#the summer that was never supposed to end
Text
cherry cola ☆ op81
genre: smut, humor, yearning, tiny bit of fluff, virgin!reader, innocent!reader, experienced!oscar, sub!reader (for a while!), dom!oscar (for a while!)
word count: 8.5k
After a painful break up, Oscar finds himself head-to-head with an enticing girl, filled with pure innocence. Also known as, his parents secret weapon, and his worst temptation.
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+...f!receiving, fingering, brief mentions of masturbation, face riding, missionary sex, doggy style
inspired by this !
cherry here!... hellooo anons, long time, no see haha sorry for the lack of posts, but hopefully this makes up for it, somehow? formal apology for my last post too while we're at it. though this fic is inspired by cola by lana del rey, it will not have a sour ending like past fics (iykyk). missed u all, so here ya go! enjoy :)
There is an apprehensive sensation that towers over him as soon as she walks in; shy mannered, tall, and firm with a hint of hesitation—it’s something he adores about her, but also something that has him feeling jittery. Oftentimes, her lips are his most prized possession, enjoying the way they move. All except at this very moment.
Everyone notices his bitter, broken, and quiet mood despite always laying low. He’s never been one to share his problems with others, and he most definitely was not going to start now. It should be the best moment of the season—his first win—but he doesn’t have the joy to celebrate it with anyone.
Oscar’s brown eyes are low and dull; empty. He’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t see any of this coming. If he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt and misery. Should he have been more attentive, a better boyfriend, then he wouldn’t be regretting his life choices. Dramatic, but true.
“How are you spending your summer break? Are you and Lily traveling?”
The Australian tries to scoff at the innocent inquiry beaming from his teammate, but he settles with a wince, not being able to hide it. “She, um…we broke up, actually.” He’s never been a religious individual—has never even set foot inside a church—but for the first time in his life, he prayed no more questions would be asked.
Lando raises his thick brows, clearly surprised by the sudden confession. Sure, they were a private couple—likely the most in the entire paddock—but he never saw this coming from Oscar and Lily. Though he only met her a couple of times, simply exchanging a kind greeting, he would’ve bet his entire Rolex collection that the couple were smitten with one another. “Ah, I’m sorry, mate.”
The rude sound of his race suit being zipped up harshly makes the Brit flinch in the slightest. “Don’t worry about it. That’s life, no?”
Costa Rica—they were supposed to go to Costa Rica. Instead, now, he sits alone on a flight back to his home country. He’s ecstatic to be sleeping in his childhood room with outdated posters hung of all his favorite drivers, but the feeling lingers.
Sprawled like a koala, humid t-shirt pressed against his skin, he tosses and turns for an estimate of five whole minutes. He should be enjoying the beach, sipping on highly sweetened margaritas, getting the worst tan of his life, but he’s here. The hot summer air in Melbourne makes him spit out a string of dirty curses that would send his mum into a coma.
The brunette might as well be an only child since not a single one of his three sisters were here to keep him company, ditching him with his parents. He loved them, of course he did, but a full house was his ideal way to spend his break. His home gym isn’t even enough to help him forget, even for a second.
“Dinner is ready, honey,” Nicole announces, peeking carefully through the crack of the door. She grins widely. “There’s even pavlova—your favorite.”
He forces a polite nod, shaggy hair dangling just above his eyes. “Thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.” It actually takes a sum of thirty-minutes for him to jog down the stairs, a strong scent of apple expanding from his now washed hair. His dad hums as soon as he spots the McLaren driver.
“It’s rude to leave guests waiting, Oscar,” he warns with a deep voice.
The twenty-three year old assumes it’s a lame dad joke, perhaps, so runs along with it, taking a good look around the dining room. “Won’t happen again. I showered—”
“Where would you like to place the dessert, Mrs. Piastri?” a soft voice echoes down the hallway as he turns at the unfamiliar tone. You halt, caught off guard by the new presence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be here.”
“In my own home?” he finds himself squeaking involuntarily. The stern look that dances across his parents faces is enough for him to bite down on his tongue. He doesn’t even know why he said any of that—especially to a stranger.
They introduce you two quickly, though you’re just as fast as to say that you obviously knew about his existence. Do you follow my races? You shake your head, glossy hair shining. “I work for your parents, so…I sort of know. Plus, your sisters always talk highly about you when you’re gone.”
He blinks. “You work here?” Brown eyes flicker to his parents, confusion written all over. “What could she possibly do?”
“Oscar,” Nicole scolds. “I thought you left all the unnecessary questions back in junior high.”
Chris slides a large hand over her smaller one, calming her down just a tad bit. The older man sighs. “You know your mum, always looking for something new to do—”
“I wanted to grow a garden!” she squeals, delighted. “Like in all those magazines you get me for my birthday—oh, so lovely, honey. Only I realized, I don’t know anything about gardening.”
“And this lovely girl standing right here is a total natural. Her hands must be magic.” Oscar blushes hard at his dads choice of words. “She’s helping us out for the time being. Until we get back.”
The Australian's mouth opens, then snaps back shut, swallowing. “Get back from where?”
“Costa Rica!”
He gapes. “You’re using my tickets?”
Nicole winces. “Can’t let them go to waste, honey…”
His father butts in. “How is Lily by the way?”
The brunette groans, running his hands through his waves. “How should I know? Come on, you guys can’t be serious.” The tickets weren’t the problem; the fact that they were leaving was. He spots you awkwardly placing the pastry down onto the table. “Can you give us a minute?”
“Yes, of course,” you quip, glad to have a reason to flee far enough away from the premises. You turn to the Piastri’s who smile fondly at your understanding. “I’ll be out in the garden.”
As soon as you rush out, the twenty-three year old turns swiftly. “I guess I’m leaving too.”
“Don’t you dare, Oscar Jack Piastri—”
He fumes. “Why not? You’re all going to be gone!”
“She won’t—you are keeping her company.” She’s not asking; she’s demanding. Staring back in shock, the McLaren driver avoids eye contact, fidgeting like a kid at their first day of school. His mum stands up, makes her way over, and pecks his soft cheek. “She’s a sweet girl. She won’t be a bother—she’s just down the hallway.”
That’s where Lily would always stay back when they first started their relationship; too afraid of making a bad impression on his parents. He found it adorable. He rolls his eyes and releases a heavy breath. “Fine.” He stares out the glass window, focusing on where you patiently sit on the wooden bench, delicate hands pressing your dress down against your thighs. “Fine...”
-
The following morning, his parents wake him up at the crack of dawn, bidding goodbye. It comes as a total surprise, thinking he had a few more days left with them, but no. He’s barely registering any of it before they whisper inaudible nonsense and scurry out of his bedroom.
After some debating, he changes and decides to go on a quick run. The sight of Ms. Alleck watering her burnt grass makes him smile as he sets off. It would have been easier to not get as tired if it were a slight bit chilly, but it’s blazing hot. He cuts it short, dashing back home and immediately serving himself a glass of cold water.
“You’re up early.”
The brown eyed boy jumps in sudden surprise. Standing in a pastel yellow sleeping gown, you grin brightly. Long lashes lay flat, nose pinching rosy pink, and breath minty. “Yeah, my folks sort of woke me up. Couldn’t fall back asleep.”
“Oh.” You pout. “They left already?”
“You knew?”
“Yup. They mentioned it last night before bed.” A beat. “I hope me staying here isn’t making you uncomfortable…it’s just that they offered, and—”
“It’s not.” Lie. “Make yourself at home.”
Not much is seen or heard from him for the majority of the day; occasional glaces coming here and there. They put you in an uncomfortable spot yesterday—you had been working on the garden for a year now, damn it—but their son's demeanor took you by surprise. The pictures and stories were something you relied on as the only source of getting to know him: polite, tall, and swanky—boyish.
That was so far from the truth. Oscar Piastri has grown into his body; almost appearing to be a handsome giant. Despite his warm face, his attitude is a bit snarky. He has no problem in saying what’s on his mind. And he is most definitely not a boy.
He’s a man.
“What do you say?”
“Sorry?”
He chuckles, Adam's Apple dancing up and down. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”
It wasn't his intention to try and get close to you—not purposefully, at least—but he thought; why not? Who knows when his parents are coming back, when his sisters would, and he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t some snotty guy. Summer is summer, after all. A friend to spend it with sounds quite nice.
Pursing your red lips, you nod, setting your book aside. The dinner table is already set up. Chicken and rice. That’s it. Given, it looks and smells amazing, but plain. You quirk a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to eat your greens? To drive quicker?” He burns up at you teasing tone.
“I didn’t want to risk burning the house down. We’re lucky I was able to get even this done.”
“Very well.” The refrigerator opens, colorful veggies staring back at him. You grin, slow and easy. “I’ll take care of it. It’s only fair, roomie.”
-
Oscar left home a few years ago, migrating to the United Kingdom for work, so it had been a while since he had stepped foot in his backyard. He faintly remembers his pirate treehouse, his sisters’ Barbie’s cluttered inside. It was a bone-chilling sight for baby Oscar back then, but now, the paint is chipping off, the wood looks a lot weaker. It’s a nostalgic feeling.
The new additions are stunning. A bunch of healthy flowers beam back at him and he swallows when he realizes he can’t name a single one. Waxflowers, Calamint, Dahlias, Peonies, Carnations, California Poppies. One by one, he admires with an open mouth. “They’re beautiful.” He turns to you with a proud smile. “You’ve done an excellent job.”
Pink feathers onto your already blushed cheeks, biting back a cheesy grin. You had decided to eat out on the bench, choosing to enjoy the now fresh air. Still humid, but less than before. The scent of coconut sunscreen makes his whiff constantly. “So…Costa Rica?”
He winces. It was too soon to talk about the situation, but something in your calm voice makes it easier to spit it out even though you probably already heard from his parents. All of a sudden, your savory carrots taste like complete shit. “T’was supposed to go with my girlf—my ex. My ex-girlfriend.”
You pout, sorrowfully. “Oh, I’m sorry, Oscar. I didn’t mean to…I had no clue.” And it’s genuine. Guess his parents were complete traitors.
“Tell me—how long have you been working on fixing the garden?”
“Since last summer,” you hum, chewing down on a piece of grilled chicken. “This is the first time I have actually stayed here, though. Your parents are sweet. As soon as they heard that you were coming back home, they insisted I kept you company.”
Sharp jaw clenches and he scoffs. You simply blink back innocently. Then, he notices it. The way it reflects against the yellow ray of the now setting sun. He knows what it is, so he doesn’t ask. Too busy staring off into the distance, you place your plate down. “Let me show you a few other things I’ve been working on.”
There’s row and row, further into the open area; every twist and turn makes his brows raise up higher, impressed by the noticeable updates. Coming to a halt, he spins his head around, brown locks hitting his temples. “Since when do we have a cherry tree?”
You beam, orbs shining with excitement. “Since last summer!” you repeat, cheerfully. You pick one, handing it for him to try. An embarrassing moan erupts once the sweet nectar slides down his throat. “Good?”
“Bloody amazing.” Every compliment makes you squeal with delight. “My mum is actually allergic to cherries, so how…”
“She was actually the one who brought it up. Said she knew how much I loved them, and that I deserved a little something for flourishing her garden. I couldn’t deny the chance to do so.” You bite down on your lip, sheepishly. “They are my favorite.”
Reaching for one makes him look away as soon as your dress rises up, soft legs poking through. Bare feet press against the wet grass as you tippy toe. He mustered a fake cough, but as soon as you bite down onto the bloody fruit, he clicks into a trance.
Plump lips; thick and juicy. Long lashes fluttering shut against your glossy cheeks. That could have been because of the summer heat, but it affected him just the same. The familiar sensation of attraction rushes to his cock as he stands stiffly—but also loosely. He was loose. So fucking loose.
Something hits his cheekbones and it rips him away from his drooling. A singular seed now lays by his feet; indicating what you had done. A crinkled, wobbly smile shines back at him, hands nervously flattening your dress back down. The Australian jokingly lunges towards you as you squeal, backing away.
“You were disintegrating! I had to get your attention one way or another!”
Oh, she definitely got his attention. Giving you one final scowl, he stops his steps. “Everything—all of it—it’s great. Thank you.” The wind picks up and you shiver. “...for doing this for my parents.”
Neat hair flies against the breeze, covering your eyes for a minute. Pushing it aside, you scrunch your nose faintly. “Anytime.”
-
Technically, what you’re getting paid for was to watch over the beloved yard; that’s all. But you offer to do more. Mow the lawn? Paint the chipped wall? Wash the windows?
“God no, darling,” Oscar’s mum laughs through the end of the line. “You are doing enough already. Please. Relax.”
But you can’t. Nibbling on your thumb, you brush the counter, strolling past countless family portraits. A smile slips when you spot a toothless Oscar. “I insist.”
So, here you are; decluttering the attic. After a bit of bickering with Nicole, she eventually gives in and asks for a favor. Clean and tidy the small room. Easy peasy.
“Ouch,” you hiss when a nail digs through your skin, gore immediately pouring out of you like a waterfall; you squeak. Just then, a certain brunette peeks their head through the entrance. “Oh good, it’s you. I thought we had an intruder.”
Raising a skeptical brow at him and the thin duvet, you quickly take it from him, pressing it down to ease the bleeding. “Holy crap, are you okay?” In one motion, he steps closer to you, analyzing the injury with worried eyes. You groan.
“It’s only a little cut. No biggie.” But the way your face is slowly losing color lets him know that your words aren't true. Brown eyes flicker, searching for a spot to sit, but everything about this is crowded. You were just about to start tidying; the mess was still there. Crouching onto a tiny stool, he takes a seat, somehow still towering over you. Or at least that's what it felt like, because suddenly, you felt suffocated.
His long legs are spread as you stand between them, hand out towards him as he winces at the brutal cut. “Ah—that’s pretty deep.” He gags when he notices the underneath flesh. You suppress a giggle. “We should go to the ER.”
You scoff, ripping away from his grip, tripping over a box. Regaining your balance, you drape the cloth over your hand once again. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be right back.”
After rinsing your hand with alcohol, covering the wound with the largest bandaid to ever exist, and balling your eyes out, you make your way back up. The Australian is drenched in sweat, huffing and puffing. “Got it,” he pants. Confused, you tilt your head to the side, but that’s when you pick out the nail in the palm of his hand. You blink, too bewildered to make sense of how he retrieved it without the help of a hammer. “I also found lots of old trophies. Extremely bittersweet.”
“Why’s that?” you hum, kneeling down next to him, reading through the labels. Each makes you more and more dazzled.
A minute passes by. “Because I grew up.”
“That’s…sad.” Shrugging, he digs for more. He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Dear G—I forgot this even existed!”
Oscar’s 81 Things To-Do During the Summer [List]
Learn how to bike.
Learn the Australian National Anthem (Sophie will be beautifully impressed)
Get better at being more outgoing (Mum is worried)
So on and so forth. “You were an extremely creative lad. Eighty-one things to do…eh.” A tongue click. “Possibly buy a pet dragon?”
He cringes. “Not all were realistic. I actually never really got around to it. Mainly added, if anything.”
Crimson red flashes. “I, um, I could tell.”
69. Oscar Piastri, you know what I mean.
The brunette chokes on his saliva, yanking it away as fast as he can. Standing up to his full height, he rolls up the piece of paper and points towards the exit. “I think I should, um…yeah. See ya.”
“Yeah.” He dashes off. “See you…”
-
Eighteen-year old Oscar was a horny bastard. But every guy that age is, so it’s not really fair to feel bad about his list. The writing is obviously his, but the things jotted down made him almost feel like it wasn’t. Blowjobs? Hand jobs? What was he thinking?
And then, there was you—a curious cat. He had to be a virgin; he just had to. Why else would he be embarrassed? You weren’t one to judge, though. You knew nothing about the sexual world, having never partaken. The thin band wrapped around your ring finger is enough proof.
And no—you weren’t married.
It would have been absolutely diabolical to mention sex in your household growing up. Being Roman Catholics is no joke, believing religiously to wait until marriage. You never had a problem with that; you would wait. Doesn’t mean you didn’t know what any of the common terms meant. Sort of.
Only now—for the first time in your life—there it was.
Temptation.
The McLaren driver was no newbie. He has had his fair share of experiences; before Lily, with Lily. He knew just about anything and everything. His good-boy act was no facade. At times he didn’t like that about himself, but it’s who he was. Obeyed the rules. Never crossed the line with anyone he wasn’t romantically linked to. And yet…
There you were.
The flowers were perfect; only needing to be watered. The cherry tree was much more…complicated. The chances of animals recklessly hunting for the sweet fruit was high, the chances of the red drupes rotting also was. Therefore, you spent most of your time there.
Maybe you were avoiding him; you told yourself you were already horrified at the dirty thoughts taking over like the plague. And perhaps he was doing the same; he had only been locked in his room for the past three hours.
Golden hour. With your hands on your hips, you squint, admire the polished drupes, tickling with water. Walking back to the bench, you lay down, picking up on your reading, occasionally taking sips from your Cherry Cola.
Pacing the small bedroom, Oscar mutters to himself. Maybe she didn’t read all of it. Maybe she doesn't know what it means. Yeah—he was exaggerating. Clicking his window open, he gasped for needed air. As soon as he spots you reading, he grunts.
White skirt brushes down your smooth legs, challenging the sun to see who shines the brightest. Lips wrap around the glass bottle, puckering in the slightest. And he wonders; would you taste as sweet as the cool beverage?
