Calum’s tour schedule here somewhere.” She shuffles through the pages you printed down for you. You’ve easily pulled up the schedule from the saved document on your desktop but you wait for her to find it in her pile. Though Joy was quite comfortable with technology, she still prefered her paper files.

Once Joy finds it, you skim over your screen.“Biggest chunk of time off is between the North American leg and the Australia dates.”

“There’s a show in September right?” Joy asks.

“Yeah, I have a date for later that month.” Joy hums writing something down in her notebook off to the side. You tack on, “Looks like there’s time too in July and August.”

“You want the baby shower a little closer to the due date. Let’s look into September or October.”

You nod. “Didn’t know that.”

Joy laughs. “Neither did I before Mali. But I think you two should talk more about that. I just want to put it on your radar.”

“I’m going to run the poor man ragged,” you tease.

“The only way to make sure he’s okay is to ask him. Besides, he did put you in this position. I love him, but let’s be honest.”

You snort at Joy’s tease. “I’m going to let that one stay between us,” you state.

“Fair enough. But truly having a baby is no easy feat and it is tiring from start until finish in all sorts of new ways as they get older. But you two will always have me.”

You know Joy is right. Things would obviously be slightly easier if Calum wasn’t touring. But in the end, this is the timing that’s been handed to the both of you. In the end, this is the decision that you two agreed on.

From her spot at the dining room table, Joy spots the time. She pushes up from the kitchen table. “What do you want for lunch, dear? There’s leftovers, but I can cook too if there’s anything in particular?”

“Can you make those breaded chicken tenderloins again?” you ask, turning in the chair a little.

Joy grins. “Of course. Salad too?”

“Fine, Mom,” you laugh. Joy wags one finger up over her shoulder at you, like she’s agreeing with your teasing job. Your phone buzzes and you turn back to glance at it.

How’s today? It’s a text from Calum.

You free?

The response to your text is a call lighting up your phone. You answer the request for a FaceTime call and a moment later you can see Calum’s face filling the screen. “Hey, babe,” he says with a smile. “Hi, Mum!”

“Hey,” the two of you echo back at him. Joy laughs just a little as you ask, “What time is it for you?”

Calum glances off to the side for a moment as the cacophony of shouts interrupts through the line. He moves to somewhere slightly quieter, the slight shake of his phone alerts you to the movement. “Show just ended an hour ago or so, we’re closing in around midnight I’d reckon. How are you?”

“Good, today’s been a nice day. Chickadee hasn’t raised too much hell.”

“Glad to hear it. I did some more research on the floor beds and I will say I do like the idea of it. Just take it slow with me. I don’t want my Pumpkin growing up too fast,” Calum states.

“Once I’m done growing them, I’ll give them the memo,” you tease.

Calum’s tuft of laughter is soft. “I had a bummer thought which is why I called instead of just texting.”

It’s bad. Whatever it is, it is bad for Calum to even mention it to you. “Uh oh, what’s the bummer thought?”

“I’m realizing how close your due date is to the Oceania tour dates.”

“Cal, it’s just an estimate.”

“I know,” he returns. “But still. The thought that I could make the choice to continue shows and you’d go into labor without me there--it scares me. I don’t want to miss that.”

The fates really were up to the gods, but you understand the fear. With the timing of everything, you were looking at the first week of November as your due date. However, as your doctor mentioned, due dates weren’t perfect. It was briefly considered given Calum’s touring schedule if the two of you should go more for elective C-section. The risks and the fact that any more pregnancies later in life would also have to be delivered by a C-sections halted the conversations early in their tracks.

“We’ll keep hoping things line up,” you offer.

“There still is time, yeah,” Calum nods.

“Do you want a distraction or just to sort of vent?” you ask. While you want to help Calum, you know sometimes it’s just about the emotional release more than anything else.

Calum shakes his head. “Distraction. There’s time to pout later.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Love, I’m the one that got you pregnant so you don’t have to apologize.”

“I was an enthusiastic and willing partner too in this so…,” you point out, foregoing the urge to tell Calum that Joy made the exact same joke earlier. Calum laughs in return. “But that’s not the actual distraction. Baby shower is.”

“Isn’t this like…way too early?”

“You’re the one that’s touring, mister. We have to work around your schedule.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right. You’re trying to plan in advance for the date?”

You nod. “Yes. Momma Joy has informed me that closer to the due date is better. You have the show in late September. But we could do it before or in October. I think my concern is that you actually have time on your breaks to relax.”

“We’ve got a little one to prepare for. Not too many breaks will be just relaxing with me being gone on tour.”

It’s a fact you had grown intimately familiar with as more doctor’s visits lined up and more things seemed to pile up for the house. “My uncle’s visiting when the Mexico leg starts up to help with the heavy lifting for Joy and I, so there’s that thankfully.”

Calum hums at the news. “That’s a relief, truly. I was worried. There’s that shelf to be taken down and the bed.”

