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luxshine · 4 years ago

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“Yo a ti, Cas” Or how mexican dubbing gripped us tight and raised us from Despair.

Ok. So I promised a big meta about the dubbing thing and so while I don’t have all the answers YET, here’s a bit of perspective on the differences between Despair and The Truth.

First, a little background. I am a former professional dubbing translator. While I worked on anime series from Japanese to Spanish, rather than in live action ones from English to Spanish, the process is not that different. Also, I worked in Mexico, where Supernatural is dubbed, so that’s why I can make the assumptions I make. Finally, my specialization in college was translation from English to Spanish, so I guess I know what the hell I’m talking about.

So let’s start on HOW you translate something for a dub. Back in the day, you got a ton of VHS tapes with the episodes on them with time codes, and, if you were lucky, a shooting script. This is to say, it was not a transcript of the actual words said in the episode, but the script BEFORE the actors, directors, and everyone else had a hand on what was said and changed. And thus, anything adlibbed? Is not going to be in that script which, at least for the anime side of things? Was a nightmare as the script was usually “And here X actor can say whatever they want” and I had to go and listen to the scene ten thousand times. Now a days, you get either a video file or a streaming link, and sometimes, the shooting script. If you get a script, btw, you can also not get a script in the original language. I know that the person who had to translate Sprited Away to Spanish was working off a German script, not the Japanese one. So yeah, some things can be lost in translation there.

THEN you get to translate. BUT you can’t just translate word by word. You have to adapt it so that it will sound like something a person will say, and sometimes, literally is not the way to do it. And in particular, Mexican dubbing has a reputation to uphold as the “Neutral” dub that is send to most Spanish-speaking countries in Latin America, so we can’t use certain words (I don’t have the list at hand, but I remember that I couldn’t use “Llanta” for Tire, and so I had to use “Neumatico”. And no “sweaters” or “hotcakes” or stuff like that), AND we have to match the lips of the original video. Which is like, the worst nightmare ever because of what we call “labiales”, that is to say, the letters where lips close.

I can’t tell you how much we all loved when a character gave a long winded speech with their back to the camera due to those damned closed lip letters.

All this is to say that sometimes, the line could be “We are all in this together for good or bad”, and the translation become something more like “Estamos en esto, por las buenas o las malas” (We’re on this, the good way or the bad way) or “Estamos juntos en las buenas y en las malas” (We’re together in the good and the bad), depending on the translator, dub director, and voice actor.

Depending on the client, that is, the original owner of the series, sometimes they will review the translation once it’s all dubbed and edited. I know that in the Avengers movie, a Disney rep was present on the cabin and forbade any changes from the script, which resulted on a couple of awkward lines in the end result. I don’t know if that’s the case for Supernatural, but I honestly doubt it. Still, translators can’t make huge changes for the dialogue. One couldn’t just ADD a relationship that wasn’t there, no matter what.

(As an aside, due to the very conservative mindset of some tv stations, it’s more common that gay relationships become more ambiguous, by changing “I love you” to “Te quiero” which can be more of a filial love than a romantic one. And well, that one case in Sailor Moon where a gay character was changed into a woman because the dub director honestly thought the character was a woman. But that was in the nineties)

Now, let’s go to how Castiel’s speech was translated.

The original, according to Superwiki, went like this:

Castiel: You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.

Dean: Why does this sound like a goodbye? Castiel: Because it is. I love you. Dean: Don't do this, Cas. Cas.

And the translation, as it was aired, went like this (And people, you have no idea the war flashbacks transcribing this gave me, so I hope you appreciate it):

Castiel: Eres el hombre mas amoroso sobre la Tierra. Un hombre sin egoismo; el hombre mas generoso que haya visto, y que jamas vere. Sabes que desde que nos conocimos y desde que te saque del infierno, el conocerte me ha cambiado. Porque a ti te importa. Y a mi me importa. Me importas tu. Y me importa Sam, me importa Jack, me importa todo el mundo. Y fue por ti. Tu me cambiaste, Dean.

Dean: Porque suena esto a despedida?

Castiel: Porque asi fue. Te amo.

Dean: Yo a ti, Cas. (The empty appears and Billie opens the door) Cas…

Castiel: Adios Dean

Dean: No!

Ok. So… At first glance, they’re pretty much the same until we get to the I love you. BUT let’s dissect it a little bit.

Cas begins with a “Eres el hombre mas amoroso sobre la Tierra” which is not how I would’ve translated “The most caring man on Earth” since “caring” is more like “Cariñoso” rather than “amoroso” which would be “loving”, and yes, there’s a difference. Plus, “el hombre mas amoroso” sounds a bit clunky, so Personally, I’d have gone with “Eres el hombre mas cariñoso en la Tierra”, that would’ve given us more time for the rest of the speech, but I wonder if the translator choice for Amoroso instead was more due to the fact that “amor” (love) is more clearly romantic than “care” (cariño, in a sense, more on this later) and so it foreshadows the end.

Again, with the literal clunkyness we have “Un hombre sin egoismo” (A man without egoism) which sounds weird no matter what language you speak, and it should’ve been “Un hombre dadivoso” (A giving man) or “un hombre desinteresado” (a selfless man) although the second could be mis-construed as “a man without interests” so “dadivoso” would’ve better. But the more puzzling is that the Spanish separates the selfless man from the next, which is REALLY confusing as the English is “the most loving man”, which would be “el hombre mas amoroso” making it quite redundant, so the Spanish changes it to “the most generous man”, “el hombre mas generoso”. To add to this, Cas continues with “that I have seen and I will ever see” instead of “That I know”, because it’s far more poetic. And loving.

So yeah, Mexican Cas is basically saying that Dean Winchester is made of love and puppies.

Ahem.

The next part “You know, ever since I pulled you out of hell, you’ve changed me” is more or less word for word, and the only thing that changes is that the English sounds more like a question and the Spanish one is an affirmation. YOU KNOW that ever since I pulled you out of hell, you changed me.” Little verb tense play, that doesn't change much except Cas’s resolution to say what he has to say.

And then we get to the part that made me squeal out loud. Because we go from

“Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you”

“Porque a ti te importa. Y a mi me importa. Me importas tu. Y me importa Sam, me importa Jack, me importa todo el mundo.” Which at first glance is the same, but NOPE.

First change: The original is in past tense “I cared”. Spanish version is in present tense: “I care”.

Which is a little non important thing except when you remember that simple present means “immutable absolute truth that won’t change with time”

Second, the choice of word for care.

I mentioned before that Care can be Cariño, as in filial, non romantic love (Or romantic love pet name, as it can also be Darling. It’s one of THOSE words). Other translations for care include “cuidado” (as in attention, concern, keeping, and worry), and of course “interesarse” (Which also can be care), “preocuparse” (care, bother, trouble, mind, fuss), and yes, “importar” but “importar” ONLY translates to English as a verb as “import”, “matter” “amount to” and notice how none of those words include “love”.

Mexican Cas is not saying “you love the world, and so I do”. Mexican Cas is saying “The world matters to you, and thus it matters to me, but my feelings for the World (and Sam, and Jack) are not in the same league as my feelings for you.”

And then Dean asks “Why does this sound like a Goodbye”, just like in English, in present tense…

And Mexican Cas replies in PAST tense. “Porque asi fue”. And THIS is important because it means that everything he said before WAS the goodbye, and not what comes next. All the rest? Is in the past. “Because it was”. Not “Because it IS”. And the next part? Is their future.

I love you.

Te amo.

Simple present. No ambiguity like “te quiero”. Spanish Te amo is for romantic love. Not brotherly, not family, not bro-mantic. ROMANTIC.

It’s like “I’m IN love with you” (Although that’d be “Estoy enamorado de ti” and I doubt that would’ve fit in the time Misha spoke)

And of course, the answer. “Yo a ti, Cas”. Not “And I, you” as I’ve seen it before (And I also thought it was, until transcribing the scene) but a simple “I, you, Cas.” Which ok, pretty cave-speak, but the meaning is pretty clear. Dean Winchester loves his gay angel.

It is also telling that the empty doesn’t appear until AFTER Dean confessed, so no, Mexican Cas is not “happy with the saying”, he had to get to the “happy with the having”.

And when Billy appears, it does seem as if he wants to say something more, but Cas is a love-sick selfsacrificing dumbass and so we all get our hearts broken.

I did get in contact with Dean Winchester’s mexican voice actor, and am waiting for answers to a small interview I did with him which includes the question “did that And I you, Cas” was in the script, and am trying to contact Castiel’s mexican voice actor. So I will be updating you on that. But I hope this clears up some of the questions about how Mexican dubbing made Destiel Canon :D

#dean deserved better #castiel deserved better #they silenced you #bi dean #supernatural mexican dubbing #y yo a ti #te amo #destiel #destielforever

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erodasfishtacos · 4 years ago

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Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow.

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek.

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.”

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.”

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all.

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound.

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

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plus-size-reader · 3 years ago

Text

Leverage

Magnus Bane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2107 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Magnus taking a special interest in you, Clary's human best friend who resembles a lover Magnus had centuries ago

Just a concept I was tossing around. Let me know what you think and If I should work on a mini-series based on this

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“Just stay close and don’t say anything” Jace reminded, leading you and the rest of your party into Hardtail, his eyes focused on the surrounding crowd, constantly scanning for danger.

This whole thing should be easy.

All they had to do was find Magnus and get him to give Clary her memories back. All things considered, it should have been an in and out mission, something they had done a million times before.

...but they could never be too careful.

Especially considering that they had been forced to bring along some dead weight, in the form of you, as extra insurance.

Just in case the Warlock in question tried anything.

“This is a terrible idea” Alec grumbled, the words falling on mostly deaf ears, though by this point, even Clary was wondering if bringing you along had been the right call.

You were insistent, as soon as you found out that you could be of help but you weren’t blind. You knew that you were in over your head, heading into a downworlder bar with a couple of shadowhunters without any real idea what you were doing there.

Under any other circumstances, you would have turned tail and ran in the other direction, but this was for Clary.

If this ‘High Warlock of Brooklyn’ could give Clary her memories back, and help her figure out what their next step was, you were going to do anything you could to make that happen.

“We don’t even know if this will work-” he continued, earning an elbow to the side from Izzy, who knew exactly where he was going with that.

She knew what they should have already figured out, that once you found out why you were here, you were going to freak out for sure. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you found out that you bore a striking resemblance to someone else, long dead.

It wasn’t something you would be prepared to hear, so it would just be better if you could all get through this without you figuring out what you were actually doing here.

You took notice of the strange exchange between the Lightwoods but decided to ignore it.

The two of them were known to bicker, even to someone who had known them for a few short weeks, and you had more important matters at hand.

Like making sure you didn’t accidentally bump into a vampire or something as you made your way into the club.

“Keep your head down, and don’t go too far” Clary whispered, webbing her fingers with your own as you passed through the crowd, your grib unintentionally tightening as the reality of the situation set in.

Clary was built for this, it was in her blood, but you weren’t.

It wasn’t until you showed up to things like this that you realized just how far out of your depth that you were.

“I’m not going anywhere, trust me” you whispered back, focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other more than anything. Before now, you were sure that the correct answer to the question Jace asked you was yes.

Now that you were here though, you weren't so convinced.

You understood that getting Magnus to meet with you was a long shot in the first place, and you couldn't afford to mess it up, but you just weren’t sure why they needed you. Out of everyone here, you were the most out of place.

Anyone looking in on the scene in front of them would have seen just how much you didn’t belong. Not that anyone around you was all that concerned with you so far, all too focused on the music and lights.

As long as you did as you were told and kept your head down, everything would be fine.

All things considered, your job was easy.

You just had to stay out of the way, and hope that Jace and Alec didn’t need you for whatever it was they thought you could be useful for. Which could have been anything and you wouldn’t have known any better.

The Shadowhunters were so secretive, only telling you what they thought you needed to know, and even then, they always tended to leave out the important stuff.

It made working with them very difficult.

Still, you did what you were told and kept your head down, doing your best to blend in until something changed, which didn’t look like it was going to happen at first.

All in all, it looked to be a pretty standard conversation, though you couldn’t hear any of what they were saying from the distance you were at.

Of course, It wasn't until someone shot an arrow into some guy in the background that you realized just how wrong you were. Evidently, there had been an assassin in the crowd the entire time and no one noticed until Alec put him down.

Which, in turn, spooked the reclusive Warlock into nearly diving back into his wormhole.

He got his jewel, but from the looks on Jace and Clary’s faces, they didn’t get nearly as much as they were hoping for. The only thing that kept Magnus in place was the redhead’s grasp on his wrist, which likely wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

Clearly, they needed something else, which was exactly why they brought you.

You had inadvertently become the most important part of this mission just now, and that meant it was your time to shine, even if you didn’t exactly know what your part to play was.

Without missing a beat, Izzy shot over to whisper something in your ear, something that really didn’t seem like it would work. Though, by this point, you weren’t sure that you had any right to question any of the shadowhunters.

After all, you didn’t even know they existed until a couple weeks ago.

You shot Izzy one more questioning glance, just to make sure she was serious about this before she nodded, telling you to continue with the plan. If anything was going to get Magnus to stick around, it was this.

“Magnus, wait!” you called, doing your best to cut through all the noise that Alec’s arrow and subsequent murder had brought on, which worked surprisingly well.

As it would turn out, just because the Shadowhunters had neglected to tell you that you looked like the long lost love of his life didn’t mean that Magnus was going to. Even the sound of your voice was enough to ring alarms in his head.

He hadn’t heard that sound in so long.

Almost immediately, the Warlock spun around on his heels, his attention finding you immediately. It didn’t make sense, and there was no way that he could have explained it but there was no denying the truth.

Not when it was staring him right in the face.

It was you, and it didn’t matter how it had happened, not now. All he cared about in this moment was that you had come back to him, after all these years. . It was incredible, but even with as thrilled as Magnus was, staying here wasn’t safe. If Valentine managed to find him here, that meant that he likely already knew where the others were.

Every second he spent away was another second evil had to prevail.

Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t exactly trust the shadowhunters to tell him the truth. For all he knew, Magnus could have been looking at some glamour of sorts, and they were tricking him.

He was just having a hard time believing what he was looking at. After all this time, it didn't seem right to see you again.

“You always did like places like this” he hummed, that same far away look clouding his vision as had been this entire time.

No one had ever looked at you like that.

He was looking at you like the whole building could come crumbling down around you and it wouldn’t have mattered one bit. Like you had physically put the sun in the sky, and you barely knew who he was.

“I’ll be in touch”

...and with that, he was gone.

Though, the thought of walking away from you a second time was nearly enough to break his heart, he didn’t have a choice.

There would be no opportunity to talk to you if he was dead, besides, if they wanted to get Clary’s memories back, they were going to need his help.

“Who was he talking about? Who does Magnus Bane think I am?” you started, already asking all the questions that they should have seen coming but no one bothered to answer them.

They weren’t even sure they were going to need you when they asked you to tag along, and just because you had helped them out a little back there didn’t mean the Shadowhunters owed you anything.

You were still just some mundane.

The only reason you were still here was because of Clary, that and they needed you once Alec realized that they were going to have to meet up with Magnus in the first place.

Someone had to get him to agree to help.

“Don’t worry about it. All that matters is that he agreed to help us” Jace shrugged, ignoring you, which by this point was par for the course.

You were so tired of everyone acting like you weren’t here. .

“Come on. I did you a favor back there, can’t you at least tell me what I did?” you sighed, turning your attention to Izzy and Clary instead, because you already knew the males in your party couldn’t care less about what you’d done.

To them, you might as well not be here and you had come to terms with that. You just wanted to know who he thought you were, that was it.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that big of a deal.

“The last partner Magnus had, she looked a lot like you” she allowed, recalling the photograph she’d seen, which might as well have been you a couple hundred years earlier.

You couldn’t believe it.

All this time, you were masquerading as someone else, someone that you didn’t even know existed, and everyone else knew all along.

It was ridiculous.

Though, before you could inform the surrounding Shadowhunters of just how ridiculous, Jace chimed in just enough to let you know that, even still, it wasn’t really your place to ask questions or have opinions.

“We were hoping to catch him off guard, we needed the upperhand” Jace shrugged, truly not seeing how wrong this whole thing was. Not only did they use you without bothering to tell you what was going on, but they exploited him too.

It wasn’t right.

“You should have told me!” you scoffed, thinking that at the very least someone would have had the decency to fill you in on the plan but it would appear that no one thought about that before now.

Jace didn’t even look all that interested in having this conversation at all.

“I would have helped even if you told me beforehand, you know? It would have just been nice to know what I was walking into” you continued, well aware that you were basically talking to yourself but not caring enough to stop.

You couldn’t be both the mundane they didn’t even care enough to address by name and a member of the team that they used when they needed help.

You could be one or the other, but not both, and certainly not at once.

