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silverzoomies · 10 months

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Polaroid

peter maximoff x reader smut

warnings: solo masturbation. that's pretty much it, sorry

word count: 2,625

a/n: i wrote about him jerking off again. whoops. i've been absent for a week. but i'll be home tomorrow !! and hopefully i can get back into the flow of writing. until then, here's this rushed, unpolished thing i wrote on a whim !! it's super clunky and i'm so sorry lol !!

edit: made some minor changes to this. fixed some things that felt off, but overall it's still the same idea.

taglist: @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @icannot3 @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz (as usual, ask to be added !!)

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Home alone, at long last. Helllllllz to the yeah. Down in the heart of his (mom’s) basement, Peter lies lazily on his back in bed. Today, it's one of those slow, hot afternoons midway through summer. Sunny, with a slight overcast. Peter hasn’t been outside to see it for himself. But he heard some guy on the radio call it “totally tubular” weather for a day at the beach.

He almost wishes he’d take a two second run to the Bahamas, or somewhere else. Peter could kick it back on a towel and watch babes in bikinis walk by. Maybe he could even stir up some trouble in the sand. Like he used to do, way back in his childhood. Just for some extra mayhem.

Alas. Today, Peter feels lazier than lazy. He’s found a new name for himself in Lazyville. As the leading candidate in the office of laziness. Speeding all around the globe for the umpteenth time this week sounds like too much work. Even a super powered mutant, living life in the fast lane, has his off days sometimes. What’s one break, eh? Breathing a sigh, he stares up at the ceiling. Earphones rest over his ears. Peter listens to a melodious tune by Jefferson Starship. Over his belly, he twirls his thumbs, bobbing his head along with his jams. Chillaxin’ and relaxin’ as one should on his day off. Hm.

Except, Peter’s kind of antsy. No one’s home at the moment. He has all this free time to do whatever he wants, in the privacy of said home. With not a soul around to judge him, or even bug him. And listen. It’s been centuries since he got off. Which may or may not be a slight exaggeration.

But wouldn’t you believe it? Despite his uniquely handsome features and outrageously fit bod; Peter has absolutely no game whatsoever. Crazy, right? Who woulda thought it? The dude who locked himself away in his (mom’s) basement for a good ten years. He’s awkward as hell? Say it ain’t so! Whoa!! Insane in the membrane!!!

Not to mention, it might as well have been a geological age since he got laid. Whatever. Who needs the companionship of someone else to have a totally righteous time, huh? Haha…

Ahem.

Today, Peter dubs himself the crowned king of slacking off and jacking off.

Pulling his earphones down to rest around his neck, his fingers move to find his jeans. He teases himself for a beat or two, his palm rubbing over the denim. Another beat, and his cock is freed from the tight, restrictive material. Peter makes a mental note: He might need to invest in looser pants. This pair is rough and uncomfortable around his legs, so he shoves them all the way down to his ankles with virtually no shame.

What does it matter anyway? For the time being, he’s free. At least until his mom gets back, that is. He should really stop thinkin’ about that. Every time Peter remembers - oh, yeah - he’s a grown ass man still living at his mom’s place; it kinda wrecks the vibe. Makes the mood crash and burn. Total boner killer. And he’s not even hard yet.

His half-hard cock rests limply over a curly patch of silver hairs. Peter would never admit it to anyone, but he’s always been self conscious of his hair situation. Some chick back in high school - he can’t even remember her name - said his silvery bush “looked really weird.” Like the pubes of some geriatric.

Peter can barely picture her face at this point. But the sound of her giggling at his expense is, unfortunately, locked away in his brain forever. Another embarrassing memory to withstand the test of time. Probably until he dies, or becomes a geriatric himself.

What was he doing again? Oh. Right.

Peter gives his dick a firm squeeze, like he’s checking to make sure it’s still there. Before taking the semi-hard length into his hand. Slowly, he strokes himself to hardness. Breathing a relieved sigh, Peter settles into the groovy-patterned sheets of his bed. The smooth tip of his cock inches through his closed fist with every stroke. As his frustration blossoms, his length throbs with an intense longing for something more.

Thick veins pulsate under his hand. Sparkling beads of precum leak from his tip. He coats the head in a generous glaze of slickness, eliciting a hushed noise from the depths of his throat. Keeping himself as quiet as humanly possible is basically a instinctive response. But he doesn’t have to hold himself back right now, does he?

Sweet. Peter’s gonna be as loud and obnoxious as he wants.

Pumping his cock a bit faster, he momentarily stops to fondle his balls. They rest heavy in his palm, smooth to the touch and loose between his fingers. After teasing himself impatiently, Peter redirects his attention to his twitching length. Aching for more stimulation. He jerks off with a pleasurable rhythm. Subconsciously following the beat that resonates from his earphones, his strokes fall into a more consistent pace. He leans further back in bed, letting his lips part. His nerves tingle. And as he revels in the sensation, he loudly moans. Letting the noise rip through the silence of his ( mom’s ) basement.

Said basement has now become more stifling. Kudos to the summertime heat for that one. Peter’s Conan the Barbarian T-Shirt - now damp with his sweat - feels like too much of a hindrance. He pulls the fabric up, letting his upper half breath. With his shirt clamped between his teeth, Peter leaves his body exposed. A sheen of sweat coats his abs, and his pecs raise with each labored breath he takes.

He takes a half second to admire his own physique. Honestly? No bullshit? His body looks pretty damn amazing. If only there were someone around to appreciate how naturally jacked he is. It’s a hell of a tragedy, really. All this smokin’ hot, speedster bod goin’ to waste. Tsk tsk tsk.

Who was he even kidding? Why would anyone wanna waste their time messin’ around with a total shut-in like him?

Dammit. Now's not the time for some hateful, self-ribbing. He should distract himself with something. Something like-

Using the gift of his mutation, Peter increases his speed by a few notches. His fist squeezes tightly around his length, stroking his cock even faster. He groans into his shirt, knitting his brows as arousal washes through his groin in waves. It feels good. Really fucking good.

But it’s not enough. He wants to utilize this free time as much as he can. It’s the perfect opportunity to get even more frisky than he usually would. Peter bolts around the basement, searching for a few hidden…uh…treasures, we’ll call them. In a blink, he reappears on his bed, leaving his overly tight jeans and boxers discarded on the floor.

Lying next to Peter over the wrinkled blankets, rest a bottle of lube - the tingly kind, a stroker toy - clear, with literal, silver lining, and a polaroid photo. The toy hasn’t been used in eons, but its quality is still up to par. Peter made sure to clean it the instant he found it again. And the photo, well…

It’s his own, filthy secret.

A low-res, high flash picture taken of you at last year’s, X-mansion, Halloween party. Whoa, mama. You were scantily clad in the most outrageously suggestive Indiana Jones costume Peter ever saw. Back at the party, you even tipped your hat and cracked the whip a couple of times. Which may or may not have awakened something in him. But that’s beside the point.

You were so tipsy that night. Way more flirtatious than you naturally would be any other day. Peter remembers you pressing your body against his, hanging over him all night like a sexy sack of potatoes. He sat next to you on the couch. With a cheesy grin on his face, he watched your every move. The tiny shorts you were wearing kept riding up your thighs. It was obvious you were braless under a tight, cropped, button-up shirt. Leaving so little to the imagination.

Point blank, it was fucking awesome.

You crossed your smooth legs. One over the other. And you leaned in to whisper something hot in Peter’s ear.

“Take a picture with meeeee, Quickie, I wanna remember this moment forrrever and everrrr.” You pleaded, your breath tickling the skin of his neck.

What followed, he hadn’t seen coming. As someone - it’s all a blur, Peter can’t remember who - snapped the photo, you pressed your glossy lips to his cheek. Your giggles were so coquettish and teasing, he felt shivers race through his body at mach speed.

“I’m, like, sooooooooo scared of snakes. Geddit? ‘Cuz I’m Indiana? But your snake doesn’t scare me. Can I pet it, pllllleeeassse?” You giggled again with a little whine.

Making an abrupt move, you reached for Peter’s crotch in front of everybody. After zipping away to grab you a solo cup full of water and some bread, Peter snatched the photo from whoever. And he bolted home in a fit of shameful embarrassment.

In retrospect, you weren’t just tipsy. You were majorly smashed. You didn’t remember a single minute of it. Figures. He’s not too surprised you wouldn’t remember flirting with him.

Peter sighs, blinking himself out of the memory. Eager to continue his once-in-a-silver-moon, jerkin’ session. He squeezes a fair amount of lube into his palm, wrapping his large hand tightly around his cock. Over every inch of his aching length, he spreads the slick substance. Tingles sparkle like stars across the hot, velvet skin of his cock. Wet noises echo lewdly through the basement, as Peter pumps his leaking dick fast and hard.

Clenching his shirt between his teeth, Peter tilts his head back. A loud, seething moan slips from his lips, slightly muffled. He pauses again, grabbing the stroker and guiding its smooth slit over the swollen head of his cock.

“MMmmmnnn~!” Peter hums a steady moan, exhaling through his nose.

The inside of the toy feels nothing even remotely close to the real thing. Kind of a bummer. But the tunnel’s soft, bumpy ridges are still a double A plus. A little too good sometimes, actually. The toy slides down Peter’s cock as he pushes his entire length through. It’s a tight fit around him. Tighter than it should be. Which is doing wonders for his confidence. Maybe he should be more proud of his size.

He’s above average enough, the small toy can’t contain the length of him entirely. His weeping tip peeks out the other side of the stroker, prodding through with every pump. Peter breathes another, shuddering moan. His brows crease in pleasure. Pumping his cock with the squishy toy, he whines in desperation. Forcing his thick length through the toy’s tight grip, slick with lube and smooth as silk. The ridges inside tickle and massage his cock, stimulating his buzzing nerves.

The muscles in his groin tighten, stiffening his legs. Shoving his cock rapidly through the ribbed tunnel of the toy, he groans louder. Letting his needy noises slip as they please. Fuck it. No restraint. Indulging himself further in his degeneracies, Peter keeps your photo close by. He shoots a glance at it, admiring your soft thighs and amazing cleavage.

He daydreams about you. Imagining the way you’d feel around him, squeezing him so much tighter than any toy. You’d be needy and wet for him too, making it so easy for Peter to bury himself balls deep inside you.

Peter thinks about the way your titties would look, bouncing with each thrust of his hips against you. Would your nipples peak, stiffening under his fingers? How would you react if he had a little fun, and teased you with a superspeed buzz? Would you even like that? Would you think that kinda thing was weird?

He really does want you sooooo bad. But you have absolutely zero idea. Peter knows he’d treat you right if you let him. If you ever gave him the time of day outside of missions, he’d take you on the wildest ride you ever strapped yourself into.

Clenching his teeth hard into his shirt, he wraps both hands tightly around the stroker. Peter leans as far back as he can, bracing his feet flat on the bed. The blankets curl under his toes, as he lifts his hips. Driving his cock through the slick, textured toy and fucking it hard.

“Nnghh…fuuuuck. Fuck.” He groans, voice catching under fabric.

His breaths quicken, and his moans morph into desperate whimpers. Peter aches for your heat, and the closeness of your body. Your gentle touch. Your sweet voice and little whines. He knows, without a doubt, you’d feel beyond amazing. And you’d probably taste so sublime.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, Peter whimpers into his shirt. Saliva seeps through the fabric, melting off his tongue and dribbling down his chin. His cheeks burn hotter, turning a brighter shade of crimson.

“Mmmmmfuckyeah-” Peter moans, followed by a muffled mumble of your name.

He fucks his cock through the toy at rapid, superspeed. Lifting his hips off the bed as if roughly drilling into your tight heat. Peter’s cock throbs as powerful surges of electricity erupt in the pit of his belly. Glossy, white streaks of cum spill from his tip, flooding over the toy. Dripping down the squishy sides of it. His cum stuffs the inside full, coating his dick in its stickiness. Peter thrusts his cock fast enough to appear a blur, until he’s completely spent.

Lying in a sweaty heap over his blankets, Peter pants easy breaths. Tousled, silver hair rests messily over his head. He pulls the stroker from his cock, and slick cum trails after it. Wet and thick against his softening dick. He throws his head back into the bed, taking a moment to compose himself.

It’s really crazy that he’s thinkin’ about you like this, isn’t it? He’s honestly really embarrassed by it. Peter grabs the polaroid and stares at it longingly, unable to suppress the grin pressing into his dimple. Damn. He just can’t help himself. No matter what, he’s kinda ride or die for you.

If only he had the balls to tell you up front.

Peter gazes at the photo for a few seconds too long. Lost in the sight of your sexy body again. You’re such a goddamn knockout. He guides his attention to his dick to find…he’s rock hard again? Seriously? Dropping his head onto the bed, Peter groans with agonizing frustration. He just can’t catch a break, can he? Why’s he always gotta be so antsy, so on edge, or so horny all the time??

A faint sound, like creaking wood, graces his ears. Peter tilts his head up instantly.

Only to be greeted by none other than the unexpected sight of you.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck-

You’re standing in his ( mom’s ) basement with your mouth agape. A faint indication of blush paints your cheeks, though he can barely see it. Peter should be moving. He should do what a speedster naturally would do in this kinda situation: Clean up and dress himself in less than a blink’s time. Just to play innocent afterwards. Maybe he could gaslight you into thinking you didn’t watch him get his rocks off.

But he’s stunned to the point of being frozen. Neither of you make a single move. Except for Peter’s dick. It twitches subconsciously in his lap, catching your attention. And your eyes widen further.

He really should’ve gone to the Bahamas. Peter’s betting those beaches are seriously bangin’ at this time of year.

#peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #smut

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constantlywriting1 · 1 year

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Everywhere: Warren Rojas x F!Reader

Pairing: Warren Rojas x F! Reader

Warnings: Drugs, Alcohol, and implied sex

Summary: You are being interviewed for the tell all story on Daisy Jones and The Six, but all you can seem to talk about is Warren. This is the events of your story with him and how it all panned out. This is the first part to what I am expecting to make a three part series.

Y/N: Living in Pittsburgh wasn’t at all interesting. I used to go to a catholic school, all girls. It was the worst. Being closed in like that only made me want to do all the things I wasn’t supposed to. My parents practically locked me in my room back then. They would find me somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be and I’d be grounded for months.

Warren: But she never stopped going out. She was everywhere. We’d go for a gig at some random bar in town and there she was in the front row cheering louder than anyone.

Y/N: When I met Warren the Dunne Brothers were barely what they would become. It was more of a hobby, but I liked saying I knew a guy in a band. My parents hated that I hung out with him. Of course they thought we were screwing and that really got under their skin. It wasn’t true… but I never denied it.

Eddie: I didn’t like her very much back then. I mean, for all I knew she was a total tease. I saw the way she acted with Warren, but they would never do anything. After a while you start to wonder what the hell is going on. But I didn’t know her like he did.

Graham: She was sleeping with some guy from the corporate offices downtown. He was married with kids and he was promising some sort of life for the two of them on the side. I remember when she told me that. I just felt so bad. She really believed him and Warren really liked her. It was just a mess.

Y/N: Yeah, I don’t know, he was nice to me. His name isn’t important but yes he was married. I was 17 and he was somewhere in his 30s. It wasn’t right and I knew that then, but I felt validated by him. He was the only adult in my life who treated me like an adult in every way. I do want to be clear though, it was not my job as a teenager to make sure this man stood true to his vows. I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to be loved.

Warren: I loved her, even back then. But I knew it didn’t matter. She genuinely thought that’s what she deserved and there was nothing I could do about it. She was just my friend and I decided to wait it out.

Y/N: I always liked Warren. He was following his dreams and I wanted to be just like him. But I didn’t have any dreams back then. I couldn’t see a future for myself that I enjoyed. I was living for everyone else back then and I didn’t see that ever stopping.

Billy: We met Rod and we knew we were going to California, all of us except Chuck. It wasn’t really a question, in my head at least. Warren was a little torn up about leaving her behind, but there was nothing we could do. She wasn’t coming, and honestly I just thought she was trouble all around.

Y/N: He said that? [laughs]. I wasn’t trouble to anyone but myself. Billy always looked at me like he could see right into my soul. When I’d see him around town it was always that same look. He was disgusted, and I wanted to shove it right in his face. Sometimes I’d imagine myself just walking up to him and saying Hey asshole, you know I’m not blind right? How about you mind your own business and I’ll do the same. But I knew better than to say that to him. Everyone in Pittsburgh had Billy Dunne’s dick in their mouth and I, surprisingly, seemed to be the only one who didn’t.

Warren: I wasn’t gonna ask her to come with us. I’d mentioned it in conversation a few times, just telling her that we were thinking about leaving, but she never seemed interested so I never asked.

