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zepskies · 9 months

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Love Actually - Part 2

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: You and Ben steel yourselves in order to meet your crazy family for Christmas dinner.

AN: Here’s the requested Part 2! It got too long, so I had to break it up lol. There will be a Part 3 after this (final part). I also tried really hard to find an image/gif that would match this chapter better, but alas, there are only so many pictures of this scruffy guy. (And none in a real suit. 😂)

Read Part 1

Remember, this story is set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Word Count: 4,800 Tags/Warnings: Tense situations, bit of angst, lots of sexy fluff

Part 2: "Season’s Greetings"

Ben checked his watch again.

He’d lost count of how many times, how many minutes, how long he’d been waiting for you to come down the goddamn stairs so he could get this night over with.

You’d been getting ready for this dinner with your family for four hours. How long did it take you to slap on some makeup and throw on a dress?

Finally, he heaved a sigh and got up from the couch, adjusting the watch on his wrist. He stayed by the foot of the stairs and called up to you.

“Hey. What’s taking so damn long?” he asked. His brows were furrowed, mouth set in an aggravated frown. “I already told you. I’m not planning on being at this thing all night. So if you don’t come down here in the next ten minutes, I swear to fucking Christ—”

Ben stopped short, as he heard your footsteps at the top of the stairs. When he looked up with expectant, pursed lips, his face subtly froze.

“What? What’re you gonna do?” you teased. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you grasped the guardrail and carefully made your way down the stairs. These heels were no joke.

You had a black suede clutch tucked in your other hand, but Ben was drawn to the bright red of your dress. The color alone appealed to him. It called back a memory of a musty club, rich whiskey, and the dulcet tones of your voice.

But now, this dress was shorter. It also hugged your every curve and stopped just a few inches above the knee. He noticed a tantalizing little slit in the back, at the hem, leading his eyes down your sheer pantyhose and down to the tall, black heels.

His lips formed a teasing smile. “You sure you can walk in those?”

But you could see the truth in his eyes; he liked what he saw. They raked back up your body, taking in the short sleeves, the slight plunge of the neckline, the red lipstick as bright as your dress, the soft sweep of eyeliner and dark lashes—and you hoped he noticed the way you’d painstakingly done your hair into soft, ‘40s style waves.

“Do I look shaky to you?” you countered.

Ben tilted his head slightly as he stared up at you. “Not one bit.”

He reached out for you on the last step of the stairs. You took his hand and gave him a grateful look, but your hand didn’t stop there. It grazed up the sleeve of his suit jacket as you took him in with a smile.

Not often one to don a simple black suit, Ben went with a charcoal gray against a crisp black undershirt. No tie though, leaving the first couple of buttons casually open.

“Look at my man, all sharp and modern and sexy as hell,” you purred. He accepted the praise with a pleased quirk of his lips.

Normally you wouldn’t try to feed his peacock-level pride too much. He knew he was a damn fine-looking man. However, you also knew he wasn’t totally into meeting the rest of your family tonight. You knew you needed to give him a (well earned) ego boost.

“Gotta match my girl,” said Ben. Though he fingered the ends of your softly curled hair with a more genuine glint to his smile. “Though you’ve gone a bit vintage.”

“Compromise.” You grinned, and you leaned up for a soft kiss.

He met you there, even pressing his luck when his tongue begged entrance against your lips. You held his cheek and brushed your thumb there tenderly, but you soon broke away.

“We’ve got somewhere to be,” you reminded him. Ben sighed through his nose, though his hands molded to your waist.

“I didn’t realize you were that kinky,” he said. His voice was deep and suggestive. Your face started to heat up, even as your brows knitted with confusion.

“What?” you asked.

“I know you’re not gonna make me wait all night to get a taste of this,” he said. And he leaned down to begin plying you with his heavy hands and his lips along your neck. “I gotta assume you want me to fuck you in your mom’s house.”

You uttered a shocked laugh. You batted his shoulder, even though it didn’t even make him blink. His lips curved as they grazed your neck. He inhaled under your ear, making a pleasant shudder run down your spine. He hummed in approval.

“Is that the perfume I got you?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “I like it a lot. Makes me feel all warm and spicy.”

Ben chuckled into your neck. He did pull back eventually to thumb around the edge of one of your earrings—the second part of his Christmas gift to you. The white stone and silver filigree shone in the light.

“They look good,” he remarked, giving you a charming smile. “Better on you than the catalogue girl.”

Now that was an image. Soldier Boy: browsing through a magazine of women’s jewelry. You smiled brightly at him.

“Thank you, baby,” you replied. “They really are beautiful.”

Then you glanced down to find your gift to him on his wrist: a new silver Rolex. You turned his hand over to make sure that it fit him right.

“Not too tight, right? Not too loose.” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s good.”

“Just good? Does it still need adjusting? We can go back to the store and have them fix it—”

“It’s perfect, sweetheart. Stop fussing,” he said. Your lips pursed as you looked up at him from the watch.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy with it, that’s all,” you said.

“I am,” he replied. But his smile, the hidden glint of something in his eyes, made you blush. Inside, you were warm and pleased.

“All right, let’s go then,” you said. “I’ve got the rum cake, and the actual rum ready to go in the kitchen. And the presents are lined up by the door. Can you load those up in the car for me while I get the food?”

Ben obliged you, though he soon balked at the army of presents waiting for him by the door. When did you have time to get all of these? He didn’t remember you buying all this shit.

Though he realized, this must’ve been how you filled your time after work, while he was gone for the past two weeks on that mission.

As he loaded the gifts into the car, Ben reluctantly remembered that it had been…strange, to be away from you. For the past few months, you two had fallen into a rhythm. Waking up to each other, busy morning routines before work, sharing your evenings afterwards.

You had also been making it your mission to find new things to do together. Like paintballing, of all things. Or comedy shows, new movies and restaurants, concerts, club nights with your friends. Though it was weird for him, sometimes, to go to a show without all the celebrity fanfare he used to get as Soldier Boy.

Well, he was still Soldier Boy. He just wasn’t getting paid anywhere near the same as he used to. (But let’s face it, he didn’t need the damn money. He’d earned plenty in 40 years of fame and family inheritance.)

People still knew his name, still worshiped him at times, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t part of Vought’s machine anymore. No one really told him what to do, but if he wanted this life—here, in upstate New York—he was forced to make efforts to color within the lines of the law (mostly). Hell, he actually worked for a living. Even if it was for the government.

The point was, he was part of something. And it wasn’t totally shit, even if he was surrounded by morons on a daily basis…

By the time you opened the passenger side door to interrupt his musings, Ben remembered to actually start the car.

“You okay?” you asked as you clicked in your seatbelt. You were keeping a close eye on him tonight, trying to gauge his shifting moods.

Ben hesitated, but when he glanced over at you, he reached over and thumbed at your chin, under those ruby red lips. It made you smile.

“Yeah,” he replied. Though he let out a subtle breath as he faced the road and took the wheel of the car. Ever perceptive though, you sent him an assessing look.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” you asked. His brows furrowed slightly.

“Why would I be?” he asked, his voice a bit sharp. Defensive, you interpreted.

Instead of answering, you leaned over and laid a hand on his thigh.

“Look, my mom already likes you. Louisa’s going to come around,” you said. Your mouth edged into a smile, of sorts. “I just need you to stop me from killing my aunt with a ladle.”

Ben snorted in response. “All right.”

When the two of you arrived at your mother’s house, she opened the door to her home and greeted your boyfriend like a long-lost son.

“Oh, Ben! Come in, please,” she beckoned, grabbing his arm and guiding him inside. “You look so handsome, my goodness!”

Ben couldn’t help offering a smile. It was infused with his usual charm.

“Marie,” he greeted with a nod. You shook your head, despite your own smile. Ben liked attention—along with a bit of praise and fanfare went without saying. And you knew your mom wouldn’t be the only one to play into that tonight.

“Hi, Mom,” you said pointedly, with a hand on your hip. Marie turned to you with a bright smile.

“Oh! Honey, there you are. Merry Christmas!” She brought you in and hugged you tight. She then fairly gushed as she took in your dress and touched your hair. “Oh, you look so beautiful. I wish you’d come earlier though. I need you to help me and Trina. Come on.”

Marie glanced up at Ben again. “Oh, you too, hun! We can introduce you to everyone.”

Ben nodded. He followed your lead behind your mother, and you inwardly steeled yourself on the way to the kitchen. The familiar smells awaiting you brought you back to the better parts of your childhood. Ones that were filled with music, laughs, and good food.

And if there was one redeeming quality about your Aunt Trina, it was that she could cook her ass off. Since your mom had always been more of the “boxed meal” variety cook, Trina always took over at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and just about every other family gathering.

She was putting the ham in the oven while your sister sat at the kitchen table with your Grandpa George, peeling potatoes. The bigger table in the dining room was currently set up with appetizers and wine.

But the sounds of chatter and pots and pans and cabinets closing—it all stopped when you and Ben entered the kitchen. You felt his hand at the small of your back, and whether he meant it to or not, that familiar touch stabilized you.

Even Trina stopped giving Louisa directions on how to correctly peel and cut the potatoes for boiling. Her mouth opened when she took in the sight of Ben, from head to toe.

“Good evening,” he said, if only to break the silence.

But you knew the rest was up to you. You curled a hand around his solid arm and gave him a smile, before looking to your family.

“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas!” you greeted. “This is my boyfriend, Ben.”

Trina squealed in excitement. She came over (with a wooden spoon in hand) to give you an enthusiastic hug and kiss. She held your arms and looked between you and Ben.

“Your mom said you were dating a superhero, but I had no idea…” she twittered. “I mean…it’s Soldier Boy. He’s in my kitchen!”

“It’s Mom’s kitchen, actually,” you muttered. Trina’s excitement dimmed slightly as she rolled her eyes at you.

“Ever the smart mouth,” she said, playfully whacking you in the ass with her spoon.

Ben smirked. He certainly agreed with your aunt’s assessment. He turned to her to offer something in greeting, but before he could, Louisa’s voice cut in from across the room.

“What should we call you? Ben, or Soldier Boy?” she asked dryly.

You frowned, gave your sister a look. Meanwhile, Ben didn’t quite make it to a smile, but he was civil when he answered her.

“Ben’s fine.”

You remained in the kitchen to help out, while Ben migrated to the living room with your grandfather. Ben grabbed a large glass of wine on his way there, along with a few mini quiche to tide him over until dinner.

He then noticed an old woman sleeping on the leather recliner.

“Who’s that?” he asked George.

“Oh, that’s Great Aunt Sylvia,” George said. “She just took an oxy for her hip. She’ll be passed out ‘til dinner.”

Ben blinked at the casual mention of oxycodone, but he wouldn’t mind a few of what Sylvia was having. Oxy gave him such a nice buzz.

But instead, he and George sat on opposite ends of the couch while Sylvia snored away.

For a moment, it was quiet, save for the soft crooning of Nat King Cole playing (and Sylvia). The music came from a small round speaker on the coffee table, Ben noticed. You’d told him about Alexa and Siri and all those techno bitches out there now, controlling people’s houses. He didn’t trust it.

“You like baseball?” George asked as he turned on the TV. Ben nodded, and the other man put on a game. Mets versus the Cubs, three to one. The men were silent for a while as they watched the game.

Unfortunately for Ben, that peace couldn’t last.

“So,” George started. “You’re a supe, huh?”

Ben inclined his head, sipping at his wine. This was what he fucking hated. Small talk.

“I remember you,” George said. “My wife and I liked that movie you made…King of Kings. With Charlton Heston. What a classic that guy was.”

Ben smiled. “He was a good time. Drank like a fucking fish.”

George raised a brow. “Did he? Well, we all need a glass every now and then.”

Ben nodded, taking a pointed sip of his wine.

“Heston. One of the few celebrities I gave a shit about when he died,” George said with a shake of his head. “Wasn’t long before my wife’s passing.”

You’d told Ben a lot about your grandmother. When your parents got divorced, she’d insisted that you, your mom, and your sister live with her and George. She didn’t want to take any chances with your dad, who’d been more than unstable at the time in his drinking.

Ben didn’t often pray. But he drank then with a silent toast, that good ole’ Jon was getting hot coals up the ass right about now. In hell.

Ben then considered your grandfather’s musings, realizing he hadn’t thought about his old pal Heston in a long time.

“How’d he die?” Ben asked. George glanced over at him.

“Well, official case was pneumonia. But it wasn’t all that clear,” he said. “However, I think he had a flare up.”

“Of what?” Ben asked.

George gave him a wry look. “The fate that all men fear. Ass cancer.”

Ben raised a brow, his mouth twitching. He had a feeling he knew where your sense of humor came from.

“You probably don’t have to worry about that,” George waved a dismissive hand. “You’re still young. Well, sort of…I mean, being superhuman and all that. I’m sure that comes in handy with the normal stuff, like the sniffles and whatnot…and hey! At least you won’t have to worry about your asshole fallin’ out.”

Ben actually smiled. Now he knew you were related to this man.

In the kitchen, you were trying and failing to dodge a game of “Twenty Questions” with your aunt, while you and your sister finished cutting potatoes. All of the questions were predictably centered around Ben. Luckily, you had a plate of mini quiche, cheese, and salami between you and Louisa to keep you pacified.

“Well, you’ve done well for yourself, I’ll give you that,” Trina said. “But why on God’s green Earth didn’t you tell us you were dating Soldier Boy? How the hell did you even meet him?”

Shit. There was more than one reason you hadn’t told the rest of your family yet, and this was partly it. How the hell were you supposed to explain this?

Louisa shot you a knowing look, along with a raised brow.

“Well, I was actually assigned to find him after he…went missing last year,” you said, keeping things purposefully vague. “We met and…things just kind of took off from there.”

Your mom and your sister didn’t even know all the details, but they knew this much. After Soldier Boy used his nuclear power to end Homelander, he’d escaped in the aftermath.

You’d been working a year in Surveillance at Supe Affairs, but you’d been a private investigator by trade, previously working at your father’s firm. You’d even worked at Vought for a few years, before joining the S.A.

You were then recruited by Grace Mallory to track down Soldier Boy, along with Butcher and his team.

…And that’s where things got complicated.

“But isn’t Soldier Boy the one who killed Homelander?” Trina asked. She stopped in her stirring of the cranberry sauce to look back at you. And you met her stare directly.

“Yes. He was partnered with the CIA on that.” Sort of. You added, “Homelander wasn’t the hero you all thought you knew, remember? He was a raging psychopath.”

Trina huffed at that.

“So was your father. And you still worked with him for years,” she remarked, even off-handedly as she went back to stirring.

Your entire body stilled. Inside, your temper was a lit fuse, preparing to ignite. You stuffed a mini quiche into your mouth to stop you from exploding.

And your mom and your sister recognized the danger. Louisa frowned tightly and touched your arm.

She had been too young to form a true relationship with your father by the time your parents were divorced, and your grandparents (and later you) hadn’t allowed Jon to interfere too much with Louisa's life. So Jon’s death, a mere seven months ago, hadn’t truly affected her as deeply as it had you.

And that in itself was complicated.

Marie paused in preparing the sweet potato casserole to give her sister a warning look.

“Trina, that’s not fair,” said Marie.

Your aunt shrugged. “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Slowly, you stood. You grabbed a hand towel and brushed the velvety remains of potato skin from your hands. You also took the plate of cheese cubes and salami with you.

“Honey, she just means—”

“I know what she meant, Mom,” you said. Your mother wasn’t confrontational. She would never tell her sister to shut the fuck up when she was being out of pocket.

But you had no problem doing so. You walked over to Trina, who saw the look in your eye and actually relented, realizing that there was, in fact, a line, and she had crossed it.

“Look, I’d like us to continue having a nice evening,” you told her. “Mention my father again, and it won’t be.”

After a moment, Trina nodded.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t mind me,” she said. But then, she smiled. “I’m really happy for you, sweetheart. You’ve got a superhero! Who knew you’d pull that one off, huh?”

Your flat smile remained. “Oh, yeah? How do you mean?”

Trina faltered. Apparently, she hadn’t expected that.

“Oh. Well, you know…”

“No. I really don’t. Can you clarify for me?” you asked, using the same even tone you employed with testy co-workers on the Surveillance team.

Trina sighed. “Oh, honey. You’re a beautiful girl, but…”

“What?” you challenged. “Just say it.”

Behind Trina’s coil of dark hair piled on her head, Marie looked worried. Louisa was also on tenterhooks, gripping the kitchen table. She slowly got to her feet though, in case she needed to intervene.

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Trina said. She gestured to you, after grabbing a cheese cube off your plate. “But your hips, hun. I mean, I enjoy a snack. A bon bon. A chocolate eclair. The occasional croissant, but the weight don’t come off easier as you get older, does it?”

You were officially burning like a tea kettle.

“And with a man like that…” Trina fanned herself with the discarded, empty bag of cranberries. “Mother of God. He’s gotta be beating ‘em off with a fucking stick.”

Your mom pursed her lips at the salty language, giving Trina a sharp glance (for multiple reasons).

Trina noticed, but she only popped another piece of salami into her mouth. “Sorry, hun.”

But then she turned back to you.

“And have you talked about kids yet? That’ll be some serious weight gain.”

You let out a sharp breath and raised your gaze heavenward, pleading for mercy.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“I’m just sayin’!” she said. “He might have forever, but you certainly don’t.”

Now that one struck a nerve. Perhaps not the one she intended, but it cut deeply into you all the same. You and Ben had agreed to pin that conversation for now, but the fact was, he would continue to age much slower than you.

At your steely glare, Trina again raised her hands. This time in placating defense. “I’m trying to help you, is all I’m saying.”

You gripped the edge of the kitchen counter so tight you thought a manicured nail might break off. You’d reached the end of your tether.

“I’ve been here for all of five minutes—”

“Okay, you know what?” Louisa finally stepped in and grabbed your arm. “I need your help. Let’s find the red tablecloth so we can set the table.”

She led you out of the kitchen and into the hall, but you stopped short so fast that you skidded a bit in your heels. You took deep breaths and braced a hand against the wall.

You turned to your sister. “Why doesn’t she attack you like that?”

“Oh, believe me,” Louisa said, rolling her eyes. “I had my turn before you got here. I’ve been locked in with these clucking hens all morning.”

A grin twitched at the corner of your lips.

“My condolences,” you said. But then, you look at your sister a bit harder. “And you. What’s your problem, huh? How long are you going to give Ben a hard time?”

It took her a moment, but Louisa eventually sighed.

“I mean, Aunt Trina’s an asshole, but she kind of said it. He’s literally a century-years-old,” she said. “How do you not have a problem with that?”

You crossed your arms, though you knew you didn’t have a good answer for that one.

“Age is…relative.” You struggled against a wince.

“He lived through the damn Dust Bowl,” Louisa deadpanned. “He’s fucking ancient.”

You glared back at her. “Okay, enough. What’s your real problem, huh? I mean really.”

Louisa let out another sigh. Her hands went to her hips. You hadn’t had a chance to tell her, but she looked pretty tonight too in her black dress. It flared at the waist and reached her knees, and she’d paired it with some chunky red heels. She was a little taller than you normally, but not by much. As the older sister, you enjoyed finally being taller than her for once in your higher heels.