“Well, now you know. Congratulations! Can we get going now?” Alec called, several paces ahead of all of you by now, and not stopping even still. He didn’t care at all about whatever little moral dilemma you were having.

He was much more interested in getting back to the institute before another assassin got the better of one of you.

“Thanks Alec, I appreciate that” you countered, not bothering to cover up the sarcasm flowing from your lips. If he could talk to you like that, there was no reason you couldn’t give it right back.

The truth was that it didn’t matter what they said or how much they pretended this wasn’t a big deal. What had happened back there with Magnus was a big deal, at least, it was a big deal for you.

After all, you just found out that you looked like some dead chick that was hooking up with one of the most powerful warlock’s of all time.

How was that not supposed to be a big deal?

#magnus bane #shadowhunters #magnus #the high warlock of brooklyn #magnus bane x reader #magnus bane x ps reader #magnus bane x plus size reader #magnus bane imagines #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters x ps reader #shadowhunters x plus size reader #shadowhunters imagine #magnus x reader #magnus x ps reader #magnus x plus size reader #magnus imagine

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snifflesthemouse · 4 years ago

Text

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies.

Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy.

Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood!

Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus.

While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa.

Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle.

I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

#megxit #6 #harryswife #yankeewally #murky meg #diana2.0

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narutogwriting · 4 years ago

Note

If requests are open, then: Gaara has chosen a bride, but during their engagement she refuses to capitulate to Suna’s council and their desires to have her on their side instead of Gaara’s. So, in order to break trust/break them apart (the details are obvs your choice), a councilman or two sends a shinobi to sexually assault her.

Fortunately, Gaara discovers the man in time to save you.

With this prompt, could you write something for it? Hurt/confort, lemons (jfc tumblr just knock it off with the gag order already), dark/horror, your choice!

PRECIOUS

Pairing: Gaara x Reader

CW: Attempted sexual assault, light NSFW

Length: 4.6k+

A/N: I absolutely hate how this came out, but I hope it works for you and is what you were expecting!

You know that feeling you have when you’re younger? You have the adults in your life. They always seem to know exactly what to say, what to do. And you never truly have to worry, because if you don’t have the answer, there’s always someone that does.

Right and wrong. It’s all so black and white, and you’re lucky because the adults in your life always make the upstanding choices.

At least, that’s what you think.

And then you grow up. Little by little, you become older and wise enough to realize the more you think you know, the less you do.

And maybe it’s something big or something small when you first start to lose your faith in those in authority. But there’s always a moment when it clicks; the people in authority know no more than you do, they’re not morally honorable at all. They just have the power.

You’d been a ninja your whole life, but as you got older, you opted to step into a more political role for your village. You’d been around long enough to see how corrupt the ninja system was as a whole, and you had wanted to change it from the inside out.

You thought you’d already had your moment, multiple moments, even, that showed you just how amoral and deceitful the powers that be were.

You had no idea how bad they truly could get.

“So, I hope you understand what we’re asking. Your compliance is… let’s just say, in your best interest.”

Silence ensued. Sunagakure, like the other villages, had a system of checks and balances. Gaara was the Kazekage, leader of the village, but that didn’t mean he had this all consuming power. The Suna Council consisted of twelve members, all in place to make sure the Kazekage is doing what they should and that all decisions were made in the villages best interest.

The council and the Kazekage were supposed to be working together for the village, to make things, better, to help the people. The council was supposed to be supporting the Kazekage as the leader.

So, in a way, you almost couldn’t believe they would ask you this. Only almost. . The Sand Village had never had a reputation of being above reproach. Why, it was just a few years ago when they had partnered with the Sound Village to overthrow the Leaf Village, killing the Hokage in the process. Gaara had only been a child then, but the Suna Council that had agreed with the plot then was the same council that now demanded you betray your husband to be.

They wanted you in their ranks. The direction that Gaara was ready to lead Suna in wasn’t a direction the elders were ready for it to go.

It was new and completely different from anything they’d seen before. But Gaara was insistent that Suna was going to enter an era of peace and perseverance. They would be a village that would fight for the good of the world, not solely their own interests. Suna as a village would no longer be number one. People would be.

And so they expected you to play a secret agent for them. They would give you orders, and then, as Gaara’s wife to be, you would manipulate him into their desires, make him think they were his own. You would play him as if he were a puppet on your strings.

Maybe it was because you had been a diplomat before moving to the Sand for Gaara. They thought because you were a politician, that you would understand their requests and be bought off so easily. It was the very reason you’d taken the position; the way village politics worked needed to change.

The twelve council members stared at you steadily and expectantly. They expected your concurrence, couldn’t imagine that there would be any thought of going against their wishes. They’d gone so long getting exactly what they wanted.

All good things must come to an end.

There were a couple ways you could have played this. Agreed and then told Gaara what they’d asked. That they were demanding for you to work Gaara behind the scenes and manipulate him to their will. You could have agreed, even. Accepted their offers of power and betrayed your betrothed.

You had endless options, but you would take none of them.

Gaara was the love of your life, going to be your husband, and you would present as a strong front. You would let there be no question of where your loyalty was.

Pushing back your chair, you stood, smacking your hands down on the tables, a sudden, loud move that made the old hags jolt. You bit back a satisfied smirk; good. You wanted to scare them, let them know *exactly where they stood with you.

“How dare you?” You demanded from them, meeting each member’s eye slowly and purposefully, wanting them to understand just how badly they had screwed up by trying to turn you against Gaara.

“I don’t know how things worked back in your days, but Gaara becoming Kazekage has reigned in a new era of peace and restitution for the Sand. Things will no longer be the way you allowed it to for so long, full of evil and sneakiness and cowardice. You’re going to learn soon enough; Suna has no more need for the ways of the old world.” You pushed off the table, scowling in disgust.

“How dare you call yourselves leaders while you attempt to turn the Kazekage’s betrothed into a traitor.” Lips pursed, you looked over them all one more time, doing nothing to hide the contempt in your gaze. “The Kazekage is not going to be pleased when he hears about this.”

With that, you turned on your heel, stomping out of the room, letting the door slam closed behind you.

Out of the room now, away from their gaze, you leaned against the other side of the door, feeling the way your heart raced erratically. You couldn’t believe you’d talked like that to the Suna Council.

You’d never been meek, really. Confrontation just wasn’t your favorite thing, and besides this, you respected your elders and village leaders greatly, not discounting their wisdom or experience just because of different times. You’d even admired the council up until this moment.

But no amount of reverence or admiration would ever surpass what you felt for Gaara. You loved him more than anything or anyone, and you would always be on his side no matter what. There was nothing and no one that could make you falter or second guess being by his side.

Heading back to your apartment, you wished not for the first time you shared it with Gaara. You and Gaara didn’t live together yet; he wasn’t exactly traditional, but he wanted to keep up the appearance of it. He didn’t want to move in together until the two of you were officially married, and that day was coming up soon. You could wait just a little longer until you got to wake up to his face every morning.

Nothing sounded more blissful.

It had been a diplomacy mission that had brought you from your home in Iwagakure to Suna for the very first time.

Love at first sight wasn’t necessarily something you believed in, but the first time you laid eyes on Gaara, you knew there was something special in him. You’d heard the stories and the rumors your whole life, the demonic reincarnation of the one tailed beast that killed everything in his path to the reformed and revered youngest Kage in history.

Gaara had been nothing like you expected.

He had the kindest eyes you’d ever seen. At a young seventeen years old, his eyes held stories of a hundred lifetimes. He was quiet, observant. He took in everything and everyone around him, considering their every move and word before responding himself. When he spoke, it was with a shared respect and understanding of those who he was addressing.

You’d bowed respectfully when you met, addressing him, of course, as Kazekage. When you’d straightened, his eyes on you had you blushing; you felt bare under his gaze.

A week. You were only in Suna one week, and that was all it took for you to fall for Gaara. From the first late night the two of you spent negotiating and discussing the particulars of the alliance between your villages, you got to know Gaara more than you’d ever imagined you would.

And Gaara was just as sprung. From your easy smile to the quickness of your thoughts to the passion in which you spoke, he’d never met anyone like you.

You were a marvel to Gaara, and he didn’t let you leave without letting you know.

You were surprised in all honesty. You hadn’t been able to read whether or not he was as interested in you as you were in him, but either way, you wouldn’t have expected a person like Gaara to be so forward.

He was modest and reverent the night before you were to go back to your village when he told you he’d like you to return soon. He left no room for you to wonder what he meant, instantly letting you know that it was because he was enamoured with you, and he had every intention in pursuing you romantically if you would let him.

Of course you would.

It was one and a half years of dating before you’d opted to give up your position in your village to move to the Sand. Gaara didn’t ask you to, never would have dreamed of making you choose between him and your job, but it was the obvious choice to you.

You loved Gaara irrevocably, and he was Kazekage. He couldn’t leave his village, so you would go to him.

It was only a year after that when Gaara asked you to marry him in a way that was so him. It was quiet and private and romantic as hell.

He’d asked you to go with him for a quiet walk to the green house, just about the only place in Suna that had any plants. It was both of your favorite places, so of course you agreed.

When you’d arrived, the green house was alight with fairy lights strung from every corner. Petals from various flowers littered the floor walkway down to an arc of ivy that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Looking at Gaara, your mouth hung agape in disbelief and confusion. He gave you a soft smile, taking your hand and leading you down the walkway. By the time you got to the ivory arc, you had tears overflowing.

“Yes!” You were crying before he even got down on one knee.

Gaara had tried to shoosh you with a small laugh, but you weren’t having it, throwing your arms around him and peppering him with kisses before he could get a word in.

“You have to let me ask you. I have a speech.” He tried to tell you, but gave up as you continued to kiss him, laughing and kissing you back. He pulled a rock carved in the shape of a heart. Lifting the lid, it revealed the beautiful ring he had made for you.

He had to hold you still so he could slip the ring on your finger before kissing your hand.

“I love you,” He told you, those intense green eyes gazing into yours.

Your wedding was still a ways away, but you and Gaara were clearly in love. Why the council genuinely thought you would go along with their demands were beyond you. You’d given up politics for love without a second thought.

Shaking your head, you were relieved when your front door came into view. The first thing you wanted to do leaving your meeting was to go straight to Gaara, but he was gone for the next week on his own diplomacy meeting.

You sighed as you got into bed. Whenever he was home, the council was going to be in for a world of hurt. You could only imagine how livid and betrayed Gaara would geel.

The next few days went by without incident, though that did make you feel just a bit nervous. You expected to be called in for some sort of meeting again, to be talked to, at least sent a message.

But there was nothing. All was peaceful and quiet.

The time passes slowly and uneventfully. You did paperwork and spent time with some friends. That night, you settled into bed with a cup of tea and a book, wishing Gaara was beside you. He’d be gone for a few more days still.

So you opted for just a relaxing night in by yourself. You usually went to sleep early-ish, but that night, you were up well past your usual bedtime, emerged in the fantasy world in between the pages you were reading.

It was because you were awake that you heard a noise from your living room. It was small, barely there, but you’d heard it. It sounded like someone had bumped into something, maybe your living room table, and had been quick to steady it.

You froze, listening carefully for any more sound, but nothing came. You had almost convinced yourself that you imagined the whole thing, but every one of your senses was on high alert. Carefully, slowly, you crept out of your bed, grabbing the kunai you kept under your pillow just in case.

You held your breath, not wanting to risk even making a sound, as you tiptoed towards your bedroom door. Ear pressed to the cool wood, you listened.

Silence met you, but you weren’t convinced. Years as a Shinobi had taught you to trust your gut. Something was off; you could feel it.

Decided to go on the offensive, you turned the door handle and threw open the door, quickly barreling through the opening. You caught the intruder dead in their tracks. He was dressed in all black, everything covered besides his dark eyes.

You were in such shock at there actually being someone there, you froze for a split second. The intruder took that second to attack, lunging at you.

He smashed into you, knocking both of you to the floor, and that’s when your instincts kicked in. As soon as your back hit the floor, you were rolling, throwing your legs over your head and then you were on your feet, sending a kick into the man’s abdomen.

The man let out a gasp as the air was knocked from him. Wasting no time, you sprinted to your front door, ready to flee and call for help.

You weren’t prepared for another intruder waiting at the otherside of the door. The second you opened it, locking eyes with him, his fist lashed out before you could even react.

Pain was all you felt before the world went black.

The world came into view slowly. As your vision cleared, you realized you were in your own bedroom. When you tried to move, you were alarmed to find that your arms and legs were both bound. Your attempt at a scream was muffled by the gag in your mouth.

“Heh, we’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” Your head jerked to see the intruder that you had kicked looming over you. “You’re lucky you got that kick in when you did, but I’m gonna have to pay you back for that one.”

He drew his hand back before smacking it across your face. You gave a muffled cry as the left side of your face stung in pain.

“Stop fucking around,” hissed the other man. “We have orders. Get to it.”

You looked up between the two, scared and confused. What kind of orders?

The first man chuckled with a smirk that looked more like a sneer. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this…” He mused as he pulled out a kunai. He moved toward you slowly, deliberately, letting the fear creep from your neck down your spine.

You shook your head, jerking this way and that, but the second intruder pinned you to the bed by your shoulders. “Better stay still, bitch.” He hissed at her. “We got a job to do here. This’ll teach you to defy the village council. By the time we’re done with you, you won’t think twice about doing what they say.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, your night shirt was fisted by the first man before he ripped the kunai through it.

Your face burned hot with embarrassment and shame as the remains of your top were shredded, leaving you bare. You could feel their eyes looming over you, taking in every part of your skin.

“Even your fiancé ain’t gonna want you when we’re done.” You heard snickered, but by this point you’d screwed your eyes shut, not wanting to see them looking at you like you were a piece of meat.

Shuffling made your eyes peak back open to see the first man fumbling with the buttons of his pants.

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna enjoy this.”

He shoved his boxers down, revealing himself as he palmed his length to hardness.

You began thrashing again with renewed vigor despite the hands still pinning your shoulders down. Somehow, you managed to free yourself from the second man's grasp, rolling off the bed and attempting clumsily to push yourself to your feet.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your ankles were grabbed and unceremoniously, you were dragged kicking back to the man. In moments he had your own pants discarded before he was looming over you.

Everything about him was revolting you. His smell, his heavy body to those cold dead eyes. In one last desperate attempt, you headbutted him as hard as you could, feeling your forehead smash into his nose.

Warm blood spurted out, splashing over you as he let out a mangled scream. “You bitch! I’ll kill you!”

Spots flashed before your vision as his fist connected with your cheek, leaving you disoriented and drowning in pain.

“I’ve had enough of this,” the second man hissed, shoving the first one off of you. “I’ll take care of this.”

He pinned you with his entire body as you felt him shuffling for his pants once more.

You weren’t sure when you’d started crying, but the tears were flowing, drenching your cheeks as your stomach turned sickly. You screwed your eyes shut, willing your mind to go anywhere else but here.

There was nothing else to do but resign yourself to your fate. You couldn’t fight back or scream for help. All you could do was pray it would be over quickly.

You were still waiting when the weight of his body suddenly lifted off of yours, and you heard the most horrifying scream. Your blood went cold at the sound, causing your eyes to shoot open.

Sobs began to wrack your body as it shook with relief so great it overwhelmed you. Gaara! He was here!

And you’d never seen him look so angry before.

His eyes were wide and crazed, the vessels looking like they would pop at any second. The men were screaming, pleading, but Gaara couldn’t hear them pass the blood rushing in his ears. Teeth bared, he was growling, the sound menacing and maniacal.

In this moment you understood something in a way you never had before: Gaara was a force to be feared.

“Please! Please, we’re sorry!” “No! Don’t!”

“Sand Coffin.”

The men let out one last strangled scream before they were silenced permanently. Blood splattered everywhere, pouring down like rain. It streamed down over you and everything else in your room.

Gaara was panting hard, still looking more wild than you’d ever seen him. His eyes were locked on the sand that was seeping red with blood.

A small whimper from you brought him back. His eyes quickly flickered to you, and it was like you could see his soul returning to his body.

He was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you and pulling you to him. He gently removed the gag from your mouth and removed the bind from your wrists and ankles.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t have the words. He just held you while you weeped into his chest, wrapped in a blanket and finally feeling safe in his arms.

It took you a while to calm down. The adrenaline had left your body, leaving you only with the weight of what had almost happened. The fear and shock left you trembling, ripping sobs from your throat.

“I’m here…” He kept repeating. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Once you were able to finally relax, Gaara packed you a bag and took you to his home. You would never need to go back to your home with those traumatic memories, he decided. To hell with tradition or social conventions. He would move you into his home first thing the next morning.

At Gaara’s home, he ran a bath for the two of you filled with bubbles. He took a warm wash cloth, gently wiping the blood from your body. He massaged the blood back to the areas you��d been binded and iced the bruises on your face, any traces of the manic man from earlier gone. All that was left was the serene Gaara you knew and loved.