Y/N: He didn’t have to ask me. Things were going down hill with my… partner at the time. His wife had caught on to his sneaky behavior and I could tell he was trying to figure out a way to leave me without causing a big scene. Between that and my parents getting increasingly less cool, I started to seriously consider my options. Warren told me when they were leaving and I didn’t say anything. I was still thinking it over, wondering if there was a chance with the older guy and hoping that somehow my relationship with my parents would miraculously fix itself in the three days that I had before the van left for California.

Of course none of that happened, and in those three days I realized that it never would.

The van was leaving on a Saturday morning. I had graduated high school by then and there was nothing holding me back in Pittsburgh. I stood up all night that Friday, packing my belongings into a tiny pink suitcase and thinking about whether or not I was making the right choice. By the time my bag was fully packed, the sun had barely started to rise. I sat down on my bed, my room looking nothing like the one I had spent my life in. And as I sat there waiting for the morning to come I realized how far away Pittsburgh felt to me already. There was no good reason for me to stay, but I sat there and fought myself to find one. I closed my eyes tight and searched my mind for a good memory, a good feeling attached to my home. The only thing I could come up with was Warren and his music, the band. And when I opened my eyes again I realized how stupid I would be not to go with them. So I grabbed my bag and ran out of my house.

Warren: I was sitting in the driver’s seat, just about to take off for our roadtrip to California and then I saw her running down the street. She had this big pink suitcase that she was trying so hard to carry. I almost thought she was gonna fall over, I just couldn’t stop laughing. I guess I got out of the car at some point, everyone started yelling at me wondering what I was doing. They hadn’t seen her yet. I remember running up to her and just holding her so tight in my arms. I could hear her laughing in my ear, a genuine cackle that warmed my heart. She held me just as tight, her fingers locked in my hair.

Eddie: We were all wondering what the hold up was. At some point I got out of the van and I just saw Warren hugging her and I knew she was coming with us. Well that and the suitcase. I rolled my eyes and got back in the van to spread the news.

Graham: I was happy she was coming with us. Billy was bringing Camila and I thought having a single girl with us could be cool. But Warren made it clear she was off limits.

Camila: She got in the van all giggly like a school girl. Eddie was sitting in the passenger seat and she just opened up the door and handed him her suitcase. He didn’t move at first but when he looked around and realized nobody else was moving either he grabbed her bag and made his way to the trunk. While he put her bags in the back with everyone else’s she sat down in the passenger seat beside Warren and closed the door. By the time Eddie got back around she was buckled in and carrying a conversation. He didn’t even try to get his seat back, he just came and joined the rest of us.

Y/N: I talked to Warren almost the whole way to California. When he got tired I would move to the back of the van with him while Eddie drove. I sat there hanging on to every word he spoke. He was a lot funnier than I ever realized.

When we got to the house in Laurel Canyon I was shocked at how beautiful it was. A little worn down, sure, but it felt like home with everyone else there. I had my own room, no one else wanted it because they thought it was haunted. It didn't matter very much to me, I was barely in it.

Warren: We started spending a lot of time together. When we’d go out together she would come with us. Most times we’d end up at some jukejoint and I swear she’d queue songs on purpose, somehow always ending up pulling me in for a dance. She would turn her back toward me and wrap her arm around the back of my neck. She’d pull all of her hair over one shoulder and I would just watch as she grinded against me.

Eddie: At this point I was getting pissed. She had been stringing him along since we left Pittsburgh and every night they would go their separate ways. She would go into her room and he would go into his. I started to tell him to just give it a rest. He had never tried anything with her and at this point I figured he had just plain struck out. I told him to accept the fact that they were always just gonna be friends and move on with his life.

Y/N: It wasn’t that I didn’t like Warren, because I did. But I didn’t want to fuck him up. I had a lot of… baggage back then and I couldn’t bring him down with me. He was my best friend and I figured we could get a little close without it meaning anything serious.

Billy: I don’t know why, but when she got in the van that day I didn’t imagine her staying in California with us. I didn’t take her seriously. But when I realized she was planning on living with us I had to have a conversation with her.

Y/N: He told me, “If you’re going to keep stowing away with us you have to start contributing.” I think I laughed when he said that, then I realized he was being serious. I asked him what he expected me to do and he said, “I don’t know, learn how to wait tables I guess.” and then he left.

Eddie: She became a waitress and bought a guitar with her first check. We all laughed about it.

Billy: She thought it was that easy. Just buy a guitar and all of a sudden you’re a rock star. No one said anything about it because it was obviously just to spite me. I told her to get a job and she said fine, I’ll do your job better. I wanted to see her try.

Y/N: I didn’t buy the guitar because of Billy, and I hated that it took him telling me to pull my weight for me to be able to afford one. Like I said before, I didn’t know I wanted to make music when we were in Pittsburgh. I had been in a few musicals and things like that, but I was worried about so much else.

In California I didn’t have to worry. I had the time to think about what would make me happiest in life and I started to write down lyrics here and there. I didn’t have a full song when I bought the guitar but I didn’t want to have to imagine the melody anymore. I would watch Graham and Billy play during rehearsals and try to pick up some chords from there. By the end of the month I could play very simple versions of a few of their songs, and from there I started making my own.

Warren: We would stay up late in her room and I would just watch her strum away, learning faster than I’ve ever seen anyone pick up anything. She wouldn’t play me her songs though. I’d watch her scribble away in her journal and before I could even ask about it, the book would be hidden once more.

Y/N: I never trusted anyone as much as I trusted Warren. We would stay up all hours of the night getting high on whatever we could get our hands on. Most times we would just split a few joints and sit there laughing in each other's arms.

I remember one night we were on mescaline and I was just staring at him. He was so beautiful to me and though it wasn’t the first time I noticed, it was the first time I was able to take it all in. He looked back at me and I swear he was going to cry. I put a cigarette to my mouth and he pulled a lighter out of his pocket.

“I am really happy you came with us.” He whispered to me as he put the flame to the end of my cigarette.

“I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I just made it harder for you guys.” I replied.

“You didn’t, you made it easier, at least for me.” He was being honest.

Warren: Yeah, I remember that night. She was only wearing a bikini even though we hadn’t gone out to the beach that day. She kept saying she was hot, and I mean hey, I wasn’t gonna tell her to put clothes on. She sat there next to me, smoking her cigarette and I just took her in. I couldn’t remember feeling that way about anyone I had ever met before.

At some point she took her cigarette and put it up to my lips. Without thinking I leaned forward and took a drag. My lips touched her fingers and we just sat there for a moment. When I leaned back, her eyes were glued on to me.

“I’m cold now.” She sighed. And then she got up, her long legs untangling effortlessly. She walked the few steps over to me and just sat right on my lap. I was shocked at first, a little confused. But it felt… right. So I put my arm around her and held her there.

Y/N: I don’t know why I insisted on torturing him. I knew how he felt about me. Camila would always be the one to tell me to stop messing with him, and it just made me want to be with him more. I was tired of everybody telling us what we could and couldn’t be. I didn’t think Warren had a problem with it.

When I sat on his lap that night I knew nothing was going to happen, because he respected me. I had never known a man to do that and I liked how it felt not having to worry about being used. I sat in his arms for hours, just listening to his heart beating. He put his hand on my thigh at some point and I thought I was in heaven. Well it was probably that and the drugs.

Warren: When she got up I felt like I was incomplete. She had been on top of me for so long, I forgot we were two seperate people. I watched as she stood there, expecting her to leave me alone like she had done so many times before. But to my surprise she didn’t move.

“Do you want to come back to my room?” She asked, and I couldn’t help but feel nervous. I had never slept in her room before, and she had never slept in mine. But I said yes.

Y/N: I grabbed his hand and helped him to his feet. We were both coming down and I knew I had to get to bed before I was fully off the drugs. I held his hand loosely in mine as we walked down the dusty hall’s of our house. When we got to my room he hesitated at the door.

“Is it actually haunted in here?” he questioned.

I scoffed quietly before pulling him further inside.

Warren: I sat down on her bed and turned away while she put on a night gown that barely covered anything. I wanted to ask her what we were doing but the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth.

She lingered onto the queen sized mattress, the length of her just barely reaching the edge. I layed next to her and just let her watch me.

And then she said it. “Can you sleep in here tonight?”

I turned toward her, I didn’t know if she was joking or not. But when I saw her eyes, sincere and full of sleep, I knew she was asking because she needed me to say yes. She needed someone to hold just for the night. So I nodded and we got under the covers. I still had my jeans on but I didn’t care.

Y/N: I slept very well next to him that night. And when I woke up late that afternoon he was still holding me. When I started to move I realized he must’ve been awake before me. I can’t imagine for how long.

I turned to face him completely and we both just smiled. I asked him how he slept and he made a joke about my bed being way more comfortable than his. I laughed and grabbed the top of his arm. I made my way down to his hand and held it for a second.

“Thank you, Warren.” I told him.

He said. “Don’t mention it,” and got out of my bed.

Warren: I didn’t know what happened. I couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or if she was just messing with me. I was happy it happened and that I could be there for her, but I thought it better I leave.

Y/N: I didn’t mention it after that and neither did he, but it was clear that everyone else in the house knew we had slept in the same bed. Like always they were making it into some big deal and I was so tired of them all forcing us into a box.

That afternoon Graham convinced Billy to call Karen on a pay-phone at lunch. We all huddled around the phone and listened as he blubbered to the British woman. Eventually, Billy took the phone and convinced her to join the band.

When she showed up the next day to move into the house we realized she had no place to sleep. Eddie suggested that I move into Warren’s room and I laughed but nobody else did.

“Why would I move into Warren’s room?” I shouted.

“Well, you guys had sex so I just assumed…” Eddie started. I walked right up to him and shoved him as hard as I could. I could feel my face heating up.

“Do you guys all think we had sex?” I yelled. No one said anything.

I wasn’t planning on saying anything, but what Eddie said got me so mad I couldn’t stop. “Warren and I are friends,” I said. “And we can do whatever we want without all of you questioning us all the time. We didn’t fuck but if we did it would be none of your fucking business.”

Warren: She stomped away and slammed her bedroom door behind her. They all looked at me and I just smiled and shrugged. She was a complicated person but I understood why she was upset.

Eddie: She didn’t have to push me. Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I said but I thought it was true. [laughs] I guess that doesn’t make it any better.

Karen: While she was in the room they all began to try and deal with the situation. I remember laughing to myself about the mess of it all. I mean, she was acting like a child.

Billy: Just as we were starting to figure out how to rearrange everyone she came out of her room with that pink suitcase and looked right past all of us to Warren. He smiled and quickly made his way over to her. Eddie scoffed and we all just kinda looked around, like none of us had actually expected her to do it.

I think that’s when I realized how completely wrong I was about her. I had been imagining her as the same naive kid in Pittsburgh but it just wasn’t true anymore.

Warren: We went to my room and she threw her suitcase on the bed. I watched as she opened it and started angrily going through drawers to see where her things would fit.

“I can’t believe Eddie would say that,” she started grunting.

I felt bad, I didn’t want her to think that’s what I told him. But when I opened my mouth to tell her she just said, “I know.”

Y/N: That night was different. Warren only had one bed in his room and it was smaller than mine. We both barely fit because of how far apart we insisted on being.

And then I had a thought. Why was I ignoring his feelings? There was no real reason we couldn’t be together and I was the one making it harder than it had to be. My heart started to beat so fast, I thought he could hear it.

I turned toward him and he was already facing me. his dimples were showing even with his small little smirk. I didn’t say a word, just leaned right in and pressed my lips against his.

Warren: I wasn’t expecting her to kiss me, but when she did I melted. I don’t know, I think there’s something really special about waiting for someone, watching them grow and knowing they’ll be ready for you someday. Of course I didn’t know it was gonna be that day, but who really knows with her?

Y/N: I got on top of him and started kissing every inch of skin that I could find. I had been holding myself back from him for so long, I just needed to feel him.

Warren: She was loud that night. I remember thinking there was no way we were going to be able to live it down. It wasn’t late enough for anyone else to be asleep, and if it was we would’ve woken them up.

Graham: The next morning she came out of that room… lighter. We were all snickering about what we had heard and she just sat with all of us and watched for a minute.

And then she said, “Now we’re fucking, so I hope you’re all happy.”

We all laughed, even Eddie.

#fanfiction #daisy jones and the six fanfiction #warren rhodes #warren rojas #warren rhodes x f!reader #Warren rojas x f!reader #Warren rhodes fanfiction #warren rojas fanfiction #Warren rojas imagine #warren rhodes imagine #daisy jones and the six

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royalsweetteaa · 2 years

Text

Timeless lovin’ - Pt. 2

Pairing: 40s/CATFA!Steve Rogers x present!reader

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

WARNING - The following story contains: explicit smut, oral sex (M receiving), mission plot (sorry), mild dom/sub, sub!Steve Rogers, angst, fluff, developing feelings/slow burn, spoilers, alternative reality.

Ch. | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Summary: Steve left for Peggy in the past, and you were determined to travel back in time and get answers after he left your relationship of 4 years behind him just like that. You get a little ahead of yourself and travel past where your Steve left off, and you meet Steve Rogers, - the man before he hit the ice and was frozen for 70 years.

Y/N’s POV

I didn’t expect to be put in a cell after I told past Steve one of his dearest and most personal memories of his life, - One that he probably had shared with Bucky at one point but was still an exclusive share of memory to you.

I had allowed it as I wasn’t too worried of being trapped. After all, I had my team suit on which I could at any point activate and travel back to my timeline with, but to me that sounded wasteful.

Why not enjoy it for a little while and see where this goes?

Steve had been kind enough not to confiscate my things, something one would normally do if someone was being temporarily locked up for further inspection, but then again this was anything but an ordinary inspection.

Steve had some errands to run, but he promised he would come back as soon as possible to have a further talk with me.

The two hours of waiting got me thinking for myself a little.

For each drastic change I make in this timeline, the more it would become a branch to the main one, - meaning it would become its very own timeline.

— One that my Steve won’t appear in.

It made me nervous to think I had already done that, and that I had failed my mission due to my outburst which I couldn't contain as soon as I laid my eyes on him.

When he returned, he let me out of the cell and we moved to yet another empty office to talk. I told him everything as easily as I could, with the exceptions of mentioning specific events. I told him about how he would one day find himself in the future 70 years from now on, staying as youthful and compassionate as now with the same shield around his arm. I told him of how we came to be, and how he left for the past when he got the opportunity.

He listened intently, still in denial but for each detail I put forward about his personal life, the more he seemed convinced.

“So how do I end up in the future to begin with?” He asked, finally having a question of his own.

“I can’t tell you that. It’ll change the timeline way too drastically, and from then on I will have no idea what the future awaits.” I explained.

He frowned, “That is a bit unfair, don’t you think? You tell me so much of what is to come and now I have no choice but to deal with it? You said it yourself that I return anyway. What difference will it make?”

It shouldn’t have gotten to me, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t blame him for sounding so inattentive as he didn’t know me. With the same voice talking so carelessly of wanting to know the one thing that by ‘back to the future’ time logic would erase our relationship’s existence made me feel sad.

“Listen, I’ll explain time traveling when I am able to explain it. Right now I only want to know a few things from you first.”

Just then, a soldier entered the room, seemingly out of breath as he must have run all the way here from somewhere far.

“Captain, I've been looking all over for you! We need to leave for Delaware right away! We have caught two HYDRA ships on their way to the coast of the state." The soldier reported.

Steve immediately stood up from his seat and checked out the coordinates which the soldier was holding. "Do we know what they are up to?"

"No, Captain. Our only suspicion is that they are trying to listen in on our radio stations to get input about our next missions, sir. "

"Understood. I will be with you right away." Steve replied firmly and sent the soldier out. He turned to look at me again and sighed, "I uh...I don't mean to leave again so abruptly but I have to go. You understand, right?"

"Of course, you need to go." I said and stood up from my seat too. " I'll come with you and help with the mission."

Steve looked baffled, not believing what I had just proposed. "You can't be serious...it's dangerous."

"I am serious, and I will come regardless if you want me to or not." I said with my hands on my hips, showing determination. "We have unresolved business, remember?"

He reluctantly nodded, "Fine, but I expect you to follow through instructions accordingly if you want to take part in the operation."

I snickered at how he was trying to order me around, but I could tell he was a little imitated by me. "Of course, whatever you say, Captain."

I didn't miss the way he blushed when I called him that. I knew for certain he enjoyed people calling him by that title, but with me it used to be way beyond formal use.

"Wonderful...um.." Steve responded nervously and walked past you to the door. "I suppose I'll see you by the gate then...need to get myself ready before we leave."

I hummed with understanding and smiled, "See you there."

We found ourselves an hour later in a locomotive on our way to Delaware. After Steve had talked to his fellow soldiers about the mission, he went back to his private suite where I had hidden myself. Steve had been up and going for the past 20 hours, and needed to rest. He stared at me, who was trying to get some rest myself on the seat at the other end after I had hardly slept the night prior to travelling in time.

“Do you have any kind of training for this kind of mission?” Steve asked out of concern.