He’s a grown man; an adult. There’s no need to be uncomfortable. Sex was a part of everyone's day to day life. He was the one making it a bigger deal than it actually was. Still, he slips on a pair of sunglasses, perched perfectly onto the bridge of his nose.
“Is it any good?”
His voice makes you flinch, dropping the book flat on your face. A tiny groan rings through the air. Flashing him a weak smile, you sit up straight, fixing your clothes. “Want one? There’s plenty in the fridge.”
He had noticed, of course he had. Never in a million years did he think he'd see his refrigerator stocked up with the sweet drink. He never cared enough to ask who they belonged to; figured they would just expire.
Wavy hair swings back and forth when he shakes his head. “Gotta keep in shape.” I see, you murmur, loopy eyes peeking over at him, taking another gulp. The sizzling feeling is utterly childish compared to what he’s making you feel. The burning sensation between your legs is annoying and painful, you almost want to plead for help. “I meant the book, by the way.”
“No!” You laugh, nervously. “I mean…it’s alright?”
After he stormed off and left you a breathless puddle, you biked and biked—until you hit the local bookstore. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, simply browsing, but as soon as you reached the section of Erotic Literature, you stopped.
So many—many—wrong choices. Still, humiliated, you paid and fiercely ran out. Maybe this was some sort of punishment for reading what you’re reading; had to be. And Oscar asking questions wasn’t helping. Licking your berry lips, you swallow a thick layer. “What have you been up to?”
Fuck, he moans, large hand sliding up and down his cock; more and more pleasure intensifying. Your tiny dresses. Your short skirts. Your angelic face. The way your lips would separate before every sentence. Your sweet scent that would have normally given him a headache, but instead made him chase after you like a dog.
Finishing all over his thighs, he shudders. White liquid never looked more sinister than at this very moment. After changing, he paces the room with regret.
Pushing the frames further into his face, he hums. “Oh, you know. Just… cleaning up my room.”
-
It’s been a week in a half now and you’re happy to announce that you have fallen into a routine. While Oscar did his daily workout, you would make breakfast. While you worked on the garden, he cooked dinner. Though, he was unbeknownst over the way you would drool over him when he would walk out the door; a compressed shirt hugging his built body tightly, arms begging to be kissed. You were unaware of the way he would rub his face in desperation when you walked out, banging his head purposefully against the cabinet; the way you would skip out with your book and infamous drink, or how you would prettily tie up your hair before you even got started.
It was a mess.
A mocking mess.
This afternoon though, you aren’t flying out the door to the yard, but rather frolicking over to Ms. Alleck, ready to assist. I try my best, but they always wilt! Could it be the humidity? Laughing, you toss your hair up into a bun, messy strands poking out as you cock your head to the side. “Could be, but don’t you worry. We’ll find a way to make it work. Promise.”
He had always known you were kind, gentle, soft spoken…pure. And you doing this only added to his attraction. It’s salad, spaghetti, and salmon that afternoon. Sweaty, you pant. I’m going to squeeze in a shower real quick. But you weren’t sweaty, like you believe; you were glistening.
“This is so cute,” you chirp, sitting cross cross in the old treehouse. A few spider webs make your blood run cold, but he quickly took care of it, apologizing. The brunette blushes.
“I wanted to use it one last time. Before we get rid of it.” Neat brows furrow. “It’s just that it’s old—only a matter of time before it plunges down.”
“What?”
“O-obviously not now!”
After a bit more convincing, you finally relax and enjoy the way the crickets sing against the night. Small feet press against the wall, white tube socks turning slightly brown from the lack of sweeping. For a moment, he shuts his lids, breaths shallow, body loose. The high temperature almost made him feel as if he was cuddling into the warmest blanket; it felt nice.
Whoops, you mumble when hollow glass pounds against the wooden floor. He perks up at the sound, brown eyes burning with high alert. “You do shit on purpose?” he screeches when he detects scarlet blood. Wincing in pain, you curl your hand towards the hem of your dress.
“Help me,” you plead, slight annoyance written all over your face. He must’ve broken the world record of running into the house to retreat the first aid kit, and running right back to you. The way he sanitizes the skin, to the way he wraps your hand with a gauze pad, is honestly hilarious.
“What so funny?” he murmurs, attention never leaving the wound.
“Mmm. Nothing.” He snickers and you giggle harder. “It just seems as if I’m making you a professional. You ought to be ready if anyone else needs your help to treat injuries.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll tell them a certain klutz made me learn from day to night with all her clumsiness.” His voice drops, laced with concern. “Seriously though—you were just healing. You have to be careful.”
Plump lips part with the sound of his delicate voice, accent almost disappearing. Wandering eyes admire the way his brows are knitted together and orbs soften. Swallowing, you nod. “I will.”
“Good.”
The once vibrant room is now hazy and suffocating. Does he not know what kind of effect he has on you? The type of power he holds? Oscar doesn’t seem to, though, with the way he chugs down his entire glass of water. Stuck in a trance, your hand briskly reaches out for your own drink. He roars with laughter, clutching his stomach. “You just broke your bottle, you don’t have a drink anymore.” He picked up the Cherry Cola you had offered, but he had declined. “Take mine.”
You don’t put up a fight, simply allow him to open and give it to you. The sweet drink doesn’t do a great job at hydrating your foaming mouth, but it helps as a distraction. On the other hand, the brunette can’t seem to not watch the ways your lips suck in and out, eagerly. As if this were the only source of air. He shudders.
“We should probably head down…”
Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you comply, already standing up. From the floor, he has a good view of your legs; long, soft, sweetly scented. He wonders if you use honey as lotion because that would explain his urge to nuzzle his face against them. Picking up the broken glass and plates, you turn back. “Coming?”
A sigh rings through the air once, and suddenly—he’s cradling your face with high intensity and lust, molding his lips against yours. Tomato sauce stains his shirt and your dress from the plates that still remain between you two. One second, you're wide eyed, and then the next, you're allowing yourself to kiss him back.
You want to cry with how pleasant the feeling feels and he wants to scream with how much he wants to fuck you. But alas, one of you pulls away first—you can’t really tell who— and you’re both left gasping for air. Completely winded and fucked.
You both are fucked.
-
The treehouse comes crashing down the day after your first kiss. Yes, first kiss. You would like to blame him and say that he stole it from you, but the arousal that was dripping between your thighs last night was a clear indication that you could never actually say so because you liked it so much.
The wooden house tearing down is something you take as a sign; you’ve sinned. Okay, maybe that was a bit too dramatic, but you were honestly thinking about it. That night you dreamt of the wildest things imaginable; his pretty face in between your legs, large hands squeezing your perky breasts, fingers swirling inside your velvety walls, cock tearing you in half.
It was unacceptable.
So, while Oscar worked on picking up the tiles with a hometown buddy, you marched right over to beg for forgiveness. Kneeling down against the cushion, you say a silent prayer.
I don’t want to think like this—not when I know I can help it, but God this is getting way too out of hand. And you know I’m not like this, you know that! But he just—AGH. Maybe it’s his personality that makes him so attractive, or maybe it’s his sudden growth spurt, but please let me get a hold of myself. He’s just a friend, he’s just a friend—HE’S JUST A FRIEND.
“Would you mind keeping your words to yourself, sweetheart?” an older lady whispers, two rows ahead of you.
Pink feathers onto your cheeks. “Oh, yes, of course! I’m so sorry…”
I don’t ever ask for much, no, that’s never been necessary, but I am now. So please. Hear me when I say: Push this desire I have, far, far, far away.
-
If you were to say, there was a ninety percent chance that you would walk away. Not even spare him a passing glance. He would call you out on it later, but whatever—too late. Ignored you, you say? No, really I did? I had no idea, I’ll make sure to not let it happen again!
If Oscar were to say, there was a ninety-nine percent chance that he would let you walk away. He didn’t need your company; he was doing just fine. But then again, that one percent tugs at him like the devil on his shoulder.
“Hey. You’re back.” Cool. Calm. Collected.
“Oh! I suppose I am.” Cool. Utter. Mess.
He grins, eyes crinkling like the leaves that hang upon the crimson tree. Signaling up, he cocks his head in deep thought. “Just finished. Cole said his uncle could shred…” A pause. “He owns a massive wood chipper.”
Blinking like a deer in headlights, you chew on your bottom lip, simply nodding along. “Sounds good? I think. No. Yes. Very good.” You wince at all the uncontrolled mumbo-jumbo. “I’m sorry I was no help, too. I had to…talk to the man up above.”
“Eh, don’t worry about it. That must be why your pretty little knees are bruised.”
Your breath comes to a harsh halt, ears burning like a wildfire. The Australian just keeps his brown eyes set on the tree for a second longer before turning to face you. Quickly, you relax your muscles. “You could make up for it by helping me with something else.”
You gulp. Suddenly, your mouth is overflowing with hot saliva. “With what?”
Dark orbs glue onto your delicate figure, a slight smirk playing out. And it looks so unfamiliar, not his own, that you create a distance. And just like that, it’s gone. Vanished just as fast as it slipped onto his pink lips. “Get on.” He crouches down and your jaw drops.
“Wha—like onto your shoulders?” Rolling his eyes in a goofy manner, he nods, picks you up safely, and places you on top. You screech, dizzy by the sudden altitude. “Put me down!”
“You’re fine. Just help me reach those. Been craving them all day,” he murmurs, voice raspy. The twenty-three year old is still slightly sweaty from his hard labor, and that’s clear when you cling onto his brown locks. Other than that, you’re as high as a kite; both figuratively and literally.
You’ve known—seen—how tall and broad the Australian was, but being perched onto his wide shoulders was a sweet confirmation you couldn’t help but enjoy. “Move a bit forward.” He follows instructions, wide hands gripping onto your thighs to keep you steady. You giggle when a few fruits hit your face. “Watch it—and don’t you dare drop me.”
“Get,” he commands.
About three minutes pass by. You rip the cherries carefully, candy aroma filling the air, and plop them onto the basket. By all accounts, you’re well aware of your actions. The basket was full, now overflowing, really, and you could plant your ballet flats back onto the tall grass—but you don’t.
There’s something about feeling his touch; high electricity, shock waves nipping at your skin, soft pants. It’s pathetic how much you crave any ounce of physical touch he’s willing to give you, unknowingly.
“That should be good,” you whisper, meekly. He doesn’t respond, just swings you down as you let out a yelp. All of a sudden, you’re magically magnetic. And he wonders; if only. You hand the basket over, waiting nervously for him to thank you, at least.
“Thank you,” he feels himself saying. “What do you say we play a little game? No prize. Only bragging rights.”
“O-okay.”
A singular cherry is handed over. He grins. Can you tie a knot using your tongue? “Wait—are you being serious?”
The red fruit dissolves inside his mouth, spitting the seed somewhere far enough away. Then, the stem flips into his mouth. “Come on. I’ll give you a head start.”
With wary hands, you rip the stem away from your own drupe, fitting the thin stick into your suddenly dry mouth. He stares intently, clenching his jaw, “Go on. Ten seconds.” Quickly, your lips start to move, twisting and turning. Pouting, then sucking back in. Your low breaths become heavy after a few tries. You think you’re getting it done right, the sudden ball forming is enough for you to guess that you must be doing something correct.
The sound of his low mewls is what ends you. Doe eyes flicker up to face him, paying close attention to how his brown eyes wander up at the sky in concentration, occasionally squinting due to the bright sun. You can feel a thin layer of sweat hug you like a blanket as your movements slow down; a snail's pace compared to before.
For good measure, you fake your twists as you continue to simply admire. Too far gone, you blink hastily when he sticks his pink tongue out towards you, a stinking knot sitting nicely atop.
“I won.”
Gulp. “You sure did. Good job, Oscar.”
Long lashes flutter shut momentarily, head tossed back, sighing. “It wasn’t a fair fight. You weren’t doing anything. Other than staring at my lips.”
Flustered, you dig your hand into the bucket. “That’s not true! At all. At all, at all.” You munch harder, splitting a seed in half. You spit it out sourly. “You're just better at using your mouth than I am.”
It goes straight to his cock, your words. Opening his eyes, the brunette scrunches his nose. You’re avoiding his gaze. You’re good at doing that. A pro. But it leaves him to wonder some more. And that itself was dangerous when it dawned on him.
He doesn’t like daydreaming anymore.
“Fuck it,” he grunts, kissing you harshly, like the night before. And you thought that blew your mind, but this? This left you gasping and reaching out for him even though he was pressed right against you. You could feel him buzzing, pinching your hips against his large hands. It’s perfect.
You don’t really understand how you end up straddling him on the grass, green straining your knees as you grind harder onto him, forcing your skin to burn with each stroke. This—this—must be as good as it gets. There can’t be more, but you weren’t complaining. It was enough.
When his fingers dance underneath your dress, you halt, and everything comes crashing down. “No,” you pant. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Why is that, baby?” he mumbles, lost on sucking the side of your neck. Looking up, his straight brows drew in together with concern. “What is it?”
“It’s just that…I’m—” Why is it so hard to admit? Brushing a strand of hair away, you purse your lips. “I’m a virgin, Oscar. It’s odd, I know, but I can’t sleep with you.”
“You think I didn’t know that?’
You freeze. “What?”
His thumbs circle your thighs, gently, swooning with how soft you feel. “I figured you were. Your purity ring sort of gave it away.” You blush hard, rolling off of him, playing with the thin band.
“I wish I could do this—God, I really want to—but I can’t.”
Respecting your decision, he pats your hand with reassurance. The hot feeling remained between your legs and the pain between his. This was torture, you both know that, but what was there to do? It’s awkward for a while, that is, until he starts asking you about things that shouldn’t make you glow with happiness.
How was your day? I want to hear all about it. Do you think it’s bad to eat an entire bucket of drupes? Must be, right? In the long run? Hey, would you mind teaching me how to garden? You make it look intriguing.
That seems to do it for you. Everything you ever promised flies out the window as you climb back onto his thick lap, and this time, he’s surprised by your actions. Clumsy fingers try their best to unzip his pants, but he only stutters against your kisses. N-no, we don’t have to rush anything. I, you, we—
“Shit, o-okay,” he sighs when you finally touch him, even in the slightest. He may be touch deprived, but so were you, so how far would any of this go? Flipping you over to lay against the tall grass, he winks teasingly and that effectively makes your heartbeat quicken. “Relax, sweetheart. Do that for me, yeah? Can you?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
The McLaren drivers press a kiss on the inside of your thighs before licking them. You shiver, though try your best to even your breaths. You shut your eyes, maybe if you act hard enough, you could somehow convince yourself that this wasn’t a war itself. To see how long you’d last. No—you would last. You had to.
“I’ve thought about it.” He slips your panties down, inch by inch. “A lot, as of lately. If you would taste just as sweet as I imagined. As sweet as those Cherry Cola’s you're overly obsessed with.” And he dives in, licking your arousal clean as you pant, chest heaving up and down like an erupting volcano.
What were you supposed to feel—relaxed? In a frenzy? Most likely the latter because considering the way he was making your head spin said it all. The sounds he’s making forces you to involuntarily shut your legs around his face and his hand that now lies between you two. The stretch is a burning sensation that leaves you both gasping and moaning; it’s too much, but not enough.
More. Grinning up from in between your legs, he shakes his head full of curls, all thanks to the Aussie weather, and your dirty foreplay. “Does it feel good?” You whimper. “Good—good, baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Velvet walls clench around his long digits. “Hey, hey, look at me.”
Once your soft orbs connect to his intoxicating ones, his cock grows harder. “Okay, listen, it’s going to hurt a little bit, okay? But that’s completely normal; it’s like a…a stingy feeling. Do you understand?” I do, you pant. He grits his teeth when his calloused fingers brush against your g-spot and your head lolls back, exposing your sharp clavicle. He itches to mark you all over. “Do you want it, then?”
A zing. “Fuck, Oscar. I fucking want you.”
The brown eyed boy is all over you, kissing you up and down, gripping you tighter. It was an addiction in its truest form. For a split second, you frown when he slips out of you, but as soon as he starts unzipping his pants, you feverishly lick your lips.
It dawns on you that you aren’t scared, nervous, or anything; you’re bubbling with excitement. You watch carefully as he jerks himself off a bit, his already large girth growing bigger. How is that possible? “I’ll start with the tip.” Leaning down, he pecks your pouty lips and you smile. “Let me know if it’s too much, we’ll stop and take a break. Or do anything, really,” he adds, cheekbones flushing red.
“I’ll be okay,” you whisper. “I swear.”
You were being skinned alive, it was excruciating pain. You know he notices it when he starts brushing your hips, hoping to comfort you in some sort of way. Heavy breaths, numb lips from biting too hard, exposed breasts arching straight for him. He didn’t know whether to enjoy this or worry.
“Breath, darling, breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go,” he congratulates, admiring your shaky breath. “You’re doing so good.”
“Osc, move…please.”
There was no more confirmation necessary that you were ready to go. His hips find motion, thrusting into you slowly. Nails scratch down his back as you moan loudly, almost yelping. “Y-you’re so big.” So, so, so, so big. “So good.”
Nearly animalistic, he releases a grunt, pounding deeper into you, getting lost with the way you hug him tightly. You mewl, pressing your naked chest against his, and he nearly slips from his hands being set on top of the cold grass, but it was beautiful torture, all at once.
From the way you tremble, to the way you look up at him, he loves it all. He realized it been too long, he’s missed this, he’s missed having a body undeaneath his, as fucked up as that sounds.
And he—he must be a saint, himself. There’s a sort of invisible halo that lightens up around him, nearly blinding you. There’s a gut-wrenching stare he’s gifting you, making your stomach churn with pleasure.