Gaara didn’t press you to talk or tell him anything the whole while, only made sure you were attended to and cared for.

It was later on once the two of you were in bed with Gaara holding you close to him that you filled him in on what had happened: the Suna Council attempts to get you to turn against Gaara and manipulate him to their purpose. What those men had said before they’d attempted to… you couldn’t even say the word.

Gaara took it all in silently, but you could feel his grip on you tighten just slightly as you spoke. He was livid; you could see it in his eyes, though it was much more subdued than before. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he finally spoke, his words heavy and choked.

“If you weren’t marrying me…” He stopped, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m sending out word first thing to the four other villages. We’ll have the members disbanded and imprisoned before the week ends.” He assured you with a conviction and sternness you’d only seen in meetings before.

Nodding, you pulled him closer to you. “I never thought I’d see you again…” You told him. “I was so scared… I thought…” You shook your head. “You saved me. You’re always there.”

“Always,” Gaara said, kissing your head.

He didn’t know whether to chalk it all up to luck or intuition that he’d come home early. He had just missed you so terribly, it was like he suddenly couldn’t stand to be away from you for another moment. He’d cut his diplomacy trip early and hurried back, getting to you in just the nick of time.

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore…” You murmured, looking up at him. “I just wanna forget about it, just for tonight…” With that, you reached up to press your lips to his.

Gaara hesitated only for a moment before kissing you back. He’d missed you so much, and if this was what was going to make you feel better, well, who was he to deny you? In a moment, you were up on top of him, straddling his lap as you kissed him more forcefully, almost desperately.

Gaara’s arms went around you, fingers digging into your hips as he held you against him. He let one hand slide up your back into your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands. Slowly, your lips slid down, moving over his jaw down to his neck, peppering every area you could reach with kisses.

Your name left Gaara’s mouth, a low, needy whine. It sent a jolt through your body, and you began to grind yourself into his lap. You could feel Gaara’s grip tighten in your hair even more as he slowly began to harden underneath you.

Your fingers began to pull at the hem of his shirt desperately. You needed something to ground you. You needed Gaara.

He let you pull the shirt off of him, discarding it to the side before he was on you again.

He flipped you over so you were on your back as he attached his own lips to your neck, attacking the skin, marking you as his. You were moaning and trembling under his touch, begging him for more as his hands wandered your body.

“Gaara,” You groaned out as his fingers fumbled with the waistband of your pants. “No foreplay. I want you now.”

You could hear Gaara stifle his groan at your words before your pants were unceremoniously yanked down. His lips pressed harshly back to yours, all tongue and teeth. Gaara had put aside his own feelings earlier for yours, but now they were pouring out of him.

His anger at the council. His bloodthirst for those men. His fear for what almost had happened to you; you could taste it all in the kiss. Gaara needed you to ground him just as much as you needed him to ground you.

One moment you were kissing and the next your clothes were in a pile, and he was inside of you, hands pinning down your hips as he rutted into you desperately. Your nails scratched down his back, you tried to moan or cry out, but all your sounds were swallowed by his lips.

You were breathless, dizzy as his hips pounded into yours, never breaking the kiss. His pelvic bone caught your clit with every movement and it wasn’t long before you were gushing around him, but he didn’t slow his moments. He pulled your legs up, locking them around his waist. “More,” He was mumbling against your lips. “More.” When it was over, you cumming around his cock countless times before he finally found his own release, spilling inside of you endlessly, he pulled you into his side, holding you closer than he had in some time.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” The image played in your mind, Gaara’s eyes wild and burning, the flames of anger behind them.

Gaara tensed slightly, but you placed your hand on his chest, calming him as you gazed up at him. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only… intrigued by this side of him you’d never experienced.

“I use to crave blood.” He told you. “I know you have heard the stories. My whole life, I was told I was a monster. I thought I was one. My sole purpose was to kill everyone around me so I could survive.”

His hand was rigid on your shoulder as he spoke, but you held his gaze unwavering. You accepted Gaara. Every part of him.

“But now, I know my true purpose.” His stare was steady, sure. “Ever since I’ve become Kazekage. My purpose has been to protect those precious to me, those who need someone to protect them. I no longer crave violence or blood. But I will not let anyone, no matter who they are, hurt someone I love…” He pulled you even closer, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“I never would have dreamed I would have someone precious to me, or someone who I am precious to. But now that I have you, I’m never going to let you go.”

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fyeah-bangtan7 · 2 years ago

Text

Jung Kook: “I want to prove myself through my music”

For Proof, you did the introductions to “Yet To Come,” “Run BTS” and “For Youth.” Did you have to do anything special when recording each song? Jung Kook: I mostly just listen for the mood of a song and then sing it—there’s no exact way to define what I do. But to put it simply, I’d say I sang “For Youth” in a very sorrowful way, “Run BTS” in a way that sounds like we did a long time ago and “Yet To Come” with a similar feeling to “Life Goes On.” I kept thinking I wanted to try recording again. I think I could do better, just that things were a little hectic when we recorded.

You spend a lot of time on V LIVE talking about your approach to singing. Were your thoughts on vocals reflected in the way you recorded yours? Jung Kook: It turns out I discovered something new after I finished recording them: When you’re recording, the feeling is more important than your vocal technique. I consider what makes my voice sound good when it’s heard live versus when it’s recorded, so the live version and the studio version are a little different, too.

Your voice seems a little denser than it did when you sang in English for “Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance.” You make “Yet To Come” sound passionate right from the beginning, for example. Why the change? Jung Kook: I used to make recording the studio versions my focus, but lately I’m trying to make my voice sound better without embellishing it too much, even just using my speaking voice. So I’m reflecting that in my voice. I think I was trying to embellish less and convey more sincerity.

The covers of “Chilly, Windy Night in 1991” and “Hate Everything” you posted to Instagram felt like something entirely new. Your vocals sounded like your speaking voice, so I thought maybe you became more interested in that style of voice. Jung Kook: I kind of feel like I want my singing—my voice—to sound better. When it comes to vocal technique, I always used to embellish my voice, so I thought it would be nice if I could sing well even when it’s with a more natural voice. I want people to consider my voice good even when I’m singing in a way that emulates casual speech, so these days I’m mainly practicing singing in my speaking voice. I mean, I’m practicing using my voice just as it is.

Do you like to sing in your natural voice? Jung Kook: To be honest, there’s a lot of times when I don’t like it. Even I think I sounded a little over the top or tried to make my voice sound extremely polished in my old performances when I hear them, but after trying to only sing with my natural voice for some time, I’m starting to feel sort of turned off by it. I know I can make a prettier sound, too, but I’m just trying to sing that way.

You sang “Stay Alive” closer to your natural voice, with some parts undeniably sounding like SUGA’s, and you also challenged yourself on some parts to sing in a higher pitch. Jung Kook: Yoongi didn’t ask me to do it that way or anything. We were really happy the recording came out as well as it did (laughs) but it was difficult, to be honest. Recording it was really tough. It was hard because it wasn’t perfect, and because I still couldn’t do it despite trying it so many times. I more or less blamed myself. The song was a good choice, and the recording went well, but things didn’t go that smoothly.

You were singing even when you came in for the interview. I’ve seen you singing many times before, in fact. What does singing mean to you? Jung Kook: Um … As far as singing goes, I want my name to become a shorthand for it. A shorthand for singing. I want to receive a lot of recognition and hopefully be able to hear my own singing and think, Wow, I’m really, really good. In other words, I want to be able to sing really well and feel comfortable doing so. I can’t feel that way every time I sing, but … I just want to be good. Now that I’m a singer and have appeared on so many different stages, there’s times I do such a good job up there that it gives me goosebumps, and with those experiences piling up, I keep thinking, How freeing and fun would it be to get up on stage and be able to sing the perfect song? Completely worry free, just like in my imagination.

How did you feel about the recent concerts, in that sense? Jung Kook: I did the first two shows in Las Vegas and practiced my vocals some more the next day and thought, Why don’t I try to sing like this? then did the third and fourth shows. I was definitely feeling good for the second and fourth shows. And I had a lot of stamina and my throat was okay up to and including the second show. I was starting to lose stamina by the fourth show but my throat was still okay. It was hard since I felt like I couldn’t warm up my voice after having COVID-19. So I was really worried for the second show, but I felt like I was getting over the hump, which made me excited, and it was really fun. Before the fourth show, I did some vocal training that gave me some ideas of how to approach things. And, you know, knowing what to focus on makes a big difference. Even though it was somewhat physically demanding, the performance gave me confidence when I realized, when I did a certain song in the lineup, I felt a little more at ease knowing what would happen for sure, even though it was tiring, and told myself it would be best to practice a certain way from then on. It was really fun in the end.

Maybe that was your way of finding your footing for performing. Jung Kook: It was awkward performing during the first show, but I also fell right back into the groove as the performance went on. I figured out after the concert that I just really enjoy putting on a show. I loved finally being able to perform again and I want to just keep on doing it.

With all the preparation that goes into performing and all your other work, do you find it having an effect on your everyday life? You said on V LIVE that you put your tongue to the roof of your mouth when you have your picture taken because it makes you look sharper but that you want to shake the habit for when you sing. Jung Kook: I haven’t been able to break the habit yet. It’s hard. (laughs) But nothing’s ever really hard. I actually like paying attention to things like that. It makes me feel like I’m trying to change, at least in the moment.

How do you feel when you think to yourself, This is good enough, or, I’ve gotten better? Jung Kook: Enough is never enough, but I feel good during English lessons when the teacher asks me vocabulary words I have memorized and I can answer right away. It’s like, I really memorized it! For singing, there’s the occasional time that everything’s going good. And there’s times it’s easy, which is when I think, This is because of all that practicing I did, right? I wish it were like that every day. (laughs).

Most of the time you spoke to the audience at the Las Vegas concert, you were speaking in English. That’s a result of working hard, too. Jung Kook: I’m grateful when other people see that and tell me I really improved or I’m good, but I never think I’m good when I think about it myself. I think what I said in English sounded better to people than what they expected. Because I didn’t make any mistakes. But I really don’t think it’s anything to be proud of. If I were able to lead the whole concert in English like that without a teleprompter I’d say I improved a whole lot, but I’m not quite there yet. I still have a long way to go when I think about it, and I actually always want to be able to say everything I said easily and without any difficulty as soon as possible. When I say I did well, it’s just what I felt in the moment. But after that? I have to be better. Quickly. Quick, quick, quick. (laughs).

Does that apply to other areas of your life, too? You’ve been trying to build up your stamina recently by boxing. Jung Kook: It’s more like the opposite. I have all these plans, but I have mismatched personality traits. I’m lazy, and inactive, and can’t be bothered with most things. So I try not to forget I made myself a promise to live a pretty active life, even if I have to force myself. I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately, so I’m going to grab hold of that feeling and not miss this opportunity and keep moving. Yesterday, for example, I could have just chilled at home at the end of the day, but I worked out one more time instead. I think you have to force yourself to do the things you feel are a hassle one by one. That’s how I’m trying to live my life.

Isn’t that less laziness and more pouring yourself into your work? (laughs) Jung Kook: I wish that weren’t the way I usually am. (laughs) It’s not like I only do things when I find them fun—I have fun and enjoy learning things when I finally get around to doing them—but I feel irritated whenever I have to do something and don’t want to do it right up until I start. (laughs) I think that’s why I’m only doing things that help me be a better singer for now. If I tried to learn an instrument right now, I don’t think I’d feel confident in it right away, but I would still try to learn the drums if I felt like it. And dancing helps me for when I’m on stage. You listen to music when you dance, which is helpful too, I think. And boxing is helpful for becoming stronger, plus it’s fun. I chose it because it’s the most fun aerobic exercise. Reading books and practicing are all because I have to write lyrics. The same goes for English: I don’t know what will happen in the future, but if I have to speak in English or do an interview, I could use it then, and I can use it to write lyrics, too. I feel like those all branch out from being a singer.

You’re already doing so much as a member of BTS. What’s driving you to try all these new things? Jung Kook: Because, in the end, I want it. I want to see myself being able to do all those things. I think there’s a lot of contradictions in my character. And maybe it’s somewhat about pride? There are times when I see someone doing something and think, If they can do it, why not me? And if I see someone really cool doing something, sometimes that’s the motivation I need to get started.

I think the type of people you surround yourself with is very important, whether you’re working together or just talking. Jung Kook: I agree. I agree. I don’t think there’s much I can motivate myself to do without other people’s help.

The other members must be a big influence on you. Jung Kook: A really big influence. Just seeing the others put out their mixtapes makes me think, When should I make one? There must be something I have that I can prove.

That’s where your Proof would come from—more so than winning any Grammy. Jung Kook: I think our status is there whether we win a Grammy or not. That was just, I don’t know—a good experience? It made me realize that, while I knew that winning the Grammy Award is a huge deal, I wasn’t really interested in actually winning one. I’m more interested in proving myself through my music. And it was great seeing performances from people I never saw live before.

That reminds me of when you, j-hope and Jimin danced to the “Butter” remix together as 3J. The behind-the-scenes video revealed that you filmed the performance video several times. And isn’t that the most important thing? Jung Kook: When Hoseok asked us to do 3J, I thought it wouldn’t be easy, but I just wanted to something. The things we do when we want to do them usually always turn out cool. It made me feel a little like being a trainee again while we did it. It was really fun because it felt quite different from working on an album. So we shot the video but every time there was always one or two spots where we were out of step. We kept filming it, even as we thought it wasn’t working as it was, but even after we finished we couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t quite right, so we practiced again at the end of the day and shot it again.

Why did you keep shooting? Jung Kook: I thought we would be disappointed otherwise. It was fun, for sure, but on the other hand, it made me think, Is this all I’ve got? I understood the moves in my head, but it looked a bit jarring in the mirror. And then I thought I better practice alone if I was going to prevent it from happening again. I became acutely aware that I had to keep dancing if I was going to get used to it and improve.

Isn’t it difficult releasing something when you had to work at it until you were personally satisfied? Like how someone might hesitate to release a song they’ve written? Jung Kook: That’s why there’s so many songs I’ve written that I haven’t been able to release. After making the effort to write them, I should have realized I should just edit them as much as I can and release them, but when I heard them again after a while, they didn’t sound good, so I just deleted them all.

Ah … What a shame. Jung Kook: I’ve been that way for a very long time. The other members tell me, “You have to keep making releases. That’s how you figure it all out.” So I’m writing songs lately.

I listened to “Still With You (Acapella)” and your vocals are different from when you sing with BTS—they’re very calm and focused on details. If you had been releasing songs like that, it could have become something like your signature style. Jung Kook: I think slowing down the pace at which I release songs like that really helps. I admit that I came up short a lot around that time. Even more than now. My thinking was that I could get off to a better start with my releases that way, so I think I made the right choice doing it my way.

You contributed to the music for “Run BTS.” Which part did you work on? Jung Kook: It’s mixed in all over. Hoseok, Namjoon and I were having trouble with the melody in the first verse, so we split up and wrote separately, and then I said I would try writing something, too, which ended up working out, so I ended up taking care of the first verse overall. I wrote a new melody and connected each of our parts into one.

I guess you could say that’s part of the production process. Maybe you’ll do something similar with future material, too. Jung Kook: I want it to be really unique. I want to write lyrics that don’t have any meaning, like a song where the word “yeah” is repeated for a whole verse—something like that—but it’s hard. I also wonder if I should try working with other songwriters, but I’m going to try doing it by myself first.

I suppose you’ll slowly improve if you do it that way. Where have you made improvements in particular since your debut? The new songs on Proof are about looking back on the past, after all. Jung Kook: I think I changed after the pandemic hit more than any other time. I think I’ve had the most changes from then until now.

In what way did you change? Jung Kook: I’m a little calmer now. I think I can see a little more clearly and for certain what I need to do musically now that I settled down. I still wouldn’t say I’ve turned into a grown-up entirely yet, but that feeling has slowly begun to reach me. I didn’t realize it until then.

Have you changed at all from being with the people around you or from seeing the world? Jung Kook: I’m not sure. I think my whole personality has changed a lot. In the past I would get emotional or lose my temper. Sometimes I let my emotions get the best of me, but ever since the pandemic I’ve become more laid-back and I’ve been able to look at things rationally and realistically. And I don’t get mad as easily. Even my perspective on life used to fluctuate wildly, but now I think I’m more centered.

What do you think when you look at the other members from your new, more centered viewpoint? Jung Kook: What we have now is different from the passion and spirit we had when we were younger, but we’re all ambitious and thoughtful and I’m thankful that they continue to be musically ambitious and keep expressing that. I think I would have grown up to be a very different person if the other members didn’t demonstrate their love of music the way they do now and I grew up observing that instead. I’m really grateful they still focus on our work.