“Steve, I am a retired agent from the 21st century. I have training and weapons so technologically advanced a million Apollo 11 space shuttles can't remotely compete.”

“Space shuttles?…” I heard Steve mutter confused under his breath and I had to hold a snort.

I picked up the safe case I had been hiding at a spot since I entered the base, and Steve was immediately fixated with the logo.

“Stark industries….as in, - Howard Stark?”

I groaned. Fuck, why didn't I use a different case? I had to admit I found Steve's reactions endearing though. I could guess this was how he was when he entered present time; so curious and mesmerized but confused due to how foreign it was. I could also imagine how it was a lot harder for him taking part of that world than it was to learn bits of it.

“His son, actually. But the company started with Howard of course.” I answered.

He stood up from the couch to look at the safe's containments. He seemed less impressed when he saw them, so I decided to pick up the one of which was a machine gun and called for an activation. Steve's eyes widened when he witnessed the cube expanding into its final form.

“Woah…this is beyond any HYDRA machinery I've seen, and they are considered ahead of us when it comes to technology. Howard's son must be a highly respected man to have created these.” Oh, if only you knew. “That must mean we win the war, right? You know, - all things considered.”

“Maybe, - or maybe I come from a future in which the last beacon of a United States of America ever existing is you.” I said jokingly, but he didn’t know that. “You don’t want to get too ahead of yourself. I’ve told you enough as it is.”

Steve slowly nodded. “Okay, I see your point. You did mention how everything we did differently could change my timeline but not yours, - which still doesn’t make sense in my book but I digress.”

I sighed, “It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either, but it is what it is…even if I talk to you and convince you to not leave in the future, my Steve won’t be there by the time I travel back. - it’s about how the ‘original timeline’ as we call it can’t be changed, but rather we create branching alternative timelines instead.”

His eyes narrowed as he processed it. “You’re basically a threat to my timeline then if you’re altering things.”

“I’m only a threat if I effect it negatively, - which of course I won’t. I know everything that will happen.” I said.

"Alright, I trust you...." I heard Steve mutter as he laid back on his bunk and closed his eyes to try and sleep.

I waited for Steve's soft snores before I pulled up my tablet and connected Genesis to it so I could quietly read information appearing on the screen. Genesis gave me information of how the battle against the two HYDRA ships by the coast of Delaware would turn out. Of course the information I received was positive, with the Howling Commandos returning with success after defeating HYDRA ships, leaving bombs as a way to obliterate them.

I frowned when I read Steve's health condition report when he returns back to the base camp. Apparently he had gotten several injuries as he had struggled to go in one on one combat with one of the HYDRA soldiers. He would at one point go into the engine room where there is no lighting to settle the bomb, and to his surprise there was a soldier hiding there with HYDRA productional night vision goggles. He was able to swing a hammer on Steve's head before Steve managed to put him down with his shield, but the consequence was a 3-day rest at the infirmary when he returned back.

Two can play that game... I thought, and I opened the safe case again to see if I had anything that could help Steve. To my convenience, I had something similar to the HYDRA technology, but of course I had the upper hand of technological advancement. God bless Tony.

Second person POV

5 hours later, and you arrived at the Delaware air force base where you would late at night be taken by flight and parachute down to the 2 HYDRA ships. As you were walking behind Steve, he led you in with no one batting a suspicious eye.

You eventually agreed with Steve to make yourself apparent to the army as you didn't think sneaking around was practical anymore. Things were about to be more crowded, and while espionage was a part of your previous training, this mission required team work and communication, and you had to be familiar if you were going to obtain that.

When the Howling Commandos assembled in the base tent, Steve brought you to introduce you as a new soldier.

"This is Y/N. She's a friend of mine and will with honor be joining us for this mission." You greeted them with a nod of acknowledgement.

Frowns appeared on people's faces, but they didn't question the new face of the team. Everyone greeted you back respectfully and moved on with their tasks.

At one point, Bucky caught up to Steve to ask about the mysterious woman. "Who is she, pal? You never told me about this new 'girl friend' of yours."

Steve chuckled at Bucky's curiosity and shook his head to dismiss him. "We have a mission, Buck. Let's not talk about irrelevancy."

Bucky sulked in response. "It's rude not to introduce a lady friend of yours, but I suppose there isn't time for any introductions when amidst a war."

For the rest of the evening, preparations were made and equipment were being stored in the planes. You met with Steve again when you were to board the aircraft and leave out of the coast.

"Steve, I want you to use this." You said, and motioned him into grabbing the cube while no one was looking. I took out the extra headpiece and put it in his ear.

He reached out to feel the bud on his ear, and he looked at the cube. "What is this?"

"The thing that I just put on your ear is a communication device, - kind of like a 'walkie talkie', but more practical. That way we can communicate when we aren't together and I'll tell you when to use that." You informed, and pointed at the cube. "Do not go and show it around though. Keep it safe in your pocket and only take it out when I tell you."

"Which would be when exactly?"

"At the right moment." You said and winked at him. "Now let's go."

The soldiers settled down on the aircraft with their parachutes on their backs, ready as one ever could be. You sat beside Steve in the corner as he wanted to shield you as much as possible from the others, but it wasn't easy with you being the only woman in the plane.

When the aircraft took off and flew steadily in the air, Steve cleared his throat to hand out the instructions one last time.

"Listen up, soldiers. Based on our observations, there are about four life boats on each ship. We will use those to our advantage if we don't want to wait that long in the cold water for the Delaware coastguards. We will handle the HYDRA soldiers who dare to come in the way of our mission and let the bombs do the rest of the job. Clean wipeout." Steve spoke sternly to the men.

"Captain, we will be flying past the ships any moment." The pilot reported behind him, and Steve nodded.

"Remember to follow your assigned groups, everyone. Group one, get ready to jump towards the first ship."

The slide door of the aircraft was opened and Steve jumped out first with the other soldiers jumping after him one by one, including you.

Having the wind blast in your face as you fell at high speed was somehow energizing as you hadn't parachuted in such a long time. You missed the days of working for S.H.I.E.L.D where you were able to experience this kind of thrill everyday. You were trying your best to follow Steve in the air, but another idea popped in your head and you decided to go against Steve's agreement.

Steve's eyes widened when he looked after you and noticed you were parting your ways with him and aiming at landing with the other group to the second ship.

"Y/N, what are you doing?! You were supposed to be with our group!" Steve hiss-whispered as he tried to figure out if the ear piece was even working like you said it would.

"It's okay, I want to be useful and help the other guys out." You spoke from the other line and landed on the deck just then, which made Steve's shoulders sink with disappointment. "Looks like we've got company already." You lastly reported before you had HYDRA soldiers approaching you and at the other men on the deck. You didn't back away once as you ran towards them and dodged their attacks before you gave some of your own.

Disturbance came from the other line as well as you heard Steve grunting, most likely fighting off his fair share of HYDRA soldiers. A few minutes of pure chaos, and you were already getting ahead.

"Bucky, go with Dougan to the communication room and contact the coast guards by sending a signal. To the rest of you, - prepare the life boats." Steve ordered as he took out the huge explosive out of his backpack. "I'll take the bomb to the engine room."

From there, Steve ran his path of trying to find the engine room with the package containing the bomb, - a perfect farewell gift to the HYDRA crew. Steve already had an idea of where the engine room was. He was greeted by a few soldiers in the hallways, but he easily passed through as he ran straight ahead with his shield in front, knocking down anyone who stood in his way.

Finally he arrived at his awaiting destination, but what he didn't expect was to be met with pitch black in front of him as he busted the door open.

"Steve, are you by the engine room now?"

"Yeah..." Steve replied vaguely as he studied the room with squinted eyes, trying to make out of the space. "It's completely dark...I'll have to take my time if I want to place the bomb at the right spot."

"Okay, listen carefully. Take out the cube and I'll call out for an activation. It'll be of good use right now."

Steve took the cube out of his pocket and held it up while he waited expectedly for something to happen. A moment later, the cube deformed and expanded into an object. They looked like glasses, so he could already assume it was for his eyes. He placed them on his face, which caused everything he saw through them to light up.

"Oh, now I know what this is for...fascinating." Steve muttered as he adjusted the goggles to his liking. He could see the engine room in full view, so much clearer than his strengthened eye vision.

"Focus, Steve. Someone is in your vicinity."

"I think I'm in the clear. I can't see anyone -!"

Just then, you could hear the sound of struggle from Steve's end as he was interrupted. He had been tackled from behind but was fighting back, and he managed to flip the man over his tall body to the ground. The HYDRA soldier was quick on his feat as he tried to hurt Steve with a hammer he had around his belt. Steve caught onto his movements and dodged him before he pulled his counter attacks. He knocked the night vision goggles off the man's face and used his shield for a final knockdown on the HYDRA soldier, ultimately putting the man to a final sleep.

"You weren't kidding!" Steve exclaimed, his adrenaline rush higher than before due to the unexpected pounce.

"Never said I was!" You replied through the mic.

Steve placed the bomb by the ship's weak point and fastened the door back to make it impossible to enter in. He made his way back with no hesitation, and once he returned up at the deck, he gathered around his teammates to start the phase of retrieval.

"We need to evacuate the ship! The bomb is activated and we have approximately 4 minutes before it goes off." Steve told his comrades, and they quickly occupied the life boats to sail away.

Gunshots from both sides were firing off as the remaining HYDRA soldiers tried to stop the Howling Commandos from leaving, but they were failing as Steve blocked the aiming bullets with his shield, putting his fellow soldiers behind him for safety.

"Y/N, did Gabe manage to put the bomb in the engine room? Are you evacuating?" Steve asked for a report of your situation while the others were occupied at shooting back.

"Yes, we have placed it and are now trying to evacuate but..." you paused from speaking for a moment, "I think we will have to step out of our comfort zone and dive for a swim because the life boats are damaged. HYDRA has sabotaged our get-away. They must have figured us out."

Steve cursed under his breath. "You need to jump in the water, Y/N. The coast guards are on their way in accordance to our mission schedule. Swim away with the rest of the soldiers as far as you can and we will get to you. We have room."

"Alright..I suppose I have no choice anyway." You meekly replied. Steve heard you giving the orders to the rest in the background.

A minute after and the first ship exploded. Steve's group were a great distance away from being in danger, but his mind couldn't stop thinking of yours and the other comrade's situation. He hoped they were swimming at least 30 feet away from the ship that was about to explode any moment now.

Just then, the other bomb took off, obliterating the second HYDRA ship and ultimately sealing the fate of it sinking too. By then, the coast guards were coming into Steve's view, but Steve still ordered his group to sail towards the area of the second ship to help out their people.

The coast guards beat them to it, and rescued those swimming in the water first before they pulled up those in the life boats. When Steve was on board, he immediately sprinted over to the group that was currently being offered blankets, their bodies visibly shivering. He was relieved when he counted the people and found everyone was there, with not a single person missing. His eyes met yours, and he walked over to you to see how you were doing.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked with worry as he helped you wrap a second blanket around your form.

You let out a breathless laugh, "Yeah, I'm freezing my tits off but I haven't felt this alive for so long to be honest. What about you?" You asked, and scanned his face for any injuries. Luckily there were none, meaning you had yet again changed a minor part of history.

"I'm feeling just fine....you were amazing, Y/N...you helped me so much and I didn't realize it before it happened." He said, mesmerized. "I believe you."

You made a puzzled look at his last sentence. "You didn't before?"

"Well, yes but...this definitely took out the last bit of doubt in me."

You nodded understandingly and looked at your surroundings. People were patting each others backs as they shared praise of successfully executing the mission. Everyone seemed so happy, which was refreshing from the cold and serious attitude that used to be emitted in 21st century S.H.I.E.L.D. You could get used to being praised for doing something right instead of receiving a simple nod of acknowledgement.

"What do we do now?" You asked, as you turned to Steve who seemed to have looked at you this whole time of you zoning out.

Steve smiled cheekily and simply replied with, "We celebrate of course."

When returning to shore, you were greeted by the rest of the army and the smell of good food. The atmosphere after accomplishing a mission was lively. Everyone gathered around in the base camp and full meals were being served with beer, - every American soldier's favorite.

When morning came, you all went to sleep at your designated rooms, a welcoming stay to rest by Delaware Air Force. You had expected to be occupied with thoughts, but the planning and mission itself tired you out so much you were out as soon as you laid down on the bed.

When you woke up again, it was afternoon, and people were still taking the time to celebrate last night's mission. It caught you off guard once again how different things seemed to be compared to your time. Soldiers were actually being rewarded after doing missions that puts their lives on the line, and it made you bite your lip with envy of how you didn't get as much as a candy bar for being an agent.

You found Steve at the bar of the base, tuning in for music and the performance shown on the stage of a dancing pair. Steve asked once again about your well being when you approached him, to which you replied positively. You drank a glass of beer before engaging in conversations with some of the other men. You grew unimpressed as you learned their highly flirtatious intentions of keeping a conversation with you, and you excused yourself to find Steve.

He was nowhere to be found in the crowd though, which made you wonder where he could have gone off to. As you walked out of the bar, you realized that just like that, another day had passed.

Steve could tell someone was behind him no matter how quietly they opened his door, and he quickly snapped his head back to see who it was. He let out a breath he had held as he realized it was none other than you.

"Ending the night so soon, huh?" You asked, leaning against the door post as you looked at Steve who was sitting by the tiny desk across his bed.

Steve snorted as he looked down at his feet. "Pretty much...I'm not much of a bar guy anyway, so I don't stay for long."

"Is it because you can't get drunk or are you generally introverted?"

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that?" Steve replied humorously with a smile curling on his lips.

You shrugged and walked over to him while closing the door behind you. You grew thoughtful at his question, "My Steve liked being social. He could talk for hours with so many new faces, and we would basically stay at events till we were the only ones left."

Steve exhaled to that. "Sounds exhausting...I only need my friends to have a good time, and even then I need some time for myself, doing what I like to do."

You smiled at him fondly and saw what he had been occupying himself with. He was drawing.

He drew an airplane, and it looked like he was sketching a second one beneath based on its form.

"You're very talented....you really capture the details. Unfortunately my Steve never drew, - not to my knowledge anyway."

Steve's face saddened, almost as if he couldn't believe it. "Seriously? That's...- I always thought and still think I'll keep drawing till I'm laying on my death bed. Art is my second passion after being in service..."

"I see.." You muttered, also surprised to learn this. Steve had expressed fascination over art to you once when you went to an art museum together, but he hadn't admitted he had actively practiced art. "Then maybe take what I've told you into heart and hopefully you will do different and keep art close to you."

Steve nodded appreciatively and looked at his sketch again. "I can't help but wonder how I look like in the future...because surely I look different. Do you perhaps have any pictures on you?"

You tried to hold back a cheeky smile, but Steve had caught you. "You do, don't you?" He asked with excitement. "Show me." He said as he stood up and reached for the pocket of your jacket.

"Woah, hold on!" You playfully slapped his hand away. "I don't have anything on me, as in a polaroid picture or any of that sort but...I may have a few on my personal tablet."

"So what I'm hearing is you'll show me."

A giggle irrupted from you as you couldn't help but find Steve's sudden boldness funny. "Sure, why not. But only pictures of which you can't tell the context of."

Steve brought another chair for you to sit on as you placed the tablet onto the desk once Steve had put his sketches away. The tablet turned on and you typed your password before you entered your folders.

“You sure you want to see them? Curiosity killed the cat, you know.” You joked, and he actually laughed at the old saying.

Classic him.

“Yes. I want to see it all.” He said, and scooted closer, his eyes slightly squinting as he was for the first time adjusting to the artificial hologram screen.

You nodded, before you clicked on the file, where the first picture that was revealed was your most recent picture, being of your neighbors cat.

“It’s colored!…and so detailed...” He almost shouted in a whisper. “But that should be the least thing to surprise me, huh?” He chuckled as he glanced at you.

You laughed and shrugged, “These pictures are taken 75 years forward in the future. I don’t blame you at all for being overly excited.”

You went a little further up the file to show him the earliest pictures, those of which you took of him when you got to know each other through his office visits. Steve was amazed, pointing out every single change the future had made of him, - from his less use of hair gel to his new stealth suit, to the people he was surrounded with and the environment.

Then there were the ones you took during your relationship. You weren’t sure if you wanted to show those, but it was hard to ignore them with how many there were.

Steve’s eyes hadn’t blinked once since you opened the picture file, so you already knew his eyes had caught plenty of them before you even realized.

You bit the inside of your cheek, regretting that you hadn’t put them in a separate file. Then again, you hadn’t been through these for so long. It wasn’t in your mind, nor didn’t you have the heart to make them unseeable.

Steve’s mouth closed as you skipped through the romantic pictures of you as a couple. You could feel his eyes on you now, and it made you internally cringe. Nevermind, I heavily regret not moving them to another file, you thought.

