slashxrose · 3 years ago
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Surprise, love -Duff Mckagan-
Title: Surprise, Love.
Warnings: explicit content. 
Summary: I don’t use to do summary of my stories, y’all is gonna love it anyway; enjoy. 
Dirty reading~
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Duff Mckagan is the last person I expect to see on my doorstep, wet from the San Francisco mist, a faded green duffle bag at his feet.
Even years removed my heart still clutches at the sight of his hair, the boyish grin on his face. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes the way it used to, but I’m not able to catch much more of him before he’s pulling me into a bear hug and lifting me off the ground.
To put you all in context, Duff was my best friend ... and the best boyfriend someone could ever had, for most of my life, he was my neighbour when we were just born, little kids, getting to know each other from there and living a whole life together; I watched from when his first tooth fell out to when he had to take his first flight to go with the band to San Francisco, the place where I currently live now.
It surprises me, and it shocks me to see him, so changed after so many years, so many years without looking him in the eye, without knowing anything about him; today he is finally here, standing in front of me.
Trying not to break down in tears the emotions hit my being in a wave; remembering the day he left me at the airport and then never see him again; exactly in 1991, after his great "Use your illusion." I never heard from him again.
“Babe,” he breathes, I press my face into his neck, a laugh bubbling up out of my throat, “I missed you.”
“Yeah,” I manage.
I can feel my eyes pricking because I have missed him, too much. We’ve kept up as much as we could over the years, but with him overseas and my steadily making my way around the country, it had gotten difficult. I haven’t heard from him in a few months, and I haven’t seen him in a few years – probably eight, if I think about it. Instead of thinking about it, though, I wrap my arms tight around him and try not to let myself cry at the feeling of him engulfing me.
“I missed you too, Duff.”
I get him up to my apartment and let him settle onto my couch before I ask him any questions, mainly because I can’t quite find my voice and I can’t believe Duff is in my apartment, right now. He beats me to the punch, settling back into my couch and peeking over at me in the kitchen.
“This place is really nice.”
I nod, filling a glass up with water for him and then looking up at him, a smile on my lips.
“It’s alright,” I shrug, shutting off the tap and making my way over to the couch, handing it to him before I sit down, one leg tucked beneath me. “I got lucky.”
Duff sips the water and looks around, shaking his head. My apartment is nice – it’s got floor to ceiling windows and sleek, modern appliances and a killer view of the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Not luck,” he shrugs. “You deserve it, you worked your ass off for this place.”
I swallow, smiling over at him and feeling my cheeks flush – in part, because he’s right, and in part, because he’s wrong.
“Duff,” I laugh my voice soft. I tuck some hair behind my ear and looks up at him. “How’d you find me?”
Duff shrugs, setting the water glass down on my coffee table and turning to face me, leaning his arm over the back of my couch.
“I went home, first...talked to your mom, she gave me your address for if I ever wound up out west. Figured,” he shrugs, laughing, “It’d be more of a surprise if I didn’t tell her I already knew I was coming out this way.”
I shake my head, pressing my fingertips to my face.
“Oh god… I cannot believe my mum did that after all the things I told her, honestly.” I sigh, dropping my hand and raising my brow. “So, she didn’t know you were coming out here...but you did?”
Duff nods.
“Yes, I did… I’ve gotta come back to the hotel in a couple of hours… We’re flying to Europe, we’re gonna start a new tour I guess, we don’t really know, but I figured I could make a stop before I check into my hotel.” I swallow, watching his fingers flex against the couch cushion.
“Another tour?” I raise my brows. “You’ve been on tour the last eight years.”
“That’s what happens when you’re a famous rockstar babe, you never stop….” he laughs, his voice low. “I’m thinking I’ll be out here a bit, actually, trying to convince the boys to stop a little, I want to see you more often.” I try not to let my reaction show on my face, but this is Duff, so I know I’m not exactly subtle.
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I think about it, about Duff, just half an hour away instead of across the world.
“Wow,” I breathe, smiling over at him. “I’d get to see you, then?”
“If you want to,” Duff shrugs, and I roll my eyes at him, reaching over and swatting at his arm.
We cover the basics with his hand on my knee: I moved to San Francisco alone, I work for a newspaper, and I’m a runner now. He’s been back on tour and he’s not going to go so far away again, and he’s thinking about stop touring a little bit.
Wow.
I slide my hand over his and look down at it, brushing my thumb against the back and humming softly as I look up at him, a smile on my lips.
“So you’re telling me,” I say, my voice soft, “you’re a big enough deal the boys to stop touring, what they’re supposed to be doing?”
Duff rolls his eyes, glancing down to our hands and then back up to mine, his gaze soft. I try to focus on anything other than the look in his eyes and settles on his mouth, chewing on the inside of my cheek, because I know it’s a mistake immediately. Bad things tend to happen when I look at Duff Mckagan’ mouth.
“I’m telling you I could do it,” he shrugs, and I watch intently as he runs his tongue over his lower lip, his fingers pressing lightly against my leg. “We’ll find out, I guess; Steven’ planning to go to rehab…” He probably saw my intrigued face, so he immediately keeps talking. “I’ll tell you in a bit about it.” He smiles at me and I nod. “Slash has two little annoying but cute kids… so he’s gonna be busy with that, and Izzy… Well Izzy fucking left the damn band, so there’s no problem with him.”
I nod, feeling my lips shift into a soft smile, Wow, it’s surprising how everything changed since the last time I saw him, every one of them were idk… almost 30 years old, playing and joking around, being drunk and high as fuck, I never… I mean, we never thought that the band was gonna become this famous.
“Well,” I say, “I’m happy for you, Duff. You’re all grown up.”
Duff laughs, pulling his hand from my leg and rubbing his hand over his jaw slowly, swallowing.
“We’re both grown up, honey,” he chuckles, and I let myself meet his gaze. I stuck in a slow breath, feeling how heavy his eyes are on mine, letting the feeling wash over me easily. “Easy to see that, right?”
I nod and sit up a bit, settling my hand on Duff’s forearm, brushing my thumb slowly against his skin.
“Easy,” I say my voice barely above a whisper. “Too easy.” I don’t know why sitting here with him like this makes me feel like I could cry.
I squeeze my eyes shut, sighing out a slow breath and tightening my grip on his arm.
“I really missed you. I know we,” I shake my head, “I know we covered that, kind of, but...god, Duff.” I swallow, heavy, keeping my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at him as the words tumble out of my mouth, “I really didn’t know if I would ever see you again, you know? No matter how safe you told me you were, you almost had a fucking overdose… too much alcohol, too much shit.”
Duff doesn’t say anything, but I feel him shifting on the sofa. I feel him scooting closer to me. His breath wisps over my skin, and I feel like I might be shaking. I should stop him – I knows I should, I knows it’s the right thing to do with all of us history, all of the feelings that stretch out between us – but there’s an ache in my chest that I don’t think will let me. I squeeze his forearm, holding onto it with my fingers and hear myself let out a soft noise as his nose touches mine.
“Babe,” he murmurs, and I nod, my eyes still squeezed shut. “I’m good; you don’t have to worry anymore.”
“I know,” I breathe out, and I slide my hand off his arm and slip my fingers into his hair. I pulling him towards me, kissing him in the way I had imagined doing for years, for a lifetime, even. I’d never kissed him like this, so tender and slow, so intentional, so full. I whine into it, feeling tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
It feels like my heart is whole, even for just a moment.
Duff’s always been the boy I turned to when I was hurting, always been the person who knew me the best, who could make me feel good. This, though, is different – this kiss isn’t sweet, childhood tenderness, its gut wrenching in the most wonderful way. My stomach twists into a knot and then settles as his arm wraps around my waist, my ears rush harshly as his tongue moves against mine, my heart pounds in my chest as I feel both of our cheeks, touch against each other.
This is Duff, the man, safe in his arms, telling me he’s here, telling me I’m his. He hasn’t said it, but I can tell...I can tell from the way he’s kissing me that this was him, standing on her doorstep, asking me to let him in and keep him.
For tonight, at least, I can do that.
I crawl into his lap and press my fingers into his hair, my thumbs dragging along his face, my breathing ragged against his skin.
“Duff,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his, “I have a bed.”
Duff’s breathing is possibly more laboured than my own as he slips his hand beneath the back of my t-shirt, his fingertips pressing lightly into my skin.
“I assumed,” he mumbles, his mouth praying for mine, “This is a big apartment.”
I nod in a smile, grinning against his lips;
“Want to,” I tip my face down, my forehead pressed to his as I move slowly in his lap, my lips just out of his reach, “take a look at it?”
Duff lets out a low laugh, nodding and mumbling,
“Smooth,” against my mouth as he keeps his arm locked around my waist. He stands up, lifting me with him, I wrap my legs around him as he settles me in his grip.
I direct him to the bedroom, settling my feet down on the ground and swallowing as my eyes fall on a picture frame settled on my nightstand.
“Shirt,” I breathe, looking at Duff, who’s sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at me with a dazed smile on his lips, “shirt off, rockstar.” He lets out a low laugh, and I takes a moment to flip the picture frame face down while his shirt is obstructing his view, then tugs at the hem of my own shirt before taking a step forward, pulling it off as I stations myself between his legs.
I settle my hands on his bare shoulders, dragging my hands down along his skin slowly, then moving it back up and cupping his face in my hands. I slide my thumb over his lower lip and hiccups, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
“God,” I whisper, letting my eyes move over his face, taking him in. I’d never felt so full before. My vision blurs as I watch him, feels his hands settle over my waist.
He had changed, years without seeing him… without feeling him, I missed his touch, his kisses, I missed him so bad.
“Honey,” he says, and his voice has that lilt to it – the what are you crying for lilt, and I don’t have an answer. I bit down on my lower lip, shaking my head and trying to stop myself. His hand reaches up to my cheek and I lean into his touch, feeling my tears seep onto his skin.
I want to tell him...about the photo, about the man in the photo, about the way their timing is truly, continually, terrible. Instead, I lean my face down and kiss his palm, swallowing hard as I hear his own breath going wet.
“Come here,” he says, his voice thick, low.
I don’t need him to say it twice. I crawl into his lap and he shifts them back onto the bed, his hands moving shakily along my skin.
He flips them and undresses me carefully, his eyes moving over every new part of me as it becomes exposed. He unhooks my bra and pulls it slowly down my arms, unbuttons and unzips my jeans and tugs them over my hips, hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugs at them, slowly, his lips pressing to my stomach as he does, the gasp tearing from my throat involuntary, I swear.
Something in my brain tugs, that I should be embarrassed, being so naked in front of this man who’s known me for my entire life, but no. I can’t be, with the way he’s looking at me, with the adoration and want in his eyes. I let my hands slide along his arms, breathing slowly as he looks at me, takes me in, and then I settle my fingers against his belt buckle.
“I can’t be the only one naked here, baby,” I say, my voice soft, and the smile on his lips is so soft that I feel my cheeks flush.
I unbuckle his belt shakily, watching as he gets himself out of his pants, pushes off his boxers. I bites on my lower lip at the sight of him, half-hard for me, then drags my eyes up to his face, smiling at the way his cheeks are flushed. I sit up a little, wrapping my hand around him gently, dragging my fingertips lightly along his length and shutting my eyes, leaning my forehead against his chest because I don’t think I can take the look on his face, the pure emotion rippling through him.
“Fuck,” he bites out, and his hand slides to the back of her neck, his thumb dragging along the base of it slowly. His voice is shaky when he says my name, and I twist my wrist slowly, smiling as I feel him growing harder in my hand.
Yes, honey, I know you like this.
He shifts my back on the bed, pressing my legs apart so he can settle between them and leaning down to kiss me, drawing his tongue slowly over my lower lip as his thumb drags over my inner thigh. The mixture of sensations has me shaking, already, and he hasn’t even touched me where I want him to yet.
He’s gentle with me, at first. His fingers press lightly against my wet folds, testing the waters, working slowly as I breathe out heavy sighs to keep myself calm.
He’s driving me crazy.
His lips press over my collarbone lightly, dragging against my skin slowly as he dips a finger into me, then another. He hums against the hollow of my neck as his thumb circles my clit lightly, and I feel my hips lifting off the bed to find more of him, knowing he isn’t giving it to me yet.
“Oh god-” I groaned.
I come apart on his fingers, shakily, one of my hands gripped tightly into his hair. His mouth is on my neck and I whine, searching for his face.
“I need you.” I breathe, and he lifts his head slowly, grazing his lips over mine.
“You keep driving me crazy as the first day we met.” he murmurs.
I stop him, slipping my tongue into his mouth. I can’t hear him, like this, not right now. I need him to fuck me, need him, before I get too rational and stop him entirely.
This is too much, I can feel it – I’m going to break the both of us, but I can’t possibly end it before I feel him, before I know what it’s like to have him inside me, again.
“Duff,” I moaned against his mouth, lifting my hips and hooking a leg around his waist, trying to pull him closer. “I need you.”
He nods, slow, just once, and I love him for it. I love that he isn’t trying to tease this out, that he’s listening to me, that we both want this so badly that dragging it along isn’t appealing at all. I slide my hands up to his face, holding it and keeping my eyes on him, my heart still hammering. He locks eyes with me as I feel his tip pressing at my entrance, and I suck in a hard breath, watching his face.
He cracks the softest smile, and I feel my resolve breaking.
“Duff,” I breathe, my voice full, my eyes stinging, “please.”
I want him in a way I can’t understand – it’s something about the way he knows me, I think, absently, as his eyes trail over my face, down my body.
It’s about the way he held my hand when I fell off the jungle gym and broke my arm when we were six, it’s about the way he shoved an old friend of mine for calling me a bitch when we were eleven, it’s about the desperate way he kissed me back in her car when we were sixteen, it’s about the way he made me and makes me feel right now. It’s about the fact that he’s the same Duff he’s always been, but something else altogether, too. The boy I’ve always known, and the man I’ve always wanted, hovering above me, about to make me his, even when I belong to someone else.
But I didn’t care.
One of his hands brushes my cheek, and I slide my own to press over his, to keep him there. I hold his gaze as he pushes into me, slow, filling me. I let out a soft laugh, turning my face into his hand and rolling my hips.
“Please,” I murmur against his skin, “I want to feel you, Duff.”
He’s slow, but not in a torturous way. His eyes stick on mine as he rocks his hips into mine, as the fingers of his free hand trail along my leg, over my hip, tracing little shapes. I feel him, all of him, and my legs tighten around his hips to keep him as close as I can. His strokes are long, deep, and I know neither of us is going to last long, regardless of the speed.
“As my queen commands.” Duff softly replied, smirking before kissing my lips deeply as he thrust deep inside me.
The sudden feeling of being filled with a cock as big as him made me cry out in pleasure breaking the kiss as my back arched, I felt his fingers holding my hips lightly, making the movements to go harder. His own groans of pleasure mixed with mine as they filled the room, he started to move slowly, taking his time as our lips re-joined together with our tongues dancing and warping round each other, as our hands roamed each other’s bodies just feeling blindly in a that need to be close.
I feel my walls constricted around him, he started to move faster and found that bundle of nerves that made me touch the sky with my hands, his moans made an echo in my ear, they were loud, he was really enjoying this, making me instantly lose all the control, all sense of who and where I was, right now it was just the two of us; the world outside didn't matter, the day ahead didn't matter everything I can focus on was in him and nothing was going to stop that.
“Oh shit babe, yes.- ” I moaned. “Keep doing that oh god-” I wrapped his curlers in my fingers holding him, his thrusts collided with my body causing a lack of control in all my senses, damn I had missed this.
His movements were wild and erratic but so perfect precise, he knew all the right buttons to press. I open my eyes again to see him above me, his face the clear picture of pleasure and need, I never had seen anyone become so desperate and undone for me. A man like him with such talent showing a side of himself only to me that so few ever got to see, but in truth he would only ever truly become this undone and this vulnerable for me.
My hands slid down from his hair, trailing down his back across his slightly sweating skin as they found that perfect ass of his. His lips moving to my neck again as tears of happiness, love and pleasure fell.
“Oh my sweet babe.” Duff moaned shakily as he continued thrust deep into me, all I could do was cry out with pleasure and need.
“Oh Duff I love you.” I gasp thrusting up to meet his own movement's.
He’s nothing like I’ve ever felt, before – there’s something about the presence of him, of his body over mine, of his eyes watching me, his breath mixing with my own.
“Babe,” he breathes, his face tipping down, his lips finding mine. I sat up a bit, my hips shifting to meet his, to hit at a new angle. I weave my fingers into his curly hair and grips onto it as I kiss him, our tongues pressed together as I feel the heat pooling in my stomach, knows I’m closer than I’d even like to admit.
His hand moves from my leg to dip between them, pressing against my clit slowly, tracing over my nerves delicately before finding a pattern. I can tell he’s close, too, his breathing getting heavier, his thrusts more erratic.
“C’mon babe” I murmur against his mouth, “I want to feel you, Duff, I want to know what you feel about me.” my words fade into a whine as I feel him pressing more firmly to my clit, rolling it between his fingers.
I come hard, around him, feeling him spill into me moments later, our moans mixing together as he presses me down into the mattress.
“Oh damn.” He moans loudly in my ear.
We lay still, for a long while. I scratch sleepily at the back of his neck, Duff start kissing my neck softly as we cling to each other, trying to calm down. He pulls out of me slowly, smiling to himself as I groan at the loss, and I hum as he lays back down, still pressing his weight down against me.
“You’re not allowed to go anywhere,” I whisper, my lips pressed against the side of his head, “until I say so.”
Duff nods. “Got it, you’re in charge,” he murmurs, “so nothing’s really changed, huh?”
I laugh, but I feel the pang in my chest, knowing the truth – because yes, almost everything really has changed, and he doesn’t even know the half of it.
I must fall asleep, because when I woke up it’s dark outside and I hear him moving around...somehow, I just knew in that moment that he knows, now. I sit up slowly, pulling the sheets to my chest and pressing my hand over her face.
“Duff?”
He pokes his head out of the bathroom and smiles at me softly. When he steps through the door, he’s got his boxers on, and I feel my heart clench in my chest.
“What’s his name, babe?” He sits on the edge of the bed and pull my hand from my face, lacing his fingers with mines. “He’s got some nice pomades, in there...expensive.”
“Duff,” my voice is hollow, I look up at him with pleading eyes. “I can explain all of this, okay?”
He nods, brushing his thumb over mine.
“I know,” he swallows, his voice thick. “What’s his name?”
I sigh out a breath and casts my eyes upwards, trying not to cry.
“Daniel…” I answer, quietly. “We’ve been...I moved in a few months ago, but it’s been a little over a year.”
I don’t let myself close my eyes, making myself look at him as he swallows, processing my words and looking around the room.
“You love him?”
“Duff,” I don’t know how to answer that question, not right now.
He’s been away for a while, and came here making me feel lost and complete at the same time, now I don’t even know where or who I am.
“Does he make you happy, hun? That’s,” he lets out a soft, wet laugh, “that’s really...what I’m asking you.” I nod, looking down at our hands. “Good.”
“I didn’t,” I croak, and I hate myself for it. “I didn’t know when you...if you,” I shake my head. “I didn’t know, Duff. I didn’t know if I...if–,”
“I didn’t want you waiting for me,” he supplies, shaking his head and looking at me, straight on. “I’m glad you didn’t, I... I slept with a lots of girls too… I can’t blame you for this.”
I feel desperate, scoots myself closer to him and settles a hand on his cheek.
“I’m not,” I breathe, wanting to press my face to his and hesitating. “You’re here, now, Duff.”
Duff nods, and bridges the gap. He presses his forehead against mine, finding my eyes.
“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low. “I told you,” he swallows, “I’m not gonna go away without you next time. If I convince the boys…damn.”
I nod.
“And I’ll be here,” I murmur. “But someone else is gonna be here with me…”
He shuts his eyes, squeezing my hand.
“For now,” he shrugs, “and maybe for good, but,” he opens his eyes and looks at me, fully.
My feels tear pooling in my eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere. I...I believe in this, babe. I wouldn't be here if I didn’t.”
I take a long breath, nodding slowly. I realize he doesn’t mean here, my apartment – he means here, in San Francisco...that he wouldn’t be considering this job if it wasn’t for me. I understand his meaning, here: I’m in charge.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and he shakes his head, but I stop him. “No, I should’ve told you.”
“His shoes were by the door, babe, I saw them.” he says, his voice soft. “I’m not an idiot.”
I feel something break in me, and I find Duff’s mouth, kissing him softly.
“God,” I laugh, my voice low, my lips pressed to his, “we really can’t get it right, huh?”
Duff kisses me, soft and slow, his tongue tracing my lip before he pulls away. He stands up from the bed and I watch, my eyes wide and soft as he moves around, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on.
“To be determined,” he decides, as he’s buckling his belt.
I chew on my cheek, getting out of bed and finding my robe. I wrap it around me and follows him out into the living room, watching as he grabs his duffel bag.
“You can stay,” I say, my voice hoarse, and he looks over his shoulder at me, shaking his head.
“I won’t leave,” he swallows, and I shut my eyes for a moment at his words. I nod.
“Okay,” I whisper. “So when will I see you?”
Duff sighs out a breath as he pulls the bag over his shoulder, then wraps his arm around my waist. He walks me over to the door before he pulls me against him, leaning his face down, kissing me softly.
“I’ll be here another week,” he says, his voice low, “and then...depending on things, I’ll be here for good. So,” he finds my eyes, “up to you, okay? You call me.”
I nod, my head spinning.
“Don’t disappear on me, okay?” I beg.
He shakes his head, softly, kissing me lightly.
“Promise, I won’t.” He replies.
I feel him pull his arms away, and I wrap my own around myself so I don’t do something stupid, like pull him back into my bedroom. I watch as he grabs the doorknob, opening the door and taking a step through it.
“Call me when you get to your hotel?”
He nods, leaning down and kissing me gently.
“I will,” he breathes against my mouth.
By the time I open my eyes, he’s gone. My phone buzzes on the kitchen island and my heart drops, but when I flip it over, it’s Duff.
‘Miss you already, you know that?’
I press it to my chest and shut my eyes, taking deep breaths – in part, to calm down, and in part, because I did.
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cap-winter-barnes · 4 years ago
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Dessert Sounds Good - Bucky Barnes x Reader (2/2)
Okay lovely people, here is the second part to Dessert Sounds Good. Not quite sure where I was intending on going with this bit, was a rollercoaster to write. So here you have a bit of angst, a bit of fluff and a whole lot of Bucky.
@amisutcliff​ thank you again for requesting this to start with. 
Warnings: none, unless you count sad Bucky?
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Buy Me A Coffee
You can find Part 1 here 
Retreating into the kitchen, you place the empty dinner plates onto the counter, leaving them for you to clean afterwards. Your cheeks are still flushed as you pace the tiled floor. You check to make sure you are out of Bucky’s view as you rush to the sink, running the cold tap. Cupping your hands together, you splash your face with the cool water and then using the hand towel, pat your cheeks dry. Why did he have to have this effect on you? Taking deep breaths, you wait for your heart rate to return to normal and compose yourself before preparing dessert.
When you feel the burning in your cheeks calm down, you turn, slipping on your oven gloves. Opening the oven door, the smell of warm, freshly cooked apple pie, wafts into the room. You had found the recipe online and knew it would be the perfect pick me up.
Carefully placing the pie dish down on the granite counter, you quickly remove the gloves, throwing them back in their drawer. You then serve two slices onto plates, accompanying each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Before returning to Bucky, you take a deep breath, picking up a plate in each hand before tiptoeing back to the table.
“Your dessert, Mr Barnes.” From his seat, at the mention of his name, Bucky’s head raises after absentmindedly staring at his hands.
“That looks amazing.” A smile crosses his face as he watches you place his plate directly in front of him.