Still, you were annoyed with her right now. You sensed she had something deeper against Ben, and it wasn’t all about his age. When she eventually answered, it just confirmed your suspicions.

“He’s dangerous,” she said at last. “He’s so fucking dangerous.”

That disheartened you. Your lips pressed, and you held onto your own arms a bit tighter.

“Not to me,” you replied. Louisa’s frown deepened as her brows knitted together.

“Especially to you,” she said. “He kidnapped you.”

You gave a wan smile. “Not technically.”

That had been one of his subordinates, who’d taken you outside of Ben’s orders…

It was a long and complicated story, but basically, it had worked out for both of you in the end.

Louisa gave you a more incredulous look. “He’s got an atomic bomb in his chest.”

“He’s working on controlling it,” you insisted. “He’s gotten a lot better!”

Louisa threw her hands upward in exasperation and turned to leave you in the hall. You stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Look, I get it,” you said, meeting her gaze directly. “You’re worried about me. But here’s the thing…you don’t have to do that. I’m the one who looks out for you, remember?”

Once again, she frowned at you. “Why, just because you’re older?”

You gave her a teasing smile.

“Well, yeah.” Still, you grasped both of her arms, now crossed in front of her chest. “Lou, haven’t I always taken care of you?”

“Okay, yeah,” she said. “But who takes care of you? Who makes sure you’re all right?”

You gave her a patient, if knowing look.

She grimaced. “Oh, don’t you say it.”

“Honestly, Lou. He does take care of me…he makes me feel safe.” You bit your lip, and your eyes began to well up with the sting of tears, emotion rising in your throat. “I’ve never had that. Ever.”

Your sister released a heavy sigh. “I know.”

“Then can you actually try to get to know him? Please?” You rubbed her arms, pleading with your eyes. You wanted your family to like your boyfriend, but it was so much more than that. You didn’t want to have separate worlds. Everyone in this house was part of your family, and that now included Ben.

The longer she looked into your imploring eyes, Louisa’s grimace lightened, just a touch. “I’ll think about it.”

You smiled then, warmly as you hugged your sister. You then kissed her on the cheek, leaving the bright red imprint of your lipstick.

When you went back into the kitchen, your better mood was ruined pretty quickly by watching your aunt run your mother around the kitchen with demands and instructions. You decided to jump into the fray, taking a large serving bowl out of Marie’s hands before it tipped over.

“How’s the ham doing?” you asked.

“About half an hour or so, I think,” Trina said. “Maybe forty-five.”

“Okay, and what’s left?”

“Let’s get the desserts ready.”

While your help sorely relieved your mother, it was actually a terrible idea for your mental health. When you could take no more of Trina’s irritating, commanding voice in your ear, you had to take a breath (as well as down a full glass of wine).

You wordlessly asked Louisa to tag in for you before you traveled into the living room.

There you found Ben immersed in a baseball game with Grandpa George. Both men only looked up at you when you stood near the couch with crossed arms. Your nerves were on edge, your blood still just short of boiling, but you took pains to look pleasant.

“Who’s winning?” you asked.

Ben quirked a smile at the sight of you, while George gave his more freely.

“5 to 3. It’s close on the Mets,” he said. You realized then that you hadn’t even hugged your grandfather yet.

“Oh my God, Grandpa! I’m so sorry,” you said with a frown. You went over to hug him. “Trina has me all out of whack.”

George chuckled and patted you warmly on the back. “Why do you think I’m out here?”

You sighed with a wry smile. You then turned to Great Aunt Sylvia, who was still passed out in the recliner.

“Aunt Sylvia?” you tried. You went over to her and touched her arm.

“Leave her be, hun,” George told you. “Only the smell of food’ll rouse that woman.”

Your smile deepened. Then you turned to Ben, who’d been watching you with reserved interest. He’d never seen you with the rest of your family before.

You went to him on his side of the couch and asked, in a tone deceptively light, “How about a tour of the house? You haven’t even seen it all.”

He could admit, it was a fairly big house for just your mother, but he was more interested in the game.

“I’m watching this,” he said, gesturing at the screen. However, when he saw the tight press of your lips, he knew something wasn’t right with you. You were trying to tell him something with your eyes, he just didn’t know what.

You leaned down, subtly grabbing his thigh.

“I need you,” you whispered in his ear. “Now.”

The tone of your voice set his blood alight with new interest.

Ben’s resulting smirk was subtle, but edged.

“A tour it is.”

AN: Just when you thought you'd seen the last of my BMD cliffhangers. 😏

How'd you like Ben's introduction to his girlfriend's family? I also sincerely hope you don't have an "Aunt Trina" in your life. 🙄

Next Time:

He grabbed your arms and meant to kiss you, but you stopped him with your fingers against his lips.

“Two rules: this lipstick doesn’t come off. And no. Ripping. The dress.”

Keep reading: PART 3

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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#Love Actually #Part 2 #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x you #break me down verse #Christmas fic #fluff #BMD verse #Break me down verse #zepskies writes

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amplifiedmoan · 1 year

Text

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉

Pairing: Shuri Udaku x Black!fem reader

Warnings: Smut (18+), mentions of drinking, long distance relationship, phone sex, masturbation, vibrator usage, switch!Reader, switch!Shuri, just overall slutty behavior.

Word Count: 1.7k+

Synopsis: Just read it mf! 😒

Author’s Note: This is my first completed fanfic in a long time! I am a little rusty so please bare with me… I do love criticism when it comes to my writing, so feel free to share your thoughts!

There you were, standing in front of Shuri at the Airport. Another successful visit that will most definitely end in tears. You quickly looked away from her, as said tears began parting through your bottom lashes uncontrollably, coating your brown cheeks. You were severely emotionally attached to her and it was showing. “Ndicela ungaqalisi, Y/N.” (Please don’t start) Shuri said softly, whilst pulling you into her chest. The smell of the Wakandan cologne on her hoodie, casted a spell on you. These were the moments you dreaded the most. She relaxed her chin onto your head gently, as a deep breath broke free.

“One more day?” You whispered. Her jaw clenched at the thought of leaving you. You knew what she was going to say but it would hurt you even more not to ask. The young woman slowly let go of you, so you released your grasp on her. “I’m afraid I can not stay any longer. I have to be back in a few hours.” She voiced. Under her tight curls, were red and watery eyes just like yours. Shuri didn’t dare let those tears escape though. She knew exactly what that would do to you. The image of her crying would have you balled up in a corner for days.

“I love you, Sithandwa sam.” (My darling) Shuri pouted, before kissing you on your head and then on your soft, plump lips. “I love you always, Shuri.” You handed her a neck pillow and she chuckled before placing it onto her shoulders. “Always?” She asked, already knowing the answer of course. She loved getting reassurance from you. “Always.” You responded.

You walked away from her. As you made your way around the car, you fought the urge to jump into her suitcase. Knowing Shuri, she wouldn’t even take you out of it. She’s been wanting you to come back to Wakanda with her even before you two started dating. Shuri is completely aware of the way she makes you feel. One time she set up a surprise visit, unbeknownst to you of course... And thanks to Riri, she caught you in the middle of the club trying not cry to a love song.

“You’ll text me when you arrive back on campus, yeah?” She shouted, walking towards the automatic doors. It was more of a command and you knew that. “Of course, baby. Be safe.” Was all you had left to say, before the horrible, empty feeling creeped up into your chest. “I will. And you too, usana!” (baby) Shuri smiled and gave you a small wave, before disappearing behind those doors.

“So why didn’t you just go with her?” Riri asked while untying her shoelaces, leaning against her bed for support. “I’ve got my Mama here and school… I can’t just leave everything behind.” You scuffed at her impractical words. You sat up against your headboard with a tragic romance book in your hand. If it were easy for you to dip out and just go live in Wakanda, you obviously would.

Riri placed her hand on her hip and pointed in your direction. “Alright, but this continuous crying every time she leaves gotta stop. I got Deferential Equations class in the morning and I can’t be listening to yo ass sobbing into your pillows all night.” She laughed as she watched you reach for a pillow to throw at her. The pillow flung swiftly and hit her right in the head. You began laughing as well.

“My girls will be here in 20.” Riri glanced at you and then her attention was planted back into the mirror. Partying was sort of Riri’s thing… She would drink and drink until the bartender would start to question her. It was a little concerning, but she was grown. She was never late to any of her classes in the morning and she took good care of herself.

“You coming?” She asked, while applying a little bit of mascara onto her lashes. You had been in your dorm bed for hours at a time, ever since you dropped Shuri off at the Airport. You understand the fact that she is now the Queen of Wakanda and the Black Panther. However, it was nights like this where you wanted to be selfish, and keep her all to yourself.

“Nah… I’m waiting for Shuri to call, so we can go to sleep.” You muttered softly, while plugging your phone up to charge. “Aw, y’all so damn cute.” Riri chuckled, before grabbing her purse. You knew she’d be out for a few hours and that meant you’d have all the precious time alone… with your girlfriend.

“Mmmm… fuck!” You wined, as you held your vibrator onto your puffy, abused clit. You laid on your bed completely naked with a towel underneath you, catching anything wandering down your pussy. Shuri’s voice hitched through the phone, as she also toyed with herself.

The phone sat on your chest while both of your moans circled throughout the room. “Ah shit!” You screamed, trying to hold out for Shuri. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up, before you came again. “Oh, fuck!” You cried. Your 2nd orgasm of the night, taking over your entire being. You continued to circle your vibrator around your sensitive bud, gasping for air.

“Keep it there.” Shuri said with a whisper that was loud enough to be heard by you. Your eyes widened at the thought of the overstimulation.

“I… can’t!” You wined as it all became too much very quickly.

“Yes… Yes you can.” Shuri said as she continued to run circles around her own clit. You could hear the desperation in her voice. The need for you to just deal with it. “Pretend that it’s me, usana.” (baby) She said lowly, her body began trembling as she chased her release. So that’s exactly what you did. You pictured Shuri’s slim fingers parting your lips delicately. You imagined her sucking and playing with your little ball of nerves, just like your toy was. “Feel it?” She asked and you pressed the toy down much harsher than before. Your body jolted at the vigorous touch.

Shuri rubbed her weak spot a bit faster, once she realized you were close. She always knew when you were about to cum. Shuri knew your body entirely too well. The certain sounds you’d make, gave her all of the ammunition she needed to drive you completely insane.

“Yes…yes!” Your cries were like music to her ears. Just hearing the deep breaths you were taking, pushed her closer over the edge. “Fuck, YN!” She hollered as she began riding out her own orgasm. “Nceda nceda!” (please please) she whispered into the phone.

Whenever Shuri spoke Xhosa, you instantly became wet. Although in this case, you were already drenched. It was something about her speaking her mother tongue, when English couldn’t exactly describe the way you made her feel. It made your walls clasp around air.

“Yeah… let me hear.” You chuckled. Your body still trembling while you put your toy down. “Ah…ahh.” Soft moans departed from Shuri’s lips. You sat up, placing your phone on your shoulder. “I did this to you, baby.” You declared.

You guys were far away from each other, yet so close. You both controlled each other impressively without struggle, despite being hundreds of miles away. “Ndiyakudinga, usana” (I need you, baby) she admitted, while slowly pulling her fingers out of her pussy.

Hearing her so needy for you caused a familiar heartbeat in between your legs. “Put them in your mouth.” You instructed her. She obliged, ignoring her extremely jaded limbs. “I want you to taste it for me.” You added.

Shuri’s mouth extended. Her tongue attacked her fingers faintly. “Mmmm.” She hummed softly. Her satisfaction of tasting her very own substance made you snicker. “That’s right.” You murmured. You flipped over onto your stomach, ending the call to FaceTime her.

“Tell me how good you tasted, beautiful.”

You smiled at her in the frame. Shuri’s lips glistened, moistened with her cum. “It tastes great… but it lacks something.” Your eyes narrowed at her response, wondering what could possibly be stopping it from being perfect. You always thought it tasted fresh… organic.

“What?” You asked, biting your bottom lip. Shuri caught that and couldn’t take her eyes away. She sat up in the camera to get a better view of your face. “Your touch.” She uttered gracefully.

“Oh, we had a ball… You should’ve came, girl!” Riri twirled in the mirror, kicking her heels off. She wasn’t completely drunk this time, she remembered to take her shoes off and she’s not slurring her words. “So, what’d you do this whole time?” She asked while removing all of her jewelry. You pretended as if you didn’t hear her for the fun of it. You continued to flip through the pages of your book. “Yo? What did you do?” She asked you again. You shut the book softy and crossed your arms. “Nothing really.” You cooed. She seemed really interested in your night for some odd reason. “I thought you’d be sleep by the time I got back.” She spoke as she walked into the bathroom. “Shuri never called?” She questioned, her voiced echoing throughout the room.

“Yeah, she just had to take care of a mishap in her lab… She texted me saying she’ll call back in the morning.” You vocalized, while putting your AirPods in. “Oh! Okay.” Was the last thing you heard before Riri jumped into the shower. “Finally!” You thought to yourself. Shuri sent you a voice note about 5 minutes after Riri got home and you’ve been dying to listen to it ever since.

“Sleep tight, usana.” (baby) You read the message she sent to you after the voice note. You smiled tenderly before pressing play. “Ah! Oh shhh…” You heard blaring moans from your lover. It made you grin, thinking about the way she recorded this just for you to hear. Your pussy began pulsating under your blanket.

“Ndiyakufuna.” (I want you) Shuri let out gentle wines in your ears. Your fingers slithered down into your panties, coming into contact with your clit once again. You figured this would help you sleep and so did Shuri. The headphones caught every solitary noise she made and that made your orgasm ram through your insides like a no other. “Oh god… fuck!”

I hope you enjoyed! Please do not repost my work outside of tumblr. ©

#shuri udaku #black panther #shuri fanfiction #shuri imagine #shuri x reader #shuri smut #shuri x black!reader #shuri x black!fem reader #shuri x y/n #shuri x you #lesbian #nywrites #wlw #black lesbian

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galene-gothic · 7 months

Text

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗ PAID SERVICES

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! ��︎ Pile 1 ꒱

"Send my love to your new lover, treat her better. We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts. We both know we ain't kids no more."

"I saw the signs and I ignored it, rose-coloured glasses all distorted. Set fire to my purpose and I let it burn. You got off on hurting when it wasn't yours. We'd always go into it blindly, I needed to lose you to find me. This dancing was killing me softly. I needed to hate you to love me."

Someone/many different people who you were strongly committed to you seem to have done you dirty. At that time, you were the greenest green flag, you were dependable and wanted to come off as someone like that as well. You were grounded, you were humble and in your 'treat people well' era. You felt like everything was fine until it wasn't anymore. People around you started acting shady, you picked up on the negative vibes or out of the blue, you found out about something that someone close to you did or said behind your back. For some of you, there seems to have been a boy or man involved, it could not be connected to the first scenario at all but for most of you, there seems to be an energy of people leaving one after another, something like your friends backstab you then you find out about your boyfriend cheating and even your guy friend chooses to say hurtful things just for the purpose of tearing you down. If the boy situation does resonate, you realised that they were with you for their own selfish reasons. You felt like they manipulated you for their own personal gain. This guy could've kept you a secret from others. For a while, you continued lying to yourself about this situation due to the affection or attachment that you felt towards them. You were trying your best to believe that something when it was just not the truth. Regardless of which one of the scenarios resonate (for many of you, all of these will resonate), you felt betrayed and to be honest, you were in fact betrayed. When this event happened, you felt the need to be realistic and practical, you knew that you deserved something mutual but maybe due to love, it took a while for you to walk away. Walking away seemed to be something that you did only after you were completely drained out. You were still bonding with other people, maybe you were exposed to others after this event happened so you had no choice. Even though, you seemed to be having good platonic relationships, they felt shallow to you or they made you happy but you weren't able to talk about you deepest emotions to anyone. You were breaking down on the inside but due to your public or social image, no one seemed to see it. It was a time for you to receive healing, you weren't doing well emotionally. A lot of chaotic events happened in your life one after the other but at that point, you were just resting. These people and situations broke you down to the point, you lost your self esteem.

You needed support and help at that time but you were not getting it, I feel like you were not even trying to talk to anyone about your emotions to be honest. It was difficult for you to think clearly. Your judgement was very blurry. Regardless of how painful it must've felt, if you look back, you'll notice that you've released so many negative thoughts, habits, feelings and just way of being. Negative feelings coming up, everything falling apart was just for things to get better. I'm getting that these were negative cycles and connections disguised as positive ones so you didn't understand how you didn't see it earlier. You might have noticed red flags but because they acted alright after that, you didn't think that it was important to walk away. You were confused about a lot of things. You were stuck in that toxic cycle for so long and realised just how much control it had over you. You felt the need to take responsibility for things that weren't even your fault. In the thick of healing, you thought that you deserved all the bad things that they were doing and saying to you. You thought that these people genuinely had good intentions towards you and were 'your people'. I'm getting multiple people here but there's a chance that it was either just your friends or your love interest. Even if it wasn't a love interest, a guy could've been involved. You sometimes wonder how you didn't notice the huge red flags earlier and were naive enough to believe that those people had loving intentions for you. You could've been really nice to most if not all of these people so you were just like, "why? I was nothing but nice to them". There seems to have been some (a lot tbh) confusion in such aspects. This is confusing but I'm getting best friends who turned against you after a mistake you made but you found out that they didn't like you all along or if a guy was the main problem here, it could be a best friend or a boyfriend/situationship who broke you down until you had to leave them. For most of you, it is both. The closure is that this person thought that they had a certain control over you so when they realised that that was not the case, they got over dominating. In the case of friends, they found a reason to finally bully you so they took it. These people were all really dishonest and are the kind of people who are not willing to change their ways. They were angry at you but it was not because of what you did, for the guy it was because they had frustrations in their own life and for the friends, it was because they 'thought' that you thought that you were better than them.

There was a lot of chaos, what they forgot is that you're a very strong character, you might have bended to meet their needs and match their personalities but it didn't mean that you lost your strength as a person. You adored them so you acted softer, they took it as a weakness. They were all being really selfish. It makes a lot of sense if it was a group of people, they were abusing their power to take advantage of you. For some of you, when you weren't letting them take advantage of you, they started acting all passive-aggressive, outright aggressive or angry. You were giving too much without expecting much, please remember that it's important to have standards. I think that you've learnt your lesson now though. You probably had spiteful arguments and they were not thinking before speaking. It's not alright, they disrespected you. Don't forget the things that they said to you, forgive them but don't let them anywhere near you, though it's your own decision. They made reckless mistakes in the heat of the moment not caring about your emotions at all. They're all people who cannot hold themselves accountable, they did not have your best interests at heart. The things that they said and did were to simply tear you down, it barely had anything to do with the mistakes you made but more about things that were in they own heads. "You think that you're the center everywhere" or "you're all that", things that are just their own insecurities. They were in fact very selfish, I'll give you an example, supposing you broke the girl code, the whole group turned against you but because you broke the girl code but because they all had their own personal grudges against you. Move on, they're not worth it. God/universe/whoever you believe in had to take you away from them because you were just better than them. I don't think that anyone is better than anyone but you were mature in many more aspects as opposed to them. You were trying to make things right and solve the matter at hand but they were just pushing their insecurities and grudges onto you. Your life has definitely gotten better in atleast two ways after these people left your life. Your closure = the disrespect.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

"Take my hand and hold on, tell me everything that you need to say. Cause I know how it feels to be someone, feels to be someone who loses their way."