#bangtan #jungkook #m:weverse magazine #t:interview #220615

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yandere--stuck · 3 years ago

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Yandere!Freakazoid x Reader Headcanons

❗Ooo, ooo! Freakazoid knows all about being a yandere! With the entire knowledge of the internet within him, he automatically knows everything about the trope, inside and out! But, don'tcha worry, Freak may be crazy, but he'd never be that crazy! … Wink. And, hey! It's not like he had anyone in his life he'd go that cuckoo over - sure, he loved Steph, but she was just a friend! And he hated when Dex got bullied, 'specially by Duncan (that weenie!), but it never went beyond understandable concern and anger. And if Cosgrove ever got in danger…! Well, Cosgrove could just tell the bad guy to knock it off, and then he probably would. And then, he'd ask if Freakazoid wanted to go get a mint - and boy, would he!

💻 Well, that is, until one day, out of the blue, Freak saw you! (Hey, that rhymed!) It was a usual day for him - chasing after The Lobe in his Freak-Mobile. It's not like it made him go any faster, but hey! It sold toys, didn't it? Plus, this was a big deal-arooni! Freakazoid didn't expect The Lobe to take hostages! Sheesh, what a jerk. Why couldn't he just go back to the Washington Gardens restaurant and sing that song again? Man, that was a good song… But, nooooo, Lobey just had to build a big machine that probably ended with "3000" to like, I dunno, kill Freakazoid and become the main character of the show. Good thing Freak knew just how to save the day! By licking the machine's electrical outlet and causing it to explode, not being harmed due to being, at least partially, made of electricity.

❗Freak makes sure to help Cosgrove free the hostages and make sure everyone's all okie-dokie-lokie! And that's when he meets (drumroll, please!)... You! And wowie-zowie, you were absolutely gorgeous! Like, holy smokes! And you made him blush a bright blue when you hugged him, called him your hero, and thanked him profusely. It made him feel all weird. Well, weirder than usual. Like, his stomach went all tipsy-topsy-turvy. He even coughed up a butterfly! How'd that get in there? Ohh, he couldn't help but hug you back. You were so cute! And maybe you'd notice his muscles, too… He heard Cosgrove ask if he wanted to get a turkey sub, but… This time, he declined. After all, it wouldn't hurt to take extra time to make sure you were okay!

💻 Even after he's sure you're hunky-dory and walked you home, Freak can't help but keep his mind on you - long after he'd return control to Dexter. Heck, he couldn't even focus on watching Rat Patrol! You were on his mind, all the time! You were like… Like… A computer virus! ... A really cute and nice computer virus that he wanted to get to know better. So, he did! Sure, it might eat up some of Dexter's time, but, hey, some sacrifices must be made! He's sure his best bud will understand - this was love we're talking about here! So, he tried searching for you around the city, but eventually gave in and just went back to your place! And he may or may not have snuck in, if you weren't home, taking a look inside. Oh, you had such cool stuff!! Almost as cool as you! He'll slip out just as you come back, only to knock on your door, asking you to hang out with him.

❗Freak loved going out with you! Gosh, it was just so much fun, and! It meant he got to spend time with his most favoritest person in the world - you! He listens intently as you talk about your life, your interests, your hobbies. He immediately searches up everything you mention, and in an instant knows most everything about it. It's so exciting! He's able to keep up with and relearn everything through you telling him! It's a win-win! Just hearing you speak makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Gosh, it makes it hard to even focus on crime fighting when all of him just wants to be about you all the time. He couldn't help himself! He loved you, and with every second his love grew deeper and more intense! He loved you like misery loved company, like the internet loved cats, like how everyone loved saying "huggbees" (Go ahead, say it!). He needed to find a way to love you and protect you from villains without it distracting him.

💻 So, he does the smart thing, and kidnaps you! Don't worry your sweet little head! This is for the best. He had saved you again! Saving you was protecting you, and you were supposed to protect the ones you loved. He'll keep you in the FreakalairTM to keep you all safe and sound, and Ingmar will take care of you while he's on duty. He hopes Dexter won't try to rescue you while in control, but he doesn't mind sharing if it'll placate him, if you catch his drift. Be prepared for Freakazoid to smother you in hugs and kisses every time he returns. He's almost constantly holding you in his arms, flush against his chest. Oh, he was absolutely obsessed, and it felt so, so good! He loved you so much. He'll protect you from anything - especially Jeepers! Sheeeeeeesh! What a creep!!! He'll make sure Jeepers lays off you and the beavers!!

#sorry that the writing was a bit all over the place - i wanted to capture the feeling of the show/freakazoid's character :B #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #freakazoid x Reader #freakazoid #yandere #I would have mentioned Candlejack roo but i felt it was going on too l

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rose2jam · 3 years ago

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Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults. I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever. This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something. The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies. But this Leader? This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way. Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered. That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others. Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families. Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in. He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them. I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever. But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin. Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside. And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him. Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader. Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded. Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above. Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters. He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1). Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be. Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her. (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well). I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life. And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical. Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back. For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental. This friendship is everything. Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts. Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life. But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up. Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black. So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3). And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat. And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4). What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience. He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible. During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place. It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5). But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6). He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus. On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily. So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this? He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers). But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members. McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol). So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles. As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with. His dorm mates became his family. So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily. Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic? Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8). At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word. He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds. Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse. So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life. By Muggles and Magic Folk alike. And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light. He betrayed her as well, of course. But he did try to show remorse. And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.

So. Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here. Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate. For what? For power, for a family, for a community. For a world where he is no longer the weird one. For a world where he’s respected, strong. For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult. Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House. Maybe he was recruited directly. Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life. And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions. There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play. Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right. (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family. Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult. On the contrary, I feel sorry for them. Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them. Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”. But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end. They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart. I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done. But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany. This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers. There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2. Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware. As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family. The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks. Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry. Back to Snape. There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation. This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this). Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however. In the end, he manages to break away from the cult. The scales fall from his eyes. In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off. What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life. He was brought back by genuine love. Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

#Snape Meta #Severus Snape #Pro Snape #Snapedom #Snape Community #This will be the TRUE test of the tags #Essay Jam #Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult

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thousand-winters · 3 years ago

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Okay, I’m actually going to elaborate on the Alastair going back to Charles thing. I know myself, this is going to get ridiculously long, so...

Their relationship dynamic

First of all, something to consider about their relationship is that Charles is very different to other negative influences in Alastair’s life. He isn’t nearly as obvious in his flaws as Elias, with his drinking and the way Alastair’s had to fix up his messes even when he was just a child. He doesn’t physically hurt Alastair like the boys at the Academy. The best reference we have for their dynamic is the first time Cordelia sees them when they think they’re alone and... the thing is Charles almost seems sweet there. Almost. What always gets me is how the way he talks to Alastair is described:

“Charles’s voice cracked too, but his was not the sound of something breaking. It was the sound of a whip.”

It’s clear Charles is used to making sure Alastair acts however he wants him to. He can’t even say “I love you” without Charles getting mad at him. It also seems like Charles had told him his engagement to Ariadne would be temporary, but when Alastair brings it up, he immediately denies it. “What did I say? I would not make any false promises”, he says. Through the whole conversation, Charles spins his words to convince Alastair that his way is not only the best way, but the only way, and any doubt Alastair might have it’s there just because he doesn’t understand why what Charles wants is the best for both of them. And it works. Charles gets engaged to Grace and we have a chance to see just how well:

Alastair's eyes glittered. "He's not cruel. You don't know him. He and Grace have an understanding. He explained it to me. Everything Charles does is so he and I can be together." There was something mechanical about the words, as if they had been rehearsed.

It just feels wrong. The same words Charles uses to justify any hurt he has done to him are used by Alastair to soothe himself. Charles is subtle, and he has had a few years to make sure he’s the only one who has any say on how this relationship goes. I think by this point Alastair was in too deep to be able to realize he deserved more if Cordelia hadn’t said anything. Which takes me to...

Cordelia and Thomas

Something that catched my attention is when exactly Alastair left Charles. The timing is interesting because while Cordelia probably planted the seeds of doubt on Alastair’s mind when she expressed her concern for him, they’re not exactly on good terms either until Alastair confesses the truth about Elias. Only after that they start mending their relationship and becoming closer again. This is important because it means Alastair now has someone who knows, someone who can support him.

Then there’s the matter of Thomas. Cordelia barely pays attention to the two of them, but by her offhand mentions, we know they talk at some of the social events that happen in CoG. They’re in good terms, and they probably got even closer while Alastair was helping Thomas to make the antidote.

This means at the moment, Alastair has both his sister and a friend on his corner.

Then everything goes down with Belial and we know Alastair does not go to see Charles anymore because Cordelia mentions he has been keeping her constant company while she heals. Only after we find out it’s also because he broke things up with Charles.

Now, this is specially of interest to me because I think Alastair needed the support to finally be able to do something like that. He broke their arrengement via letter and I have the feeling he did so because he didn’t know if he would be able to do it in person; after all, Charles is very good at making him doubt what he wants. I think this is also why, when Charles grabbed him at the engagement party, Alastair refused to let go of Cordelia, because he couldn’t tell Charles off alone. Also note how immediately after this, Alastair aproaches Thomas and his friends. This boy needs the support of people he can trust, which is not surprising considering abusive relationships are really hard to get out of.

I got the impression that Alastair is afraid to be alone with Charles precisely because he isn’t sure he won’t cave, even if logically he knows he was being treated badly. More examples on why I believe this are: 1) Cordelia mentioning how Alastair keeps receiving letters from Charles at the beginning of CoI (it’s been THREE months since they broke up and the letters keep coming), but he just throws them into the trash without reading them, and 2) how Alastair looks when Charles aproaches him at Thoby and Rosamund’s engagement party before Cordelia goes to his rescue: weary, upset, with a slumped posture. He doesn’t even speak until Cordelia actually asks him a question, and only when she’s there he has the courage to stand up for himself.

It makes me sad to think about, but I don’t think he quite knows how to deny Charles things when he doesn’t have someone else’s support.

The current state of things

So the problem here is that during the time between the ending of CoG and the ending of CoI, so much things have happened that might have thrown Alastair back to stage one:

He doesn’t have Thomas’s support anymore, there were three months of hostility from Thomas’s part and their conversation at the Sanctuary wasn’t enough for them to mend that hurt. And given that Thomas was the closest thing he had to a friend... yikes.

After the whole Sanctuary situation, Alastair is also trying to protect Thomas by distancing himself. Because he doesn’t want to cause him trouble with the rest of the Merry Thieves. Which, you know, very noble of him, but still leaves him without the only friend he had back in CoG.

He still has Cordelia’s support, but while I don’t think he’s lying about feeling better now that he can talk to her about Elias, I feel like he’s still trying to protect her to some extent. He said the situation was only livable for him because she was out of the house and she didn’t have to live with Elias and his “moods and demands”, after all. Aside from that, now that Cordelia lives in her own house and meets frequently with the Merry Thieves and company, it’s not like Alastair and her see each other often. Not at all now that Cordelia is in Paris.

Actually, the whole situation with Elias is messed up. We don’t know exactly how hard things were between Elias and Alastair because Cordelia never saw it, but going by what Alastair said, it can’t be good. And he suddenly can’t even speak badly about Elias because he died.

Alastair was made to talk to Charles alone, something that Cordelia not only seemed to approve of, but encourage, for some reason? I know the man got injured, but Cordelia, c’mon...

In short...

Alastair has practically no support from anyone at the moment and he had to go and see Charles alone. Charles is good at twisting his words to make it seem like he actually cares. Even if Alastair truly doesn’t love him anymore, I’m not sure he wouldn’t cave and go back to him because he is just so incredible starved of affection by the end of CoI. There was a time when the only affection he was getting was Charles’s after all.

#I tried to make this structured so it would make sense but by the end it got away from me so idk #perhaps the only thing necessary was the end but my train of thoughts depends on everything else #I'm just suffering asjkfhkdg #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #thomas lightwood #elias carstairs #anti charles fairchild #the last hours #tlh #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #chain of iron #chain of thorns #I still don't get how to tag in this fandom. send help #there's too many tags

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

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from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that’s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #marvel

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shepherds-of-haven · 3 years ago

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I hope you’re having a great day Lena! I was just wondering if we could have any fluff facts about the shepherds as a whole! Like fun tidbits of how they interact with each other, what some of them do if they have the same day off, does anyone host weekly game nights?? I hope that makes sense! Reading the recent short story on Patreon I love seeing how the characters interact with one another and now I need moreeeeeee🙏

Ooh, great question! I’m feeling curiously tapped dry at the moment, so I’ll probably have to reblog this as more ideas come to me; I’m so happy you’re enjoying the short story, btw!! 💖

Some group dynamic headcanons:

Many of them steal clothes from each other. Briony wears a cute sweater of Shery's (she asked), Ayla gets cold so she just takes one of Red's jackets from a chair (she didn't ask), Chase gives Tallys his scarf one day and Riel corders Trouble a pair of gloves from a fashion line he favors because his old ones are holey and they get into an argument about it... This leads to some recruits mistakenly thinking that the captains are all involved in some sort of mass relationship because they keep walking out of each other's rooms wearing each other's clothes. (The recruits believe a lot of really dumb stuff, if you couldn't tell. They LOVE gossip. It's like a competitive sport in the compound)

There is a weekly card game night, initiated and organized first by Chase, but it grows bigger over time, with snacks, cakes, drinks, and new games being procured! I'd actually say it's more like every ten-fourteen days or so than on any set weekday, and is typically proposed by anyone who senses that they or others need to blow off some steam. They all tend to meet in a private common room and either just chill and play some card games and casually drink and listen to music, or they get LOUD and raucous and play more risque non-card games (like Question or Command/Truth or Dare). The loud nights are more like once a month or bi-monthly, though! They take place in the captains' lounge so dumb recruits don't get to join! It's rare that they're in there all doing the same thing, though: maybe half will be at the table playing card games while others will be broken up into smaller groups, say arm-wrestling in the corner or playing chess at the smaller table or reading, but they're all there! Game nights are almost never held unless everyone is there, which is extraordinarily difficult to schedule, but they all make an effort to make it happen--even those who first had to be dragged into it, like Blade or Riel!

Speaking of chess games, Red and Riel have a standing game where they complete at least four more moves every night that they're around and able to meet up after dinner. Planning their next move helps them both break up the monotony of the day, and it's something they enjoy immensely. However, whenever he gets called away on a mission, Red gets sick with worry that Riel's been cooking up all sorts of schemes while he's been gone, so sometimes on the road he has, like, a schematic that he doodles on trying to anticipate Riel's next move, and it's very nerdy and ramps up in joking Anxiety. Riel, graciously, goes easier on him on nights after he comes back from long trips, though he denies it

Similarly, Blade and Trouble have a standing training session once a week where they just beat the crap out of each other. This is generally where they do the majority of their talking

Briony and Ayla first had an agreement that they would get the other one up if they overslept (Briony tends to be the one who oversleeps while Ayla is better about being up at dawn, but Ayla is really grouchy if she went to bed late and Briony is the only one who can handle her), which morphed into doing runs and sparring together at dawn and having breakfast frequently!

The girls have a standing spa night once a month where they all get together in a room (usually Shery’s) and basically do sleepover stuff and relax and chat and catch up for a few hours. This also sometimes involves showing each other new outfits that they bought that month! Sometimes there are even group baths in the big common bath, but these are rarer because Shery is shy and Tallys doesn’t like sitting in hot water getting pruny

Chase and Trouble drag Red and Halek to go drinking with them around once a month; sometimes Blade is persuaded to go if Trouble can get the drop on him and punch him hard enough to wind him. It’s complicated

Riel and Shery, of course, have tea together once a week! You’re not allowed if you can’t bring a chill vibe (Riel’s rules). Tallys, Lavinet, Halek, and Red are occasional visitors; Briony is allowed on a good day. Blade would be allowed but he has 0 interest

Similarly, Lavinet hosts a weekly brunch, either in a courtyard or at some restaurant in town! Typically it’s a girl thing and Ayla, Briony, and Shery are the most consistent attendees, but Chase has snuck his way in there often, and Riel, Halek, or Red pop up occasionally!

Tallys and Halek cook together! It’s not all that often and doesn’t seem to have any set way of materializing--it just happens somehow--but they both very much enjoy it! Sometimes they cook dinner for the whole group and have a little dinner party that they both secretly get excited for! Sometimes Shery bakes the dessert!

Riel noticed that Tallys has a little garden that she spends time weeding, so he sends gardening tools or special seeds when he thinks she needs them and she leaves baskets of vegetables or vases of flowers in his office. All of this is done without exchanging a word

Chase sporadically teaches Briony acrobatics and things like tightrope walking, just randomly whenever they’re both idle. She teaches him how to gut people with bare fists and also sometimes they paint!