Wrapping his mouth around your sore buds, you let out a shaky sigh. Skillful tongue swirls the way one would suck on a lollipop; the heat intensifies. “Close?” But you’re not sure, you just know it feels good—ridiculously good. He must have known so, and must want to make your first experience the best you’ll ever have, because suddenly, you’re on all fours.
As he slips in and out with such ease, you grip harshly at the tall grass. You can hear the sad rips with every thrust and every tug, but how can you feel bad when he feels so good? His cock rapidly brushes the magic spot, and you’re left seeing stars. “Oh God. I feel it, Oscar, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Tell me. Describe it.”
Your jaw locks, and your arms give up, flying down towards the grass, round ass high up in the air as he continues his movements. He groans at the sight, slapping your sweaty skin. Whining, you look back at him, grinning from ear to ear. The Australian looks up at the open sky, trying his best to push back the feeling of his upcoming orgasm, but it's hard to ignore the fact that an absolute angel takes him like no other.
And an Angel you were.
“Can feel your cock, Oscar. The way it pulses—so thick, so veiny, so sweet.”
An Angel with a vocabulary of Heathen.
“God, fuck me harder, please, Oscar, please.” He’s pretty sure you’re half-gone, half-present, but it only adds to the lust he carries for you. Just then, you feel the fresh cherry pressed up against your lips. Open, he demands and you follow straight away, ripping it from its stem. You nearly choke on the seed when he suddenly speeds up, limbs and arms burning from holding upright. For a moment, you stare back with an open mouth, admiring over the way his abs contract with every brutal push.
“Now spit.” Two seeds fly out towards the grass, laying there to taunt you as you pick up on your moans, ringing through the air. If you squint hard enough, you can spot the stars that mock the daylight sky. It doesn’t make sense, but then again, none of this does. “So pretty, sweetheart.” You swoon, feeling his arms hold you down. “Again—open.”
You’re expecting another set of cherries, thinking this might be some sort of prize, but as soon as you feel the familiar stick, you pout. No, you cry out. He chuckles. “Yes.” A pause. “You only get to come until you tie a knot.”
“You’re not being f-fair, holy shit.” Long fingers rub slowly against your puffy clit, throbbing with pain, begging to come all of his numbing girth. You clench your jaw, eyes screwed shut.
“We don’t have all night, go on. Move that pretty little mouth of yours.”
It’s a mission, it’s a task, it’s a fucking wreck. It’s impossible. You’re not that surprised, though, not when he thrusts into with twice as much force, triple speed; what a man. Loose tongue swirls at a weak attempt, but then he pinches your swollen bud, and you’re back to square one. You’re nearly there, excited to prove to him how much you wanted this and how you were able to multitask, but then he’s pulling all the way back, only his rosy tip awaiting by your entrance, and he’s coming back down, full-throttle.
It was cruel.
But two can play that game, you suppose.
You pull away quickly, he blinks, and then you’re pushing him back, sprawled on the grass. He nearly whines from missing your warm cunt, but as soon as you climb to sit on his face, he grows more and more turned on. “Go on,” you push. “Use that pretty little tongue of yours.”
Dark eyes stare up at you, enjoying the way your body moves, hips rolling, riding his face at an impressive rate. The white nectar you're willing to spill out makes him lap at an embarrassing speed, desperate to taste the sweetness.
Meanwhile, you’re gripping his hair, trying to feign indifference with the way his nose rubs against your lips, the way he keeps you in place with his watch covered hand, the other playing with your clit. It’s even, this is fair, but you still needed to reach your end.
“I’m close,” you moan, head rolling back, but jaw continuing to tick. He hums and the vibrations cause you to squeeze your legs around his face. That seems to make him enjoy this far more. Unless you show me you’ve done it, then no, you’re not coming anytime soon. Your molars grind harder, white spots forming throughout your vision. “Shut up, just—fucking stop talking.”
“What do y’know? Miss Perfection has a potty mouth.” He pokes his tongue against your hole. “Dirty girl, eh?”
With one final suck, and one soft moan, you cum all over him. The Australian is quick to lick you clean, groaning pathetically deep. Gasping, you fall from your climax, slightly twitching with sensibility as he hauls you onto his lap. You giggle when he raises a teasing brow.
“You got away with it—this time.”
“There’s going to be a second time?”
He stiffens, trying to play it cool. “Well, not anymore, you didn’t do what I asked for you to do—”
Opening your mouth, you stick your red tongue out, displaying the most perfect knot. He gapes, sticking his fingers in to retrieve it. “H-how?” A beat, sharp and accusing eyes. “Seriously, how?”
“Does it matter?” you ask, wide eyes back on for show. “I did it.”
“I…yeah, yeah you did,” he repeats in disbelief. He laughs. “You’re wickedly talented. That's an art.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, slowly, mixed with a giggle. “I tried my best for you.”
“I see that.” The brown eyed boy pinches your hip. “How was it?”
Sighing dreamily, as if napping on a cloud, your eyes twinkle. “I get it now. Why people have casual sex, I mean. It was amazing. Thank you.”
Casual, casual, casual, yes. Of course this was casual, why wouldn’t it be casual? He’s not looking to have anyone new in his life, and you’re barely understanding what any of this is, so yeah. Casual.
“Was I bad?” you ponder, chewing on your bottom lip. “I know I’m no professional, but I—”
“You were perfect,” he reassures with a soft smile. “Best thing to come around, solemnly swear.” Swatting his arm, he snickers, catching your hand. You purse your lips. “I was right,” he murmurs when his lips graze over your own. You open your mouth, waiting for more.
“About?”
“You tasting as sweet as a Cherry Cola.” Then he connects your lips, and you’re left utterly smitten. You can hardly feel him slip your ring off, but you know so when your finger feels empty since the moment you first put it on. “Guess you won’t be needing this anymore?”
“Guess not, no. Keep it.”
“Could take it to a Pawn Shop, sell it for a couple dollars…”
“Hey! Be nice, you dimwit,” you warn. “You should feel special. Stupidly special.”
“I’m kidding. I’ll cherish it.”
“Creep.”
He groans, slapping your ass as you squeal. “There’s no right or wrong answer, it seems like. Very well, let's just leave it at thanks. So…thank you for trusting me.” You blush, looking away. Awkwardly, you reach for your dress, slipping it over your head. He coughs, dressing himself before choking back a much needed chuckle. “Looks like we got dragged through the mud.”
“Ah, ew, I can’t. I need to shower.”
Reaching your end of the hallway, you press your back up against the wooden door as you sheepishly giggle when Oscar does the same. “Okay then…see you around?”
“Around town?”
“Around the house.”
“In the garden?”
“In the attic, too, maybe. It still needs a good sweep.”
He rolls his eyes. “Do we still have time?”
“Before your parents get back from Costa Rica?”
“Yes.”
“Which is in—”
“A week.”
“Which is—”
“Seven days.”
“And roughly…”
“Enough time.”
“Enough time to do what?”
He laughs, eyes crinkling suggestively, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage. “Come here and I’ll show you.”
“Yeah,” you ponder in deep thought before your lips stretch out into a bright smile of your own. He raises dark brows as you scurry over with bruised knees, a muddy dress, and an exploding heart. “Yeah, okay. Just until they get back.”
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“You’re supposed to be dead.” was so strong felt like you hit me with that sentence I even forgot the title can’t wait for next part!!!
Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti
Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 3/7]
Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff
Wordcount: 4,695
Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.
Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread
[a/n: Sorry for the delay on this one. I promise I'll hit you guys with less tragic backstory and more plot soon! ]
[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]
Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests
The word sounded foreign to you. Asgardian. The first syllable was doable, the start of something and the end of something in one fail swoop. It was the second syllable that threw you off. Guardian. That wasn’t something you had ever been, nor did you want to be. The two women that frequented your holding cell, now they were guardians.
You were never one of those superhero junkies. Not like the rest of the world. They were infatuated with the Avengers and even more so with the media coverage of them. The main six would do their due diligence and go in for interviews, the occasional ribbon cutting on new Children’s Hospitals.
It was the C and D list heroes that gave you the ultimate ‘ick’. There were reality television shows that highlighted their daily lives and social media accounts that reported on their flings and lack thereof. Of course, they’d home in on the Avengers too, but they circled like vultures, and it was the main reason you had seen the phrase ‘Asgardian’ in the first place.
Thors Summer Body.
Jesus Christ, they called it the Asgardian Abdominal Workout and you had scoffed at the stupid title and graphics on Instagram while you wiped the neon orange Cheeto dust from your fingers onto the front of your shirt.
You didn’t know what they meant for you, but you paced the length of your holding cell while you thought about it. It was day three and you were getting stir crazy. So much so, that when Natasha entered with your lunch for the day, you threw yourself against the glass.
Both of her eyebrows went sky high, grip tightening on the plastic tray. “Whoa, okay. Good afternoon to you too, Kitten.”
“Why do you do that?” You asked.
“Do what?”
“Act like you’re not intrigued by me.”
She was the only one who hadn’t resulted to the poking and prodding, and endless tests that had been run on you. Of course, Wanda was more likely to stick around for a conversation. She’d spend hours with you, just talking, staring at you while you slept. Your mind had chosen to be a challenge, and that excited her. It was more of an emotion than you pulled from her wife.
Natasha let out a sigh and clicked her way through the passcode. You had half the mind to shove past her, just to get out of this stale air. But, she was the Black Widow, and you knew your odds were slim. So, you stayed put, backing away to give her enough room.
She usually placed the tray on the table and then retreated with less than five words to you. But this time, she closed the door and turned towards you, arms crossed over her chest. The pure strength of her physic intrigued you, made a rosy color bloom against your cheeks.
“I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t.” She sounded out carefully. “Do you know Hawkeye?”
You nodded. He was the guy with the arrows, the only other person on the Avengers that had molded their skills instead of inheriting them. Jenn spoke fondly of him, had helped with a case a few years back that you couldn’t recall. You had been struck by the stomach flu and remember being particularly miffed that you hadn’t gotten to meet him.
“So did Loki. Briefly. He was the first big threat that we encountered as a team and he wormed his way into Clint’s mind, changed him because Clint was mortal, and Loki was a different kind of God. A trickster, and an Asgardian.”
“You’re… afraid of me?”
Natasha laughed and if you hadn’t been so wounded by the noise, you would have found it pleasurable. She closed the distance between you both. She smelled soft, floral. It was different from Wanda and from the nurse who had been in and out, growing bolder the more she worked on you.
“No, sweetie. But don’t be so offended, little intimidates me. I know that like our world, you come from one of your own. One with good guys and bad guys. I just hope that you know which side of the line you fall on.”
You stifled a groan. You didn’t even know who you were, much less if there was some malice deep down in your core. Right now, all you were was restless. While you were a homebody that usually extended to shitty television and greasy snacks. Neither of which was offered here.
Wanda brought you a novel to read, but it was in old English and hurt your head to squint at the words on the yellowed pages. You’d only gotten a quarter of the way through. The rest of your time was spent getting jammed with needles and staring at the blank ceiling.
“Hungry?” Natasha asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Alright then, come on.”
You blinked dumbly at her, narrowing your eyes. This could be some form of sadistic trap, but really, what did you have to lose? You were cooperative thus far. No matter where she led you, it would be better than here.
The floor was startling and cold against your bare feet, your jaw clenching in response to the change that hit your skin. Natasha watched you carefully, two steps in front of you but still with a keen eye.
The two of you took enough turns that you wouldn’t be able to find your way out of the compound, much less back to your holding cell, without her. The walls all looked the same, steel lock protected doors lining either side of the corridors. There were no discerning stock photos to spruce up the place, not even windows. If you knew any better, you would say that you were underground.
The elevator was warmer. Natasha used the keycard on her waist to operate it. You stared down at your feet. They were bruised from your excursion through the cemetery. Your hand reached out to the side of the elevator when it lurched forward, throwing you off your balance.
Natasha reached over and grasped your elbow, keeping you steady. Her warmth was domineering, running through you like a heated iron rod. You decided to change the subject for your own self-preservation. “What are we doing exactly? Because if you’re leading me to my demise, then you owe me a replacement lunch, first.”
She scoffed “Is food all you think about? From what I remember you were wolfing down week-old takeout when we met.”
“It’s not all I think about,”
At least, it didn’t used to be. Lately, you were starving at all times, thinking of your next meal directly after you’d finished your first. It was almost as if you were burning off more calories than you could consume. At first, you figured it was your body’s way to catch up after being buried alive- buried dead- but it persisted.
“uh-huh, you know my wife reads minds, right? Seems like all you think about is food and sex.”
“That’s not, I don’t-“Your cheeks heated up and you covered your face with both of your hands. God, this elevator ride was too long. You would be perfectly content digging another grave and laying in it.
“Relax. I’m teasing you.” She nudged you with her shoulder. “You and me, though, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together these next few days. Fury wants us to run more tests that don’t involve needles and EKG’s. That okay with you, kitten?”
You nodded, tongue officially tied. Each time she called you that, you felt arousal pool in your stomach that was quickly ebbed away by guilt. There was no way that you would allow yourself to be taken by the Black Widow. It was her job to be alluring.
And then there was her wife, the woman that you were equally infatuated with. She had a warmth that emanated from her, but a coldness that could wash over her in an instant. It scared you. It turned you on.
Not only could she hear your less than pure thoughts about Natasha, but she wasn’t shy about letting you know she could. The corner of her lip would quirk up, almost as if she wanted to tease you about the fact and not reprimand you.
The elevator doors opened directly into an atrium that was complete with lush green grass. You flinched, holding your arm in front of you to block out the sudden burst of sun. You’d been imprisoned for the past couple of days, and before that, you were in a different type of prison.
You took a deep breath of the clean air, letting it coat your lungs. Your skin instantly warmed. Natasha didn’t’ push you, instead she let you take in the square building around you. There were tinted windows that jutted out in a hexagon shape from the structure, long hallways that lead to move testing areas, living quarters, you were sure.
“I know you haven’t worked your muscles in a bit, but I have some obstacles for you, if you’re up to the challenge, that is.”
“You kidding? I aced gym. Bring it on.”
Natasha’s wolfish smile did nothing to aide your confidence. She led you into the center of the green and squared her shoulders. You didn’t see any equipment around: no vaulting bars, or weights. It was just the two of you and the nature that surrounded. It was only when she lifted up her hands, curling them into fists, that you truly understood.
The Black Widow wanted you to fight her.
There wasn’t much time to contemplate. She moved like lightening, and though you knew she was going easy on you, the crack against the center of your nose didn’t feel like it. You let out a groan, moving both your hands to your face as warmth gushed from the center.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck!”
“You’re supposed to dodge.”
“You’re supposed to warn me.” You pressed your hands harder against the dripping wound “Oh, I’m going to die.”
Natasha scoffed and let her hands drop from their defensive position. She closed the distance between you and gripped your arm. You refused to budge, making a small noise at the back of your throat. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Move your hand, let me look at it.”
You leveled her with an apprehensive look but eventually conceded. Watery rust was against your palms, wicked into your lifeline that seemed oddly to stretch on for way too long. It had already dried, you were almost hyper-fixated on the blood. On it’s stain.
Natasha was impossibly close, you could feel her exhaling against your collarbone, her hand squeezing your face and pushing your head to the side to get a better look. Her eyebrows creased. You focused on the smattering of freckles against her nose and under her piercing eyes. You hadn’t noticed them in the fluorescents of the facility.
“Mm, well, you can heal on your own. Just like Thor.” She gave your cheek two pats and stepped back. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“I beg to differ,”
Natasha resumed her stance and you held your hand up as if taming a wild animal. As if that would stop her from advancing on you. From this view, you could see the blood that had slotted through your fingers and ran in interconnecting lines. It was almost like a system of roads, each leading to your wrist and drying in a strange pattern. Beautiful. Familiar.
Your hand was tingling viciously and the world around you had started to pulse. You steadied yourself, focused on the grass under your toes. The soil was damp and cold. The sun was hot and harsh. You knew exactly where you were, but the rushing sound past your ears seemed to want to change that.
“Y/n,” You heard Natasha softly. She sounded like she was suspended in air, or you in water. “Y/n, are you alright?”
1893, Chicago World’s Fair
“Miss, are you alright?” His voice filtered through your thoughts. It was smooth and amplified compared to the crowd that flitted around you. Bodies were slotted close together, different scents of spices and crushed florals mixed with the sweat of strangers.
“Yes, of course,” You assured him, seeing the worry drain from his stare. He held his prize in one palm, hard enough to morph the copper back into its original shape. “My apologies. I suppose the heat is getting to me. Please continue, Mr. Damm.”
He gave you a crooked grin. You’d stopped at his booth out of a version of pity. In truth, your eyes had locked with his across the crowded exhibition floor and you couldn’t pull yourself away. He looked like a nice enough man, standing next to a small box that was made of wood.
Glass was bordering the top half, giving the viewer a good look at the inside mechanics. There was a crank that jutted out of the side and a small slot that was in the center of the wooden base. In a room filled with ships, locomotives, and a real moving walkaway, not many people took interest in a simple party trick.
“Have you ever put a penny on a train track, miss?”
“Yes, of course.”
He grinned harder “Well, that’s a good way to lose a limb, if I do say so myself. Now, I have all ten fingers and all ten toes but there are plenty out there who are risking their lives for something that you can now get with convenience. Do you have a penny, miss?”
With heat rising to your cheeks, you fished into the damp area between your breasts and pulled out a coin, making sure it was dry. You couldn’t hide it’s warmth, but the dress you’d chosen to wear on your mothers’ recommendation was much too tight fitting to carry anything in a proper place.