You cleared your throat and skipped through faster, feeling an emotional wave on its way and you didn’t want to be hit by it. “Yeah, I think we should put the slideshow to an end now…” you said as you closed and shut off the system.

Steve face saddened, “but I didn’t get a good look on those last ones…”

“I didn’t intend to show them anyway.”

He could tell you were upset. He now understood why whenever you made eye contact, he could see your distaste, even from your smile, - And it was justified. He understood why you screamed at him the first day you met, and why you sometimes seem so conflicted of being nice to him.

You stood up from your seat, but Steve wasn’t going to let you leave that easily. He took your hand, “Y/N, hold on…” he said.

You turned, your eyes already glistening, but you kept a tight face as you glanced back at him.

“I’m sorry, doll. I’m so sorry for what he, - for what I did, - or for what I will do…I don’t even know how I’m supposed to be apologizing, but my point is - I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this at all. You shouldn’t have had to come back, nonetheless travel through time because of my future self’s stupidity.” He said, his eyes looking deep into yours and with his face expressing guilt. He opened his arms, and gently placed them around you.

The familiar nickname had made you stiffen. You haven't heard him call you that for so long. While it made you feel uneasy, his apology gave you some peace as you relaxed into his arms. The feeling of being held in his embrace felt euphoric.

It didn’t last long as you decided you didn’t want to be in his embrace anymore. You glared at him, “You would have done the same.”

“No, I would not!” He shouted, offended by your accusation. He took a step back when he noticed your eyes had widened from his sudden outburst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell…”

“How can you be so sure? You love Peggy. I’m talking to the person who my ex fiancé apparently missed being and left to be that person again.”

“Well then he was obviously blinded to not notice what was right in front of him.” Steve argued. “I don’t really know what love is, Y/N. I am familiar with friendly love but I am still trying to figure out the kind of love my parents shared. It’s not something I want to drag you into, but I mean it when I say I wouldn’t do that. I respect women, nonetheless the person I would give a ring to.” He said.

You sighed, deciding to give it a rest. You smiled to assure him you had found peace in this argument. He smiled back in content.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He asked, confused.

“Yeah, Steve. I believe in you. Maybe you would have handled it different. Maybe my Steve valued our relationship less because, - I don’t know, - the future and his experiences left a void in him that he thought he could get rid of by returning to the past. Or something.” You hypothesized.

Steve stared at the floor, not sure if he had any input on that. He didn’t know what to make of it either.

You looked up at him again, your eyes fluttering when you studied his face. He was definitely different. So well mannered and considerate. Like not too many things were on his mind, so he could think more of the people closest to him.

“You know, I kind of prefer you with this hairstyle and look. It’s cute. The future really did corrupt you.” You smirked, and reached out to stroke his neatly styled hair.

He let out a breathless laugh as he blushed. “Really? You think so?”

“Yeah…”

Your eyes looked into each other, not blinking once. Your hand palmed his cheek, stroking it gently as he put his hand to keep yours where it once. You saw his eyes wander down to your lips, and you knew at that moment you were both in to something.

You stood on your heels and captured his lips with your own, and he slowly wrapped his hands around your waist, not wanting to let you go. The kissing was gentle at first, until you decided to bite his bottom lip, causing him to open his eyes out of shock. He did not expect you to do that.

Still he didn’t push himself away and let you have your way with him. He was about to gasp for air as you for a split second separated your lips, but you took the opportunity while his mouth was open to quickly seep your tongue in. He moaned in surprise, feeling himself becoming overwhelmed by your techniques but also so turned on.

You led him to collapse on the bed which was behind him, your body on top of his as you didn’t let your lips apart.

After a brief moment of sharing each other’s taste through a dance of your tongues, you pulled yourself back to breathe, only to be amused that Steve was breathing for air more than you.

“Already tapped out? Thought the super soldier could handle long make out sessions, considering your expanded lung capacity…”

“I-I can, m’just really overwhelmed right now…” he excused, to which you giggled. You continued giving him kisses down his neckline, enjoying the sound of his heavy gasps. It was then when you altered your focus of touching his gorgeous body.

“Y/N…” He moaned your name in a whisper.

“Steve…” you whispered his name back as your hand traveled further down his body, down his abs and V-line. You memorized every muscle of his body, and it felt so good to touch him again.

He gulped nervously as he eyed where your hand was wandering, “I-I…uh…”

“Don’t be shy, baby…you don’t have to worry about a thing. We’ve had sex plenty of times, - or we will I guess.” You corrected humorously.

Steve gasped as you palmed his crotch, teasing his cock as you squeezed him a little though his pants. “W-We did? - we will?”

“Mhm.” You hummed positively. “Our first time together was in my office…we hadn’t seen each other for years and you suddenly showed up and bent me over my office desk where you would eat me out from behind before fucking me…” you told him.

“Oh goodness…” Steve mumbled through a groan. His eyes fluttered while you unbuckled his belt and opened the zipper to release him.

His cock sprung free, pulsing and twitching in need. Precum was already building up at the tip, making you bite your lip at how desperate you had made him. Seeing him quiver beneath you was awakening something within you. This point of his past was way before he explored his sexuality, - way before he grew into the overly confident daddy who would fuck you into the mattress and call you his good girl.

Somehow, it was appealing that this Steve was anything but that. To have him beneath you like this, getting riled up by simple touches, - it was so fucking hot and the biggest confidence booster.

“When I look back at it now, it wasn’t as romantic as I used to think…—” you muttered as you nibbled his earlobe and stroked him. He moaned, bucking his hips desperately while you pleasured him.

“… — Maybe we could change that. Remake our first.” You whispered, making him shiver. “Only if you want to of course..”

He let out a breathless grunt, his eyes going to the back of his head. You gave him a tentative kiss on his cheek, but his other hand that wasn’t gripping the sheets pulled your face for a kiss on your lips. Your lips met over and over again with Steve letting out huffs in between. He groaned while gritting his jaw, his head being shot back on the pillow.

“Do you want this?”

Do you want me?

“Y-Yes…I - ffffuu..” he almost groaned the curse word but didn’t complete it.

“Language, Steve.” You teased.

“Doesn’t count..” he whined.

Your strokes were less patient now, your hands gliding along his length faster to see him unravel. You wanted to see it. You wanted to see the face of a man who was becoming ruined for you. You wanted to witness his eyebrows knit with pleasure as he let out those sweet moans you didn’t know could come out of him. Your Steve had never revealed himself to you like this; so vulnerable and full of desire for you.

You figured the best way to really witness him fall apart was to have your plump lips suck the soul out of him. And that you did.

He cried out and gripped your hair down harshly as he released his cum, his load being swallowed willingly by you. You missed his taste so much.

A vibration was sent through him as you hummed around him, his cock twitching with his last spend before you slowly backed up again with a ‘pop’ sound. His breathing was uneven, and he put his palm against his forehead to wipe off the sweat that had built there. Steve couldn’t keep his eyes off of you while his cock softened, his cheeks flushed with the colour red.

You only gave him a timid smile when your eyes met again, and you stood up from the bed, leaving Steve to frown with his overstimulated gaze.

“Y/N, wait…” he called after you, but you got ahead of him with something to add.

“I’m sorry. This was obviously a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that…” you said, your voice full with regret. “Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve was about to protest, but couldn’t as you left his bedroom, closing the door behind you.

N/A: Ended it with a lil' angst but we all know it will resolve, some way or another. ;) Hope the smut was enjoyable tho!

Hearts & Reblogs are very appreciated! <3

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #cevans characters #chris evans #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans x reader #captain america x you #captain america x reader

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enforcerrinzler · 5 months

Note

/* not specifically one of the prompts from the captured meme, but inspired by it... Hope this works? --@not-that-dillinger */

Coming here turned out to be the worst of Ed's impulsive ideas, to date. Picking the lock on Flynn's arcade to go exploring? Bad impulsive decision number one. Sure, that was technically trespassing, but he was just looking around, no harm there, and that part of town had long since been abandoned, it wasn't like he was going to get caught.

In hindsight, getting caught there might have been the better outcome. Then he wouldn't have found the hidden basement, or The Computer. (And oh, wasn't that creepy. He still remembered his father's disembodied voice coming out of it. He'd had nightmares of it clear through middle school, he did not need that again.) He should have turned around and gone home, or to a bar or somewhere a reasonable person would go after a long day at the office, but no. Bad impulse decision number two: hacking into Flynn's computer. Again, technically illegal, but. Maybe he cold solve the mystery of where Flynn had disappeared to?

...And that had led directly to bad impulse decision number three: shooting himself with a high powered laser.

To his credit, Ed knew what the laser was. His father had ranted and raved about it in what seemed like fits of madness when Ed was young. But. Yeah, could have gone way worse.

Naturally, Ed's first instinct on finding himself in a strange new world was to go explore. He was used to being cautious, aware of his surroundings when he was out, and quickly realized someone was following him. He tried to lose them in the not-so-dark alleys of the glowing city, taking turns at random until--

--he'd turned a corner and came face to face with five others, all wearing masks, and realized he'd walked right into their trap. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was one of the programs throwing something small and round at him, and the thick white smoke it emitted.

...

He awoke in a cell, some time later. At first, he tried to just... sit and observe, figure out where he was, and who had captured him, and why.

Except, there wasn't much beyond the two guards posted at the end of the connecting hallway, and it didn't take long before his claustrophobia made him feel anxious.

"Hey!" he screamed at the guards. "Let me out!!!"

The guard made a gesture that Ed couldn't quite see, but could safely assume was rude.

Ed continued to scream at the guards, because there wasn't much else he could do. He may have been trapped, but they also stuck with him.

Except it turned out, the guards could do something about that, and one of them marched over opened the cell, and--

--Oh. They had staves.

Ed lay in his cell, some time later, out of breath and everything aching. He was certain he had a cracked rib, if not more. And a broken nose from the way it was bleeding.

And broken glasses.

It was some time later that Ed heard footsteps approaching his cell. Everything still hurt, but he hauled himself to his feet anyway. "Come back for round two, asshole?" he asked.

In response, the guard disabled the force field that enabled his cell, and shoved someone else inside.

Then they reactivated the force field, and walked away.

Ed sighed, and sank back down in his corner heavily. He eyed the blur of his fellow prisoner warily.

Rinzler hit the ground hard, barely managing to cover his helmet with his arms to avoid it getting even more damaged. One of the guards had decided to use Rinzler’s helmet as an emotional outlet after he had gotten a nasty hit in on one of them. Any assistive programming in their helmet was completely offline and the glass had multiple cracks with a few bits missing from the back as well.

Usually, Rinzler would have turned and grabbed the guard’s ankle before they could leave. Would have tackled the program and forced them to guide him to the exit or derezzed them with his claws if the guard refused. But it wasn’t just a shattered helmet and pounding head that was keeping Rinzler down. His captors had latched a bizarre mechanism over his disc and dock that made his whole body ache and every move just seemed to make the mechanism dig in even more. It was frustrating and humiliating beyond belief to be thrown into this cell like a helpless beta, they were supposed to be better than this. Not to fall for some poor young program that had been forced to act as bait. They should have seen through it. Rinzler swore to themself that they would derezz every single one of those who had done this.

When the blurry room finally stopped spinning Rinzler was just able to focus enough to hear the sound of ragged breathing above his own broken clicking purr. He wasn’t alone. The Enforcer looked up towards the sound, spying the blurry figure. They couldn’t see any bit of light on the figure that could indicate their alliance, in fact they couldn’t see any circuitry at all.

“Identify, program.” Rinzler shakily pushed himself up into a sitting position, keeping his gaze on the figure in case this was just another trap.

@not-that-dillinger

#initializing system…#File Five #not-that-dillinger #ic #// a this is great! I’m so excited for Ed and Rinz to meet!#Rinlzer 🤝 Ed: Shitty vision and not having a good time

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cryptidcola · 2 years

Text

Reflections (of the Past)

>> Somewhere in Jubilife City, there’s a large monument celebrating the Hero of Hisui— it doesn’t depict their face, or any distinguishable features at all— but 5 days a week, a young person passes it on their commute. They pay little mind to it, a mundane part of their daily routine, until 200 years ago in ancient Hisui, when they reflect on their past in the future and they realize it was for them.

>> A set of identical twins in their high school days, idly flipping through a world history book when something catches both their eyes: a black and white photo of a group of people taking up the bottom half of a page. Their eyes scan the picture, and Emmet points out an older gentleman in the crowd, his hat tipped to reveal a balding head; “He looks like you, Ingo,” Emmet says, his voice teasing. “Like us,” his brother quickly corrects, adjusting the hat on his own head that he wears to cover the hairline that’s been slowly creeping backwards ever since he turned 16. They spare one more glance at the photo before turning the page.

>> Cyllene is a national hero— her sword is displayed proudly in a plexiglass container in Jubilife City Hall beneath a regal portrait. She is a celebrated figure, her name spoken with respect all throughout the region.

Somewhere in Sinnoh a boy grows up— the youngest member of a most prestigious bloodline. He has her face; her aloof, stoic demeanor; lacks her physical strength but has all of her ambition. It’s never enough. His parents are wealthy enough to buy him everything he could want but give nothing he needs. “Why can’t you be more like your cousins?” “Why aren’t you top of your class?” He can’t connect with his peers. He can’t even connect with most Pokemon. One night, a Zubat flies into his room through an open window. He guides the small, blind creature back out; eventually over the course of weeks it becomes routine. “I’ll show them someday,” Cyrus whispers to the Pokemon, now clinging to the ceiling above his bed, “I’ll create something perfect.”

>> The name Laventon synonymous with scientific achievement— he is held up as one of the first great minds in the study of Pokemon. His work viewed as the foundation upon which most of the knowledge of Pokemon biology is built even to this day. Scholars of all ages, from the youngest elementary school children to graduate students study his work on the first ever Pokedex. Dozens of universities all over the world have buildings bearing his name where researchers continue his life’s work— his legacy.

In the town of Postwick in the Galar Region, an 8-year old, purple haired future Champion beams with pride when his class opens their science textbooks to chapter 2 and a photo of his ancestor is among one of the first things they see.

>> Champion Cynthia wanders the stacks of Canalave Library— it’s late, and she is restless. Normally it wouldn’t be open to visitors at this hour, “But for you, Champion, I’ll make an exception,” the librarian had said, sensing the urgency in her voice, before asking her to lock up when she finished and wishing her a good night. The ancient floors creak below her feet as she walks across them— it was her own kin who had put them down, building this library in an attempt at penance for his ultimate betrayal— to educate future generations so that perhaps they would not make his same mistake.

Finally, the Champion approaches a nondescript door at the back of the building; and as she turns the key, Cynthia is greeted by a dark, long-disused office. A large, wooden desk sits at the center of it, sprinkled in a light coating of dust. She scans the bookshelves lining the room for a moment before she finds what she’s looking for— gathering the old, handbound tome in her arms; and as she sets On Giratina And The Distortion World down on the desk, her grey eyes are reflected back at her by an old picture of her ancestor, grinning mirthfully with his Togepi.

A/N: Whaddup, I normally don’t write anything to share but I had some Thoughts™️… and my dear @shmothman convinced me to post them here.

Speaking of! The Volo + Cynthia part of this fic takes place in the same canon as their masterpiece Judgement | Forgiveness where after battling him, Volo gets sent to eeby deeby the Distortion World and earns redemption for himself, in case anyone was confused!! If reader-insert fic is your jam I definitely recommend checking it out!!

UPDATE: Now cross-posted to AO3!

#pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #volo #champion cynthia #captain cyllene #galactic boss cyrus #submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #warden ingo #professor laventon #cynthia pokemon #cyllene pokemon #cyrus pokemon #ingo pokemon #emmet pokemon #bri.txt #bri writes #best of

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weepingfromacedartree · 1 year

Text

Dancing Around the Truth - Chapter 4

Happy (almost) Tuesday! Since the last chapter went up a little late, I'm posting this chapter a bit early.

Warning: this is the most graphic chapter when it comes to Penelope's illness. Nothing crazy, but prepared for some brief mentions of vomit and other flu-like symptoms.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4: Thursday

Colin awakes to the sound of Penelope retching.

His body reacts faster than his brain. One second, his hands are grasping the arms of a chair. The next, one hand is tangled up in tousled red locks, the other is caressing circles into her back.

Penelope’s back.

His right hand involuntarily pauses its movement as he tries to recall how the hell he ended up in this position. Then Penelope gets sick directly onto his shoes, as a gentle reminder.

Blinking away sleep, Colin’s eyes adjust to the room around him. For all he knows, it could still be the middle of the night. The room is enveloped in shadows, except for the single candle wick still burning bright beside them.

“Pen,” he whispers unhelpfully as he attempts to gather the hair away from her face.

The cuffs of his sleeves are unbuttoned and nearly riding up to his elbows. He does not remember discarding of his jacket and waistcoat that night. Nevertheless, they remain in a pile on the floor. His arms are bare, and all over Penelope.