Caine caught Red grazing in the pantry late one night and now it’s like a Thing where they pass each other in the kitchen and Red sort of just looks the other way re: Caine’s bedtime and what on earth he’s doing up so late and Caine doesn’t tell anybody that Red is just absent-mindedly eating a loaf of bread at 2 AM because he was too busy working to remember to eat dinner. It’ll be like, “there’s some turkey leftover from dinner in the cold box” “oh hey, Caine. thanks. ...so, what’s the news from the midnight watch tonight?” “i’m going to go hunt ghosts on the seventh floor with my friends!” “...okay! have fun!”

Lavinet has a monthly shopping trip where she updates her wardrobe, and it is very common for others to accompany her around the city and just shop while they drop! Common partners are Shery, Briony, Riel, Chase, and once memorably Blade, who didn’t know what he was in for!

Trouble and Ayla are wildly competitive and keep arm-wrestling each other for money; this becomes a bi-weekly sporting event that is eagerly attended and bet upon by third parties

There was ONE group karaoke night. ONE. Most of them got so blackout drunk that they swore to never do it again. Even now, several of them go green whenever they hear a popular bar song (“Don’t Piss Where You Plant Your Flowers”) being sung, especially badly

The game of "telephone" gets really bad in their group. It's like, Shery will say to Briony that she's worried because she thought Riel looked a bit peaky and feverish. Briony will say in passing to Trouble that Riel is getting sick and Shery is worried. Trouble will say to Tallys that Shery is worried sick because Riel is bedridden. Tallys will be mixing herbs and Chase will ask what for and Tallys will reply that Riel is sick, but because she's mixing herbs, Chase will surmise that the sickness must be quite advanced, and will later say, "Damn, have you seen Riel? Seems like he's really sick." Red will interpret this as "I have seen Riel for myself and have determined that he's extremely ill." At least four people will bust into Riel's room, expecting him to be on the verge of death, despite the fact that they saw Riel that morning. Riel will be fine and very annoyed at the intrusion.

They rarely go out as a group to bars and establishments outside of the compound (too chaotic as well as risky, for one thing, and also, recruits don't need to see their superiors like hanging out of bushes and dancing on tabletops drunk out of their minds, and also, "Mages can't drink" (lol)), but when they do deem it a worthy occasion (Trouble's birthday, say), the girls are very punctual when getting ready, and the boys are almost always extremely late due to various shenanigans (Chase forgot that he put a booby trap on Red’s door, covering Red with flour, or a cat somehow slips into Trouble’s room and steals, like, a detonator or an important key, and they have to go chasing it across the city). This has led to the girls coming late on purpose in order to even out their arrival, but mysteriously, this has only led to even later start times, meaning they often don’t get started until like 10 or 11 PM when the most well-intentioned souls meant to be in bed by midnight... that never happens, either!

One such night once led to them ending up on a ridge in the Sun’s Embrace, like a mile outside of the city, in order to watch the sun rise together, because hiking in the dark while blasted out of their minds sounded like a really good idea. They all made it, and the dawn was spectacular, but the moment was ruined when Tallys said softly, “It’s the beginning of a beautiful new day--” punctuated by Trouble abruptly throwing up in a bush and Riel just flat-out passing out

#Shepherds of Haven #group #group dynamic #all characters #found family #drinking #cw: alcohol #drunk #shenanigans #party #parties #long #long post

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smells-like-mettaton · 3 years ago

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Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home. (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice. Her own soul felt more numb than anything. To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot.

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute.

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason.

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?" She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home? Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone. Papyrus tried to call them nonstop. Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence. They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them. It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to. These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look. Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away. “Anyway. Like I said, I don’t know what happened. Just. Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah. You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans. If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her. I’m makin’ a great first impression.” He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long. There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I. Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish. “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend. Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted. It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well. Uh. If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not. I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.” It was difficult to tell if he was joking. “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.” She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand. It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with. She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off. To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself. Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway. Still… he’d believed in them. Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights—even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery."

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?” Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke.

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel.

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly.

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment.

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius.

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened.

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!"

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook. Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good. I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori. My bro sees the best in everyone.” He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer. It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?” His sockets widened. “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely. It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant. Had he said something weird?

...Oh. He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he? He should know better than to use nicknames without asking. Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.” She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms. For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm. He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh. I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut. Geez, how stupid could he be? Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out. She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza. He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently.

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had. He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not. Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him. “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic. Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair. In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries. In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates. She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her. She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry. I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.

“They’re lovely. I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.” She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them. Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away. “I was thinking. If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked. Her face seemed to catch fire. That was rather more… forward than she was expecting. Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time. But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed. My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh. She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking. How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said. “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh. “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating. Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed. If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright. Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.” He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room. She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door. Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.” He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand. “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort. The bed’s not even queen sized.” He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets. That was the only fresh thing about the room. Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado. A self-sustaining trash tornado. Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much. Uh. Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months. Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all. Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her. In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.

“‘S no problem, Tori.” A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones. How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything. And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed. Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh. I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.” He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.

He looked up, one brow ridge raised. She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted. It was silly, really. She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.” Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it. “Why not? Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command. Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light. What had she expected him to do? She’d asked him to stay. Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it. She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all. Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure? You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her. “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed. Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress. She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.

The sheets were a barrier in name only. There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing. It felt terrifying. It felt like a mistake. It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore. Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper. “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly. “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him. Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself. “Sorry. Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull. Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed. Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you. So. Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body. Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans. If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her. His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine. All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh. “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes. You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently. At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you? For sure.” His gaze darted away. “But it’s crazy. Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?” She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know. Don’t tell Papyrus. He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them. It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze. She froze. There was no way to play that off gracefully. And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant. Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue. “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning. She was the Queen once more. If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp. She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close. She did not know if sleep would come or not. She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone. For tonight, that was enough.

#soriel #sans #toriel #fic tag #tali writes #soriel week 2021 #soriel week #really glad to finally share this one!

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tardis-ghost-blog · 3 years ago

Text

A task to fail (Simm!Master x Reader)

Rating: E - For explicit sexual content Summary: "No. That's not another task." His hand stroked along your cheek and he smiled. "Just couldn't resist stealing a kiss from you."

Sometimes the Master brought a bunch of humans aboard the Valiant. It was fun to watch their various reactions, to walk around in front of them, grinning madly. Sometimes he let them look outside the window when he sew destruction, other times he told them horrifying stories about how they would die.

It was one of those times when you first entered the Valiant. The soldiers had captured you off the streets, had told that you had been chosen as a special guest for the prime minister. With you were two others. They all looked so scared. Sure, you had heard the stories, but they had never bothered you. Since the first day Saxon had appeared on telly, you had found him quite fascinating. There was just something about him that had always made you want to meet the guy.

This made you weirdly calm when he walked in, clad in a black suit, eyeing everyone with almost childish curiosity. After a minute he stood in front of everyone and grinned widely.

"Congratulations, humans!" he announced. "You have been proudly elected to become part of my staff up here. I'm afraid-" he put on a mocking put- "your predecessors have decided to quit the job."

You exchanged glances with the others and found even more fear in their eyes. Saxon clapped his hands to get your attention back.

"To make this more exciting, I will decide what your tasks will be. If you do them well, you might stay. If not... well. We will find an... arrangement." He let out a chuckle that simply sounded evil.

It was inappropriate, but the way he acted just got to you. You couldn't help but smile at this and Saxon saw it and trod directly in front of you.

"Is that funny?" he asked sweetly.

"You'll kill everyone who fails, won't you?" You hadn't really planned to say this, but you just had to know. "It's a game."

Maybe you shouldn't have sounded so excited about this. It also was your own life that was at risk.

"Oh, and you like games, little one?" Saxon bent slightly down to your eyelevel, which wasn't very high. "Are you begging to become my personal assistant?"

Wide eyed you glared at him. You wouldn't even make it a day! He would give you an impossible task and just smile this god-awful smile of his, that was far too charming.

Despite all of this... you nodded.

Saxon blinked surprised, then threw his head back and laughed.

You never learned what happened to the others and you never asked. Instead you focused on the given tasks and did you best to fulfil them properly. And, at the same time, tried to find out as much as possible about Saxon.

He made your life difficult, that's for sure. On your first few days he let you sort the library. First alphabetically, then, when he decided this was boring, he made you sort everything once again, this time by colours. So you arranged everything to form a bunch of quite pretty gradients.

Saxon stood there, one finger on his lips, head slightly tilted, nodding eventually. He gave you a happy grin. "That looks way better, don't you think? Well, I think it does. Good job."

There were other tasks. Tedious tasks that were meant to tire you, some that were like puzzles you needed to solve. But you wouldn't give up. He couldn't kill you, when he had no idea where you were. So, until you found a way to get or do what he wanted, you hid. Each time you came back successful, Saxon looked a little dumbfounded.

"Stubborn, aren't we?" he mumbled one day. Then a smirk spread on his lips. "How about you make me a cuppa tea? I could really use one."

Tea... That sounded weirdly normal and easy. He probably was extremely picky with how it was made.

"Mister Saxon, Sir," you said then. "How would you like the tea?"

He couldn't punish you for making it exactly how he ordered you to. And when he realized your intention, his eyes crinkled in joy. It made him look really handsome and you had a hard time not blushing.

In the end you made his tea to his exact liking. And you weren't sure whether he hated or adored you when he took the first sip. Whatever it was, it was followed by an amused chuckle. He gave you a smile and it made your heart jump.

"You really try to stay alive, eh?"

"Uhm... sure. I guess." You shrugged and couldn't help but smile a little. "But it's more fun to see how happy you look when I do something right."

That surprised him visibly. For a second something slipped and he looked almost lost, as if he had no idea what to make of this. You decided it was a good opportunity.

"I always thought you were an interesting man, Sir. I'm glad I could meet you."

Saxon arched a brow and took another sip. "You'll die here. You know that, don't you?" He waited for your nod. "It's fun to play with you. But sooner or later there will be a task you won't manage to complete." He cracked a crooked smile. "Almost a shame. I'm really having fun with you. You're not as stupid as the others."

"I had to fend for myself my entire life," you mumbled. And when he didn't stop you from talking, you dared to continue, "I... actually should thank you. Your soldiers killed my foster-dad. He used to beat me a lot. Because of him I never had any close friends and... no other family. There is nothing I could return to, anyway."

Saxon didn't say a word. However, from then on, he kept you around. To make him tea, to sort his files, to keep his office clean. But mostly, as it seemed, to learn more about you. He asked many questions and you never hesitated to answer. Because, in return, he gave answers of his own. And you learned so much. When he told you, one day, that he actually was an alien, you didn't have a hard time believing it.

"We look so alike, though," you said, eyeing him curiously.

"Oh, there are many differences." The Master - he had told you his real name - chuckled and reached for your hand to place it on his chest.

You blushed at the touch and your own heartbeat sped up, so it took you a few seconds to realize that his was somewhat strange. It was fascinating and made you smile.

He told you of the war, of how he had fought in it and then ran, how he had almost obsessively spent a lifetime doing literally nothing else, but to repair a rocket to a place that wasn't even real. And then he had landed here.

"Sounds like you didn't have a quiet minute since years," you muttered.

"Yah..." The Master sighed and leaned back on the sofa. Lately he was strangely tense around you, especially when you came too close. And still his eyes followed you everywhere, almost hungry. "No time to... rest." He growled to himself and closed his eyes.

"You're alright?" you asked and leaned down to him. "Want me to make more tea?"

The Master grinned with closed eyes. "No. But..." he paused and eyed you possessively, which sent a shiver down your spine. He shook his head. "You're fun. I quite like you, which is bad. That makes it really hard to break you."

"Why, thanks?" You laughed and poked his shoulder. "Come on. You've told me so much already. I don't think a little request would break me." You poked out your tongue. "I could manage all your stupid tasks. I'm sure I can manage to do one that actually means something to you."

"Yeah?" he giggled impishly, suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. It made you lose balance and you almost fell. But you could stretch out your hand in time, which landed right next to the Master's head. And your face came close to his. So close you could get lost in his hazel eyes.

"You know... Time Lords are usually above such things." His thumb stroked over your wrist. "But you make this difficult. And it's been such a long time. With the war and everything."

You had no idea if you should stay in this position or move away. He was so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. Your eyes met, his gaze was intense, demanding without words. In that moment you didn't care if it would bring you in trouble, the urge was too great. So you leaned forward, only a little, brushed his lips with yours. He sighed, lids falling shut.

And suddenly he grabbed your sides with both hands and pulled you right into his lap. Surprised you yelped, but he left you no time for confusion, his mouth found yours, devouring it in a fierce kiss. Your hands landed on his shirt collar, stroked along the cloth to do something. His tongue pressed against your lips, demanded entrance, which you gave willingly.

There was a soft groan from him that let warmth pool into your belly, but at the same time seemed to snap him out of everything. He broke the kiss, both of you panting heavily. His irises were almost black, his look mischievous.

"Whoops," he breathed out.

"Yeah." You chuckled softly. "Whoops." Then you remembered something and pulled away a little. "What about your wife?"

The Master huffed. "Political marriage. We never... were close in any way."

Slowly your fingers trailed down his chest, your hands came to rest above his hearts that still were beating wildly. It made you proud and giddy that you could do this to him, made you crave more. You moved in his lap, just enough to feel yourself gliding over the bulge in his pants. That made him groan again, but surprisingly he stopped you with his grip.

"No. That's not another task." His hand stroked along your cheek and he smiled. "Just couldn't resist stealing a kiss from you."

You giggled at that and gave him a tongue-touched grin. "Since when are you so reluctant?"

He returned the grin, connected your foreheads. "I like the thought of how I could make you feel, how I could make you scream my name. But it needs to be real. It's no fun otherwise."

"Is that so?" You leaned forwards and captured his lips again, rocking against his crotch in the same movement.

The Master groaned openly into your mouth, one of his hands snaked to the small of your back to press you closer. The kiss got wilder, his tongue doing things to you that made your head light. He swallowed your soft moans, while his finger glided along your shoulders, every touch sending goose bumps down your spine. You shivered when he traced a line down your back, when he caressed your bare skin and opened the clips of your bra.

"Sure about this?" he brought out.

His eyes were so hungry for you, it was hard to tell if he would really stop would you say 'no'. And still you had a feeling that he would. Which got you aroused even more. So, instead of an answer, you reached a hand between you and cupped his erection, stroking firmly over his pants. He gasped, eyes falling shut.

For a bit he let you tease him like that, then he grabbed the hem of your jumper and pulled it over your head, together with the opened bra. His skilled hands moved to your breasts, caressing them, thumbs stroking over your nipples, making them harden almost instantly.

Somehow your lips met again, tongues dancing sensually. It wasn't fair that he was still clothed, so you unbuttoned his dress shirt, happy he didn't wear a jacket right now. You wanted skin, wanted to feel him, and quick.

You weren't the only impatient one, however. Without a warning, the Master grabbed your bum and lifted you from him to drop you on your back on the sofa. His fingers slipped under the waistband of you jeans, eliciting a new groan from you, before he grabbed your feet to get rid of the shoes and then, finally pulled your jeans down, together with your soaked knickers.

His eyes roamed over your naked body, took in every detail with awe. You sat up then and unbuttoned his own pants, while he kicked off shoes and threw away the belt. Curiosity grew in you, making you wonder if Time Lords actually were... compatible with humans. It certainly had felt like it, and when you pulled down his pants you weren't disappointed.

"Like what you see?" he asked, wolfishly grinning.

"Oh, a lot."

"Then move aside, will you?"

You did, making space on the sofa, only to find yourself sitting in his lap again a second later. Feeling him skin to skin made your head even lighter than before. You started to move against him, then wrapped your hand around his erection to glide up and down his full length. Your thumb stroked over the tip, made him sigh out a moan. His fingers were on you clit at the same time, drawing circles that spiked your lust to new peeks. Oh, you wanted to have him inside you. You couldn't wait any longer. It was unbearable.

You groaned and kissed his half opened lips. "I need you. Want you."

"Say my name," he breathed against your mouth.

"Master." His name stumbled over your lips like a plea and you could almost hear his patience snap.

Both of you moved in unison. He straightened a little and you sat up on your knees so he could guide himself inside you. Slowly you let yourself down again, feeling every inch of him fill you out completely. You both groaned, stayed still for a moment to adjust and simply savour the intensity of the moment.

His hands on your bum urged you to move, pressed you flush against him. You had never done it in this position and regretted it now. The friction was just perfect, or maybe it was only because of the Master. You built up a rhythm, moved on him with delight. He, on the other hand, nibbled his way down your throat, leaving small marks on your skin here and there, while his hands were either on your bum or your breasts.

The tension in you rose quickly, almost too fast. You wanted to enjoy this, wanted to savour every second of it, so you slowed down a little. The Master grabbed your sides and guided your movements, his clouded eyes fixated on yours. Slowly you rose, let him almost slip out of you, before he pulled you back close, making you feel him glide inside you again. It was something you both enjoyed and repeated once more, panting.