Mr. Damm did not seem to mind, he simply placed the penny into a small slot on the side of the machine. “I’ve spent years crafting a rolling mill that presses designs into soft metals. Not only that, but it elongates them as well. A penny had tremendous value, but wouldn’t you sometimes prefer something more?”
“I suppose I’ve never thought about it before.”
“Ah, well, come here. Crank this lever and watch.”
You glanced at him for reassurance before doing as you were told. It put up more resistance than you were expecting, but eventually you watched two metal rollers press the copper into a longer, oblong shape. You had to admit, it was a cool sight, especially with your ability to control the speed.
Eventually, your coin popped out of the slot in the wood and it looked like anything but the penny you had provided. It was stretched and the words ‘Columbian 1893 exhibition’ were impressed into the metal. He placed it into your palm, still warm from the process.
“Very good, Mr. Damm. But, does it still hold it’s value?”
“Of course, Miss! First thing I made sure of. Though, I suggest you keep this. One day, they’ll be worth millions.” He tucked his thumbs proudly into his suspenders “I’m headed to New York City in a few days to patten this machine, here.”
You returned his smile, words caught in your throat when a hand started against one side of your waist and trailed along your back to rest on the other. The rosewater scent that accompanied Helia. She was a few inches taller than you and hugged you close to her pale form.
There were dark circles under her sunken eyes, her hair a jet black. She often captured the eyes of anyone in the room. But in a room with so many wonders it was hard to notice her among them. People often thought of her as sick. But you knew better. Helia simply mirrored a specter. She was filled with a sharp kindness that was preceded by her excitement.
“Sister, what have you got there?” She plucked the coin from your hand and ran her pale finger over it “Very nice! This is fantastic, sir. Really amazing. I hope you don’t mind if I steal y/n away from you.”
“Not at all,” Mr. Damm gently took your hand and placed a dry kiss on the top of your hand. “It was fantastic to meet you, miss. Enjoy the fair.”
Helia had pulled you away by the waist before you could respond. You wiped the top of your hand against the rough fabric of your dress, suppressing a chill. He was nice enough, an average looking guy. Deep down you knew your mother only let you attend to see if you could attract some type of man.
She’d long ago deemed you feral, her wild-child that held the beauty but none of the grace to settle down with an acceptable husband. You wore Helia’s dress because she would have left you to rot in the hot motel room if you hadn’t at least attempted to look presentable.
“Mother is going to be so upset with you,” You tsked, “pulling me away from a possible suitor.”
“Oh, the inhumanity. We have to hurry. Jorell has been holding the same spot in line for the Ferris Wheel. We simply must join him. I don’t have the patience to wait another day.”
“At least you are one to admit your flaws.”
“Hush, walk faster.”
You felt incredibly stiff in the dress but followed her a quicker pace. Your brother had sacrificed his entire day to make sure the three of you could rise high above the fair. You’d long given up on your own ability to stand in a stretching line and you’d had to keep him waiting even longer.
A light drizzle had begun to fall from wispy grey clouds, instantly cool on your skin. Helia hugged you closer, silently pleading for the ride to still be operational. There was no electricity crackling through the sky, nor a worried look on a single patron’s face.
Jorell waved the two of you over, boots splashing against the cobblestone. His hair was damn, inky and falling into his ghostly stare. His shirt was soaked through at this point, the white outlining the curves and dips of his stature. The strong, protective man that had yet to find a suitor either. Though, mother was much less persistent when it came to her only son.
“Where did you find her?” He smirked.
“Playing with coins.”
“I wasn’t playing with anything. If you must know, a very nice man was giving me a demonstration of his invention.”
Helia nudged him in the ribs, “She took pity on him, like she does all helpless creatures.”
You suppressed a groan. Certainly, you were deemed to softest of the three siblings, though you knew when it was necessary to put a thing out of it’s misery. You’d bring home stray cats and then make excuses for the parasites that were attached to it.
“Come on, we’re next!”
Helia grabbed your hand and gave it an excited squeeze. There were two metal steps leading up to the boarding area. A man stood next to a gally of machinery, and unlike Mr. Damm’s penny pressing box, you couldn’t see inside of it. He held a black umbrella up to protect the panel from the weather.
He grunted out “No single riders, only two to a car. One of you will have to sit this out.”
It would be fair to let Jorrell and Helia take the helm. You weren’t much of a fan of heights anyway, and the diming in your sisters’ eyes at the news was enough to break you. “You two go on ahead.”
“You’re sure?” Jorell asked, lifting a dark eyebrow.
“I’m positive, go! I’ll be waiting right here.”
Maybe you did take too much pity on the beasts around you. They certainly stuttered to find kindness, as did you in moments. But at the base of the worlds first Ferris Wheel you would have done any kindness for the strangers that flitted around you. Especially for your own family.
You watched as they boarded the cart closest to the bottom, the last riders until a chain was slipped across the front, blocking the rest of the patrons. Bad weather. You heard the man mutter, but paid no mind. He certainly wouldn’t let them ride if the conditions were too dangerous.
They grew smaller and smaller as the monolithic machine carried them to the very top of the loop. You craned your neck, having to look away as harder rain blurred your view. It was unladylike to wipe at your eyes, but you hadn’t given a care. Unladylike or not, you’d give anything to see Helia and Jorrell in this moment. Joy swelled in your chest.
Then, the Ferris Wheel lurched to a stop. Strangled cries of shock floated down to you. This must be part of the exhibition. It was a naïve thought, but one that carried you for a moment more of bliss before pure terror. The next noise was grinding metal against metal, shaking that jostled many of the riders.
The speck of Jorrell had slid from his seat, the metal much too slippery from the rain. He held on to the edge, the crowd letting out sounds of distress. One woman screamed. You felt damp and useless, hand covering your mouth.
Helia gripped at the fabric of his shirt desperately trying to keep him afloat. And you believed whole-heartedly, that if the machine hadn’t lurched again, she would have been able to maintain her grip.
New inventions were faulty. They malfunctioned in different conditions. The rain had not been anticipated and neither had the harsh winds that made Chicago damp and freezing. Another sound of metal crunching and a scream that was masked within a sea of people already beginning to plan how to cope with tragedy.
You may have screamed to, but you had a feeling the noise got stuck in your throat. Jorrell had tried to grip the bars on the way down. They bit into his fingers, water making it impossible for him to swim.
He was crushed in an instant between the gears that you could see, and this time, you did cry out. You figured your legs unable to work, knees nearly hitting the cobblestone. In that moment, you thought about how it would dirty your dress.
An arm was there to steady you, grasping onto your elbow and pulling your eyes away from the scene. You were pliable in this moment, unable to question who had grabbed you. There was the scent of metal and strong cologne. They emanated comfort, tucking your head into the small of their neck to pry your eyes away from the mechanical mauling.
“Look away,” Mr. Damms voice was muffled against your ear, filling his chest cavity. “This isn’t something a lady should see, miss.”
The scream tore through your chest with a visceral pain. Your nails were digging into the soft soil, heels pushing against what you could only recognize as grass. You’d come to in a state of fight or flight. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, breath refusing to catch.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright.”
It took you a moment to realize who was in front of you. The world was dripping with color, the rushing sensation fading from your ears. Instead, it was replaced by the sound of birds, the scent of nature, the warmth of the sun. You were still outside, lying on the ground and blinking up at the crystal blue sky. No rain. No water.
Natasha was knelt next to you, a look of worry flooding her expression. She had one hand on your chest, and the other was cupping your cheek. She was checking your vitals, you were sure, because you had most certainly lost consciousness.
“Breathe in for six seconds through your nose. Good… now hold it. Only breathe out through your mouth when I tell you to.”
Your chest had started to ache when she finally gave you the nod to release the air you had greedily drawn in. She stayed with you, repeating the process three more times before you finally felt the blades of grass tickle your palms, the slight breeze touch your skin. Natasha brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair behind your ear before she flopped back into a sitting position.
“Want to tell me where you just went?”
“Chicago,” You grunted out.
Natasha got this adorable crease between her brows, but she didn’t’ push any further. You squinted up at the clouds and stretched your arm out, enjoying the prickly sensation of the grass.
“Sometimes… I get these nightmares. Most of the time I don’t remember my dreams but when these happen, they feel so real. Almost like I was there myself, which is impossible because they were decades, centuries ago.”
“What are they like? Your dreams?”
“Volatile. They all follow the same formula. A life that I couldn’t have had, an older brother who dies by water and a younger sister who just… dies. One of them meet a violent end before I can wake up, and they’ve never repeated themselves. It’s just new tragedy after new tragedy.”
You’d always thought the dreams were weird. But, chalked them up to being related to stress. When you were a kid, it was stress about starting a new school, soccer try-outs or midterms. Then as you got older you pinned it on college admissions and failing the bar twice before submitting to be a paralegal instead.
But then, Jonathan died. Drowning just as every other version of him had.
You’d never told anyone about the dreams and now you were sounding them out with a near-stranger who you were pretty sure used to be a villain. You’d read that on the back of a cereal box once while it tore up the roof of your mouth with its sugary edges. You didn’t’ put much faith in the trivia.
“That must be scary,”
You pulled yourself up, resting your arms on your knees. You were sure you looked disheveled, but she gazed at you with something of admiration and a recognition of pain. She’d pulled a blade of grass from the earth and was shredding it in a nervous habit.
“Chicago, huh?”
“The Worlds Fair, actually. I got a penny.”
“Oh?” She gave you a small smile “My, well, aren’t you rich.”
The two of you laughed, a small moment that filled you with content. It seemed to fill the crater that had just opened up in your soul. If it even was your soul to fill. It eventually flickered out, silence washing over you.
“Natasha?”
“Yeah, y/n?”
“Are you going to figure out what’s wrong with me?”
Your voice broke and you were tempted to muffle it with a cough. You didn’t’ want to show weakness. It was a golden rule in your family. The embarrassment of your actions in the dream still lingered on your tongue. Falling into the arms of Mr. Damm and his listless invention.
“Why can’t I die if everyone around me dies too easily?”
You all but whispered the words, and a soft, pitying noise came out of Natasha that you weren’t expecting. She clenched her jaw and unclenched it as if she was afraid to mince her words. There was almost anger, no, frustration, with herself behind her stare.
“Nothing is wrong with you, y/n. According to your bloodwork, you’re extraordinary. Growing stronger and stronger every day. You’re an enigma, even by Asgardian standards. But you’re not impossible to solve. We’ll figure you out.” She glanced down at the grass between her fingers, shredded another green strip. “No one deserves to live with that much pain.”
With a nod, you wiped away the tears that escaped with the base of your palms, careful to avoid looking at the blood. You’d never passed out like that, had a vision, a memory, forced upon you with the pull of a trigger. You didn’t want to risk it.
“Let’s get you a shower, yeah?” She stood and reached out her arm before hoisting you to your feet.
“Are you saying I stink?”
“I thought I was being very direct about the fact. Besides, I may have hit you a little hard, kitten.”
“I knew it!”
She grabbed you by the hand and pulled you along, as if she didn’t trust you on your own feet. Her grip was reminiscent of Helias, strong and consistent and filled with nothing but care. You let her lead you, hoping the blood wasn’t the only thing the shower would wash down the drain.
[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee]
#Natasha Romanoff#Natasha Romanov#Wanda Maximoff#scarlet witch#black widow#Natasha Romanoff x you#Natasha Romanoff x reader#Natasha Romanoff x y/n#Natasha Romanov x you#Natasha Romanov x y/n#Natasha Romanov x reader#Wanda Maximoff x you#Wanda Maximoff x reader#Wanda maximoff x y/n#Wandanat#Wandanat x reader#Wandanat x you#Wandanat x y/n#Marvel
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Villain Deku AU
Most of the time when I see the Villain Deku AU, he's often crazy, and while I do love that concept, I really want to see more sarcastic, cinnamon roll 'Moxxie from Helluva Boss' vibes.
Shigaraki: And that's plan, any questions?
Deku: Uh, yeah, what was that?
Shigaraki: That wasn't a question, Deku.
Deku: That wasn't a plan.
...
Remember my League of Morons vs A Summer Camp post?
Deku can fix that.
Shigaraki: All right, smart ass, you think you can do better?
Deku: I actually can. Your first mistake is attacking the second night of the camp. Let them all have their summer camp fun. By the end of a single week of non-stop, hardcore training, they'll be exhausted and less likely to fight off a surprise attack efficiently. Now, before the camp begins, we'll need Spinner to drive out there. You're the only one of us who hasn't committed any significant crimes yet.
Spinner: Why is that important?
Deku: *smiling cheerfully* Because you're a civilian. The Wild, Wild Pussycats aren't going to think it's weird if a civilian drives up to their base asking for directions through the mountains. Just make sure you have nice, dead battery for your cell phone. Ooh, or you could park on the road with a low tank of gas and walk up to their base! That'll sell it.
Spinner: Sell what?
Deku: You're getting the exact coordinates of the building for Kurogiri, of course. Once we have that information, he can open warp gates beneath our target while he's asleep and let gravity do the rest.
Kurogiri: You suggest we strike at night?
Deku: Right. You want to kidnap Kaachan, so we do it covertly while everyone's asleep. After that, if you really want to send a message to the heroes, we can always seal up the doors and windows, then Mustard can gas the building. Or Dabi can burn it to the ground. Your choice. Painless death in their sleep or painful death by fire?
Dabi: ...holy fuck, that's insane.
All-For-One: *through the computer monitor* Intriguing proposition, Deku. I suppose you have a back-up plan in case something goes wrong.
Deku: About that, it's entirely possible one of the Pussycats or UA teachers will be on look-out and if that's the case, Eraserhead will be the biggest obstacle. Most of you rely extremely heavily on your Quirks. We'll have to work on that, but in our current time frame, doing so before the summer camp is not feasible. So we'll need to remove the one player who can nullify Quirks. That'll be Mr. Compress's job.
Compress: And how exactly will I do that?
Deku: You'll hit him with a surprise attack. Kurogiri will open a warp gate for you, and the second he does, then you strike. Simple.
Muscular: Yeah, and what about the rest of us?
Deku: You'll be on standby in case Compress fails or draws too much attention to himself. Now about our hostage situation...do we really want Kaachan?
Kurogiri: What do you mean?
Deku: Well I know Kaachan. Despite his violent tendencies, he does have a strong sense of justice and he won't be easy to corrupt. Might I suggest taking the heteromorph students instead? Given society's discrimination problem against what they call the 'non-human' types, they've already got a reason for dissatisfaction with how they've been treated since they were born. Oh, and we should take Yaoyorozu Momo, too.
All: ....why?
Deku: She's rich. Her Quirk is infinitely useful, of course, but even if we can't convince her to join the League, her family will pay us a hefty ransom to get her back. For the record, so will Endeavor if we abduct his youngest son, too. Or we could just ransom the oldest one if all else fails.
Dabi: How the fuck did you know?!
Deku: ...Todoroki Touya allegedly burned up in a massive forest fire and the body was never found. You have a fire Quirk and horrific, full body burn scars and are the age he would have been today. It's not rocket science.
Shigaraki: ...this brat just hijacked my entire plan.
...
He'd quickly become the Bilbo Baggins of LoV, the one who's solving all the problems right up until they get to the fight with Gigantomachia, at which point he says, "No, I'm not helping you this time. He's gotta respect you, this is your quest. I'm not the fighting type, so I'll just sit back and watch." Proceeds to sit quietly and take notes while observing the fight.
Dabi also wasn't helping out with that fight, so every now and then he checks in on their progress. He just shows up, mildly entertained and mostly annoyed by the collective ineptitude (not that he's any better,) and he walks up to Deku.
Dabi: So how many ways have you thought of to defeat him?
Both: *duck as Spinner goes flying over them*
Deku: ...47. How's that recruitment process going? Because you're starting to look way more useful as a bargaining chip for ransom.
Dabi: Says the guy who's just sitting here.
#my hero academia#izuku midoriya#villain deku#alternate universe#league of villains#dabi#shigaraki tomura#boku no hero academia#bnha#spinner#kurogiri#vanguard action squad#mha#all for one#afo#helluva boss#hazbin hotel#reference
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IN THE DYING SUMMER SUN — BBH
PAIRING: baekhyun x female reader
SUMMARY: a weekend up at the beach house might just be enough to make you crack and come clean about your little (big, fat) crush. alternatively, park chanyeol is possibly the worst wingman ever.
GENRE: friends to lovers! au, crush! baekhyun, romance, fluff, a pinch of angst, pining, humour
WARNINGS: swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual tension!!, slightly suggestive, reader and baekhyun are both kind of clueless tbh
WORD COUNT: 9.4k
NOTE: happy birthday baekhyun!! thought it would be fitting to start off this blog with a fic for bbh on his birthday. this was supposed to be a 4-5k piece of fluff but somehow it ended up being double that and a lot more serious than i originally intended (oops?). kinda nervy posting such a long fic for the first time ever so feedback is most certainly welcome and i hope you enjoy!
“You definitely rigged this.”
Chanyeol only rewarded you with a shit-eating grin.
The scrap of paper couldn’t weigh more than a few grams, but in your hands, they felt like the barbell plates at the gym that he could never leave alone. Especially since a certain someone was also holding another scrap of paper with ‘ground floor twin room’ hastily scrawled across it.
You shook your head vehemently, fixing the tall boy with a dagger-like stare that he seemed completely unfazed by. “I demand a redraw.”