“Shut up.” You brush off his compliment as you take your seat opposite him.
“No, seriously. This looks amazing, Y/N.”
Your head shoots up as he says your name. “What?” Bucky’s face immediately fills with panic at your reaction.
“That’s, er-,” you think of a way to explain your reaction to him without sounding ridiculous, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name.” The words are said so delicately under your breath that he has to strain his hearing to understand you, but he does perfectly. A stupid smile spreads across his lips as he tilts his head to see your face which is hiding behind your hair and hands. “Stop looking at me like that Barnes and just eat your pie.” Not sensing any movement from him, you raise your head reluctantly and make eye contact. “Please.” The tone of your voice loses all teasing as you plead with him.
Bucky leans back in his chair then, chuckling silently to himself as he directs his attention to the pie in front of him.
Discreetly from your seat across from him, you watch his expression as he takes a bite of pie from his fork. Bucky closes his eyes as he chews the sweet pastry in his mouth as he finishes the mouthful he stills, savouring the taste. Leaning his head back, Bucky tries so hard to hold back the tears that threaten to pool in his eyes.
“Doll, this is incredible.” Still he doesn’t look at you, but you are quick to notice the Brooklyn accent is thicker in his voice.
“It’s just a pie, Bar-“
“You don’t understand.” He’s looking at you again now. “This tastes, and I don’t know how, but this tastes exactly how my ma made it.” The glossiness of his eyes is still there as he continues to reminisce, gesticulating as he does so. “It looks the same too. God, you’re perfect, L/N. I mean, I honestly can’t believe that this tastes the same. Thought I’d forgotten what ma’s food tasted like.” A lone tear spills from his eye and runs down his cheek, as soon as he feels it, Bucky rubs it away harshly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“.
He scrapes his chair back on the floor, bolting from the table and away from you to his bedroom.
It takes everything within you to hold back the tears in your eyes as you watch him go. Contemplating whether to go after him, you glance towards his slice at his empty space and then towards the remaining pie in the kitchen. The latter seemed a better option, so rushing you grab the forks you have both already used and the pie dish from the counter. Without further hesitation, you follow in the direction that Bucky had left.
Approaching his door slowly, you rap your knuckles against the hard wood. When you are met with nothing but silence, you decide that your options are to either open the door and let yourself in or wait him out. It doesn’t take much for you to know what the smartest and kindest approach to this will be. So, placing the dish on the carpeted floor in front of his door, you kneel down and then place yourself opposite his door, back pressed against the wall. You wait patiently, knowing that what Bucky needs is time and you will be waiting there for when he is ready.
Exactly twenty-two minutes since you sat down, Bucky’s door opens by an inch. When he peeks through the crack, he is met with the sight of you lightly dozing, your head lolling forwards. In front of you, placed outside his door is the leftover pie from your meal. His heart wrenches as he looks at you. No one, other than Steve, has ever been this patient with him.
He doesn’t want to disturb you, yet he knows that the position you are in is uncomfortable, he has found himself on too many occasions sat hunched over against his wall to understand. Bucky bends down and takes the dish inside his room, balancing it on top of a stack of books he has been meaning to return unnoticed to Sam. Happy that it is secure, he returns to you.
Crouching next to your sleeping form, Bucky wraps his left arm underneath your legs, hooking it beneath your knees, hoping that the cold sensation doesn’t startle you awake. He gently manoeuvres his other arm between your back and the wall. Lifting you up, Bucky makes sure that you are secure in his arms before he walks back into his room.
Moving towards the bed, that is bare besides a grey bedsheet, a result of the fact that Bucky does not sleep, he treads carefully on the floor, trying his best to not disturb you. Unsure of how to get you onto the bed, he stops for a second before he lowers your slowly. When he feels your body touch the bed, he begins moving his arms from around you, letting you go when he knows you are completely on the mattress. You stir slightly as you adjust to the feeling of the softness beneath your body. In the effort of carrying you, the hem of your shirt had been pushed up to your thighs, your legs covered in goose bumps. At the realisation of this, Bucky diverts his gaze and goes in search of a duvet.
His own duvet had been discarded long ago, after one of his first nights in the compound, after he had torn through it with his hands as the result of a nightmare during his sleep. Rummaging through his walk-in closet, he finds a cover still in its packaging, a note taped over the label in Sam’s writing. ‘You’re welcome.’ Shaking his head at Sam’s ego induced joke, Bucky reminds himself to thank him in some way when he sees the man next.
Quietly unwrapping the cover, and laying it on the floor, he searches for a sheet to put it in. Once he has one in his hands, he makes a swift job of getting it together.
Walking back towards the bed, he notices that you have rolled over, your head pressed comfortably into one of his pillows, your arm bringing it closer to your face. There is something so domestic about seeing you this way, that he cannot help but imagine what it would be like to see you like this every day. Before his mind can wander any further, he softly places the duvet over your sleeping form, ensuring that your body is completely covered.
After turning off the main light and plunging the room into darkness, Bucky takes a seat at his desk. With nothing else to do, Bucky flips the switch on his desk light, checking on you over his shoulder. He takes his most recently started book, a mystery novel, that he can guarantee he has already solved; and brings the pie towards him, grateful for the forks you had brought along.
Before he realises it, Bucky has finished a majority of the pie and a feeling of shame washes over him. He hears you begin to stir behind him, thinking nothing of it, with only a few chapters to go, he continues with his book. Hearing no further movement from you, Bucky relaxes.
“No.” Your voice cuts through the silence of the room and Bucky freezes, his book dropping to the desk. Keeping still he listens on.
“Get off of him.” Again, your words cut through the room and he knows that it’s a nightmare plaguing your mind. “Let him go.” Immediately, Bucky is up off of his chair and kneeling on the mattress. Looking at you, his heart aches, a lead weight in his chest. Your hair is matted to your forehead with sweat and there are tears running down your cheeks, eyes tightly shut. Body physically shaking with fear induced from the nightmare in your head. Bucky knows what nightmares can do to a person and seeing it happen to someone else is the most painful of all. Especially watching it happen to you.
Without thinking it through, Bucky attempts to soothe you, placing his metal palm against your temple, brushing your hair back softly. Still, your breathing is laboured, and he can practically feel your heart beating through your skin. “Please, let him go.”
“Y/N, you’re safe.” Bucky knows that you won’t be able to hear him, but he knows that ripping you from your sleep would only make things worse in the long term. “You’re safe.” Words barely above a whisper.
“Bucky! No!” With no warning, your body shoots up from the bed and if it weren’t for his serum-enhanced speed, your forehead would have collided with his. Looking into your eyes, Bucky sees the pure fear hidden behind them. He knows that look. The look that he sees in his own eyes when he looks in the mirror. He pulls you tightly into a hug, wrapping both arms around you. It isn’t the most comfortable or ideal position, with him balancing on his knees and you halfway between sitting up and lying down. But this what you need.
“I’ve got you.” He strokes the back of your hair with his hand, tenderly brushing through the strands that have become tangled from sleep. “I’ve got you.”
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stellar-alley · 4 years ago
Text
Of Scales and Sea Glass
•Chapter 2•
Previous Chapter // Next Chapter
(Summary: Eddie goes shopping for food with Bev and Bill, then washes the mer’s tangled hair.)
Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!
~
The next morning Eddie woke up to the sound of the doorbell echoing through the quiet house. His eyes fluttered open as they drifted over to his alarm clock. 11:00am, holly shit i never fucking sleep in this much, Eddie wondered why for only a split second, before the memories of the day prior resufaced. “The merman…” Eddie spoke aloud, his eyes wide with realization. 
Hastily, he threw his legs over the side of his bed and stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom. He slammed himself against the door and opened it up wide. 
The merman had been slouched over in the tub, head underwater. He jerked his head out of the water after the sudden bang against the door. Breathing heavily, mind still hazed by sleep, he watched as the small human, Eddie, shuffled inside. He rolled his eyes at the sight, relieved that it wasn’t a threat. 
“It’s just me don’t worry” Eddie’s voice was groggy and tired as he waved off the merman’s worries. “I-uh, just wanted to make sure you were okay-” The doorbell rang again, Eddie stiffened, “Sorry I’ve gotta get this but please- stay here,” Eddie begged before leaving the room. 
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Eddie rambled as he unlocked the front door. He swung it open to reveal not just one of the Losers, but two. “Ohmygod- Hey guys!” Eddie’s mood brightened. 
Bill and Beverly both stood on Eddie’s front porch. “Hey Eddie, what’s up?” Bev smiled. Eddie moved aside, allowing his friends to come inside. The three settled into their normal seats in Eddie’s family room. Eddie and Bill on the bigger couch will Bev laid horizontally on the armchair. 
“H-Hows the clean up go-going?” Bill asked as he stretched his hands, sore from the previous day of manual labour. 
“It fucking sucks! It’s so gross. What about you guys?” Eddie stopped himself before he started ranting about all the weird shit he’s found in his pool.
“My aunt and I got most of the stuff cleaned up but now there’s a leak in the roof, so we’ve gotta wait for the maintenance guy to come and patch it up, ” she explained. 
Eddie nodded, then asked, “Bill? How’s Georgie?”
“T-Tired, he hu-hates thunder. The tree in the f-front yard lost a ma-masive branch. My parents told me to go get gru-groceries today,” Bill pulled out a list from his pocket, “Wanna join?” He inquired. 
“Yeah, Big Bill and I were gonna go into town and get some supplies, we were wondering if you wanted in?” Beverly raised her eyebrows at him.
“That’d be great actually,” The mental image of the guest  in his bathtub caused him to realize how much he needed to restock his pantry, “Yeah, I need to stock up,” Eddie concluded. 
The shorter boy glanced down at the pajamas that he wore then back up at his friends, “Let me go get changed then we can head out. Oh, don’t use the upstairs bathroom the toilet… broke,” Eddie lied, but the others didn’t notice. He had a bathroom on the main floor that worked perfectly fine and had no mythical creature hiding in it that they could use.
Eddie checked on the merman one more time and informed him of the recent developments before he got ready and left. Eddie called shotgun as they walked down his driveway, towards Bill’s red Toyota Corolla, Bev rolled her eyes as she hopped into the back. And they were off to the store. 
The trio decided on going to Walmart first as it had most of the things they needed. Eddie walked along the aisle with Bill who pushed the cart, and Bev who rode on the front with her phone in hand, she was scrolling through her list, calling out items she needed for Eddie to put into the cart.
They were about to roll past the fish freezers, when Eddie stopped and signaled for the others so to follow him. “Eddie f-fish? Really?” Bill questions as he turns the kart, Bev hopped off to stand beside Eddie as they observed the fish in the ice below them. 
“Yeah, so?” Eddie’s tone is more defensive than he would prefer, but he needs to feed his trashmouth and fish seemed like the most logical food to buy for something that lived in the ocean. Eddie worried about giving him human food, so he decided to start with the fish then maybe test the waters with something like bread, once the mer regained his hunger. 
“Nothing, it’s just every time I ever offered you sushi during lunch you always talked about your hatred for fish,” Bev recalls a memory from when they were in highschool. 
He gestured for the guy behind the counter to wrap up two of the full salmons, “Well, people change,” Eddie shrugs. He smiled as he was handed the wrapped fish. 
“So what was everyone else up to today?” Eddie changed the subject onto the other Losers. 
“Mike’s on f-farm duty. They had to help f-find one of the sheep that got loose during the st-storm. S-Stan had to work,” Bill explained while he looked over the continents inside of one of the many freezers. 
“And Ben’s mom needed help cleaning. OH! And remember his neighbour with that old ass maple tree?” Eddie nodded as Bev continued, “It fell during the storm, broke an upstairs window. Ben’s mom is pissed,” Bev says with a faint smirk playing over her lips. 
~
Bill pulled up onto their street and Bev was talking about some of the new clothes she was making with one of her old dresses when Eddie remembered he wanted to buy a shirt for the merman. 
“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. 
“Hm? What? Tired of hearing me talk about fashion?” Bev asked curiously. 
Eddie shook his head. “Oh no, I love hearing about the difference between cotton and polyester. I just remembered I wanted to look at some new shirts while we were out. You don’t have any old big shirts do you?” Eddie asked. He would just lend one of his shirts to the fish, but he was at least 2 sizes larger than Eddie. 
“Maybe?” Bev cocked an eyebrow, “why?”
Eddie blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Growth spurt”
Bill scoffed, which earned him a back hand slap on his arm. 
“I can grow!”.
Bill smirked as he took the key out of the ignition. “Eddie you’re n-nineteen, I think you’re a-a little too old for growth spurts.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered,” Bev put a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder. 
“Thank you, Beverly,”  Eddie made sure to eye Bill as he thanked Bev. 
~
Derry’s resident Badass: Left the shirt in the mailbox for you! Enjoy
Eddie read the text from Bev. He finished putting away all of the perishable items before checking his mailbox. Inside he found a light pink T-shirt. It looked pretty normal until he held it up and saw there were two seashell decals on the chest, trying to mimic Ariel’s iconic shell bra. Oh Beverly…. Eddie smirked at the shirt, recalling the times she’d worn this shirt to sleepovers, it always rode halfway down her thighs. He chuckled at the mental image of the trashmouth wearing this shirt. 
Eddie ended up deboning one of the salmon's he bought, which proved itself to be much harder then they make it seem on Master Chief. After he proceeded to chop it into bite-sized pieces. He contemplated cooking the fish but opted not to as he can't imagine any way a merman would have cooked fish underwater. Once he was back in the bathroom, he took his usual seat on the closed toilet. 
The merman’s head was leaning against the back of the tub, silently napping. Eddie admired his raw beauty and sharp features. He looked very at ease, his lips slightly parted and moving ever so slightly as his chest rose and fell with every breath. A small smile crept onto Eddie's face before it turned into a devilish grin. He held the container of food with one hand while the other slid into the water, with one swift notion he sent a small splash of water up and onto the merman’s face. 
 He woke with a startle, his glasses fell from his face with the sudden motion. The calm expression on his face turned to confusion as he scanned the room and realized everything was blurry. His breath now quick as his gaze landed on Eddie who was cracking up. He scowled while he slid his glasses back on.
“Oh come on trashmouth! God you're no fun,” Eddie nagged. 
The Mer crossed his arms over his chest (ignoring the subtle pain it created) and  stuck his tongue in protest. 
Eddie only rolled his eyes before getting to what he'd brought. “So I wasn’t sure what you ate so I bought you fish. Is that okay?” He looked to the merman for help. He stared at Eddie blankly before his brow furrowed and he held out his arms and made a grasping motion with his hands. Like a baby asking for its bottle. 
“What? You wanna do it yourself?” Eddie asked, a little shocked by his sudden desire for independence. Although he would be sad he'd never feel those soft lips against his hand anymore… He shrugged it off. “OKay…” Eddie hesitated only for a moment before handing it over to the merman. 
He mirrored Eddie in the way he held it. Once he was sure he had a steady grasp over the container, he moved a hand to take a piece of fish out and popped it into his mouth. The merman chewed then proceeded to swallow it. He popped another piece into his mouth, chewed then gave Eddie a grateful smile with a mouth full of fish.
Eddie nearly gagged. “EW! Don’t do that trashmouth,” he grimaced, but his voice was filled with amusement as the fish closed his mouth, but kept the smile. 
Later that day the cleaners came for the pool. Eddie greeted them in the driveway and led them into his backyard. He explained what he needed done as he stood a couple feet away from the edge of the pool. The main cleaner talked about prices as Eddie scanned the pool. 
There was still so much shit at the bottom, he was excited to see it gone. But something shiny caught his eye on the ground. He blinked and focused on the little blue scales that sat about a foot away from the pool. Eddie tried to keep calm as he realized there were the merman’s scales.
Shit, I can’t let these guys see those, even if they are just scales. I cannot let anyone find out about him. 
Eddie continued the conversation he was having with the head cleaner as he took a step towards the pool, placing his foot right beside the scales, blocking them from the cleaner’s view. 
“We should be done in a couple hours or so,” he explained. 
Eddie nodded in understanding, then he kneeled down beside the edge. “Okay good.” He placed his hand over the scales but kept his gaze on the pool. “The sooner it’s cleaned means the sooner I get to keep practicing. I’m planning on joining my school’s swim team,” Eddie lied. He picked up the scales and slid them into his pocket as he stood up. 
“Oh! Well good luck with that,” The cleaner smiled. Once everything was discussed, Eddie left them to do their job. He patted the scales in his pocket as he walked back towards the house, a faint smile played across his lips. 
~
The next day Eddie explained to the merman how his pool was now clean and full of water while he examined all of his injuries which seemed to be healing nicely. 
“If I find an easier way to transport you then maybe one day you can go swimming there.” The merman only shrugged in response. That worried Eddie as he would’ve thought the fish would’ve been dying to get back into the water, as that’s where he lived. 
“A-Are you okay?” Eddie immediately moved his hand to feel the creature's forehead, checking for a fever. It was a little hotter than normal but that could have also been because it was scorching hot outside. Eddie slid his hand from his forehead to ruffle the fish’s black mess of curls, something he grew quite fond of doing. But it didn’t go too far as his fingers got tangled in knots.
“God, how tangled is your hair?” Eddie questioned. The merman responded by raking his hands through his hair, only to be met by the same tangles. He simply shrugged. 
Since he’d been in Eddie’s bathtub for the past couple of days, his hair had been able to completely dry, which left it in long thick curls that dangeled into his face. Eddie didn’t mind, he thought it was kinda cute… But now that he knew how knotted they were, he had to do something about it. 
He sighed and stood up, “Well, I don’t know what you guys are doing down in Atlantis, but you’ve gotta start conditioning your hair.”
The merman’s face scrunched up, unsure of what Eddie was suggesting. He folded his arms over the side of the tub and rested his head on top of them as he watched Eddie go through one of the cabinets in the corner. 
When Eddie returned he brought back a bottle of shampoo, conditioner and a brush. He sat on the ground and placed everything beside him. “Dunk your head underwater,” Eddie instructed. 
The merman didn’t. 
“Come on,” Eddie removed his watch and sunk his hands into the water. 
The merman sunk down a bit but stopped right before wetting his hair, as if he was mocking Eddie. 
“Oh fuck you,” Eddie gasped drmatically. He moved his hands to splash the merman. Just as the water was about to wet his face, he raised a hand and it stopped midair, and formed a perfect bubble of water before him. 
Eddie froze. Did it do that? He must’ve taken on a shocked expression as the bubble immediately fell back into the water and the merman’s face turned apologetic, as if he was sorry for frightening the human. 
Something tightened inside Eddie’s chest. The way the merman stopped, just for him, made him feel warm… 
“No, no… It’s okay! I just didn’t know you could do that,” Eddie admitted, his face turning a little red as he rubbed the back of his neck. “C-Can you show me again?” Eddie requested shyly. Sure it’s weird and kinda freaky but that doesn't mean I’m not interested. HE HAS FRICKEN SUPER POWERS!
The merman’s expression softened as a smile tugged at the edges of his lips. This time he pulled a larger bubble of water from the bathtub and held it in the air. With his hand sticking out of the water, he moved his bubble towards him and held it over his head. With the flick of his wrist, the bubble fell over his head, soaking his hair, just like the human had requested. 
Eddie’s eyes filled with wonder, and a little bit of pleasure as the fish boy finally wet his fucking hair. “Cool…”
After the initial shock of the whole superpowers thing settled, Eddie began washing the merman’s hair. First off he squirted a generous amount of shampoo directly onto the mer’s head, then proceeded to massage it into his curls and spread it to cover all of his hair. As he massaged his scalp, the mer released a little moan, obviously enjoying the scalp massage. (Eddie heart raced at the sound of that)
Then Eddie rinsed the suds from his inky black hair and proceeded to add the conditioner. Instead of massaging it in, he grabbed his thick-toothed comb and combed it through. The task took a while as his hair was fairly knotted. 
All of the effort paid off though as once his hair was fully cleaned, Eddie took out the blow dryer. Sure, it spooked the mer at first but once Eddie showed him that it was harmless and only shot out warm air, the merman complied. Though he’s only known Eddie for a couple days now, he’s grown to trust the human, especially considering everything he’s done for him so far. The warm air felt nice on his cold skin, plus he enjoyed how soft hair had become once it was over. He ran his wet fingers through his freshly cleaned locks but was given a light slap from the human, as he claimed, “You’re gonna get your hair wet and gross again.”
The final product left Eddie speechless. The merman’s hair was full of soft curls, they ended just above his neck. The pieces that’d once loosely fell in his face now curled to the side and nicely framed his eyes. 
The merman’s cheeks took on a new shade of pink as he noticed the human’s stare. 
Eddie smiled at his hard work, but he also smiled because of the way the mer glanced away shyly, as if he was a little embarrassed at the sudden gaze on him. Eddie would’ve thought he was cute, maybe even beautiful, but just as the warmth began to spread in his chest, he pushed the feelings. We’re from two different worlds. The reminder brought him back to reality. 
“You look nice,” the compliment brought the merman’s gaze back onto Eddie. He gave the human a small nod, as if to say ‘thank you’. 
~
During the span of a week, Eddie had developed a bit of a schedule on how his days would play out. First he’d go say goodmorning to trashmouth and make sure he’s still alive. Then he’d go make them breakfast, he’s been testing out some new recipes for himself, while the mer still ate fish. Actually Eddie’s noticed now that he’s constantly getting food ready for the merman, he’s started putting more thought into his own meals. Which is a step up from frozen meals and cereal that he was used to. Then they’d eat together in the bathroom. Eddie had taken up sitting on the floor so he could be closer to his trashmouth while they ate. Sometimes the fish boy would shoot him curious glances, staring down at Eddie’s food from where he sat in the tub. So Eddie would put a forkful of whatever he had made out in front of the fish and feed him. Eddie was happy to know he could start branching out in his meal planning. Now that he knew human food wouldn’t upset the fish’s stomach. Most days Eddie tried to give the mer a big breakfast so if Eddie needed to leave for any reason, his guest wouldn’t die of hunger.
As much as Eddie wished he could spend his days beside the tub, uncovering every secret the merman held, he knew if he started acting weird, someone was bound to notice. So he kept in contact with his friends, going over to their houses, inviting them over once the backyard was clean. Sadly he’s had to miss two sleepovers as he doesn't trust the fish to be home alone for that long. 
Eddie even moved Goldy’s fish bowl into the bathroom to keep his trashmouth company. Though she’s on the counter, away from the merman’s claws, he seems to enjoy the company. So now when Eddie returns home from a day at Mike’s farm or something, he doesn't seem as lonely. 
Over the past week, Eddie grew oddly fond of the merman. Sure, he couldn’t talk, but Eddie did enough of it for the both of them. Most of the time he just complained about random things, other times he’d explain human things like technology and phones, and sometimes he’d bring his comics into the bathroom and read to him (carefully as he did not want to get them wet). 
Also, most, if not all of the mer’s injuries had healed pretty well.  The only explanation Eddie could come up with to explain the miraculous chain of events was that mermaids had a better healing factor compared to humans. Which was on one hand, good! He seemed happier now that he wasn't in pain. But on the other hand, Eddie knew once he was fully healed, there wouldn’t be a reason to take care of him anymore, which would mean he’d have to… Eddie shook his head, dismissing the thought and returned back to the present, where he was removing the bandages on the mer’s chest. 
The one he had yet to take off was the one that sat on the mer’s cheek. He was slightly worried that out of all the injuries, that would be the one not to heal correctly. Leaving a messy, jagged scar on a face that would have otherwise been considered perfect. With as much care as he could muster, he cupped one side of the mer’s face with his hand (he ignored the butterflies that had formed in his stomach) to keep his head steady while the other slowly peeled the bandage off. 
