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backtothefanfiction · 3 years

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WHAT BENNY DOESN’T KNOW | Chapter 5

A TRIPLE FRONTIER STORY

Summary: One good night out turns into a two month affair.

Warnings: Mature 18+ ONLY!! Drug use, relationship abuse, mental manipulation, drinking, cheating, angst, language, smut, praise, fingering, slightly rough sex, squirting, unprotected sex (you know the phrase kids...).

Word Count: 6335

A/N- This is a heavy chapter so I have done a longer authors note here. Please read before continuing if you haven’t already read it. Events in this chapter take place 11 months before Italy and a couple weeks after Will’s chapter.

PART FIVE| 11 MONTHS AGO

'Hey Will said you were back. Want to go grab a drink tonight?'

'Yea, sure. Who else is gonna be there?'

'No one else, unless you want to invite others. I kinda just wanted to spend some time with you and catch up.'

'Okay, sounds good to me.'

Frankie had run into Will as he was coming out of a bar earlier that afternoon. He was grateful that Will hadn't notice him coming out through the doors of the establishment, allowing him the chance to pretend like he was just in the neighbourhood; and the fact they had run into each other outside a bar was just coincidence. When Will had casually dropped into conversation that you were home and that he had seen you, that had triggered something in Frankie. Whether it was just his slightly drugged up and alcohol riddled mind or something else, Frankie couldn't tell, but he knew he couldn't get you out of his head.

Frankie had always had a thing for you, ever since Benny first brought you home with him after your last tour together and introduced you to everyone. You were gorgeous, deadly and had a wicked sense of humour, you were everything he wanted in a woman and that's why he had been absolutely terrified to make a move. As time went on and you found your place amongst the group, Frankie came to appreciate how lucky he was just to have you in his life and as a friend and as time moved on further still, it became clear to him that he'd completely missed his chance.

He had started dating Laura just over a year ago now. She was nice, pretty, sassy. She reminded him of a slightly watered down version of you and believing he had fully missed his chance with you and would never get the real you, he figured he could do a lot worse than settling for Laura.

Around month nine of the relationship Frankie started to recognise he wasn't happy. He soon found himself relapsing into old habits he'd fallen into after he'd first come home for good and the PTSD had settled in. It started off as sneaking a bump off someone in the bathroom of a bar one night when they had gone out for drinks with some of Laura's friends. Just a little something to get him through the rest of the evening. A couple of days later it had happened again. It was only when Frankie had dug out his old burner phone from a lock box in the garage and contacted his old dealer, did he realise he was no longer in control anymore, but he didn't care. That's how he had ended up drunk texting you at half past three on a Tuesday afternoon asking you to go out with him for the evening so he didn't have to be at home with 'her'.

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“Hey.” you said getting up from the booth you had commandeered as you waited for him to arrive.

“Hey.” he grinned as he wrapped you up into his arms, his head burying into your hair. It was so soft and smelt amazing, like coming home. “You been waiting here long?” he asked as he reluctantly pulled away from you, both of you sitting yourselves back in the booth. Frankie had taken a moment longer than he should have to get out of his truck when he had first arrived, prioritising snorting another line of coke up his nose off his dashboard, instead of coming straight in to you. A slight panic fogged his brain as he feared he'd taken longer than he had and made you wait ages for him.

“Nah, I only got here like 5 minutes ago or something like that.” You confessed and Frankie relaxed a bit. “Do you want me to go get the first round?” you asked, pointing towards the bar.

“No, its alright, I'll get it.” Frankie said hopping up from the seat. “What do you want?”

“I'll just take a beer.” you replied. You really were a girl after his own heart.

Frankie came back with two bottles of beer a few minutes later, handing one over to you as he tried to manoeuvre himself back into the booth without using his hands. “So when did you get back?” he asked casually, a typical conversation starter.

“Nearly two weeks ago.” you said, taking a sip of your beer.

“Where did you go again?” Frankie asked, his memory of where you'd been the last 6 months hazy.

“Colombia.” you said.

“Ahh, te dio la oportunidad de trabajar en tu español.” Ahh, gave you an opportunity to work on your Spanish.

“Cállate, mi español es muy bueno. Después de todo, aprendí de los mejores.” Shut up, my Spanish is great. I did learn from the best after all, you said stroking his ego and making him blush slightly.

“So what were you doing down there?”