“Which is not going to happen,” was his gleeful response. “We all agreed — no take-backs before picking.” The hat that you had all drawn out of, now empty, was tossed on the coffee table as everyone else began to move their bags into their freshly chosen rooms. Somewhere down the hallway, Jongin tripped over the wheels of his suitcase, his pained groan and Kyungsoo’s laughter bouncing against the walls of the AirBnb.
“Besides,” Chanyeol continued, hand coming up to ruffle your hair, “if I had actually rigged it, you should be thanking me. I’d be doing you a favour.” He gestured towards Baekhyun, who was busying himself with packing his hoodie back into his duffle bag, hopefully oblivious to the fact that the two of you were conspiring about him less than three metres away.
“Yeah, say it any louder, why don’t you. And no, that wasn’t an invitation,” you warned, catching the wicked glint in Chanyeol’s eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to make good on your request and let the whole house know, only to choke back a groan at the elbow you shoved into his side. Behave, said the glare that you shot at him. His replying smile was anything but reassuring, before he picked up his bag and headed upstairs.
That was what you got for getting a little too drunk at Jongdae’s housewarming get-together last month and accidentally slipping up about your big, fat, debilitating crush on Baekhyun after the third glass of pinot noir in one night. If it had been anyone else made aware of your juvenile secret, you would probably be feeling a little less uneasy — but it just had to be the one person who couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Not to mention Park Chanyeol was a terrible wingman, having heard about the ridiculous escapades he put Jongdae through before he finally cuffed his girlfriend. Lucky for you, you were now getting to experience it first-hand.
“I can ask Jongin to swap, if you really don’t want to room with me,” came a soft voice from your right. Baekhyun regarded you with an expectant, if somewhat hesitant expression.
“No, it’s okay,” you replied, trying your best to mask the panic that was fighting its way into your voice. It would be just your luck, that he would think your reluctance to share a sleeping space with him was because you didn’t like him enough, and not that you liked him a little too much. The slight furrow in his brow seemed to melt away with your words. “I just wanted the big room with the queen bed, but somehow Chanyeol got it. I seriously think he did something to these,” you said, waving your slip of paper that matched the one he was holding.
Come to think of it, you and Baekhyun had also been the last ones to draw out of the hat, since Chanyeol had insisted on going counter-clockwise around the dining table. How he managed to game the room allocations was beyond you, but you were now almost certain that he did.
“It’s good that he’s by himself though. The snoring would drive anyone mad,” Baekhyun mused, and you had to chuckle in agreement.
“That time he passed out at my place after Saturday drinks…I genuinely thought I’d end up with a murder charge that night.” you said, chest squeezing at the way his eyes crinkled into crescent moons at your words. You busied yourself with your own bag, hoping he wouldn’t see the dumb smile on your face, and be able to tell how pleased you were to have teased a laugh out of him. Laughter was not something he usually withheld — he gave it freely, if not a little too generously — but it always did a funny thing to your heart when you were the cause of it.
“Definitely can’t have that. Pretty face like yours would not last a day in jail.” With one hand around his own duffle, he draped the free one around your shoulders, letting the warmth of his arm wrap around you as you headed down the corridor to the room you’d be sharing for the weekend.
Having a crush on Baekhyun was no big deal. Probably even normal, if his college days were anything to go by. But what made it so debilitating was things like this — the little comments he’d throw around that could easily be passed off as just friendly flirting if you were so inclined, though you sometimes let yourself imagine his intentions came more from the flirting than the friendly part. He was a generally touchy person too, never missing a chance to pat Kyungsoo’s ass when the opportunity arose, but sometimes the brush of his fingers against the inside of your wrist felt a little too affectionate for two people united solely through friendship, even if you were the only one who internally crossed that line a while ago. It was things like this that made you question, every once in a while, if your feelings were as one-sided as you believed. Most of the time though, you chalked it up to his disposition, his easy-going magnetism, and concluded that whatever signals you thought he was sending were merely due to your overactive imagination running wild with hopes that he felt the same way.
“Dibs left,” he said, plopping down on the twin bed closer to the window. His arms raised above his head in a long, yawning stretch, revealing a thin strip of skin at the waistband of his jeans. Just the sight of it was enough to control your blood, sending a rush of it to your face, and you internally cursed yourself for being so weak to such a small thing. It was obvious you had been alone for way too long. He was too comfortable to notice the flush on your cheeks, eyes shut and enjoying the tension leaving his body after the long drive up.
You sat yourself down carefully on the remaining bed, noting the gap between the two mattresses. Whether you wanted to push them together or against opposite walls of the room, you couldn’t be sure. It was hard to form coherent thoughts when he turned to you with a boyish playfulness that curled the corner of his mouth upwards.
“You’re not going to sleepwalk your way into my bed, are you?” he asked, chin in his hand, a teasing glint in his eyes. You tried hard to catch yourself from choking on your own saliva.
“I’ve been known to kick in my sleep,” was your reply, voice much more nonchalant than you thought you were capable of, given that he had just planted the seed of the two of you sharing a twin mattress that was definitely not big enough to lie down on without touching in at least three different places. The glint in his eyes faded immediately, giving way to thinly-veiled concern at the threat underlying your words.
“I was kidding,” you clarified when he sat up and started to back away from you. “At least, I haven’t done that for fifteen or so years. But you never know, it might come back again tonight, when you’ve finally fallen asleep, and then BAM! Foot to the face. You better sleep with your eyes open, Byun Baekhyun,” you warned, giggling at the realisation dawning over his face before his pretty features settled into mock annoyance.
“You just think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He was on all fours now, making his way towards you with a wolfish grin. In no time, he had crawled over the gap between your two beds and suddenly his fingers were prodding at your ribs. It was a well-planned tickle attack, and one you had no chance of escaping from, since his legs had caged you in and the rest of him was pinning you down. You were helpless against the ambush of his fingers, succumbing to them with gasping giggles, punctuated by desperate pleas for him to stop. He showed no intention of letting up, fingers digging even deeper into your waist.
If you were going to die like this, you thought, at least you’d be dying while lying under him.
“When you two are done canoodling, we’re going to go set up on the beach,” came a voice from the doorway. Baekhyun’s merciless fingers paused, and the two of you looked back to see Chanyeol’s amused face at the foot of your bed, smirking like he knew some big secret that neither of you were privy to. God, you were seriously regretting that third glass at Jongdae’s new apartment last month.
Baekhyun turned back to you, your noses almost touching, and you could feel the air from his exhales fanning against the skin of your cheek. There was a mole just above the corner of his mouth that you don’t think you had ever noticed before. Warmth from his jean-clad legs radiated into your hips and meandered up and down your spine, and suddenly the late summer air around you was becoming sticky and heavier than usual.
As if just now noticing the proximity you were in, he slowly untangled himself from your limbs, making sure not to crush you in the process. You sat up, still breathless, having just calmed down enough for full inhales again, but so was he, you noted. Surely tickling wasn’t that exertive of an activity? Or maybe you’d put up a better fight than you had thought.
“Don’t forget your towels,” was the last thing Chanyeol said before he ducked out, yelling at Jongin to grab the beach umbrellas, not the rain ones. There were a few seconds just filled with the sounds of your slowing breathing.
“I’m going to go get changed,” Baekhyun said, turning around to dig through his bag for his swim shorts. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could hear the slight tremble in his voice that indicated he hadn’t quite recovered from whatever was afflicting him. “We’ll probably just be setting up the umbrellas, so no rush, just come down when you’re ready.” As he turned around to head towards the bathroom, he flashed you that familiar smile, the one that always resulted in one of your own to mirror his, and set you at ease again.
“And make sure you bring your sunscreen,” he added, before disappearing down the hallway. You watched him go, throwing yourself back onto the bed with a frustrated groan once you were sure he was out of earshot. Two whole days and nights in this tiny room, in the languid death of summer, with his body just an arm’s length away from yours — you had no idea how much of this you could stomach and emerge with your sanity intact.
This was shaping up to be the longest weekend ever.
The afternoon sun was unforgiving when you emerged from the house. Though you had thrown on a cover up before leaving, you could feel the heat tingling on the surface of your skin through the thin cotton. From the top of the bushy path leading down to the beach, you could already hear the tell-tale signs of a competition brewing between the boys, even if you couldn’t quite see them yet. A few steps down and you could make out their figures, managing to catch the view of Chanyeol flipping backwards off the jetty before plunging into the water, where the rest of them were bobbing around. Baekhyun’s voice floated above the others the way it always did when he was teasing, liltingly distinguishable, though perhaps that was only because you were now so attuned to it that other voices naturally started to sound more foreign.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly when he went from Baekhyun, your friend who tended to get a little too rowdy after half a can of beer, to Baekhyun, your friend who made your heart pick up a little faster when you thought of him. One day his hiccuping laugh was teetering on the edge of obnoxiousness, and then all of a sudden it became endearing to hear the raw joy in his voice. If you knew exactly when the switch flipped, maybe you’d be able to retrace your steps and stop yourself from ever setting off down this path to end up where you were now, watching the sunlight glisten against his wet face with an overwhelming affection, wondering what it would be like to be the private audience of his radiant smile everyday.
You set your things down on the sand next to the pile of clothes and towels that were already there, recognising Chanyeol’s hat somewhere in the mix. The beach umbrella that Jongin had set up was already beginning to lurch towards one side, the brim rather close to the ground. Fixing it back in place and digging it into the sand a little deeper, you let out a fond laugh — some things, like the way Jongin used his hands like they weren’t his own, would stand the test of time.
You had hoped that your friendship with Baekhyun would be one of those things, but the more time you spent casting longing glances his way when he wasn’t looking, the more you weren’t sure if you could ever recover from his rejection if you ever did decide to be honest about your feelings towards him. So you did your best to bury them, content to enjoy his company in the way you were both familiar with, afraid that if they did surface, they’d taint your friendship with something unpleasant and irreversible. If you couldn’t own the sun, at least you could still revel in its warmth.
Satisfied with the position of your towel underneath the shade of the umbrella, you looked back at the water, returning Baekhyun’s sweeping wave with a small one of your own. It was just enough of a distraction for Chanyeol to turn around as well, and Baekhyun seized the opportunity to dunk him, gleefully howling as the taller boy’s head disappeared below the waves. Before Chanyeol could resurface and enact his retaliation, Baekhyun was already making his escape, swimming towards the shore with fearful determination. Chanyeol made to follow, but upon seeing you sitting on the beach with your eyes fixed on Baekhyun’s approaching figure, he thought better of it, turning back around to continue the diving evaluation as Jongin took his turn to leap off the jetty.
With an amused smile, you watched as Baekhyun hurried out of the ocean, wet hair flying in all directions and flicking droplets of seawater across the sand. The water trickled down the planes of his bare torso, and you tried to keep your eyes away from the firmness of his pec, or the flexing movements of his abdominals as he made his way over to you. One thing was for sure — the gym sessions with Chanyeol were paying off.
When he finally reached you, Baekhyun slumped onto your towel, ignoring your protests for him to stay away, and proceeded to soak you in the remaining water that was still clinging to his body. The skin of his stomach was cool against your calf, and he giggled delightfully at your attempts to push him off to avoid getting more water onto your clothes.
“Stop trying to fight it, you’re going to get wet when you go in anyway,” he said, finally rolling off you.
“I wasn’t planning on going in. I’m scared you’ll try to drown me,” you huffed, lightly flicking some sand onto his shoulder with your toe. He turned back around, chin cradled in his left hand, and flashed you a boyish smile.
“I would never do that,” he said, though the glint in his eyes was anything but convincing. “Besides, what are you going to do at the beach if you’re not getting in the water?”
You picked up the book nestled in between your shoes and waved it at him. “Read, of course.” He regarded the worn paperback with amused disbelief, eyebrows slightly raised. It was only when you flipped the book open to the paperclip you’d been using as a bookmark that he realised you were serious, and let out a scoff that was laced with something akin to fondness.
“You are such a cliche. Pretty girl reading at the beach? Unbelievable, seriously,” he said, before wriggling his head into your stomach, relishing in your shocked squeals as your cover up began to dampen again. His mischief had left a few wet patches on the fabric that were beginning to stick to your body in the uncomfortable fashion of late summer. You reached for the hem, pulling it off not without some struggle, and immediately felt the sun kissing against your bare shoulders. Though you were mostly covered by the shade from the umbrella, the last thing you wanted was a blistering sunburn where the straps of your tote bag usually rested, so you grabbed the sunscreen you had so diligently packed and began applying it on the parts of your skin that were exposed.
Baekhyun had gone uncharacteristically quiet. If you had been paying attention to him instead of so attentively rubbing the cream into the underside of your knee, perhaps you would have noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a little longer than would have been polite. They followed the path your hands took, from the expanse of skin below your neck, across your stomach, and down the length of your legs.
“Do you want me to do your back?” he blurted, his voice a little more strained than usual. He was wearing an odd expression on his face, something you couldn’t quite place, but it was different from the usual playful one you were most well acquainted with. Nevertheless, you agreed, passing him the tube and turning around so your back was facing him.
His fingers were still cold from the water, and you jumped when they first made contact with your skin. He only laughed, squeezing both hands around your shoulders to hold you still before he got back to work again.
The first graze of his hands across your shoulders was tentative. You could feel the heat of him behind your back, the smell of salt and sun clinging to the air around you. His breaths fanned the skin on the back of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms and legs despite the thick heat of the afternoon. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Slowly, his hands made their way down to your lower back, and it was then that you realised you might be in trouble. His hands pressed against the grooves of your spine, curving ever so slightly around your waist, and if you shivered, he pretended not to feel you tremble in his grasp.
It was when his fingers slipped underneath the ties of your bikini top that the alarm bells began to go off in your head. His movements were hesitant, fingers stuttering in their dance across your skin before they gingerly pulled the strings aside to spread the sunscreen between the top and bottom halves of your back. It was too much, feeling his warmth, knowing there was only an inch of space between your bare torsos, having his hands on you doing such a thorough job with the task he had assigned to himself. When the tips of his fingers brushed the side of your ribs, just under the edge of the fabric, you couldn’t help the breathy noise that escaped your lips.
“Actually, I think I left something back at the house,” you said suddenly, words hurriedly running into each other as they tripped over your tongue on the way out of your mouth. Twisting away from his dangerous touch, you bolted to a stand and hoped he’d attribute the pinkness of your cheeks to being outside in the brightness of the afternoon. Your words came out staggered, the slight tremble in your voice betraying the composure you were fighting so hard to maintain.
Baekhyun’s gaze was careful, if not a little confused. The more his eyes ran over you, the more you were sure that the depth of your feelings towards him were beginning to surface on your face. Another second and he’d be able to tell, he’d figure out the little secret you’d been trying to conceal for the last couple of months. And then you wouldn’t be able to deny its existence anymore.
So you fled, tossing a rushed promise to be right back over your shoulder before scurrying up the bushy path again. Away from the scrutiny of his eyes, away from the truth you did not want revealed to the world. The ghost of his touch lingered between your shoulder blades and along the ridges of your spine, your body already committing to memory the caress of his skin against yours. You realised then, that it would not be possible to continue living on as usual, now that you knew the taste of his closeness, as fleeting as it may have been.
“I think you should just go for it.”
Your fingers tightened around the glass at his words. Chanyeol’s tone was light and pragmatic, speaking as if the act of unfurling your heart were nothing more than a decision about whether to have steak or pork belly for dinner.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed, bringing the bottle to your lips.
“I’m serious though,” he continued, nudging your arm with the lip of his own beer. “I think you should just tell him, and see what he says. And stop expecting the worst. You’ll never know how things could turn out if you never do anything.”
You let your head fall back to lean on the doorframe you were both standing against, gazing out at the patio that had begun to darken following the sunset. Baekhyun and Jongin were placed at opposite ends of the ping pong table that had been wheeled out of the living room after dinner, neither seeming to mind the soft prick of grass at the underside of their bare feet. Whether the game was proceeding well was difficult to deduce, since both were sporting wide grins and rosy cheeks, courtesy of the glasses in their hands — but judging by the cluster of orange balls around Baekhyun’s feet, you had an inkling that victory would not be his. He didn’t seem to mind yet, laughing gleefully as Jongin swung his racquet too hard and launched a ball over the fence.
“Not everyone is as good as you when it comes to talking about their feelings, you know,” you said, fixing Chanyeol with a knowing look that was halfway between admiration and resentment. If you only had his courage of expression, perhaps you would’ve put an end to your suffering a while ago. Ripped the band-aid off cleanly instead of peeling away at it, day by day, bit by bit, until it was hanging on by the last of its adhesive. You weren’t sure how much longer your resolve could last, if it would even survive this weekend without snapping under the force of your attraction.
He only shrugged. “You can’t get good without actually doing it.” You pondered his words in the short silence that settled while you both took another sip. He was right, of course, you knew that, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier.
“I think… I’m just scared,” you began slowly. Realising you were about to put his advice into action, Chanyeol turned to you with reassuring and patient eyes, waiting. You took a deep breath, swinging the contents of your bottle back and forth, and continued, “I’m scared that if I do tell him, it’s going to change our relationship and then I’ll lose him completely. At least if I don’t say anything, he’s still my friend, and I get to keep being in his life.”
He regarded you for a moment, brows furrowed thoughtfully, as he decided on his next words. It was no easy feat to try on honesty the way you just did, having so carefully avoided it for your entire life, and he was well aware of it. The slight tremble in your hands was a dead giveaway.
“And I think that’s completely understandable,” he finally said. “There’s always going to be a trade-off, no matter what you choose to do. But I guess you have to weigh up which one means more to you, and if you’re willing to take that risk on the chance that it does work out between you two. I’m only telling you what I think you should do. You’re the one who knows your own feelings the best.”