He held the bandage in his hand and admired the skin that was now healed. Instead of a nasty scar that Eddie had imagined, all that was left was a simple line that was half the size of the original cut. Eddie thought it made him look even cuter, in a badass type of way. 
Eddie realized a moment too soon that he’d been staring longingly at the merman who’s cheek he still cupped with his hand. He was about to move away when the mer quickly reached his hand up towards the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled him down. Before Eddie could even process what was happening, their lips smashed together. For a second he couldn’t believe what was happening. Their lips moved together as if they had kissed dozens of times before. The mer’s tongue moved into Eddie’s mouth, snapping Eddie back into reality. He hastily pushed away, falling back onto the tile floor. 
The merman let out a gasp, as if he was gasping for air. His breaths became quick as he held onto the side of the bathtub. “OH THANK GOD! I Don’t know how much longer I could’ve kept that shit up…” He was breathless, but still, he spoke.
Word Count: 7604
Guys when I tell you I loved writing this chapter, I mean it. Literally, that ending scene? I’ve had it planned since the day I came up with the idea for the AU, and I’m ecstatic that I finally get to show it to the world. So I hope y’all enjoyed it as much as I did. 
Don’t forget to comment, like and reblog to show your support!
And until next time, 
So Long and Goodnight.
~
[Taglist]
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mypassionfortrash · 5 years ago
Text
Nothing Serious (Part Nine)
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You join Roger in Montreux as Queen prepare to record their next album, and spend time exploring the city... and each other.
Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!reader Warnings: Filth, daddy kink, STRICTLY 18+ Notes: I forgot about this. Sorry. If you like this fic, please reblog it!
💫 CATCH UP HERE! 💫
Tags: @jennyggggrrr​​​; @sarahgurl09​​​; @sunshine112​; @biscuit-barrel​; @sitonmyhot-seatoflove​; @jhoemazzellhoe​; @justgivemethekeys​; @qweenly​; @picturepowderinabottle​
You and Roger sat in the back of the car in stunned silence. You had your nosed pressed up against the glass, admiring the view of Lac Leman. 
Roger admired you admiring the view. 
From the snowy peaks of the alps on the French side, to the cobbled streets and cosy bars in Lausanne, Vevey and Clarens, you were positively enthralled on the journey from Geneva Airport to Montreux. 
You and Roger didn’t even have to make proper, joined up conversation. All he had to do was listen to your awe struck outbursts, pointing out yet another feature he had probably seen many times before on his way to Mountain Studios. Every now and again, he’d give your fingers a supportive squeeze, letting you know that he heard you.
There was something about Montreux alone; above all the other towns you passed on your journey. Something magical. Something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. It made your fears disappear and your worries drift away; home felt like a distant memory. It soothed you with blue skies, and sprawling lake views, and mediterranean-looking buildings with pastel facades and ornate balconies. 
“We’re almost there.”
You turned to Roger, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. “This is more beautiful than you said.”
“We should go exploring later,” he said, brushing his fingers over your thigh. “There’s a lot of nice little bars and restaurants here. We’ll be staying a block away from the studio. Right about… here,” he said nodding towards a block of bright yellow apartments with stacks of generous balconies. To your right, they offered sprawling lake views against a backdrops of snow-tipped mountains. To your left, you had to crane your neck just to spy the top of the densely-populated hillside.
“Oh,” you sighed, admiring the building and all its exquisite views, “it’s stunning.”
“They really are. You can’t beat a bottle of wine and watching the sun set from up there.”
“It’s perfect for it,” you said, getting out of the car and opening the boot, much to your chauffeur’s dismay. “It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you told him, carting your luggage out and on to the pavement.
“She’s got it,” Roger laughed, taking his own suitcases. “Thank you.”
Standing at the door to the building, you and Roger exchanged excited glances and bolstering sighs, before linking your fingers together. Wandering into the lobby, the atmosphere struck you. It looked and smelled like money and excess and opulence, with shiny slate grey flooring and clean white walls. There were no chandeliers or gold trims. It was a modern kind of rich. A sickening, classy kind of rich. That you actually kind of liked. 
A petite, brunette receptionist greeted you both: “Bonjour Monsieur Taylor. Et Madame.”
“Bonjour, Gaudine,” Roger said, wandering over to the desk. “Do you have my key?”
“Oui – voila!” she said, handing Roger the key. “We’ve cleaned the apartment and it’s ready for your stay. We have put champagne in your fridge and done a bit of shopping so that you have everything you need. If you need anything, just call.”
“Merci beaucoup, Gaudine,” Roger smiled, placing his hand at the small of your back and leading you towards the lift.
You pressed the button and the door slid open in a moment of slick convenience. When the pair of you got inside, you slumped against opposite sides of the compartment, swapping wild grins. You could tell from the way Roger’s eyes devoured every detail of your body that he was dreaming up everything he was going to do to you once you got to the flat. 
Roger chewed his lip. His breath laboured. Pinpricks of desire seared from his chest to his cheeks, flushing him a delightful shade of pink. As the lift ascended, so did his need and his lust. And when the door finally pinged open, he grabbed your arm and hauled you down the corridor towards the flat. 
Discarding your bags at the door, you pounced on him, sending his back flying against the wall.
But he was swift to take control, turning around and hiking your thighs up around his waist making you cling to him for dear life. “You didn’t put your knickers back on, did you?” he purred in your ear. 
You were too busy undoing his jeans to answer him; his cock already stood at attention, thick, intimidating and ready to slip into the next available hole.
“You dirty girl.” Slipping his cock through your pink, swollen folds, Roger pushed into you. 
Feverish and urgent, you ground your hips against his grasp as you gasped at being filled so deliciously again. The sharp, snappy rhythm he settled into made you clench around him.
“What are you Kitten?” Roger growled.
In the throes of delirium, you couldn’t find the words to respond to him. You could only bear to focus on his cock, pumping away at you. In deep, wet passes, he bottomed out inside you time and time again. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, and his neck, and his hair to find something to cling on to to steady yourself. But he was all the support you needed with his body pressed tight against you. He was all over you.
His chin nestled into your neck, biting down on your skin, rougher and more ravenously with each thrust. “Touch yourself for me, Kitten,” he growled in your ear. “I want to feel that tight  cunt of yours milking my cock when you come.”
If those words of his were enough to shoot sparks of bliss straight between your legs, then god knows what your fingers coupling with his efforts might do to you, you thought as you mindlessly started to draw circles over your clit. An almighty whine escaped you. So loud that you prayed the walls were thick enough to stop the neighbours hearing. And then another. And another. You had to fight to stifle them on Roger’s neck as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through your aching body as you tried to stay clinging to Roger. Quiet whimpers, of “yes Daddy,” or, “right there, Daddy,” were absorbed by the collar of his shirt. And that only made his movements more purposeful as you writhed uncontrollably.
“Good girl,” he coaxed. “Come for me, Kitten. Come for Daddy.”
You frantically rubbed and rubbed until your cunt milked Roger’s cock for every drop of cum he could fill you with.
Roger had to prop you up until you caught your breath and regained some semblance of control.
“You alright, darling?” he chuckled, kissing your forehead.
“Yes, Daddy–Roger! Sorry,” you sighed, smoothing down your dress and clenching your thighs together.
Roger shook his head with a smirk. “We’ll be having more of than now we’re out here. And I love it when you get all awkward on me, Kitten,” he said, fixing your hair for you. “The bathroom’s  there on your right. Clean yourself up and I’ll show you the rest of the flat.”
“Yeah,” you said dreamily, sauntering through to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you and eyed yourself in the mirror with a jolt of horror. Had you really walked through Geneva airport with your hair sticking up in all directions and your mascara caked underneath your eyes? Or the buttons on your dress all askew and misaligned? And those mysterious stains at the back? You clearly hadn’t done as good a job of cleaning yourself up on the plane as you thought you had. And why didn’t Roger tell you? “Fuck,” you laughed to yourself, dragging out a tuft of tissues and bending over the sink to get a better view of your misplaced makeup.
You swiped the tissues underneath your eyes, smearing the thick black gunk off your face. And then you turned your attention towards the rest of your body. Flying had a habit of drying out your skin and making you feel like the grossest thing on two legs; you could practically feel the slurry of germs that crawled all over your body.
In the corner of the room, by the back window that looked out on to the alpine view, stood a sparkling red bath tub. It called out to you, promising that you could be clean in no time.
“Roger!” you shouted.
You heard shuffling coming from outside the bathroom door. “Yes, Kitten?”
“Can you go through my bags and get me something nice to wear and my wash bag please?”
“Of course, darling.”
“Thanks,” you said, flicking off the lock on the door. Setting about throwing off your dress and your bra, you leaned over the tub and put the tap on, sending water cascading into it. Above the tub, there were columns of black and white shelves, stocked with all the expensive looking lotions and potions anyone could ever need. You saw one interesting looking jar, like something out of a sweet shop, bearing the label, ‘pine and patchouli bath salts.’ That would do. You grabbed the bottle and dumped a capful into the boiling hot water. And then went back to eying up the rest of Roger’s accoutrements.
It turned out he was a big fan of lavender and sage, too; you grabbed the soap and the lotion, not caring if they matched your bath salts. And then the bubble bath. How could you forget that? Throwing a generous splodge into the water, you looked down, like a witch admiring her brew, as the bubbles doubled.
“I see you’ve found my spa stash,” a voice from behind you chuckled.
You turned to find Roger laying out towels and a set of pyjamas on the bench at the bathroom door. 
“Sorry, I  needed something after that flight. I haven’t forgotten what you told me about what Steven Tyler gets up to in that plane.”
“Those salts are fantastic when my shoulders are acting up,” he commented with a nod towards the sweetie bottle.
“Do you want to join me, Daddy?” you asked. You felt emboldened again, running your hands up Roger’s chest, making sure you squeezed his aching shoulders. They were still tense, but surely not out of sexual frustration, you thought to yourself. 
“Could do with a quick dunk,” Roger shrugged. He watched as your fingers unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one. His voice shook from the contact. “Why don’t I get that lovely bottle of champagne from the fridge?”
“Be quick,” you warned, giving him a pat on his bare chest. “I’m not done with you yet, Daddy.”
Roger moved faster than you had ever seen him go, taking him all of thirty seconds to pluck the bottle of champagne from the fridge and locate a couple of glasses in the kitchen, before he returned to find you already sitting comfortably in the tub, stretching out your legs under a blanket of soft, heady bubbles. 
“Do you want to do the honours, Kitten?” he asked, handing you the bottle.
“Don’t mind if I do, Daddy,” you purred, taking it from his grasp. You watched with your hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle as Roger shuffled out of the rest of his clothes, sporting the beginnings of yet another hard on, and stepped into the tub in front of you. You flicked your eyes to his as you bit your lip, sending a visible shiver through him. That raging confidence you had in the beginning was back with a vengeance and nothing was going to stop you from making your time in Montreux as memorable, and as debauched, as you could. “Ready, Daddy?”
Roger woke up in a pile of white silk sheets. The sheer curtain billowed into the room in smoky swathes in time to the cool lakeside breeze, wafting wisps for freshly brewed coffee into the room. He groaned, propping himself up on his elbows to take in the sight of the empty room. You were nowhere to be seen. The culprit for all of his aches and pains, bestowed upon him the night before, was gone. “Darling?” he groaned, sitting upright and scratching his chest. His head pounded and his vision hadn’t quite acclimatised to seeing daylight. “You there?”
Shuffling came from the balcony, then you peeked into the room. Only half of your body was visible to him, as you leaned against the door frame. 
“Good morning, Daddy.”
Roger’s lips curled into a devilish smirk. The thoughts of everything you got up to on your first night together in Montreux raced through his brain so vividly that his hips got the message straight away. He tilted his head back and eyed you through his lashes as you stepped into the room. “Good morning, Kitten,” he purred.
Perching at the end of the bed, you dragged a hand up Roger’s leg over the sheets. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Sore,” he laughed, giving his shoulder a rub.
You pouted and pondered. “Let me get you a lovely big cup of coffee and I’ll help you work out all those aches and pains,” you said, continuing to massage Roger’s leg.
“That sounds lovely, darling, thank you.”
You wandered back through to the balcony and poured Roger some coffee. So enthralled by your surroundings, the cup almost overflowed. From the way the mid morning sun shimmered over the lake to the snowy peaks of the mountains. This was heaven. And it felt a million miles away from home – and Ibiza. You relished that feeling of giddy optimism as you carried the cup back through to the bedroom to find that Roger was missing.
“Where are you, Roggie?” you called, peering out into the hall.
“Brushing my teeth,” Roger responded through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat so he could speak more clearly. “And making myself more presentable for you, my love.”
“Don’t be too long,” you grinned, settling down among the covers.
When he arrived back at the bedroom, he hobbled towards you, clutching his aching hip, and pressing at the small of his back. His hair was mussed and messy, and he wore nothing but a short, silk, tiger print robe. And his circular glasses sat daintily perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted, but that didn’t stop you from eagerly patting the space beside you and thrusting the cup of coffee into his hands to get started on the fun part of your morning. 
You slunk behind him, wrapping your legs around his body and pressing your chest to his back, dragging the fine layer of material from his body. It slipped down his arms, leaving his top half completely naked under your touch. 
Tension radiated from Roger’s body as he sank another mouthful of rich, black coffee to stifle his nerves. 
Your fingertips pressed against either side of his back, where his shoulders met his neck and he moaned in bliss. “Sore there?” you asked.
“Mmm, I’m really showing my age, aren’t I?” he laughed.
“Lucky for you, I think there’s something about senior citizens I find particularly alluring,” you joked, working at the knots on his shoulders.
“Fat wallets?”
“Well, I mean, it helps. But fat something else,” you replied.
“God you’re filthy.”
“It’s your fault,” you said, rubbing his back extra hard to make him squeal.
Roger’s voice faltered, coming down from the bolt of pain, quickly succeeded by the loosening of one of the pressure points on his back. “Oh, why’s that?” he asked.
“I used to be an angel before I met you. And now? All I care about is private jets, champagne and getting shagged anywhere, anytime. How’s that for a change.”
Roger leaned back against you, pinning you between himself and the headboard as he looked up at you with his big tired doe eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, I quite like the new you, Kitten.”
“Is that right?” you laughed, tickling your fingernails over his chest. “How’s your back feeling?”
“Much much better. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”
“And what’s on our agenda for today?”
“I was hoping I could show you around,” he smiled. “We’ve got a whole day before everyone else gets here. And we won’t have a moment to ourselves afterwards.” Then his voice descended into a naughty, mischievous whisper: “So I was hoping, if you’ll let me, we could make the most of it and be absolute heathens for the rest of the day.”
You placed a long, drawn out kiss to the top of Roger’s head and squeezed him tightly. “That sounds absolutely perfect. Especially the part about us being heathens. That suits us down to a tee, don’t you think, Daddy?”
“It really does, Kitten.”
“Well, I’m going to go and get myself ready,” you explained, untying the front of Roger’s robe to reveal his cock, resting against his stomach. Hard and fully erect. “And you can take care of that.”
“Can’t you do it for me?” Roger pouted. “That mouth of yours looks awfully tempting.”
“I’ll tell you what,” you began, “why don’t I let you know when you’re allowed to take care of it? See how long you last?”
“Oh you’re cruel,” he sighed, watching you slip off the bed and wander over to the wardrobe.
Searching through your clothes to find the optimal outfit to tease Roger in, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still sitting there, looking down at his cock, wondering whether he’d risk disobeying you. “I wonder what you’re like when you’re all needy,” you pondered.
“And what happens if I get myself off anyway?”
“I don’t think you want to know, Daddy. You’re right – I can be very, very cruel.”
Dressed and ready to face the day, you and Roger stepped out into the August sunshine. Midday wasn’t far around the corner and the sun bathed the promenade in a brilliant orange glow. Arm in arm, the pair of you strolled down towards the shimmering blue lake.
You turned your head as you walked, catching the smug grin plastered on Roger’s features. Moving closer to him, you purred in his ear. “You’re looking awfully pleased with yourself there, Roggie.”
“I’m out in my favourite town with the woman of my dreams. Why wouldn’t I be pleased with myself?” His voice was hushed, but jovial.
“I think you’ve been naughty, Daddy,” you whispered, leading Roger along the promenade towards the marketplace. “We can’t have that, can we?”
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked without so much as a flicker of fear or apprehension.
You chuckled, continuing to walk as your eyes darted from the revellers to the ornate facades on the lakefront buildings, letting the scenery brush against your sense of awareness, but never fully grasping it. Until, between a restaurant and a hotel, a cobbled alleyway caught your eye. You veered off your tranquil course, leading Roger towards the main road and away from the lake. “You’re going to be very sorry you disobeyed me once today’s over,” you cooed. The alleyway seemed to stretch up to the sky, spurring off into labyrinthine offshoots even darker and quieter than the next. Losing your breath about half way up the cobbled hill, you tugged Roger into an offshoot, pressing him against the wall. “You’re going to be so, so sorry, Daddy.”
Roger raised his eyebrows and scowled. “Just you try it, sweetheart.”
Palming at the bulge in Roger’s jeans with one hand, you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and looked up at Roger.
He just let it happen. It was all he could do, staring up at the clear blue sky and chuckling to himself. In his mind, he had everything to be pleased about; he had earned himself a free handjob – maybe more if he played his cards right. But that was all he wanted. 
The bustle of the promenade wasn’t far out of earshot and if he allowed you to allow him get too carried away, you risked being found out for the pair of perverts you really were. And he couldn’t let that happen.
But you weren’t going to let him off that easily. Undoing Roger’s jeans, you took his cock out; thick, hard and begging for your attention. Eyeing him up for any sign that he might be enjoying this, you pumped your hand over his length, gathering pace until you could hear each moist pass in your quiet alcove.
Roger sighed, jerking his hips into your grasp when your thumb brushed over the swollen tip. “Fuck,” he hissed, his lower lip clamped between his teeth.
“Enjoying this, Daddy?”
“Oh god, yes, Kitten. Keep going. Be quick.”
An evil flicker bolted through your eyes as you grinned up at him, relishing how worked up he became at nothing at all. “I’m gonna have to use my mouth. I know how much you love that,” you teased, sinking down on to your knees. The cobblestones were uncomfortable at best, but you’d only be in that position for a few minutes. And it’d be worth it, you thought, lapping at the underside of his shaft in lazy, wet strokes, groaning for effect. You felt the muscles in his thighs twinge when you grabbed them to steady yourself. And then his fingers, snaked their way through your hair. He wanted you to take him. To give him what he wanted there and then. But you were in control of this. Moving away from his cock with a pop of your lips and a clear thread of saliva tethering you to him, you got off your knees and wiped your chin.
Roger whined like a wounded animal. “You can’t  leave me like this, Kitten!”
“Oh, but I can, Daddy. You didn’t do as you were told this morning,” you scolded, wandering back down the cobbled alleyway, leaving him scrambling to catch up.
“But,” Roger protested, shoving his engorged member back into his jeans, “it’s so fucking obvious. How am I supposed to hide this?”
“Not my problem,” you shrugged. “Where to next?”
Roger’s mouth hung open for a moment, looking around. “We could take a boat to Chateau de Chillon?”
“Is it nice?” you asked, turning to him and placing your hand over your eyes to shield them from the rays.
“It’s gorgeous,” he blustered, leaning in to your ear. “Lots of places for you to finish sucking my cock without getting caught.”
“Whether or not you get to finish is up to me today, remember?” you scolded. “Now which way to the boats?”
Roger paled at how direct you were. How easily you took control. And how you somehow managed to turn his legs to mush with even the slightest telling off. He looked left and he looked right, and then he pointed to a jetty three blocks away. “It’s this way.”
You grabbed Roger’s arm and set off towards the small jetty of tourist boats, bobbing away in the water.
Roger’s efforts to conceal his raging hard-on didn’t go unnoticed by you. He attempted to walk behind you, hoping your handbag would hide his crotch. Then he tried grasping at the hem on his shirt, tugging it down only for it to ride up again. You could tell he was getting flustered, eager to sit down and finally cover the tent in his jeans by crossing his arms protectively over his front. In fact, when you boarded the shabby boat, you swore he had never looked so relieved.
You and Roger sat in silence on opposite sides, exchanging lustful glances the whole way there. Every so often, your gaze trailed down to his crotch, which he so desperately kept covered beneath his hands. You licked your lips and bit them for effect just so you could see your boyfriend squirm in front of a boat full of tourists.
All in all, the journey only took ten minutes but in Roger’s mind, it felt like an eternity. He didn’t care where, or how you did it, all he needed was release. He mentally kicked himself for disobeying you that morning.
Stepping off the boat and on to the wooden jetty, Roger practically dragged you in the direction of the ticket booth, paying for both of your tickets. 
“Where to first, Daddy?” you asked innocently.
Roger scanned the courtyard for the one entrance he knew he could count on. His eyes lit up when he found it. “I know just the place, Kitten,” he said excitedly, striding on ahead of you.
You snorted at his eagerness as he took two steep stone steps at a time, descending into the dark bowels of the castle into a deserted cellar.
Roger paused, glancing around. “Let’s go this way,” he ordered, jabbing his finger into the darkness ahead of you both.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet so you can finish me off.”
“No chance,” you jibed.
Roger stopped dead and pushed you against the wall. In the darkness you could just about make out his shoulders rising and falling. “Why don’t we play a game then, darling?” he said, running his hand over your throat so tantalisingly it went straight to your core.
“I love games,” you mocked.
“First one to come today gets a punishment,” he purred, hiking up the hem of your dress. “I wonder how long you’ll last. Oh,” he paused, palming at your slit. “No knickers and a short little dress? I think you’re really trying to tease me.”
That submissive streak inside you simmered away under the surface. “I didn’t think I’d need them,” you sighed, spreading your legs for him. “Seeing how hard you get for me just gets me so wet. I’d have soaked right through them.”
Roger chuckled, and kissed your neck, lulling you into a false sense of security.
It made you wonder when the catch would come. You always suspected Roger had a sadistic streak in him, and you always wondered what it’d be like to push the limits of his happy-go-lucky nature. Maybe today was that day? 
But he was so gentle, so careful. Caressing that sweet spot between your legs with feather light touches that earned stifled, breathless moans from you. Never once did his fingers move with any kind of intent, other than to draw you out for as long as possible. And he clearly adored it.
He kept his forehead pressed to yours as he continued to tease you until his fingers were completely coated in your slick. “I think you like this, Kitten,” he whispered.
“I really do, Daddy.”
“Do you want to come?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll let you come if you put that mouth of yours to good use.”
“You’re going to need to try harder,” you sassed.
“I thought you’d say that,” he said in a wicked tone.
Before you could choke out another sassy retort, Roger slipped two fingers inside you, curling them up against that one spot guaranteed to make you squeal his name. Then another finger joined them, stretching you out with squelching wet strokes that cut through the dark, quiet cellar. His fingers fucked you, while his thumb circled your clit in firm motions that ratcheted up the tension in your legs with every single round. “Tell me again how I need to try harder, Kitten?”
You grasped and clawed at his shoulders for stability in the throes of pure ecstasy. “Oh god, not here Daddy!”
Roger chuckled, burying his face against your neck to get better access to all the sensitive skin to drag his teeth over. “That’s what you get for teasing me, Kitten,” he whispered, his breath falling in hot feathery wisps on your skin. “Now, you can finish me here and now, or I can make you come and give you a nice punishment when we get back to the flat tonight.”
“I swear I’ll finish you,” you panted. “Please.”
Roger smirked, removing his fingers from your cunt, leaving them saturated. He pressed them to your lips. “Suck them clean,” he commanded, popping them into your mouth before your brain could register what was going on. “Hopefully this’ll teach you not to get mouthy with me.”