“Trust me Joy wouldn’t let me think of trying to take those down. I think quite literally if the thought crossed my mind, she’d give me the look.” You attempt to recreate the quite stern glance Joy no doubt perfected over the years. Calum laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling at the action. “Not trying to witness that more than necessary.”

“It’s not a fun look to receive. You know it’s not because she’s angry, just disappointed and it’s ten times worse. But I’m 90% sure that the September gig is on a Saturday. But let’s aim for a date range of one week before and one week after?”

You nod, taking one of the pens residing on the table and making a note. “Sounds good.”

“Monday for you, what will basically be Tuesday for me, is your next appointment correct?”

“Yes.”

Calum hums to signal him hearing you. “I need a bump update soon.”

You pop your head up. The slight drop is his voice being all too familiar to your ears. Without alerting Joy, you scramble to find your headphones. All you do is signal to Calum to give you a moment and then you scurry as quickly as you to the backyard. When the house turns to sunlight and Calum spots the white resting inside your ears, he exhales. “Do you know how hard it is? You’re so…god,” he sighs.

“You did say I’d be hot pregnant. I just wasn’t expecting this.”

You watch as his head drops into the wall behind him. He grazes his teeth over his bottom lip as if the thought is still lingering in his mind.

“Fuck,” he hums and then takes just a second to shake his head, an action to clear away some of the thoughts. “It’s like, yes, absolutely would love to make love to you--no question. But also, I want to hold your bump you know? Just talk to the little one, be there to force you to sit down and take it easy.”

“There’s a break in a week,” you offer it gently, but even Calum catches the slight hitch to your voice.

“I need it. I need you,” he whispers. “And like, I don’t mean it solely like that, sexually. I mean it is just as plain as it sounds. I think I’m driving the guys and the rest of the crew insane.”

“Soon, love. There are some perks to pregnancy.” You seal the sentiment with a wink.

“Oh, don’t do that to me. You’re stirring an already boiling pot.”

With a playful shrug, you grin. “Maybe I’m looking to boil it over.”

“I know a spot for that,” he returns with a laugh. His name is called from somewhere off to the side and Calum catches more of it than you. He exhales deeply. “Getting rounded up. So--I’ll double check the September show, we’ll look for venues for the baby shower, and you’re sending me a bump picture as soon as you can.”

“Yes, yes, and, definitely.”

“Love you and let Pumpkin know I love them too. And Mum.”

You nod. “I will let all parties know.”

___________________________

You and Joy sit at the dining room table but both of you are clearly more attuned to the front door than anything else. Joy asked Calum early in the week if he wanted her to pick him up but the thing that worried Calum was that if fans spotted Joy then they’d have questions about why she was in the States. If those questions started he’s sure that it wouldn’t be super long until they started questioning where you’d gone or what was going on with you. Though you weren’t active much at all on social media in terms of actually posting things, anything you did post would be subject to close scrutiny. Neither you or Calum truly wanted to announce the pregnancy as it alone was already a lot to work with given the tour at this particular moment. It was subject to change, but right now it felt too new and too fragile to be announced to the public.

So you and Joy stayed home, letting the car that the band always had pick him up and drop him off at home. But the two of you are waiting and waiting. Your leg bounces as you break apart the same piece of cookie into smaller and smaller pieces. You flick your gaze over to the door. Duke is also posed on the couch, head positioned in the direction of the door as if he knows exactly what everyone else is waiting for. A smile crosses your face and then you look back down at the plate.

When you look up again, Joy is smiling over at you. You know she knows. “Joy, don’t look at me,” you laugh, covering your face.

“I’m glad he has you,” she says instead. “And though, I was hoping I’d get to see you two going down the aisle before this and I won’t let him get away with that so easily, I’m really really glad he has you.”

It did seem, sometimes when you thought about it, that things were happening too in ways that you hadn’t anticipated. “Life has a funny way of working things out.”

She nods. “That it does.” Her phone chimes and she pushes up just a little to check in. “Oh Mali, the earth is still spinning,” she chuckles mostly to herself. To you, she asks, “Have you thought about baby names?”

“Shit!” you exclaim. How’d you forget to look at names? Why wasn’t that the first thing on your mind?

Joy grins. “Hey, no. There’s time. You’ve got many things on your mind. That’s why I’m here. Give me some of those things, dear. I’m not going to be spending a year out here for nothing.”

“A year?” you ask. You thought she was just saying until Calum’s tour finished.

“Yeah. You thought I’d just up and leave to the other side of the world without spending a few months with my grandbaby. Oh, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Joy--that’s your whole left you’ve put on pause. What do you mean?”

She shakes her head, a brighter smile lighting up her face. “Sweetheart, my whole life is right there.” She points to your abdomen. The gesture turns grander to the house around you. “Right here. I only dreamed of my children getting opportunities like this. We lived paycheck to paycheck and there were plenty of nights where I stayed up trying to crunch numbers. My kids have surpassed everything I could conceive of for them. I get to grow older, watch them grow up. Spoil grandbabies. That sounds a lot like life to me.”