You looked down at your bottle, unable to meet his eyes. “A whole load of stuff that, probably wasn't very legal.” you said, giving him as vague an answer as you possibly could. You looked up, expecting him to have a judgemental look on his face, but instead you were met with one of sympathy. You'd all landed yourselves in some form of shit or another since leaving active service and Frankie was the last person who could pass judgement.

You sat there for almost an hour just talking, drinking your first beers slowly. “You want another one?” Frankie asked, motioning to the empty bottle in your hands that you were now peeling the label off of.

“Yeah, sure.” you said with a smile. You looked to your left to find the pool table had also just become free. “Do you want a game?” you said motioning to the table where the last occupants were throwing the cues on top of it.

“Yeah sure. I'll go get the beers, you go rack ‘em up.” he said, hopping out of the booth with a smile.

You made your way over to the pool table, reaching your hand into the pocket of your jeans, searching for loose change. You took the quarters out, slotting them into the machine. The balls dropped like thunder as they were released, rolling towards the end of the table so you could pull them out the hole in the side. You rolled the discarded pool cues to the side of the table as you reached for the triangle, placing it on the top near you. You bent down to pull out the balls, dropping them blindly inside the triangle above your head. When you had pulled out the last one you stood and was met with Frankie's still smiling face making his way back over to you.

He handed you the beer and you took a sip before placing it on the edge of the table so you could use both your hands to pick out the balls, moving them into their correct spots within the triangle, then sliding them all into place. “Who's going first?” you asked Frankie who had put the pool cues that had been on the table, back into the rack on the wall, choosing his own to play with in the process.

“Well that depends, you get any better at breaking.” you screwed up your mouth at the cheap shot he'd just taken. You were a decent pool player but you were awful at getting the game started.

“Fine Morales, looks like you're going first.”

“Thank you.” he said, jokingly tipping his head at you as he put himself in position at the end of the table.

There was a loud crack as Frankie hit the triangle, the balls bouncing off each other in different directions. You winced in disbelief as he managed to pot two balls with just one shot. He flashed his eyebrows at you, showing off. “You know I think that was one of each.” you taunted him, bringing him back to earth. “You can only chose one, what's it gonna be?”

“Just because I know how much you love playing stripes...” he said leaving the sentence open with a shrug before moving himself around the table to pot one of the solid coloured balls. For a moment, both of you watched eagerly expecting it to go in, but it leaned to the right at the last second and bounced back, away from the hole.

You took a quick sip of your beer before placing it back on the side. “Ready to see how it's done.” you teased, dancing around the table sizing up your first shot. You started out with an easy shot, potting it with not much trouble. Frankie gave you a small nod of acknowledgment before you began circling the table again, working out your next move. You saw it near the corner. You lined up your shot and... clunk, you sank another ball into the hole.

You stood back from the table grinning as you looked over to him, ready to taunt. “That's two.” you said, a faint giggle at the end of the sentence. You danced around the table again looking for the next one. You decided to try your luck but ultimately missed.

“Hey, you can’t get them all in one go.” he said, pushing himself off the wall where he had been leaning. He handed you his beer to hold as he took his go. He fumbled his shot and you were soon handing his drink back to him to take your next go.

It had ended up being a quick game. You had won, easily potting ball after ball, much to Frankie's amazement. “Okay, you had to have been cheating. I want a rematch.” Frankie said, playfully challenging you.

“I mean, I am more than happy to give you one... then beat your ass again and then again and again.” you laughed.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just rack 'em up again. I gotta go to the restroom.” he said backing away towards the door to the toilets.

When Frankie came back from the toilet he carried himself differently. He seemed both a little bit shinier but also spacey. It was a look you had recognised in people around you many times and had even, on occasion, experienced yourself. You had experimented with drugs a few times over the years, sometimes to keep your cover when trying to get intelligence out of a contact, other times just because it was a night out and you wanted to let your hair down. You never made a habit of it though. You never would have pegged Frankie of making a habit of it either, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to you, as you thought back on his behaviour at the start of the night, that it was.

“Hey, you ready?” he said as he picked his pool cue back up, snapping you away from your internal monologue. 'He's a grown man, he knows what he's doing' you berated yourself, shrugging off his actions. “You wanna break this time?” he asked you, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

You pulled a face of discomfort. “Uhh.”