You hummed, wrapping your lips around each finger as he pumped them in and out of your mouth until they were all clean, wishing they were still buried in your dripping snatch. You swore your thighs were a mess by that point. But it didn’t matter. You had to let Roger believe that he was getting exactly what he wanted from you – it was all part of the plan.
You grabbed his hand and started wandering ahead, but Roger stayed firmly rooted to the spot. 
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“We need to find some privacy, Roger. We can’t  do that right here,” you whispered.
“Can’t we?” Roger smirked, nodding towards a short wall in the dark recesses of the cellar. “Pretty sure that’s private enough.”
You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. If it beat any more violently, it might have burst right out. You walked slowly behind the wall and got to your knees for the second time that day as Roger joined you, hastily tugging down his zipper and pulling out his cock.
Roger wasn’t planning on playing nice. Grabbing the back of your hair with one hand, while the other wrapped around the base of his cock, he looked down and smirked. “Now, be a good girl and open that gorgeous mouth of yours.”
Before you knew it, he had bottomed out; the tip pushing at the back of your throat. You gagged and spluttered and fumbled for something to steady yourself. You clung to Roger’s thighs for dear life. The pace he had set for you was utterly blistering. The kind of face fucking that instantly sent mascara cascading down your cheeks, and great, long strings of saliva dripping from your chin and on to your chest. The sounds of you gagging on his cock alone were disgustingly lewd; even concealed behind the tiny wall, if a rogue tourist happened upon the cellar, they’d hear the pair of you and know straight away what you were getting up to.
“Such a good little slut, aren’t you Kitten?” he sighed, thrusting into your mouth with reckless abandon and no consideration for the state of your hair, or your makeup. “I love girls who do as they’re told.”
The words pouring from his mouth were sheer filth and it went straight to your cunt. You  couldn’t resist reaching down to get yourself off.
But then, Roger tugged you off his cock. Right before any kind of pleasure registered in your brain.
“I didn’t say you could come, did I, Kitten?” he scolded.
You were still panting, trying to suck some air into your lungs, relishing the brief reprieve he offered from his onslaught. Your brain was so cloudy that words weren’t on the agenda.
“Let’s play a game, shall we?” he purred with a sadistic edge. “You get to play with that tight   little cunt of yours, and I get to come wherever I like. How does that sound?”
“Sounds reasonable,” you sighed with a delirious smile, your hand returning to your torture, tense cunt. But Roger’s grip on the back of your head pulled your gaze right back up to him.
“There’s one other thing, though, Kitten. Are you listening?”
“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed.
“Wherever I decide to come, you’re not allowed to clean it off until we’ve walked around the entire castle. So you better hope that mouth of yours pleases me, or it’ll be going on that beautiful face of yours.”
You moaned  hearing those words. Was he really serious? 
You didn’t care. You continued to play with yourself, dutifully opening your mouth to take his cock again.
“Can you imagine what everyone would think if they saw you with spunk dripping down your face, darling?” He groaned; he seemed to know the exact things to say to have you teetering on the edge in seconds flat. “Or maybe I could  fuck you. You love feeling it drip down those thighs, don’t you, Kitten?”
Now that was an idea, you thought. Your eyes popped open with enthusiasm as you gave an approving mewl.
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you Kitten?” he taunted, his cock hellbent on making your jaw ache. “Tell me how much you want it.”
Of course you couldn’t manage that. Words were impossible when you were gagged by that thick rod of his stuck down your throat. But that didn’t stop you trying, gurgling a comical, “Fuck me please Daddy,” through the unrelenting mouthful.
“So cute,” he teased. “I didn’t quite catch that, Kitten.”
“Oh my god,” you gurgled again, “please fuck me Daddy.”
Roger laughed, yanking you off his cock. He spoke to you like you were a gorgeous little simpleton – slowly, annunciating every syllable. “English, please, Kitten. Tell me again.”
“Please fuck me,” you whined, your hand working overtime between your thighs. 
Then, panic set in. Roger wasn’t focusing on you anymore. Instead, he was busy looking around as the sound of footsteps grew closer. He quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and offered you a hand up.
Your stomach dropped with disappointment.
You quickly wiped the drool off your chin, and power walked out of the cellar and on to the next exhibit in the castle, red face and both of you so frustrated by each other’s teasing that you might have exploded just from walking and holding hands in awkward silence. “Where to next?” you asked him.
“Maybe we should try the armoury?” he sighed. “Might be a bit less busy.”
Clamouring up several flights of stone and wooden steps, you and Roger were horrified to find that the jewel in the crown of Montreux’s most famed tourist attractions in peak season was completely packed. Small children ran amuck in the armoury, enjoying the view and playing around with the wooden toy canons.
It was a sight that could’ve made you and Roger cry.
“Right! Back on the boat,” Roger ordered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jeans and bolting down the wooden steps towards the courtyard.
You struggled to keep up with him as he walked down the stony path towards the jetty to catch the next boat back to Montreux.
“I can’t fucking believe that,” Roger complained. “I was so fucking ready to …”
“Shag my brains out?” you laughed.
Roger’s features changed from bitter frustration to mild agreement, and even, a small meek smile. “Yeah.”
“Where to next,” you began, draping your arm over his shoulder, “Daddy?”
He flicked his eyes over to you and with a devilish smirk, he made his suggestion. “There’s a really good bar on the promenade. And I don’t think they’d bat an eyelid about people shagging in their toilets.”
You laughed, slapping his chest as the boat set sail. You were so ready to give up on the game you were playing. “Haven’t we had enough near misses today?”
“Oh I’m sorry,” Roger began, stepping on to the boat, “I thought we were doing the whole public sex thing now, because my girlfriend’s just realised she’s a bit of a freak!”
You plonked yourself down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I am, but sometimes, you  have to make it about the soft stuff, you know?”
Roger raised an eyebrow in suspicion.
“I’m kidding! Where is this bar you were talking about? It better be good!”
“Drinks are on me, Kitten,” he said softly, patting your thigh.
You and Roger burst into the opulent bathroom at Funky Claude’s with the verve and roguish impatience of a pair of horny teenagers. You giggled, casting an eye over the decadent restroom to make sure no one was there, before bundling Roger into a stall.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you laughed, hiking your dress up around your hips and planting your hands firmly against the wall at the back of the cubicle. 
“Me neither,” Roger responded. This was followed by the hasty unzipping of his jeans, for the third and hopefully final time that day. He spat on his fingers and dragged them over your cunt, still sensitive and glistening invitingly from the torture Roger had bestowed upon you at the castle. 
You groaned as Roger eased into you. The way he stretched you tight around his girth and stilled for just a split second made you eagerly clench around him. It didn’t do much. But that was ok. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he finally began to move in tedious passes, every back and forth filled the tiny bathroom stall with slick sounds that would have given the game away, should someone have wandered in while you were mid rut. 
Roger’s hips snapped into you with a jagged, purposeful intent, that made you curse and brace harder against the wall in front of you. He clung to your waist with his chest firmly glued to your back, hunching over you like an animal. “Such a tight  cunt,” he moaned against your neck. “Touch it for me. Touch your cunt for me, Kitten.”
Those words made your entire body shudder with need. “You do it, Daddy,” you whined.
He chuckled and wrapped one hand around your throat. His free hand slipped between your thighs, seeking out the sensitive little nub he had taken so much pleasure in teasing so harshly before.
Your nails clawed at the wall as another wave ripped through your body. You cursed, loud and unchecked as Roger did his best to bring you to the edge as fast as possible.
But then, you heard the gentle swish of the swing doors to the bathroom. You and Roger stopped dead. His hand moved from your neck to your mouth and his lips pressed to your ear again. “Shhh,” he said, moving his cock painfully slow in. And out.
You blinked and looked around, as if somehow it would make your ears work a bit better in an attempt to track the person’s movements in the stall next to yours. You could hear them shuffle their jeans down. And you heard the stream of urine whizzing out of their bladder. And then their zipper. And a flush. And the taps.
All while Roger continued to fuck you so slowly it made you ache.
Nothing could prepare you for when the hand dryer roared to life. He moved at double the pace as when you were alone, pounding you like he was in heat; his fingers doing the same on your clit until your body convulsed and a loud, pleasure dripping moan escaped you, masked by your fellow bathroom goer drying their hands off after taking a piss.
When they finally left, Roger gave three sharp thrusts, punctuated by guttural grunts with his teeth planted in your shoulder. You could feel him dripping out of you as the pair of you stood there in silence, sandwiched together in your post romp comedown.
“Fuck,” you giggled, making his seed ooze down your thighs as you turned to him. “Can you believe we almost got caught?” Your cheeks burned with humiliation. “Do you think they realised?”
Roger shrugged, tucking his cock back into his tight blue jeans. “It was your idea, Kitten,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “And I for one, actually liked it.”
“That’s reassuring,” you quipped, balling up a wad of toilet paper.
Roger leaned back against the cubicle door and watched, mesmerised as you cleaned yourself up in front of him. Even for you, this was a new level of personal space invasion. 
“Staying for drinks?” he asked casually.
You got up and flushed the toilet then turned to him with a wide grin. “Do you think the people out there realised the two of us just blasted in and shagged in their toilets?”
“It probably happens more than you might think,” he shrugged. He turned and unbolted the door, throwing a glance back at you over his shoulder. “You finish titivating yourself and I’ll get them in. They’ve got a great cocktail menu.”
“Will do,” you sighed, following him out of the cubicle and wandering over to the mirror. Mascara was caked around your lashline from Roger’s earlier efforts at putting your mouth to good use and your lipstick was smudged, leaving only your lipliner intact. Not only that but the blistering August sun had made your foundation cling to all those tiny lines on your face that you didn’t want to admit you had. You opened your bag and fished out your make up to try and fix the damage. Your hair would require a bit more effort. Roger loved it messy, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to bear being seen in a fancy place like this with a raging crow’s nest atop your head. And you weren’t even sure you packed a brush. Snapping the emergency hair tie you wore on your wrist, you reckoned that desperate times called for desperate measures, and scooped your hair up into a high ponytail, hoping to god that Roger wouldn’t get the wrong idea and get another boner for you to take care of tonight. Then you swiped on some lipstick, blended out your mascara and your foundation and blotted on some powder to take the shine off. It never ceased to amaze you the wonders that five minutes in a quiet bathroom could do as you puckered up your lips to blot the excess rouge off. You topped it all off with some perfume and you were good to go.
Roger waited patiently at the bar, seductively sucking an olive from a cocktail stick and eyeing the cocktail menu from over the frames of his glasses. His shirt sat askew and his hair stuck up in all directions, but somehow he fitted right in with the opulence of a place like this. You could  tell he was a big deal. Sometimes, it took your breath away and made the butterflies resurface all over again, remembering that he was yours and no one else’s.
His eyes lit up when he saw you wander over to him from across the crowded room. Like two strangers on an awkward first date, unsure of how to approach each other. But pleased they had found themselves in the same place at the same time.
For some reason, putting one foot in front of the other was much more troublesome in this situation. Not from a day of wandering around Montreux, but from sheer nerves. Feeling your chest burn, you noticed all eyes in the room were on you; you ran your fingers through your ponytail, smoothed down your dress, and sucked your teeth to make sure nothing was stuck between them. Your heart thudded, wondering what exactly was wrong with you. Why were these people staring?
“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a dump like this?” Roger smirked when you finally reached him.
“Fella done me wrong,” you joked, hoisting yourself up on the stool next to him. You stole an olive from the dish in front of him, and elbowed his side.
Roger scanned the room at the people who stared at you. Not looking at you, he smiled. “You’re a real head turner, darling.”
“That’s probably you…” you paused, thinking of your next move. 
Why not go with it? 
This was the perfect backdrop to the most perfect date you could imagine. Admiring Roger in the glow from the low-hanging lamps over the bar, you asked him your burning question. “Would you like some company for the night?”
Roger turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. He slapped his hand on your thigh and said, “Only if you’ll let me buy you a drink, beautiful.” 
He was playing along.
You scooted closer to him, peering over his shoulder to read the menu in his hands, laughing quietly at the names. “I like the sound of a ‘Money,’” you said, pointing to the page.
“I’m loving this ‘Let’s Dance’ one,” Roger replied. “You know, darling, I’m actually friends with Bowie.”
You knew this. You had seen David’s number pop up on Roger’s phone on numerous occasions, and the comments they’d leave on each others’ Instagram posts. But for the sake of going along with your perfect first date, you widened your eyes in shock. Over played, hammy, fake shock. “Really? What’s he like?”
“Oh he’s great. Peculiar guy. Cracking wardrobe.”
“So are you famous or something?” you pressed, beaming at him.
The bartender ducked between you and Roger – he looked like something out of a 1920’s speakeasy, complete with black armband, suspenders and a moustache. “Monsieur Taylor – que désirez-vous?”
Roger stumbled for a moment, with an um and an ah and then, in perfect French he ordered. “Je voudrais un Money, et pour la dame, une Let’s Dance s’il vous plait.”
“D’accord Monsieur.”
Something about Roger speaking French went straight to your legs; or rather, the spot between them. “You haven’t answered my question,” you prodded, looking visibly flustered by Roger’s linguistic prowess, and squeezing your thighs together for good measure.
“You could say that, darling,” he said, shovelling a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I’m the drummer in a rock band.”
“Oh so you’re a rockstar?” you cooed. “Will I have heard of you?”
“I don’t know, darling. Ever heard of Queen? We’re kind of a big deal,” he boasted in a charmingly modest fashion.
“So that’s where I’ve seen you!” you said with wide eyes. “Personally, I’ve always thought they were kind of shit.”
Roger didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead he did that thing he usually did, where he desperately moved his lips as his usually sharp and nimble brain played a game of catchup. It lasted a few awkward seconds where all you wanted to do was to break character and yell ‘kidding’ at him. But eventually, he changed the subject. “What brings you to Montreux, darling?” he asked, resting his head against his hand as he leaned on the bar and gazed adoringly at you.
“Just some bloke, really,” you sighed.
“Really? And here was me thinking I had a chance,” he pouted. “What’s your man like?”
You lowered your eyebrows and flashed him a smile that made him instantly wish he had never even asked that question. “Well,” you hummed, “he’s lovely. I met him on Tinder, and if you ask me, he’s far too old to be on there. But anyway, I let all that slide. Gave him a chance.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because he’s everything I could ever want. Shorter than I thought from his pictures, though. Still tall enough. Handsome. Great dress sense. He’s surprisingly intelligent, considering how beautiful he is. And, here’s the kicker. He has the most devilish, vile sense of humour I’ve ever encountered.”
“He sounds like a catch,” Roger sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“He is. I’ve only been with him a short while and he’s completely changed my life for the better. I’m so much more confident because of him. But anyway, why are you here?” you asked, turning to face him and shuffling in your seat.
“A woman.”
“What’s she like?”
“Well, she’s the polar opposite of my ex wife and the kind of woman I should’ve married. So sensible and carefree at the same time. And she really makes me want to be better, you know? I never felt like I could have a life with my ex wife. But this girl. God, she’s got me thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ve missed the boat with all the settling down business. I hope not. Because she’s all I want.”
“And yet you’re in a fancy bar, buying a strange girl a very overpriced drink?” you asked with a wink.
“I think we’ve met before,” he sighed, closing his eyes ever so slightly.
“I think so too,” you said.
Roger turned his gaze towards the bartender, watching him as he made your drinks. You could barely hear the sounds that came out of his mouth. But his lips sure as hell looked like they were saying something important. 
Like: “I love you.”
>> NEXT >>
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soveryanon · 4 years ago
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Reviewing time for MAG166!
- It still amuses me that the end of the season 4 put to the foreground that the architecture of the Fears was extremely subjective, a way to try to perceive and describe them that wasn’t exactly it since they’re fundamentally indivisible… and yet Jon is back to using the division. It makes sense! The list of fourteen was, after all, used in Jonah’s incantation as he made it so that fourteen facets would reshape our world, with Beholding on top (MAG160: “all that is fear, and all that is terror, and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!”); the fact that Jon was marked by these fourteen, and the fact that Jon had an understanding of the Fears as a divisionto in fourteen, also probably influenced the way they reshaped reality into what it is now. We see the lines blurring (the “trenches” with sprinkles of Desolation, Corruption, Buried; the “sick village” with bits of Beholding fears and Lonely existence; the carousel with the logic of The Hunt; maybe a bit of Desolation with this one), but it also seems like Jon&Martin will have to experience thirteen domains before reaching the place The Eye is at its more powerful, The Panopticon/Institute? Jon said he knew what he was doing, he’s been gradually describing the process a bit more, and he’s still using the Smirke designations:
(MAG162) MARTIN: Back to the Archives? ARCHIVIST: Seems the best place to start. [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] MARTIN: Uh… Y–eah, alright! [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: Martin… It’s going to be a hard journey.
(MAG163) ARCHIVIST: It means the journey will be the journey, regardless of how we choose to make it. […] You could see that tower from anywhere on Earth. And it can see you. And if you walk towards it, eventually you’ll get there. But you have to go through everything in-between. […] MARTIN: What do you mean, “everything”? What’s out here? ARCHIVIST: […] Nightmares. [BANG IN THE DISTANCE] Come on – that trench is our first.
(MAG164) MARTIN: How much further do we still need to go? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: A long way. Through many dark and awful places…
(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them. […] You might want to take a bit of a walk. This… feels like a strange one… [LOUDER SCREAMS IN THE DISTANCE] MARTIN: What does “strange” mean, with something like this? […] I kinda want to hear that tape now, see how artistic The Stranger actually is.
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: I… It’s hard to put into words. Loo–l… [SIGH] Look, we can talk about it later, we’re– coming to a… “domain of The Buried”, and [STATIC RISES] I would really rather… […] [LONG EXHALE] God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.
Since Jon told Martin the trenches were their “first” nightmare, the cabin didn’t count. So we got The Slaughter, through The War and butchery; The Corruption, through fungi and paranoia/xenophobia (the sick love and hate, the sense of community turned wrong); The Stranger, through the carousel, the identity-stealing and the loss of self; The Buried, through limitations, poverty and the crush of a system only allowing for unobtainable hope – The Stranger and The Buried even being namedropped outside of the statements. So what “rips”, what “crawls”, what “hides” and what “chokes”.
Still remaining: what “blinds” (Dark), what “falls” (Vast), what “twists” (Spiral), what “leaves” (Lonely), what “weaves” (Web), what “burns” (Desolation), what “hunts” (Jonah didn’t even bother finding a synonym for The Hunt, uh.), what “bleeds” (Flesh) and what “dies” (End). And we already got glimpses of the Spiral and Web’s activities through Helen and Annabelle. I think the hardest for Jon and Martin, given their own life-experiences, will probably be The Web and The Lonely? Though given that Annabelle is finally revealing herself, it might be a way to get them the Web-experience without going through a physical domain (though if there is one, I’d still bank on Hill Top Road on their way to the Panopticon).
- Same thing as in MAG164, where the enemies were “pigs” and “rats” and thus had animal’s faces to the other side’s eyes: people felt like “worms” during their lives, so were turned into beings which operated like ones:
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “When had the crushing pressure in his chest become literal? When had the empty promise of the horizon finally vanished completely, replaced by the pitch darkness of this ‘forever wall of earth’? […] His existence was static, and eternal. […] But these things, grim and fearful as they were, were not unfamiliar. The aching hunger was not new, not simply a gift of the eager soil. He had flashes of an empty belly not assuaged by hands, cracked and calloused from long, grim hours of labour. There was a shadow in his mind of sleepless nights, spent toiling, tired and shaking, desperate for some relief from the relentless pressure that crushed the life of the man who had been Sam – before he was a worm. And a worm he surely was, for what else could spasm, crawling limbless through the ground, millimetre by millimetre, making its lonely way towards some secret destination no human could understand? Perhaps he did still have arms or legs or the luxury of both; but down here, it was impossible to tell, pressed so close together that to draw a line between a torso and a folded, bending limb was pointless. If it moves like a worm, thinks like a worm, and screams its awful agonies towards the distant taunting sky like a worm… well. The conclusion is obvious.”
(I… didn’t mentally represent them as “worms” in my mind, but really like humans who had bent and discoloured due to the lack of sun and the conditions they were living in.)
So, nightmare logic, in which metaphors and similes (people who were condemned to poverty, stagnation and a crushing life of debt) become literal, and reshape people’s world.
This season reaaaaaally isn’t escapism (and is even plain unpleasant/disgusting at times for me) when it comes to inter-personal violence, with victims consistently furthering other victims’ misery: soldiers killing each other while trying to alleviate their own pain and nurses turning their backs on the injured (MAG163), villagers blaming “foreigners” for the village’s misery, telling on each other to protect themselves and burning the targeted person as retribution/protection (MAG164), fair-goers salvaging and robbing each other of shards of identity to alleviate their own pain (MAG165), people tearing each other to pieces to try and improve their chance of “climbing” to a better place (MAG166). It’s, honestly, the aspect that makes me the most uneasy this season, and “sweet” JonMartin moments don’t really help at all to alleviate these upsetting bits – I’m not really feeling “fear” or “horror” (mostly disgust and discomfort), and Jon&Martin being cosy and domestic just feels… out of place and almost disrespectful at times, honestly…? ;; (It doesn’t really work as a ��compensation” or as a way to try to erase the aftertaste when people are still suffering and living hell…)
However, this episode did assuage my concerns a bit regarding what is truly condemned, what is truly held responsible, and where the narration seems to be standing in regards to accountability:
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: [EXHALE] [STATIC RISES] “Down; down; down, down. [STATIC FADES] Down below the earth, there was a worm. He had not always been a worm, of course, but time and tide and life had pushed him to it. His name, he dimly recalled, was Sam; and he was, as definitely always had been the case… trapped. Boarded on all sides with no escape, and no recourse. Even in his faint and fading memories of a life that wasn’t simply stone and rancid, reeking soil, he wasn’t sure he’d ever known a thing that might be called freedom. […] Poor Sam has no way to know his neighbour’s name is Richard, that he once struggled in a life as hard and desperate as his own. That his dreams of the light, and painful screaming climb towards it, is just as keen and gruelling. All that matters is that this new worm is facing up; and Sam, because of how he entered the tunnel, is facing down. How do you fight, when you cannot move beyond the slowest inching crawl, without limbs or weapons or the kinetic force of violence? You do it slowly, pressing, biting; tearing gradually through each other until at the very end… one of you is still. There is no light, for Sam is faced away from it and blocking it from his opponent. But even were it bathed in stark illumination, no one could have said for sure where the sticky mud ended and the ragged, bloody faces began. A cloying mass of teeth and tears and torn skin, as two terrified victims… slowly chew through each other, over a distant hope that neither would ever be allowed to achieve. When it is done, Richard is dead, or quiet enough as makes no difference, and the tunnel belongs to Sam. It is identical to the one that he has left, in all ways other than that he had to do an awful thing to get it. And still, he faces downwards. […] But at last, Sam has his victory: he has claimed another tunnel, and he can see the light. Perhaps this one will be better, will let him squirm up higher. But underneath is still that lurking fear that maybe… it is worse. [RAIN BEGINS TO FALL, HARSHLY] The truth is plain enough, though, even as he fights so hard not to know it – there is no difference. [THE BURIED SONG FADES] And as the rains begin to fall once again, he knows the world will never let him escape the depths to which he has fallen. Better to keep him Buried, neatly away.”