"And I got a boyfriend, he's older than us, he's in the club doing I don't know what, you're so cool, it makes me hate you so much."

A crush that got nowhere? A 'friend' who's not just a friend? If someone came into your mind, this is your pile. This is tricky though, some of you could have come here thinking about a situationship or relationship break up that was really messy, you met someone after that though, didn't you? The person who you were in a situationship or relationship didn't care about you enough, they were unintentionally using you but it wasn't entirely 'unintentional', they knew that it could hurt you, you gave a lot to this person/situation so you were scorned but that's the happy ending, if you stuck around longer, things would've been worse. Your happy ending in this situation is to tap into your potential, make the most out of it, become more confident and to start a new cycle. For the ones, who met someone else after this situationship/relationship, you were in a state of anguish when you met this person. The situationship/relationship had left you completely drained out. I'll describe the person that you met after that in order to help you confirm. This person has a mind of their own, they are quite different from most people that you've met. They seem so free to you. They helped you change direction and made you feel more confident. They also seem to be a very confident person. They gifted you with a new perspective. The entire situation was very thrilling to you. You had a lot of fun with them and even they seemed to have fun with you. There were times when they seemed really enthusiastic around you. They're also someone who stands strong and has a lot of courage according to you. They're just so different (in the best way) according to you. You are confused because they were really generous with you. You might have gotten a little bit vulnerable around them too. There seems to be a level of connectivity (almost telepathic) between the both of you. They were quite receptive and talkative with you, the both of you were to a certain extent.

That was the dynamic so you don't understand how and why everything just ended. You feel like the both of you were quite observant when it comes to other. I feel like you're like "I just don't get it", I'm getting a little bit of disappointment. You wonder if you read in between the lines for things that don't even exist. You thought that they were curious about you too. Maybe also because of the past relationship/situationship, you started become a bit more rational and this just added onto that. You had really interesting conversations and felt connected to them, you felt a chemistry and connection. You felt like you had to kind of move away from your fairytale romance. 'Fairytale romance' that's how you looked at it. They did come into your life at a time like that so I get it. The ending between the both of you makes you question everything. The closure here is that you're still single, you're free to do whatever you desire. They came into your life as a catalyst of growth, to help you start a new journey. Their intentions towards you were not bad, they gave you a lot of hope for the future, they made you happy. They helped you prepare for a new journey, for most of you, you won't ever end up with this person but regardless of whether you do or not, you'll be fine. They reminded you of the life and love that you desire and deserve. They made it easier for you to let go of your former situationship/relationship. Even this situation, you should let it go. You should accept everything that has happened, forgive them if you do have any resentment against them and focus solely on yourself. You helped them release negative thoughts, feelings and patterns. Their deepest fears resurfaced when they met you and even they themself were healing. Something being fleeting or temporary does not make it insignificant, take care loves. If it wasn't for them, there's a high likelihood of you going back to past toxic people.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

"Why would you speak to me that way? Especially when I always said that I haven't got the words for you. All your diction dripping with disdain, I always tell the truth."

"I've never known someone like you, tangled in love, stuck by you, from the glue. Don't forget to kiss me or else you'll have to kiss me. I guess I'm forever stuck by the glue, oh and you?"

"Never thought I'd find you but you're here, and so I love you. I'm not lying when I say I've been stuck by the glue onto you."

Who cheated on you? If it was not cheating, it was still something that caused you to feel betrayed. Majority of you have mommy issues, some of you are here with her on your mind while the rest of you are here thinking about someone who is like your mother if you carefully think about it. You got manipulated. This person was out of control with their actions and words when it came to you. They were mean too. You really neglected yourself because of this person. They left you worrying quite a lot. This is giving me similar vibes to narcissistic abuse. You gave too much of yourself to this person :(. You pretty much treated this person like your family oh my god. You were clinging onto them. You were not willing to walk away and move on from this person until things got too much to bear, this person was stripped away from your life not gonna lie. With this person, you had really low self esteem. There were often times when you had to watch what you said just so you don't end up triggering this person because they used to say things to tear you down. They were not willing to communicate and they acted like you were trying to pick up fights. They made you feel a lot of guilt when it wasn't even your fault. You had to fake happiness with that person because everything was always about them, they might have underestimated you or belittled your emotions but you noticed it only after you left the situation and realised that they never cared about you. You started becoming really confident after you let go of them and it caused you a to be a little bit confused because of it. You realised that all of you needed was a leap of faith. They were definitely holding your potential down. You started feeling liberated and free, a very new and sort of uncomfortable feeling for you. They made you feel really humiliated in one way or another.

They were so conceited and honestly a piece of shit, you were just like "I was such a fool, how did I not see it earlier?" Plus the thing is that you were aware of such aspects existing within them, you just didn't know that they were so extreme. You also didn't understand how they could do that to you when you had nothing but pure intentions towards them. Your closure is that they're actually high drama. You were taking too many of their demands and being pressured when they didn't deserve any of it. I don't like to say things like this but you were too good for them, no matter how great they'd become or what they would do, they will never amount to you. Also, no matter how much harder you would've loved them, it wouldn't make them treat you better, I'm glad that you walked away. If you're having second thoughts about it, remember the disrespect, don't forget how much they hurt you. They're just a selfish piece of shit who never deserved you. Also, you were never compatible, you had interesting conversations because you're an interesting person, you had fun with them because you were a fun person, the connection lasted as long as it did only because of your tolerance. Your closure is that you know the right answer from within was to walk away. You were supposed to start seeing things from a different and clearer perspective. You were supposed to learn your boundaries now. It was important for you to find new purposes or realign with your purpose that you might have abandoned for other people. Your direction is supposed to be different from this person's and set there. You're supposed to be the one that got away and stayed away. You felt like you were stuck by a glue onto them because of the attachment that you had with them. It might have been difficult for you to leave this person earlier due to guilt, attachment or just loneliness, you might have been worried about them though.

#intuitive readings #astro notes #pick a card #pick a deck #pick a photo #astrology #astrovations #pick a picture #pick a gif #astro observations

290 notes · View notes

riftfic · 8 months

Text

14. Human

Who will save you now?

Warnings: strong language, referenced suicide, violence

Featured Characters: Sans, Chara/Frisk (Reader), Flowey/Asriel, Wingdings Gaster, Asgore Dreemurr

Note: If you haven't read the previous chapters recently (maybe even if you have outside the past few days), I recommend giving it another read. It's definitely not a requirement, but I added some extra details throughout the story and a few more scenes, most notably in Chapters 3 & 9, that should help the ending feel even more satisfying.

Several years later . . . here's the next chapter.

< Load | RESET | Continue >

From a single strip at the Underground’s heart, Waterfall tunneled away into a boneyard mess of caves. In one direction, the passage to Hotland sprawled in mushroom-light mazes and a boulder choke disguising Tem Village. In the other, a quiet bubble harbored a simple mouse, neck deep in plans to retrieve a wedge of crystallized cheese. Between them, from a silver door that had only been there sometimes, Sans stepped out into a flood of bioluminescence.

Though a door latched shut behind him, dark, damp stone replaced the surface he reclined against now. Its cold, unyielding texture met his fingertips, a reminder that there would be no second visit.

He clutched the spindly metal bars of that unnaturally gray birdcage. He tucked his chin over the iron rung at its peak, hardly dousing the light of the small monster soul trapped inside.

The task set before him was unconscionable. Even if he managed to survive . . .

“i can’t do that,” he had resisted. “i can’t kill Frisk!”

“They shouldn’t even be alive,” said Wingdings.

The words took Sans by surprise. He set his heels despite the encroaching void and a minute hand nearing his final stroke of midnight.

“oh, but ya want me to take this soul all the way back to asriel, huh?” he said. “make sure he survives? double standard, if y’ask me.”

"I didn't say it was fair,” Wingdings hardly breathed. His eyes gained urgency. “The human . . . might survive, if they're determined enough. But after you pull the lever . . .”

At that, Sans’ anger siphoned away, leaving behind a fear much broader than the fate of one human child. Their mistake had set so many events into motion. Lives had been built and destroyed, paths forged and buried. The machine could rewrite the course of everything as easily as it could leave the butterfly effect intact. They could remain here in the present or be sucked back to the day it all began. With a phenomenon this unpredictable, just about anything could happen . . . but whatever world they left behind, at least it might survive.

“if i do use their soul to run the machine,” Sans said more calmly, “what’ll happen to asriel, then? to me? to the underground? heck, what’ll happen to you?”

It was clear to Sans by the frown on Wingdings’ face that his brother had already considered this question. Despite his ingenuity, the once royal scientist only shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I do know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

In the present, Sans beat his fist against the rock behind him. Why did it have to be so fucking twisted? Why his Frisk? And why did he have to be the one to do it? Maybe it didn’t have to work out like this. Maybe there was more time than Dings thought. Maybe he could find another way.

His phone buzzed rhythmically at his waist. He pulled it from his coat pocket and looked at the screen. The image of Papyrus illuminated those shadowy cavern walls below several missed call notifications. Sans took a deep, shaking breath, then another, and answered.

“pup . . .”

“SANS!” Papyrus shouted. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR HOURS!”

“oh.”

“I’M NEARLY TO NEW HOME. A FRIEND HAS INFORMED ME THAT THE HUMAN IS IN TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE DANGER! IS THAT TRUE?!”

Sans nearly broke down then and there. Though seeing Wingdings again had restored many of the deeper cracks in his soul, it still felt fragile, even more when considering the path ahead of him.

“more than true,” he whispered.

A patch of silence followed. Sans dropped his cheek to rest on birdcage bars.

“tell me it’s gonna be all right,” he murmured into the receiver.

“Sans . . . where are you?” Papyrus asked, more gently than was typical.

“just tell me, please.”

“It’s . . .” Papyrus sighed. “It is going to be all right. Now, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Hearing the words in his brother’s voice quelled Sans’ fear, enough to return strength to his limbs. He lingered on the phone a moment longer, as if the connection truly placed him at Papyrus’ side.

“meet you there,” he said.

You followed in Asgore’s shadow, watching the folds of his cape sway and collide like cattails in the wind. His silhouette consumed yours. He could hold all of you in one hand, let alone the tiny red soul he sought to claim.

Past the end of that long hallway mirror of the Ruins, the barrier undulated with powerful magic. Its waves of golden white licked the crackled stone as if in search of escapees. It contoured Asgore’s silhouette in a crisp white line as he turned to face you.

That all-too-familiar smile prickled the fur along his muzzle. Looking up into his apologetic eyes, you remembered his hands on your shoulders, his all-encompassing embrace that threatened to lose you in his fur. The macaroni pictures, the crayon drawings, the sweaters . . . the buttercup pie. You shuddered.

“Human,” said the king of all monsters. His powerful voice trembled, and the earth trembled with it. “It was nice meeting you. . . . Goodbye.”

He held his trident firmly in both hands and lowered his head . . . but a stoplight glow kept his chin from falling too far. There you stood, hands outstretched, red soul hovering above your palms.

“I’m the last one,” you said.

Asgore stared at the heart-shaped spirit as if entranced. Its warmth illuminated your fingers with ruby firelight. It was in the crimson glint of your eyes, however, that he became lost, captured in the clutch of a ghost from years long gone.

“Do I . . . know you?” he asked, bewildered both by the situation and the question itself.

“Please, take it,” you said. Tears fell down your face. “It’s no good for anything else.”

Asgore’s eyes widened with recognition. “Chara . . . ?”

Intense heat flared in the hallway behind you. Before Asgore could say anything more, a brilliant ball of flame had launched him into the cavern wall. Flecks of gray stone spat out among a field of clouds.

You swung to face the spellcaster. Toriel stood framed in the doorway, her face scrunched in a scowl like a snarling lion. One smoking arm remained outstretched, clenched in a fist.

“What a miserable creature,” she growled, “torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

You hadn’t known what path the timeline had taken or whether your friends would convene . . . yet Toriel had arrived, exactly the same as before. Though you may have jokingly called her “mom,” the name now rang through your head with the purity of a windchime in the breeze.

Undyne, Alphys, and Papyrus appeared after her, along with a swath of others you had met along the way. You wanted to tell them to turn back, that you did not deserve them, that if they had known the demon you truly were, they never would have wanted to be your friend.

Your color drained. As they approached, a web of vines crawled after them along the dark ceiling and cavern floors.

You ran to Asgore, who sat slumped amid rubble and a brand new hallway door in the shape of his back. He grumbled in discomfort. A layer of dust coated his royal robes and golden mane, which he shook like a dog. You slid to your knees beside him.

“Hurry, please!” you blubbered to the stunned monster king. You proffered your soul as if it were on fire. “There isn’t a lot of time . . . !”

Toriel snatched you back by the shoulders.

“What has come over you, my child?” she demanded. “Do you not know what he means to do with it?”

“Mom, I . . .”

“Frisk.” Her eyes had begun scanning the room in fright. “Where is Sans?”

The path to the barrier gave Sans more difficulty than expected. The last time he had attempted these roads with fewer than two shortcuts, he had been a century younger and taking his time, mushroom hunting with young Papyrus. His limbs lagged behind his will. His breath rattled in his chest. Though his fingers slipped against that birdcage no one remembered, he refused to release its colorless patina bars. Everything depended on this.

He took what natural shortcuts he could—river ferries and elevators—but even then, the trip cost more time than he had bargained. At long last, he had reached the innards of Asgore’s home in the capital. He ran, huffing and puffing, down the golden tiles of the Last Hallway.

Even as he sped past, his heart ached to remember your meeting here. The flare of sunlight on your head, the even brighter smile on your face, the secret passwords on your tongue. . . . The memory of that pure soul compared to the corrupted one he had read beside the rift overwhelmed him, and he paused. He touched a hand to the white pillar that once occluded him.

Who were you now? Frisk? Chara? Both? If Chara truly were your forgotten name, if everything he knew about the tragedy of Asgore’s children had happened to you, such terrible memories weighed down on your tiny shoulders. It did not surprise him, then, that your violence had escalated to remember those horrors. Ferocious thorns had been hiding in the soft petal corona of your soul, and neither of you had known it.

Clinging tightly to the forgotten prison in his hands, he buried his sentiments and tore through vine-swathed hallways into a dark passage. He skidded to a halt just past the silvery stone archway to the barrier, where his bones clattered with shock.

The cavern pulsed in radiant waves like the steady spin of a lighthouse beacon. Twisting, thorny roots filled the cavern like a briar patch, and their position changed with every flash of light. Among the vicious mess of chloroplast, monster figures had been tangled, their souls nearly devoured.

The dimming pinpoints of Sans’ eyes could not peel away from your small form, crumpled on the floor before a yellow flower. Your red soul snapped among his vines, barely shimmering in a ruby remnant before splitting apart into nothing.

Sans could not stifle the horror that clawed its way out his mouth. He nearly dropped the cage.

Flowey turned to grin at him. “Trash day already?” he asked, spinning his head in a full circle.

Sans shook. No. This couldn’t have happened. You couldn’t have fallen to that little heathen daisy so quickly. You couldn’t have lost your determination. If only he hadn’t lingered in the hallway. If only he had kept running . . . !

You blinked at the human soul still hovering in your outstretched hands. It glowed red, though not as brightly as it once did. Still alive. Still yours to give. Not torn to bits by a nihilistic plant.

Only moments ago, you had fallen to a flower, the same flower weaving his way into this chamber of darkness and light. Toriel’s hands rested heavily on your shoulders. Papyrus chattered away, as Asgore pleaded with Toriel to give him a second chance. While they were distracted, Flowey dug his way out of the earth, grinning deviously, ready to spring all over again.

Confusion waltzed with your mind, spinning you gently. You had experienced this rush backward a thousand times before. Just a short step in reverse to let you continue after falling or if you disliked the outcome . . . but you did not have the determination to do it now. You had intended to die. You had meant for one of two creatures to take your power and be done with it.

It hadn’t been you.

The world shifted. Time rushed away like the tide, back into the ocean depths. Darkness bled away into golden sunlit tiles and stained glass windows. Birds chirped among a distant rustle of leaves. The air danced with prisms for a fleeting moment before the world reappeared as it had only moments before.

Sans realized suddenly that he stood in the Last Hallway all over again. A glittering pocket of magic danced like a handheld star beside him, where he had touched the pillar and remembered you. It had not been there before.

Air filled his ribcage in jagged gasps. His soul burned as it usually did when you reset time, though somewhat gentler. His hands shook around the bars of that monochrome birdcage with fear, confusion, and exhilaration.

He had just turned back time. He could feel it. And if that were the case . . .

He ran. He sprinted faster than ever to reach you, but you lay still on the floor again. Though uncertain how, and though it hurt him, he turned back the clock a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Every time, the flower tore apart your soul like a horror movie on repeat, until finally, Sans arrived one split second earlier. Your soul spun a circle above you as if hanging from a string, and a ring of white pellets had only begun readying itself to deliver the killing blow.

Before Sans knew what he was doing, he was charging Flowey through a rough shortcut, foot extended to drop-kick the weed down into his roots. That cursed dandelion’s shriek had never sounded so satisfying. Sans’ dragon skulls had already manifested over his shoulders, jaws aflame—but when they blasted blue-hot magic out their mouths, Flowey had already disappeared into the earth.

A whip of green struck the ground where Sans had stood. He skipped out of the way in the nick of time, then again, and again, and again. He punched his free hand to the ground, and a wave of long, white magic bones crashed down through the air like meteorites. They speared into the cave floor with enough force to run cracks through the ceiling. Clouds of rock sprinkled down onto his shoulders. Flowey’s grip on his friends and family slackened just an inch.

Flowey surfaced again, undamaged beyond a few frayed petals.

Sans panted, his adrenaline quickly plunging. His bones began aching again, though his raging soul burned brightly through its seams. Sweat slipped down his skull into the neck of his shirt. He didn’t know if he could withstand this much longer. He did not know if his soul could survive another time jump.

“Ha,” chirped the little flower. “Looking pretty rough, there, old pal." His eyes glinted red within the skull-like hollows of his face. "Poor, flimsy little monster souls. Why bother trying? Even Chara was no match for me, and they were a million times stronger than you’ll ever be!”

Sans knew he was right. He did not have the full resilience of a purebred human. Even you had to try several times before making it past this bitter herb. Who in their right mind would bet on him: half blind, right arm nearly useless, only one HP? Just like every moment in his life, he would find a way to fuck this up. Just like every other time before, he would be useless to help.

His hope dwindled down, as did the fire in his soul. He could not find the strength to evade the string of bullets shooting toward him, but they were serendipitously blocked by a fence of small white bones.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM, SANS!” said Papyrus through clenched teeth. “YOU. CAN. WIN!”

“We are here to help you,” said Toriel. “No matter what happens.”

“Statistically it’s impossible,” said Alphys, “b-but you’ve beaten the odds before! I know you can do it!”