He had touched her bare skin before on rare, usually accidental, occasions. Grazing her forearm while they walked side-by-side. Pulling her gently away from a crowd by the crook of her elbow. Brushing an eyelash from her cheek. Nothing like this. His fingers on her scalp, his wrist on her neck, his arm on her back. It’s intimate in a way that Colin had never imagined.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears a voice reminding him of the etiquette rules that make the touch of Penelope’s skin such a rare vice. But that voice is distant and losing its presence. The Ton’s orders and opinions feel increasingly irrelevant, the more time they spend alone in this room together.

After Penelope empties the contents of her stomach, she struggles to turn over in bed. He wonders how she could possibly have anything in her stomach to begin with. She had struggled to eat a crumb in the two days he had sat by her side. To Colin, that was an alarming sign indeed. He could be at death’s door and still scarf down a hot meal.

His hands guide her body so she is laying on her back once again. For a moment — maybe two — Colin just stands above her. His fingers linger on her neck and shoulder. He studies her face, barely lit by the sun now peaking through the window.

Her eyes are fluttering. Even in the burgeoning morning light, Colin cannot tell if they are focused on him, or at nothing at all. Quickly though, he determines the latter must be true. She has to be delirious, otherwise she would be advising him to stay away.

Colin moves his hand from her neck to her forehead. It’s hot. Hotter than it was the day before. Still in the realm between sleep and consciousness, she whimpers beneath his touch.

The last thing he wants to do is leave her side. But he made a promise to himself last night.

Straightening his spine as he rises to stand, Colin steals a glance out the window. At the world outside. It’s morning, he belatedly realizes.

Regretfully, he calls for Anne to take his place.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

The sky is orange above him as Colin crosses the short distance between homes.

He would have departed to the doctor’s office directly from Featherington House, if it were not for the remnants of Penelope’s early morning wake up call still evident on his loafers. So, first, he runs to Bridgerton House. He calls for the footman to bring the carriage round. He undresses and re-dresses quickly, without much thought or a valet in sight. He runs back to the street and finds… nothing.

Above him, the sky is a deep hue of yellow, but Colin does not realize this fact. His head is turned to the left, eyes fixed on the point where the the road meets the trees, willing his carriage to come into sight.

Below him, Colin taps his fresh, clean loafer into the gravel with the insistence of a woodpecker. He wonders if it would be faster to travel on foot.

No, he quickly determines. It will be simpler to throw the old man in a carriage than drag him back here on foot.

As he stands there for what feels like an eternity (knowing his footmen, it is more likely seconds), his eyes are naturally drawn back to the Featherington’s front door. If he had kept his eyes on the road a second longer, he would have finally caught a glimpse of his carriage turning the corner towards him. But that is of little importance to him now.

There is a man walking up Penelope’s front steps. Colin is over there before that man can raise his arm to knock.

“Scott!” Colin bellows once he recognizes the figure.

He should be grateful that the doctor is finally there to perform an examination on Penelope, but the anger he had felt the night prior rises back up as he closes the distance between them. He stops himself short, one foot on the Featherington’s bottom step, after remembering the physician will be of little use if he allows his anger to control his actions. Colin nearly falls over from the sudden lack of motion.

“Where the hell were you, yesterday? I sent you a letter expressing the urgency —”

“I apologize, Mr. Bridgerton, greatly.” Remorse is more evident in the man’s eyes than in his words. The look nearly turns Colin’s hot blood ice cold. “When your note arrived yesterday morning, I was attending to Lord Michaelson and…”

The doctor looks down, breath shaking as he takes a deep breath. Coincidentally, Colin stops listening at the same moment the doctor stops speaking.

In the two full days he had spent by Penelope’s side, watching as she suffered through her symptoms, he had never, not once, questioned where the illness had been born from.

In a flash, he’s back in Lady Danbury’s ballroom, pining for Penelope as she dances with that decrepit-looking man. He’s taking her by the hand as Lord Michaelson stands closeby, coughing all the air from his lungs. How could Colin be so blind? So thoughtless, so stupid, so —

“Bridgerton,” Scott speaks sternly, breaking him from his train collision of thoughts. “Did you hear what I just said?”

He had not.

“I regret to inform you, but Jeremy Michaelson passed before the sun rose this morning.”

It’s like the blood drains from his body, completely.

“I do not say that to alarm you. Miss Featherington is more than three decades his junior and Michaelson was in poor health to begin with. I tell you so you do not read his obituary in tomorrow’s paper and be alarmed for the girl’s condition.”

“Right, I — Thank you — I just —” His words come out in stammers, with no motivation or capacity to finish any singular thought.

Colin’s ears, lungs, and stomach are all processing the doctor’s words at different speeds. He hears the final statements and understands that they were intended to be reassuring. But his lungs are not so quick to catch up; the constricting sensation in his chest lingers as air starts filtering through his body again. And as hard as he tries to push it back down, there’s something rising from the pit of his stomach. It formed the the second he heard the word “passed” and has been traveling upward ever since. Each word Colin utters feels like it’s bringing the bile closer and closer to his lips. Fortunately, the front door swings open before he can say anything else.

“Greetings, Dr. Scott,” Anne says from the other side of the entryway. “Miss Featherington is in her bed chambers. You may see her now, sir.”

“Thank you, miss.”

Anne stands to the side to allow the doctor entry into the home. She continues standing there as he walks past.

“Are you all right, Mr. Bridgerton?” she asks after a moment.

Colin nods unconvincingly, avoiding the maid’s eyes as he does so. He holds up a finger, trying to signal that he needs a moment to himself. Thankfully, Anne takes the hint and follows the doctor towards Penelope’s quarters. She leaves the door slightly ajar behind her.

Before he knows it, Colin is leaning over the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach directly onto one of the Featherington’s finely trimmed shrubs.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Colin stands dutifully outside Penelope’s door while she receives her examination. He does not intend to eavesdrop, but as hard as he tries to divert his attention away from the sounds drifting through the crack beneath her door, he cannot. Though, he wonders if it even counts as eavesdropping if you cannot discern a single word through the jumble of sound. Penelope’s coughs, the doctor’s questions, quiet murmurs — it’s all just noise. None of which can quell his increasingly worrisome thoughts. Those thoughts are only momentarily disrupted when a new noise breaks through.

Footsteps.

Colin takes a step away from his spot by the door, as if that would conceal the fact that he had, in fact, been eavesdropping.

When Dr. Scott walks into the hall, he closes Penelope’s door so swiftly that Colin cannot steal a glance at the redhead in bed.

“Mr. Bridgerton, I — ”

“How is she?”

“She is…” The doctor looks down at the notes in his hands, as if the answer to Colin’s question is hidden somewhere in the stack of papers. “Her fever concerns me. A bit.”

“A — a bit?” Colin asks. His words sound hollow.

The doctor’s eyes are still trained downwards. He senses that the doctor is more interested in avoiding Colin’s gaze than examining his notes.

“I am prescribing her an antipyretic to reduce her fever.”

“That’s — ”

“And opium. For the pain.”

Colin’s heartbeat picks up. Penelope had not mentioned being in pain once in the last two days. Was there anything else —

“Pardon.” His mind clears, suddenly focused on just one single word. “Did you say opium?”

It unsettles him to think that a doctor would prescribe Penelope the same drug Colin had once bought off a street merchant in Paxos. Logically, he knows that opium is prescribed for such treatments, but logic does little in the face of memory.

Colin had found the effects alluring when he had tried it himself, two summers ago in Greece. But he had felt averse to such effects after witnessing them in his brother’s behavior during their trip to Aubrey Hall last season. Watching his brother bumble about for hours after taking it… Colin imagines that Penelope would not wish to give up her control and reason in such a way.

“Yes. I have seen opium offer immense relief to many of my patients. Not only is it a potent painkiller, it can also produce sleep, relieve irritation, quiet a cough, diminish diarrhea, control — ”

“Ahem.” Clearly, Colin was ignorant to the full scope of the drug’s effects.

“I understand but…” He clears his throat again. “Opium, antipyretics — those are only meant to treat her symptoms. Surely, there is something you can do to eradicate the illness at its source.”

“Right now, this is all I can do for her.”

Colin’s blood is boiling again.

“Is that all you could do for —” He lowers his voice, suddenly very aware of the crack beneath the green door. “Lord Michaelson?”

“Colin,” Scott finally meets his eyes again. “Reducing her fever, keeping her hydrated, relieving her pain — all of those things will help Penelope’s condition improve. They will help her get better.”

The doctor’s sudden use of his and Penelope’s Christian names deflates something in Colin. He had let his heart overpower his head. He had let himself forget — or just ignore — where he is, what he is doing, and who they are to one another.

He is in Featherington House. He is alone, unchaperoned, with Penelope. They are unmarried. And now, Colin has brought along a witness to the impropriety. To the scandal.

He thinks of Benedict’s words, uttered not 48 hours ago.

Be discreet.

“Of course, thank you, doctor.” The other man nods and starts turning towards the staircase. But Colin is not done.

“Dr. Scott, I…” He takes a breath. “I understand that my presence in this home might be considered unusual to some, but you must understand. Miss Featherington is a friend. She is very important to me.” Another breath. “Even if it is considered improper to some — to the Ton, I mean — I could not leave her alone here. Not in her condition.”

“Colin, please — ”

“I am simply asking for your discretion.”

Scott looks him up and down, a moment of silence before speaking. Then, he chuckles.

“I am a man of medicine. I deal exclusively in discretion.”

Colin chuckles too. Though, he can’t grasp why. None of this is funny.

“Of course, I simply —”

“I promise you, etiquette does not concern me. Not in my line of work.” He sighs. “But even if it did, those rules would not be applicable when a young lady’s wellbeing is at stake.”

“Thank you.” Colin tries to sound appreciative. He should be, but there’s still something nagging at him as the doctor turns to leave.

“One last thing, doctor.” Scott raises his eyebrows, signaling for Colin to continue. “Did you happen to inform Miss Featherington of Lord Michaelson’ passing?”

The doctor’s eyes go to his papers once again.

“No,” he finally says. “I typically recommend against informing a patient that they contracted their illness from a dead man. Hope is a powerful placebo.”

With that, Colin allows Scott to leave. Heading towards the staircase, the doctor calls over his shoulder that he will send a messenger boy over with the medication later that day. Colin’s hand is wrapped around the brass doorknob before the doctor descends the first step.

If he had taken a single second to consider his actions, Colin would have remembered that this is not his own home — not his own room. That it is, to put it lightly, rude to barge into someone’s bed chambers unexpectedly. But when he twists the handle and pushes open her door, Penelope does not seem to mind. Or possibly even notice.

She lays in bed, just as she had when he left her there that morning. Just as she had yesterday. And the day before that.

She’s awake. Her eyes are open, but looking distantly out the window closest to her bed. Colin imagines that from her angle, head sunken deep into her pillow, she can see nothing but the blue, cloudless sky above. He wonders if she has ever looked into the morning sky and noted the similarity between its color and that which is found in her own eyes.

“Pen,” he calls out weakly, praying that it will break her from her trance. It does.

“Colin,” she speaks softly. Her voice is laced with the serenity of someone still half asleep, but also the scratch of someone who has not been able to breathe from their nose in days.

Colin approaches, kneeling beside her bedframe like a boy in a church pew. He raises his hand to her forehead. With that small act, he does not solely intend to check her temperature. He also hopes — prays — that her touch will help ground him back in reality. To help him consolidate the Penelope who begged him to stay safely away from her yesterday with the Penelope looking up at him now.

“Are you in pain?” he asks, the words feeling like a bruise on his throat as he speaks. That word, pain, has been swimming around in the back of his mind since the doctor had let it slip.

Penelope tries to swallow, but Colin can see her neck tremble as she struggles to do so. She shakes her head, “No.” The movement is so subtle that Colin doubts he would have distinguished it from her stillness if his hand were not already cupping her face.

Liar, he thinks. He uses his thumb to push a damp piece of red hair away from her forehead.

“You should sleep,” Colin says, remembering the doctor’s instructions.

Rest. Liquid. Hope.

Penelope’s eyes move away from his. They land on an object sitting on the floor, a few inches from Colin’s left loafer. By some small miracle, Penelope finds the strength to speak.

“You should read,” she tells him. Then, “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Hand still cusping her cheek, Colin bites his tongue and nods his head once. Twice. Three times, to really sell it.

Back in exile (the armchair a few feet from the spot where he just kneeled), Colin picks up Volume Two of Pride & Prejudice. Something tells him that they would not rush through the story at the same velocity as they had the two previous days. A wise prediction, it quickly proves. Penelope’s eyes flutter shut by the end of the chapter.

It’s for the best, Colin thinks. Last night, he had felt the sudden urge to flip to the last page — to know how it all turns out. Today, he dreads the thought of the story coming to an end at all.

He reads a bit more as the day drones on. As the sunny morning sky makes way for a cloudy afternoon. As Penelope drifts in and out sleep. When she’s asleep, she’s restless. When she’s awake, she’s not fully there. Throughout it all, Colin sits unmoored.

When his eyes are not fixed on the book grasped in his hands, Colin’s mind swims with images of Penelope dancing with Lord Michaelson. Of Portia departing with that egregious stack of trunks. Of his own family playing pall mall in Aubrey Hall. Of Dr. Scott’s advice. Of his own hand, leading Penelope into a secluded, private room on the outskirts of a ball. Of a staircase. Of a willow tree. Of foolish words. Of the smile of a friend. Of red hair. Of morning sky eyes. Of

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Thursday (Six Months Before)

“Mr. Bridgerton.”

In hindsight, her words should not have caught him so off guard. It had been six months since he last saw her. At the Featherington Ball last August, they had danced together, she had bowed her head, and then she had disappeared down a hallway. Then nothing. For six months.

Just as he had done the previous year in Greece, Colin had sent Penelope countless letters while traveling along the Italian coast. Unlike the previous year, all of those letters had gone unanswered. Most of his letters go unanswered, though, so he didn’t read too much into her silence.

If her lack of correspondence had not indicated that something was amiss with Penelope, surely Eloise’s behavior that morning should have tipped him off. When he had asked if she had seen her best friend yet that season, she had scoffed. “To whom are you referring?” But Eloise was prone to dramatics; it’s typically unwise to read too much into her vague, cryptic messages.

But surely, Penelope’s disappearing act at the ball that night should have done it. From the moment he stepped into the Queen’s ballroom, Colin had found himself scanning the crowd for Penelope’s red curls. He caught a few glimpses, but always in motion. Always turning a corner or passing through an exit. Each time Colin tried to get close, the flash of red was gone. Except for the one time it turned out that he was following Prudence Featherington. She had not known the whereabouts of her sister, either.

Just when Colin was at his wit’s end, ready to abandon the ball and request Penelope’s presence at Featherington House the next morning, he finally saw her face. A few inches from Eloise’s. Neither looked very happy to see the other.

In the few seconds that it took to bridge the gap between himself and the two (former?) friends, Penelope had disappeared again. At least now, he could clearly follow her with his eyes as she departed the ballroom. She had exited out the closest door to Queen Charlotte’s garden.

He brushed past his tempestuous little sister without so much as a word. He did not have time to bother investigating whatever disagreement Eloise had found herself in.

“Pen!”

When he finally caught up to her, she stood on the bottom step leading to the garden. He remained on the top step.

In the six months of silence, he had thought of Penelope’s face many times. Usually warm and cheerful. Occasionally furrowed and serious. Sometimes sad. But as she looked up at him in that very moment… Colin could not recall a single time when Penelope’s face looked so disdainful. At least, never when he was the subject in her view.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she had called him.

“I — I have been searching for you all night.” Colin’s face remained still as he struggled to find the right words. He had waited months for this moment, why had he not rehearsed something to say? But then again, why would he? Conversations usually came quite naturally when shared with Penelope. “It is so good to see you again.”

Penelope did not speak right away, possibly considering words herself. Colin observed a look of conflict pass on her face as she stood there, even in the shadows of nightfall. His eyes moved downwards, taking note of her dress for the first time that night. It was the color of emeralds.

As Penelope stood there looking up at him, silent and looking so unsure, Colin felt the need to end the lull in their conversation. He placed one foot on the step below him, moving towards Penelope in the slowest fashion he could manage. He moved towards her with the abundance of caution that a hunter might approach a deer, careful not to spook or cause her to flee. Penelope, in turn, took a step back, her short heel sinking into the grass beneath her foot.

“I hope that your family is well. After what happened with your cousin last season, I —“

“We are quite well.” She bowed her head, as if that was a natural conclusion to their long-awaited reunion. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Those words again…

“Pen, wait!” he said before she took the chance to disappear again. The caution he had held in his words just a moment ago was gone. Confusion and desperation took over. “Is something the matter?”

The look of disdain returned on her face.

“Why would anything be the matter?”