“Come on, I'll help you. You'll never get better if you don't practice.”

“Fine.” you said rolling your eyes, your footsteps falling heavier, stomping, mocking a stroppy teenager. He laughed.

“Come here.” He said ushering you to the table and taking a stance behind you. “You're problem is you doubt yourself and then get shaky on your follow through.” He said as you leant forward and lined your cue up with the ball. He leaned over with you, one hand on your left arm, helping hold it steady, the other finding a home over your hand on the cue.

He helped guide it back and you relaxed into his touch as you let him manipulate the shot. It was a gentle, yet forceful, nudge of the cue that sent the white ball careening quickly towards the waiting triangle of balls at the other end of the table. You turned back to him, smiling in triumph at the clack of balls as they scattered across the table. That's when you realised how close the two of you were. You couldn't help but look directly into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, somehow they were both bright and glassy at the same time.

You weren't sure why you were doing it, but you found your fingers reaching for the front pocket of his jeans, hooking just the tips of them in slightly, nudging the bag of blow. His eyes grew panicked as you began to pull the small baggy from his pocket, curling it into your fingers. You bit your lower lip, trying to search his eyes for how he was going to react, if he was going to react. He didn't move. A part of you thought about just getting rid of it, just tossing it out, but you were having a good time with Frankie, he was having a good time with you. You felt safe and it had been so long since you'd had a good night out you thought 'fuck it'.

Neither of you said anything as you began to creep away, bag still firmly scrunched into your fingers. Frankie tried to act casual, attempting to go back to focusing on the game as you snuck off to the toilet. He assumed you had gone to get rid of the coke, he never imagined you'd have some yourself.

You rushed into one of the stalls, quickly assessing how best to go about this. You decided that none of the surfaces were sanitary enough to do this properly. You sighed, half excited, half still berating yourself for stooping to this, as you took a seat on top of the toilet lid. You tucked your hair out of the way before opening up the baggy and tapping only a small amount of the white powder onto the back of your hand. You listened a second, making sure there was no one else in the bathroom with you. Silence. You quickly lifted the back of your hand to your nose, closing off one of the nasal passages and then sucking in all of the powder, with your intake of air, with the other.

You'd forgotten how awful it felt in that first moment, your nose burning. You coughed and continued sniffing as you attempted to clear the passage, waiting for the initial pain and discomfort to subside. It only took a moment for the rush of euphoria to set in. You resealed the bag, then wiped off any remaining remnants on your hands, before tucking the baggy back into your clutched fingers, hiding it, as you left the stall. You quickly checked yourself over in the mirror, self consciously wiping underneath your nose, then fixing any stray hairs.

As you went back out into the bar, the effects of the drug really started to settle in. Everything seemed shinier and brighter, happier. You made your way back over to Frankie who was stood leaning against his pool cue, awaiting your return.

He stared at you intensely, trying to work out what it was that you had done with the drugs. It was only when you came to a stop directly in front of him and he got a look at your eyes did he realised what you'd truly done. He found himself breaking out into a small smile of adoration, impressed by your courageousness, but it carried with it this underlining guilt in the pit of his stomach. That feeling of guilt though was quickly quashed altogether by another feeling as you pressed yourself close to him once again so you could discreetly put the little bag back in his pocket. You gave him a sly smile and that was it. That was the moment Frankie knew he was completely in love with you. You gave him a coy grin before reaching for your pool cue and continuing the game.

Watching the coloured balls dance across the table top when you hit them, felt so much more satisfying now. You didn't even care if you were losing as long as you got to keep watching the balls of colour roll back and forth across the table. You enjoyed your beer and your company, you and Frankie nudging each other and taking any chance possible to touch one another now you were both happy and relaxed. “Come on Morales.” you said as you placed your hands over his shoulders, giving them an over exaggerated massage like he was about to go into a fight. He tried to shrug you off so he could concentrate and sink his last ball. You stopped your movements but didn't take your hands away and both of you froze watching the ball intently as he took the shot. Clunk.

He stood up straight and whirled around, wrapping you in his arms, a big grin on his face. “You know I let you win right?” you teased him.

“Sure you did.” he said placing a kiss on top of your head before leaning back slightly so he could get a better look at your smile, his arm still firmly around your shoulder. He leaned back against the table, his legs spread apart slightly so you could rest between them. You were both smiling content in the embrace, neither one of you wanting to pull away.