“Fuck you, Sans,” said Undyne.

Everyone looked at her. She shrugged.

“Sans,” said Asgore. “Listen to me.”

Sans clung to the bars of the birdcage more tightly, eyes glued to the smirking flower afar.

“You are not just your father’s son,” said the king of the Underground. “You have more than magic running through your veins. Remember that . . . and stay determined!”

Sans’ white pupils snapped to Asgore’s blue and brown at once. The statement had struck him somewhere deep beyond the monster white shell of his soul, and still more words passed between them unspoken. Sans then dragged his gaze across all his friends, who looked back with steadfast confidence, even Undyne.

Flowey coiled down on himself, pretending to be scared. “Urgh, no!” he whimpered. “Unbelievable! This can’t be happening! I can’t possibly withstand all of you . . . you . . . !” His face contorted into his evilest grin. “Idiots.”

His vines snapped taut around every monster, and yet another thorny coil snatched Sans from the ground as well. Through ropes of green and brown, Sans watched your red soul go down the flower’s throat, sealed behind hungry white fangs within a golden crown. Then, everything became lost in a flash of white.

Clang.

Sans moaned. Between that blitz of light and now, he had dropped to his hands and knees. His palms felt scorched—and dreadfully empty. Ahead of him, the last withering wisp of gray silver bars dissipated into the air as if made of smoke. Seeing it clawed the magic away from his bones with every mounting breath. His eyes became hollow.

The cage was gone—really, truly gone. Not even a step backward in time could bring it back, and with it, Asriel’s soul. Sans felt the world bottom out. Had he really failed, after everything?

A voice cackled overhead. “Finally,” it said. “I was so tired of being a flower.”

Sans looked upward and blanched. Aside from a few drawings you had scribbled out as a child, he had never witnessed this ungodly creature of countless souls. Sans had only been consumed by him, a coal block among many to fuel his hate. Now, Asriel Dreemurr hovered overhead in all his glory, raging with deathly power in a kaleidoscope of energy. No wonder you had nightmares.

Past the wreckage of their earlier fight, your body still lay heaped on the floor among stone and dead vines, seemingly asleep. As Sans crawled close, tears threatened to form.

He bit them back. No. He needed to hope. He needed to dream. He needed to be determined that he could call you out from the darkness, just as you had done for him a hundred times. It was his turn, now. Everyone would make it to the other side . . . including Asriel.

“Huh?” Asriel grunted as he caught wind of Sans below. “What are you still doing here? I ate your soul, you dirty lawn bag!”

“grass not,” said Sans as he stood, dusting the dirt from his jacket with his left hand.

“Ugh.” Asriel pinched his muzzle exasperatedly. “So annoying. How many times have you died now? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?” He thrust a rocket’s flare at Sans with a wicked smile. “Thirty-seven?!”

Sans gathered your body into his arms and stepped into a last-minute shortcut, safely away from that raw magical surge. After hiding your figure inside an Asgore-shaped wall hole, he flitted through the blue light of a portal once again. He reappeared in the air, directly in Hyperdeath’s path, only inches from his head.

“bone apétit, fucker,” he said and threw a handful of small bones at Asriel’s face. Though they caused no significant damage, they certainly got his attention.

Sans landed on all fours and scrambled. Bullets, fireballs, shooting stars, and lightning strikes raged after him. They left craters in the ground and drove deeper cracks into the ceiling overhead. Stalactites fell and shattered. Sans dodged every one of them. His body thoughtlessly followed the part of him that knew how to survive but had no time to ask permission, so begged forgiveness instead.

As Asriel Dreemurr took a moment to lift his hands, Sans struggled to catch his breath. His hood smelled of smoldering keratin. Holes had been burned through his sleeves. His body felt slick and ashen against his jacket’s cotton interior. The bones he had tossed like a scoop of dog biscuits into Asriel’s face had been the last magic he could muster. Whatever great power the prince of the Underground gathered now, Sans doubted he could survive it.

The world darkened. Sans could no longer see Asriel or the barrier, not even his hands if he raised them. Everything had become silent except the paddle of his own breath.

A skull three times his size suddenly materialized from the shadow. In appearance, it reminded him of those he and his siblings had mastered, though its horns and features mirrored Asriel instead. It laughed in his face—a grim, bone-chilling sound like grating rocks—but Sans stood firm. Brilliant red rage and determination surfaced among the cracks of his soul. How dare Asriel steal from Papyrus? How dare he turn Sans’ own family magic against him?

Waves of light drew into the open bowels of its snakelike gullet. Debris ran past his ankles, recalling images of a lab in shambles, a brother consumed by a beast of timeless indifference. He braced himself, ready to dive into the darkness as he did then and save the ones that mattered most.

A flash of brightness burst over him once more. This time, it ripped the soul from inside him and shattered it into pieces.

His mind floated through an abyss, bursting with the fireworks of everything at stake. He thought of Papyrus, never seeing sunrise; Toriel, never knowing the love of a new family; Alphys, never seeing the true greatness inside herself; Undyne, never free to explore the world; Asgore, failing his people. He thought of you, swallowed in the belly of the very thing you had sought to save. He thought of the entire world, destroyed by the god of hyperdeath, eaten alive by a hungry rift in time. The pieces of his soul quivered in a glow of crimson, ready to disperse.

*But it refused.

The shards sewed back together. A burst of bright red coursed through him like a new flame that had waited a lifetime to be struck. He had to live. He needed to live. He wanted to live! The darkness faded away, and soon the pulsing light of the barrier greeted his eyes once again.

He gaped at his shaking hands, eye sockets wide with confusion and amazement and, more than anything, determination. His soul felt aflame with a ruby-red blaze that forged the bleeding cracks of every pain, every hardship, and every sorrow into an armor stronger than the thickest alloy.

Asriel’s final form hovered ahead of him. Giant wings had sprouted from his back, flaring with blues, reds, greens, and purples. His teeth bared in needle points to rival Undyne’s, seething with fury and frustration.

“YOU . . . GARBAGE BIN SKELETAL FREAK!” he screamed. “WHY? WHY CAN’T YOU DIE?!”

Sans realized very suddenly he couldn’t move. Asriel’s true power had run rampant through the air, cocooning him in a chrysalis of magic he could not escape. He struggled with no result. With no way to resist, Asriel’s attacks barreled into him again, and again, and again. Every time his brightly burning soul rebuilt itself, a little was lost along the way.

“I can feel it,” Asriel growled with relish. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you.”

Sans thought of Windings, lost in a hell of the same description. He recalled how determined his brother had been to hold that same world together in one piece, forgotten or not. Sans could not fail him again, not here, not now, not after how hard Dings had tried, not when all his hopes were so invested in his success. His brother’s words rang through Sans' head, the last he would speak before the ghost of a gray door had separated them.

“I want you to know,” Wingdings had said, “I believe in you more than I believe in anyone else.”

“heh, yer jus’ tuggin’ my tibia . . .”

“For Tesla’s sake, Sans,” Dings snipped. “Can you just, for a second, let me spoon-feed your imperceptibly minuscule single-cell petri dish of a trait you call your self-esteem?” He took a deep breath and steadied. “I know it might seem like you’re my only option,” he said, “but you’re the best option I could have ever hoped for. My big brother. The one who sticks it out through thick and thin. The one I could always rely on to come through for me. You can do this. You can save everyone. I know you can. So, please . . .

“. . . don’t give up.”

Sans closed his eyes and reached his heart out to Asriel’s amalgamation of souls. His friends and family were there somewhere. He could save them. They believed in him. Dings believed in him. His determination to save everyone bled through the confines of Asriel’s magic, and deep inside that monstrosity, something began to stir.

Darkness closed in and images of his friends materialized, though their faces could not be seen behind swimming, fragmented blurs of pitch. Toriel, Papyrus, Asgore, Alphys, and Undyne stood like statues in a ring around him. Under their breaths, they mumbled their deepest wounds aloud: loss, rejection, loneliness, guilt, and captivity.

Sans stared up at his little brother’s towering silhouette, shaken to see him so reduced.

“hey, puppy . . .” he began. He inched nearer. “‘member me?”

Papyrus did not acknowledge him beyond summoning a few bones, which promptly flew in his direction. They were nothing compared to what Asriel had been punting his way. Sans stood perfectly still to allow a large blue femur to pass harmlessly through his forehead, then teleported behind him. He wrapped his arms around his waist until his face lay cradled in the lower curve of his spine, as if it were fashioned to hold his head.

“is that any way to treat your big bro?” he asked quietly. He searched his head for his worst possible joke and turned to the remaining souls. “uh . . . w-whatcha all starin’ at?” He whipped out a finger gun as nonchalantly as possible. “never metacarpal of skeletons before?”

A long, silent moment passed. Then, Papyrus groaned. So did Undyne. Toriel giggled alongside Alphys with a snort. Asgore only sighed.

Sans beamed, then dodged what he saw as a well-deserved barrage of attacks from all five of his monster friends.

“hey, undies,” he said to Undyne past the quick flash of a blue spear. “i liked the tuna your piano. think you can teach me some scales?”

A similar response. Another wave of dangerous magic.

“knock, knock,” Sans said to Toriel. A hand of fire tried and failed to snatch him off the ground. He brushed off the heat. “i’ll take that as a ‘who’s there’. it’s yer local sentry, sans gaster!”

Toriel mumbled incoherently, but her last words sounded clear: “. . . Sans Gaster who?”

“yeesh,” Sans said, tugging at the neck of his shirt. “and i thought we were friends!”

Toriel laughed, then, revealing her face in a glorious burst of joy. Papyrus groaned more loudly than ever into existence.

“THAT’S ENOUGH BOONDOGGLING, SANS!” he shouted.

“i think you mean bone-doggling.”

“I DO NOT!” Papyrus stomped his foot.

With that, the rest of his friends returned to themselves, holding their stomachs or their heads in laughter. Sans wiped a joyful tear from his eye. By then, Papyrus had swept him off his feet into the tightest hug he could muster, which might have broken a rib were they more than specters. The remaining crew piled in: Toriel, Alphys, Asgore, even Undyne. In that one gesture, Sans’ soul swelled with hopes and dreams and burned brighter than ever.

“You’re d-d-doing great!”

“We’ve got your back, punk.”

“We believe in you.”

“heh . . . i’m rootin’ for me too, i guess,” Sans agreed bashfully.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT,” Papyrus said, then lifted his eyes over Sans’ shoulder. “ONLY ONE MORE TO GO.”

As he said it, their images dissipated. Sans turned to follow Papyrus’ gaze. Another figure stepped from the shadow, eyes burning red through a shifting black cloud. A blood-red knife glinted in your hand. Your ruby soul quivered in the pit of your chest, a beacon through the dark.

“kiddo,” Sans breathed.

You shambled forward and blindly slashed for his neck. He side-stepped the sloppy cut. Your blade lodged into the unseen ground, so deeply it took a few tries to pry it out. Like a marionette, you lolled about to face him.

“It’s all my fault,” you murmured. “All my fault.”

“that ain’t true,” said Sans. He grimaced and ducked another swing. “you’re a good kid. you’ve always been a good kid.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled.

“why?” he asked. “you saved us. you saved me. you gave up your resets for it!”

Your razor-edged swipes and stabs began to falter. “My fault . . .”

“the only thing you’re at fault for is trying too bleedin’ hard.”

Though shaking, you continued to jab and swing your dagger with reckless abandon, and he continued to evade its path with infuriating precision. Whipping air and shuffling feet echoed through the dark as if you fought in an empty chapel.

“c’mon, bud!” Sans panted. Sweat had begun to gather on his forehead. “it’s me, sans!”

“Sans?” you replied in a fog. “Sans is dead. I killed him. It’s my fault.”

“i’m not dead. i’m right here.”

He came close, a breath away. Your knife grazed his cheekbone, revealing a stripe of red that trickled down into his shirt collar. As your arm passed his shoulder, he caught you around the chest and held on tight. He buried his face into your neck.

“i’m right here.”

At this, you froze. You held your knife shakily over his head, prepared to strike down into his back—but you didn’t. Though the black, jagged strokes of paint shifting about your head did not cease, the red of your eyes had dimmed.

“frisk. chara.”

He cradled your hiding face between his hands and looked into your eyes a long, long time. You could feel him reaching through your soul, judging you, reading you from cover to cover like an unlocked diary.

“it’s not your fault.”

As the words sank in, tears sprinkled down from that stormcloud between you, raining over your shoes and his. That dreadful, bloody knife clattered to the ground, and soon you followed. You sat seiza at his feet and clung to his coat, your face no longer shrouded. You sobbed into his t-shirt, broken, yet overjoyed to see him alive.

He hesitated, then slipped his fingers down into the deep brown thatches of your hair.

“You’re really here,” you said, looking up into his face.

Sans crouched down to your level and shrugged. “think so.”

“Am I dead?”

“uh.” He scratched the back of his skull and winced. “ya ain’t in yer body, that much is for sure. hopin’ you might join me on the way back, though . . . if you’d do me the honor.”

You hugged him again, even more tightly than before. Conflicted by memories old and new, shame hooked onto your soul with claws sharper than the dagger at his feet. His hand in your hair was all that kept you solid.

“I’m sorry.” Your tears fell faster as you considered the road leading you here. “I made you fall into the rift . . .”

“that one’s on me,” Sans said. “i knew what i might find down there.”

Your face sombered. “Did you find . . . him?”

Newfound brightness ignited his eyesockets. “he’s . . . alive,” he said quietly. He could scarcely believe the words. “trapped between time and space. it’s just like i thought.”

You were never more relieved to be proven wrong. Still, questions encircled your head like stars. Where was his brother, now? If Sans had gone to that place, how had he returned? How had he survived the rift, and Flowey no less? Was he the one turning back the clock? That should have been impossible.

As you extended a hand to smear the streak of red you had carved into his face, a terrifying thought occurred to you.

“Determination,” you breathed. “Sans, you didn’t—!”

“no,” he said.

“Monsters don’t bleed,” you said firmly in an attempt to call out his bullshit.

“not full-blooded monsters, no,” he agreed.

Several moments passed in which you digested these words, and what they implied.

His smile slowly fell into a grimace, a mix of regret and weary sadness. He sat down in the darkness across you. Here, the two of you were truly alone. He breathed in, breathed out.

“skeletons are kinda hard to come by,” he began hesitantly, “if ya hadn’t noticed. we’re only born under certain circumstances . . . with . . . certain parents.”

He lifted his head to the darkness above as if he might see the sky. A piece of him drifted away into nostalgia on Noctis wings. Bittersweet was the only word you could surface for his expression now.

“hardly look nothing like dad,” he began with a half-hearted shrug. “he was like . . . a dragon made of blue stars, a constellation in a nebula. huge, bigger than asgore. gast clan always was, compared to the dreems. i see him in my magic, though, sometimes. his face in my blasters, even if just the skull.”

You couldn’t find words. Surely he didn’t mean what you thought.

“don’ hardly look like mom, neither,” he said with a partial smile, “but we got her bones. we got her structure. i got some of her determination.”

“You’re half human.”

“i’m all me, thanks,” Sans snipped. Talking about it seemed to crawl over his bones like a spider bake sale.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, genuinely hurt.

He paused and picked at the healing cut on his cheek. He rubbed the red fluid pensively between his thumb and forefingers. “everyone down here knows what it means to be a skeleton,” he said quietly. “i thought you knew too, at first. we all did. a lot of folks thought it was why you shacked up with us instead of tori.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“by the time i realized it . . . honestly, i didn’t know how to tell ya, kid. it's a sensitive subject.” He drew his coat around himself more tightly. “we’re the only ones left, y’know; me and puppy-dog. and dings. when the war started, humans went for families like ours first. papyrus was a bean, dings was just the right age for it to hit him later, and i . . . i remember everything, as always.”

Your guilt ascended all over again.

“we were just kids," he went on, "but nothin’ scared those purist humans more than a fuckin’ mule.”

“i’m sorry,” you said.

“don’t be,” he murmured. “not your fault.”

“But it is,” you insisted. Your tears began rising again. "I’m human. I’m responsible. After everything humans have done—after everything I’ve done—I don’t deserve any of you. I don’t deserve to be here. You shouldn’t have saved me . . .”

Sans gently wiped your face with his sleeve. “lemme finish, kid,” he said quietly. He heaved a long, drawn-out sigh, as if releasing a toxin trapped inside his ribcage. “i got a reason to hate humans, sure. they drove us down here. they blocked us in. hell, even monsters gave us a hard time for that half of us. papyrus was so bent on catching a human just to prove what side he was on. thought people might like him more.”

You felt sick.

“but,” Sans said, forcing you to meet his eyes, “my human parent sacrificed everything to save us. she stayed behind so we could get away. so many of us are alive because of her. you wanna tell me that was wrong? you wanna tell me she was responsible for everything that happened to us, just for being human?”

Your tears continued to fall.

“you can’t help where ya came from,” said Sans, “but you can choose where ya go. and boy have you gone to some good places.”

“Like the dump,” you quipped with a faint smile.

“heh, yeah,” he said. “like the dump.” He hung an arm over your shoulder. “so maybe you’ve made some big mistakes . . . but your heart was never in the wrong place. you want to make up for it. you want to be good. that’s what really matters, right?”

You sniffled and nodded. You had said the same to Alphys. Were you really beneath your own advice?

He gathered you into his arms again. After a long time kneeling there, faces in shoulders, he helped you back to your feet.

“gonna need you to step in from here on out,” said Sans. “the chances hyperdoofus listens to me are about a million to negative one.” He smirked. “think you can handle it?”

You took his hand and squeezed.

“Only if you stand there with me,” you said.

His heart swelled in his chest. “i can do that."

Holding onto one another tightly, you stepped out from the darkness into a rainbow of light.

Notes:

And thus we have arrived at my third and final head-cannon: skeletons are what happen when a monster loves a human. I think my nervousness about dropping that bomb contributed to the delay in a latent sense, haha. Sorry for that again.

The idea of skeleton monsters always puzzled me, because in most folklore and fantasy contexts they have a direct tie to humans. Undead, more specifically. But in the context of the Undertale universe, undead didn't sit right with me. Skeleton monsters that conveniently mimic human anatomy didn't either. Then I had this thought. It explained several things for me: the blood from Sans' cut in the no mercy run, the reason he's so powerful, that "fourth wall" breaking tendency he and Papyrus both share... I massaged things some for the narrative here, but yeah.

I had been building to this a little bit as a possible reveal, then considered sidestepping it, but then as I really hammered out my ending it became an essential fact. I added more scenes and details in earlier chapters to get a little more traction on it, hence why I recommended rereading. :) Either way, I hope you find it at least interesting.

Thank you again to everyone who held on until now. Only three chapters left!

Next Up! Chapter 15: Determination.

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danikamariewrites · 15 days

Text

𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Chapter One : Welcome Home

A/n: sorry for the very long wait between chapters but I think that’s how it will go with this series. I really want to take my time and make sure I like each chapter before posting and I hope you guys like this one too.

Warnings: mention of trauma and abuse

For forty-nine years the Forest House felt empty. But one bright afternoon the house miraculously felt full again. You have no idea how you knew the others returned. Something in your mind was screaming at you. Telling you that something changed. Urging you to look at the chaos.