“When you put it like that, yeah it does,” you nod. You take a quick second to wipe your cheeks. “Joy, I know I say it like five thousand times a day, but I appreciate you being here. Like a lot. When I found out I was pregnant, I felt like I was underwater and I’d forgotten how to breathe. I still feel like that sometimes. But I need it. I know I asked for it--the help. But it’s like you expect a certain level of help but I don’t know. It just means a lot. I’m babbling and I don’t know what else to say but thank you.”

“You’re beyond welcome, hon. Now, please actually eat the cookie before I do. I’ve already had three. No more.”

You pop a piece into your mouth even with a watery smile. “Yes ma’am.”

Duke pops, front paws resting on the couch arm rest and lets out a bark. He goes like he’s going to leap from the couch, but you’re quick to pop up from the seat. “What is it?” you ask. You know Duke can’t answer, but still the question falls easily for your lips.

Not too soon after the question falls, there’s the distinct click of the door unlocking. You continue to the couch to help Duke down. The door opens up and Calum with backpack and suitcase in hand stands on the other side of the door. His smile is brilliant after landing his gaze on you. You reach out to pull the suitcase further inside. “I got it,” he laughs, but you don’t stop realizing that you don’t quite have the breath to talk gazing up at Calum. Duke is steadily barking at his feet and Calum is quick to pick up the small dog. “Hey, I’m back, buddy. Missed me?”

“Aye, the man of the hour,” Joy comments, before briefly kissing Calum on his cheek.

“Hi, Mum,” he returns, giving her a quick hug. You catch Joy’s voice but can’t hear the exact words she passes along to Calum. He flicks his gaze over to you and a small blush takes over his cheeks. “Mum, please.”

“I only speak the truth,” she returns and takes Duke from Calum. “We’ll give you two some privacy. But I mean it, son.”

“I know you do,” Calum sighs, slipping the backpack from his shoulders.

The moment Calum turns back to face you, you slide yourself up to his chest, arms encasing his waist. You burrow your head into his sternum. His shirt holds the smell of the airport’s lingering scent and beneath it is the faint hint of nicotine. The heaviest edge that dances in your nose is his own natural musk. It’s all just Calum in your arms.

“Hey,” he whispers, arms wrapping around your shoulders.

Calum’s left before. It happens. You’ve always known how to handle the distances that his job sometimes takes him. It could be the constant flux of hormones, or the fatigue that seemed to be settling in deeply at every turn for you. But the embrace you share with Calum sends a wave of emotion through you. The tears sting at first, for just a moment and then the wave breaks the dam. You shake into his chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” Calum states. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m just glad you’re back. And I’m horny. And I’m hungry,” you answer.

Calum’s chuckle shakes through his chest and yours. “We can tackle all of those, I promise.” He takes half a step back. Tears are slipping down your cheeks but you’re smiling and it gives him a prompt to smile too. His thumbs swipe gently at your cheeks. “I know you’re going to holler at me about taking an actual break, but this weekend, just the two of us are going to take a little drive up the coast okay.”

“The weekend’s like your whole break?” It’s not really, but the weekend would be a third of this break.

“And I’d always want to spend it with you.” Calum’s palms are warm against your cheek, long fingers almost wrapping around to the back of your head as he cradles your face.

“This weekend, up the coast?”

Calum nods. “I promise it’s nothing crazy. Just a little getaway.” Your silence lingers, eyes darting across his face. The tears have slowed. “It’ll take care of one of those issues you listed off earlier.”

Your laughter falls easily when Calum sends a wink your way. “Will there be time for baby names?”

“Absolutely,” Calum agrees. “I’ve already been thinking of some ideas.”

“I’m so behind on that front.”

“No, you’re doing other things. Like trying to redo the guest room, putting together the registry, thinking about the baby shower. You’ve still got your job too. There’s only so many hours in the day, love.”

You tuck yourself back into Calum’s chest and nod at his statement. You miss his scent. It left the sheets after the third wash. There’s still some shirts and occasionally you dress his pillow in one but it’s not the same. Nothing is better than Calum right here in front of you. His lips are gently against the top of your head. There’s no rush as the two of you remain in the embrace.

Calum takes it upon himself to fix you and Joy dinner. As he cooks, he takes small breaks to rest a hand on your growing stomach. It’s a reminder--the physical reminder that all the long calls and mornings spent browsing too many parents and baby websites is actually for something. Over the sizzle of the pans and through the laughter of you and Joy, Calum’s sure he’s floating. He’s sure none of it is real and yet, when you walk behind him, your hands brush over his lower back, he’s reminded that it is all real.

Tagging: @carma-fanficaddict @one-sweet-gubler

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood fluff #calum hood x reader #calum 5sos #calum hood x gender neutral reader #h writes #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #tw: pregnancy

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