Frankie moved his hands to rest against your hips as he began to wrestle with the idea that had just popped into his head. He looked longingly to your lips, wanting to kiss them. Your smile faded as you scanned his face, realising what he was thinking. It was probably only 3 or 4 seconds but it felt so much longer due to the pace at which your next thoughts flooded your head. 'Oh my gosh, are we gonna kiss? What about Laura? Maybe they broke up? Oh I really want to kiss him.' then his lips were on yours and it was like someone had just set off a bunch of fireworks in your brain. Your head felt like it was fizzing and tingling, you couldn't help but smile as you melted into the kiss.

Frankie felt your lips pull tight against his as your smile burst from your lips and it only encouraged his own. He pulled away only briefly so you could both acknowledge how happy you were right then in that moment, but you quickly closed the gap again, practically throwing yourself into him, desperate to feel that tingling feeling in your brain again. At your enthusiasm, Frankie wasted no time deepening the kiss, his hands snaking down to your ass and pulling you tighter to him. This was everything he ever wanted, what he'd dreamed about for years now and it was finally happening. It felt better than he could have ever imagined it to be. Your kisses were powerful and hungry and for a moment you both almost forgot where you were.

Frankie quickly broke the kiss. You were about to protest when he took hold of your hand and started leading you to the door.

Neither of you said anything as he lead you to his truck. He gave you one more quick passionate kiss before opening the passenger side door to you and encouraging you to get in. You happily hopped in before turning back to give him another kiss as he closed the door.

He drove you both back to your place, using his spare key to let you both into the apartment. You had given each of the boys a spare key to your place just in case of emergencies but this was the first time you'd ever seen Frankie use his and it made you happy. The image of it felt so natural to you, like you were both coming home together after a long day.

You didn't have time to revel in the domesticity of it though as Frankie pulled you inside, rapidly closing the door before latching his lips back onto yours. You felt him lift you up into his arms and he carried you to your bedroom.

Your feet dropped back to the floor as you both made it through the doorway, Frankie wasting no time to start undressing you and himself between hungry kisses, both of your tongues fighting to pull each other back together after every break.

When you were both completely naked Frankie wrapped his arms tightly around your middle, lifting you slightly, walking you both towards the bed which you collapsed onto together, Frankie coming to lay on top of you. You reached your hands up into his hair as he covered your naked body with his own. It was only in that moment that you fully realised he hadn't been wearing his trademark hat this evening. You made a mental note of the actions significance and happily kept smiling and giggling into his kisses.

A sudden feeling took over in the pit of your stomach as you watched Frankie's gaze darken, his lust for you taking over at your joyful sounds and the way your naked body moved underneath him. You felt his hands move to your hips and he suddenly flipped you over onto your stomach before guiding your hips up so you were resting on your knees, your ass and pussy on full display for him. “Oh god.” Frankie groaned at the sight. “Hold it there baby, there's something I wanna do.”

You felt him get off the bed and heard him shuffle around on the floor for something. It took you a moment for your brain to realise what he was doing. He was rooting back into his pocket for the cocaine. You thought about saying something but decided not to for fear it would ruin the moment and this would all stop. This was Frankie. You had wanted this for so long and you were willing to put up with anything just to have his love and attention all to yourself.

You felt his hand smooth over your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh, giving it a squeeze before he let go. You shifted your head slightly so you could look back and watch him as he opened the little baggy and began gently patting the powder out of it, leaving a line of it across your right cheek. The dark look in his eyes as he stared at the sight made your knees want to go weak. He could sense the slight tremble within you, “Hold still for me baby.” he said as he took hold of you again, his hands firmly placed either side of your ass, holding you still. You closed your eyes, thinking if you didn't see what was about to happen, maybe you could act like it never did.

It all happened so quickly you didn't even have time to really take it in. Frankie quickly leant down, taking the powder up his nose, his tongue coming out to lick up any remaining powder before he thrust his face between your folds. You let out a startled squeal of pleasure as you felt Frankie's tongue dive straight in, catching you completely off guard. His patchy facial hair tickled your skin and you jerked back further towards his face, Frankie moaning in pleasure at the feeling.