I felt that the pity was more obvious than in previous statements, and it tied in neatly with Helen’s and Jon’s explanations of how the new world operates: that there is a system, feeding on people’s pain and suffering, creating circumstances in which their options are reduced to causing more harm or allowing others to inflict it on them, but that fundamentally, the system feeds from it, is dependant on it, and is at fault in the first place. I was really really fearing that we were heading towards a “oh, actually, it’s HUMAN NATURE, and HUMANS ARE FUNDAMENTALLY BAD” conclusion, but no, this episode made clearer that the series is still on the “side” of humans – and denouncing oppressive systems that rely on their suffering, orchestrate everything to squeeze it out of them, pit them against each other and make collaborative efforts impossible. Yes, in the story, Richard would rightfully have grievance to have been gored by Sam; but Sam didn’t get any benefit out of it (outside of surviving a bit longer), unlike The Buried and The Eye (who put them there and are fed by their distress). Jon spitting “God, I hate The Buried.” afterwards highlighted that he was extremely conscious of it.
… It does however raise a few questions regarding avatars’ and monsters’ own accountability, and I felt like Jon’s discomfort this episode might lead towards more in that regard (but more about this later). I’m also a bit ;; going back to being worried about how season 5 will end: I’m not that much “worried” over Jon and Martin meeting a tragic end (it’s a given anyway, and they’re main characters, I’m fine with that), but I’m concerned about humanity as a whole. How do you go back to normal after living these nightmares of tearing each other down? Can you even do that? And, if the system is at fault: it would feel very odd if the outcome were for Jon, outside-of-the-box yet a necessary gear in the system, to be the one to undo it and fix everything (only someone inside of the system could undo it and be a Saviour to all of humanity? Suuuper weird). I’m thinking more and more than… no, there won’t be anything, no way to “fix” this and to separate the Fears from people, and either people will be stuck like this forever, either Jon will (accidentally or not) provoke an Extinction cataclysm to free them from their misery – which is… well, “main characters get to decide the fate of all humanity” is honestly not my cup of tea. The most hopeful scenario I can picture is Jon creating enough of a fracture to allow people to regain some agency in the nightmares, allowing them to collaborate and to fight against the fears on their own, but I’m really not sure. There was a big theme in the episode of The Buried relying on the hope that things could get better, pushing you towards an unreachable goal only to rob it from you and basking in your misery before the process begins again – it’s… uncannily fitting to Jon&Martin’s current quest, their hope of managing to do something about the apocalypse.
- On a lighter note: so we finally know why the Coffin sang when it rained!!
(MAG002, Joshua Gillespie) “It was almost… melodious. It sounded almost like singing, if it was muffled by twenty feet of hard-packed soil. At first I thought it might have been coming from one of the other flats in my building, but as it went on, and the hairs on my arms began to stand on end I knew, I just knew, where it was coming from. I walked to the living room and stood in the doorway, watching as the sealed wooden box continued to moan its soft, musical sound out at the rain. […] And so it continued for a few months. Whatever was in the casket would scratch at anything placed on top of it and moan whenever it rained, and that was that.”
(MAG101) [LOW BACKGROUND SOUNDS, POSSIBLY VOCAL; VOICES SOUND AS IF SOMEWHERE BELOW GROUND] […] NIKOLA: Now could you two please move that thing somewhere far, far away? BREEKON: Not really. HOPE: Needs to be near us. NIKOLA: Well, just… just move yourselves away, and take it with you. BREEKON: Gotcha HOPE: Right you are. [CHAINS RATTLE AS THEY PICK UP THE COFFIN AND DEPART; CHORAL HUM FADES, REPLACED BY BACKGROUND SOUND OF RAIN OUTSIDE, SOMEWHERE]
(MAG132) DAISY: I, I, I can’t move, I can’t… and I can’t… breathe, and… ARCHIVIST: Oh god… DAISY: [LABOURED] Just… alone, I, I think… I think… I hear this, sometimes, s–singing, when it’s, uh, when it’s wet, or, or scratching, trying to get out… but I don’t… I don’t th… don’t think there is anyone… there; it’s… it’s just, just me… ‘till now.
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: “Until the rains begin to fall. The rains fall here as they do so many places in this new world: thick, and oily drops that taste of bitter salt; torrential tears plummeting from the watching sky, thumping and squelching onto the thirsty soil in which the worms writhe painfully towards a surface that does not want them. [THE BURIED SONG BEGINS, RISING IN INTENSITY] The ground softens. Shifts. And starts to slip and flow into a torrent of black mud. [RUMBLE OF THUNDER] Deep below, Sam feels rain begin to drip upon his forehead, and he knows exactly what it means. He wants to scream again, but he is so tired by his ascent that the only sound he can produce is a low, defeated wail. And as has happened so many times before in his poor defeated life, he feels the walls begin to shift and soften, as the slippery flood pushes him down; down; [MUFFLED THUMP] down. [MUFFLED THUMP] Deeper, perhaps, than he has ever been before, so deep the light is almost gone, but never is the darkness fully complete.”
Same as the calliope music last episode, I really wasn’t expecting to hear the Coffin song again. And it was the echoing “defeated wail(s)” of people trapped inside of it, knowing they would get their hopes once again crushed by the rain pushing them back down. (So Daisy&Jon probably contributed to the song when they were whimpering because of the pressure getting worse, in MAG132…)
- I love (and cry about) how the Coffin expedition remains a lingering trauma for Jon – he was marked by all fourteen, but it really feels like out of them, Mr. Spider, Jane Prentiss and the Coffin impacted him the most in the entire show?
(MAG132) ARCHIVIST: Right, hum… [CLEARS THROAT] Uh… [STATIC] H–how are you feeling? DAISY: Uh… Scared. I–I’m, I’m, I’m scared. I’ve been scared the whole time here. Not just when it’s, when it’s cr–crushing, when it f–fills your, y–your mouth with d–dirt… I–it knows when to stop, wh–when to ea–ease back, so you don’t… don’t lose it or, or grow numb… L–leaves you terrified for when it s–starts a–again and, wh–when it does, you, you’re s–scared that it’ll… n–never–never stop… I thought, thought I’d… I’d ne–never see the s–sky again, never… never s–see Basira…
(MAG133) ARCHIVIST: And give Daisy a break. She was there eight months. [EXHALE] I was only in there for three days, and I– BASIRA: Yeah, I know. I just…
(MAG136) DAISY: [QUICKLY] You’re not babysitting me, alright?! I know that’s what the others think, sometimes, but… that’s not it. I just… don’t like… being on my own if I can help it. You know. Flashbacks, panic attacks, the usual. Just trying to avoid it if I can. ARCHIVIST: I know, Daisy, I–I do. It’s hard.
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: [LONG EXHALE] … God, I hate The Buried. [DEEP BREATHS] … End recording.
;; Of course Jon would be most sensible to The Buried’s logic of repeatedly giving hope and denying a positive outcome: he was deeply impacted by it although he “only” experienced it for three days (so. It was really bad.), and it might uncomfortably resonate with his current journey – after all, Jon and Martin are heading towards the Archives in the hope that they could fix the mess, without any certainty that they will be able to. It’s making them move forwards. But it has also been stated in MAG162 that The Eye wanted Jon/the Archive to “emerge” from the cabin – what if Jon&Martin were only pushed to make that journey, motivated by hope, just to further entertain Beholding when there is no chance in the first place that they could ever succeed?
- I really appreciated how Jon’s outburst mirrored the first time he had revealed his true feelings about his situation to Martin, back in season 1:
(MAG039) ARCHIVIST: I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real. Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe… thirty, forty that are… that go on tape. Now those, I believe, at least for the most part. MARTIN: Then why do you– ARCHIVIST: Because I’m scared, Martin! Because when I record these statements it feels… it feels like I’m being watched. I… I lose myself a bit. And then when I come back, it’s like… like if I admit there may be any truth to it, whatever’s watching will… know somehow. The scepticism, feigning ignorance. It just felt safer. MARTIN: Well… It wasn’t. ARCHIVIST: No. No, it wasn’t.
(MAG166) MARTIN: Sure! Okay, that’s… I mean, that’s really not that complicated, Jon – I don’t see why you were being so coy about it! ARCHIVIST: [OVERLAPPING] Because I’m ashamed, Martin. MARTIN: … “Ashamed”? ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]
Jon keeping it all in until it’s too much, until Martin probes him and he has to explain the actual feelings motivating him. Back then, the “worms” were The Hive threatening them from outside the safe room, an enemy and an invader which hurt and killed people; back then, Jon was assuming that there was nothing left of Jane Prentiss as a person, and that it was just a monster going after them. Now… the “worms” are miserable people, pressured by exterior forces feeding from them, pushed to do terrible things for survival and hope, right under their feet. Enough of an echo, but enough to also highlight how the main “enemy” seems to have shifted, from punctual monsters to the Fear-machinery itself?
- I spent the whole time since MAG142 not-super-fond-of-Jon, and I’m surprised that this episode made me genuinely side with him so much! Mostly, he said things that I have been needing to hear from him? It worked better on me than the previous moments Jon had expressed guilt about his new abilities and what had happened:
(MAG161) MARTIN: Well, just as well I don’t remember my dreams. ARCHIVIST: I do. MARTIN: Uh– What? ARCHIVIST: They… I see most of the suffering around here. When it’s quiet, it just… it’s like… I can see it, like I’m watching all of it. MARTIN: You haven’t been opening the curtains? ARCHIVIST: No, I don’t need to. “It” can see us here, and… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] And I can see out as well. MARTIN: O–kay, we’ll just file that under… ominous, for now. […] Jon, it’s not your fault… ARCHIVIST: Martin, can we not do this again. MARTIN: Sorry. ARCHIVIST: I’m just… I’m mourning a world I killed…! MARTIN: I know… ARCHIVIST: And we’re all trapped in its rotting corpse…! MARTIN: [FIRMLY] Enough, Jon.
(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: Look, I’ve no interest in your… gloating. HELEN: What would I have to gloat about? Much as I am delighted by this brave new world in which we find ourselves, I can take no credit for it. This was all… you! ARCHIVIST: You could’ve–! … You knew what was happening. […] HELEN: Oh, such devotion…! You really don’t deserve it. But of course… you know that already! [LAUGHS AND LAUGHS, ECHOING] This is nice! I am really glad we get to spend some proper, quality time together now.
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] MARTIN: … Ssso, are we going to talk about it…? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] MARTIN: Or…? [FOOTSTEPS STOP] [BAG JOSTLING] ARCHIVIST: What’s to talk about. MARTIN: What happened back there? What you did to Sa– … ARCHIVIST: Go on. Say it. MARTIN: … What you did to “that thing”. ARCHIVIST: I… killed it! [SILENCE] I… finally have the power; so I killed it! […] MARTIN: Sure! Okay, that’s… I mean, that’s really not that complicated, Jon – I don’t see why you were being so coy about it! ARCHIVIST: [OVERLAPPING] Because I’m ashamed, Martin. MARTIN: … “Ashamed”? ARCHIVIST: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I… destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it; the fact that… I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please; the fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are… so many others, that I still want to revenge myself on! [EXHALE]
Obviously, I don’t blame Jon for having been used to unleash the apocalypse; but I’m still relieved to know that he feels guilty about it, and, more importantly here, that he’s uncomfortable with his current situation. Because Jon, even if he didn’t actively pursue that goal, even if he didn’t embrace being an agent of Beholding relying on other people’s pain (whether he “chose” it or not is debatable since… Jon still made the “choice” of waking up in MAG121, and had enough information at the time to know what that was meant to encompass)… still is. He’s still feeding from this world, operating through it, able to know everything he wants. He’s not trapped in one of the nightmares, forced to go to War, or taken over by fungus, or prisoner of the gory carousel, or buried and crushed with no way to reach the sky. Jon was powerful enough to understand what the cabin was doing to him, and to leave it, and to go towards the Panopticon, and to observe the nightmares without being taken over by them:
(MAG163) MARTIN: J–J–Jon, Jon, w–we’re not alone. ARCHIVIST: I–ignore them, they’re not… Just ignore them. MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. […] They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die.
(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: We’re fine. MARTIN: A–are we? I mean, that place is– … I don’t, I don’t feel fine, okay, and you were there a long time doing your… y–you–your guidebook, which, you know, I get it, but that place is… I–it’s–it’s infectious, and, I don’t– ARCHIVIST: We’re not infected, Martin, that place, it– … It isn’t for us. […] MARTIN: Are we safe, traveling like this? ARCHIVIST: Yes… Yes, sort of, we’re… I don’t know how to phrase it, we’re… something between a pilgrim and a moth. We can walk through these little worlds of terror, watching them; separate, and untouched.
(MAG165) MARTIN: Just get back! [THUMP] NOT!SASHA: I can’t believe you’d decide to pass through my neighbourhood and not say hello, to – dear – old – Sasha. ARCHIVIST: Just ignore it, Martin. […] God forbid you actually catch us. NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: Doesn’t bear thinking about…! MARTIN: Jon, what are you talking about? NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: She can’t touch us. We’re so far beyond her now. NOT!SASHA: [FURIOUS SNARLS] ARCHIVIST: She’s just like everything else here, rules by The Eye. [CHUCKLING] And she hates it…!
Jon hasn’t mentioned getting “hungry” since the beginning of the season, and Jonah had announced that Jon would be tailored for this new world, and Jon has already demonstrated that, by his own nature, he is, more than anyone:
(MAG160, Jonah Magnus) “Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here – in the world that we have made.”
(Season 5 trailer) MARTIN: Are you still… [SIGH] “feeling it”? Seeing everything? ARCHIVIST: Yes, I, I’m trying not to, but… all of the fear, th–the anguish, i–it just… [INHALE] It keeps coming at me in waves, rolling over me, filling my head with such… awful sights. MARTIN: … I’m sorry. That sounds… [SMALL EXHALE] That sounds horrible. ARCHIVIST: … I wish it was, Martin. I really wish it was. … But it feels… right. [MIRTHLESS HUFF]
(MAG161) MARTIN: Jon, I… This isn’t healthy. ARCHIVIST: Healthy? I am an avatar of voyeuristic terror, whose unquestioned craving for knowledge has condemned the entire world… to an eternity of torment, “healthy” i–isn’t, i–it’s not…! MARTIN: Fine–fine. I get it. [CREAKING SOUND] ARCHIVIST: … Besides… G… [SHAKY EXHALE] Grief… is healthy. I–if nothing else, it pushes away the other feelings that that… thing wants me to experience.
(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: This cabin. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It’s not right. And, when I thought that, I–I felt… It, it all poured out of me down… into the tape. MARTIN: [SIGH] ARCHIVIST: A–a–an–and it… felt good. It–it felt… right.
(MAG163) MARTIN: … How do you know all this stuff? [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Not sure…! I just do.
(MAG164) MARTIN: A–alright, but… but how do you know that– ARCHIVIST: I just do. I just know it. [SILENCE] [SHUFFLING] MARTIN: You’ve been knowing a lot lately. ARCHIVIST: … Yes. MARTIN: A lot more than you used to. ARCHIVIST: Y… [SIGH] Yeah. And it, it feels more… deliberate. L–like I have more control now. MARTIN: Okay. So… how much can you see? What else do you know? ARCHIVIST: Uh… Maybe everything…! MARTIN: What’d you mean, “everything”? ARCHIVIST: I don’t… Ask me a question. O–one I can’t… possibly know already. […] HELEN: Hello, Jon! [FOOTSTEPS] [THE DOOR CREAKS CLOSE] ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] How did you find us? HELEN: Oh! I thought you’d know everything by this point. […] And please: my name is “Helen”. ARCHIVIST: Like you said, I can know everything now. Including how much of a lie that really is. HELEN: Don’t mistake “complication” for “falsehood”, dear Archivist.
(MAG165) MARTIN: But. You said we needed to go through these places. … Is that even going to work here? ARCHIVIST: Uh… [EXHALE] We need to go through them… metaphorically. MARTIN: Mm… ! ARCHIVIST: Psychologically, we need to… “experience” them.
(MAG166) HELEN: We’re all here, Martin. The Stranger; The Buried; The Desolation; all of us. But The Eye still rules. All this fear is being performed for its benefit. And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are afraid. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.
Sure, Jon needs to “pour out” into the tapes when they’re near a domain, but it takes fifteen minutes and it is done. He has a way to fix that discomfort.
So: yes, not responsible. But I still needed him to feel guilt about it, to feel ill-at-ease with his status as an “observer” (especially the outburst about being a “fucking tourist”: because YES, it’s extremely uncomfortable to hear him narrate these pockets of people’s suffering so he himself can feel better, untouched by it, lightly bantering with Martin?), to still reject his own enjoyment because he continues to cling to a moral compass (inflicting pain, even on a monster, shouldn’t feel good and satisfying), to be afraid of what he can do with his powers. Helen was right that “guilt” and “sadness” alone didn’t prevent Jon from doing terrible things last season (he felt guilty about attacking people, yet still concealed it, still clung to the hope that it wasn’t really him doing that… and did nothing to prevent further victims. There should have been only one victim of it at most, not five); but in that situation, it was also guilt and disgust that prevented him from embracing it like Helen had done, and from just accepting it as his new reality. Guilt, grief and sadness are not ideal, sure, but what would be the alternative? Indifference?
- ;; Really glad that Jon is not happy about what he did to the Not!Them and what it implied, because the circumstances in which he did… were terrifying.
* Jon had just established to Martin that the Not!Them couldn’t reach them, could only taunt, that it was stuck in a situation it hated, “ruled by The Eye”. It wasn’t a threat to them.
* Jon didn’t use his powers against it because it was hurting innocents – Jon turned against it because it was taunting him about Sasha. Jon did out of an outburst of flaring anger, disregarding everything else (and might have made its victims’ situation even worse, since the carousel was creaking in a dangerous-sounding way when they ran off).
* It was a personal revenge and Jon… spent half of season 4 with Daisy. Jon knows intimately how personal revenge and killing monsters tend to turn you into a monster, how it’s never-ending, how you can’t both be judge and executioner. (Adelard Dekker feels like he managed to navigate well-enough in that, but: we saw him tracking monsters when and while they were hurting innocents. He was by no means perfect either: after all, he discussed his theories with Peter Lukas… while there was no way he didn’t know that Peter was a Lonely avatar, and Peter acknowledged that he was mostly left alone (ha) because he was staying in his lane. That still involved sacrificing innocents.)
* Jon directly invoked Beholding when killing the Not!Them, used his connection to The Eye to do it. If the “feeding what feeds you” logic still applies: yes, on the one hand, it means that people’s suffering (from the Not!Them) fed The Eye, and Jon used it back against the Not!Them to exterminate it. On the other hand: still feeding the Fear-machine, still using the system, still feeding The Eye, given how it delights in overall suffering no matter the source.
* There is something very concerning about the fact that The Eye wanted Jon to leave the cabin in the first place (MAG162: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. It is time that I emerge…”), so it’s probably benefitting from what he’s doing… right now.
- I wonder if we’ll get something concrete about The Archivist’s connection to The Eye, since it’s been mentioned multiple times that that title has a special status when it comes to being connected to the Fears:
(MAG079) NOT!SASHA: I wonder, if I wear you, will I really become the Archivist? Rob The Eye of its pupil? Probably not. Better to just kill you, I think. Yes… I think that would be best.
(MAG120) ELIAS: And at last, the Archivist looks up. [STATIC INTENSIFIES] At last, he looks into The Eye that sees all, and knows all, and clutches at the secret terrors of your heart. The Ceaseless Watcher of all that is, and all that was; the voracious, infinite hunger that tears at his soul, invoking him to discover, to observe, to experience all and everything and forever. It stares into him, and it stares out of him, and he is falling into the devouring eternity of its pupil. He wants to cry out in horror, but he cannot. He. is. whole.
(MAG161) ARCHIVIST: They… I see most of the suffering around here. When it’s quiet, it just… it’s like… I can see it, like I’m watching all of it. MARTIN: You haven’t been opening the curtains? ARCHIVIST: No, I don’t need to. “It” can see us here, and… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] And I can see out as well.
(MAG166) HELEN: And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.
- I’m not really surprised at Martin thinking that killing the Not!Them was not that bad and that they could keep doing that, since he… wasn’t against violence himself when confronting monsters: Tim had to discourage him when facing Michael, Martin burned statements to get Elias to focus on him; Martin wasn’t against killing Jonah’s real body per se in MAG158 either, he just didn’t want to participate in Elias and Peter’s game (unaware that sparing Jonah was, incidentally, making Jonah win). That last one might have made it worse for him, since killing Jonah might have killed a lot of Institute members… but he and Jon would probably have survived, and the apocalypse would have been avoided. It’s possible that Martin might be especially down for violence right now if he feels like it might fix things or make them less bad? Since the beginning of the season, he’s been occasionally down for it (at least in theory):
(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… […] So should we… destroy it, before we go? [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND, BUT LOUDER AND CONFRONTATIONAL] [DISTANT RUMBLE OF THUNDER] ARCHIVIST: I honestly don’t know if we can. MARTIN: Hm. ARCHIVIST: Besides, there’s… far worse out there. Better to try and avoid it, I think. MARTIN: We’re not even gonna try? We, we’ve got your lighter, maybe we could just– ARCHIVIST: We can’t fight the world, Martin. MARTIN: [AMUSED DEFIANT HUFF] Says you. ARCHIVIST: [WITH A SMILE] Let’s go.
(MAG165) ARCHIVIST: [PANTS] MARTIN: … Whoa–oh–oh! ARCHIVIST: I, uh… MARTIN: What was that?! ARCHIVIST: … I–I destroyed it. [ECHOING CREAKING SOUNDS] Ki–killed her.
(MAG166) MARTIN: [LONG EXHALE] [SILENCE] … No; no, I actually think you’re good on that front. ARCHIVIST: … What? MARTIN: Yeah, I, I–I think we should go for it, get our murder on. ARCHIVIST: Sorry, what?! HELEN: [DELIGHTED] Yes, Martin! MARTIN: Thi–this isn’t like it it was before! We’re not talking about… innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are… th–they’re just evil. Plain and simple; and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then… then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!
… possible because he wasn’t around Jon during season 4. Jon saw that the lines were blurrier than he wanted to think: since Jane was “afraid” when she gave her statement, since The Hive was probably still (partially) her, when did she become a monster? Jon has been wronged by so many people – but what about Daisy, who confessed that she had wanted to kill him for months, and who apologised and developed a genuine friendship with him after the Coffin? How could Jon decide who “deserves” to die and who doesn't, if his personal feelings are the only judge? We spent part of season 3 and a good amount of season 4 focusing on avatars’ trajectories, how they arrived at their current situation; at which point is a human’s turning into an avatar not “simply” being pressed by their circumstances and when do you become guilty of truly “serving” and benefitting from the Fear-machinery? Echoing the episode’s statement: wouldn’t Richard have every right to seek revenge and murder on Sam, since Sam butchered him? If Jon’s own victims were to declare that he should die, wouldn’t it be their right, since he wronged them and was a “monster” to them, following the same logic? And moreover, Jon knows, first-hand, that his own powers were dependant on his feeding from people: these are not clean powers, these are a direct result of other people’s pain. Martin’s situation regarding the fears has been different: when we saw him using Lonely powers to avoid Georgie, it didn’t seem to have cost something to anyone else than himself. And Martin’s overall way of dealing with monsters/avatars, unless he was overpowered, was to make out the best with whatever power he was given (like using Peter’s knowledge to leak what info he was gathering to Jon&co). What I’m concerned about is that Martin is absolutely failing at taking Jon’s discomfort into account: it’s already there, and it was obvious that Martin wasn’t convincing him. So. Could very well develop into full-blown conflict, or, at least, put a strain on Jon’s desire to confide to him (since Jon sounded… a bit out of it/almost sulking between Helen’s departure and the beginning of the statement? Martin, the fact that Helen was super-excited about what you said is a big indicator that NOP, you don’t want to encourage or enable Jon’s potential for violence ;;)
- I’m still ;; worried about this bit Jon said, starting the season:
(MAG161) MARTIN: It just… It hurts me to see you wallowing, like this. ARCHIVIST: [SHARPLY] Well, some of us weren’t able to cut ourselves off from the world before it ended. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] MARTIN: That’s not fair. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: [SOFTER] No, it’s not, I’m, I’m sorry, I just… [RUSTLING OF CLOTHES] [INHALE, EXHALE] It hurts.