“Well… I don’t know —”

“Twas a rhetorical question. No, nothing is wrong. I simply stepped outside for some fresh air.”

She smiled for the first time since he laid eyes on her that night. For years, when Colin thought of Penelope, the first thing he pictured was her smile. How could he not? It was the first thing he saw when they greeted one another. Penelope would meet his eye and immediately smile. But the smile she shot to him then did not look familiar at all.

All of it felt like unfamiliar territory. Colin was desperate to get things back on track.

“Well, the night is almost over. Can I escort you to the dance floor?”

“No. I do not believe that would be wise.”

“Why —”

“I would not want anyone to get the wrong idea about your intentions.” While most of her speech up until that point had been even, measured, hiding her true feelings, she slipped up with the last word. It was delivered with spite.

“Intentions?” Colin repeated.

She took a step forward, both feet planted on marble again. Her eyes did not dare leave his.

“Dancing with a young lady at a ball is typically seen as an act of courting. We are friends. I would not want any onlookers to get the wrong idea about us.”

Colin had spent most of the conversation in utter confusion, but he certainly wasn’t expecting that. He laughed.

“Penelope, I do not care about the opinions of ‘onlookers.’”

Those were not the right words.

Clenching the skirt of her deep green gown, Penelope slowly, methodically walked up to the top of the stairs. Although now a step above him, given their notable height difference, she was still far from eye level.

“This is not a joking matter and I do not believe that to be remotely true.”

“I —”

“And honestly, our friendship, while innocent in childhood, became inappropriate the second I debuted in society.”

Colin opened his mouth to protest. His first instinct was to call her words ridiculous. But before he could voice that opinion aloud, he took note of their surroundings.

He only glanced away from her for a second. That’s all it took for him to realize that the two of them were isolated on the Queen’s back steps, in the shadows and out of view from the rest of the ball’s attendees. If someone wandered onto the terrace and observed them standing there together, what would they have thought?

But when Colin directed his attention back to Penelope, her neck craned to look up at him, the absurdity of her statement hit him again.

“Men and women are allowed to be friends,” he countered.

“Not like this.” Penelope raised her hands, fingers pointing towards the night sky. The white satin of her gloves shined in the moonlight. “Speaking privately, unchaperoned. Using each other’s Christian names. Writing letters.” Her hands fell to her sides. “All of those things — those indiscretions — could have disastrous consequences.”

On her. She didn’t need to speak the last two words aloud for Colin to hear them. All of those indiscretions could have disastrous consequences on her. Men rarely receive the same finality of judgment.

Colin was silent. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong, but it struck him all at once how true her words were. Whether he knew it or not at the time, he had taken so many liberties with Penelope over the course of their friendship.

He had been selfish. The benefits he gained from her companionship had blinded him — had prevented him from thinking critically about what she stood to lose from his actions.

Sensing Penelope might bolt at any moment, Colin opened his mouth again. He could not allow her to interpret his silence as him caring so little about their friendship to let her walk away now.

“Pen, what are you saying?”

She stood in her place, seemingly asking herself the same question. Then she looked down.

“We cannot keep conducting ourselves in this way. It’s improper.”

Once again, Colin did not need to hear the implied words to understand her meaning. They needed to stop conducting themselves in that way. As friends. They needed to stop being friends. The thought infuriated him.

“Pen, I hope you know how much I value your friendship. I would never —”

“If you were ever my friend, I would hope that you would take my status — my future — a little more seriously.”

“Of course I do. I —”

“I heard you, Colin. On the night of my family’s ball.”

Realization hit him in the chest with the force of a race horse. Clarity set in, finally bringing some level of understanding to the words that had confounded him moments ago.

Mr. Bridgerton…

“Penelope Featherington?”

… intentions.

“The way you were dancing with her looked rather interesting.”

… an act of courting.

“You courting the girl, Bridgerton?”

… wrong idea…

“Ah. Are you mad?”

… joking matter…

“I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington.”

… I do not believe that to be remotely true.

“Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife.”

In the moment, that night in August, he had loathed himself for speaking of his dear friend so flippantly. But in truth, that loathing was not intense enough to stick to him for long. He had not thought of the interaction once since those words left his lips. It was a brief, drunken interaction with a group of men whose opinions Colin truthfully did not care much about. If he had known that Penelope’s ears were privy to it…

“Penelope, I am so, so sorry.”

“You —”

“My behavior was unacceptable, inexcusable, but please know that my words —”

“You need not apologize.”

“I assure you that I do need to apologize. I —”

“You did not know I was there.”

“Nevertheless —”

“No. Please listen when I say you have nothing to apologize for.” She raised a hand again, as if to remind Colin to steady himself. Her words remained even and controlled. He sounded like a madman.

“We were not and have never been courting. It would be like me saying that I would never dream of courting your brother Benedict. Do you think he would take offense to me making such an obvious declaration?”

Colin was quiet, one final moment of realization hitting him. It delayed his response.

“No. He wouldn’t take offense,” he eventually says. Although in truth, Benedict probably would have taken at least some offense. Anyone’s ego would be bruised with the tone Colin had employed.

“It is settled then.” Penelope turned to leave, the beading of her dress catching the moonlight as she walked away from him.

“Goodbye, Mr. Bridgerton,” she called over her shoulder.

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

“Mr. Bridgerton.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, gently tapping him awake. Once he gets over the initial shock of having fallen asleep in the first place, Colin looks up to find Anne standing above him.

“The messenger boy returned with the medicine for Miss Featherington.”

Colin looks from the maid to the window. The sun is already setting.

What on Earth had taken so long?

“Ahem. Thank you, Anne.”

“No thanks necessary, sir.”

Anne places a cup of tea and two small bags on Penelope’s bedside table. She points to the gray bag: “Ground willow bark, used to treat fevers.” Then, she points to the black bag: “Opium, for pain.” Finally, she places a note beside the other materials. “The doctor said to start by mixing small doses of the powders into her tea. Add more as needed, if her symptoms do not improve within the hour.”

Colin nods, although he’s still making sense of the doctor’s instructions. He looks over to Penelope, still snoring softly in bed. What if he empties both bags and her symptoms do not improve?

“I will see that she takes them.”

In his peripheral vision, Colin sees Anne turn towards the door. But then she stops.

“Almost forgot.” She takes a light blue envelope from the pocket of her smock and hands it to Colin. She says something about “Miss Featherington” receiving a letter earlier in the afternoon. Colin’s mind is too busy questioning what would happen if those medications don’t help for him to listen to the details. He places the envelope on the table, for Penelope to read later.

“Thank you, Anne.”

With that, the maid exits. She closes the door shut behind her.

Colin pulls the chair forward so when he sits, his knees graze the wood grain of the bed frame. Leaning over, he raises his hand to Penelope’s forehead. His touch is light, careful not to wake her unless strictly necessary. She’s burning up.

“Pen,” he says gently. He moves his hand from her forehead to her shoulder, careful to keep his touch contained to the fabric of her nightgown.

“Hmmm,” she murmurs, nose scrunching while her eyes remain shut.

“Pen, wake up. Please.” Penelope, ever the dutiful lady, opens her eyes at the last word.

She blinks a few times, reminding herself of her surroundings. Then she turns her attention to the man leaning over her. She smiles.

“Hi,” she says dazedly.

Colin smiles for the first time in what feels like days. “Hi.”

The moment is warm, but quickly disrupted when Colin remembers his reason for waking her. Pointing his eyes towards the table, he says: “Your medicine is here. Can you sit up?”

She nods weakly. Before she can even attempt to adjust her position, Colin’s hand moves to the space between her shoulder blades. He gently pushes her upright, then adjusts her pillows so they support her lower back.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He’s taken aback by her words.

“Don’t thank me,” he says dismissively. He reaches his hands towards the teacup and gray bag.

“Colin —”

“The doctor prescribed this for your fever.” In his head, Colin questions what kind of idiot doctor hands you a prescription with the sole instruction to start with “small doses.” After a moment of consideration, he sprinkles about a quarter of the bag into her tea. Before handing over the cup, Colin glances at the black bag still sitting on the table.

“He also prescribed opium. For your —”

“Pain.” Penelope heaves a heavy sigh. “I know.”

Remembering all of her previous attempts to hide the severity of her condition, Colin chooses his words carefully.

“Do you —”

“Yes.”

If there is one thing that had not changed between them over the last year, it’s Penelope’s ability to know what he is going to say before he says it. Sighing, he picks up the black bag.

“Opium is a powerful drug. Even the smallest of doses can have considerable effects. It can unburden your mind, allow you to transcend bodily pain, but it can also leave you feeling a bit…” An image of Benedict nearly falling out of a third-story window flashes in his mind. “Unrestrained.”

When he notes a look of doubt cross her face, he asks: “Are you sure you want the opium? You can start with just the antipyretic.”

“No — I mean, yes.” She nods. “Yes. I will take both.”

He unlaces the string from the black bag. Feeling the weightlessness of the powder between his thumb and index finger, he looks over to Penelope again. She’s staring at the bag in his hand.

“If it’s not working or if you require a larger dose, you will tell me. Right?” Eyes still on the bag, she nods.

He pinches a “small dose” of opium into the tea, swirls it with a silver spoon until both powders dissolve, then hands the cup to Penelope. It’s empty within the minute.

Colin takes the cup from her hand before she has the chance to lean over and place it on the table herself.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t —”

“Just accept the thanks, Colin.”

He nods, but his lips unwittingly form a tight line. It feels dishonest to accept gratitude for something so insignificant. In truth, it has been difficult for him to accept any form of gratitude from Penelope since the night of the Queen’s inaugural ball. It always feels undeserved.

“I don’t know about willow bark, but the aftereffects of opium can come on quite swiftly.”

“Have you ever consumed it, yourself?” Colin raises his eyebrows. “Opium, I mean. I heard it’s a common vice for travelers.”

“Oh — yes. A few times while on my travels in Greece.”

The sides of Penelope’s lips twitch upward, revealing a hint of a smirk.

“Not in Italy?”

Colin leans back in the chair, then moves a hand to his face to hide his own smirk. Another image of Benedict, the one of him attempting to fingerpaint with red wine, pops into his mind.

“No, I have not felt the compulsion to partake in many months.”

“Bad reaction?” she asks. He detects a hint of worry in her voice, nearly buried by intrigue.

“No,” he answers quickly. “Well, not personally, anyway.”

Penelope tilts her head ever so slightly. “Just a witness, then?”

“You could say that.” Penelope’s growing smirk begs him to continue.

“Last year, during a trip to Aubrey Hall, Benedict was waiting on some news. He seemed anxious — a trait I had nary observed in my brother before — and I thought opium might do him some good. I thought trying a bit of the elixir would help clear his mind but…” He chuckles beneath his breath. “He dumped the entire bag into his tea and spent hours off his rocker.”

Once his mouth shuts, Colin looks over to Penelope. He suddenly fears that he had said the wrong thing. That his words would alarm her for what is about to come. But she laughs.

“And did Benedict leave the situation feeling similarly scathed?”

“Oh, no.” Colin laughs in turn. “He had found the whole ordeal quite hilarious in the aftermath. Though, I do suspect that my brother was born without the sense of humility that allows the rest of us to learn and grow from such embarrassments.”

“Well, at least your intentions were sincere.”

The room becomes rather quiet after her remark.

Colin picks up the book that’s still sitting at his feet. “I could read more, while we wait for the medicine to take effect.” He starts flipping to the page they last left off, but Penelope stops him.

“No, I think I’ve heard enough for today. I fear that listening to Lydia’s unending streak of poor decision making is aggravating my symptoms.”

A chuckle escapes him as he sets the book back down. “Fair enough. I fear that I will break out into hives if Elizabeth and Darcy do not learn to properly communicate soon.”

Penelope breaks out into a fit of giggles so energetic that he suspects the opium is already kicking in.

“Consider yourself a romantic, Colin?”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, suddenly feeling defensive. He shrugs. “I never claimed otherwise.”

“No,” Penelope says, lighter now. She moves so she’s no longer sitting upright, her head now hovering just above her pillow. “I suppose you haven’t.”

After a beat of silence, Colin opens his mouth again. “Are you feeling —”

“Tell me about your travels, will you? In Italy, I mean.” Her words are clear, but also sound far away. Her body continues slumping into the sheets, her head now situated firmly into her pillow. He had not expected the drugs to take effect this quickly.

“Uh… of course. I can —”

“I was so mad at you at the beginning of the season, that I never got the chance to hear your wonderful stories. I read all your letters, and they were beautiful, really. But it’s not the same as hearing a story from one’s own mouth.” She ends her staring contest with the ceiling to glance at him. Her blue eyes are rounder than usual. “Sorry. I did not mean to imply that you aren’t a great writer, because you are!” Turning away from him again, she snorts. “I would know.”

Alarm bells ringing violently in his head, Colin grabs the teapot and pours her another cup. He hands it to her, sans any drugs. “You should remain hydrated.”

Penelope does as she’s told, sipping the lukewarm liquid down quickly. Once she’s finished and he takes the cup from her hands, she smiles.

“Tell me about Venice,” she asks, sweetly.

Despite his growing unease, a small smile breaks through on Colin’s otherwise troubled face. Venice was his first stop on the Italian coast and, thus, the first letter he had sent to Penelope.

The idea of recounting his travels now instinctively feels trivial to Colin. But the way Penelope’s looking up at him — earnest in her want to hear his tales — he justifies that it can, at the very least, be an effective distraction to whatever else might be swimming around in her thoughts.

Before he says anything, though, he checks her forehead with the back of his hand. He breathes a sigh of relief; her skin does not feel quite as hot as it did before she drank the tea.

For about an hour, Penelope listens as Colin talks. He mentions the highlights already detailed in his letters — the sights, the gondolas, the delectable food — but he also shares with her things he never dared tell anyone else about his time abroad. Mainly, he tells her about the loneliness he felt, being away for so long. How the excitement of every new piece of art or intellectual conversation with a local could not stave off his longing for home. For the people he left there. He tells her about the Italian beaches and how the sand feels different than that of the English shores. He’s about to tell her about the boat ride from Venice to Comacchio, but then Penelope’s head shoots up and over the side of her bed.

“Pen!” Colin exclaims, standing up so quickly that the chair nearly rocks onto its side.

Just as he had done so many hours ago, he hastily pulls her hair away from her face as she empties her stomach. At least now there is a bowl to catch the contents, rather than them landing on his shoes.

Colin calls for Anne. He prays that she can hear him through Penelope’s shut door.

Returning his attention to the ailing woman in front of him, Colin questions how the hell Penelope has anything left in her stomach to vomit up. She had not managed to keep anything down all day.

It seems like Penelope is nearly done retching when Anne rushes into the room a minute later, a fresh bowl and damp washcloth in her hands. The maid helps Colin turn Penelope on her backside again.

For a moment, Colin wonders if he should dismiss Anne, or if it would be better for Penelope if she stayed. But Penelope decides for him.

“Anne, go.” This alarms Colin. Not just the audible strain in her voice, but also the bluntness with which she carries out her words. Absent is the rudimentary politeness of Penelope’s typical speech. He had never heard her address anyone in such a way. Other than, perhaps, himself.

Penelope’s speech seems to alarm Anne as well, as she does not immediately follow her lady’s order to flee the scene. She turns to Colin instead.

After another moment of consideration, he nods, indicating for the girl to go. The very second that they both hear the click of the door shutting behind her, Penelope opens her eyes.

“Go, too.” She uses what seems to be the last of her energy to point towards the door on the other side of the room. He should have been expecting that, but…

“No!”

“Yes.”

“We agreed —”

“I didn’t —” she starts coughing so violently that Colin worries she is about to choke. “Agree to —” She keeps coughing.

“My God! Pen, stop talking!”

Without much thought to his actions anymore, Colin sits on the edge of her bed, places one hand on her shoulder. He’s about to use the other to test her forehead again, but Penelope swats it away. She wiggles her shoulder from his grasp.

Regaining her composure, she speaks again. “I didn’t agree to any of this.” She coughs. “I don’t —” Cough. “You shouldn’t be here.” She seems to find her breath again, because the room goes unnervingly quiet for a moment.

Colin realizes he’s holding a breath deep inside himself. When he opens his mouth, simply to help deflate his lungs, Penelope speaks again. “Just go.” Her face, more than her words, crushes him.

He recalls what she had said to him an hour ago. At the time, he had been so concerned for her wellbeing that he had barely processed the contents of her words. But now…

I was so mad at you at the beginning of the season.

Colin recalls another sentiment. Something Benedict had told him the morning after his adventure at Aubrey Hall.

I swear, it’s like you slipped me truth serum last night.

Watching as Penelope continues to glare at him, Colin thinks of the final few weeks of the season. All of those little conversations he stole in the shadows of a ballroom or on the edge of a garden… Things had felt hopeful for the first time in months. He thought he was winning her back, but had he simply worn her down? Had Penelope’s relative good nature towards him these past three days all been in the name of politeness?