He quickly pulled his mouth away, thrusting two fingers inside you instead, stretching you out and making sure you were ready. His fingers took a moment to explore your heat and you moaned as this thick fingers stroked your inner walls. You let out a groan when he took his fingers out and you were about to lift your head to turn and whine pathetically about it when he suddenly thrust his cock inside you.

“Oh fuck.” you cried out as you attempted to adjust to his size. He leant over you, his arm wrapping around your upper chest, pulling you to your hands. His head nuzzled into your neck, trying to get you to turn your head so he could kiss you. As you began to turn it towards him, his hand that had been holding your chest moved up to grasp your jaw, forcing your lips to his. He felt you clench around him as you reacted to the power move and he gently rolled his hips into you, your back arching, trying to encourage him even deeper.

He began pounding into you rapidly as he straightened himself up again. His grip on your hips was firm, holding you steady, pulling you back into him with every thrust. The feeling was overwhelming and the lingering effects of the cocaine only heightened everything more. “Oh my god baby, you feel so fucking good.” he praised you as your moans of pleasure rang out through the room.

You felt him lean forward again and you turned your head, seeking out his lips once more. “I've wanted this for so fucking long.” he grunted out between kisses. He almost melted when you moaned back into his lips in response to his words. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling your back into his chest again, making his rapid thrusts even deeper. He was hitting a certain spot inside you and it was devastating, your eyes wanting to roll back into your head as you relaxed it against his shoulder.

A feeling began to rise inside you. It felt so overwhelming and rapid you weren't even sure what was happening until it had already happened. Frankie felt your walls pushing back against him and when he thrust back he was forced out of you completely, your release gushing all over his cock and the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ did you just-” he couldn't even say the word. He was so fucking happy and impressed, but he saw the look of surprise on your face. He quickly crashed his lips into yours as he tried to reassure you that what had happened was a good thing. No a great thing. “Fucking do it again for me baby.” he said as he lined himself back up with your entrance and thrusted himself inside you once more.

You couldn't help but cry out, your mouth falling open against his. You felt so sensitive between your legs it didn't take much time at all before Frankie had you squirting again. “That's it, that's my girl. You're so fucking beautiful when you do that baby.” he said as he turned you around to face him. He could tell your eyes were unfocussed, completely blissed out from each devastating orgasm he was pulling from you.

He placed his hands either side of your head, smoothing your hair out of your face as he kissed it. He sat himself back on the bed, trying to avoid the wet patch on the sheets, pulling you to sit on top of him. He held you close as he pulled you back down onto his erection and you relaxed your head against his shoulder as he continued to smooth your hair. He began rocking you gently on top of him, letting you have a small break, both of you enjoying the moment of being close.

When you felt your strength coming back to you, you lifted your head from his shoulder, fixing your lips to his again. He lifted you in his arms, laying you back on the bed. He lifted your legs back, allowing him to push himself deeper inside you as his thrust began to pick up again.

You placed your hands either side of his head, forcing your eyes to focus on one another. “Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.” he said, his forehead pressing into yours. You're mouth hung open again, your breaths coming out fast inbetween his thrusts, your moans stuttering wordlessly from your lips. He could tell your eyes were starting to become unfocussed again as your next orgasm built inside you.

He placed his hands under your hips, lifting them slightly allowing his thrusts to reach deeper still. The feeling inside you was devastating and your hand reached to rub circles over your clit, encouraging your release to come even faster. Once again Frankie felt himself being forced out from inside you as you once again gushed all over him and the bed, only this time he had a much better view. He was getting so close to his own climax and this only spurred him on even more. He barely gave you a moment to recover before he was thrusting himself back deep inside you.

His thrust were rapid as he chased his own finish and your fingers clawed at his back as you tried to ground yourself. Frankie let out a deep growl as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. His thrusts became sporadic, stuttering as he lifted his head to capture your lips in his own as he finished inside you. He stilled inside you and you relaxed into his arms as you felt every pulse of his cock inside you. It was a feeling that made you feel proud.

You looked up into his eyes. They were ones of complete bliss and adoration. You wanted to tell him you loved him but the words caught in your mouth so you settled for kissing him once more. This time the kiss was tender and not just because you were both exhausted. It said everything you both didn't feel like you could say. A silent acknowledgment of love.

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“Hey where are you going?” you asked him as he climbed from the bed an hour later and began pulling on his clothes.