“some of us weren’t able to cut ourselves off from the world before it ended” seemed extremely heavy back then, so… I’m still thinking that it might have been a reference to his Lonely-isation and that there are still lingering consequences as of now? A lot of Martin’s interaction with his surroundings outside of Jon still sounds extremely performative to me:
(MAG163) MARTIN: Good. Good. [SILENCE PUNCTUATED BY PANTING] … J–J–Jon, Jon, w–we’re not alone. ARCHIVIST: I–ignore them, they’re not… Just ignore them. MARTIN: … They’re not… real? [VOICES SHOUTING IN THE DISTANCE] ARCHIVIST: [MIRTHLESS CHUCKLING] No…! They’re real; they were… normal people before the– … Before me. But now they’re here, meat for the grinder. I just mean there’s no point… talking to them. MARTIN: Don’t be a prick, Jon. Hey! I’m, I’m sorry about him. He’s–he’s going through a lot – well… we all are, I suppose, but well… “Hi”, I guess. [SILENCE] Hello? ARCHIVIST: They won’t hear you, Martin, they’re all… too busy waiting to die. MARTIN: Jon… […] It’s dangerous. Could… get yourself blown up, like all these poor… [PLASTIC RATTLING] Who d’you think they were? Really don’t see why we can’t just… go round, picked a better place to… [STEPS THROUGH LIQUID] [SIGH] I guess there… aren’t really any “better” places anymore, are there? [STEPS THROUGH LIQUID] It’s all this. Or worse, or… or different.
(MAG165) MARTIN: Hm! [SILENCE] D’you think we could get that experience just… walking along the edge? Because, uh… [LOWER] I really don’t like the look of those riders. ARCHIVIST: Would you believe me if I said they were the victims? MARTIN: … At this point, I’m not even surprised. […] Well, did it stir any feeling in you? ARCHIVIST: Yes! “Nausea”. Because of the horrible things in it! MARTIN: That’s not quite what I meant. […] I kinda want to *hear* that tape now, see how artistic The Stranger actually is. ARCHIVIST: Or just look up. [SIGH] See it for yourself. MARTIN: Uh… Hm. No. No thanks. Trying to avoid thinking about it, actually.
(MAG166) MARTIN: [SIGH] [SILENCE] [BAG JOSTLING] … Kind of wish the apocalypse had some magazines. … A–ac–actually, no, second thoughts, probably not. Mmh! Def, definitely not. [BAG JOSTLING] [SIGH] Come on Jon…! How long does it take to describe… “scary mud”… [STATIC] [LOUDER, CLOSER HOWLS] [GASP] Oh, o–okay – okay, okay, sorry, sorry! Sorry.
(Before, I would have said that Martin would have accepted it if Jon wanted to sacrifice himself in order to save the world. Lately, I’m thinking more and more that he could be ready to leave the world to rot if it means keeping Jon alive/safe.)
- Regarding Helen’s binary:
(MAG166) HELEN: And so, there are now exactly two roles available in this new world of ours: the watcher, and the watched. Subject, and object. Those who are feared, and those who are *afraid*. And Jon, well… he is part of The Eye; a very important part. And he’s able to, shall we say… shift its focus. Turn the one into the other. And for those of us whose very existence relies on being feared, well… To be turned into a victim destroys us utterly. And very, very painfully.
… Where does that put Martin?
Where does it put Basira, if she’s tracking Daisy?
Melanie&Georgie, given how Georgie doesn’t feel fear anymore and Melanie is out of the Watcher’s grasp?
(And if Jon can turn one into the other, does it mean that he could technically turn a victim into something that is feared?)
- I’m also pondering about the denunciation of the Fear-system because. The idea is that, amongst the humans, there is no winner. I’m not sure I absolutely trust Helen when she classified beings between “those who are feared and those who are afraid” given how such a huge amount of turned-avatars (so, those who are now feared) were initially motivated by their own feelings of fear… including Jonah. There have been a few mentions of him since the start of the season, setting him up as The Big Bad, and! Obviously! Why wouldn’t he be! He is the worst! He killed, manipulated and engineered other people’s suffering for his own safety! He was the one destroying the world for his own benefit!
(MAG161) MARTIN: [SIGH] Gloating, Jon. [CREAKING SOUND] Elias won, and there were some tapes he’d kept for himself, and he wanted to gloat. So, he sent them! ARCHIVIST: He’s not… MARTIN: I–I don’t see– ARCHIVIST: … “Elias”. MARTIN: Jonah, then. I don’t know, I find it hard to think of him as… I don’t really like to think of him!
(MAG162) ARCHIVIST: “This place wishes to be our tomb. But The Eye does not wish that. No. [STATIC INCREASES] The Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis. [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] It is time that I emerge…” [STATIC REACHING A PEAK] [CRIES OUT] [COLLAPSES] […] MARTIN: Look, Jon, I… I, I know it hurts, but you’ve just got to… ARCHIVIST: No, no, lo–look… I, I–I was listening, and I–I was filled with this… hatred. This anger; I–I wanted to leave, and hunt down Elias, a–and…! MARTIN: W–wow, okay… ARCHIVIST: But, when I thought it… the–there was… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] There was something else. Th–this place, it… it didn’t want me, it… [WOODEN CREAKING SOUND] didn’t want us to go. […] MARTIN: Do you think it’ll do anything? Confronting Elias? ARCHIVIST: [INHALE] I… [SIGH] Maybe?
(MAG164) MARTIN: What about Elias? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: He’s inside the Panopticon; the tower, far above the world. MARTIN: That one? ARCHIVIST: Yes. [PAUSE] MARTIN: How is he? ARCHIVIST: Hard to say. The, the way this works, this… “new sight”, the knowledge is, is… [SIGH] It’s somehow wrapped up in the Panopticon? An eye can’t… see inside itself. MARTIN: Mm. ARCHIVIST: But I can feel him in there. MARTIN: Hm. That sounds… gross. ARCHIVIST: It is! [CHUCKLES]
(MAG166) HELEN: It’s very satisfying though, isn’t it? Teasing out vague information; you see why Elias got a kick out of it. ARCHIVIST: Shut up! MARTIN: Jon…!
But I’m also wondering: at which point during the 19th century did it turn out that he was “rotten”? His actions went from someone afraid that others could ruin the world and condemn him (and others) to eternal suffering, to seeking to end the world himself in order to ensure him a better spot? He didn’t create the Fears, they already existed – the Fear machine already existed before him.
I don’t know how to explain, but I’m less and less confident that he’s good and fine in the Panopticon at the moment? And given Jon’s shame regarding the Not!Them, not sure either that Jon… is meant to smite him too, or to feel any catharsis in the process if he does?
(It’s a weird thing to say, but I get the impression that if you want to make someone like Jonah crumble, you don’t really have to deal with him as a Worthy Opponent and a master manipulator in control of the situation; you have to look down on him and shatter his ego by telling him “I forgive you; you, too, were just a pathetic tool manipulated by Fears, after all.”)
(- Am squinting a bit about the “We’re not talking about… innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon” mention since: yes, it would make sense that this would come to Martin’s mind, since he took Jess Tyrell’s complaint. But it could also be a narrative reminder that this thing happened, because they’ll cross the path of one of Jon’s victims again soon?)
- SQUINT about Helen being assumedly oh-so-very-busy and yet hovering around the boys so much, and saying she is delighted about the new world… when the Not!Them made it clear that it was still feeling the pressure of The Eye. Could be because The Stranger and The Eye were kind of opposites on the spectrum (Dark avatars might not be pleased either) but HUMMM.
(MAG164) ARCHIVIST: What – do – you – want. HELEN: To be friends again! All three of us! ARCHIVIST: [AGGRAVATED SIGH] HELEN: Look at this place, look at this… [DEEP INHALE] wonderland! This is the world now, and we are strong and free! There’s really no reason for us not to hang out. [SILENCE] [SCOFF] Goodness, he is in a mood. Has he been like this the whole time? […] Anyway. Sorry to love you and leave you, but I must dash. It’s a very busy time for me, lots of things to do, people to… well. You know! ARCHIVIST: I don’t doubt it. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … What? HELEN: Just… taking a moment to look. You two are just such an adorable couple! ARCHIVIST: Enough! [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] HELEN: See you soon!
(MAG166) ARCHIVIST: Don’t get too close. [THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN] [DISTORTION’S STATIC] Hello, Helen. HELEN: Oh, hello! [FOOTSTEPS] In a better mood, are we? Feeling more secure now you’ve learned how to kill~?
Helen. Do you have a genuine death/destruction wish that you’re trying to hide / can’t reveal because that would be too straightforward? How come you’re not trapped in a pocket nightmare either, but coming and going like this?
- cRIES and pours one out for Tim, as Martin is taking on the mantle of pop-culture references:
(MAG040) TIM: There were loads of them. Some jumped at me as I ran inside so I dodged out the way, but ended up sprawling into this pile of boxes that I thought were case files. Instead, I found myself lying on top of a whole bunch of CO2 canisters – which are damn hard by the way. The worms were still coming, so I used them. I mean, I went full Gas-Rambo.
(MAG116) ARCHIVIST: Do you– … Are you going to keep it together? TIM: Look. If you’re worried I’m gonna go all… Redrum and start hacking off random waxworks, don’t be. I’m not gonna give us away. I want this to work.
(MAG166) MARTIN: Thi–this isn’t like it it was before! We’re not talking about… innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are… th–they’re just evil. Plain and simple; and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then… then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill! ARCHIVIST: [LOW] I, I, I haven’t seen it…
(eisduje not surprise at all for Jon but also HIGHFIVE I haven’t seen it either.)
- Martin had said that he would answer the phone ;;
(MAG163) MARTIN: Uh… Jon? [OLD PHONE RINGING] Uh, Jo–Jon, the, uh, the payphone that’s… here, for some reason, it’s–it’s ringing? [OLD PHONE RINGING] Jon, is–is that… [ASKING AROUND] I–is anyone gonna get that? [OLD PHONE RINGING] … Unless it’s for me? [OLD PHONE RINGING] [SIGH] Yeah, it’s for me. Uh… nnno. [OLD PHONE RINGING] N–no, no, I don’t think so, actually! Hum, thanks, but that, that sounds like a really… terrible idea! [OLD PHONE RINGING] Hm, sorry! [SILENCE] … Huh. Wwwell, alright then! [BODIES WADING THROUGH LIQUID] ARCHIVIST: Martin, you need to keep up. It’s not safe. … Martin? You okay? MARTIN: Uh, I… Th–ther–there was a phone – that phone. ARCHIVIST: … Oh. MARTIN: It… Yeah, it was ringing? ARCHIVIST: Oh. Right… Did you answer it? MARTIN: No. ARCHIVIST: Hm. [INHALE] Probably for the best…! MARTIN: Yeeaahh.
(MAG164) MARTIN: Okay, okay, uh, what else, what else, hum… Oh! Hum, uh, who was, uh–uh, phone – hum, wh–who was calling me? [STATIC INCREASES] ARCHIVIST: … I think it was Annabelle Cane. MARTIN: Hm. ARCHIVIST: That’s… weird, I, I know The Web was wrapped around that phone, but, but I can’t… see her. A–at all. At least with Georgie and Melanie, I have a vague sense they’re still alive, i–in London, and, or– Well, what was London. [STATIC DECREASES] But Annabelle…? Nothing. [STATIC FADES] Hm. MARTIN: W–well, I’ll… I’ll ask her, next time she calls. ARCHIVIST: Well, I know that’s a bad idea…! MARTIN: What, do you? ARCHIVIST: … Okay, no, that one was a… very reasonable guess. MARTIN: Ha!
(MAG166) [MUFFLED BUZZING] MARTIN: … Oh, god, what now? [FOOTSTEPS] [MUFFLED BUZZING] [FOOTSTEPS] What, seriously? A spade? [MUFFLED BUZZING] Isn’t that like kind of… I don’t know, insensitive? Given where you are? [MUFFLED BUZZING] [SIGH] Fine, fine! Fine. [BAG JOSTLING] [SIGH] [SHARP METALLIC SOUND] [EARTH BEING DUG UP] [MUFFLED BUZZING] [NOKIA RINGTONE, MUFFLED] [MUFFLED BUZZING] MARTIN: For God’s sake…! [WIPING HIS HANDS] [NOKIA RINGTONE, CLEARER] [MUFFLED BUZZING] [BAG JOSTLING] [BEEP] MARTIN: Hello? ANNABELLE: Hello? Is that Martin? MARTIN: Don’t do that. ANNABELLE: What? No stomach for games? MARTIN: Well, your “games” aren’t exactly fun for everyone, are they? ANNABELLE: Very few games are…! MARTIN: [SIGH] Look, look, look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right?
* SOB because in his conversation with Jon in MAG164… he say that he would answer, but I’m pretty sure that Jon took it as a joke, and didn’t think that Martin truly WOULD.
* The irony of Martin having to DIG with a SHOVEL, when he had been the one to read that statement in season 3. (Was it a genuine coincidence, or a nudgenudge from Annabelle implying that she was already watching him back then?)
* Laughing really hard because OF COURSE, a Nokia would survive the apocalypse. (Francisco Tárrega’s “Gran Vals”, recognisable despite the years!)
- I. really. wasn’t. expecting. to hear Annabelle so soon and so casually. To just speak over the phone.
I’m amused, because her conversation with Martin reminded me a LOT of my first impressions of Elias in MAG017: I was already spoiled that he was a big bad, and yet, he had struck me as non-threatening and boring? But I’ve Learned, so I obviously don’t trust, but I’m still “!” that I’m getting the same impression with Annabelle right now.
(Also, it’s very funny that Jon gave her such a carnivorous edge while reading her statement in MAG147 and she… felt almost chill and courteous here.)
- Obvious squinting that she didn’t say who she was:
(MAG166) MARTIN: [SIGH] Look, look, look, I’m talking to Annabelle Cane, right? ANNABELLE: You never gave me your name – so why should I offer mine?
If she hadn’t been credited as “Annabelle Cane”, I would have seriously doubted it was really her, but there were the credits. Still, squinting a bit? (And squinting a bit at how she teased Martin: was it a jab at his non-existent middle name, furthering that she was keeping a close eye (ha) on Jon&Martin?)
- I!! Don’t know!! What!! To!! Think!! Of her call!!
(MAG166) MARTIN: Just, what do you want? ANNABELLE: *I* want to help you, of course. [SILENCE] MARTIN: … No. Thank you. ANNABELLE: It’s a hard place to find yourself in, maybe I can be of some… assistance…! MARTIN: You can assist me by giving the… “creepy phone” thing a rest…! ANNABELLE: He is more powerful here than he’s ever been, isn’t he? [PAUSE] And you’re not sure what that means for you. MARTIN: [INHALE] I’m hanging up now. ANNABELLE: Does he even need you at all?
And that’s the most Web thing, isn’t it? Making you unsure whether she’s trying to manipulate or is just saying random things, and which direction she is pointing towards? Why dig at Martin’s potential insecurities regarding Jon not needing him? Is it to plant a seed of doubt, like what had happened to Agnes (MAG139: “A tiny… hairline fracture, which destroys everything.”)? Technically, Jon “needing” Martin was already a point covered with MAG159 when Jon got him out of The Lonely’s influence: Jon did say he needing him, but he also did bigger, he chose Martin (and made Martin see “him”). Which doesn’t invalidate the possiblity that right now, it could be hurting Martin, given that… he was used to act as a caretaker for so long, and Jon is absolutely in charge at the moment. Is Annabelle trying to get Martin to take risks? Is it to alienate them from each other? A few possibilities:
* It’s for shits&giggles, she was mostly introducing herself for later but didn’t need any particular reaction out of Jon & Martin at the moment (but hey, free snack).
* She needs them to go their separate ways for some reason and is stirring up conflict to make that happen; whether it’s to prevent them from reaching the Panopticon, or because she needs them elsewhere. Saying it outright would make Jon categorically refuse because it’s The Web, so she’s using a roundabout.
* She… is preparing them for The Lonely-zone, making sure that insecurities/potential sources of conflicts are worked out NOW and not later, to up their chances of making it to the Panopticon?
Right now, I’m anticipating Martin’s reactions: will he hide the phone conversation from Jon? Will he share what happened, what was said? Has he kept the phone? Will Martin try to “fix” the problem by taking unnecessary risks…?
(- WOW, ANNABELLE IS VERY GOOD AT TIMING HER PHONE CALLS FOR WHEN JON IS AWAY, ISN’T SHE. HOW FUNNY THAT BOTH TIMES SHE CALLED, THE RECORDER HAD CLICKED ON AND SHOWN THAT MARTIN WAS ALONE ALREADY, BEFORE THE PHONE RANG.)
  … It feels extremely weird to realise that “next episode is MAG167”. 7th episode already; last season, it was the equivalent of “Remains To Be Seen” (do you sometimes just Think about Dr Jonathan Fanshawe and his vitriolic letter). So little has happened, and yet… already quite a few things? I feel like we learned things about past (and dead) characters this season, mostly; a few things have been installed (Helen visiting Jon&Martin, the Distortion’s corridors set up to be relevant; Annabelle finally revealing herself; Jon’s new activity of “pouring” into the tape recorders; the current goal of reaching the Panopticon requiring to “metaphorically” experience the Fears and witnessing their domains; Jon’s status as The Eye’s favoured son and/or an extension of it; Georgie&Melanie’s status being conspicuously unclear; Basira still after monster!Daisy; Jonah still at the Panopticon; the hints about setting the building on fire; the fact that there is a faint hope of undoing the apocalypse, altogether with it being complicated), but since MAG163, the series has mostly been following a new formula without much new things happening to Jon&Martin themselves? Season 4 was the outlier in that regard.
Anyway: season 5’s titles make the content harder to guess, though they make sense in retrospect, and MAG167 feels the same! No strong conviction but potential ideas: Vast (because space reference + something about the drive); I saw someone suggest a potential connection with Daisy (and! It would be a clever one) so could be Hunt, with monster!Daisy and Basira at the end…; Flesh (am thinking about something Jared said); Spiral (because kind of how the Distortion works); Beholding, and specifically OG!Elias somehow (have we listened to all the tapes Jon&Martin had received?). I see how there could be a connection to that too, so potentially a glimpse of Georgie&Melanie (and The Admiral)?
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hoseoksactualass · 5 years ago
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[8:07 p.m.] what’s a v card
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pairing: hoseok x reader
genre: smut // fluff 
word count: 2k
warning/s: virgin reader 
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What everyone thinks your relationship with Hoseok is leans more towards the ones harder to measure up to-- what with everyone thinking he's a Bed Breaker that fucks his cum up into your cervix with no apprehension when the odds weren't slim. The odds were always slim. You're a virgin.
You're at the prime age people lose touch with their pediatricians, but you and Mrs. Gum know each other like your little fingers intertwined. The wink she sends over with a tiny box of condoms and birth control reassures you more. It's her coarse voice you recollect at the edge of your bed, in lingerie you feel more skittish than sexy in, while you wait for Hoseok to get out of the shower. He steps out with wet feet, wiggling toes, a cotton shirt, and new boxers.
The fuzz of the towel on his hair freezes when his eyes stop on you. His eyes are rounded in the way they do when they want to show vulnerability, but the knowing in them sticks out. Like the dampness of the hair on the back of his head. The lingerie is red and looks like blood in a dimlit room. "Wow. That's... sexy," he eyes you up and down.
On normal days, Hoseok tries his best to trick shot a used towel in the rack, but now, he wanted to take time with everything, step by step on his way to the rack. Or maybe that was just the painfully obvious travesty of him being as nerve-wracked as you are. "Saved it for today," your lips curl calmly. You were just better at hiding it.
"You're doing great. I have no idea where to look," his eyelids buzz in exaggeration, his hand stretched out as if to shield himself of the nudity before him.
"Not so bad yourself, sir."
"You're testing dangerous waters calling me sir like that."
"Yum."
"No; you're yum," he walks to you slowly. "Seriously-- your boobs are-- you are so pretty," he holds his own chest. The proximity gives you a good whiff of his body wash, and if anything, it makes your mind and ass sit with an edge. "Are... you okay, babe?"
Your eyes flicker up to him. He decides he looked too intimidating straightened up like that, so he kneels down, and now, you have to bow your head to meet eyes. "Yeah, there's-- nothing wrong," you say to him and yourself.
"I can just... make you cum, you know."
"That self-indulgent, or you mean we can wait?"
"You know I mean the latter."
"So you don't want to fuck me yet?"
"No-- I-- want to-- put my dick inside you, but I don't want you to feel pressured," he places his hand on your knee. Soothes the skin, because it's cold with a lack of mettle.
"I'm not scared. This is just a lot."
"Yes. Likewise."
"I'm finally losing my v card."
"Your what card?"
"Nothing, just-- kiss me and put your fingers inside me."
His lips are soft, wet like everything feels like a first time. So is his poorly dried hair, but you kick that thought to the side, because his lips pacify the numbness of yours with sensations you couldn't put into words, but hear when he says, "Make room for me."
As you do, he takes his shirt off, and he does so with confidence. The look on his face is stoic, but there's more evidence of how every second slowly riled him up in the heaving of his chest. You don't hide the way you look at him. Pure, stripped admiration. You had the biggest crush on Hoseok, and he wore it like a medal.
He crawls towards you. "Lay down."
"Sexy."
The laugh on his throat makes his eyes form crescents, and everything softens with the pepper of kisses on your face. "You're sexy."
"No, you."
"No, you."
Your hand finds his crotch. There's a spur of confidence in your fingertips, so you palm him, and it shuts him up. Makes him groan into your mouth in a scalding kiss, and maybe it's because you don't first move a lot. You want him.
He nudges his knee in between your legs and opens your heat with a sure finger sliding between the folds. Your breath hitches. "You feel okay?"
"Finger me."
"Wow. Appealing," he chuckles like he isn't appealed, and then he pushes his finger inside you. Curls it the way you like, and you squirm under him. "There you go, baby."
"Mff - "
"More?"
"Please," you squeak. Three fingers make for a good stretch, but the way they move is already making you want to cum. For why-- you don't know. "Okay-- oh - "
"Wanna cum?," he drops his voice.
"I - not yet." It's near abrupt how Hoseok stops his fingers. With the implication that if you were going to cum, it wouldn't be on his fingers. Crossing them, hopefully on his dick. He wipes your arousal on his boxers. It stains like he wants to show it to you.
He props himself on a plank above you, his knee keeping yours ajar. There's a wet kiss on your neck. "Lift your back."
When his voice was serious is what was really putting you through it. You arch your back. Feel the tease of his fingertips ascending to the clasp of your bra and undoing it.
"Want you," he mutters before another kiss below your ear where it tickled. You do him the deference of taking the rest of your bra away from your body, and it lands with a soft shuffle somewhere on the floor. Your heart's caught in your throat. "Want to do it."
"Do it," you bite your lip. Seems the way you'd said it pulled on his strings a tad bit, and you feel him grind soft on you.
"I'll make you feel good," he says, tracing kisses up to your cheek, and it warms your heart. The trust you feel cannot be said, so you stay silent and simper.
"I know you will."
He leans forward and grabs something with a clumsy hand. When he bites the wrapper off, it makes a crinkly sound, and now, the butterflies in your stomach are going haywire. He's silent when he kicks his boxers off and wears the condom with ease. "You trust me."
He's hovering over you again. "I do."
A sharp but desperate kiss on your lips, and it's strung between words. "Can't wait."