Lady Briar raced to your room to tell you the good news. She was practically out of breath as she attempted to formally explain that your father and other members of the court had finally returned home. You broke down in joyful tears. Your father was home!

Nothing held your focus all day as you waited for him. No sketches or paintings. None of your books. You just paced your bedroom, even during meals.

By the time the sun had set you were on edge, wondering when he’d come to see you. When your father finally came to you he burst into tears upon staring at you. The first words out of his mouth were, “Look at you. My little flame, all grown up.” Those words hit you like a ton of bricks. The dam of your tears broke at the pain behind his words as you both silently mourned the time you’ve lost.

You threw yourself at your father. Wrapping your arms around his neck tight, like he’d be taken from you again.

Something was wrong. You knew it as soon as you made contact with him. His scent. His mental walls. Something terrible had happened to him. Discreetly probing your father’s mind you found a hole in his defenses that you could slip through. Pulling closer to him with the ruse of a longer embrace you dove into your father’s mind.

As you began your search an excruciating chill gripped your mind. You saw everything and it was horrifying. Years of death and destruction and cruelty. Then, five boys, all older than you, standing by father’s side. Expect the one with longer hair. He was clearly estranged from your family. A woman standing with them who you’re the spitting image of. Her red hair and freckles are the ones you see in the mirror everyday. The seven High Lords. A human girl beating the evil queen. Everyone freed.

It took all your strength to not scream as the images flashed quickly. To not push your father away from you. You had a hunch he had been lying to you, but not like this. The longer you held onto the male your skin felt like it was on fire.

Beron let go of you, holding you by your shoulders to take you in. “Gods,” He whispered with a wide grin, “look at you. I’m so sorry I left you, little flame. I promise you I will make up for all the time we missed together.” Beron caressed your cheek. It took all of your strength not to flinch away from his burning touch.

“I know you will, father. Can you stay for a bit longer?” You slightly plead like a child would. “Not much longer, little flame. There’s a lot to do, but I’ll come see you everyday.” He promised. You catch up for a few more moments before he leaves. Once Beron was down the stairs you let out a long, shaky breath. You began to pace again as a new kind of anxiety rushed through your body.

As you took deep breaths and shook out your hands you thought about everything you had ever been taught. Everything you read about in the library. Beron and Lady Briar must’ve hidden the books that were truly important in anticipation of your trips to the library. They had to. There was so much missing.

From battles to the history of your mother there was nothing. And five, perhaps six, brothers? Maybe you had been looking in the wrong places. Your stomach churned at the thought of Beron and Lady Briar making up a whole history of the court to teach you.

You no longer know the man you call father. The male you once thought of as your protector is now a stranger to you. This thought didn’t upset you. No, it angered you. You’ve had fifty years to perfect your powers without your fathers supervision. It was time to use it against him. Beron wanted a weapon and now he has one.

Waiting until the Forest House was asleep you donned your black cloak, heading down the stairs. You stick to the shadows rushing to one of the side entrances of the main house you’ve been using. Silently stepping into the house you headed towards the bedroom wings, ignoring the library for the first time in five decades. The truth you are searching for isn’t in the stacks but the minds of your family.

Cauldron that’s odd to think. Family. A small smile pulls at your lips as you approach what you think is your mother’s room.

Noticing the guards outside her doors you fall back into the shadows, darting into a hidden servant's passage. Pressing your back against the wall you mentally prepare yourself to breach your mother’s mind. Cauldron, is this wrong? You asked yourself. The downside of not having a tutor for your powers is not knowing how you should use them or how to ethically use them.

But, if you are using them to save your family from Beron then it was fine. Right? Yes. He is evil and a liar. You nodded at the finality in your own head.

Resting against the dark passage wall you close your eyes. Focusing on your sleeping mother. On her unguarded mind and began sifting through her horrid memories.

By the time you raced back to your tower you couldn’t hold the tears back. The churning in your stomach returned as the images of Beron’s abuse on your siblings and mother flashed in your mind. Throwing yourself on the floor you began to violently shake.

It wasn’t just the abuse that got to you. It was the fact that he lied to them about you. And so…there was no word for it. Awful, everything was just awful. How could he take you from them?

tag list: @mirandasidefics @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @rachelnicolee @lilah-asteria @miadialila

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #the vanserras #acotar autumn court #y/n vanserra fic #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fic #acotar eris #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra acotar #Lucien vanserra #acotar lucien

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drkmgs · 1 year

Text

It had my heartbroken 2

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Warnings: uh...

Well...I don't know if this was a good idea...btw sorry it took so long to write this...

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

And I'll be in denial for at least a little while

Two months ago, you found yourself standing in front of Nevermore's gates, translucent like a ghost. You had to convince the people who still holding onto you to let go so you could come back. There are only two people you who possibly still holding on.

You concentrated on gathering more energy to get a solid image, smeared dirt on your face, and disheveled your hair. Moments later, that's how Principal Weems found you standing in front of her office. Her reaction to seeing you standing there looking alive and freshly coming out of a grave made her already red eyes swell again. The following weeks made it difficult for you to explain to her how you came back, so you had to play pretend you didn't know.

It was a mystery to Larissa how nobody else could see you, but when Wednesday asked her about you, she was glad she wasn't going mad, but seeing her student go mad, it's a different story. She asked you nicely to quit showing yourself on Wednesday, which you can't because it's not in your powers. You tried not to show up or talk to Wednesday, but when she started to be absent-minded throughout the day, you couldn't keep watch from afar.

It's been a week since you got caught by your mother leaving Wednesday's room. You have been roaming around in Nevermore's hidden area, where a little garden was restored for you. You spent mostly your time here reading a book while sitting by the fountain. 5 days ago your body started to get translucent like how you arrived two months ago. It started with your fingertips, fading away and coming back as a solid image again. It continued until it was already your full hand. It made the book that you were holding fall onto the grass. When your hand became a solid image again, you quickly took the book and placed it on your lap. You sighed. It is time.

What about the plans we made?

The sun was about to set when you found yourself standing in the garden, wearing all white, which doesn't suit you, but right now it gave you this ethereal look. As if an angel just landed on the surface of the earth. Everything was so peaceful and silent, your thoughts flying out to the sky when you hear two people bickering entering the garden.

You watch the scene unfold in front of you. They only stopped when you completely emerged into their sight, they saw how your body flickered between solid to translucent. Your energy is becoming unstable. You smiled at them sadly.

Y/N: I didn't know how to tell you.

There was a single tear falling on your cheek.

Y/N: I'm sorry for lying. I'm sorry for not saying anything. But it's time to face the reality. Let's stop pretending I'm still alive.

You didn't want to see how you broke their hearts once again, but it pains you more if they continue to live with you not knowing when you'll completely vanish.

Larissa: My sweet child. My little bean. My baby.

Your mother was the first one to break from her shock state and came to your side. Creasing your face, showering you with motherly kisses, and engraving your face into her memory for the last time, she'll ever see, hear, and hold you again. You turned to Wednesday, she's shaking her head, not wanting to believe you, not wanting to believe her eyes, not wanting to settle with this kind of ending, but she has no other choice. She has to. You slowly walk up to her, flickering, until you're only inches away from her. You wiped the tear that escaped her eye, she leans into your touch and kissed your wrist, and you silently sob. That's when she threw herself onto you, letting go of her emotions. She's crying, hard, her hands grabbing your shirt. The sight was heartbreaking.

It was time. You felt it through your body. You looked at your Mother and reached out to her. She gladly takes your hand and engulfed both of you and Wednesday in a hug. The fading started from your feet, slowly creeping up to your legs, then to your waist, and chest, until your head.

"I love both of you."

That was the last thing Larissa and Wednesday heard when you completely vanished from their hug.

———

5 years later

A light knocks on the door. "Come in. Please take a seat. So, I heard you're applying for the botany position— " Larissa, who was too busy reading the applicants' resumes didn't bother to look at the person who came through the door. "How have you been, mom?" You smiled at her, taking in how mature she looked since the last time you saw her. She immediately looked up to see if she isn't imagining things. There you were standing in front of her desk, she waited for flickering or fading away, but nothing happened. "Principal Weems— " Both of you looked to the person who just entered the room. "Hi, my love." You smiled at a stunned Wednesday Addams.

Taglist:

@thedemoninme141 @lecsi @ipharaohosiris @zhasmindoesntknow @daryldixonsw1fe @pixielove-1 @screechcat

#wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x you #wednesday #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #larissa weems #principal weems #drkmgsstories

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13thdoctorposts · 29 days

Note

What are you thoughts on the relationship that 13 and the Master have?

(asking because your thoughts on everything are so insanely interesting to read)

Thank you for reading my thoughts because they are verbose. lol. so I appreciate you taking the time. 🙏

Complex would be putting it mildly. 😂

First, for me, SpyMaster comes after Missy. The way 13/SpyMaster plays out is a continuation of the 12/Missy dynamic.

At the end of 12's run, when Missy and the Master kill Bill, this sets in motion the way we see 13 engage with SpyMaster. 12 wanted to help bring Missy to the good side. 13 could not care if the Master lives or dies, let alone if he joins the good side. She doesn’t consider their friendship worth anything anymore. Any second chances he has are well in the rearview. In her mind, their relationship is past any point of fixing. But, at the end of Spyfall, when he delivers that message, she still does not care about him or their relationship. But, she wants to know what he knows.

From the SpyMaster view, there is a constant undertone of something more than what he’s saying. He wants to be seen by the Doctor, for example, on top of the Eiffel Tower. When she asks why he’s doing all this, he responds: “To get your attention.” He also hates who he is. It’s because he knows they were so close to being the friends they used to be. But, he destroyed that with the knowledge he found and the actions he took in destroying Gallifrey. Between that and Bill. He knows he'll never get back to where 12 and Missy were. That's what he likely wanted at the start of his new life.

It feels like he loves her so much he hates her and hates her so much because he loves her, super toxic. lol.

My headcanon goes like this: Spy regenerates from Missy. He isn’t the evil villain we see now. But, early in his new journeys, he finds out about the timeless child. It breaks his brain. To Missy, she and the Doctor were equals. This is a key part of Missy's identity. The companions were pets, nothing more. Missy is his only true companion and everyone else pales in comparison. Spy would have thought the same. Then, he finds out about the timeless child. It turns out they aren’t equals at all. What makes him special, the ability to regenerate, comes from her. In his anger, and having his core belief ripped from him, he relapses on being an evil dude. He then nukes Gallifrey.

To him, being evil is like a drug. He wanted to be good. But, getting this information about the timeless child shattered his self-image. It also shattered the way he saw the Doctor and their relationship. It broke his brain and his spirit. Everything he thought he knew about himself and her was a lie. He thought he knew her better than anyone in the universe. But, that isn’t even nearly true. There is so much shattering in his self-image and their relationship. It's the thing he holds most dear, even if he never says it. The pain makes him default to his worst parts.

He was mad at the elites of Gallifrey for what they did to him. But, he was also mad for what they did to the Doctor, even if that was at a deeper level. It's one thing for him to hurt or exploit the Doctor, but another for someone else to do it. After he destroyed Gallifrey for what they did to him and the Doctor, he found that it didn’t satisfy him. It didn't ease his pain. So, the next step was to go after the Doctor, to make her feel as small, used, confused, and beaten as he was. To make her like him, to try and make them equals again. That's why he wanted her to push that button in TTC. It would take them all out. Then, they would have both nuked Gallifrey. They would be equal in that.

He thought he would kill her or they would both die. Then maybe the pain and rage and self-hate he felt would end. It wouldn't, of course. But, he was looking for a fix.

He’s mad at her because she made him who he is. He can't stand that a part of her is why he exists, as he says in the episode. It's why he feels pain. At this point, he’s convinced himself it’s her fault. But, deep down he knows that they used her. He doesn't have anyone else to direct his anger at, so he directs it at her. He’s probably convinced himself that she always knew something was different about her. His pain is fueling so much toxicity. He can't break out of the cycle.

13 is feeling her own trauma and pain from their last interaction. And from the knowledge he gave her and how he delivered it. By the time we get to the Power of the Doctor, she couldn’t be more over him. At this point, he's killed Bill and nuked Gallifrey. He's been a jerk about telling her about her past in the most painful way possible. None of it was her fault, but he had to inflict more pain on her. She can't be bothered with him, but she has no choice. He's continuing to play games. Then he does the most violating heinous thing possible. He regenerates her out of existence and takes over.

13 has had to deal with unmatched violation. In her mind, it could have been her and the SpyMaster (or her and Missy) against the universe. But, the SpyMaster chose violence.

She's done with him. But, the relationship still holds some meaning to her. She knows it's toxic and wants out so much. But, he just keeps coming back.

13 can be toxic by herself. She deals with trauma in the worst ways. If she just let Yaz in, things could have been so different. However, her toxicity doesn't help their situation. She can be petty too, but it's nothing compared to what he does to her.

They have loved each other their whole lives. But, the Master in all forms struggled each time to choose the Doctor over being evil. A couple of times the Master has. But, by 13/SpyMaster, those have been rare, and the pain too raw. Although she may still love him somewhere deep down, she knows he is bad for her. He is even worse for her companions. That's why she wants nothing more to do with him. I don't think he wants anything more to do with himself. That's why we see him say "don’t let me go back to being me" during the degeneration. But, when he does, he still has to end her like it's a compulsion. Because of his need to make them equals and if it's his time to go then it has to be her time too.

I'm quite long-winded and I'm not 100% sure I've answered what you've asked. Essentially, they are in the universe's most toxic relationship, and she wants out but he won't let her go. Pain, hurt, rage, and love fuel their relationship in the worst ways imaginable.

If I haven't made sense, feel free to ask more questions. I adore how complex, broken, and deep in emotion their relationship is, so I could talk about it for days... obviously 👆🤣

#thirteenth doctor #13th doctor #thirteen #13 #the master #spymaster #13xmaster #spydoc

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grimace-writes · 3 months

Text

New Kid New Love

{NKIT No 4.0}

GN!Reader x Task Force 141 { Ending Epilogue }

DNI IF YOU AREN'T A FAN OF MILD GORE!!

{TW: THIS STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES, BLOOD, MILD GORE! PURLEY FICTION!!}

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

Summary: {Y/N} has been in the hospital since their mission mishaps, due to the severity of their injuries they couldn't have visitors until now. Who from the team was the first to visit them?

Word count: {560}

Art by Me { @ghostswow }

(3rd Person POV | They/Them so anyone can read :) | Mid Twenties to Early Thirties)

[Enjoy! (๑ º ᗜ º๑) ノ♡ ]

-——————⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚°˖✧˚ʚ🦋ɞ˚✧˖° ˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆——————-

“Do you remember what happened?” An older man in a white lab coat asked, standing at the foot of their bed.

“Don’t do this..Keep your eyes open, luv…”

“In pieces..(liar)” Their voice cracked as a sharp pain flashed through their head to the memories.

“It’s okay, beautiful, you are going to be more than fantastic..I-I promise..”

“That’s normal for patients to experience when going through a traumatic event, best to focus on rest for now,” The doctor explained, causing them to wince more.

“They aren’t moving, why aren’t they moving..Please Duckie, Wake up.”

“I know that..I just…I just wanna be left alone please..” They said looking out the window avoiding the look of pity from their medical colleague, who left them without further comment.

“You don’t get to leave us just yet, Hen. Not now..”

{Y/N} took a shaky breath trying to gaze at the clouds, their vision blurred as tears began to fall down their cheeks, the image of their previous mission replaying vividly in their mind.

—————————————————————————

“No..It’s not supposed to be like this..”

“{C/N}!”

Ghost ran towards them first with Price and Gaz giving him cover, he hoisted them into his arms. The team had no time to panic as they needed to just escape, luckily they made it to an incline to provide them the needed cover.

{Y/N} coughed weakly, blood coating the palm of their hand as they tried to stay conscious, shocking rapidly to setting in. “Don’t do this..Keep your eyes open, luv…” Ghost’s voice sounded so distant even though he was practically shouting, the ungodly ringing in their ears overshadowed him.

It felt like they were watching a movie, their life on a big screen as they were carried to the helicopter to them being placed onto the bench seat. Only being forced back into their body by the fiery pain of disinfectant being poured into their wound. “It’s okay, beautiful, you are going to be more than fantastic..I-I promise..” Gaz spoke with fear in his tone as he tried to fish out the bullet with a pair of forceps, “I almost got it..” {Y/N} threw their head back groaning, one hand gripping the fabric of the backrest and the other on Gaz’s shoulder.

The pain began softened to the sound of metal hitting metal, the loud humming of the helicopter mixing with the ringing that has come back with a vengeance. {Y/N}’s only solace was clenching their eyes shut, it was way past too much for them. ‘I just wanna sleep..A nap isn’t gonna hurt..’

Their intense grip quickly loosened as they lost consciousness, their breathing was starting to slow down. “They aren’t moving, why aren’t they moving..Please Duckie, Wake up.” Soap dropped to his knees next to them, taking their hand in his.

“You don’t get to leave us just yet, Hen. Not now..” Price’s voice caught in his throat as he weakly ordered his subordinate to stay alive, the whole team praying for them to get back to base quickly.

—————————————————————————

Mild knocking broke them for their memories, they wiped their face with the back of their hand before they faced their visitor. {Y/N}’s shallow expression softened as a tender smile formed on their face to the sight of their favorite flowers and a..

↳..Plush Plague Doctor. {Ghost}

↳..Plush Duckling. {Soap}

↳..Plush Cat. {Gaz}

↳..Plush Otter. {Price}

-——————⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚｡⋆ ˖⁺‧₊˚°˖✧˚ʚ🦋ɞ˚✧˖° ˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆˚₊‧⁺˖ ⋆ ˚｡⋆——————-

Author's Note: The long awaited romance, note each story have similar elements with a twist to match each of the boys. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story. Let me know what you thought of it, Love Love~

(o´ ω `o)💕💕

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

#grimacewrites #task force 141 x reader #simon riley × reader #john mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cod mw2 × reader #cod mw2 × male reader #mw2 × reader #mw2 × male reader #task force 141 #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod soap #cod ghost #cod price #cod gaz #gn reader #cod mw2 x gn reader

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completeoveranalysis · 2 months

Text

[1]

Chapitre 209 - The Demon King and The Puppet

Get in losers we’re going to Outo!

We’re back in the sequence of revisiting family bonding moments in the previous arcs, and to my surprise and great delight this one isn’t a Syaoran and Sakura one but Syaoran and Kurogane! I thought these were a recap montage of the Syaoran/Sakura relationship over the journey, but maybe it’s a recap of Syaoran himself? Our son the clone Syaoran and all the nice moments he’s had on over the arcs we spent together?

And why would they do that unless they wanted us to hurt us very badly with it?

They’re either being very sentimental or someone might die, so time to turn up the Suspicion dial for the survivability of all our characters!

Either way, the splash text reads: In order to avoid losing everything, I wanted to become strong, like that person…

IN WHICH WE HAVE A CLEAR THROUGH-LINE BETWEEN KUROGANE AND SYAORAN? BOTH GAINING STRENGTH FOR THE SAME REASON? AND IT GOING OUT OF CONTROL FOR BOTH OF THEM?