The Master wouldn't allow you a third time, captured your lips and pulled you down on him, made you move again with impatience, breath ragged. He must be as close as you were and the thought sent a shiver through your whole body, made you move just a little faster until there was no turning back and you came with his name on your lips, clenching around him and groaning into his mouth, riding out the orgasm until you felt his grip on you tighten and until he had to break the kiss as his own release washed over him.

It took you a small eternity to find back to your senses. You heard the Master's rapid double heartbeat, felt his grip soften, but only for a moment. He then lifted you from him a little to slip out of you and lay down on the sofa. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his look weirdly serene in that moment.

"How about we change our game a little?" he murmured. "If you fail a task I get to have you again."

You nestled against his chest and chuckled. "That's not fair. I'd have to fail on purpose, then."

"Mhm..." He smiled impishly. "Can't let a human win against me, after all."

"That's too bad. I'd get to win, no matter what." You glinted back at him, mirroring the mischief.

The Master scowled, mockingly pursed his lips, then captured yours in a sweet, short kiss. His fingers gently trailed along your spine, drew circles on your skin until your breath hitched.

"I think I still win this," he muttered.

#the master x reader #doctor who #fanfiction #Smut #The Master #reader insert #second person pov #simm!master

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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“When I say I love you forever, that’s what I mean.”

yoongi x reader (oc)

genre: fluff; smut (just barely at the end)

word count: 2.8K

a/n: Hi lovelies! It’s Yoongi day!!!! This is the night Yoongi starts working on People for his mixtape and he and Kid/reader have a long conversation about life, people, and the meaning of everything. Idek if the conversations make full sense but that’s kind of what I like about them, these two are just bullshitting and getting to know each other even more and I think it’s sweet. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading! :))

And happy birthday to our favorite honey boy 🍯💛

Seated on Yoongi’s studio couch, your eyes scanned over the words of the paperback novel in your hands as the sounds of the beats from the man’s computer started and stopped at random, filling the room with evidence of his genius and artistry. As you turned the page, the man sat back against his chair with a small huff, your gaze lifting from the book to your boyfriend.

You waited a moment, seeing if he was going to initiate conversation or if he was simply taking a quick moment to himself. However, when his head turned to peer behind him, sneaking a glance at you, you couldn’t help the upward curve of your lips.

“Hey,” he chuckled lightly, your smile growing.

“What’s up, Honey Boy?”

He appeared bashful, as if he was embarrassed and almost guilty for interrupting your reading. Lowering the book to the cushion next to you, holding your place with your finger, you cocked your head.

“Would you mind giving this a listen real quick?” He asked shyly, your eyes widening in slight surprise. Yoongi asking for your opinion on his music wasn’t new or even rare, but the tentativeness in his demeanor certainly was. The man could be bashful when sharing his work, but rarely hesitant.

Nodding at him, he sat back up and pressed play on the track. It was different than anything he’d ever shown you before, the slow melodic flow of the song, paired with interesting xylophone-type of sound, immediately capturing you. Your eyebrows pulling together as you listened, a focus overtaking you.

It was just the instrumental, but it felt comforting; calming.

“This is from,” he thought out loud, “2016 probably.”

“It’s amazing, Yoon,” you complimented sincerely. “I’m actually kind of offended you’ve had this all this time just hiding in your hard drive,” you teased with a smile, Yoongi chuckling as he spun his chair around to face you.

“You think I should use it for the mixtape?” He asked, already knowing he should, but seeking your opinion anyway.

“Definitely,” you told him as you lifted the book, only to fold the corner of the page down. Dropping the novel onto the couch, you stood and easily approached the man, his gaze following you intently as you neared him. Leaning against his desk, Yoongi spun in his chair so he continued to face you. “It’s really good.”

Giving you a single appreciative nod, he held back a grin. “Thank you,” he whispered, the shyness in his gratitude adorable, making you smile. “I love your smile,” he told you suddenly, a small breathy chuckle escaping your lips.

“Thanks,” you told him quickly, trying to brush over the compliment, feeling bashful under his gaze. You both simply stared at one another, both of your minds trying to decipher each other’s expressions.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked you, clueless as to what was going on in your mind, but knowing there was something weighing on it.

With a small sigh, you flashed him a small smile. “Do you think I’m a good person?” You asked him, the man’s eyebrows pulling together.

“I do,” he replied simply, though his expression remained the same. “Why?”

“I saw an old friend today,” you told him as you lifted yourself onto the desk so you were seated atop it, your feet dangling above the floor.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in curiosity, his hands coming to rest on your knees.

“She’s changed so much, I barely recognized her,” you continued. “We used to be so close in school and now, it’s like I hardly know her,” you told him, the fragility of your voice apparent to your own ears, so you knew Yoongi heard it too. “She has a baby I had no idea about.”

Yoongi stared at you thoughtfully, locking his eyes with yours, a rare occurrence for him. “Why is that making you concerned about your goodness as a person?”

“I just-” you paused thoughtfully. “I let that relationship fade away. You know, I was the one who stopped communicating, I was the one who cancelled plans, I just pulled away and withdrew.”

“That doesn’t make you bad, that makes you human,” he informed you, his thumbs soothing along the insides of your thighs, just above your knee caps. “People change.”

Nodding in understanding, you directed a small tight smile at him. “You know, as happy as I am with my life and the people in it,” you scrunched your nose, poking his hand with your finger to emphasize his important role among those people, Yoongi letting a small smile grace his features, “I feel nostalgic for something,” you finished. Lifting his hand from your leg, he wrapped it around your own hand, holding it comfortingly in his grasp. His palm was as warm as his considerate gaze, and you realized for the hundredth time that Yoongi was warmth embodied. “Does everyone feel like this or is there something wrong with me?” You scoffed lightly at yourself.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He teased, making a small giggle leave your lips as you softly jerked your knee up to bump his arm in light-hearted complaint. “I can’t speak for everyone, but sometimes I think I miss the person I was before,” he looked around the studio, “you know, all this,” he admitted, referring to his career.

Leaning toward him, you listened intently, your orbs scanning his features as he pondered over the thoughts within his mind.

“Maybe not even the person, but the life,” he elaborated, you humming in understanding.

“Do you find that it was a simpler time?” You asked, intrigued by his words.

“Not so much simpler but just different, I guess,” he thought out loud. “It feels like I sacrificed the ordinary for the extraordinary,” he added, latching his gaze onto your legs as you stared down at him. “And now the ordinary becomes extraordinary,” he said, lowering his chin to your knees as his fingers picked at the fraying around the hole in your jeans.

Your free hand that wasn’t being held by his found its way to his hair, your fingers digging into his soft strands.

“I sound ungrateful,” he chuckled dryly against your legs, you shaking your head despite him not seeing it, his eyes still glued to the hole in your clothing.

“No, just human,” you spoke up. “It’s natural to long for those realities that belong to some but not to us,” you assured him, the man rotating his face so his cheek rested against your leg, his orbs gazing up at you.

“People dream of having my life though,” he mumbled, his lips slightly pouted making him look precious despite the negative thoughts swirling around his head and leaving that adorable pout. “And here I am just wishing I could walk down the street without a care in the world,” he smiled a bit. “Am I even a good person? I feel greedy.”

Brushing your fingers through his hair, you pouted, watching him for a moment before responding. “I’m biased, but I think you are.”

“You sure?” He quipped, a teasing glint in his eyes that made you smile as a breathy chuckle left your lips.

“You’re a good person, Yoongi, I won’t have you thinking otherwise,” you insisted with a glare, Yoongi’s lips curving into a grin in response.

“My life isn’t any more special than anyone else’s,” he suddenly decided. “Just different.”

Nodding at him, you agreed. “You’re just a person.” Yoongi’s eyebrows raised, preparing to tease you for the lackluster conclusion, your mouth already shaping into a knowing smile. “But my favorite person,” you added. “So that’s something.”

Placing a kiss to your jean adorned knee, he grinned. “It’s everything.”

“I think it has meaning,” you noted, your and Yoongi’s conversation taking several different paths throughout the past forty-five minutes or so. You were now talking about the meaning of life, and whether there was a meaning at all. “I just don’t know what,” you added with a shy smile.

Yoongi’s gummy grin beamed up at you as he squeezed your thigh playfully. “I go back and forth. Like, we’re here by chance, right? Maybe life is no deeper than that,” he explained, you nodding in understanding. “But also, I found music and BTS, and here I am with you, and all of that feels meaningful,” he added thoughtfully.

“Do you believe in fate?” You questioned curiously.

“Maybe,” he responded, his voice sliding up slightly in pitch.

“I find myself thinking that same thing. Like maybe we don’t have a purpose as living beings except to just, be here, and live. And maybe it’s the people we know and the experiences we have that give it all meaning,” you thought aloud, Yoongi humming as he peered up at you.

“Yeah, I like that,” he settled with a small close-mouthed smile that pushed his fluffy cheeks up adorably. Moving your hand from his hair, you poked his cheek, Yoongi giving you a feigned grimace in reply.

“Ok, so question for you,” you started, Yoongi’s eyes widening in anticipation. “If your life wasn’t so extraordinary, what would you do?”

“Like, without the fame?” He asked.

“Yeah, let’s say for a day, no one knew who Min Yoongi, Suga, Agust D was, what would you do?” You asked with a small smile, feeling giddy to hear his answer.

“I would take you out on the most normal run of the mill date,” he answered easily.

“That’s what you’d do?!” You asked in disbelief, Yoongi smiling cutely. “What like to the movies?”

“To the movies and to dinner and to get ice cream and we’d walk around Seoul without a care in the world about who could see us,” he grinned.

“We’ve done all those things though,” you pointed out.

“I mean, yeah, we have our spots that feel safe, and we venture out on occasion, but we could go anywhere without the stress of being seen,” he explained. “No worries, just us.”

Flashing him a fond smile, you pushed his hair off his forehead gently. “I didn’t realize you had so much stress when we go out,” you noted, a softness evident in your tone.

“I’m just- hyperaware,” he clarified.

“Would you hold my hand in the street, Honey Boy?” You asked with a wide grin, Yoongi chuckling at you.

“I wouldn’t let go of your hand,” he told you, his thumb running along the side of your hand as he spoke the words. “You know what else I would do?” He asked happily.

“What?” You whispered through your beaming grin.

“I’d kiss you in front of everyone,” he returned your smile. “And I’d post a cheesy photo of us on my pubic instagram to brag about how beautiful my girlfriend is.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, Yoongi giggling as his chin rested on top of your knee.

“It would be nice,” he hummed thoughtfully, as if he was losing himself in a day dream where he could live so carelessly.

Moving your hand to the side of his face, you pulled his attention back to you as you cocked your head at him and smiled at him. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older, and we wouldn’t have to wait so long,” you stared to sing playfully, Yoongi dropping his forehead to your knee as he laughed at you.

Sitting back in his chair, he looked back up to you with his gummy grin, his eyes bright and full of adoration. “I love that song,” he noted, you giggling.

“Me too,” you replied in a whisper.

A pause in the conversation took place as Yoongi’s eyes scanned over your features, yours following the movement of his gaze. When his eyes met yours, he slowly pushed his chair away from the desk and stood in front of you, his hands finding your waist as his face hovered close to yours.

Placing a kiss to the side of your mouth, you breathed out slowly, the intimacy between you both blossoming more stunningly than it ever had before.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing over yours as your hands found his neck, your fingers greedily but gently exploring the soft skin of his neck and jaw, grazing over his throat.

“I love you too,” you told him. “Forever.”

Pressing your lips to his, he brought his body as close to yours as he could, wanting you as close as possible. As he deepened the kiss, your mouth moving in synchronization with his own, his hands found the bottom of your shirt.

Tugging up, you removed your hands from him to allow him to pull the clothing from your frame. Dropping the shirt onto the desk next to your bodies, his eyes glanced down at your chest to see the flimsy lace bra. As one of his hands moved behind you to feel your back, sliding down to grasp the top of your ass, he dragged the finger of his opposite hand along the edge of your bra cup.

“What does forever mean?” He suddenly asked in a low timbre, just before pressing a lingering peck to your mouth. “You never know what the future holds,” he said realistically, though his tone was still seductive and light.

“I think the intent behind the word is what matters,” you told him, trailing kisses along his neck, Yoongi tilting his head to the side to allow you more access. “What a person feels when they speak the word.”

“So what do you feel? What do you mean when you say forever?” He questioned, your head raising to look him in the eyes.

Scooting off the desk, you stood in front of Yoongi, your gaze locked on his. “When I say forever,” you started, your hands finding the sides of his face as his held your waist. “I mean it literally. For always, evermore, in this lifetime and the next. Maybe even past lifetimes. The future is unpredictable, but when I say I love you forever, that’s what I mean,” you assured him as the man stared at you with a surety you weren’t sure you’d ever seen from him before.

Leaning in to kiss him again, you began pushing him backward, you both stumbling as he bumped into the chair. Your lips curved upward into the kiss, you both chuckling as you continued your clumsy ministrations.

Finding your way to the couch, you dropped onto it, sliding across it so you could recline, Yoongi standing above you watching you intently. As you stared up at him with a smirk, he shed himself of his shirt. Crawling atop you, your hands grabbed onto his hips, your fingers digging underneath the waistband.

He kissed you passionately, pouring his feelings and emotions into the action, causing you to moan, the sound melting against the man’s mouth, making him smirk. Sitting up on his knees, he undid the zipper on his own jeans before reaching for your own. His eyes left your legs for just a moment as he reached for the book shoved against the back of the sofa.

“This any good?” He asked, you quirking your eyebrow.

“It is, want me to read it to you?” You asked, Yoongi scoffing as he tossed it onto the table, you giggled as he went back to pulling your clothes from your body.

As he removed his clothing, you reached for your bag on the floor next to you, pulling a condom out, Yoongi smirking at you.

Once your clothing was removed, giggles flooding the room as you both struggled to wiggle out of your jeans and your bra flung somewhere across the studio, it was a matter of seconds until his skin was against yours, your body caged by his arms.

He kissed you passionately, a hand on your waist as his other arm supported his weight over you. Slipping inside you, you groaned out at the sensation, Yoongi breathing lowly at the feeling of you.

As you clasped a leg around his, your hand grasping at his ass, he placed delicate kisses across you face, giving special attention to your cheeks as he began dragging his hips.

“I love you,” he whispered before pushing his mouth to yours, swallowing your breaths and whimpers. He moved slowly, savoring every moment of being together, wanting this night to last, forever.

Your hands clutched his back, clinging to him as he moved in and out of you with a passionate force that had you moaning out near his ear. And he reveled in your sounds, knowing he was the cause, knowing you were his. Forever.

Leaving a kiss to his earlobe, you confessed your love for him once more. And then again. And again.

“Forever,” you repeated, the word coated in intention and meaning. You’d be loving him forever.

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

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Catfish & Sunshine

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader Mini Series

Summary: Frankie is secretly in love with his best friend. Thanks in part to Benny’s shitty horror movie recommendation and stray ice cream, feelings come out unexpectedly during movie night.

Warnings: Language, SMUT, little angst, lots of fluff, poor writer understanding of US military benefits/retirement. WC 8,215.

A/N: I dreamed this up after rewatching Triple Frontier about a month ago (for the plot, of course) and let it sit for a while. Became inspired to finish it off this week and share it with you all-so please let me know your thoughts!

For over a decade, Saturday nights were, for Frankie Morales, usually spent with his best friends over drinks at their favourite bar. When deployed, the bar was instead smuggled whiskey that they shared under the stars, an attempt to imagine they were anywhere other than the current hellhole. As Special Ops soldiers, Frankie and his buddies had been through the worst of the worst together, until one by one they retired or were forced to retire, and then they were back to regular appearances at the local bar, for a while the five of them, then four.

Until Frankie met you.

Had someone come up to him during one of those nights years before and told Frankie that one day he’d be bringing you along to the bar to join him and the guys, he’d have laughed in their faces. But for a while, that was exactly what occurred, until you and Frankie grew so close that you usually ended up making different plans, like going mini-golfing, or lounging at his apartment and watching movies. Not that you didn’t love the guys, all whom you’d met except for Santi as he had been off the grid for just over a year when you and Frankie had met.

It was thanks to the elder Miller brother, Will, that he had even met you at all. Working at the VA office, Will had learned of one of the few retirement perks they had for putting their asses on the line for their country-physical therapy. And you came highly recommended, a star PT who had worked magic over his friends' ailments. Knowing Frankie suffered from shoulder and neck pains, Will handed him your card and encouraged him to book an appointment.