Another silence fell over the two of you again. Your bottle was nearly empty now, the beer inside already lukewarm from being out of the cooler for too long. Jongin let out a cheer as the ball sailed over his head, landing far behind him on the grass and ignoring Baekhyun’s flagrant attempts at contesting the point. Even under the patio lights, he was still so pretty, cheeks pink and glowy, the shape of his mouth so endearing as it settled into a pout. By now, you were used to the longing, and paid it no mind as it filled your chest with a bittersweet warmth.
“Aren’t you two best friends though?” you asked, the thought suddenly occurring to you. “You’re telling me you don’t know anything about how he feels about… whatever is going on?” The look you gave Chanyeol was suspicious, but he stood strong, resisting your prying eyes.
“I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I went around blabbing to you about his feelings, would I?” was his response, accompanied by an elusive smile. There was something in his words that lingered in your mind, some important detail you felt as if you had overlooked, but his amused expression gave you nothing to hold onto. “You’re both so clueless,” he chuckled after a beat of your thoughtful silence, downing the rest of his drink.
Baekhyun was skipping over now, having officially lost 18-21 to Jongin, who was heartily celebrating his victory with a series of hoots and giggles. He headed straight for you, hair all messed up from running his hands through it during the game, and a rosy flush to his face, though you weren’t sure if that was from the game or the glass that he had left at the ping pong table. When he wrapped his arms around you and buried his head in your shoulder, you knew that it was probably the latter.
“I lost the game,” he whined, petulant and firm against you. His hair tickled your chin, and you could smell the faint scent of his shampoo from his shower after the beach.
“Are you drunk already?” you asked, trying to mask your breathlessness at his proximity with a few giggles. Baekhyun’s affinity for physical contact was the worst — or best, depending on how you looked at it — when he had alcohol in his system, and it didn’t take much to push him past the borders of sobriety. His ache for touch and affection was most often relieved on you, and you always obliged, gladly and readily letting him take whatever it was he wanted.
The tip of his nose brushed back and forth against your skin as he shook his head. “Just a little, tiny bit,” he said, voice muffled, and you felt the warmth of his breath through your t-shirt.
“Where’s the love for your best friend?” Chanyeol teased, the only one amused at the way Baekhyun had dived straight into your arms without even sparing him a glance.
The boy in your arms didn’t even falter, only snuggling further into you. “You know it’s because she’s my favourite,” he murmured, lips skimming your collarbone ever so softly as he spoke. The panic onset was instantaneous, and you prayed he was too drunk to pick up on the sudden rapid thundering of your heartbeat inside your chest. You tried to look at Chanyeol for help, but he was setting off across the patio, taking up Jongin on his invitation for a match with the promise that he would wipe the floor with the younger boy.
Baekhyun only hummed contentedly, oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking inside you, tightening his hold around you when you made a half-hearted attempt to wriggle out of his arms. His pink lips set into another rounded pout, brows slightly creased as he pulled back to look at you.
“You know you’re my favourite, right?” he asked, trying to be convincing despite the slight slur to his words. You could only nod, letting a small smile twist the corners of your mouth upwards. Whether he realised or meant what he was saying, you weren’t all that concerned, simply happy to bask in the warmth of his full attention knowing it was probably just nonsensical babble brought on by the drink in his belly. It was so much easier to be close to him when he was like this, hazier, and sure to forget most of what he had said the morning afterwards. It didn’t hurt that you were also starting to feel a little blurrier around the edges, the beer from earlier making its way through your system and leaving behind a pleasant fuzziness that made it all the more tempting to come clean about your feelings. But you weren’t quite there yet, and you had no plans to get to that point tonight.
Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he curled back up into you. With your hands around his back, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfortingly even beat of it through his rib cage. It was so easy to imagine this was the way it had always been, and would always be, so easy to slip into the fairytale you often found yourself fabricating when your one-sided longing became too much to contain. It would be so nice if you could live in this moment forever, you thought. But was this small pocket of peace worth risking your entire friendship?
“I wish you’d stop running away from me,” he murmured, or at least that’s what you thought he said. It was a little difficult to concentrate when his lips were grazing your skin again, lightly feathering across your neck as the words shaped his mouth on their way out of it.
And then you felt it, the unmistakable and deliberate press of his lips against your collarbone, the gentle pressure and the slight moisture on your skin from it searing through you like a lit trail of gasoline. This time, he had to have heard the stilted gasp that escaped your mouth.
He lifted his head slowly to look at you again, searching your face with glassy eyes — for what, you weren’t quite sure. The only things you were sure of right now were the fiery burn in your cheeks, and the deafening pounding of your heart that echoed between your ears.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, though his expression was nowhere near as apologetic as his words would have you believe. If anything, his gaze on you was almost daring, waiting to see how you’d respond, if you’d shrink back into yourself like you always did when he got too close and crossed that invisible boundary you only danced around. If you’d run away from him the way he had just said he wished you wouldn’t. Or if you’d let him push you over too, just this once.
Seeing the hesitation in your face, he slowly extricated from you, retracting his limbs and warmth until they hung limply by his sides again. Scratched the back of his head. Let his eyes wander around the patio and settle on anything except for you.
“I’m going to see if Kyungsoo needs any help with cleaning up,” he said quietly, not waiting for your response as he headed back into the house. The drink had made his gait unsteady, and you felt him sway against the doorframe as he brushed past you. A chilling unease began to settle in the pit of your stomach as you watched him go, the shape of his back getting smaller and smaller as he was swallowed by the light of the living room.
Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, and that there was a possibility it had not been in the direction you had hoped for.
Perhaps the second glass of wine had been a little overambitious, you realised, staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedroom. Kyungsoo had been so excited about the 2012 Shiraz he had brought from home, pouring you a full glass with an enthusiasm he didn’t often display. You couldn’t say no, and you didn’t protest when he refilled it a short while later. If he noticed the faster-than-usual speed with which you drained its contents, he did not show it. Whilst alcohol tended to put people to sleep, it had the opposite effect on you, dangling sleep in front of you like a carrot you could never get a hold of easily, or for long. That second glass of wine was the reason you were lying in bed, not soundly asleep like you wished, but keenly aware of every breath and every movement from the other occupant of the room, only an arm’s length away from you.
Baekhyun had spent most of the night with Chanyeol out on the patio, drinking and laughing under the generous light of the moon. Even if he wasn’t purposely avoiding you, you felt his absence from your side sorely. He didn’t say much during the wind down for bed either, only asking if you wanted the curtains fully shut, to which you gave an affirmative. Still, a sliver of moonlight speared through the gap between them, illuminating the room just enough that if you turned your head to the side, you could make out the outline of his body beneath the covers and acquaint yourself with the familiar curve of his nose.
It was only fair that the wine, having taken your sleep, offered something in return to mark an honourable trade. That something manifested itself in the restlessness of your mouth, which battled against the remaining rationality of your mind. Loose-lipped and anxious, you dug your nails into the palm of your hand, willing the war inside your head to approach a ceasefire. You did not want to make a fool of yourself in the intimacy of this small room.
However, your resolve could not last for long, corroded by the hours spent without his presence, without the familiar warmth of his touch, without his little comments meant only for you as he pointed out something silly or poked fun at Jongin’s whining. Barely above a whisper, you called out his name, letting your voice permeate the darkness. It was loud enough that he’d hear it above the silence, but soft enough that he could ignore it if he so wished, and you’d attribute his ignorance to the deepness of sleep.
There was a second of silence, which he followed with an answering hum and a shuffle of his legs on the mattress. He was awake, and he was waiting for you to speak.
“Are you mad at me?” you asked the ceiling.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” was his reply, accompanied by a quiet sigh. He was conversing with the ceiling too, just as reluctant to face you.
Your hands twisted the sheets in dissatisfaction. The even tone of his voice indicated truth, but his answer didn’t explain why he had spent the whole night outside without calling for you even once, when he usually couldn’t last half an hour without pressing into your side and tickling your shoulder to grab your attention.
“Then what?” you probed, cringing at the whiny edge to your voice.
He was quiet for a while, letting your words hang in the air, that for a moment you thought he wouldn’t speak, that your brief conversation had already come to an end, and you’d be left with unanswered questions as bedside companions for the night. There was another rustling from his side of the room as he settled himself under the covers.
“Sometimes, I think I want too much from you,” he finally said. He was quiet, but you heard every word with the clarity as if they had been projected through a stereo system. “And you can’t give me everything I want, but that’s not your fault. It’s an indication of my own greed and selfishness more than anything else.”
You kicked around at your sheets to signal your unrest at his words. “I don’t think you are greedy or selfish. At all. At least not with me.” If anything, you were the selfish one, wanting all his smiles and touches for yourself, wanting the entire spectrum of his existence to only ever be shown to you. Your generosity only ever came to light when it was in service of him, gladly letting him take your attention, your time, allocating space in your mind for him and him only.
Baekhyun only laughed a soft and short laugh at your reply, the sound so different from the usual one filled with boisterous joy that you had grown the most used to. You heard him turn over in his bed to face you. In the quiet darkness of the room, the focus of his gaze flooded over you, and the intensity of it was so blinding you didn’t dare to look away from the smoothness of the ceiling, fearing you’d smoulder into ash the moment you locked eyes with him.
“You know that you are a really important person to me. You know that, right?” he asked, eyes searing into you with the force of a thousand suns. “I mean, everyone else is also important because they’re my friends, but you’re different — you are a special person to me. I don’t see you the way I see Chanyeol, or Jongin, or anyone else.”
His words were still tinged with the slight slur of the beer from out on the patio, but you could feel the delicate care with which they were chosen and spoken. Something was different about tonight. You could taste it in the thick air between the two of you, feel it in the wire-taut tension stretching across the gap between your two twin beds. Your fingers dug into the comforter, willing the turbulence in your chest to subside.
He paused and took a deep breath, as if bracing himself against something devastating. “I don’t want the same things with them as I do with you.”
You held your breath until you felt the pain of deprivation in your chest.
“But I’ve made peace with the fact that what I want from you, and the way I feel about you, are things I’ll have to carry with me. They’re things I have to bear the weight of alone. I don’t — I would never want you to be uncomfortable, or see me differently.” There was a slight catch in his voice at the end.
You didn’t even know if your lungs were still working while you listened to him speak. There was a surrealness to the night, as if everything had been covered in a blanket of haze and everything that was transpiring was the product of a fever-induced dream, existing on an alternate timeline.
Baekhyun… it didn’t even feel right thinking it.
Baekhyun had feelings for you? And he had convinced himself it was one-sided?
“It’s pretty selfish, isn’t it? Asking you to act like things between us won’t change after everything I just said,” he laughed, but there was little humour in the sound. You finally turned your head to look at him, the wry curve of his mouth catching the moonlight as he gazed at you. He was smiling, the shape of it meant to comfort you, but he could not hide the sadness weaved into the downturn of his eyes. He had always been braver than you, perhaps not in the aspect of riding roller-coasters, but certainly in his ability to be honest and open about his emotions, regardless of whether they were good or bad.
It was your turn to be brave now, and shed your own fear to meet him where he stood.
“I’ve been seeing you differently for a while now,” you admitted, turning under the sheets to fully face him. You were grateful for the darkness, hoping that it would conceal the heat creeping up your neck and face, painting your cheeks with a hot blush that accompanied the start of your confession. His brows furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, confusion settling in the crease between them. You held yourself back from reaching out to smooth them over.
“What do you mean?”
“What makes you think you’re the only one who feels this way?” you asked instead, leaving his question unanswered. There was a tremble in your voice as you spoke, and you were sure he heard it above the quiet of your bedroom. It was the closest you could get to telling him without actually telling him about the silent battle that had been raging in your head for the last few months.
This was it, you thought. He had to know now.
“Am I not?”
The weight of his stare pressed against you, drawing you to him with the tangible pull of gravity. The eyes that roamed your face had replaced their previous confusion with questioning, and a glimmer of something akin to hope. He had never looked more beautiful and devastating than he did right now. You felt the light of dawn breaking over your skin, a promise of something new and good sure to follow. Its warmth simmered within you, staving off the chill of the late summer night with a heat that had you pushing off your covers in a hurried frenzy and rising to sit on the edge of your bed, toes just grazing the floorboards beneath you. Would you still have had the same nerve to face him in the daylight, rough and exposed without the lulling comfort of darkness? Would he still look at you, unpolished and flawed in the clarity of the sun, the same way, with the reverence of man at the sight of an angel?
Baekhyun mirrored you and sat up on his own bed, slowly, as if not wanting to spook you, fearing you’d run off and retreat back into the confined familiarity of your own head. His knees knocked against yours in the small space between your two mattresses. You jolted at the feeling of his skin on yours, having gone without it for so long that the mere touch was like the first drop of water after emerging from the desert. He made to move away, trying to shuffle across the length of the bed, but stilled at the hand you placed just over his knee, willing him to stay put. Surely, he could feel the beat of your heart thrumming through your fingertips.
It was your turn to be brave now.
Fueled by the second glass of Shiraz and the muted encouragement of darkness, before you could second guess yourself and overthink every possible negative outcome of what you were about to do, you closed your eyes and leant towards him. Slowly, inch by inch, until your journey ended with the soft, tentative press of your lips against his. It was short and chaste, nothing more than a gentle pressure, and you pulled back when you felt his lips part in surprise.
“Does that answer your question?” you whispered, heart in your throat.
There it was. You had gone and done it.
His eyes were closed, and in the dim moonlight peeking through the curtain, you could almost make out each of his eyelashes, fluttering dark and soft against the smooth skin of his cheek. For a few seconds, the room was filled only with the sounds of your breathing as you waited for his reaction, for the consequences of your actions and what that meant for your friendship with him.
Then you heard it — his soft laugh, coloured with appreciative disbelief, and felt the air of it caress your face. The corners of his mouth curved upwards into a small, pleased smile. His eyes blinked open slowly, taking you in with a hunger that had desire curling in the pit of your stomach.
“You are just so…” he began, but you never found out just exactly what you were. He was already pulling you back into him, slotting his mouth against yours like they were always made to fit perfectly together. This time, the kiss was anything but chaste, the sheer force of it enough to scorch your insides down to your bones. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush towards him, and your knees parted around his thighs to adjust to the new position. Your own hands found purchase in the softness of the hair at the nape of his neck, desperate for something to anchor yourself to, in fear that the realisation of this moment would somehow make it slip away.
This was what it felt like to stand unafraid and bare in the light of unbridled wanting, to consume and be consumed by a ravenous appetite with no propensity for satiety. When his hands slipped past the hem of your sleep tank, fingertips grazing across the skin of your lower back, you were sure you could erupt into flames. He swallowed the breathy noise that escaped your lips, tongue brushing against yours as he claimed your mouth with his own.
This was what it felt like to hold the sun in the palm of your hand.
When you broke apart to catch your breaths, his eyes were bright, lips plump and swollen, chest heaving beneath your hands. Somehow, you had ended up back on his bed, his head against the pillows, hands under your shirt and keeping you close to him with an unforgiving hold. He was gazing up at you with a devotion that made your heart swell even more than it did pulling oxygen back into your lungs.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” he admitted, hiding his head into the crook of your shoulder. You felt his abashed smile against your skin and wondered how it could be possible that you had contained all of this, the longing, the yearning, inside you for so long.
“How long?” you asked, hearing the smile in your own voice.
“Since Chanyeol’s birthday, when you wore that brown sweater with the little bow on the back.”
Last year, Chanyeol had gotten everyone together at his place for a nice dinner and wine followed by a binge watch of all the Iron Man movies in one sitting. It was all going according to plan until a quarter of the way into the third one, when he began snoring at his own birthday gathering. The bowl of popcorn was sliding out of his hands and sure to make a buttery mess all over the rug, and that’s when the rest of you decided to turn the television off and call it a night. Sehun and Jongin tasked themselves with getting the birthday boy into bed, and likely collapsed onto it with him immediately after, while Baekhyun had offered you the couch, assuring you he’d be fine with the blankets on the floor. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. As chaotic as he could be, Baekhyun was nothing if not kind, and you had been grateful that his kindness had always extended to you over the three years you had known each other.
“But that was more than half a year ago. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
His fingers prodded into your sides, eliciting a few choked giggles from you. “I didn’t know how you’d react. You know you’re not the most expressive person on the planet,” he said dryly. “Or the most observant. I literally frenched your collarbone and you’re telling me you didn’t realise I liked you more than as a friend?”
“Okay, well when you put it like that,” you huffed, feeling the vibrations of his laugh through his chest. “But you really didn’t know I had feelings for you? Chanyeol never said anything?”
His movements stilled, leaning back into the pillows so he could lock eyes with you again. “You talk to Chanyeol about me?” he asked, to which you nodded sheepishly. “Since when?”
“Last month, Jongdae’s housewarming. He fished it out of me after dinner,” you sighed, picturing his smug grin under the lights of Jongdae’s fancy new kitchen when you realised that you had slipped up and let him in on your little secret.
“But I talk to him about you.”
You looked at each other for another beat, realisation breaking over the both of you, before dissolving into another fit of disbelieving giggles. Maybe Park Chanyeol did know how to keep his mouth shut after all.
“So he’s a terrible wingman, is what I’m getting out of this whole thing,” Baekhyun chuckled, rolling you over so you were now lying on your side, face to face with him. He planted a slow, sweet kiss on your lips, taking his time to acquaint himself with the shape and taste of your mouth, and you felt the contentment of his smile against you. “I can’t believe we could have gotten together a month ago. Some best friend he is.”