For Kurogane his trauma led him down a path of increasing violence where he didn’t value life as much and just wanted to kill people to get stronger. For Syaoran his soul broke so he was forced to follow his clone programming and killed presumably WAY MORE people than even Kurogane could ever have dreamed of, leaving countless worlds devastated in the name of “protecting Sakura” and retrieving the feathers.

Dark parallels dark parallels!

But eventual misuse of power besides, the splash text sounds like it’s from Syaoran’s POV as he remembers admiring Kurogane’s strength and how he wanted to protect people like Kurogane does. And it’s the past tense that makes it so interesting - as if his soul is awake after all, and he’s thinking back on his memories with the Tsubasa family through this final confrontation.

Which is only fanning my hopes that he’s planning a ruse and whispered to Lava Lamp to play along. And even more tragic that to sell the ruse he had to MASSIVELY STAB Lava Lamp, absolutely wreck Fai and Kurogane until they were too injured to stand, and kill countless clones.

So, like. A convincing ruse to say the least!

And we haven’t even talked about the image! Kurogane and Syaoran back to back in Outo! Kurogane holding his sword and Syaoran mirroring his pose but holding wet clothing instead! The matching white top and black pants of their different outfits! Kurogane smiling as he explains and Syaoran listening attentively!

While they stand under a Sakura tree.

Which (like in the Hanshin cover) is an accurate detail to the setting they were in! The park this training took place in had a Sakura tree in it, but here a branch of the tree is visibly cutting them off from each other. Which makes me want to scream in how appropriate that is - because even here, in Syaoran’s memory, the presence of ‘Sakura’ (and the clone programming that makes him focus on the feathers) is cutting him off from the connection he remembers forming. Despite their bond the Sakura tree is in his way from actually reaching Kurogane - just like his missing soul would have wrenched any feelings for his family away from him, and here in the final battle his need to follow Evil Wolverine’s orders keeps him from even speaking to his family, even if he DOES remember their bond.

WHICH IT SEEMS LIKE HE MIGHT.

#I LIVE IN HOPE #But oh the way Clamp make a nice moment framed with sadness #How the Sakura branches and roots surround Syaoran #Separating him from anything other than his programming and his destiny #Even if those bonds he made were real!#Liveblogging the reservoir chronicle #Vol 209 #Tsubasa #Syaoran #Kurogane #OH AND THE WATER #Syaoran drenched in the water #Like the water that loves Sakura and defends her #He is LIKE the water #He is COVERED in the water #He wants the same things as the water #And if you really wanted to pull at a metaphor #You could say him straining the water from his clothes #Is like his clone programming draining out his actual love for Sakura #And replacing it only with the commands to find the feathers #Removing the bonds of the soul to focus on the mission #But even if he succeeds he will still be WET #And that love for Sakura will be a part of his core in a way he can’t get rid of

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just-some-trans-nobody · 1 month

Text

December Christmas Monster Stories

December 18.) Orc bestie

Shhhh let's not talk about how it's no where near December any more!

Female orc x Fem reader

No pronouns actually used for reader

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Ok ok open this one next!” Ugar exclaimed, holding out a wrapped gift in her calloused green hands. Smiling, you took the gift from her. It was a hand decorated frame in the shape of a heart, the image inside was one the two of you had taken when in front of a waterfall on a trip you shared together, it was a fond memory for the both of you. “Check the back of the photo.” She had whispered in a voice that had caught you off guard. You’ve never heard her so nervous before, not even that time the two of you had been camping deep in the woods and a bear had wandered into your camp smelling the yummy food. Ugar had started beating on her chest with nothing to protect her but her pajamas as she bellowed at the bear standing her ground as she scared off the bear. She swore then and to this day she would have fought that bear with her bare hands if it meant keeping you safe. So now sitting here on your bed with cheesy Christmas music playing softly in the background while you exchange, her looking so nervous, so terrified as she waited for you to look at the back of the photo made you feel as if your world was ending. She was your bestfriend you had known her since kindergarten yet she never made you feel so petrified at this moment. Was something wrong? Was she dying? Were you dying and she knew it but you had been to stupid to know it?

Taking the back of the frame out you couldn’t help but notice your hands were trembling as you lifted it up and set it down next to you. Gulping you lifted the photo up, eyes blurry as tears already started to form from the fear you were feeling. In red pen was her messy handwriting. “I have loved you for many years and shall love you till my dying day. Say the word and I will follow you to the edge of the world. Please be mine, darling love.” It took three full reads of what it said before you really understood the words. Gasping softly your head jolted up to look at her, she dared not meet your gaze. “You really mean this?” You asked, it being your turn to whisper as you talked. She simply nodded her head as she bit down on her bottom lip. It was strange seeing such a large powerful orc acting so nervous and submissive but there she was playing with her hands fighting the urge to run so she did not have to face the rejection she feared she would have.

Feeling your small hand compared to hers being placed on her own she looked at it, her gaze trailing up your arm till she met your eyes. “I love you too. I didn’t think you felt the same.” You explained letting out a soft laugh through tears were running down your face. Were they tears of relief or joy, who knows but you didn’t care. Letting out her own laugh it quickly turned to a sob, she had been so stressed out that the build up and release of emotions broke the damn. The both of you let out sobs mixed with laughs as you hugged each other. feeling both mad and silly for not sharing your feelings sooner. Pulling away from the hug Ugar cupped your face in her massive hand as she wiped your tears away with her thumb. “You are my everything.” She whispered as she leaned in to share the first of many kisses with you.

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frankthesnek · 3 months

Note

number 4 for the soft kissing prompts 🥺🩷

Oh this is a very cute one 🥹 Thank you so much!

Stark Swept off his feet?

Rated G

Prompt: a kiss on the nose to watch them blush

750 words

“And what lies is the media making up about me today,” Tony sighed and blew on his steaming espresso.

Unfolding the newspaper to the main section, he stuttered, spilling his hot drink down over his knuckles as he replaced his cup on the counter. Out of reflex, he wiped them on his pants leg, not feeling the sting of the heat as he stared at the photo taking up half the page. ‘Stark swept off his feet?’ was plastered across the top, and under it was a picture of—

“Is that from this morning?”

“What? Uh, no,” Tony said in a rush, folding the paper closed and setting his small mug on top of it, a ring of coffee seeping into the pages.

Steve looked at him skeptically. “You're being exceptionally weird this morning.”

“No, I'm not.” Tony countered and crossed his arms.

“Okay, so, give me the paper,” Steve chuckled and reached for it.

“Not from today. It's from yesterday. I… forgot to toss it,” he lied lamley and stood tucking the paper under his arm.

“Tony, I can see today's date on it.” Steve stepped closer.

Tony stepped back.

“Okay, you are definitely hiding something. Give it here.” He held out his hand, and Tony shook his head.

The soldier's eyes narrowed at him, and Tony knew what was coming. He sidestepped and ran to the other side of the kitchen bar, narrowly escaping Steve's grabbing hands.

“Nothing to see here. You just get your protein shake and go to the gym.” Tony flapped a hand at his boyfriend and tucked the paper in closer to his person.

“You're blushing! What did they print?”

“I am not.” Even as the words let his mouth, he felt his cheeks heat more. This caused Steve to grin, eyes twinkling with curiosity. Knowing the other man wouldn't give up that easily and recognizing the playfulness brewing in his partner, Tony turned and ran. He made it as far as the living room before Steve caught up, a strong arm wrapping around his middle and swinging him down onto the couch.

“Steve, give it back!” Tony groaned, reaching for the paper and missing. Steve held it just out of reach as he settled on top of Tony, straddling his waist and pinning him to the couch with his weight. Frowning in resignation, Tony crossed his arms and pouted as Steve opened the paper.

As soon as the soldier saw the main spread he broke into a wide smile, and Tony felt heated blush creeping all the way up to his ears.

“Seriously?” Steve questioned, laughter tinting the word. “They've run stories where they caught you literally with your pants down. Last month, that sleazy blog posted a shot online of you grabbing my ass, but no this—this is what has you flustered and embarrassed?”

Clearing his throat dramatically, Steve tapped down his laughter and made a show of straightening the pages of the paper. “Stark swept off his feet?” He started to read, tone overly serious in a bad impression of a newscaster, “has the former playboy met his match in the world of romance at the hands of the ever charming Captain America?” Steve turned the paper so Tony could see the article and picture, restrained laughter shaking his wide shoulders as he did.

Tony pressed his lips together into a tight line as he took in the image on the page. It was him doe eyed, smiling loose and dopey, with a touch of pink dusting his cheeks as Steve cupped the back of his neck and kissed the tip of his nose. It was simple and intimate.

“I look like a middle schooler swooning over an upperclassman!” Tony groaned, pushing the paper away from his face.

Humming Steve got off him, looking at the photo again and smiling wider. “This is going up on the fridge.”

Tony rolled his eyes and pouted at the ceiling. “Stupid paparazzi,” he grumbled to himself.

Then he heard Steve rummaging in the kitchen and sat up, looking over to where his boyfriend had retrieved scissors from the junk drawer and was actively cutting the shot from the paper. “You are not seriously hanging that on the fridge?”

“Oh, I seriously am,” and Steve tacked it up with a little magnet.

Groaning, Tony slumped against the back of the couch. “I hate it.”

“I love it.”

Steve walked back over, and Tony looked up at him with big soft eyes, wordlessly pleading him to take the picture down. All Steve did was bend down and kiss him lovingly on the nose.

#thank you!#asks #answers #writing prompt #prompt fic #stony #stevetony #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #idiots in love #drabble #ficlet #fanfiction #fan fic #writblr

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obaex · 1 year

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the one that chases you (six) - rafe cameron

summary: true feelings come to light as you and rafe unwind after an eventful night at the boneyard

word count: 1k

warnings: 18+ mature, sexual/suggestive content below the cut

a/n: i have so much love for this series - it is so bittersweet to be posting the finale. thank you to everyone that has interacted, shared, commented and provided feedback, i love each and every one of you. is this series about the depths rafe would go to be with you? absolutely. is it about waiting for the one that will pursue you? obviously. but it's also about self love, and knowing that you've got to love and care for yourself first before you can love anyone else. XX

i'd be open to writing more blurbs or one-shots or anything else you'd wanna read for these two, so feel free to send me asks.

series masterlist

Rafe pulled into the driveway, cutting off the engine before leaning his face on the steering wheel, head turned to look at you. He was exhausted, crashing from the adrenaline rush of the evening. You were unbuckling your seatbelt when his hand reached over to rest on your leg.

"Stay with me tonight?" he asked "Please?"

Despite all the time you had spent together, you had taken things slow, sleeping apart, knowing that you would see each other first thing the next morning. But tonight you agreed that you didn't want to be alone, nodding to him as you both exited the truck and made your way to his room.

"Sit" you said, pointing to bed. He listened, cradling his head in his hands as you went into the bathroom to get a first aid kit and a damp towel to clean him up. When you came back you took his hands in your own and as gently as you could washed away the blood, dirt and sand from each finger and knuckle. His eyes closed gently as he enjoyed the feeling of you massaging his hands. As you finished and set the first aid kit aside, he tugged you toward him gently so you were standing between his legs, your eyes about level with him seated on the bed.

"I love you, Y/N" he said without missing a beat, watching your eyes go wide as he continued, "I have for a long time and I wish I didn't take so long to tell you. Maybe things would have worked out differently. But I don't want to waste another minute not telling you how I feel. I don't mind chasing you, I'd do it again every morning if I had to, but I'd prefer for you stay right here by my side, gorgeous."

"I love you, Rafe" you said, breathlessly "And I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours." You pressed your lips to his as his hands gripped your waist firmly, deepening your kiss almost immediately, like he needed your body to confirm what your lips had just said.

You reached for his shirt and began unbuttoning it, button by button until his tan abs were exposed and you pushed it off his shoulders. He moaned into your mouth as you ran your hands over his chest and you bit his lower lip lightly in response. Your fingers found his belt buckle, making quick work of it and popping the button on his shorts, tugging them off. Your breath hitched at the sight of him left only in his briefs. He broke your kiss to take in your flushed cheeks, lips swollen with his kisses, eyes glazed over with desire for him as he reached for the strap of your dress, tracing it gently with his finger, visibly making you shiver before slowly nudging it off your shoulder, kissing your shoulder where it had once been and repeating the gesture on the other side, the dress pooling on the floor. His hands roamed over every exposed inch of you he could reach and your body was on fire for him. He stood up suddenly, scooping you up in his arms, your legs wrapping around him as he flipped you both over so he could lay on top of you, the image of his taught body hovering over yours quickening your breath as you desperately reattached your lips to his, running your fingers through his hair, tugging him closer to you and suddenly all of him was touching all of you, with just the thinnest layer of fabric separating you from each other.

You bucked your hips up to meet his and he bit your lip in response, moving one hand behind your head to continue to guide your mouth to his while the other slid down your body, ghosting over your ribs, past your stomach, lower, tantalizingly lower, grazing over the fabric of your thong, feeling you for the first time, feeling how you responded to him. "Goddddd gorgeous" he said against your lips, an exclamation and a prayer wrapped in one as he stroked you gently through the fabric. You were grasping at him, trying, impossibly, to pull him closer to you, humming against his lips, your toes curling at the pleasure that was building inside of you. After a few moments he paused, breaking your kiss to look at you, his fingers trailing the waistline of your thong, "Can I?-" he started

"Yes" you said immediately and he pulled it off of you slowly, pausing one more time.

"Are you sure, gorgeous?"

You nodded, never more sure of anything in your whole damn life.

"M'need to hear you say it" he said, his hand on his briefs as nibbled your lip, teasing you.

"I want you, Rafe. All of you. Please" the last word a whisper as he resumed his kisses, guiding himself to you and starting an agonizingly slow rhythm, one hand resting on the back of your head, continuing to press your face to his, the other angling your hips to meet his in just the right way. As your hips finally connected, his breath hitched, mumbling against your lips as he increased the pace, matching every movement of his hips with his words: "Love you gorgeous, I love you gorgeous, I love you" as you fell apart in his arms.

You were in a deep sleep when your alarm went off, signaling that it was time to get up for your run. You rolled over to turn it off and felt warm hands grab your waist, pulling you back under the covers against him, your back resting against his front, bodies tangling as he engulfed you with his large frame, his arms wrapping around you, his head nuzzling into your neck.

A slow smile blossomed on your face at his touch. "Rest day?" you mumbled into his arms.

"Mmm, I can think of a few ways we can get our heart rates up without leaving this room" he replied.

taglist: @louie-bug, @wh0reforbucknasty, @magnificantmermaid, @houseoftwistedspirits, @one-sweet-gubler, @fangirl-madz, @ietss, @diary-of-jj

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#rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe imagine #outerbanks #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx imagine #outer banks

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blurredcolour · 1 year

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You Left Your Name On My Lips

“It's Not The Prompt. It's The Creator." Challenge

Prompt: "Last summer was one no one could ever forget. Now, a year later, character(s) still feel(s) the effects of that time.”

Summary: A rare professional opportunity reignites painful memories of what seems was never meant to be.

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Angst, Major Character Death in Retrospect, Discussion of Loss and Grief, Discussion of Graves, Military Inaccuracies, Political Inaccuracies, Several References to January 6 Capitol Riots, Minor Reader Injury, Blood, Hospital Setting, Brief Discussion of Prosthetics, References to Sad Maverick, Medal Ceremony, Surprise Ending. Rating - T.

Credit: Paramount Pictures

Author's Note: Reader has no gender or physical descriptions. Pronouns are used a few times as they/them. All images contain image descriptions for accessibility. Thank you very much for reading and happy one year anniversary to Top Gun Maverick!

Word Count: 7505

“You left your name on my lips, everyone I meet knows I loved you…” – Katherine Perez (@s.h.e.ispoetry)

The late afternoon thunderstorm broke over West Executive Avenue just as you left the safety of the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, hastening your steps into a run while you darted across the street toward the West Wing. As a member of the speech writing staff, you found yourself traversing this route often throughout the workday, but rarely at the direct request of the Deputy Communications Director.

Pressing the notebook in your hand into service as a make-shift umbrella, you hitched your laptop bag higher onto your shoulder and dashed into the building. You took a moment to ensure you looked presentable before signing in with security and heading towards the Communications bullpen. You paused at the corner of Ben Simkin’s desk, waiting for the Assistant to the Deputy Communications Director to finish his phone call so he could tell you how many minutes late your meeting would be.

“Looks like you just beat the rain.” Ben said as the phone rattled home into its cradle. “She’s only five minutes late so you can come right in.” He stood and led you through the open office door.

“Thanks, Ben. Definitely got in here at the right time…” You muttered, watching the deluge cascade against the windowpane.

“I saw you’re on holidays next week, going anywhere exciting?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe to indulge in a moment of friendly conversation.

You had always enjoyed Ben’s personable warmth. Particularly in contrast to the brusque efficiency of Faith Watson, the woman who shared administrative duties for the Communications team. It was always a good day when you got a reply from Ben rather than her.

“Just back to visit the family, they are constantly complaining they don’t see enough of me. I don’t see enough of me…” The pair of you shared a laugh before his line began to ring again and he hurried out to answer it quickly.

A flash of lightning flickered through the dimly lit office, thunder cracking and rumbling promptly in its wake as you settled into one of the chairs across the empty desk. Your thoughts turned back to the possible reasons why you had been summoned here when your eyes skidded to a halt on the file folder resting on the cluttered yet orderly desktop. The three letters scrawled in a black marker sorely in need of an ink refill sucked the moisture from your mouth, making you squirm in your chair uneasily.

MOH

“So sorry to keep you waiting.” Your boss suddenly burst into the room, and you stood quickly as she turned on a few more lights to fight off the gloom of the storm.

“N, not at all. How can I help?” You asked quickly, sitting as she assumed her seat behind the desk and gestured for you to sit as well.

You watched with trepidation as her hand stretched out to land on the very same folder that had evoked such a physical reaction within you just moments before. Shit.

“As you’re well aware, we have a Medal of Honor ceremony coming up this Friday. I’ve just gone through the latest draft of the speech and Michael has done a wonderful job, but it is missing…. something. Some sense of who the Lieutenant Commander was.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips nervously as you tried to take steady breaths, nodding to show that you were listening as you held your notebook on your lap in a ruthless grip.

“It’s my understanding that you knew him?” She tilted her head, eyeing you thoughtfully as you slowly nodded, wondering from exactly where this information had reached her.

“Yes, I did.” You somehow managed to voice.

“I know this is perhaps an impossible ask, but given your talent with words as well as your personal insight, I was hoping you might agree to take a pass at it?” She tented her fingers in front of her lips, assessing your reaction thoughtfully.

There was a reason she was sitting behind that desk. She had just made an incredibly difficult request wrapped within a compliment and tied with the bow of a professional opportunity. And while your initial, visceral reaction was to refuse, the rational and professional part of your brain interceded.

“I would be honored, ma’am.” You nodded, wishing your voice sounded more confident, but still thrilled that you had been able to speak.