He hadn’t called straight away. He’d popped your card onto his fridge and every day he’d pass by it, consider calling, and then talk himself out of it. Until the pain became too much to bear, his latest menial job just a little too physical for him, causing him to consider using again just to dull the ache. But he’d walked by your card moments later and instead of making a terrible decision he had promised himself he’d never make again, he called your office. Made an appointment with your friendly receptionist, who thankfully had his name already because Will had put in a good word for Frankie and asked that they try and get him in straight away, whenever he finally did call.

Two days later Frankie was standing nervously in the treatment room, looking at a wall decorated with your various degrees and certificates. He was anxious not only because he worried he’d get his hopes up that this would help the pain only to be disappointed, but also because he had no idea what to expect. Years of service as a pilot had made Frankie into a man who planned, meticulously, leaving little in the way of surprises. But he’d reasoned that calling the office back and demanding they give him a minute-by-minute account of what the appointment would be like was probably going too far.

And then you had walked in and immediately his worries morphed into concern over the fact that he required a beard trim, that he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and popped his usual cap on, probably appearing a little gruff. And fuck, he almost couldn’t breathe when you gave him the most dazzling, genuine smile like you were greeting an old friend. You were bright, a rare energy radiating off of you as though you absorbed it straight from the fucking sun, and you were beautiful. No wonder Will had winked at Frankie when he’d handed you the business card.

You were observant, introducing yourself and seemingly sensing his overall discomfort. Instead of launching straight to business, you gestured for him to sit and spent a good twenty minutes casually chatting, pulling information you needed from him while putting him at ease entirely. He learned then that Will had already sung Frankie’s praises, given you the heads up that he was a worrier and even told a few stories that showcased his talents as a pilot.

If Frankie didn’t know any better, he’d think his friend was trying to play matchmaker.

All thoughts of Will Miller, and pretty much every other thing on the planet, vanished the moment you laid your expert hands on to Frankie. You zeroed in on the worst source of pain and slowly worked away, and he could only agree with Will that you had magic hands. He could have died happily right then, as you chatted away and brought him the most relief he’d felt in years. You would pause occasionally to check in with his pain levels and make sure he was doing alright, always asking him to look at you to answer and searching his face as he spoke to ensure he was telling the truth.

The care you gave Frankie in just one appointment was enough to start him falling. And he kept going back, multiple appointments a week that not only had him walking taller, feeling lighter on his feet and reducing his migraines to seldom, but also allowing him to get to know you better. You were the kind of sweet-natured person that cried when you saw a sad commercial, laughed freely to the lamest of jokes, and seemed to wake up on the right side of the bed every day. You were sunshine, literal, tangible sunshine, and Frankie thought you might not even realize it.

Though Frankie had convinced himself early on that a woman as beautiful and kind as you could never be interested in a grouch like him, with his crows' feet and a closet full of demons. The longer he knew you little seeds of hope would sprout whenever he made you laugh so hard you had to stop the treatment just to hold your stomach as you giggled. Or when you’d share something with him innocent enough but, upon reflection, he would think it wasn’t something a normal patient-provider relationship would find exchanged.

But there was the age difference, a decade between you both that, if nothing else worked, would successfully extinguish his hope. He had wondered if perhaps you were just a decent people person, that the friendship he felt was there was entirely one-sided.

Until one day, a few months into coming to you for treatment, Frankie sat waiting for you to come in the room only for you to appear looking entirely unlike yourself. He booked his appointments always for the end of the day, a routine that promised he would get plenty of uninterrupted time with you and the conversation could flow without a time constraint. He had been so surprised that you weren’t grinning as you stepped into the room that he stood abruptly, filling with concern.

When he asked, softly, if you were alright, you didn’t brush him off like he might have expected. You instead looked up at Frankie, your lower lip trembling as your eyes filled with tears, and sobbed unexpectedly. That sound had torn a hole right into his chest and he had pulled you straight into his arms and hugged you close before asking you to tell him what he could do to help.

You ended up explaining that you had come in that morning to the news that a regular patient of yours, an elderly man you’d known the entire time you’d been working for the VA office, had passed away in his sleep. And you’d apologized to Frankie while sniffling and wiping at the tears, telling him you’d held it in all day but couldn’t do that when your friend asked you, and he had been baffled to realize you were referring to him. As your friend.

He had cut off your apology to hug you close again, smoothing your hair gently as he whispered calming words and sentiments to you in Spanish. And though you didn’t speak the language, you had since told Frankie it had done exactly what he’d hoped and made you feel all the better.

After his treatment that day, Frankie asked if he could take you for a drink to toast your friend's life. He waited for you to close up the office, and then you’d followed him in your car to drive over to his usual bar. And you both drank to the veteran who passed, then ended up ordering dinner and remaining at the bar until late, talking even more freely outside of the office. If Frankie didn’t already have it bad for you, that night sure sealed it for him.

After that, you and Frankie began texting regularly, sometimes even calling one another to share a funny story or talk about something in the news. He had joined you for your former clients funeral, his hand rubbing comforting circles into your back before he took you out for lunch, then you’d ended up at his place to watch a cheesy movie, ordering pizza when you both realized there was a sequel that, if it was as bad as the first, you absolutely needed to watch.

And just like that, Frankie saw his life altered completely when you became his best friend.

Currently, Frankie was seated comfortably on his couch, where he frowned at the TV playing a horror movie that you had insisted was supposed to be good, because Benny had recommended it. Considering the younger Miller brother could barely sit still half the time, that was supposedly good enough for you.

You were tucked into Frankie’s side, eyes fixed on the screen until a jump scare had you jerk, then twist your face to press into his chest, because you hated the gory bits.

“Fuck! How does this not scare you even a little, Frankie?” You whined, unknowingly causing Frankie to swell with pride when he heard the note of admiration in your voice. He had started to suspect that the reason movie nights were becoming exclusively scary movies was that you were determined to find one that actually frightened him.

So far, you’d had no luck. But Frankie didn’t mind, because though you were already a touchy person in general, you were especially clingy when you queued up the next horror flick as if you trusted him to keep you safe.

Frankie didn’t reply, his chest rumbling with silent laughter that made you teasingly poke his side. He jumped, because you knew exactly where to aim, then cleared his throat. The scene ended, and he began to extract himself from your grip. “My sweet tooth is calling, cariño. I’m going to get some ice cream.”

You let him go, your head popping up, a big grin on your face, “Can I have some too, please?” And he nodded, smiling at you before walking across the open concept apartment and into his kitchen.

He stretched his back before opening the freezer where he had some bars next to an off-limits pint of Ben and Jerry’s. You had put it there months ago, telling Frankie it was for days when you got together and one of you needed to cry over a bad date. You called it ‘emergency’ ice cream. Frankie considered it to be ‘fuck you’ ice cream, because every time he opened his damn freezer he saw that pint and ended up thinking about how neither of you had been on a date with anyone since becoming friends over a year before, then falling into the same circular argument with himself-that the friendship was too important for him to feel the way he did, that he was jumping to conclusions and maybe you had gone on a few good dates that you just didn’t tell him about, and he was out of his mind if he thought you would ever feel the same way.

“Here you go, Sunshine,” He plopped back down next to you and passed you your bar, watching as you beamed at him widely, the inevitable result of his use of the nickname he’d dubbed you with a long time ago.

He desperately hoped you never realized the amount of affection truly behind that nickname.

Because how could he even begin to explain that you were literally sunshine in his dark life?

“Thank you,” You pulled the wrapper off, glancing at the movie and frowning. “Uhg. Benny promised the one was good! I’m starting to think he only recommends movies if they have at least one pair of tits.” You took the first bite of your ice cream bar while Frankie nearly choked on his own.

Amused as he was whenever you joked about your shared friends, Frankie also loved it when you swore. You were a goofy, happy little thing most of the time and curse words just seemed so out of character for you, pulling laughter from Frankie any time you caught him by surprise. You spent your days around gruff veterans and never seemed to lose any light, no matter how many real horror stories you heard. So whenever you managed to sound so uncharacteristically blunt, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Benny has always been a tits man,” Frankie agreed, and you giggled. He tried to refocus on the movie then, but it hadn’t captured his interest in the least. After a moment, you spoke again and he had to work on not choking.

“What are you, Francisco?”

Your tone was playful, light; Frankie’s head jerked in surprise to gaze down at you and you wiggled your brows, going for laughs. You seemed completely unaware of the roaring in his ears, the visceral reaction your words brought forth within him. You and Frankie had shared intimate tidbits like that before with one another, often during nights at the bar with the Miller brothers. After a few drinks and usually, because his friends knew exactly how he felt about you and tried to steer the conversations into dangerous waters and watch Frankie try to save himself.

Only, Frankie’s friendship with you during the last few months had become...deeper. After the operation Santiago had brought Will, Benny, Tom and him in on, your relationship had evolved. Because that nightmare had reminded Frankie just how dark shit could get in the blink of an eye, and he’d had to do things he thought he was done with when he retired from service. Worse, because they were just civilians using Santi’s connections and intel to rob a drug lord.

And you had no idea what he’d gone through, how hard he’d fought just to get home to you because he couldn’t-wouldn’t-tell you. Yet you still patched him up, physically and emotionally, when he’d come home three weeks later than he’d promised. You held him as he cried and never became angry with him, never questioned him for answers as to why he’d come home with one less friend and a whole lot of mysterious trauma.

After that, Frankie realized he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

So a simple, flirtatious little question? Yeah, it really managed to fuck Frankie up.

His friends had sensed the change as well, noticed how you held Frankie up when he felt like he couldn’t stand, how you comforted them all when they got home and cried along with them over Tom, over Santi not coming home even though you’d only met him once, briefly. You held strong for him at Tom’s funeral, which prompted the Miller brothers to tell Frankie in no uncertain terms that he simply could not let you slip through his fingers. If that fucking mission had taught them anything, it was that life was too short and you might as well live it to the fullest.

But the thing was, Frankie depended on you. Your friendship was the one real, good, pure thing in his life. And you gave it so willingly and unquestionably even after what he put you through that there was no fucking way he was risking it by telling you how he felt.

Christ, you even had a spot in his bathroom for your own toiletries, a favourite pillow on his bed for the nights you stayed, a fucking hook for your coat that he installed just a little lower than the other because you were so much smaller than Frankie.

And still, he wouldn’t look at what that might mean because he was afraid, and as much as you seemed to think nothing scared him, the truth was that a gory horror movie, or losing his friend, or even fucking live combat could never come close to the fear he felt when he pictured life without you.

You were Frankie’s Sunshine, and he never wanted to be alone in the dark again.

Aware he was still gazing down at you, Frankie found himself entirely at a loss for words. You didn’t seem to mind, simply waiting for him to respond while taking small bites of your treat. His cock twitched at the combination of your words, the innocent way you gazed at him, because Frankie hadn’t touched himself in quite some time and it didn’t take much to drive him up the wall.

His life with you had become remarkably domestic, routine. You often stayed multiple nights in a row at his place, preferring his company over being alone, and the shorter distance to your office. His spacious condo had one large four-piece bathroom, which meant there had been a few times where one of you was in the shower and the other came in, desperate to use the toilet before their bladder could burst. The shower had a thickly frosted glass enclosure, which provided plenty of visual privacy from both sides, the only indication that someone was in the shower was a very faint tint. This was never an issue until it was.

Exactly sixty-two days prior (not that Frankie was necessarily keeping count of passing time since his last orgasm), you had burst into the bathroom one afternoon unexpectedly. Returning early from your jog because you needed to pee, while Frankie stood in the shower. He listened to you tell him about a cute dog you’d seen outside his building. The thing was, Frankie had expected you to be gone longer, and you were in the middle of a three-day visit that had left him needy and horny because he hadn’t had time alone and yet you walked around in his fucking clothes, slept next to him in his bed, and he needed release.

He was grateful the tinted glass prevented you from having any idea what he was doing on the other side. And he had been close already when you came in, one hand fisting over his cock while the other pressed into the tile wall, and guilt sprang up in the back of his mind because he had been thinking of you as he touched himself. And you were just feet away, unaware and fuck if that didn’t lead him to the edge.

But it was when you had sat down to pee and he heard you give a little moan of relief that Frankie lost it, giving in to the most powerful-yet silent-orgasm he had had in fucking years. Rope after rope of cum, his legs violently shaking, and he’d wondered if he would pass out it felt so good. Then you’d flushed and continued speaking, washing your hands before telling him you were going to put on a pot of coffee. And the guilt Frankie felt was so immense that he vowed right there he wasn’t going to touch himself again. He cared for and respected you too much to reduce you to his graphic thoughts without your consent.

Sixty-two days later and you were testing his limits unknowingly.

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” He replied, keeping his eyes locked on yours. You frowned a little, kitten licking the ice cream absentmindedly. Frankie almost groaned, wondering if you were trying to kill him. “I guess, it depends on the person.” He was never, ever going to admit he was a you man, that your ass, your perfect tits, your pretty little mouth were everything he could dream and more.

He tried to shrug casually, as if indifferent.

“I guess it’s a funny question,” You said after a moment, laughing a little, “I mean, no one asks a straight woman if she’s an ass or cock girl!”

Frankie took a too-large bite of his treat, the cold painful and giving him instant brain freeze but it was just the distraction he needed because seeing your plump lips wrap around the word ‘cock’ might just kill him. He coughed attempting to laugh at your joke despite the brain freeze, and you leaned closer in concern.

“Sorry, are you-ah, shit!” A piece of your ice cream bar, which you’d moved to hold higher as you were checking on Frankie, fell off and landed on your chest, instantly staining the pale pink t-shirt. You hopped up with a noise of discontent, catching the fallen glob and hurrying into the kitchen to toss it in the sink. “Damn it!”

Frankie reached out and paused the movie, standing up and intending to follow you. He took two steps, adjusting his cap as he moved, and then looked up to where you stood at the sink, running your shirt under the faucet. Freezing, he took it the sight of you standing in his kitchen, your shirt removed to run under the water, leaving you wearing yoga pants and a simple white bra. For a moment, he just shut down and stared at you dumbfounded, before internal alarms started sounding and Frankie’s eyes were sweeping over your curves, his eyes zeroing in on the lack of support your bra had, your breasts perky and full and fuck, he had to look away.

He looked up at his ceiling at cleared his throat “You uh, want me to grab you a shirt?” His voice came out much deeper than he was expecting. He hoped you didn’t notice, though with only being able to see your profile even if he did dare to look at you, he’d never be able to tell.

“Can I borrow your big sweater, please?” You asked him, and Frankie nodded as he hurried away, down the hall to grab the sweater he knew you meant from his room. He would have laughed at your suggestion it was his sweater when he barely got to wear it himself anymore, but he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Once out of sight in his bedroom, Frankie took a few steadying breaths before grabbing the sweater off the end of his bed. He was going to subject himself to a cold shower after he handed this to you because you were staying the night again and he could not climb into a bed with you this worked up.

One of the reasons that you and Frankie just worked as friends were your opposite ways of navigating life. Where Frankie was a detailed, meticulous planner, you flitted from idea to idea spontaneously until something landed right, and you seemed to enjoy pulling him along with you as you followed those random whims. And he let you pull him because he trusted you so completely. Even if he would still make a new plan in the back of his mind, it still felt like he was taking chances he never would have without you leading the way.

Planning was Frankie’s way of keeping control. Of keeping himself, his squadmates, his loved ones, safe and secure. After Columbia, where every bit of the plan had gone completely to shit, he’d needed to let you lead more often just so he could feel grounded because he didn’t trust himself any longer. And you had been happy to lead, to test his limits by pushing aside any planning he attempted and pull him from his comfort zone. You had taught him how to grapple with his instincts and his desires, giving him real-world methods to cope, including breathing as he was now.

So focused as he was on his breathing, Frankie hadn’t noticed you had joined him in his room, standing just inside the doorway. If he had heard you, he wouldn’t have spun around abruptly and take two long strides before realizing how close you were, nearly knocking you over as he did. He dropped the sweater when he reached out with both hands to grab your upper arms and steady you, and then he met your gaze.

Frankie couldn’t say whether it was the heat of his hands on you so unexpectedly, or the way you each shivered at the electricity that seemed to pulse from him to you. Maybe it was everything combined, years of friendship, longing and pining and then almost dying in the middle of the jungle only to come home and have you climb into his lap and sob in relief that he was home, and a million other moments in between.

But when Frankie met your eyes there in the doorway of his bedroom, he knew his expression was giving him away completely.

You were looking at him with wide eyes, your mouth slightly open in surprise, whatever words you were going to say long since lost. And then he saw it, was looking right at you when your expression shifted, no longer the innocent, playful woman but instead, one who was suffering just as much as he was, longing and love and this hunger on your face he’d never seen before.

Without hesitating, without thinking or planning his next move, Frankie tugged you against him and leaned down to slot his lips over yours, taken aback when he saw you close your eyes and stretch your neck up to meet him. When your soft lips connected to his, Frankie trembled and groaned, loving the feel of your body pressed against him, the way you smelled like something tropical, how even with your perfect curves you were so small compared to him. Kissing you was everything he’d dreamed and more.