“I gotta go.” he said as he shrugged on his t-shirt, unable to meet your eyes,

“Oh, okay.” you said, sitting up and curling your knees up to your chest. You watched him silently as your racing thoughts from the bar slowly started coming back to you. They were more prominent now in this post sex quiet. “Frankie.” your voice said tentatively. It was half broken as the reality of the situation set in and an ache began to form in your chest, along with a churning feeling in your stomach. He looked back at you, eyes sorrowful.

Frankie felt like he had just been punched in the gut. He could see the hurt behind your eyes and it killed him. He knew his love for you was so great and he hated that he was hurting you in this moment. He made his way across the room to you, his arms leaning on the bed either side of you as he leant down to kiss you. “I'm gonna make this right, I promise.” he said as you dipped your head away from him. He gave you a tender kiss on your fore head. “I'll text you in the morning.” he said before placing a hand under your chin, encouraging you to lift your head once more so he could give you a final kiss goodbye. You could only watch silently and helplessly from your bed as he turned and walked away. You practically flinched as you heard the front door close behind him, the sound echoing around your quiet apartment, the reality of your actions setting in. What the fuck had you done.

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True to his word, Frankie had indeed messaged you the following morning. There was no mention of Laura just an 'I really want to see you. Can I come over later.' You had of course said yes and you had both had a repeat of the night before, just this time with pizza and TV. You had wanted him to stay, but you also understood why he couldn't. He promised you he would soon though.

You had both carried on that way, the days turning into weeks. Wild nights turning into wild afternoons, always with the promise that at some point Frankie would break up with Laura and you would be together properly soon.

One week turned into two months and with every passing day your feelings for Frankie were growing stronger and stronger. You didn't care if he hadn't left Laura yet. You didn't care about the drugs, mostly because you could see he was using less and less when he was around you. You could see he was getting better. He was happier and shinier and you knew when he was ready he would end things with her and move in with you.

It was a Saturday evening when he turned up on your doorstep drunk and high and unable to get his key into the lock to let himself in. When you finally opened the door to him there were tears in his eyes. “Frankie?” his name fell from your lips as a question as he stumbled through the door. He made a beeline for your kitchen, searching the cupboards for more alcohol to drink.

You rushed over to him as you saw him pull a half full bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He didn't even bother to get himself a glass, just started sipping it straight from the bottle. “Frankie, what the fuck is going on?” you asked as you snatched the bottle from his grasp.

“She's pregnant.” he choked out. Your face dropped, complete shock taking over.

“What?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Laura, she's pregnant.” he said again. His gaze wouldn't lift from a spot on the floor. There was silence between you as you both let the information settle in.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him tentatively.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.” he said again, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

“No-”

“I don't want to be with her-”

“Frankie she's carrying your kid.”

“I don't want to be with her, I want to be with you.” he said again stepping towards you, his hands outstretched reaching for you. You remained frozen to the spot as his hands rested either side of your face. “I love you. I don't love her, I want to be with you.”

��How long have you know?” you asked him, your voice cold. He was silent. “How long have you known?” you asked him again, your voice rising, becoming desperate.

“About a week.” he finally admitted. You stepped backwards, away from his touch, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “Please baby, please-” he began to beg, trying to step forward and close the distance between you again but you kept stepping away, shaking your head in disbelief. “Please, you make me better. I'm better when I'm with you.” You turned away from him, leaving the room in an attempt to get away, panic rising up inside you.

“I'll tell her everything, I'll get help, I promise just please-”

“FRANKIE STOP!” you shouted, rounding on him. He finally fell silent, allowing you a moment to breathe, to think. “I can't do this anymore.” your voice said broken. “If you really loved me, if you were actually going to leave her you would have done it weeks ago when you said you would. If you didn't want to be with her, why were you still sleeping with her, why did you get her pregnant-”

“I don't even remember it.” his voice came back broken and his knees gave way, his back leaning against the open kitchen door. He was sobbing now.

“Frankie, you need help.” you said to him tenderly as you made your way towards him. You sat on the floor beside him, your head leaning on his shoulder. His head slumped against yours in defeat.

“How did I fuck this up so bad?” he asked you. You didn't answer. You didn't need to. “I wish I had a time machine, like that car in that movie, back to the future,,, or that hot tub in that stupid movie Benny made me watch.” he started, his voice calming. “I wish I could go back to when I first met you and tell you how I felt about you. I wish I had told you I loved you the moment I saw you. I wish I'd never let Will or Santiago have the chance to fuck you before I did. Maybe then you would be the one carrying my child right now and not her.”