“Thank you. I consider this a personal favor and will not forget it.” She glanced back at the rain pelting against the windowpane behind her and frowned. “Why don’t you get Ben to find you somewhere in the West Wing to work on this. A lot of people will have left for the day, and we need to get this finalized as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you, I will get started right away…” You gulped and reached out for the folder, tucking it close against your body as you tried to leave her office at a reasonable pace instead of the headlong flee that was burning to be released from the muscles of your legs. “Ben?” You cleared your throat as your voice came out slightly brittle and shaky. “Do you think you can find me a hole in the wall somewhere in this building?”

He raised an eyebrow before turning to his computer, clicking around. You raised your own eyes to the ceiling above you, calling upon whatever higher beings you could think of to grant you strength and patience.

“Follow me.” He said at last, though in truth it had been a sum total of forty-five seconds, before he led you through a maze of corridors and down a set of stairs into a plain office. “Usually held in reserve for the Deputy Chief of Staff’s Office…they are clearly not using it right now…You ok?” He eyed you skeptically and you swallowed tightly, offering a nod and a tight smile.

“Just in for a late night is all.” You clarified.

“Well, the kitchen is open for another two hours so maybe get some food now.” He advised. “Or you’ll be eating a hot dog on the corner, and you’ll never find this room again.”

The laugh that his comment pulled from you brought with it faint relief from the tension you had been carrying since your meeting and you nodded, setting your things on the dated wooden desk.

“Thank you, Ben. Have a good night.”

The door shut behind him with a careful click as you went about setting up your laptop, connecting to the network, and settling into the questionably supportive chair before at last you had no choice but to turn your attention to the file folder you had been dutifully ignoring. As you loaded the word processing file of the speech from your email, you tugged the packet closer. Opening it slowly revealed a copy of the medal citation and other documents pertaining to the ceremony on the left side, while the redacted Naval personnel file of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw lay on the right.

With unsteady fingers, you moved to lift the personnel file before suddenly losing your nerve, curling your fingers back into a fist and turning instead to read over the medal citation.

The words blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors behind the tears that flooded your eyes, refusing to be blinked away any longer. Everything had changed that day, just over a year ago, when Bradley Bradshaw had sacrificed his life to save everyone on board the aircraft carrier upon which he had been serving. You had found out a week later, along with the rest of the world, when the news broke on CNN. Truthfully, as his ex, you had not been entitled to anything more.

The cold hard truth that your relationship, ended by mutual decision in the late fall of 2020, was well over, had not made his death any easier to bear. It had, rather, clarified a fact you had been desperately trying to deny – you were still very much in love with the man and ending your relationship based on your diverging career paths and the 2,500 miles between you had been the worst mistake of your life. And now he was never going to come home.

Slumping over the back of the chair, you sealed your palm over your mouth as the sobs rose in your throat, unbidden yet unstoppable. Hot tears spilled from your eyes, scorching their way up along your temples as each exhale wracked your body with grief that remained as raw and unresolved one year on. His absence from this earth had created a jagged chasm in the pit of your stomach – one that refused to be filled or covered over no matter how hard you worked or what failed relationships you had pursued.

Grounding yourself by digging your heels into aggregate flooring and sinking the nails of your free hand into the distressed wood on the underside of the desktop, you managed to slow your breaths. To cram the agony of your grief back into its cage beneath your breastbone, leaving you an exhausted wreck in the gathering dark of your borrowed, subterranean office. You searched through your laptop bag, hoping you might have saved some napkins from that last time you’d eaten out, but you were disappointed to find nothing more than a few pens.

Seriously considering wiping your face on your shirtsleeves, you looked up startled at the knock on the door before Ben’s face appeared through the small gap as he opened it. He tutted gently as he took in your barely recovered composure.

“I thought as much.” He murmured gently before sliding into the room with a box of tissues, a tray of drinks, and two takeout containers.

“Ben…you are a saint…” You croaked and paused, not sure which of the items he set on the desk you wanted the most before ultimately settling on the tissues.

Turning slightly in your chair, you made quick work of mopping your face and blowing your nose as discreetly as possible in the small space afforded in the office. After discarding the used tissues, your next priority was a cold beverage, sighing deeply after you took your first sip.

“You even got my favourite.”

He grinned proudly, snacking on French fry from his meal, having settled into the only other chair in the room.

“I could just tell…”

“A saint, Ben.” You reaffirmed before carefully tucking into the meal he had procured for you.

A few bites in you remembered yourself and quickly fished out your phone, sending him a funds transfer for the food.

“Oh, that wasn’t…” He muttered after he checked the resulting notification on his phone. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

You sniffed thoughtfully, swallowing your bite as you shook your head.

“I’m not, but I still really appreciate this, Ben.”

“So, you didn’t…just know him did you…” He asked hesitantly and you paused with a bite of food raised to your lips before taking the food into your mouth and shaking your head again.

“No Ben,” You clarified after swallowed. “I was very much in love with Bradley Bradshaw. Still am I suppose, even though he’s…gone…” The final word of your sentence seemed to catch in your throat reluctantly, and you coughed a little to force it out.

Ben frowned deeply and looked over the folder laying open on the desk.

“I’ll talk to her, there’s no way she can ask this of you…”

“No! No, I…I agreed to do it, it’s an opportunity to touch a Presidential speech directly and independently. I don’t get those very often Ben. And I. It’s something I can do for him, one last time.” Your throat constricted again ominously so you nodded, hoping that sufficiently rounded out the thought you were trying to communicate.

Ben inhaled deeply, holding his breath in inflated cheeks, before exhaling it through pursed lips as he nodded.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He tilted his head.

“This,” you gestured at your nearly completed meal, “has already helped more than I can say. Thank you.”

His soft smile was a balm to your aching heart – by no means a cure, but it had a soothing effect.

“Did you want to talk about him?”

“I don’t think. I don’t think that I can quite yet, Ben. Maybe someday? I’d like to…someday….”

“When you’re ready then.” He stood to collect the remnants of your meal, moving toward the door. “Are you alright if I head home?”

“Please do! You really didn’t have to stay for me. But thank you.” You nodded and he smiled warmly before stepping out, leaving you to the quiet of the office.

Taking a few deep breaths, you put some background music on your phone to help you focus on the task at hand before pulling up the speech to review what had been written thus far. The Deputy Director had not been wrong, there was a dimension missing. Typically, interviews were conducted with the honoree’s family, but Bradley had no close family left to speak for him. You knew that one of the main reasons he had chosen to stay out in California, rather than returning to Virginia, had been to reconnect with Maverick – Captain Mitchell, but he did not seem to be a man of many words.

At least he had not been that night when he showed up at your apartment door bearing a handwritten letter from Bradley. It had taken him several weeks to track you down; your personal details including phone number and address were unlisted for your safety and security. Working in politics had taken on an entirely different level of risk after January 6, 2021, but even before that you had made the choice to be as difficult to find as possible.

He had not had much to say as he stood there in his dress blues, other than to confirm your name and give you his condolences. He had delivered some prescribed line about Bradley’s bravery before disappearing down the stairs of your building, leaving you with the worn envelope, your name scrawled on the front in Bradley’s handwriting.

Shaking your head to physically clear the thoughts from your mind, you turned your focus back to the cursor in your word document, blinking at you expectantly, before beginning to type out an additional paragraph.

Words fall utterly short when we try to describe who someone was. We must look to their deeds. The words “Reckless disregard for personal safety” in his citation are striking. Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw had a history of fearless determination. He was unafraid of pursuing his goals despite any obstacles in his path, and twenty-two-months prior to the events of July 2022 was fully prepared to lay down his life for his superior officer.

“He even risked disciplinary action to call his ex from work during the Capitol Riots of January 6…” You sniffled aloud, shaking your head fondly.

You had been working for a prominent Senator during that time, doing some paperwork when the crowd infiltrated the Capitol building. Alone in the office, the rest of your colleagues in the chamber staffing the Senator, you had been frozen by panic and uncertainty. The unexpected vibration of your cellphone on your desk had been jarring, particularly when Bradley’s name accompanied it on the screen.

You had taken the call, whispering beneath the Senator’s desk, and he had talked you through barricading the door, through making the office appear unoccupied. You had heard someone begin to reprimand him on his end of the line, but he had continued to speak to you calmly, reassuringly.

“You’re going to be alright, just keep low, keep quiet, and keep that umbrella in your hands, ok?”

“O…k…ok Bradley.” You had whispered, not sounding nearly as sure as he had.

“I have to go now…” He had apologized gently.

“You’re damn right you do, Lieutenant Commander!” You had heard the sharp bark of his superior much closer this time.

“Thank you!” You had risked a little more volume to give him your emphatic gratitude before ending the call, feeling somewhat more prepared to deal with whatever might come down the hall.

It was the last time you had spoken to him.

You realized now that you should have called him back, but at that the time life had been moving so fast. As soon as the building was made safe, the voting had resumed. And then the transition team had called offering a position on the speech writing staff in the White House. The whirlwind of activity had been shifted into a higher gear of intensity at that point until the next time you looked up was to watch the report of his death on CNN.

Filled with a sudden curiosity, you turned to his personnel file, gnawing on your lower lip as you leafed through the papers contained within. You let out a gasp when you came across the notation that a nonpunitive letter of caution was delivered to him on January 7, 2021. While the contents of these letters were typically private, it was not hard to guess just what message Bradley’s superior officer had delivered to him.

“Oh Bradley…” You sighed fondly, shaking your head before turning back to your keyboard with renewed inspiration.

After two hours of writing, shaping, and polishing, you felt confident enough to submit your version of the speech to the Deputy Director. Sending the email, you carefully packed up your laptop before tucking the contents of the Bradley’s personnel file and citation back into the ceremony folder with a quiet reverence.

Stopping by her office, you were not surprised to see her still there working away. You dropped off the folder and wished her a good night. The rain had let up during your time working underground, leaving a blissfully cool evening, free of the usual summer humidity. Due to the late hour, public transit was quieter on your commute home, and your street almost tranquil. Dropping your keys and bills from your mailbox on the kitchen counter, you found your steps leading you to your bedside table of their own volition, filled with a desire to reread Bradley’s last words to you.

You sat on the edge of you bed, turning on the lamp there, and fished the worn envelope out from the bottom of the drawer. Carefully unfolding the familiar creases, you traced your eyes along his slanting penmanship.

Tilting your head back to prevent any stray tears from soiling the paper, the idea to laminate the pages to preserve them flitted through your mind once again. And yet the idea of putting a barrier between you and his words remained so off-putting that you shook you head. You carefully tucked it away for next time, dragging your tired mind and body to the shower.

The final draft of the speech was presented at the Communications team meeting the next afternoon, accompanied by your heart hammering beneath your ribs and a knowing grin from the Deputy Director. It was your version, untouched from the night before. There was no formal announcement, no by-line, but the people who needed to know, knew the authors of that speech. And you were indisputably one of them. As you were making your way out of the room, your boss stopped you, extending an invitation to the ceremony on Friday.

“I recognize it might be difficult…” She stated, giving you an out, but you took a breath to steel your resolve and shook your head.

“I’d be honored to attend, thank you.”

“Wonderful, I’ll have Ben set it up in your calendar.” She smiled before excusing herself to answer a call on her cell.

The building was a flurry of activity the day of the ceremony. The sheer extent of it – uniformed personnel and staff rushing through the lobby, the buzz of conversation – set your teeth on edge as you stepped into the West Wing that morning. Rather than making your way directly to your meeting, you decided to stop by Ben’s desk as he had an innate talent for picking up on the root cause of chaos as this seemed far beyond the usual for this type of occasion.

As you entered the Communications bullpen, his eyes widened when they met yours and he hardly seemed aware of the phone receiver pressed to his ear, belatedly uttering an apology before ending the call. He glanced around before lurching to his feet and grasping your elbow, pulling you into the notably empty Deputy Director’s office.

“You should sit.” He said with no preamble.

“Good morning, Ben, it’s lovely to see you too. I had a good sleep thank you for asking.” You greeted him with plenty of sass and a raised eyebrow.

You were already feeling snappish this morning, nerves frayed by excess emotion, and whatever sudden onslaught of chivalry he was experiencing was unwelcome.

“I’m sorry. The ceremony today has been postponed indefinitely.” He frowned, gesturing at one of the empty chairs hopefully but you shook your head as your stomach sank.

“Indefinitely? I don’t understand. These things don’t get postponed, they are thoroughly researched and perfected and…what on earth happened?!” You realized your volume had gradually increased to reach something akin to a shout as he winced, and you frowned. “Sorry…”

“You’re not going to sit, are you…” He sighed and you shook your head impatiently.

“Ben…” You said warningly.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw has been located alive in Kuwait and was air lifted to hospital in Germany during the night.”

You realized that Ben’s lips continued moving after the word ‘alive’, but your ears were filled with a dull buzzing. All of the blood in your body felt as though it seeped out of the soles of your feet into the plush office carpet, and you crumpled to the floor.

The bright glare of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and Ben’s frantic face greeted your return to consciousness and you hissed at the pain in your right cheek, reaching a hand up to find a tender spot. Your fingers came away smeared faintly with blood.

“You clipped the corner of the desk on the way down…are you ok?!” He looked you over quickly, finding a tissue to press against your cut.

“I think…I think so. Ben. Repeat what you said…” You looked to him, terrified to be optimistic.

“He’s alive.” He could barely contain his grin, squeezing your shoulders as he punctuated the statement with your name. “He’s alive, after all this time, he was hiding somewhere and…I don’t have all the details yet, but…they obviously want to put the medal around his neck once they get him home.” He looked around suddenly. “But you! You should call in sick right now and buy a ticket to Germany. Go. Go to him.”

Your eyes whirled around the room, trying to find something to focus on to help you process the fact that man you had just help eulogize in a Presidential speech had in fact survived his act of reckless disregard for personal safety. Ben pulled the tissue away from your cheek and your eyes were drawn to the bright red contrasting sharply against the white between his fingers. Everything seemed to crystalize in your mind, and you looked to him quickly.

“I have to go.”

“Yeah, you do.” He grinned wider. “I’ll start texting you flights, get out of here.” He quickly slapped a bandage onto your cheek from the nearby first aid kit before shooing you out of the office.

You darted back to your desk, leaving your sick message on the Deputy Director’s voicemail and texting Ben that you had done so. He replied that it was duly entered into the attendance log and then spammed your phone with flight deals. You got home, throwing together a suitcase and grabbing your passport within an hour, flight booked to leave in three hours. Turning around quickly, you changed out of your suit into something more appropriate for a long-haul flight, before heading to the airport.

Six hours later, you found yourself pushing long-cooled airplane food around its sectioned tray as your eyes stared unseeing at the movie on the screen in the back of the headrest in front of you. Your mind was too busy mulling over the improbability, the impossibility, of it all to focus on the film you had chosen to distract yourself, the meal you had chosen from the options on the flight attendant’s cart.

How, in this era of hyper-interconnectedness, had a Bradley gone unfound for over a year? You knew from his citation that his was the only American plane in the air at the time, from the investigation records that they only had radar and radio communications to rely upon to detail the events before his plane crashed. Courtesy of those same records, you knew a covert operation had been undertaken to examine the crash site in enemy territory. That some form of remains had been recovered, identified, and buried in Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery in San Diego.

Yet the postponement of a Medal of Honor ceremony was unprecedented. It would not have occurred on the basis of mere speculation or rumor. Ben’s report that Bradley was alive must be true, but how it was possible was entirely beyond your comprehension.

Landing in Frankfurt at five thirty in the morning local time, you were then faced with nearly three hours of public transportation before you finally arrived at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. You had barely slept or eaten, but Ben’s bandage was still securely in place on your cheek. At least that was something in your favour.

After all you had overcome to arrive at the nursing station in Germany, you had not expected to be thwarted by a dour-faced Army sergeant.

“Are you family?”

“Well, no, not exactly but I…”

“Authorized personnel and family only.” He replied firmly, looking down his hawkish nose at you and you frowned down at the flecked pattern on the worn laminate countertop.

“Add them to the list, they are family.” A voice interceded from the other side of the l-shaped desk, and you lifted your eyes quickly to see Captain Mitchell standing there. “Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw will want to see them.”

He looked younger than the last time you had seen him. As though the weight of the entire Navy had been lifted off his shoulders. There was, perhaps, even the trace of a smile in his eyes as he nodded for you to hand over your passport so the long-suffering sergeant could add you to the list of approved visitors.

“His room is this way, come on.” He tilted his head toward the wide, sterile hallway and you found your feet rooted to the spot, unable to take another step after flying thousands of miles on the word of your colleague. “Truly. He will want to see you.” Captain Mitchell assured you and, swallowing roughly, you found the will to propel your body into motion once more.

Captain Mitchell stepped into the room first and you carefully set your luggage in one of the chairs by the door, inhaling sharply as you heard a voice you thought had been silenced forever.

“Heya Mav, thought you were going for coffee…” Bradley rasped.

“Found something better on the way…” He turned to the side to reveal you, standing there like a deer in headlights, staring at a very alive Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw.

He was thinner than the last time you had seen him, having endured who knows what hardships in the name of survival over the past twelve months. His normally tan skin had lost its glow too, most likely from the necessity of hiding, and his customarily trimmed moustache had expanded down his cheeks and jaw into a full beard. Lack of sunlight had kept his chestnut hair dark as well, grown long in luscious waves. Yet he was still unmistakably the man that kept a firm hold over your heart, long frame barely fitting on the bed, propped up in a sitting position beneath a white and blue flannel hospital sheet.

Your name fell from his lips in a whisper, and he looked quickly between you and Captain Mitchell.

“You sure I’m not dead?”

Blinking rapidly as tears threatened to flood your vision, you and Captain Mitchell shook your heads at the same time.

“No Rooster, you’re definitely alive, they’re definitely here, and I’m definitely going for that coffee now.” Captain Mitchell excused himself and you walked over to the hospital bed slowly, trying to remember how to breathe. In and then out.

You did not need to faint again, especially not in front of Bradley.

“Hi…” You said quietly, feeling suddenly shy. Even draped over a hospital bed after a year of being declared dead Bradley was still the most attractive man you had ever laid eyes upon. Even with a full beard. Perhaps especially…

He held out his hand to you and you quickly took it between both of yours, sighing softly at the reassuring warmth of his skin as he guided you even closer to his bedside. With his free hand, he reached up to run his fingers along the bandage across your cheek.

“What happened?” He frowned.

You huffed a self-deprecating laugh and shook your head.

“Close encounter with a desk while fainting.” You muttered. “Are you ok?”

“You fainted? When?” He looked you over, concern knitting his brows tighter.

Typical Bradley, ignoring any concern you might have for him. Unchanged in the least.

“About…fourteen hours ago, I suppose?” You grimaced.

“Because of me.” He said flatly and you conceded with a nod. “I’m sorry…”

“Please…Don’t apologize, it was the best news. I…I just happened to fold like a deck chair.”

His lips twitched into a grin which you echoed happily.

“Such a softie.” He teased.

“I’ll have you know I fought off the QAnon Shaman with that umbrella, thank you.” You boasted playfully.

He squinted at you quizzically and you registered that perhaps he was not quite well enough for that level of humor.