As her coughing fit grows louder, the dread in Colin’s stomach grows deeper.

Had Penelope’s hatred for him washed away? Or had she simply chosen to conceal it from his view?

Hands shaking ever so slightly, Colin stands from his spot on Penelope’s bed and pours her another glass of tea. The liquid must be ice cold by now. He hands it to her and she accepts. Even if she despises his presence there, neither one stands to gain anything from her choking to death on her own words.

Before moving the cup to her lips, Penelope says again: “Go.”

“No.” The assuredness in his voice surprises him — although it shouldn’t, really. Though it kills him to think that she still truly hates him, that does not change his reason for being there.

“Colin —”

“No, I’m not leaving you here alone. I am truly, deeply sorry that I am the last person left in Mayfair to take care of you, but I am and I am here. I know that you still hate me for the complete, comprehensive carelessness I practiced throughout the duration of our friendship. I know I deserve it, but none of that matters as much —”

Colin’s words stop short when Penelope lets out a groan so loud he wonders if it will summon Anne back into the room. He is stunned into continued silence by the knowledge that her lungs could produce such a long, deafening sound in their current state.

“You don’t understand me at all,” she whines, slurping down her tea.

“What? I —”

“I don’t hate you, Colin.” Slurp. “I never did.”

Colin is not sure he heard her correctly. He tries to run through everything she said that night — everything she said that season — trying to discern a single narrative that makes any amount of sense.

He comes up empty.

“Then why do you want me to leave? If it’s because you’re afraid I’ll contract your illness, at this point —”

“No. And stop acting as though you know everything I’m about to say before I say it.” He closes his mouth. That’s Penelope’s talent, not his.

When she is finished drinking the tea, she let’s go of the cup. He barely catches it before the porcelain can hit the hardwood floor. When he turns back towards Penelope, her face falls.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. Her voice is quiet and full of despair.

At a loss for words and feeling more unsure of Penelope’s intentions than ever before, Colin simply asks: “Why?”

She opens her mouth, but words do not come right away. She raises her hands palms up, fingers pointing towards the ceiling above. Then: “I am not a good person.”

Of all the things she said to him that night — no, of all the words she has ever uttered to him — those hurt Colin most of all.

“That’s not true.” He takes both of her hands in his and lowers them towards the bed below, but Penelope wiggles them from his grasp before they can hit the top sheet.

When he looks up, her face changes. Despair makes way for fury once again.

“I am Lady Whistledown.”

#fanfic #bridgerton #fanfiction #polin #dancing around the truth #weepingfromacedartree #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope

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graylinesspam · 8 months

Note

Okay first of all, your fics are amazing!

Second of all, I absolutely love that you made the Wolfpack Ashoka’s ori’vode but I have a question. If the arc with the Jedi temple bombing happens in your AU, how does Wolffe and Ahsoka’s relationship affect its outcome? Will he still stun her, will he even believe in her innocence, and what are his thoughts on the whole situation?

Thoughts? I sure I'm having them.

Though usually they're more incoherent sobbing than words.

I'm gonna be honest, I've never seen that act without my already preconceived ideas of the relationship between them already established. I've always interpreted it through that lens.

So I guess not much would really change except in the background. The build up. The fallout. (this also depends on the AU. Because I am writing ASOI which is post wrong jedi arc so I a dress this a little already but plan to a lot more in the future. While I'm not really writing Sleeping Habits with an intention of tackling this topic. Both AUs can be considered connected but I don't write Sleeping Habits with any foresight or planning intended for ASOI.)

Wolffe is a good soldier. He will carry out his orders no matter what. And you really can't forget that Plo is right there through the action as well. Whatever reservations Wolffe might have about hunting Ahsoka down he knows Plo cares about her more than anyone. He knows that Plo has volunteered them to capture her specifically to keep her from getting hurt. And he trusts his general. So it would be hard for him emotionally. Especially once she goes to trial and the entire GAR suddenly realises she's totally gonna get executed. That would probably be the only time he lets himself even consider that he could have let her get away. But he would never actually allow that.

Honestly, I imagine the night Ahsoka's trial ends and she disappears, Wolffe locks himself in his office with a bottle of something strong and he doesn't come out for a long time. Wolffe is a man that tries very hard not to have any thoughts or feelings. Whatever happens in his office is between him and the maker. But he doesn't take his helmet of for a long while afterwards.

Cody similarly digs himself into a hole he doesn't crawl out of for a while.

No one knows what happened to the 501st. After the battle had ended and they finally had the opportunity to reconnect with the GAR, they went dead silent. Full communications blackout for a two-day cycle. When they returned to Coruscant for leave many more of them had jagged blue lekku stripes painted somewhere on their armor. And no one dared to mention her when a soldier in blue was in the vicinity.

Those that mourn Ahsoka do so stoically, the way a soldier would. They don't show a lot of emotional vulnerability. They wear their colors. They drink their feelings. And if anyone tries to start something with them they're likely to find a first in their face. That's just the reality of it.

#star wars #ahsoka tano #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw #fanfic #501st #captain rex #commander cody #commander wolffe #The wolffe pack #anakin skywalker #the wrong jedi #ASOI #sleeping habits #Thanks for the ask!#They make me feel so special

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faith-alhazred · 8 months

Text

well, here we go!

get some tea and snacks, it's going to be a long story.

Antique Mask is my ttrpg scenario based on one of Mystery in the Air episodes, and there also a lot of references to Peter Lorre movies. i've run it twice, for two different groups already, who not into old movies and radio at all - and still, they liked it. i'll try to tell how it usually goes.

it starts somewhere in Vienna during 1930's. player characters are some kind of good guys, investigators.

so it's autumn evening when one of them gets a phone call from Herr Paul Fenning, who introduces himself as an antiquarian. he wants to hire them to find one very valuable thing. in that place obviously the investigators asks him to visit their office, but Fenning asks them to visit him at "Jacob Berger's Antique Shop" where he works, because he can't in a fact go anywhere. he's paralysed.

so the team go to "Jacob Berger's Antique Shop" - and it's actually my favourite part of the game - and find it dark and closed. the only knock and a man opens them door without saying anything. it's tall gloomy black haired man with a messy beard and burned scar on his face. turns out, his name is Boris, as Fenning's voice commands to let the investigators in.

the antique shop is all neatly polished oriental goods, mirrors, candle light and cigarette smoke. Boris locks the door and return to his task - polishing horrifying curver indian sword.

and here the players meet Fenning - short man about 40, with a big dark eyes, constantly smoking and looking so harmless and tired. he is paralysed except his head and right hand, so his has blanket covering his body across the left shoulder.

i love this character. Paul Fenning does his best to be polite, but you clearly can hear irritation in his voice. he hates to be paralysed, to have to deal with a bunch of idiots, and he considers everybody around are idiots and morons - but right now he needs help, so he behaves himself, but still has that loveable vibe "if i could stand up i'd crush you skull".

according to Fenning's story, he works for the business owner, the importer of oriental goods, and his job is to buy antiques from all over the world. his latest task was the most unique and expensive item - golden posthumous mask from Greece. unique as it's woman mask, and very ancient. so, mask's owner, man named Aristide Zweig after a few rounds of negotiation agreed to sell it to Fenning. Fenning came to the Zweig's wax museum at evening, but after he went out he got shot in the back. he woke up in the hospital, paralysed, without money and the mask, but with Boris on his side, who brought him there, as far as he knows. and oh, yeah. about a week ago Zweig's museum burned down and Zweig himself disappeared.

and so, Fenning hires the investigators to bring him a wooden box with the mask, but they shouldn't open it - as a mask is so ancient, it must be opened only in special conditions, to avoid corruption. he pays generously of course, as its a matter of life and death for him.

here the investigation starts. and, well, obviously almost everything Fenning tells is a huge lie 🌿

will tell more in the next post 🌿

#Peter Lorre #Mystery in the Air #Antique Mask #ttrpg

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screamqueened · 29 days

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patience has never been jack's strong suit. it didn't take long for jordan to figure that out; she figured that he was a person so used to getting everything he wanted exactly when he wanted. maybe that was the appeal she had; where everyone else was quick to bow to jack's demands, jordan stood firm. dared to push back where it counted. wasn't quick to fold — for the most part. she's only human, after all, and as infuriating as he was, he could also be incredibly persuasive.

case in point: she's in his office, or rather, his office chair. legs straddle either side of his hips, her hands are in his hair as they take turns kissing each other hard and hot and breathless. the briefcase she had brought in at his request — left behind at her place the last time he stopped by, presumably containing important company documents — all but forgotten. part of her wonders if it was intentional, a ploy all along to get her to walk into his cleverly poised trap. she's a willing captive; his mouth moves to her jaw, then her neck, his hands greedily exploring under her shirt only to discard it moments later. it lands somewhere in the corner — on a plant, she thinks — and then he's back to work kissing at every bit of exposed skin he can reach. she's so close to losing herself in it, except —

' you know one of your subordinates could barge in here at any moment. '

the door isn't locked; she knows it, he knows it. but it's apparent he doesn't care. if the way @hyperionhero grabs her hips and pulls her in closer isn't enough of an indication of how little concern he finds this, his next words are.

❛ i don't care if someone sees us. i need you, now.

she can feel just how much he needs her. a moan slips out of her, breathy and needy as his teeth rake over her collarbone and his mouth moves to press kisses against her chest. she needs him just as much, he's made sure of that. she knows she'll give herself over to him just as she has so many time before this. she gains enough composure to articulate her next words in a mostly even cadence.

' if I didn't know any better — ' and she knows she does. the statement hangs in the air for the brief moments it takes her hand to leave its place in his hair, slide down his chest and start rubbing him through his pants. ' I'd swear you want someone to catch us like this. '

#hyperionhero #in character.#answered.#whew!!!

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ghoulisheous · 1 year

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DP x DC: A Little Vicious Snippet #4

Summary: Vlad sabotages the portal. And Danny's life sucks. So much

The bats get involved.

Warnings: blood, amputation, violence

I've technically been sitting on this too long, and it still doesnt feel exactly right, but it's my first attempt writing any kind of action scene so.

Previous Snippets: #1 X, #2 X, #3 X, HERE

-----

Vlad is not happy. Granted, he has a lot of reasons to be unhappy. But this feels like a new low.

It was when he'd bought into that damn company that his troubles started.

Daggett Industries is a shadow of the company it once was. Scandal after scandal and its involvement in illicit activity had ruined its reputation. Its founder had been locked away for years. And the company was drowning under new management.

It's a private company, and in the wake of Roland Daggett's arrest the fate of the company had been placed in one of his children.

It was vulnerable. And it was oh so easy to overshadow one man and force him to sell out to Vlad co. The pitifully low price Vlad had settled on may have been suspicious. But it was as good as dead in the water. Daggett Industries was hardly worth anything at all anymore and in Vlad's opinion, he still overpaid.

Still. There needed to be something on paper to avoid suspicion.

He wouldn't have bothered purchasing the company at all if it weren't for that one scientist who operated out of Daggett Labs. And one damning, carelessly left plasma sample in the wrong place. The woman had been researching and testing and formulating theories on it.

For the past two weeks.

Two weeks too long in his opinion.

Twenty years he'd been able to stay under the radar. And then one woman, a scientist, stumbles over her newest project.

Him.

And Vlad can't have that.

But the company is Vlad's property now. He has access to and authority over any of the projects they work on. The sample had been retrieved. The woman's findings had been trashed. And her contacts sabataged.

He'll know when she inevitably starts her research from scratch. He'll know what she's looking for, where she's looking for it, and if she manages to find it. Or anything.

It should have all been neatly swept under the rug.

It should have happened the same as any other company Vlad took over.

But it didn't.

No, instead the man he'd overshadowed cried foul play.

The company was Vlad's now, the contract was signed. It was a done deal. But that wasn't what he was concerned about.

The man's cries should have been swept under the rug.

Simple regret of a petty, greedy little man.

And they were. That's usually how things went. But apparently somewhere along the way he'd still managed to stir up some suspicion.

Because there could only be one reason Vlad was looking at a bat through the security camera in his newest office.

But it didn't matter.

Vlad would deal with this the way he dealt with every other obstacle.

People could be agreeable when Vlad wanted them to be.

XXX

The patrol had been going well, for the most part. He and Robin had been paired together, which wasn't ideal. But he could work with that. Even if he was a little suspicious of Bruce's intentions for setting them on patrol together.

They had apprehended the runaway perpetrator of a hit-and-run, stopped several muggings, and some idiot trying to break into an ATM with a crowbar. It was productive. Even if it wasn't as glamorous as taking down Poison Ivy, or the Riddler.

Damian was probably hoping for more action though.

But a quiet night was a good night. And it was a mostly quiet night.

Except for the fact that they were being tailed.

Red Robin launched his grappling gun, following after his younger brother. The youngest was always too eager. He always pushed to take the lead when he was out with Tim. But if there wasn't specifically an emergency or Tim knew Damian was heading the way he wanted him to anyway, it was usually better to let him at least feel like he was in control.

At least for the sake of keeping the peace.

And if Tim grit his teeth a little too hard sometimes. Nobody but his dentist needed to worry about it.

The rush of air was brief. And then he tucked into a roll to ease his landing. He stood swiftly and came to stand…well, not next to the brat but near enough.

"Bout time you guys showed up."

Red Hood stubs out his cigarette on the wall next to him. Then flicks it as he leans back again with his arms crossed over his chest. He only wore a domino mask, his helmet sat by his feet.

"B'd be pissed if he saw that," Red Robin said, before striding past the man and peering over the ledge of the roof to the streets below.

It was a quiet night. The air was chilly and the sky was as muggy as it always was in Gotham. The streets below were lit with an eerie glow. He could see a few people walking quickly on the sidewalk.

"I don't see why Father would care enough to fret over the zombie's health."

"Like I give a shit what the old man thinks either way."

He hadn't managed to catch sight of whoever was following them. Whatever their goal, they hadn't made any moves yet and it put Tim on edge. He estimates it's been at least 15 minutes already.

At least since they crossed over into Crime Alley.

And whoever they were, they were fast. That was for sure. Even with their grappling hooks. Even with the speed and ease they could move across the rooftops, their pursuer kept pace with them. They left no opportunity open for Tim to get out of their line of sight and turn the tables on them. They dogged the boys' steps in a way that made him feel preyed on.

They were quiet. The stalking probably would have gone unnoticed if it weren't for the rare slip ups that tipped him off. A soft pat of feet landing on the ground of an empty alleyway, just a hair too close to be out of his hearing range. A discarded bottle nudged into a sudden inexplicable roll. There had even been one moment. A few seconds when Tim had launched his grappling hook, flown through the air–

And flew through a hot spot. Just a sudden patch of heat and humidity that left him feeling uncomfortably feverish and like there was acid in his chest. A sudden change in temperature that he'd zipped into and through before he even had time to process the change. But it had been enough of a change that it almost startled him into losing his grip on his grappling gun midair.

Tim takes a second to scan the horizon in front of him. The familiar smog was thick in his nostrils. All the usual sights and sounds of the city, and not a thing was out of place.

Looking in windows, scanning the rooftops. Fire escapes. Anywhere he could think.

But it's like their pursuer is a ghost.

Or just invisible.

But not undetectable, he thinks to himself.

He turns to face Hood.

"Really, Hood. I follow some of the medical journals Gotham University has released and the current research says–"

"Yeah, yeah, if I wanted a lecture I'd offer one to the big bad bat himself."

"Well, as much as I'd like to see the look on his face. That's one way to get yourself under Big Brother's Eye," he shrugs, "You know how he gets."

The second the code slipped past his lips, there was a slight stiffening in the man's shoulders and Tim knew his message was heard. They were being watched. Speak carefully.

Satisfied, Red Robin turned a glance to Robin. He wasn't as subtle about it, he was trying to peek around Tim and had a venomous look on his face that made Tim want to shake him to make him straighten it out. He had his hand on his tool belt.

At least he got the message.

"But alright, I'll lay off."

"How kind of you," Jason smirked.

With an ease that only comes with practice, Tim drew back over to the group. Hood hadn't moved from his spot. He nonchalantly glanced around and Tim waited for the man to make eye contact with him again.

"All in all, it's been a pretty quiet night so far. No metas at least," as he said this, he thumbed at the edge of his mouth, marking the statement as inaccurate Intel, "B's probably happy about that."

Whoever they were, there was almost no doubt they were a meta. Probably invisible, but he couldn't say that part with present company.

Tim pushes his hair out of his eyes, and as he does he activates the thermal imaging in the lenses of his mask. Step one, try to get eyes on their invisible man.

They could do this quietly. Find the meta's vantage point, take them by surprise-

He stills just slightly when he finally sees it. But then keeps his gaze moving past till it's just in his periphery.

Much closer than he thought they'd be.

On the roof with them in fact. Or hovering over it to be more accurate. Far closer than Tim was comfortable with.