You let his words hang in the air. You wished more than anything that things could be different right now but they weren't. Frankie had a drug addiction. He had cheated on his girlfriend with you. He had promised you he would leave her but he didn't. Instead he had gotten her pregnant. You had been willing to over look so much for Frankie but for your own sake you couldn't do it anymore. There was a child involved now and there was no way you were gonna hang around and make this situation more difficult for everyone. “I'm gonna go to Italy.” you told him. He looked at you lost.

You had gotten the call that morning. You had been wondering all day whether or not you should take the job but now you saw it as the only option you had. You both needed space. Frankie needed to be there for Laura, for his kid and you couldn't be here as a temptation for him. “My supervisor called this morning about a job in Italy. I think I'm gonna go. I think we both just need some space away from each other to clear our heads.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. Could be a couple of months, could be longer.”

“I love you.” he said again after a moments silence, hoping it would change your mind, hoping it would make you stay.

“Promise me you'll get help Frankie.” was all you said. You were on the next flight to Italy the following morning.

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@icanbeyourjedi @theshiningharmony @darnitdraco @kesskirata @wyn-dixie @rosiefridayrogersunday @actual-spawn-of-satan @clydesducktape @asta-lily @honey-hi @heythere-mel @heidi-toevs @wigofokoye @choricenter @goodgriefitsawildworld @lostgirlheather @d0uwannkn0w @justdrawings101 @nicotinebirds @bisexualolympus @babyratt19 @cookiecat22 @peterhollandkait @a-bang-for-your-bucky @asta-lily @codenamewife @lazyunknownwerewolf @emmy626 @natura1phenomenon @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @fangirl-316 @thisisthewaytofiction @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @aficwhore @slayerx147 @alberta-sunrise @itspdameronthings @nano-pax @bunnypascal @niki-xie @eowynshairflip @mamacitapascal @dobbyjen @t3rradactyl

#triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #what benny doesn’t know #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #will miller #william ironhead miller #will miller x reader #benny miller

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 2)

read Chapter 1 here

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 2.3k (exactly the same as last chapter, i’m proud of myself lol)

warnings: just fluff and ~pining~ for now

thanks again to @evnscvll for making this moodboard-- and this series is for her 3k celebration challenge so def check out her writing!

You should’ve known that you wouldn’t be able to force yourself to write, but after a quick shower to wash off the day’s journey, you decided there was nothing better to do but sit at the desk and hope for inspiration.

Your husband had never been very supportive of your writing, which is why you had struggled to complete your latest novel. He, like your publisher and many of your readers, wanted a sequel to your last book, in spite of the fact that you were adamant it was impossible. It was a complete story, even if the ending was ambiguous. There was no room for growth in the characters or the world of the story; just because readers wanted more didn’t mean that they would actually enjoy a forced product.

The publisher and your husband, however, shared a very strong opinion: the fans won’t care if it’s forced, and neither should you as long as it sells. But, they weren’t writers. You were. And you knew there were different stories you needed to tell… if only you could find the words for them.

You were a few pages in when you heard the stairs creaking outside your closed door. There was a quick knock at the door; you answered with an offer to come in.

“I was just wondering if you wanted some coffee,” Mrs. Alberti explained as she crossed the room, standing beside you at the desk. You nodded with a quick thank you as she set the cup and saucer down onto the wood. “Oh heavens, he’s working on the house again,” she suddenly groaned, motioning out the window.

You leaned over and nearly spit out your coffee when you saw Sebastian outside. He was only wearing some much-too-tight jeans, driving a hammer down onto wood as the sun cast orange light over his body. He was glistening with sweat, which was probably pretty uncomfortable for him but he looked damn good anyways.

“Is he always… like that?” you shuddered.

“Maybe I didn’t just hire him because he was cheap,” she shrugged, handing you a cloth. “Go soak this in cold water and bring it to him, he looks overheated.”

You should’ve questioned why she was giving you chores, but you just took the rag and did as she asked. He didn’t notice you walking out to him at first, but stopped when he did see you, waving quickly and setting down his hammer.

“For the heat,” you explained as you handed it to him.

“Ah, mulțumesc,” he nodded, accepting the rag with a smile.