“Not really, I was removed to a safe room shortly after our call. Thank you again Bradley. Thank you for taking the time to write me that letter, as well. For asking Captain Mitchell to bring it to me. It meant a lot.” Your voice trembled, betraying your heightened emotions.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I was such a moron and never said any of those things to you until I thought I was going to die.”

Shaking your head quickly you lifted his hand, still clasped between yours, and kissed the tips of his fingers.

“I’m just as guilty…I mean I technically haven’t even apologized to you in return. I wrote you a letter in reply, but I left it in San Diego...at…” You trailed off not wanting to discuss the gravesite you had visited. “I love you. I never stopped and I’m sorry I was also so stupid…” Your voice wavered with emotion as you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“I love you, too.” He murmured and shifted his hand between yours to lace your fingers together tightly. “There was never a pair of idiots better suited for each other.”

You laughed tearfully, wiping at your eyes with the cuff of your sleeve and shaking your head.

“Never.” You agreed. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything?” You asked, looking around the anonymous, off-white room filled with the typical hospital equipment. It could have been located anywhere in the world, for how similar it looked to every hospital room you had ever had the misfortune to see.

“Yeah…come here…” He crooked the index and middle fingers of his free hand, gesturing you closer.

You immediately leaned over the railing of his bed, shifting closer.

“What is it?” You asked, wanting to be of assistance.

“A kiss.” He grinned, slipping his fingers around the back of your neck as soon as you were within his reach.

“Oh.” You murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his warm, whisky-colored gaze, before assisting him in closing the distance.

It was tentative at first, a gentle brush of mouths that sent a familiar rush of warmth through your veins and had your breath shuddering against his damp lips. His breath caught audibly in his throat before he tugged you closer, pulling your lips to his firmly as you pressed your still-entwined hands into the mattress beside his head to brace yourself. The fingers of your other hand delved greedily into his longer-than-usual curls, relishing in their silky feel as he rumbled happily against your lips.

Finding your synchronized rhythm after all these years, both of your lips parted to deepen the kiss. You sighed deeply at the familiar taste that was unmistakably his, mixed with the salty tang of tears as one or both of you were crying. A deliberate knock and polite cough had you tensing before pulling back quickly, untangling your fingers from his hair carefully before stepping back to allow what looked like a team of doctors to enter the room.

You slipped out into the hall when they initiated their exam, wanting to give him his full privacy, and sank into one of the chairs near the desk where the unpleasant sergeant offered you a glare before turning back to his work. The output of energy, and ebb of adrenaline, caught up to you then and you found your eyelids sinking heavily as you rested your chin on your palm, elbow balanced on the arm rest, dozing until one of the medical team gently shook you awake.

“Sorry. Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw is asking for you…” She apologized as you blinked up at her sleepily, but you smiled quickly and shook your head, heading back into the room again, noting that Bradley’s countenance was more serious than when you had parted.

An empty food tray sat on the bedside table – you had apparently slept through meal delivery.

“Everything ok?” You asked quietly, carrying one of the empty chairs over to sit beside his bed as he looked you over, sighing softly. You noticed the team had dropped the side rail on his bed and left it lowered, making him more easily accessible to you.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation of where I’ve been. Of what happened.”

“Bradley, you owe me absolutely nothing. You can share with me whatever you wish whenever you are ready but there is no obligation involved.” You frowned, reaching for his hand, which he squeezed softly as he stroked his beard thoughtfully with the other.

“Let me start with the fact that I am not unscathed? I…You went to my grave, you all but said as much.” You nodded guiltily in reply, and he squeezed your hand against reassuringly. “I left a piece of myself behind in that plane, after the missile hit, before I could eject.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, looking him over as he looked pretty whole to you, until your eyes trailed lower, and you noticed only one peak at the end of the bed when there ought to be two. Your eyes widened as your heart rate picked up, but you did your best to take a steady breath and assume a neutral expression before turning back to him.

“Your leg?” You asked gently.

“My left foot.” He confirmed with a nod, voice tight. “I assume that’s what they found and used as confirmation of my death. There’s not an awful lot left usually when we burn in. That’s what is probably buried in San Diego.”

“I’m so sorry, Bradley…” You shifted to stand, sliding your arms around him in a careful hug, pressing your cheek against the top of his hair as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him reassuringly, hands pressing into his back soothingly as his arms wrapped around your waist, clinging to you until his heavy breaths evened out and he leaned back to look up at you.

“They have to do more surgery, to properly fit a prosthetic. A sympathetic family found me, cauterized it, kept me alive, moved me around to other like-minded people until they could smuggle me to Kuwait…It’s never stopped hurting…” He whispered and you frowned softly, kissing his forehead.

“Oh Bradley…” You whispered in reply, arms tightening around him protectively, wishing you could bear just a little of his burden, ease even a fraction of his pain.

He lay his head against your chest, and you lifted a hand to stroke his hair soothingly.

“They want me to get stronger and then they’ll send me state side for surgery and rehab…they’re thinking Walter Reed…”

You hummed thoughtfully, trying not to take too much pleasure in the thought of him being in Maryland.

“It’s a good hospital.”

“Close to you.”

“I’d come as much as possible. You’d be welcome to come stay with me if you need a place.” You murmured, noting how his torso was growing heavier against you. “Why don’t we lay you down, hmmm?” You suggested softly and he nodded, complying sleepily.

You rearranged his blankets carefully to tuck him in, settling into the chair at his bedside and taking his hand, watching as he fought with his heavy eyelids.

“Shhh rest, Bradley, it’s ok.”

“Stay…?” He asked, eyes flashing open one last time to lock onto yours pleadingly.

“Of course I’ll stay.” You nodded and squeezed his hand, smiling as he nodded back, surrendering to his exhaustion and falling asleep.

You were not far behind, laying your head on the bed beside your clasped hands, letting sleep overtake you as well.

You awoke to the feel of warm, calloused fingertips stroking down your jaw, your lips curling up at the corners at the pleasant sensation before you forced your eyes open in the low light of the hospital room. Any sense of time had abandoned you somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, but it was still dark outside the windows and a glance around the room revealed a sleeping Captain Mitchell, slumped back in the other chair near the door.

Looking back to Bradley, who’s touch had roused you, he mouthed a soft sorry, to which you shook your head in reply.

“You ok?” You whispered.

“Hungry.” He confessed and you smirked a little.

“I’ll find something ok?”

He nodded gratefully and you pressed a soft kiss to his lips before easing your stiff body from its less-than-ergonomic position in your chair. You both shared a wide-eyed look at the crack your neck emitted, glancing over at Maverick, who thankfully slept through it all. You stopped by the nursing station, grateful to find a friendly lieutenant on duty who directed you to a vending machine with sandwiches at the end of the hall.

Suddenly inspired to hunger of your own, you procured a few from the machine that thankfully accepted American currency before returning to the room to partake in your feast with Bradley. Once you’d cleared away the wrappers and the crumbs, he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“You said you wrote me a reply…did you save a copy?”

You swallowed and eyed him for a moment, wondering how it was possible for someone to know you so very well. While you had written the letter to him on compostable paper, hoping to leave as little an environmental footprint as possible, a part of you had needed to keep of a record of your words to him. Thus, you had taken a photo of your handwritten letter and saved it on your phone.

You pulled the device out of your pocket, ignoring the knowing grin on his features as you pulled it up, squinting a little at the intrusive brightness before holding it out for him to read in the dimly lit silence.

He raised his eyes as he came to the end, the glow of the screen causing the unshed tears in his eyes to shimmer. You leaned up to kiss his temple before whispering.

“I’d like to amend the ending…. You’re home now, thanks to every power in the universe, and whatever comes next, we get to figure it out together.”

He licked his lips slowly, setting your phone down on the worn flannel, before cupping your face to guide your mouth to meet his warmly.

When at last, nearly a year later, the President delivered his rewritten speech and secured the blue ribbon of the Medal of Honor around Lieutenant Commander Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw’s neck, you watched from the front row with a raised mark on your cheek. Bradley fondly referred to it as your ‘rescue mission battle scar’ and pressed his lips to it with delightful frequency, letting the whiskers of his once again neatly trimmed moustache tickle your cheek.

The seat you occupied was that of his beloved partner, rather than standing in the corner as an anonymous White House staffer. It was the seat that you had always been meant to occupy and one that would never willingly vacate again.

Top Gun Masterlist

@tgm-all4one

#tgm all4one #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw angst #rooster x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #rooster fanfic #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #tw angst #tw death

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reb0rned · 1 year

Text

No Man's Land.

Summary: Lizzie's friend happens to be too busy for the day, so she recommends that you take on the job of helping the youngest of the Shelby brothers out.

Warnings: mentions of prostitution and sex, allusions at abuse, society rooted in misoginy.

Pairings: Finn Shelby x f!Reader (platonic for now!)

Characters: Finn Shelby, Prostitute! f!Reader.

Word Count: 2306.

This is set in Season 4! <3 Hope you enjoy your reading!!

You looked at yourself in the framed mirror that hung on one of the corners of the crowded room. The image that greeted you did not at all reflect what you felt inside. Make up helped hide your sunken eyes, and gave you and the rest of the world the comfortable illusion that everything was just fine; that you didn’t loathe every single second of your day with a burning passion.

Sleep was hard, but then again, it was that way for most women, at least in your line of work.

Your lips looked nearly naked, swollen and numb, but it was ok. The next one wouldn’t notice, you doubted he would even care at all if he did. You covered your skin in a disguise anyway; cheeks flushed, alive, and lips fresh, eyes hungry for more, fingers willing to please.

To please a man, you thought, a Shelby man.

That should mean something, should make you feel nervous, scared even, but you were surprisingly calm as you brushed your hair into place.

No matter the name before it, a man was a man, and that you knew how to handle. Even though dangerous, like any wild animal, once you learnt their language, your chances at survival increased greatly, to the point where sometimes you may even feel safe around them.

That, you had learnt the hard way, was as much an illusion as the smile that automatically grew on your face when you heard the doorbell ring outside, signaling for you to get ready. As was the curve on your back, or the confident tilt of your head as a man made his way into the room, deciding your fate for the rest of the day.

“Mr. Shelby, is it?” the young man nodded his head, but his face was tense and hard, he closed the door behind him almost hesitantly. He waited a few seconds before he met your eyes, then hastily proceeded to avoid your gaze. A flash of wild blue was what you had expected when you were told that a Shelby would be visiting today, or even a pair of dark stones, menacing, hungry for what laid beneath your clothes.

That wasn't what you found in his face for that brief moment though, his eyes were not as dark as caves nor as cold as ice; they felt bashful, innocent, like a fawn wandering a little too far away from home for comfort.

That, you thought at that moment, must've been one of the many illusions that surrounded you these days. After all, this was one of the Shelby brothers standing in front of you, and the blood on their hands was something nearly impossible to overlook, as was their infamous reputation.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he stood at the entrance for a bit too long, which meant that you had to stand up to go and greet him first. You groaned internally as your body ached in protest, your legs sore, your skin burning in tender places, but you didn't let him see that. You offered a hand, and he took it; sweaty, and warm, but that didn't matter. You gently pulled him towards the center of the room, to the foot of the bed, where you sat and waited for him to follow suit.

He was a good looking young man indeed, but this was not enough to fool you. You had witnessed beautiful forest fires; but that never stopped them from burning everything down to ashes.

Albeit you would've thought a Shelby man to be quite rowdier than this one was.

Once again, it was you who broke the silence.

“I know that the plan was to meet with Lizzie’s friend and not me, so I apologize if I can't reach your expectations. I promise I will try, Mr. Shelby,” as you spoke, you performed what you had memorized expertly, exposing your bare breasts to the dusty air of the room. He didn't need to talk, you knew what was expected of you, and you were sure he’d make you know otherwise, so you paid no mind to his silence.

“It’s fine.” his eyes darted towards your hands as you placed them on his leg, and he shifted in place.

“There's no need to be nervous, sir, I will do anything you ask for,” squeezing one of your hands, you took his with the other and gently led it towards your chest, trying to show him the way, but he wriggled it out of your grasp before any contact was made, scooting away from you uncomfortably. It didn’t leave your hands any colder than before, but his body language did cause a sting at the pit of your stomach, even if for a second. You pursed your lips then, slightly shocked as you tried to decipher his behavior.

“You really don’t need to,” his face was pointing opposite from you, and you wondered what could be of more interest to him than what you had to offer.

“I’m confused.” trying to gain his attention back, you spoke, searching for his gaze with a lean of your body. He barely glanced at your face.

“This is not right, I don’t want to… to force anything, ‘right?” you tried to make sense of his words, looking elsewhere. You were starting to feel frustrated. Was this some sort of game? Was he making fun of you? He didn’t look like he was having fun, precisely. Why was he here, then?

“Do you find me unpleasant, Mr. Shelby?” there wasn’t as much honey tangled in your voice anymore as there was a moment ago, words coming out sharper than you intended them to. Time wasn’t something you enjoyed spending, let alone waste it. If he wished to change whores, he should be a man about it and just say it.

“Please don't call me that.”

“Isn't that your name, though, sir?” your patience was wearing thin, but your voice remained calm.

“My name is Finn, and, I don't,” he stopped himself, seeming to think his words over before he spoke. “it's not that I find you unpleasant, believe me, I’m just… I don’t want this, not this way…”

“Right…” you busied your hands with buttoning up your blouse, concentrating on each button individually. This gave you time to think as the man paced around the room aimlessly. “but you paid for this service.” you carefully pointed out.

“Yes, I know. Look, my family just expects me to, and I thought that I could do it, but… I don't like the way I’m feeling right now.” you couldn’t stop the small frown that made its way to your face. Of course, he was one of those.

“Ashamed?” you wanted to get this over with.

“No, not ashamed!” he looked at you then, and he must’ve seen something lingering in your gaze, because his eyes opened slightly more than usual, and he rushed to say his next words. “This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with my family, I promise.”

You sighed.

‘’Why does your family expect you to?’’

‘’I thought it might be a good idea to tell them that I was, well… a virgin.’’ his last words were soft, like a shameful confession, but you heard them clearly.

‘’Oh,’’ your gaze dropped to the floor for a second. A virgin. That concept was so far away from you, it felt strange to hear it again, to reflect on its meaning like you did once, when you were a child. You do remember the fear, though. Knowing that someday it would be taken from you, painfully, ripped away like a wobbly tooth by someone that did not understand, nor care.

Because they couldn’t understand, not one bit.

Yet, how could you explain the fear that you could see dancing in his soft green eyes? Suddenly you felt as if you were looking at yourself, a version of yourself lost long ago, that knew no delusions; not yet. The one you would do anything to keep safely wrapped around your arms.

How could a Shelby, out of all people, feel so fragile under your eyes?

And how was he alive?

‘’Apparently they think it's time for me to become a man, so,’’

‘’You’re not a man?’’ tilting your head to the side, you questioned.

‘’Not until I’ve fucked, I’m not.’’ you exhaled a laugh at that, getting up from your seat by the bed, and walking up to the small cabinet under the mirror. Opening it, you pulled a small bottle of rum out, pouring it out into one of the glasses that sat on top. Finn Shelby observed your movements from his side of the room, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves.

‘’I mean no offense by this, but that's a weird logic to have.’’ you walked up to him then, offering the glass up. He looked at it for a moment before taking it, with a nod of his head. You went back to fill your own.

‘’You think?’’

‘’I know.’’ you turned to look at him again, leaning back against the cabinet and stopping to sip on your drink. ‘’I’ve met all kinds of people, and I can assure you, no matter how many times they’d visit our whorehouse, or whomever they chose to fuck each night, that didn't make them any more of a man than they were before. Not in my eyes.’’ you shrugged.

‘’So fuck, or don’t. It’s the shit that you do outside of that what will tell everyone else what sort of man you’ve chosen to be.’’

He was silent again, but pain was visibly haunting his face. This was an intense chat to have with a stranger, but somehow this room, the very same room that held countless wars each day, some of them bloody and terrifying, had become no man’s land for the both of you, the sounds of guns and screams too far away for you to hear, and a strange sense of calm filling your chests.

‘’You don’t need to worry about me, I won’t tell anyone,’’ setting your glass down, you busied yourself looking for something else, giving him time to think, since he seemed to need it.

Once you found what you were looking for, you approached him again.

‘’Here,’’ you reached out your hand again, this time holding up to him a considerable amount of money; the same amount that you had received for the job. He seemed to snap out of his small trance then, knitting both eyebrows together softly.

‘’No, no, please keep it!’’ he held your hands and pushed them back gently.

‘’You payed for the fucking, and we’re not fucking, are we?’’ he didn’t let go of your hands, stubbornly holding them close to you.

‘’Let me pay you for your time, otherwise I’ll feel awful,’’

‘’Alright, if that's what you want, I thank you.’’

‘’I should be the one to thank you, really, uh… uhm… ‘’ he stared blankly at you for a second. You noticed his ears turning red, beneath all the freckles that adorned his skin.

‘’Something the matter?’’ you quirked one eyebrow up.

‘’I just realized I never asked for your name, that’s all.’’ he shook his head with an embarrassed smile, and you turned to look at him for a moment while you put the money back in its former place.

‘’My name? And why would that matter?’’ with a light groan, you fully rose back to your feet. God, you felt like sleeping. You hadn’t felt like sleeping in weeks.

‘’How can we become friends if I don't even know what to call you, miss?’’ his smile took you off guard, you had to admit. Lips folding into themselves with a soft curve, bared teeth never seemed so harmless in your eyes.

‘’I suppose you're right,’’ after you told him your name, you reached for your glass and took a final swig, the both of you falling into a silence that could not be described accurately, for it didn’t make you uncomfortable, but at the same time, it gave you a sense of vertigo that felt deeply unusual.

Finn, on the other hand, looked way calmer than before, and you didn’t know him enough to tell, but you could swear there was a hint of the smile before lingering at the corners of his mouth.

‘’Well, I… will be taking my leave now, I’m supposed to be making money. But I’m glad to have met a man as respectable as you’ve proven to be, Finn,’’ you figured some theatricals wouldn't hurt, so you courtly bowed at him with a smile, turning to go for the door.

You stopped when you heard him call your name, however.

‘’Will you stay? I’ve some money left to spend, and I did enjoy our chat, you’re honest.'' when you turned to look at him, he was sitting on the bed again, a light smile while he looked at you. You couldn't help but return it.

''You’re paying me to speak to me? Shouldn't that be the other way around? You’re the Shelby, I’m just…''

“You’re you, and I’m me. At least in this room,'' he didn't stop looking in your eyes whilst you approached his sitting figure, waiting for some sort of confirmation, some mutual agreement. You pursed your lips, looking around for a moment.

''No man in sight?'' he shook his head at your words, and you stepped closer to the bed, to the free spot beside him.

''No woman either,'' he dared say as you sat down finally, letting your back hit the soft bed, and stretching your arms comfortably. You agreed, silently.

''Man, woman, what in the fuck does that mean, anyway?'' you whispered back, and he followed you down onto the softness.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #finn #finn shelby #prostitute!reader #oneshot #finn x reader #finn shelby x y/n #finn shelby x reader #season 4 #s4 #female reader #fem presenting reader #platonic

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