“Gotten together?” you echoed, one eyebrow raised in feigned dispute, delighting in the way his sweet mouth settled into the pout that you adored.
“You mean to tell me that you don’t want to be with me after your tongue was all up in my mouth?”
You pushed his face away, groaning, “Gross, don’t say it like that.” He, however, had different plans, hooking a calf behind your knees and tugging you back into him, before weaving the other leg in between your own.
“You know you like it,” he murmured into your neck, squeezing his arms around you just in case you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. One hand traced absent-minded circles over the grooves of your spine as he breathed you in, warm and familiar against your chest.
Yes, you thought, you’d risk any and everything for this exact moment. It was worth all the doubt and heartache, all the time spent replaying those moments in your head, unsure of the meaning behind his actions. You could be sure of it now.
“I do,” you agreed, threading your fingers through the softness of his hair. “I probably more than like you,” you added, tilting his face upwards to steal another kiss, giddy and chest swelling with affection. Perhaps you weren’t quite yet ready for that other four letter word, but you had no doubt you would be one day, and soon. He was all too willing to comply, letting his mouth mould against yours with the poise and patience of a saint.
“I probably more than like you too,” he replied, punctuating his confession with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. It was enough for the serene smile on your face to persist, even past the arrival of sleep.
“I knew it.”
You cracked one eye open, trying to adjust to the light flooding in through the open door to your room. Chanyeol stood at the foot of your bed, grinning from ear to ear with what could only be described as a look of triumph as he took in the scene before him. The boy next to you stirred lightly, digging his face deeper into the pillow, reluctant to leave the realm of the sleeping. Chanyeol was not in the least sympathetic to his friend’s struggles, striding over to the window and pulling back the curtains with a clang. You winced as the full force of the morning sun barged in, and Baekhyun let out a soft noise of displeasure at the intrusion.
“I fucking knew it,” Chanyeol said again, quickly bringing you to your senses as you registered the weight of another body on top of your own. You made to remove yourself from him, fighting the flush creeping up your neck and face, but it was an effort which proved futile as he only tightened the arm around your waist, loath to let you go.
“Can you be quiet? You’re going to wake the whole house,” you hushed, finally succeeding in untangling your legs from Baekhyun’s, feeling the loss of his warmth immediately.
“They’re already up. I came to call you for breakfast,” Chanyeol replied, the grin seemingly stuck to his face. “Which actually reminds me,” he began, before sticking his head out of the doorway to holler, “You better pay up, Jongin. And you too, Kyungsoo!”
“You bet on us?” came the groggy voice from the pillows behind you.
“What the hell, Chanyeol? I thought you said you didn’t go around blabbing about his feelings!” you exclaimed, indignant.
“To you. I never said anything about telling anyone else,” was his reply, smug and victorious at having outsmarted you.
Kyungsoo appeared in the doorway, donning a flour-covered apron, as if to confirm for himself that he was in fact a debtor to the taller boy. “Even if he didn’t say anything, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out,” he said lightly, surveying the room with curiosity and paying no mind to the shock painted on your face. How had everybody known about your now not-so-secret crush on Baekhyun except for the man himself? “Anyways, I only said that it would be unlikely to happen over this weekend, not that it was impossible. So Jongin is the only loser. Now come for pancakes.” And with that, he headed back towards his bowl of batter on the kitchen counter, chuckling at the sound of Jongin’s complaints against fulfilling his end of the wager.
Baekhyun, having somewhat freed himself from the clutches of sleep, rose to a sitting position and shot a drowsy scowl at his friend. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that right?”
But even the expletive could not put a damper on Chanyeol’s mood, his smile never slipping. “You two should honestly be thanking me,” he said, to which you also shot him a glare. “Also, I’m happy for you and everything, but can you please keep the PDA to a minimum in front of the rest of us? I will lock you out of the house if you don’t.”
Baekhyun turned to you, the creases of the frown on his face slowly but surely smoothing out as he took you in, cheeks puffy and hair a mess from having just woken up. He had seen you in worse states, and definitely in better states, but none of that seemed to matter as he regarded you with nothing but fondness in his eyes. You were sure that your expression mirrored his, affection spreading throughout your entire body, reaching even the tips of your fingers and toes, at the sight of his tousled bed head, the sleepy droop of his eyes, the sweet pinkness of his lips.
The sun was yours. There was no feasible way to stop the smile from blooming across your entire face.
“No promises.”
#baekhyun#exo baekhyun#byun baekhyun#baekhyun x reader#exo x reader#baekhyun fanfic#baekhyun fluff#baekhyun au#exo au#exo fluff#kaleidohscopic works baekhyun
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Insert Your Name: Side Story 3
Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader
Link to series masterlist!
Notes and TW: Third side story is visiting the Leech parents. Do you guys ever forget how to talk in front of beautiful women or is it just me? Anyway, please enjoy!
Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi @viperwhispered
Visiting the trio at the “land bootcamp,” as you so affectionately called it, became part of your routine after summer school. Your classes ended earlier than theirs, so you had plenty of time to yourself before Floyd was eating asphalt (which he managed to do every single time so far). You didn’t mind. Being alone charged your battery before you’d have to interact with three people at once.
You usually occupied yourself with homework. But recently, you discovered your ability to use magic. Time spent waiting on the twins and Azul became your magic practice sessions. Mages were hard to come by and your family couldn’t give you proper lessons, so much of what you learned was theoretical. Textbooks from public libraries piled up in your room. You had never seen someone levitate a feather or change the colour of a rose, but you were damned if you weren’t going to try.
Your sneakers hung high in the branches of a tree by their tied laces. Throwing them up there was easy. Getting them down would’ve been easy, too, if you decided to scale the tree. But your goal was to practice magic. You pointed a stick at the scuffed soles and concentrated. The textbook said a wand wasn’t strictly necessary without a magestone, but it was helpful for visualizing and directing your focus. Theoretically.
Lift up. Come on. Levitate. Do something. The shoes swayed. You couldn’t tell if your magic was doing anything or if it was just the passing breeze. Frustration was unavoidable, but you were a patient person. It would come with practice. Theoretically.
Just as you put your “wand” down, your sneakers lifted and untangled themselves from the spindly branches around it. Excitement surged in your chest. Did you do that? You weren’t even trying—
Oh, of course you didn’t. You turned to see a woman a little ways down the sidewalk with a slightly raised hand.
Long, blue-green locks of hair swirled and twisted around each other like waves on the sea, cascading to her lap against the backdrop of her seafoam white dress. Eyes like the rising sun eclipsed into a smile. Long lashes framed them like art. You had never known a person this bewitching could be real.
Her willowy fingers flicked down. Your shoes followed suit, settling neatly in the grass by your feet. When her hand returned to her lap, her wheelchair brought her closer. The back of it bloomed with corals surrounding seashells. She was the most beautiful aspects of the ocean brought to life.
“I thought you might need some help.” Even her voice was beautiful, clear like a mountain spring.
“That, um, yeah. Thank you.” You stuttered. Immediately, you looked down at the shoes by your feet, embarrassment turning the tips of your ears red. You just had to go and stutter in front of such an unrealistically beautiful person. Although her kindness was mistaken, you didn’t have the heart to correct her.
“How did your shoes get up there, my dear?”
Now you had to tell her. “I threw them up there.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“I was trying to get them back down,” you said hurriedly. Obviously, you scolded yourself, she could see that. “Um, with magic. I’m trying to practice.”
Her eyes glimmered in interest. “So you’re a mage. How lovely to meet you—there aren’t many of us. What’s your name?”
Us. You weren’t sure if you deserved to be grouped in the same category with this ethereal woman.
You introduced yourself, internally grateful that you didn’t stammer this time. She told you her first name and extended a graceful hand for you to shake. Her skin felt silken in your hand.
“I don’t suppose you have a magic tutor?”
You shook your head. Such a thing was a luxury. Most people learned magic at specialized schools, like Night Raven College. Co-ed and all-girls schools for magic existed as well, but they were all prestigious. You weren’t sure if you’d ever receive an invitation.
“I see. In that case, here is some advice.” The sneakers floated back onto the branches of the tree, swaying once they settled. “Try imagining two points, one on each shoe. For instance, on the tip of the toes. Now, only focus on those two points, and imagine lifting them with your magic.”
At once, a colossal, insurmountable problem was reduced to a tangible one. Instead of a complex shape, you only had to focus on two points. You renewed your efforts. To your own surprise, the tips of the shoes lifted. Just a little bit. Nowhere near enough to clear the branch. Despite that, your earlier frustration cleared like a bad dream.
She continued giving you pointers until the sneakers lifted off the branch. In your excitement at your success, you lost concentration. They bounced onto the grass with dull thuds. Mortification left you as quickly as it came when you heard her quiet laughter and saw her encouraging look.
“I’ll work on it,” you promised, putting your shoes back on. “Thank you very much.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have some time, anyway.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m here to pick up my sons and their friend from their summer classes. My husband should arrive soon as well.”
You traced her line of sight to the bootcamp. If her sons were there, she was probably also merfolk. You wondered if that was the reason behind her otherworldly beauty.
“I’m also waiting for my friends. Three of them are at that school.” If she was surprised you had merfolk friends, she didn’t show it. “They know magic, too, but they’re definitely better at it than I am.”
“Why don’t you ask your friends, then? I’m sure they’d be happy to assist you.”
“I wanted to try doing it on my own.” That’s not entirely the truth. You would’ve taken any tips you could get, but you were certain those three would consider it a favour and charge you accordingly. Jade, even more than Azul, liked to put you in his debt for the smallest things.
She chuckled. “It is a good thing for you to overcome obstacles on your own, but don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it.”
At that moment, as though she sensed something in the air, she turned and looked down the street. A tall man strode up to her, every step purposeful and confident. Although he was dressed casually, you had seen anyone casually wear such expensive-looking clothes and slicked-back hair. He was handsome, too, but the woman outshone him by leagues. In your opinion, anyway.
He leaned down to place a cup of coffee in the cupholder of her wheelchair and kiss her hair. Such a nonchalant display of affection had you wondering if you should look away. A radiant couple like that wasn’t something you saw outside of television.
“I’m sorry I’m late, my love.” He said the pet name as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “There was quite a line.”
“That’s alright. I had a wonderful time chatting with this young person.” She gestured to you with her graceful hand. You barely managed to squeak out a greeting, not having expected her to bring attention to you at all.
“Pleasure to meet you.” He shook your hand with a firm grasp. “Thank you for keeping my wife company.”
“I had a wonderful time with her indeed,” she said. At the time, you had no idea that her conversations were often riddled with double-meanings and nefarious intentions. There was no way you would’ve known she found a simple conversation with a middle schooler about the basics of magic to be a refreshing topic.
The bell rang from within the bootcamp. In moments, the first people to leave were your familiar group of friends. From this distance, you couldn’t see their expressions, but Floyd used his entire body to express his mood. His arms flung into the air, his cane once again flying off to the side as he ran towards you. He managed to make it halfway there before his face met the asphalt. The woman next to you merely laughed, her wheelchair taking her to meet him halfway. It vaguely occurred to you that it might have been powered by magic, but that wasn’t the main thing on your mind. Rather, it was the fact that they seemed to know each other. Floyd’s next words illuminated what exactly their relationship was.
“Mama! What are you and Pops doing here?”
Mama? You had to take a moment to process this. Did you accidentally meet the twins’ parents?
“We’re here to pick you three up, of course. Did you forget it’s the weekend?” She waved a hand and his body floated before lifting into a standing position, his cane drifting back to his hands. “We couldn’t very well ask you to walk to the beach.”
“Thank you very much for coming all this way,” Azul said, but he was quickly interrupted by Floyd’s much louder voice.
“Right. Didja meet Red Handfish?” Floyd draped himself over his mother’s shoulders, hugging her tightly. “Didn’t think I’d see all of ya standin’ together.”
Mrs. Leech didn’t even hesitate at the nickname. She must’ve been used to using context clues to figure out who he was referring to.
“Yes, we met while waiting for your classes to end.” She glanced at her husband for just a second. Some sort of knowing look was exchanged between them. Then, she smiled at you, somehow more radiant than before. “So you’re ‘Red Handfish.’ My sons talk about you often.”
“They do?” You hoped she didn’t know you extorted Jade on your first meeting. That would surely leave a bad impression.
“Mother,” Jade suddenly interjected, his smile tight on the edges. “I hope you didn’t wait too long for us.”
“Oh, not at all. Your friend here was wonderful company.” She easily brushed off Jade’s attempt at diverting the conversation, still focused on you. “Your stories didn’t do your friend justice. I had such a pleasant time that the minutes flew right by. Why don’t we invite them to the Coral Sea? I would be thrilled to accommodate a few nights’ stay.”
“They wouldn’t be able to survive under the sea.”
“Not an issue at all.” Mr. Leech sported a winsome smile on his face, mirroring his wife. “We have potions that would make it a simple matter to bring you under the waves.”
You weren’t going to lie. Part of you was desperately curious what life was like under the sea. Merfolk communities were very isolated from human ones, and you were always thirsty for more knowledge. But above all, your sense of self-preservation prevailed. Don’t take potions from people you don’t really know would apply anywhere, even the parents of your friends.
“I’ll think about it. Thank you for your offer.”
“Don’t worry about a thing, my dear. You’re welcome anytime.” Not a trace of offence in her eyes. “I’m very happy you’re friends with my sons. Jade, especially, needed someone like you.”
Jade tried to redirect the conversation again, an uncharacteristic fluster in his mannerisms. You didn’t understand her words fully. You didn’t know that Jade, for all his pleasant masks, thought all humans were beneath him. That he was usually one of the toughest beings around in his age group. That the first time he was stumped was by a human his age. She was glad you were challenging his worldview, broadening his perspective bit by bit. As a mother, she was thanking you for opening her son up to change. To this day, she and Mr. Leech are grateful to you for introducing their sons to the idea of human capabilities being on equal footing with those of merfolk, even before they entered Night Raven College.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#jade leech#twst x reader#twst fanfic#twst jade#floyd leech#multi chap fic#leech parents#twst floyd
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Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds Part 5
(Sir Topham Hatt looks over his schedule to see when he can allow Gordon to slip away to the medical center.)
Sir Topham Hatt: Dear oh dear. We're right in the middle of the summer holiday. Duck and Edward will be busy on their branch lines. Henry has the Flying Kipper for the next two weeks. I suppose the only way to get around this is to run multiple trains. James, Emily and the Scottish Twins will have to relay the express for the day.
(He organizes the timetable in a way that makes sense.)
Sir Topham Hatt: Well I guess this is good enough to send to all of the station masters.
(Sir Topham Hatt's assistant faxes the new timetable.)
Sir Topham Hatt's message: I want all of the stations on the Main Line to share this updated time table. Make sure all passengers going to and from the station are aware of the changes to the express service for the day.
Narrator: After all of the station masters receive the temporary timetable, everyone works to share that information with all of the passengers using the express service.
(It's now the end of the day at Tidmouth Sheds.)
Narrator: Gordon rolls into his shed just as Sir Topham Hatt arrives.
Sir Topham Hatt: Gordon I'm sure you already heard the news, but tomorrow you're going to the medical center. I redid the timetable so you can have the day for yourself and our passengers can still get to their destinations on time.
(Gordon humbly nods.)
Gordon: Thank you, sir. I understand how difficult it would be to replace me. I hope that this would only be for one day.
Sir Topham Hatt: I hope so too. Good night engines.
Tidmouth Shed Engines: Good night sir.
(Sir Topham Hatt drives home for the night.)
Emily: Gordon? What's going on that you won't be able to pull the express all day?
(Gordon sighs.)
Gordon: My brother Scott is in the human hospital. His rebuild is going very poorly and none of the humans know how to treat him.
Edward: My goodness! I've never heard of a rebuild going so poorly that an engine's had to go to a human hospital.
Gordon: Indeed. I believe it shows just how little is known about our human forms. From my understanding, Scott is only stuck in this position because some parts have been woefully delayed. I don't think he even has a boiler.
(All of the engines gasp.)
Henry: What will you have to do?
Gordon: I'm his only living relative. The A4's simply have nothing in common with Scott to determine what would be normal for his human form. As someone who actively pulls passenger trains, I consider myself to be in relatively perfect condition. Yes my age is to be considered, but in spite of that, my health is not a problem. Therefore, I was asked to go to the medical center and do some tests.
Emily: What would happen next?
(Gordon contemplates the possibilities.)
Gordon: If Scott is in a physical state that is completely different than mine, then I have no idea. Our human forms are after all based on the state of our engine. If an important part is missing, a human doctor simply lacks the tools needed to fix it.
(The engines look solemn.)
Gordon: I have no idea if Scott will even make it out of this. I can only hope that my tests will help his medical team find a solution.
(James has a rare look of maturity.)
James: At least you won't have to worry about the express. We'll take good care of your coaches.
Gordon: Thank you. Now I must get some sleep. I believe tomorrow will be a very long day.
(The sun rises for the next day.)
Narrator: The next day, Gordon arrives bright and early at the medical center.
Receptionist: May I help you?
Gordon: I have business on behalf of Scott of the National Railway Museum.
(She looks at her notes and puts in a call. A man enters the waiting area.)
Doctor: Hello Gordon. I'm Dr. Pine. Thank you for taking time to come here today.
Gordon: What do you need me to do?
Dr. Pine: Well we'd have to do some tests to see what would be considered normal for an engine like yourself. I would ask to do a blood test but I'm not sure if you even have blood.