He finds your hand and holds it tight next to your head, and your free one finds home on his bicep. "M-Me, too."
"Let's-- look at each other, so I know when you want to stop, 'kay?," his voice is like satin.
Your eyes are already on him.
He has a bit of a hard time pulling your panties off, but when he finally does, he stares a little too long. He looks at you with blinking eyes, as if not wanting to show how ready he was to take your virginity, but his eyes get caught on the bright red of your chest, and he almost chokes. He welcomes it.
"Hoseok?"
"Hm-- uh-- hm?"
"A-Are you okay?"
"I-- 'course I am, princess," he pecks your lips, and they get tied in giggles. "--so... I'm gonna-"
"Y-Yeah, totally," you inhale, already squeezing where you hold him. Your eyes are on each other. You feel the head of his cock, wet, against your cunt, and he pushes in slow with a tight groan. You squeeze harder.
He makes sure your pussy stops clenching before he pushes in more. On your end of the line, the meat below your hole feels a little sore, and you're chewing on your lip a bit too hard. Hoseok likes the face you make-- likes the pure innocence being encroached, and it almost dangerously brazens him to push harder.
"Fuck-- i-it's-- are you okay?," he speaks in shivers.
He bottoms out. "I - I - don't move yet," you squint, your breath laboured, but it eases with your nerves and pussy.
Hoseok likes the face you make even more when he knows you glow in the way people do when comfortable, and he takes that as cue to start moving.
Your eyes flutter open. Watch him bite down on his lip, like shutting himself up will soothe you more. His cheeks are bloodshot, and his moans go out in restrained shivers. It turns you on so hard, you start moaning yourself. Brazen you are, yourself. "Fuck-- Hoseok - "
"Yeah? You feel good, baby?," his eyes are locked on your lips, at the small O they form.
His hand squeezes yours in return every time he thrusts, and you do with every brush on your sweet spot. Your eyes are welling up in tears. "It feels-- so good - anggh - ," you whine. The angle of his hips are certain. You can confirm that. "Please-- go faster."
"F-Faster? You want that?"
"God-- yes, I want you to fuck me."
"Fuuck, baby-- okay," he breathes, picking up his pace. He breaks his own rules and facade when he closes his eyes. Starts to think with his dick, and he feels so good. "Hngh - so fucking tight."
"H-Hoseok - ," every thrust earns you good stimulation on your clit from his hipbone, and it's a push and a second closer to an orgasm, so you embrace the sensation like it's your last.
His hips are very swift now, and the sounds are disgustingly sordid. Both of you still toiling on keeping your eyes open, but just catch each other in a ritual of moaning each others' names. There's love in the way you feel around Hoseok's cock, and it makes him twitch.
"H-Hoseok-- tell me what y-you want t-to do to me," you whimper. He knows how to make your lips and cunt gush at the same time, with his hipbone's vigor, but he didn't expect himself to be at your body's mercy with just a few words.
"W-Want to-- nngh - make you beg."
"Y-Yeah?-- fuck," you moan, and the heaving of your chest is laboured again. "What else?"
"Want to fuck that pretty mouth," he breathes into your neck, and his jaw is far from lax with all the clenching and choked growling.
"Oh, g-god, I'll let you fuck me-- however you want - fuck - !"
Your arm is numb under the plank of his, but it's an outlying thought, because now his other hand started working its magic on your clit. The thing about cumming with Hoseok is that he always makes you cum as hard as possible. Except now, it's around his dick. "You like that? Like when I touch you like this?"
"F-Fuck, yes - "
"You'll let me play with your clit until you cum around me? Hm?"
You feel it. It's very much there-- a knot twisting inside you, but it coaxes tears from your eyes, and your throat is sore with moaning and affection. "I'm - I think I - "
And it's also very much there for him-- what with your virgin pussy clenching the cum out of him, and his chest and abdomen tighten. "Yeah, cum for me."
"Cum with me."
"I'm - ," he growls, a pathetic string of groans closing around your ears, you can't hear that of your own but all you feel is the jitter of your hips, and a sharp climax that flicks your eyes back into your head.
He fucks himself into you, driving your orgasm away, and the sensation burns sharp, but it's quick enough that he promptly spurts in the condom, and it makes him moan differently. There's a sloppy kiss on your cheek before you get to snicker at the cum-stuffed rubber.
"I figured v card meant virginity card," he crashes his body on you, and you hit him because the soreness starts to kick in, and you know that and blame it on smut roots.
"No shit," you laugh, and nothing's funny, but you still do, because every edge of your being is lit up and giddy. "We should have sex when we wake up."
"Wow-- you're robust."
"It's what good dick does."
"You've had one dick, _____."
"And one dick forever," you stick out your pinky, a very sentimental way to establish your relationship with his dick and the perks that come with it-- a boyfriend. It's what good dick does to a virgin.
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rami-hoe · 6 years ago
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Stress Relief
Summary: Times have been tough since Merriell came home. Y/N decides they could both use a little fun. 
Warnings: smut, dom/sub, daddy kink
Word Count: 2.6K
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Things had been tight ever since Merriell came home. He was looking for work, but most of the jobs had been taken up by the soldiers that came home six months ago. I wasn’t complaining- I’d happily live on the streets if it meant Merriell was by my side. But it did mean I had to pick up extra shifts at the diner whenever I could.
The clock read 6:47. I’d been on my feet for nearly eight hours, running between the kitchen and the tables. I just had to get to the next thirteen minutes, and then I could go home to Merriell. I just wanted to fall into his arms and sleep for the next three days.
I heard the phone ring as I delivered a refill to table six, and glanced over my shoulder. Lenny, the grill cook, reached through the kitchen window and got it. I plastered a smile on my face, placed the drink down, and asked it there was anything else I could get them.
“Just the bill, sweetheart,” the man said without looking at me.
I turned on my heels, and headed back to the counter to tally up their total.
“Hey, Y/N,” Lenny said as he hung up the phone.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Margie called in. Her kid’s sick. Can you cover?”
Fuck. “How long do you need me?”
He scratched the stubble under his chin. “Just until the dinner rush clears out,” he said. “I’ll have you outta here by nine, promise.”
I sighed. “Alright. Just lemme call Merriell.”
Lenny disappeared into the kitchen, and picked the phone off its cradle, dialling up my home number.
Merriell picked up after the third ring. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” I said.
“Hey boo.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You headin’ home?”
“No,” I said. “Lenny needs me to stick around a while.”
“That’s the third time this week.”
“I know, Mer, but we need the money.”
Merriell huffed into the receiver. “I know we need the damn money.”
“Don’t snap at me, Merriell.” I knew Merriell hated that he couldn’t provide for me, but that’s just the way it had to be for now.
“I’m not snappin’,” he snapped.
“Like hell you aren’t,” I said. “I’m just doing what I have to to keep our heads above water. You don’t get to be mad at me for that.”
“I’m not mad at you! I’m just frustrated. I barely see you anymore, and when you are here you’re so exhausted we can’t-” He cut himself off, but I knew where he was going. It had been a few weeks since Merriell and I were intimate. But he was right- I was exhausted. Working double shifts was killing me. It’s hard to get in the mood when you get home covered in grease and coffee from a twelve hour shift of being yelled at by customers who didn’t realize food took time to make. “I love you, Y/N. I miss you,” he said.
“You’re not the only one whose frustrated, Merriell,” I said with a sigh. “I miss you too.” Our relationship had always been a physical one. Merriell was incredible in bed, and I loved him more than anything; of course I missed being with him. But things had been so stressful lately, for the both of us. We needed one night where we could forget about all of it, just let go, and I thought I had a way to make that happen. I looked through the kitchen window and saw Lenny scraping the black bits off the girl, not paying any attention to me. Nobody else was close enough to hear the conversation, so I leaned against the wall and murmured into the receiver in a low, breathy voice  “I miss the way you feel inside of me.”
Merriell’s breath caught in his throat. “Do ya now?” He asked.
“Mhm,” I hummed. “I miss the weight of your cock on my tongue. I love sucking you off, Mer, you taste so good.”
The sound of Merriell’s heavy breathing passed through the phone.
“I miss your tongue on my clit, the way you stare at me when you’re between my legs.” I could feel heat rising between my thighs.  “And I miss the feeling of you stretching me open, reaching so deep inside me. You know what I would do to you if I was there?”
“Tell me,” he demanded in a low voice.
“Excuse me!” I looked over my shoulder to see the man at table six staring me down. “Are you getting paid to stand and jabber on that phone? Bring me my bill.”
I faked a smile. “Right away!” I rolled my eyes as I turned back around.
“I gotta go, Mer,” I said.
“What?” The distress in his voice made my smile genuine.
“A customer’s on my ass,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re gon’ be sorry when you get home.”
I knew he was joking, and played along. “That a promise?”
His voice darkened. “Yes.”
I bit my lip. I knew that tone.
“Waitress!” The man called again.
“I’ll be home by 9:30,” I said. I placed the phone back on its hook before Merriell could respond, and brought the asshole his bill.
It was hard to concentrate on work with the fire burning between my legs. I knew what was store for me when I got home; I loved it when Merriell got dominant with me. Luckily for me, I had been doing this long enough to function on autopilot. I spent the next two hours settling up with the customers and cleaning tables, all the while anticipating what Merriell was going to do to me when I got home. The fantasy was enough to jolt me awake.
Merriell was lounging in his chair when I walked through the door at 9:15. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag as I threw my purse on the counter, and hung up my coat. My arousal sparked back life the second I saw him.
“Come here,” he said with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. I walked over to him, and sat down on his lap. “You think it’s fun to get me all worked up, then hang up the phone?” He brushed my hair back, running his fingers down my neck.
“No,” I said.
“No what?”
“No Sir.”
His hand slid up my skirt to cup my sex. I gasped, and tilted my hips towards him. His fingers slid under my panties, and ran across my slick pussy. “What’s got you so wet, hm?” He pushed two fingers into me, and I moaned. He knew exactly where my sweet spot was, and how to manipulate it.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I said, grinding into his hand. “About this.”
“Thinkin’ about me fuckin’ you while you’re at work?”
I nodded.
“Any of your customer pick up on what a slut you are?”
I shook my head.
“Good.” He pressed the heel of his palm against my clit. “Only I get to see this.” He took his fingers away far too soon, and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Strip,” he ordered.
I stood up, and unbuttoned the top half of my dress. I faced him as I pulled the sleeves off my shoulders, and let the dress fall. His eyes dragged over my body slowly, taking in every inch of me.
Merriell’s eyes made their way back to mine. “You’re not finished,” he said.
I kicked off my shoes as my hands reached behind my back to unclasp my bra. I turned to the side to give him a better view as I pulled my panties down my legs, but Merriell didn’t give me the satisfaction of a reaction.
“You’ve been a bad girl,” he murmured when I straightened back up. “How do you think I should punish you?”
I chewed on my lip, and remained silent.
“When I ask you a question, you answer it,” he said.
“I think you should spank me.” I pressed my legs together, my body craving any kind of friction.
Merriell nodded, and waved me forward. “C’mon then.”
I lied over his knees, clasping my hands in front of me.
“I think ten’s enough. Count ‘em out.” He brought his hand down on my ass, and I yelped.
“One.”
His hand rubbed over the area before he gave me another stinging slap.
I whimpered. “Two.”
“You gon’ apologize for teasin’ me?” He asked.
I nodded. “I’m sorr- ah!” The third spank was harder than the other two.
“I didn’t quite catch that.” By the time Merriell had gotten to ten, both the throbbing on my ass, and the throbbing between my legs had reached a peak. I was squirming in his lap, my body begging him to touch my core.
Merriell pushed me off his lap. “Bedroom,” he said as he tapped his cigarette out in the ashtray.
I walked down the hall with Merriell close behind me. I could hear him fiddling with his belt, and felt a surge of relief wash over me. I needed him to fuck me.
“Lie on your back, hands above your head,” he ordered.
He slid his belt off as I got into position, and bound my arms to the bedpost. He pulled on the strap, making sure it wasn’t too tight before he moved away. His shirt was quickly disposed of, but he kept his pants on, much to my disappointment. He was going to make me beg for it, wasn’t he?
Merriell pushed my legs apart, and settled between them. He didn’t bother to slowly work me up, instead electing to jump right into it. My hips rolled towards him instinctively as his tongue licked up my folds.
“Merriel,” I moaned, and his lips closed around my clit. I let out a rather unattractive squeak, and bucked my hips up. Merriell’s hand pushed down on my stomach, stilling my movements. He sucked my clit hard, moving his head side to side to heighten my pleasure. God, he knew just how to work my body. My breathing laboured as I felt myself approaching the edge, whines and whimpers escaping my lips almost nonstop. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I breathed.
My stomach tightened, the pressure building up inside of me until I was just strokes away from an intense orgasm. And then he stopped. The bastard stopped. He pulled his mouth away from my core, and ran his thumb down my wet lips, carefully avoiding the spots that would give me any real pleasure. I groaned in frustration as my climax slipped away from me.
“Oh, did you think you were gonna cum?”
I glared down at Merriell’s grinning face.
“No no no, baby. You left me high and dry tonight. You don’t get to cum after that.” He lower his face down to my core, and lapped at my clit. I moaned, my hips trying and failing to twist out of his grip. He tactfully alternated between licking and sucking, but it didn’t take much to get me back to the edge. Within minutes, I was writhing beneath him, and begging him not to stop.
“Please, please,” I whined. “I need it.” He latched onto my clit, sucking until I was balancing right on the edge, and then he stopped once again. I sobbed.
He kissed just above my clit, then below, and to either side.
“Merriell, please,” I begged, and he delivered a sharp slap to my thigh. I sucked in a breath, and corrected myself. “Sir.”
He dragged his tongue over my core slowly before he sat up. “You want my cock?” he asked as he shoved his pants down, freeing his hard member.
I nodded, my eyes focusing on his hand slowly stroking his cock.
He rolled a condom on, and sat back on his knees, He grabbed my hips, pulling them up onto his lap so he could push his tip inside
I groaned, and tried to roll my hips to take him in deeper. I should have known he wouldn’t give me what I wanted that easily.
“Beg.”
My pride had long since gone out the window. “Please, daddy, I need you to fuck me,” I whined.
He slammed into me with one stroke, making me cry out in pleasure and pain as my walls struggled to adjust to his girth. His fingers dug into my hips as he thrust into me again and again, each one harder than the last. He ripped strangled moans from my throat. My body was so overstimulated, every small movement he made ignited my nerves.
“Please, touch me,” I begged. I just needed a bit of pressure, that was it. Just a few strokes to my clit, and I would come undone.
Merriell laughed, and shook his head.
I let out a broken sob, my head falling back onto the pillow.
He hummed, amused. “I can’t stay mad at you,’ he cooed. “You can cum.” He leaned down, and pressed a tender kiss to my lips. “But I’m not gon’ help you get there.”
My breathing was laboured as I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding against him feverishly. His cock was hitting my g-spot with every thrust, driving me towards a climax entirely too slowly.
“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers tugging at my hair. “You better hurry up, boo, I’m not gon’ last long.” He pulled my head back so I was looking straight up at him. “You don’t cum on my cock, you don’t cum at all.”
I tilted my hips up to try and get even the smallest amount of pressure on my clit, but I didn’t have the leverage. I couldn’t get the right angle. I groaned in frustration, bucking helplessly.
I was teetering on the edge of an orgasm I just couldn’t reach, and Merriell knew it. He grinned down at me. “Frustrated?” His voice was starting to lose some of its authority. I could tell he was close. He buried his face in my neck, breathing hard against my skin. His arm snaked around my back, lifting my hips up higher. He pressed his body to mine, and gave me the access I needed. I ground my clit against his crotch, and felt a rush of pleasure shoot through my body.
“Merriell!” My legs shook as my orgasm crashed down on me. My hands tightened into fists around the belt, pulling hard on the worn leather. Merriell moaned my name into my neck, his hips stuttering as he came.
Our movements slowed as we came down from our high together. Merriell lowered my body back to the bed, and reached up to untie the belt. He pressed soft kisses to the spots on my wrists when the leather had reddened the skin before rolling off of me. I snuggled up against his side, lying my head on his chest as he pulled the condom off and tossed it in the trash.
Merriell wrapped his arm around my shoulder, hugging me against him, and I felt warmth spread throughout my chest. I nuzzled into him, and he kissed the top of my head.
“I love you, you know that?” He murmured.
I nodded. “I love you too.” I tilted my chin up, and found Merriell staring down at me. “We’re gonna be alright, Mer,” I said.
A small smile tugged at Merriell’s lips, and he leaned down to give me a quick kiss. “I know.”
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littlestshelby · 7 years ago
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Michaels Girl. Pt2.
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Part one.
It was 5 months later now and Michael had bought him and (y/n) a house out in the country close to his adopted family. When he went back to small heath, (y/n) would stay with his mother or have his younger brother stay with her. He didn’t want her to be alone. Mainly because of what had happened but also partly because he was worried she would strain herself.
(Y/n) was now 8 months pregnant and her bump was very noticeable, even though her and Michael weren’t married yet everyone in the village called her Mrs Gray. It made her happy, not that she went into the village much. She didn’t really leave the house. Keeping to herself. She spent most of her time reading or knitting for the baby.
“Love I bought you some apples I’ll leave them in the kitchen I’m off into the city to get Henry’s birthday present do you need anything!” Rosemary called. (Y/n) smiled, she still called Michael, Henry. Obviously Michael never corrected her he had to much respect for the woman who brought him up. They hadn’t told Polly yet but if the baby was a boy they were going to name him after Michaels late adopted father.
“I’m okay thank you rosemary have a nice time!” She shouted back getting to her feet. Her hair was lay over her one shoulder and her dress tight against her stomach. The shawl Michael had bought her for Christmas wrapped around her. She went to the kitchen and watched rosemary potter up the path toward the village.
Michael would be home soon, she reminded herself as she took a deep breath it was starting to get dark and she hated being alone. Michael was never not home this late. She chewed on her fingers staring at the phone from her place on Michaels desk chair.
When they had first moved out to the country Polly and the other shelbys had been against it completely. Shouting about them staying close and keeping safe but Michael had pointed at tommy and seethed out, “it’s your fault this happened she’s staying no where near this place, we are going home.” And three days later they had the house.
(Y/n) reached for the phone but jumped hearing the front door open her panic leaving her body. “Michael!” She called carefully standing up hurrying into the hall. “You’re late I was worrie-“ she froze seeing Michael with his hands above his head two men either side of him. “(Y/n) go to our bedroom and stay there Okay.” He spoke slowly staring at her. (Y/n) was froze her eyes stuck on the guns in the mens hands, Michael had a black eye and his head was bleeding.
“No the bitch stays.” One of the men grabbed her arm and shoved her into the living room Michael shouting for them not to touch her. “She’s nothing to do with this she’s just a country girl staying here, let her go.” He seethed as they shoved (y/n) to the floor. They hit Michael in the back with the butt of the gun making him drop to his knees. (Y/n) Let Out a little scream holding her stomach reaching over to get closer to Michael but one of the men kicked her away.
They tied both of their wrists and ankles and sat them back to back in front of the fireplace. “Just stay calm darlin, they’ll find the money and leave okay.” He lent his head back against hers trying to re assure her. (Y/n) was terrified. They had moved out here, gone so far away to be safe and out of trouble but it still found them.
Breathing in deeply she nodded. “I know.” She smiled a little closing her eyes. “Mr Campbell wants us to make an example of you Mr Gray. A warnin to those dirty gypsy cousins of yours..” one of the men spoke smirking as he pulled the black mask from his face. Michael stared at him, he was going to kill them. He had shown them his face there was no way he would keep them alive now.
“Just let her go she’s just one of the village girls got ‘erself knocked up and I gave ‘er a place to stay.” Michael begged. (Y/n) shook her head, this Wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. This was their home, they were safe here.
“She looks awfully like your fiancé Mr Gray” the man spoke pacing the room. “I call my cousins every time I get home. Especially since your ‘boss’ started fucking around. I’ve missed the check in.” Michael smirked. Chewing her lip (y/n) thought about the gun in the box on the mantle. Glancing at the men who were no talking amongst themselves she pushed back against michael who frowned trying to turn to look at her.
(Y/n) grabbed the corner of the box her arms straining above her head wincing as she reached grabbing it it fell to the floor with a thud making the men snap their eyes over to them. Michael grabbed the gun with his tied hands and aimed it at the men. “Go. Now.” He growled. The brown haired man just laughed and aimed his gun at (y/n). While the other aimed at Michael. “Cant shoot us both Mr Gray.” Stomping towards him he grabbed the gun and threw it. He dragged (y/n) to her feet and held her throat.
Michael stopped fighting against the man letting him move him to where he wanted. His eyes transfixed on the hand on his fiancés throat. Shaking (y/n) took a breath. “Make em suffer, Inspector Campbell had specific instructions on what to do with you” The man laughed getting closer to (y/n)s face.
Gasping (y/n) let out a cry as water rushed down her legs. “Michael” She cried loudly making everyone go quiet a minute. “Just put a bullet in her head, she’s havin the bastard gonna make a right noise” the man rolled his eyes sitting Michael on one of the dining room chairs. “I swear to god I’m going to fucking gut you” Micheal spoke darkly.
The man next to (y/n) cut the rope on her hands and held the gun to her head with a smirk. “Do it there that way he can see his beloveds brains spray against the wall.” Michael was going to be sick.
(Y/n) stood with gritted teeth holding her stomach. “I love you.” She hiccuped feeling the gun press against her temple. Michael struggled against his restraints screaming and swearing at the bastards. He snapped his head to the side to scream at the man beside him when he heard it, the noise he had heard a million times.
The sound of a bullet leaving the chamber, flying threw the air and lodging itself snuggly inside the flesh of its victim. Michael couldn’t look, his head hammering the first time he saw her flashing across his eyes. She was his life, her and the baby were his future and they were gone, these bastards had taken her away.
Everything seemed to be in slow motion around him. He kept his gaze on the flowers on the table, she loved flowers, he would bring her home fresh flowers every Friday and on a Sunday morning they would walk out into the fields and sit in the poppy field for hours on end just playing and laughing with each other. He was never going to hear her laugh again, see her smile, see her blush.
Slowly looking down at the floor he saw blood splashed up his trousers, her blood. He followed the splatter across the floor to the body. He braced himself to see her. See her pale and dead on the floor but he didn’t. (Y/n) was stood shaking staring at the door while the brown hairs man was sprawled out on the floor with blood seeping from his head.
Michael felt someone tugging at his hands, looking down finn was cutting the rope from his hands while Arthur stomped the second man into the floor. “(Y/n)” Tommy was stood in front of her holding her arms trying to get her to make eye contact but she was to busy shakin and staring at the man on the ground.
Michael stumbled across the room quickly shoving tommy out that way. “(Y/n) darlin it’s okay. It’s okay” he shoved the words out of his mouth holding onto her squeezing her tightly before he felt her tense up underneath him. “Fuck Fuck Fuck”
“She’s in labour get Mum!” Michael winced sitting her down, “sweetheart look at me” he wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her eyes snapped to him as her breathing sped up. “This hurts.” She whispered her voice cracking. He nodded stroking her hair back. “I know love I know but when it’s over we’ll have our baby yeah?” He smiled a little kissing her head. “John help me get her to the bedroom and Tommy get the fuck out of my house.” Michael spat.
Once (y/n) had been moved to the bedroom the men All waited outside, getting rid of the bloody mess that was in the living room. (Y/n) lay on the bed panting her forehead slick with sweat as she held Michaels hands.
“Michael where’s your Mum.” She cried softly, Michael had undressed her down to Just her slip and had a cold flannel on her chest. “She’ll be here soon love I promise.” He thumbed the tears from her face.