He wanted to deepen the kiss, taste you, but even as he thought it his mind jumped ten steps ahead and imagined you on his bed and he had to stop himself from getting carried away. With great effort he pulled back, first breaking the kiss and then taking several steps away, panting heavily.

“Frankie?” You were out of breath, confused, and deliciously flushed. He could see your nipples tightened against the thin fabric of your bra, goosebumps along your skin. Just the knowledge that he’d had that kind of effect on you was enough to make him want to cum in his pants right there.

“Cariño, I can’t, I’m sorry,” It was physically painful now, his hard length straining against his jeans, but he was more concerned about you, and how afraid he was to lose you. “I-I’ve wanted to do that but you gotta know, I love you. I’m in love with you.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to look at his feet and rubbing his hands over his face.

You approached him again, just as quietly, taking him by surprise when you spoke from just inches away. “Frankie, look at me,” It was an order, a tone you rarely used but that always worked on grounding him, and he realized you understood he was struggling right now not to break down, terrified he’d fucked up the best thing in his life in a moment of weakness. He reluctantly met your gaze, swallowing thickly as he did.

“I need you to hear me right now, okay? Tell me.”

“I’m listening,” He confirmed, heart about ready to beat out of his chest, “I can hear you.”

“Good,” And you closed the gap between your body and his, pressing your hands into his shoulders. Frankie caught his breath. “I want you to do that again, and I don’t want you to stop. Please, kiss me again, Frankie, because I love you too and I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life than I want you-“

Frankie cut you off, a growl ripping from his chest before he gathered you roughly into his arms and kissed you again, this time quickly swiping his tongue across your lips for permission to enter, and you gladly parted them for him, moaning when his tongue licked into your hot mouth. He slid one hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving into your hair carefully before he pressed your face to his, needy to taste you more, to get drunk on you. Fuck, you were perfect.

When you whimpered against him, the sound almost lost in his mouth, Frankie moved, walking you back until you hit the wall and crowding you there. He ran his free hand across the bare skin of your side, heat coursing through his veins when you shuddered at his touch, keening for him. He hadn’t realized he was rolling his hips against you, his erection pressed into your stomach until one of your small hands somehow slipped between your bodies and ghosted over the front of his jeans curiously.

“Fuck,” He broke the kiss, this time simply to lower his head and kiss along your jaw, down your neck, “Sunshine, I fucking love you, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, sweet girl.” He licked the column of your throat as he moved to the other side of your face before biting gently. The sound that tore from you was so filthy he groaned again, dropping both hands to grasp your forearms.

“Frankie, fuck, don’t stop,” You were tugging at his shirt, and despite your request, he had to move back slightly to pull it over his head, his bare chest revealed to you and even though you’d seen him shirtless before, the intimacy of this time, of finally being with you after so long, made him self conscious. If you saw anything you didn’t like, you didn’t show it. Instead, you bit your lip as your hands tentatively roamed across his chest, trailing over his stomach lightly enough that he shivered. When you spoke next, you yet again took Frankie completely by surprise, your brows furrowing as your expression became more than just hungry, “Mine.”

You whispered it, but to Frankie, it was like you’d just announced it to the entire world. The possessive edge wasn’t lost on him, no, it shot straight to his core and snapped the final cords of his restraint.

“I should...I need a minute, Sunshine,” Frankie pressed his hands into the wall on either side of you, “I haven’t done anything in a long time, haven’t even cum, I don’t think I can be as sweet to you as I want to be.”

Your lust-blown eyes met his, “Why haven’t you cum?” He could hear trouble in your voice now, the not so careful way you spoke pulling dangerous images in his mind as he stared down at you, his jaw tense. When Frankie made no reply, you pressed your pointer finger to the middle of his chest, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly, lightly, moved it downward, trailing his dark hair. “Is it because you think of me? Are you that amazing that you won’t even let yourself cum because you think it’s wrong to think about me like that?”

A strangled noise was all he could respond with, his hands pressing desperately into the wall. You knew him too well, understood exactly what he’d meant without having to ask. And then you kept talking, and honestly, Frankie was floored at how dirty you suddenly were for him.

“I have to admit, you’re better than me, Frankie,” That finger trailed so slowly, closing in on his belly button now, “I’m not good like you, I think about you all the time. Especially when I touch myself, usually after I’ve spent a ton of time with you and I can’t fucking wait for a second longer. Wanna know what I picture?”

His voice was husky, a warning if ever there was one, “What did you picture, sweet girl?”

You moaned, your finger now closing in on the waist of his jeans, “You, bending me over the couch, that one is a favourite. Or waking you up with a blowjob, swallowing everything you’ve got because I know you taste delicious,” You unbuttoned his jeans now, sliding the zipper down with care, “But I think the winner, the one that always makes me scream your name, is thinking about riding you, Frankie. Climbing in your lap and just-“

Fuck, fuck he couldn’t hold back. He’d told you he couldn’t and yet you wouldn’t shut up and all thoughts of making love to you gently were out the fucking window, Frankie instead growled deeply and grabbed you by the arms, all but throwing you on the bed. You were smirking up at him, your eyes dark with lust and shining with triumph.

“Fuck, sweet girl, you wanna scream my name?” He removed his pants and briefs in one motion, his cock spring up, hard and leaking precum and you licked your lips, giving a little whimper at the sight of him. Frankie grasped himself, pumping his hand a few times as he stood over you, “Like what you see?”

“Jesus, Frankie-you need a new nickname,” You said, eyes glued to his cock, “Catfish makes no sense when you’re walking around with that fucking bat-wait!” He froze in the middle of removing his ball cap, looking at you with concern to see you bite your lip a little shyly, “Keep it on. The hat.”

Warmth spread through him at your request and Frankie replaced the hat on his head, then dropped to his knees next to the bed, his hands running up your thighs as you writhed. At your waist, he grasped the tops of your yoga pants and tugged them down, enjoying the way your body arched when you lifted your hips to help him. The only item of clothing either of you wore now was you in your bra, and fuck were you a sight.

Frankie gazed up at you from the floor in awe, his eyes roving over you hungrily as you watched him, propped up on your elbows. He started kissing up your thighs then, pushing your legs apart and spreading you, his hands kneading your flesh. “Sweet girl, you have such a pretty pussy, better than I imagined.” He moaned, biting into the soft flesh of your inner leg and drawing a whimper from you, “I can fucking smell you already, so wet and ready for me, fuck.”

“Oh god Frankie, please, touch me. I can’t wait anymore, I need you!”

“Told you,” Frankie climbed over top of you, his legs on either side of your body as he reached down and dragged you further onto the bed, his show of strength making you whimper, “It’s been a while. And you walk around here wearing my fucking clothes all the time. You don’t know what you do to me, Sunshine.” He grunted as he repositioned himself between your legs, his hands grasping the backs of them to haul your body against his, his cock pressed painfully against your thigh, “Gonna fuck you, sweet girl.” And with one careful, quick motion he thrust forward and each of you cried out at the pleasure of Frankie filling you.

“Frankie! Oh!” Your legs wrapped around him instantly, urging him as deep as possible as he split you open so deliciously. Once he was fully seated within you, Frankie dropped forward, propping himself on one arm, and cupped your face with his free hand. He looked into your eyes as he started a fast, hard pace, thrusting deep and reeling over how wet you were for him, how perfectly your velvet folds wrapped around him.

“Fuck, cariño, you’re fucking tight,” He grunted, kissing you sloppily as you threw your arms around him, hugging him close, “So tight for me, so perfect making those pretty noises, fuck.” Frankie groaned when you clenched around him as he spoke, “You like it when I tell you how perfect you are?”

“Ye-yeah Frankie, I love it. Oh, fuck!”

You were trembling now, squeezing him each time he whispered in your ear. Frankie kept up a string of praises and filthy words, taking note of the ones that had you gripping him extra hard.

He’d always had a casual enjoyment of dirty talk, nothing over the top, easy enough to shut off if it wasn’t enjoyed by the other person. But something about talking like this to you had his balls tightening that much faster, his thrusts becoming brutal.

Still murmuring in your ear, Frankie lowered his hand to your clit, experimentally rubbing, circling and pinching it to see what you liked. He was going to cum soon, and he’d be damned if you didn’t cum too. Though, as Frankie settled on circling you, both feeling and hearing how this was definitely how you liked it, his worries quickly dissipated when your hips were suddenly bucking up to meet his and you were screaming his name.

“That’s it, let go for me sweet girl,” Frankie’s thrusts were becoming increasingly sloppy as he neared the edge, “Are you-fuck, where should I?” He couldn’t even form a sentence now, he was so close and you were squeezing around him so perfectly as you closed in on your orgasm.

You understood though, your eyes meeting his as you pulled yourself together enough to reply, “Frankie, cum inside me please, please fill me up, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Fuck! H-here you go, perfect little thing!” He roared, dropping his weight over your and growling as he spilled inside you, as you bucked and writhed beneath him and screamed out, toppling over the edge and into oblivion with him. He heard himself cursing in Spanish as he experienced the most intense orgasm of his entire life, his hips slowing to continue to draw it out, still more cum filling you and you were a wreck under him, shivering and moaning.

“Yes, Frankie, yes.” You whimpered, your hands sliding into his hair-knocking his cap off-and tugging at his curls.

It took several minutes to recover, though Frankie had enough awareness to shift his weight so that you could breathe properly. Still hard inside you, he began to kiss you all over, peppering your face and neck before biting a few more marks into your neck, his tongue laving out to soothe. He enjoyed the way you whimpered when overstimulated, twitching when he pinched your nipple over your bra, squeaking his name when he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could one last time before pulling out.

Frankie collapsed on the bed next to you, then quickly tugged you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. His fear began to bubble back up now that the haze of passion was clearing, and he was starting to question every single moment that had occurred since you'd asked him if he was a tits man or an ass man.

What had he done? Was he going to lose you after this? Lose his entire reason for living for one amazing orgasm?

But it was like you could reach his mind, as only a few minutes had passed and then, with a little groan, you pulled yourself up so that you were on your elbow, looking down at Frankie. You took one look at his face and frowned, “That was quicker than I thought.”

Frankie stared at you, “What was?”

“I guessed it would take more than two minutes for you to start regretting this.”

Sighing, he pulled himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You followed, but crossed your legs and shuffled next to him. “I meant what I said, I love you,” Frankie explained, rubbing a hand over his face, “I love you so much, so fucking much it hurts. But the idea of messing this up is terrifying me, Sunshine. I don’t think I could lose you, I think it would kill me.”

“Frankie,” You crawled over him, straddling his hips and settling into his lap. You cupped his face firmly, looking into his eyes. Your expression was open, warm and vulnerable and a little incredulous, “You aren’t going to lose me, not ever. I want this-I want you, and everything you come with, okay?”

Though his heart was soaring, Frankie still worried, shaking his head, “I come with a lot of dark baggage, sweet girl. Not to mention the age difference.”

“Jesus, Frankie, do you really think I don’t know what I’m saying when I tell you I’m all in?” You asked him, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “I love you. Can I tell you when I knew?”

Frankie peered at you, his hands coming to hold your waist as he nodded.

“The boys trip.” You stated, using the term each of you agreed upon when referencing his three-week disappearance to Columbia. “When you first left, I knew something was off but I trust you, so I didn’t question it. But then after a few days, with no word from you, I started to really worry,” You paused, momentarily lost in thought, eyes dark now with the painful memory of his absence and the little information you’d come to learn about it since. “Did I ever tell you I booked a ticket to Columbia?”

This caught Frankie off guard because you most certainly had not told him that, “What, are you serious?”

“Yep. Booked it for the day after you ended up calling me. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I knew you were there and, even if you were dead, I needed to be as well.” You stroked your thumbs over his cheeks, “After you called, and I knew you were alive and coming home, I realized that the way you said it meant you almost didn’t make it home, and I knew you weren’t saying something. I hung up and sat in my room for a minute and it occurred to me that you could have died and I would have never seen you again. That was when I knew it wasn’t just a crush.”

Heavy emotion filled his chest, rendering him unable to immediately respond. Frankie gathered you close and stood, clutching you against him and carrying you into the bathroom. He set you on the toilet before turning to his massive soaker tub and switching it on, fully intending on spending the rest of the night in there with you. When he turned around, you were carefully tidying yourself up. With a grunt, he grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water before kneeling in front of you and taking over.

“Why didn’t you say anything? After I came home, I mean.” His tone was light, as he didn’t mean to come across as accusing you of anything-it’s not like he had said anything to you. Good-natured as you were, you simply smiled at him, a little sadly.

“Too afraid, right at first,” You admitted, your eyes fluttering shut as he took care of you with the warm washcloth, “But when you came home you were a fucking wreck, Frankie. You lost your friend, Santi didn’t come back with you either, and Will and Benny had the same expression on their faces whenever I saw them. You saw some shit, did some shit, I don’t know and I’ll be real here, I don’t need you to ever feel like you should tell me what exactly happened. But after the first day you were back, I could see how much it changed you and I thought it would be selfish to tell you how I felt and add more emotional bullshit onto your plate.”

Frankie continued to kneel in front of you after tossing the washcloth into his laundry hamper. For a moment, the only sound in the room that of the tub filling. He stared into your eyes, seeing only how truthful you were being, how incredibly kind. He had never realized how completely he could love someone until he met you.

“I thought about you the entire time I was gone.” He admitted before carefully standing and checking the temperature of the water. He added a bath salt mixture that you’d bought a while ago, claiming it was a gift when really you were the one to use them, locking yourself away for hours to soak because you didn’t have a tub at your place. He shut the water off and held his arms out for you, which you eagerly stepped into and allowed him to guide you both into the water.

Once settled, your back against his chest, you replied. “Your face when you came home, I’ll never forget your expression.” His legs were on either side of you, and you began to lazily trace along his right thigh as both of you fell into your painful memories of his ill-fated trip.

Frankie sighed sadly, “I’m sorry I ever left, Sunshine. I never should have left you,” He tightened his grip around your waist under the water, one hand spread flat across your stomach, “It was just...fuck, everything went bad straight from the start. We had a moment of luck and then it was like nothing could go right. And I don’t know, I’m fucking gutted that Tom is gone, but it’s worse that Santiago won’t come home. He’s like my brother, and he blames himself for everything.”

Frankie knew you had no idea what he meant. You knew he and the guys were former special ops that served together, but when Santi had asked him to go to Columbia Frankie had only told you the basics-the country, who he would be with, that he might not have a lot of chances to call, and that it would be about a week. Santi had picked him up and you had been there to see him off that morning, and his friend had casually referenced a ‘boys trip’ while speaking with you as Frankie loaded his shit in the back.

Of course, you weren’t stupid. You worked with the VA, met a lot of former service members who ended up contracting out their skills after retiring or leaving due to injuries or lifestyle changes. And you knew Frankie, understood him like no one ever had before, which is why as he gave you further details you didn’t flinch or freeze up, you simply listened. When Frankie had gone quiet for a while, you eventually turned to gaze up at him over your shoulder, your cheek on his chest.

“From what I could tell,” You began slowly, your words cautious, “Whatever you did, what happened, you all put it aside to get Tom’s body home to his family. And considering the type of work Santi was doing out there for three years before he came here to ask you guys to join him, I figure you all must have almost died a few times each, probably took out some terrible men along the way.”

Frankie had to bite back his sob, turning his face away from you to stare, ashamed and remorseful at the wall. You reacted quickly, pulling yourself up and turning over, your naked body pressing over his as you grabbed Frankie’s head and gently turned him to look at you. “Baby,” You cooed, your eyes shining with concern, “Don’t do that, don’t hide from me.”

That was all it took. Frankie let the sob out and the relief of it was instantaneous, so much so that he let out another, then another, all while you held him and murmured soft, sweet words and pressing chaste kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, along his jaw. It didn’t last long, he’d cried so many times over everything that had gone down, but this was the first time you had revealed you sort of had an idea of what they had been up to, and you were still supporting him and loving him and it was all very overwhelming.

A short time later, Frankie wiped his eyes and shot you a grateful look, hoping you could sense how much he appreciated you. You settled into the water again, knees pulled to your chest as you faced him and trailed your hands comfortingly up and down his chest. “Sunshine,” He whispered, catching one hand and holding it against his heart, “I love you, thank you for being so fucking incredible.”

He tugged you closer, joining you in laughing when a little water sloshed up over the edge of the tub as you landed against him. You snuggled close and kissed him, your fingers carding into his curls and holding him steady. When Frankie took you to bed that night, there were no pillows between your bodies, not a shred of clothing separating you. He held you close, falling asleep faster than he had in years.

And for the first time in Frankie’s life, he felt whole and complete, like nothing could ever bring him into darkness again, not when he had you, literal sunshine, lighting his existence.

PART TWO

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