(Gordon thinks about how to answer that.)
Gordon: How would you know if I do have blood?
(Dr. Pine leads Gordon to the lab.)
Dr. Pine: We will have to find a vein and see what comes out. Just have a seat here and we'll start.
(Gordon sits down as the lab worker begins.)
Narrator: Many tests are conducted until Dr. Pine has a thorough idea of what's considered to be normal for a steam engine.
Dr. Pine: Thank you for helping us Gordon. I think we have everything we need now. If we need anything else, we'll contact Sir Topham Hatt.
Gordon: I hope that my tests can help you manage Scott's condition. Can you please provide updates on his condition?
Dr. Pine: Why yes we can. As soon as anything changes, we'll let you know.
(Gordon shakes Dr. Pine's hand.)
Gordon: Thank you for taking care of my brother. I hope you have a good day.
Dr. Pine: Same to you Gordon.
(Gordon leaves the medical center hopeful that the effort put in today helps his brother.)
Tagging: @bluy1206, @werbitssft, @klein-sodor-bahn, @theyellowroseofsodor, @juniebugsss, @tornadoyoungiron, @pxmun,
@nelllia, @pxmun2, @thefedoragirl, @roosinii, @ethereal-capricorns-blog, @jessica-sv509510,
@jayde-jots, @thatcheeseycandle, @jordeynnotgordon, @be-kind-and-rewind-again, @hardchildpainter, @asktheoriginalorder,
@onyx-and-friends, @that-mr-e, @sustysteel198, @monika-396, @fabianvalencia561, @gordon208, @savannahlee-d29,
@bladexjester, @sketalya, @agent-7-at-your-service, @i-heart-ukrain3, and @engineer-gunzelpunk.
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The summer that was never supposed to end
You’ve probably noticed how in Good Omens 2 Crowley’s eyes are brighter, more saturated, as if glistening with liquid gold. We’ve already covered his hair. And it’s not only the visual aspect of him — even in objectively stressful conditions, Crowley appears mature and put together, way cooler and more protective than before. Even his faults are heavily romanticized in the past and present scenes, reminding of the S1 body swap, when Aziraphale projected his love to him on the way he played the demon in Hell.
It’s not just the demon. The whole season is more vibrant, bolder, filled with sunshine. Just like a summer that was never supposed to end. Like a memory of a loved one seen through the eyes of someone who thinks of them every day until the end of the world.
S2 seems ridiculously saturated, whimsical, and full of red and gold, just like a certain demon. Aziraphale not only painted his bookshop in his image, but literally colored the whole world in Crowley’s colors. It was such lush and saturated and blooming with warmth and hazy light.
It’s either that all the newest events are just another memory seen through a certain angel’s eyes, or said angel actively made it appear this way — as in, his feelings grew so strong that they’ve started to warp the reality around him. And it’s a well-known fact that Aziraphale has a tendency to affect his surroundings, either unconsciously, when his presence in the bookshop literally lightens up the sky seen through its windows, or very much consciously, when he takes over the position of a master puppeteer and manipulates people with or without the help of his miracles.
S1 was more dramatic and apocalyptic, but not particularly gray — at least not as much as the color grading typically used in portrayal of similar apocalyptic narratives. S2, at least as seen through Aziraphale’s own La Vie En Rose lens, is vibrant and saturated. And those colors drastically fade in the heavenly light of the elevator during the credits, suggesting that they won’t be as visible in the course of S3.
But I don’t want to ramble about the apocalypse sandwich and the three-act structure here, so let’s circle back to S2.
Good Omens 2 was really set in a summer that was never supposed to end. But it did, autumn crept in, and there was no chance of hearing the nightingales sing. They all had left by the time an angel and a demon finally kissed.
In the most literal sense: the very last nightingales usually migrate from the UK to their wintering grounds in Sub-Saharan Africa in the first days of September.
Aziraphale was right that nothing lasts forever — and the passage of time on Earth is marked by subtle details invisible to the immortal eyes.
The main thing about autumn migration is how sudden and hard to predict it is. The birds start disappearing gradually, often without notice, until at some point they are no longer here. Much like the angel leaves the bookshop — their shared nest — to spread his wings and fight.
And it was basically announced on the poster.
Can you see the migratory formation of birds up in the sky? It looks like Aziraphale is the last one to get off the ground and fly.
#Yuri is doing her thing#good omens#good omens 2#go2 spoilers#go2 meta#good omens meta#no nightingales#in the most literal sense#ineffable husbands#ineffable divorcés#crowley#aziraphale#your friendly neighborhood eldritch horror might be messing with more than your life#the summer that was never supposed to end#the good omens crew is unhinged#everything is connected
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never being anyone’s best friend or the most important person in anyone’s life, ever, can really fuck you up emotionally
#like throughout my life i’ve had people that i’d call my best friends#but I guess I was never theirs#like they always had more important friends that would always take precedence#and then now as an adult people’s partners always take precedence#which is fair and valid#I just can’t never find that for myself and always end up as an afterthought and it really really fucks you up#hence me sobbing rn#bc a friend and I were supposed to call tonight and had scheduled it a few days ago#aaaand they just told me they can’t because they’re still on a call with their partner who’ve they’ve called basically everyday this week#oh and this friend won’t be able to call anyone all summer so I just can’t talk to them on the phone again until fall#and yeah i’m sobbing rn#rants and rambles#friends#long distance friendship#lonliness#friendship#no friends#friend jealousy#never had a best friend#friendless#how to keep friends#i dont know how to make friends#friend yearning
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Imagine Percy having a really rough day. His power, what he’s done, who he’s had to be to do those things, are weighing on him. Frankly, he scares himself. He doesn’t know how any sane person would want him around, much less around kids, especially as a counselor.
He puts on a brave face. Maybe if he looks happy no one will remember there’s a person behind that face who can’t look at himself in the mirror.
He doesn’t know how it happened; maybe he agreed to it when he was lost in his mind, putting on the “chill older counselor” face everyone expects, but he finds himself in the sand volleyball pit on the team of campers from the less populated cabins. The Demeter and Hermes cabin teamed up on the other side.
The game itself is a fog to Percy. The only breaks in his gloom come in the form of reminders: that’s only a volleyball (images of a giant hurling rocks at him flash in front of his eyes). they’re calling the ball (the sound of campers crying out for help in countless battles echo in his head). that’s just sand (the phantom touch of Gaia’s earth brush his legs)
Before he knows it his team is cheering: they won. He doesn’t know how–or if–he contributed any. He chastises himself. A good leader wouldn’t let themselves be distracted. Wouldn’t…his shoes are gone.
He could’ve swore they were right there? If he wasn’t so caught up with himself he would know where he put his shoes, that’s so stupid what would have happened if he was in battle and he got distracted, then it’d be on his head if another camper got killed again because of him, he shouldn’t have even played what was he thinking—
A Hermes kid was holding them up, taunting him, retaliating for their loss. He took one step towards them and they took two steps away. Their face was…playful? This was a prank. They’re pranking him. Don’t they know what he’s done, why their cabin is so empty now?
He took another step. This time the kid let out a excited laugh and ran a few feet away. This was a game. For fun. The kid knows but doesn’t care. They just want to have fun with an older counselor. camper. cousin. whatever the relation, they genuinely just want to mess with him.
But why would they—unless. Unless they aren’t afraid of him.
They see him as a leader, and like any other rotten kid, they want to tease whoever’s in charge. The kid is just being a kid, doing kid things. Like stealing someone's shoes and knowing they won't be hurt because of it. Because they believe Percy is good.
He tries to ignore the similarities on the kids face to one he knew so well, one he thought was good when he was the kids age.
I'm not Luke, he reminded himself. A tiny whisper in a corner of his mind hissed how are you any different?
He looked at the kid again, who was still holding out the shoes, attempting to lure him into a chase. The kid took a couple more steps away, grinning wildly as Percy’s face set in determination.
I’m going to be the person Luke needed, and the one he never was for me. We deserve better.
He sprinted after the Hermes kid, laughing lighter than he had in months.
#hoooooh boy this is so much longer than i expected#it was supposed to be three paragraphs about a light hearted prank but obviously something got lost somewhere#the original idea actually happened last summer at camp but i never wrote it out and forgot about it until yesterday#(technically 3am this morning) because ive been training my work replacement and ooft has it been filling me with counselor!percy thoughts#(also ignore how the ending goes ✨positivity✨ out of nowhere it was late and i was tired of typing through my eyelids#im just happy it’s escaping the drafts lol)#percy jackson#pjo#luke castellan#camp half-blood#percy jackson headcanons#percy jackson and the olympians#persea posts
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Didn't wake up bawling my eyes out today so that's a plus
#txt#starting my tags with that now cause some didnt end up in my txt tag maybe cause there were so many other tags in front of it#idk either that or tumblr is just glitchy#anyway#sounds so stupid and naive but i dont want to stop crying so hard because#that means im like dealing with it#and moving on#which i dont wang#want*#i want it to all be a dream#or for him to just snap and go wait i want to be with her what am i doing#idk#:/#i miss holding him so much#its had been summer so we didnt cuddle much for the past 3 months#so im like deprived already ahaha#and my anxiety with sex meant we didnt do that much cause we were literally never home alone#and we were supposed to go to a hotel on the 10th for two nights for alone time#didnt get to have that#it huuuuurtsssss#:(
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why does it have to be this way
#Why#I was doing so good this past year#There were times I was literally crying tears of joy because I haven’t felt as happy as I was in years#Now shit’s coming back and I don’t like it#Every fucking time man#“Well life is supposed to have its ups and downs” HAVE YOUVE WENT THROUGH WHAT I WENT THROUGH#summer through all the way to the end of 2023 was one of two of the most miserable times I ever went through#I was almost never happy#Had cheap laughs for like 20 minutes then back to misery#There wasn’t a single day were I didn’t wish i was dead#Literally I would wake up and i immediately wanted to start crying#Thats how bad things were#You could see it in my face how lonely and miserable i was#I hadnt felt that empty for like a good few years since then#It was to the point where I thought there was never going to be light in my life ever again#I went through some fucked up shit and now im traumatized 10x more then i was before#The first day of school was a weak after some extremely traumatic stuff happened man#Then the new year started and everything was starting to get better#I started taking medication#I was much more happier#My self esteem boosted up#I started working on myself and became a better person#I dont think i ever had a period of my life where i felt THAT BETTER#Like I said i was crying because I had felt a massive weight lifted off my shoulders#It literally felt like i saw the light#I legitimately thought things were getting truly getting better#It’s just gonna be the same damn cycle over and over again huh?#For several months I feel depressed as shit#Then for a few months things start to clear up#Then suddenly and abruptly things go back to the shit
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there's this tape my grandmother recorded not long before she died and in it she addressed each of her children (who were young children at the time) and i've listened to this tape many times over the years and i remember that there's a lot of meaningful things on it but the one thing that always stands out in my memory is when she says to my dad “you're the smartest little boy i ever knew, but i'd love you even if you were stupid”
#i just took a shower far longer than intended bc i started thinking about her a lot for some reason#txt#another thing i was thinking about was this summer at a reunion for extended family#my 10 or 11yo first cousin asked me which side of the family is was a reunion for#and i was like “grandma susan's side” and she was like “oh yeah”#and like what are you supposed to say to a reminder that we have a grandma who we don't know well enough that she gets a fun grandma name#like. she's just grandma susan. the grandma we've never met#and also it reminded me that we are in fact first cousins like we're from the same family and our dads grew up together#we both grew up knowing that we have a dad whose mom died when he was a little kid#idk it's just interesting how these things work#im named after her of course. susan(na) is the anglicization of shoshana and her hebrew name was shoshana#like this is just knowledge I've always had. that im named after my dead grandma.#also a large part of why i don't think i would ever change my name for transgender reasons even though i want to sometimes#or maybe i could change my first name and then make shoshana my middle name idk#also not to fandomize this but my dad binged the first 1.5 seasons of toh but never got around to watching season 2b#it's so good he'd really like it. also the episode about luz's dad's yahrzeit reminded me of how we had made plans to have a big gathering#for my grandma's 40th yahrzeit. but that ended up being in march 2020 so it was cancelled
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Night 2 in a row of not being able to sleep because my pelvis hurts too fucking much. I took ibuprofen before bed, but it didn't do shit, much like it didn't do shit for me throughout all of yesterday. So sick of there always being something that hurts bad enough to disrupt my sleep.
#pain#chronic pain#pretty sure it's endometriosis but no doctor will ever entertain that idea#i had one tell me i have a bunch of cysts after an ultrasound. but when i asked what i can do about that she literally just shrugged#she said something like 'having a half dozen dime-sized cysts isn't cause for concern'#like. ok. but what if that's what's causing the pain?#I've known several people with ovarian cysts who get them removed and suddenly have no pain#but because it's a fEmALe RePrOdUcTiVe SyStEm issue doctors never fucking listen#and i don't have insurance so it's not like i can go pester every obgyn in the area until one listens to me#but I'm looking into booking shit through the health department because it's like $50 without insurance#planned parenthood also does checkups for cheap/free but it always gets burnt down as soon as it reopens so...#like they just rebuilt this summer and are already closed due to severe damage done to the building -_-#i just want to go one day without being in a stupid amount of pain. is that so much to ask?#if it's not my back it's a headache. if it's not a headache it's my knees. if it's not my knees it's my pelvis.#it's no way to live.#and the answer i get time and time again is 'get more active and take ibuprofen for the pain '#cool. great. I'm extremely active. i run like 2 miles a day and move a lot at work. which I'm not supposed to because of my disability.#i take so much ibuprofen that I'll probably have some organ failure from it later#I'm doing what you said doc. when's it work? how many years of 'being more active' until it ends?#I'm literally not supposed to exert myself in any way because it can make my brain problem worse. yet it's what everyone says will cure it#and sure. running will sometimes make the lower back pain go away. but that's just pain from sitting in a chair weird.#the actual pain never ceases. laying down is the only thing that helps that.#and then I'll get the pelvic pain and nothing eases that. not pain meds. not heat. not laying or standing in certain ways. nothing.#so here i am at 7:30am on my day off trying not to scream because I've been up since about 4am doing anything i can to ease the pain
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Idk, old choices books didn’t always have good endings either, really? They could also be rushed. Like ES, why was the third book so short & Estela’s reaction to being Rourke’s daughter was like a single dialogue panel, I don’t even remember anyone else reacting. Or how TRR was ruined by TRH
ES book three was def pretty rushed but I actually liked two out of the three endings (Endless’s ending and Vaanu’s ending). They did Estela soooo dirty though with the Rourke reveal. I have to wonder why book three was as short and rushed as it was?
TRR itself has a very nice ending if you don’t take TRH (🤢) and TRF (🤮) into consideration and I felt like it concluded very well. I’m like 90% sure they weren’t planning on TRH until much later because TRR truly felt like an all-caps “THE END” when it finished at book 3. Like, there were no plot points to resolve at the end of TRR and that was the perfect place to end it. Then they went and made a whole new series that repeatedly shat on the original.
The only other old-ish book I can think of with an awful ending is AtV, which…yeah. That was 100% a disaster and its ending had NO redeeming qualities, while most of the others do.
#and I’m not counting hero#because hero didn’t even GET an ending#it wasn’t supposed to end at book one#they just never finished it :(#choices across the void#across the void#atv#choices atv#trr#choices trr#choices the royal romance#the royal romance#choices endless summer#endless summer#choices es#es#choices stories you play#playchoices#choices stories we play#pixelberry#pixelberry studios#playchoices fandom#asks
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how's feeling more confident about adulting this year going, violet?
so glad you asked. I told myself at the beginning of january that this year I'd be prioritizing both mine and my cat's health (e.g. taking us to the vet/doctor bc it's been years for either of us) and promptly made her a vet appt. now that the vet appt is arriving uhhh next week I'm realizing I really need to also make myself that doctor's appointment I guess? uh?? fuck!
#doctors cw#medical cw#my previous gp retired last summer but I hadn't seen her in years before that anyway#I could see a nurse practitioner at that same practice#or I could go with one of the ppl my boss recommended#or one of the docs I found googling for fat-friendly providers near me#so now I have too many options and am overwhelmed#I know I need to go to the doctor#it's been multiple years + I am getting older + want to take better care of myself#specifically I would like to get (back) into (long distance) biking which I haven't been doing on account of My Joints#something Is Wrong with them and I need to get it checked out#but there's like a 95% chance that any doctor is going to start and end that conversation at 'you need to exercise more/lose weight'#never mind that I want to get the joints looked at so I *can* exercise because right now things hurt#anyway this isn't me looking for advice unless you have a specific GP rec for my area#e.g. only if you know where I live#I'm just venting bc it's so frustrating as a process#also lmao @ me for getting my cat's medical care sorted out before my own#classic! but also there's a vet literally walking distance from my apt. so that made the 'where to take her' choice easier#I've put in an appt rec for one doc. but now I'm second guessing that so back to the drawing board I suppose#sigh.
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Is this the right moment to mention that “Nothing Lasts Forever” is a title of a 1979 novel by Roderick Thorp, basis for the “Die Hard”? You know, that Christmas movie with Bruce Willis caught up in a terrorist takeover of a corporate skyscraper while visiting his estranged wife?
#now i have the book of life ho-ho-ho#merry christmas#i guess#nothing lasts forever#no nightingales in december#the summer that was never supposed to end#how will our hero cope#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands#ineffable divorcés#ineffable idiots#die hard#good omens meta#good omens#good omens 2#go2#neil gaiman
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