A hot spot. The shape of a man. Looming over Damian's shoulder.

And based on the look on the kid's face, he could probably feel the shift in the air behind him. He was tense, and he'd stopped looking around to stare resolutely forward with a scowl.

The figure behind him was tall, broad shouldered, and through the view of his infrared, the form looked unstable, like mist gathered together. There were what almost looked like horns on his head and long spindly fingers on his hands. His eyes were visible to Tim, piercing white through the lense of his infrared, like they were radiating heat all on their own.

A whole new meaning to the term 'heated glare.' Tim suppressed a shiver.

To his side Red Hood pushed off from the wall, seeing the subtle posturing in the younger bat. Hood would go for his helmet, most likely. They didn't know much about the meta, better to play it safe–

"Face us, coward! Quit hiding in the shadows!!"

And there goes the element of surprise. For the hundredth time since they left the cave, Tim cursed the fact that he got stuck with the fourteen year old. He behaved best in Bruce or Dick's company, not theirs. And definitely not his.

Okay, that's ok. Re-evaluate.

Quickly, Tim threw three birdarangs in the direction of the hot spot. With any luck, the fact that he'd been spotted threw him off.

But they flew straight through.

There was a chuckle from the figure, then a red hot core in the center of the mass grew and the figure struck out with an arm. The veins within it seemed to light up with the energy.

He briefly thought what that looked like without infrared.

A bolt of energy flared in Tim's eyes as it zipped across the rooftop and hit the wall where Red Hood had been standing a second before. He was crouched now, several feet away. Guns already in hand.

Tim took a second to shake off his confusion. He pulled out his bo staff and it sprung open to its full length as he jumped backward to situate himself nearer to an air conditioning unit. Somewhere he could attack, but also prepared for a defense.

"Aren't at least the two of you too old for dress up games?"

Robin backed off with a readied stance, but snapped his katana in front of him with a snarl at the slight. And Hood clicked the safety off, Tim didn't have time to wonder if they were loaded with rubber bullets or not. He could only hope they were or they were gonna hear about it from Bruce.

Both of them were ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You saying you don't have a costume? Pity you can't join the party," Hood sneered.

Okay, their adversary could throw energy blasts. On top of being able to turn invisible and density shift. So he had a pretty solid defense.

But he'd slipped up before. So he couldn't hold it indefinitely. Would he have to become visible again when he dropped his intangibility? Was there any kind of tell that would let them know when their attacks would hit?

At least they weren't completely at a disadvantage. They outnumbered him, he couldn't watch all of them for an attack.

Still, they'd have to be careful and co-ordinated about this.

From the corner of his eye, to his left now, Damian sucked a breath in through his teeth and the pommel of his sword creaked in his grip. Tim thumbed the trigger on his mask and in the span of a blink his vision returned to normal.

He was met with an alien-looking blue face and glowing red eyes.

"Can't say I recognize you. We do something to tick you off? Or were you just looking to blow off some steam?"

"Just thought I'd introduce myself," the man said through a fanged grin, sizing them up. Tim's stomach crawled as the man briefly dragged his eyes over him with a fierce red gaze. An alien, definitely, but not one Tim recognized. "I wanted to be better acquainted with Gotham's legends."

"By stalking us? I think your etiquette needs some work, Dracula."

Jason watched the figure as he stalked a perimeter around the metahuman. His guns still in hand, but not yet aimed at the target. He thumbed the safety threateningly.

The meta's gaze was drawn a little further from Tim.

"I go by Plasmius, actually," the alien smirked, stating almost curiously at Red Hood.

It was better if his eyes stayed on Jason.

"I think Dracula fits just a little better," Jason mocked, "What was it you asked before? 'Aren't we told old for costumes?'"

The alien sneared.

Tim wanted to ask questions, wanted to interrogate. But he stalled those instincts, caught Damian's eye instead and tilted his chin up. Robin conceded with a glare. He stalked away in the antihero's direction.

Tim took a few slow steps closer, and reached into his utility belt.

Making sure Hood and Robin caught the glint, he flung the capsule, shut his eyes and clapped his hands over his ears.

A bang and burning light flooded the rooftop. The meta yelled–hopefully stunned–and Tim made his move.

With a swish his bo staff swung straight through his opponent.

Tim buried his frustration and threw himself to the side to avoid the swipe of a glowing fist that just scarcely missed him. He wrinkled his nose at the metallic smell of ozone and sharp heat that singed his cape. He hit the ground and rolled to his feet.

Another swipe forced Tim to backtrack several paces to avoid it.

Three bangs and a snarl, and the man stops his assault on Tim. Definitely rubber bullets. Unless the man had bullet-proof invulnerability on top of everything else. The man flies to the side, and energy shoots out of his hands toward Jason this time. For his trouble another shot slices the air and just barely misses him.

The energy faded from the man's hands.

Another loud bang, and this one zips through him instead.

So he couldn't attack and hold intangibility at the same time?

Tim has his tell.

Plasmius locks eyes onto Jason once again. And he flickers out of visibility. Tim flicks on the thermal vision just in time to spot the man descend through the roof.

"He's in the building!" Tim shouts.

Just as the words leave his mouth, a force shoots back out of the ground and snags his ankle. He's yanked off his feet until his eyes connect with Jason's heat signature. Upside down. Heat shoots past him and Jason's gun is knocked out of his hand. It flies off the roof.

He's dropped.

A burst of energy hits him in the back and drives him back to the ground face first.

Tim grunts.

Robin's boots enter his field of vision as he pushes up onto his knees and elbows. Tim pauses as he hears the whistle of his sword slice above his back.

There's a snarl. Target hit, Robin dodges. And another blast hits the ground to his right. Too bright through the lenses of his thermal vision.

Tim snaps up his bo staff and throws himself back into action. He grits his teeth at the sting in his shoulders, but swallows his tongue.

Between one second and the next, there was that strange heat at his back. The contrast of it made him suddenly aware of the chill in his body. His first thought is that he's about to take another hit. And that was going to hurt.

And then it was on him.

In him. Under his skin, like a fever in his guts, but still the Gotham chill on his skin.

His blood pumped fast. And his heart beat hard in his chest. His hands thumbed at the sensor to turn off his thermal vision and he didn't do that.

It felt like the seconds after breathing in fear toxin. Just before the intense fear and anxiety hit. Like something was looming in the back of his mind and it was going to hit full force with no mercy.

He shut his eyes in an attempt to blink, but when his eyes opened again it wasn't Tim who dragged them open. He had to fight against the darkness creeping in the corners of his vision. He felt strangely sleepy. In a way that was different than his usual exhaustion. And far more oppressive.

He felt like he was in limbo.

Go to sleep, brat.

It felt like that voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He heard nothing at all and it suddenly hit him that he really didn't hear anything at all. Like his ears had just stopped working. He tried to turn his head to gauge the others' positions. And the muscles in his neck contracted, but ultimately refused to obey him.

This was–

Sleep!

Was this mind control? The villain could control minds? With a power like that, with all the other powers he had–

This was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

But so was Tim. And Tim had trained for situations like this. Batman had a contingency for everything. He needed to fortify his mind, stay in the moment. Fend off the telepathic influence as long as he could. This wasn't the first time he's dealt with mind control.

Stubborn boy.

Yes, stubborn. The meta would know how stubborn Red Robin could be.

Through eyes that would barely twitch at his command, he could see the gravel on the rooftop. There was a scuff mark from one of their shoes. And dark blast marks from the meta's energy blasts. Tim remembers the heat of the meta's power as it came down toward him. The fire that sizzled in the air far too close to him.

If he focused, he could still feel the cool air on his skin. The chilled sweat under his suit. The heart that kept pumping fast with his adrenaline. The icy air in his lungs.

He was Red Robin. He was in control.

And then Tim's whole body seized.

His shoulders jerked of their own volition. He could feel one of his arms grind in its socket at the movement. His neck and torso craned back so hard several joints popped in his neck and in his spine as he bends nearly in two.

There was noise. It was muffled, like he was under water. But he could hear it.

Someone grabs the front of his uniform. He's yanked back to a standing position. His eyes connect with Jason's and then the hands are on his shoulders.

Red Hood was staring at him with a bewildered look on his face. He says something. Tim can't make out what and can't focus enough to read his lips.

His hands grab Hood's wrists. His nails dig in.

And Tim loosens them. Gentles his grip the best he can.

Tim feels his face twist into a fierce glare. And an anger burns in his mind with intent so malicious–

It's strong. And it hits Tim that he isn't going to be able to fend the meta off for long. Tim needs to be taken out of the game before something bad happens.

Tim's hand twitches toward his belt.

He can feel the weight of Hood's hands on his shoulders. He lets that ground him. One second. Two.

And then he steps out of the hold.

He grabs a disk from his belt, presses the trigger and clenches his hand hard around it. Willing it to stay shut long enough.

Three seconds.

Electricity lights up his body. He tips.

And barely notices when he hits the ground.

His skin is on fire. Every muscle in his body contracts. And his teeth are clenched hard as he seizes. He can feel something leaving him.

It's got to be his soul, he thinks. Cause this feels like dying.

And then a boot connects with his hand, knocking the electric disk away.

And it's over.

He's heaving breath after breath. Sweat drops down his brow. His skin is stinging, his ears are ringing, his burned back is raging with the abuse.

And he thinks he might have even hit his head when he fell.

"Damn it, Replacement! You have got to be the smartest fucking idiot I know."

He groans in reply.

"I got patience for exactly one dumbass stunt and you just wasted it. Next time you experiment with alternative ways to charge your phone, I'll kick your ass."

Okay, ignoring that.

And then he considers for a moment.

The presence is gone.

He tilts his head up to find Jason but the man is already rushing off again. Chasing after a billowing cape.

With a mocking wave the alien--Plasmius--flies toward the doorway to the building. Tim shakily pushes himself to his elbows.

"Leaving so soon, Dracula?"

Jason throws himself forward, making a mad grab at the man's shoulders. Tim almost shook his head, he wasn't going to be able to grab him. At least not for long.

His hand connected solidly. The man snarled and hurled himself through the thick cement blocks of the wall.

Jason hit the wall with a thud.

Tim moved first, but Damian was closer. He reached the door to Jason's right and hurriedly pulled out a lockpick.

Ignoring the door, Tim launched himself at the wall, kicking off and up just high enough to grab the ledge and throw himself over it.

He skidded to a stop when he ran out of roof and looked around wildly for any sign of the meta. There was nothing. No little red blip to show what direction he'd gone.

Did he stay in the building? Maybe he circled back around inside and took off in a different direction? This was going to be one annoying adversary.

"The hell?"

He looks over his shoulder and backtracks.

Then finally deactivates the thermal setting in his mask, sighing in relief at seeing the world normally again. The previously locked door was wide open and Damian was nowhere to be seen.

Jason looks grumpy when he sets his eyes on him. He's hunched over where Tim had left him. He's yanking harshly at–

Oh.

His hand was lodged in the wall.

Jason yanked again.

"Well, replacement? Are you gonna get me out of this or not?"

-----

Ten minutes later and one call to Oracle, Tim had still, in fact, not been able to get Jason out of this. His hand was stuck. It was just. Stuck. In the wall. No amount of yanking could get him loose. It was like Jason's hand was as good as fused with it.

They'd probably have to call the Martian Manhunter. Or a member of Justice League Dark. Tim couldn't even begin to think of what else could undo it. He'd consider Flash, but the man was off-world and Martian Manhunter had a much more precise control over density shift anyway. But then even with the Martian, John could density shift his own body, but Tim was sure his limit was his own body. Still, he'd be grateful for the expertise.

Either way, Tim knew two things were true. Bruce wasn't going to be happy about anything that went down tonight. And they might be stuck here for a while.

Tim briefly held onto the thought that at least there weren't any real bullets. That wasn't going to get them any points with Bruce though.

"Oracle is getting in contact with some people who might be able to…separate you from the brick. Hopefully I mean," Tim huffed a laugh. "You pack enough of a punch already without a cement block for a hand."

Jason groaned, and craned his neck toward Tim, unamused.

He expected a biting remark. But there was nothing. Just a look, and Jason was glancing away again. He'd stopped tugging on his hand pretty quickly, though he did occasionally attempt it again every so often. He was gonna have some wicked bruises when this was over.

"Still doing alright?"

"I said I'm fine. It just feels weird," Jason huffed as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, that's specific," came a derisive snort at Tim's feet.

Damian was sitting with his back to the door. He had his katana held in front of him and he was meticulously cleaning the meta's blood off with a gauze pad.

When he'd collected enough of a sample, he diligently placed it in a ziplock bag and stored it in his belt, the specific pouch Tim knew was temperature regulated.

He'd initially tried to run after the meta. But it was pretty clear they had a master escape artist on their hands.

Unlike Jason. Apparently.

"Any more details?" Tim piped up. He didn't exactly want to hound Jason about this. Especially when he already seemed like he was at the end of his rope. But problem solving was his specialty. And he didn't know any other way to help until they could get ahold of someone with more experience in density shifting. So this was what he had to offer.

Information gathering.

Maybe the lock on Jason's hand would wear off and he'd just slip out? Maybe this was the meta's doing, something he could control from a distance and once he got too far, his hold would release and Jason's hand would come free.

If that was true, it was an ingenious tactic to keep them occupied while he made his escape.

"Just. Cramped. Feels pretty tight. Think I'm losing circulation."

Tim frowned.

"Well, Nightwing said he was on his way. He should be here pretty soon."

"Great. Just what I needed. A family reunion I can't walk away from."

"Aw, don't be like that, Little Wing."

There was a whoosh of air, and Nightwing landed with catlike grace. Almost without a sound.

"You know you missed me."

"Missed kicking your butt, maybe."

"Maybe? Still room for doubt then?" Dick grinned teasingly, "That's almost a warm welcome."

He peaked around Jason's shoulder to take a look, and whistled when he saw it. Jason's hand cut off just above his wrist and past what they could see from the outside his hand was frozen in the shape of a fist.

"Oracle said you got into it with a meta."

"Yeah and he fled like the coward he is," Damian piped up, still sore from losing track of the man.

Tim wasn't grateful that the man got away. Especially so quickly and effectively. But the idea of either leaving Jason trapped by himself like this, or letting an all-too stubborn Damian pursue the meta alone did make him uneasy.

Especially considering how much trouble all three of them had in a fight with him.

"Well, Oracle wasn't able to get in contact with John just yet, but she was able to get a hold of his niece. Said he's just wrapping something up and she'll pass along the message. He should be here in an hour."

"So, what, I'm stuck here till then?"

"She's trying a few other contacts. But yeah, it might be a little bit," Dick's face twisted in sympathy.

"But hey, at least you got company!"

"As long as demon brat keeps his swords to himself."

"Are daggers off the table as well?"

"Fraid so, Little D."

Jason suddenly yanked his arm again with a grunt. And Tim started forward.

"That's not gonna be any use, you'll dislocate your wrist at this rate."

Jason growled, eyes tight in a glare.

"I know. I know that! It's just so fucking tight. Almost feels like it's squeezing my hand."

Tim narrowed his eyes.

"Does it hurt?" Dick asked as he laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Fuck! A little bit. I can't exactly stand up straight like this. I'm not at the best angle here."

Tim breathed. He almost didn't want to ask. But.

"Is it getting tighter?"

For a beat all eyes were on him, and in the next they all narrowed in on Jason.

It was dead quiet, Tim didn't think he'd need Superboy's senses to hear a pin drop from the alley below.

Jason breathed once. Heavy. His shoulders shuddered with it.

And the silence broke with a strangled grunt.

There was a piercing crack and a squelch and the sharp smell of iron hit his nose.

Jason made an agonized noise through gritted teeth and jerked back only to be stopped by Nightwing, suddenly there.

Tim lurched forward to brace his arm and his grip was slippery. Blood oozed out of the rock around the arm sticking out of it. The arm that they couldn't get out of the damn wall.

There was a crackling sound like bones were splintering and Jason was howling now.

And then cold metal sliced past Tim's face, so close he thinks it split a few hairs.

His blood ran cold at the sound of a sharp, heavy thwump.

And Jason collapsed. Like a marionette who's strings had just been cut.

Or some other kind of tether had been.

There was another terrible crunching noise and then silence was thick in the air and in his throat. He could pick out the white of bone in the detached bit of arm sticking out an inch from the cinder block and he jerked his gaze away so fast he thought for a second he'd pulled something in his neck. That was Jason's–

Tim turned his head slowly.

Damian's eyes were wide. His nostrils were flared, shoulders shaking and breath light. He had an iron grip on his katana.

Covered in blood, with a sword in his fists. He'd seen Robin like this plenty of times, and still, Tim didn't think he'd ever seen Damian look this young.

His boots were red.

So were Tim's.

He ripped his cape off his back and threw himself into action.

That was something he could do.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc comics #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #vlad masters #a little vicious #ghouly tag #crossover

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