“Oh fuck” She shouted out as she got a harsh contraction. “Michael it’s coming now I can feel it.” The baby was crowning and the only person who could help her deliver the baby at this point was Michael.
Shoving his shirt sleeves up, Michael took a deep breath and moved from her side to the end of the bed. “Holy fucking Jesus, I can see the head! I can see it’s head.” Panicking Michael rugged at his hair.
“I-I need to push m-Michael you need to hold the head and help me.” She panted sitting up a little getting ready to push. (Y/n) had helped with Ada and Esmes baby’s before so was hoping her birth would be as easy as theirs.
Wish a mighty push and a high pitched scream Michael held the baby’s head in his hands “Okay okay now what.” He asked quickly staring down at his child’s puffy face.
Before she could answer (y/n) was pushing again and Michael got the general idea, she pushed he caught. “Okay (y/n) you’ve got this love one more push and we have our baby.” Michael watched her cry and grip the sheets once more, and with one last push their baby was born.
“It’s a girl.” He breathed dropping back onto his knees holding the tiny screaming baby in his hands. She was so small but so perfect, quickly cutting the cord just as Polly and Esme burst threw the door. “Oh my god.” Esme quickly took the baby from Michael and Polly was helping (y/n) checking her over and helping her clean herself up.
Michael and (y/n) ignored everyone just watching Esme carefully wrap the baby in one of Michaels thick shirts. Relaxing slightly when Esme handed her the baby (y/n) sat back grinning at her little girl. Glancing up she nodded for Michael to come over. He was still covered in both of their blood and other things that wouldn’t be coming out of his white shirt. “We have a daughter.” He whispered sitting with (y/n).
Polly kissed her sons head before leaving the room quietly giving them a few moments alone. “She’s so perfect.” (Y/n) whispered touching her little face gently. Michael beamed staring at her in awe. “She’s just like you.”
“Michael we need to go home.” (Y/n) spoke after a few minutes of them just watching the baby. “What?” Michael frowned. “Love we are home.” She shook her head. “Watery lane, small heath, Birmingham. It’s safer. I want her kept safe and the more family around her the better.” She spoke quietly.
“Love about tonight I-“ (y/n) shook her head. “Not now, lets just be here in this moment a little while later.” She whispered. Michael bowed his head.
“I like Elizabeth Rose Gray. Or Rosie Elizabeth.” (Y-n) smiled as the baby slept in Michaels arms. “Elizabeth rose sounds perfect.” He smiled looking down at his soon to be wife. “Perfect.” She breathed.
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cassandra-acton · 7 years ago
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ONE-TIME THING:
I’ve been thinking about Cassie’s staff recently, so this happened! Meet some of them. Eric is going to be a gem of an NPC character, so keep an eye out for him in future self paras. Also mentions some other shenanigans, so enjoy that. 
Date: March 7th, 2018. Warnings: Shouty, sweary Welshman. tw: nerd mention.
“The man’s like a fucking balloon animal with moving parts and a face hole that makes occasional, meaningless noise.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
Enter Eric Vickery: the slightly sociopathic communications director that had stood loyally at her side since Election Day. There was no one in Parliament who had an even remotely comparable way with words (probably a good thing) and the fact that he sounded like he’d just drunkenly stumbled out of the Welsh Valleys made everything he said ten times more hilarious. The team had gotten lucky with him; especially when he made the bizarre decision to work with Cassie exclusively, instead of dividing his time between handfuls of London-based MPs like his counterparts typically did.
The man, edging into his late forties, liked to regularly remind her that she had potential, and she was sure he stuck around because he thought they’d be shooting for a ministerial position one day. Eric wanted a promotion, he would use her to get there, and she loved him for it.
“Leader of the Opposition,” Laura Monroe, her PA, mocked through a mouthful of pizza.
“Yeah, well, there’s a reason they’re only the opposition, and that reason is he’s a fucking cretin.”
It was a tradition that they had upheld every in-session Wednesday for almost two years. Cassie, Eric, Laura, and occasionally her Chief of Staff, Gary Hill, would gather in her office and make a night out of BBC Parliament’s repeat of Prime Minister’s Questions. They rock-paper-scissored who would be responsible for bringing the food, before showing up around midnight to settle in for two solid hours of soul-cleansing bitching. Of course, watching it back was constructive in other ways, but she wasn’t ashamed to admit that in a world where one had to hold back constantly, the bitching kept her sane.
“Why does he always look as if he’s about to choke on his own tongue?” Laura added.
Cassie scoffed, crossing her legs to get comfortable as she positioned herself in the middle of her desk. “Turn it up. I want to hear him trip over whichever bullshit line Karl Marx fed him this time.”
They’d massacred enough pizzas to feed a large family, and watched as her sister expertly dismembered every single critic from the opposing bench with an ease that Cassie could only admire. Elizabeth Acton was fucking good at her job; so much so that even Eric hadn’t a bad word to say about the way in which she conducted herself.
Suddenly, a knock at the door stole attention away from another one of Elizabeth’s ruthless comebacks. They’d barely heard it over the sound of the Conservative benches heckling the poor sod that had just been absolutely decimated on national television, but when the door swung open, Laura moved to mute the television momentarily.
“I—You said you wanted a transcript of the highlights from the last committee meeting as soon as I printed—“
It was James Gillespie, the poor, stuttering intern still afraid of breathing Eric’s oxygen.
“Beautiful. Leave the folder on the side, go the fuck home, and get some sleep. You look like you’re about to pass out, kid,” the Welshman ordered, words about as close to sympathetic as they ever came. Clearly, this registered in the young man, because he offered an uncharacteristic smile along with his usual silent and obedient nod.
Without another the word, the intern had disappeared as quickly as he’d entered.
Chewing on the end of her last slice of pizza, she shot a glare at her communications director. “Will you please be nice to the intern? I like James. It’d be rather nice if James stuck around. James is a good egg.”
“Oh, you do?” Eric enthused sarcastically. “Well then you’ll be disappointed to hear that he’s not Labour, so please avoid trying to fuck him.”
In a split second, her glare switched from playful to murderous. Eric took issue with how much time she spent working with Adam Hassan, and he made absolutely no secret of it.
“Nice.”
“Nice? Do you know how difficult you make my job?”
“I didn’t fuck Adam,” she informed, annoyed.
In that moment, she swore she could see his eye twitch. It wasn’t a lie. The initial ‘date’ he was having a mental breakdown over was so tame, it ended with a kiss on the cheek and slight confusion on her part as to whether she’d misread his signs entirely. Cassie felt stupid even thinking about it. She wished to God he hadn’t brought it up so she could avoid the internal cringing.
“You didn’t fuck Adam yet.” Eric corrected. “Not that he needs you to. The press is already on its hands and knees sucking Beautiful Perfect Angel Boy’s dick. You realize this is going to be a bigger pile of shit for me to clear up than you, Silas and your Roman fucking rendezvous?”
Okay, that she could understand him being upset about.
The press had picked up on it quickly and threatened with a God damn field day, but he had deftly stopped them in their tracks, like the genius he was, before the story gained momentum. If only he knew. Cassie felt a pang of guilt, and not the type that one might’ve expected. None of it was for Alice, and all of it was for the communications director she really did push to his limit.
“Thanks for smoothing that over, by the way. You are also a good egg.”
“No, I’m a miraculous egg, Cassie. I’m a miraculous fucking egg. Alice’s little fan club wanted your head on a spike and for a minute there, I debated how giving it to them would look on my resume.”
“You wouldn’t do that to me…”
There was an awkward pause. Cassie’s usually disarming smile had little effect.
Eric sighed out through his nose, and suddenly, all of the dismissive humour he was so famous for was gone. “Did you sleep with Silas?”
The seriousness of his tone was so unfamiliar, it stunned her into silence. Laura cleared her throat—in all honesty, Cassie had forgotten she was there for a second—before politely excusing herself as though she thought it wasn’t her business to be a part of this conversation. Eric probably agreed, because he waited until after she’d shut the door behind her to repeat himself.
“Look, you don’t need me to tell you that it’s a bad fucking idea, but if you screwed him, I need to know about it. God forbid this ever fucking surfaces, Cass, but if it does, I need to know the facts. I have to be equipped to deal with it.”
Even though she was sure her expression said everything he needed to hear, he waited.
The night in question had been repeating on her mind solidly since it had happened; mostly, because she didn’t even know how she felt about it. The only thing she knew for sure was that she certainly harboured no guilt. Yes, Silas was married, but he was married to fucking Satan. It was something to do. It was company. It was stupid.
Things between them hadn’t changed. They’d had sex, but they were adults and it was fine.
“It was just once,” she conceded, barely managing the words as she held up her hands in genuine surrender for fear of him biting her head off. “It’s not going to happen again. I made a mistake, okay? It was just a one-time thing.”
The man looked as though his brain had partially melted. Believing it already was one thing, but hearing it firsthand?
“Well, I guess that explains the eye fucking then!” Eric bellowed, gesturing both hands toward the still muted TV wildly. “What happened to doing us all the courtesy of pretending you fucking hate each other, huh? If you’re going to sleep with him, at least spare us the pining looks across the backbenches, Cassie, because I’m just a man. I like my food. I’d rather not lose it.” Sighing, he pressed his fingertips to his forehead, letting out an inhuman groan. “There’ll be gifs of that shit.”
Cassie froze, once again lost for words. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to defend herself?
“Eric, come on…”
“One-time thing,” he warned, sitting bolt upright and pointing at her. By this point, she’d noted his expression had made an uncomfortable diversion from its earlier anger. He looked…disappointed. Concerned. “You don’t fuck your career up for a married man, so you fucking promise me now that this is a one-time thing, otherwise I’ll rip his God damn dick off myself.”
Promise? What were they, ten? “Don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?”
Even she didn’t think that. In fact, she was cursing herself for saying it almost as soon as the words left her dumb mouth.
“He’s fucking married, Cassie!”                                      
“Okay, okay! Can you maybe stop shouting ‘he’s married’?!” The blonde whispered, eyebrows pulling together in an angry frown. “I feel like that might get some fucking attention, don’t you?”
There was a lengthy pause in which both parties attempted to calm themselves. Neither of them seemed to manage it particularly well.
“One-time thing.”
“All right, Eric,” Cassie relented with a sigh. It was hard to tell whether she meant the words, or whether she was just desperate to appease him, but she coughed them up all the same. “I promise.”
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olusegundare · 6 years ago
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BROTHER SAMSON AND SISTER DEBBIE STORY CONTINUES
May 29, 2014 "Fire of Love"
When I got 2 "mai" lord's place afta d discussion he was fast asleep on d sofa in d parlor, he must have been tired afta d program.."E ku ile o", I said as I opened d door, turning 4m d sofa he slept on, partly opening his eyes, "Uhm, e e kabo..o ma pẹ ẹ kẹ", bro Samson said, closing his eyes again, as I walked 2 d sofa on which he lay sleeping, sat beside his legs, bending 2 remove my pumps. "Sorry. The lady needed some advice on her relationship & u know such could not be given in haste (I did not wait 4 his reply b4 I asked), "se ẹ ti jeun sha?"" ""Igbati mo jeun tan na ni mo ni ki n gbe ehin lele", I did not know when I slept off", bro Samson said turning again on d sofa. "Ounje temi nko?" Debbie asked "I have finished all, "mo ni boya o ti lọ mu oyan die lodo mummy"" bro Samson replied. "But we left 2geda, how do u xpect dat I wil go 2 home without informing u?"Debbie asked as she tried 2 rest her back on d sofa, dis made bro Samson 2 take out his legs 4m her back placing them on her lap.."Ebi lo le mi wonu ile yi o". "Ẹyin ko tile le ba Jesu sọna fun iseju kan pere? Assuming we have not close d service "nkọ"? Bro Samson said. "If we have not finished I will know we have not finished, my system will understand dat & wil have conditioned itself 2 dat", Debbie said yawning. "There is bread and butter in the Freezer, go & refresh yourself with that...and afterwards cook for us", bro Samson said. "Cook for "us" again? Or cook your that is, my food?" Debbie asked. "Ounje ma mu ẹ kárakára loni kẹ...tabi aunti yen ti ko e nifun lo ni?" Bro Samson replied taken off his legs 4m her lap. "Ko ye mi o. I am seriously hungry sha...ebi kì í wonu ki oro miran wọ ọ, let me get the worms in my intestines somethings to hang on to before I cook our food" Debbie said as she stands up going to the freezer...soon she gets to where d freezer was and opened it "kran-in" was d sound heard when it opened. "E gbe awon appetizer yen wa o, ebi npa emi na o", Bro Samson said, as he puts on d paid tv. "Ha-Ha-Ha. I hope we will not take your intestine to the Pacific Republican, ounje yin ti fe poju o", Debbie said. "Ife lafe fi ba ẹ jẹ ẹ. It is you who said we shd be showing our love", bro Samson enthused. "I know u will say dat", says sister Debbie as she closed d freezer, puts the bread, butter and water on a tray carrying them to where brother Samson sits. "Okay. Ki a ma ma lo ifẹ mọ abi?" asked Bro Samson. "I did not say dat...let brotherly and sisterly love continue so says me, Debbie" as Debbie puts d food on d table, slicing the bread with knife and applying butter on its surfaces. "Iwo tebi npa ju lo yẹ ki o kọkọ jẹ nibe", bro Samson said as he puts d sliced buttered bread into sister Debbie's mouth. "But you have not blessed dis food "mai" lord" Sista Debbie talking in between d chewing meal. "Eyin ko nigbagbo bi woro irugbin oka baba, ti eyin ba nigbagbo ni e o mo wipe mimu ti a mu dani yen gan o ti di yiyasimimọ...whatever I touched is sanctified", bro Samson said. "Yes sir", replied sista Debbie as she continued with the application of the butter on d bread. "But for you not to be annoyed, "Oh Lord, sanctify and bless these foods, including d one in my inestimable jewel's mouth & those already swallowed in Jesus name. Amen". Bro Samson said as he tucks d remaining bite of sister Debbie in his hand into his mouth. "Eyin laiye yin. Uhm! Oro yin gan ko ye mi mọ", Debbie said. Bro Samson talkin as he grinds d bread with his teeth "instead of you to say "amin", u are still talking" "Emi na ti se amin sinu ni", Sis Debbie said, as she also puts a sliced bread in her mouth. "Mi o gbọ amin yen. Didnt u hear me when I was praying?" bro Samson said. "O da, Amin loruko Jesu fire!" Sis Debbie said. "Why did u add "fire", you want 2 set dis place on fire ni?" bro Samson asked. "Yes o. I want dis place 2 always be on fire of love. I want "mai" lord and I to always be on fire of love, anytime, anyday, anywhere", Debbie adds trying to drink water. "Alright. Fire of love. Love of fire...nay, nay, Fire of Love is it. And I see a farmer, clearing a virgin land, afta d clearing he sets d grasses on fire, afta which he made new ridges, in which he planted d seeds. "Which seeds are these?" I heard someone asking. "They are d seeds of love, dat will produce fruits of love. Afta a While d seeds germinated & started growing, d farmer paid attention to d planted seeds, weeding out other plants beside it, those weeded out plants were what will make d plants malnourished while fighting with d plants 4 d nutrients in d soil..."bro Samson has stopped eating now, fixing his gaze on his love-sister Debbie-who by now is resting her back on a chair opposite bro Samson as dey continue 2 eat, she, Debbie was also looking at her love & gem, obviouly in love, obviously admiringly, smiling, "in love I love u, in your love you will find me", Debbie thought within her...as she continued to listen to his love and lord "...the farmer said, "those weeded out plants are doubts, inexpression, anger, bitterness, bickerings, not-open to each other, insincerity, communication gaps etc" These are d weeds dat could hamper & prevent the development and growth of those seeds of love and ultimately leadin to non-productiveness of the plant and ofcourse making the farmer's labour to be in vain..."When dis plant started bringing forth fruits, it brings them forth in hundreths..bringing forth money 2 d farmer, as well as nourishin the souls and bodies of those who ate it...Everyone who eats out of this fruit of love asks for more, because love is like honey, which when any1 tastes will ask for more; love is like energy drink, which keeps one active and alert; love is like fire, which when ignited consumes the lovers hearts and flesh; love is like deodorant, which when put on smells nice; love is like air, which living things cannot do without; love is like rail, that is specially designed for a particular transport; love is like cloth that covers man's nakedness;...uhm! As fire does not have reservation for its igniter, so does love have not respect for its igniter, "ani", so does love have no respect for any, for as it consumes the hearts of younger ones in love, so does it consume the hearts of the elderlies in love...LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! By love we live, by Love we have our being...As we, Debbie and Samson continued in love, we will be refreshed daily, becoming younger than our ages...Fire of love! May it not be put out from amongst us in Jesus name. Amen" "Amen". I have always suggested that you become an actor but u are yet to consider my suggestion" Sista Debbie said.. "Uhm!" Easting the bread again...gulping down water..."and how will you feel seeing me romancing somebody else in the movie or on stage "jare""? Bro Samson asked. "Indifferent" Debbie replied. "Indifferent? Really?" Bro Samson asked. "Yeah, Yeah. Thus is bc I know its your profession" Debbie said. "It is easier said than believe. Orisa je ki npe meji obinrin awon agbalagba wipe kosi", said bro Samson. "Se orisa jen pe meji okunrin na wa ni?" Sista Debbie replied. "I cannot answer that", bro Samson said. "You cannot answer because u know there is none", she said, "Your proposal is good. I have read thru it. I will submit it to the management for scrutiny", bro Samson said, "That will be better. That is good of you. I do not wish to see a star rot away in the closest", Debbie said. "May God bring us to the limelight in Jesus name...and may our glories come out of its hidden closets in Jesus name". Bro Samson prayed. "Amin re po." Sista Debbie replied. "Ejowo gbogbo eleyi ti A n so dun, nje ji wa ni a fe je bayi?" bro Samson asked. "But, sebi e ni e ti jeun lekan ni?" Sis Debbie asked. "Do u xpect me 2 have eaten?" Bro Samson asked. "I would not know", She replied. "O dara. Emi o ti jeun o. I was waiting 4 your return until i slept off where u find me", bro Samson replied. "Mo ro wipe e ti jeun ni o...okay. What do u want to eat?" sis Debbie asked, clearing d table. "Delicious meal. Because I want to look robust, younger and fresher before you leave 4 schl again", bro Samson said. "Even if I resume, dont I come home 4thnightly?" sis Debbie asked. "Yeah you do, but dats different 4m when u r around me now, it is much more different 4m when we are seeing ourselves regularly" bro Samson said. "Dont tell me dat u are already "missing" me...dat's why I said let us solemnize everythin b4 now, but u said nay, nay, e o ma mu mora ni o", sista Debbie said. "It is for our future. Se iwo na o ti ma "miss" mi ni?" Bro Samson asked. "I miss u daily. Particularly when u aint by me, when I get home @ night I always pray that d hours be fast-forwarded so dat d day breaks quickly so dat we see, so my missing u is an independent integer from my moving to school" she enthused. "Ironically the hours must be fully expended b4 d day breaks forth. And I think the "missings" is an assorted relationship", bro Samson said "Eyin le mo. Whether assorted or independent, "missing" na missing", Sis Debbie replied. "Worry less love, ohun to ntan ni eegun odun. Everything will soon be coupled" bro Samson said. "I pray it be soonest in Jesus name." Sis Debbie prayed "Amen" bro Samson replied as sister Debbie clears the table, takes the used utencils to the kitchen and so as to start the cooking.. 
TRANSLATION May 29, 2014 "Fire of Love"
afta (MEANING after)   “E ku ile o", (translating this is a bit difficult, but it means the lady is greeting her fiancé when she gets back home) "Uhm, e e kabo..o ma pẹ ẹ kẹ", (meaning Uhmn, welcome.., but you are a bit late)   "se ẹ ti jeun sha?"" (meaning I hope you have taken (eating) something anyway) ""Igbati mo jeun tan na ni mo ni ki n gbe ehin lele", (meaning, when I finished eating, that was when I lay my back on the sofa "Ounje temi nko?" (meaning, where is my own food)   "mo ni boya o ti lọ mu oyan die lodo mummy"" (meaning I said maybe you have had a stop over at your mum’s place sucking breasts)   xpect (meaning expect) "Ebi lo le mi wonu ile yi o".(meaning it is hunger pangs that drove me into this house oh (or better still I am damn hungry)) "Ẹyin ko tile le ba Jesu sọna fun iseju kan pere? (meaning You cannot even watch (or fast) with Jesus for a second)   "nkọ"? (meaning what will you do or what will happen?) "Ounje ma mu ẹ kárakára loni kẹ...tabi aunti yen ti ko e nifun lo ni?" (meaning you are damn hungry today oh, what happened? Has the sister flushed off all the foods in your intestines?)   "Ko ye mi o. (meaning, I wouldn’t know oh) ...ebi kì í wonu ki oro miran wọ ọ, (meaning what I only know is that one cannot be hungry and yet be talking nor thinking of another thing (it is a Yoruba Proverb meaning when one is hungry other things become suspended)   "E gbe awon appetizer yen wa o, ebi npa emi na o", (meaning please bring those appetizers oh, because I am also hungry oh)   ounje yin ti fe poju o", (meaning your food is getting too much oh)   "Ife lafe fi ba ẹ jẹ ẹ. (meaning we want to dine with you in love)   shd (meaning should)   "Okay. Ki a ma ma lo ifẹ mọ abi?" (meaning shall we suspend the use of love among ourselves?)   "Iwo tebi npa ju lo yẹ ki o kọkọ jẹ nibe", (meaning it is you whose threshold for hunger is high that ought to first take a bite)   "Eyin ko nigbagbo bi woro irugbin oka baba, ti eyin ba nigbagbo ni e o mo wipe mimu ti a mu dani yen gan o ti di yiyasimimọ...(meaning you have no faith like a grain of guinea corn (he changed the mustard seed that Jesus said in the bible to guinea corn which is common around) for assuming you have faith you will know that my mere handling or touching the food it has been sanctified)   "Eyin laiye yin. Uhm! Oro yin gan ko ye mi mọ", (meaning, you in this life (or just say, You! You!) Uhmn, I do not think I understand you again)   "amin", (meaning Amen)   "Emi na ti se amin sinu ni", (meaning I have said amen internally or inside of me I have answered amen)   "Mi o gbọ amin yen. (meaning I did not hear you say amen)   "O da, Amin loruko Jesu fire!" (meaning Okay o. Amen in Jesus name. Fire!) ni?" (meaning or what?)   "jare""? (meaning the sentence would be like this with the “jare”, okay how would you feel…) Orisa je ki npe meji obinrin awon agbalagba wipe kosi", (meaning The Yoruba Elders say women/wives like an idol would not want competitors (it is a proverb saying no woman want to have a smaller wife, no woman wants her hubby to have another woman outside her)   "Se orisa jen pe meji okunrin na wa ni?" (meaning can we also find a man who will want competitors with his wife) "Amin re po." (meaning a lot of amen to that) "Ejowo gbogbo eleyi ti A n so dun, nje ki wa ni a fe je bayi?" (meaning, please all that we are saying is intriguing/good but what are we to eat after this?)   "But, sebi e ni e ti jeun lekan ni? (meaning, but you said you have taken/eaten something the other time) " "O dara. Emi o ti jeun o.(meaning, okay oh, I have not taken anything oh)   "Mo ro wipe e ti jeun ni o... (meaning I thought you have eaten oh)   e o ma mu mora ni o", (meaning you will continue to endure it oh) Se iwo na o ti ma "miss" mi ni?" (meaning are you also not missing me already?)   "Eyin le mo. (meaning it is only you who know that) ohun to ntan ni eegun odun. (meaning yearly masquerade festival will come to an end (it is a proverb saying one day something will end))                    
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