As he wiped the sweat from his face, you found your gaze trailing over his arms, down his chest and abdomen. Jesus, how could this guy eat Mrs. Alberti’s cooking every day and still have washboard abs? When you looked back up to his face, he was looking right at you with a grin-- oh shit, had he caught you ogling? But then again, maybe he wanted you to ogle. Why else would he be doing housework so… shirtlessly?

“Wh-what are you working on?” you asked him to break the silence. He gave you a puzzled look. “Er, the wood,” you motioned to the work he was doing, “why?”

His face softened with understanding. “Construiesc un cadru nou pentru fereastră,” he explained, motioning vaguely to the house, “în partea de est a casei.”

“Right…” you nodded, realizing that you had no idea what he’d said. Clearly you hadn’t thought this through.

“Aici, permiteți-mi să vă arăt,” he said, grabbing a board and walking past you, motioning for you to follow him as he slung the rag over his shoulder. You figured you looked like a lost puppy trailing behind him like this.

He stopped when you reached the wall of the house, and grabbed part of the window frame; it creaked and moved as he wiggled it, clearly on the verge of falling off. Then, he held up the new board he had been hammering and you realized that it was going to replace the rotting portions of the frame.

“A intelege?” he smiled.

“Da!” you answered, and he laughed.

“Cred că asta contează ca român,” he shrugged.

“It’s good you’re fixing the window. I’m sure Mrs. Alberti appreciates everything you do.”

“Bătrâna îmi plătește rahat, dar sfârșesc trăind aici gratis.”

“Well, I should let you get back to it,” you decided as you stepped back with an uncomfortable smile.

“Nu te voi mai ține, sunt sigur că ești ocupat,” he said, and though you had no real way to interpret it, his tone didn’t seem to indicate that he was trying to stop you from going.

With a little wave and a heavy sense of god why am I such a dork?, you left him and returned indoors.

First nights in new places were always sort of surreal, but this was definitely less weird than the sleeper car of the train. You’d felt like a proper stowaway then, but you had a stronger feeling of belonging here… even if you didn’t quite feel like you had any place to call home at the moment.

As you laid in bed and looked at the room turned on its side, you found yourself missing your room. Your real room. It had been designed and decorated somewhat meticulously, but most of all you missed the things about it that you hadn’t put that kind of thought into: the random earrings on your bedside table, discarded casually before you went to sleep; the layers of blazers and skirts draped over the chair in the corner; the still-slightly-visible coffee stain on the corner of the rug, even though you’d spent hours trying to get it out.

Meanwhile, this room was so obviously not a space that people lived in, but just a space people passed through. Though nowhere near as sterile as a traditional hotel room, it had the same emptiness even with its personality-- specifically, a reflection of someone else’s personality rather than your own.

All that said, sleeping was pretty easy once you got yourself comfortable in the fluffy mattress, even if you were aware all through the night that you were not at home. So aware, even, that you weren’t surprised at all when you woke up in the new space for the first time. What you were surprised by was the sounds of heavy rain against your window, immediately dashing your plans for a morning jog. As much as it seemed apropos to type by the window instead and soak in the moody weather, you decided to head downstairs for a cup of coffee first. Already having forgotten where you had left off, you grabbed the pages you'd already written to reread with your breakfast as you slipped on some comfortable clothes and made your way down the creaky steps

Passing through the living area, it was impossible not to notice Sebastian sitting in one of the chairs, staring intently at a half-played chessboard. Stopping for a moment to try to determine what he was doing, he moved a piece and you realized he must be playing with himself.

Against himself, you interrupted your own thought, he's playing against himself… important distinction.

“You play chess?” you asked, pointing to the board.

“Şah,” he replied.

You pointed to the chair across from him. “Can I join you?”

“Luaţi loc,” he offered as he gestured to it as well, nodding in approval. You smiled and sat down as he reorganized the pieces back to the starting position.

“Negru?” he asked, pointing to the black pieces-- “Sau alb?”-- he pointed to the white.

“Um, black,” you decided, pointing to them since they were already on your side anyways.

“Tu primul,” he prompted you, and you moved your pawn. He moved his, and after that, it was long stretches of silence between moves. It didn’t feel awkward anymore, though; even between two people who share a language, chess is usually a silent affair.

“Check,” you announced as your bishop came into range of his king. He looked up from the board and gave you a puzzled look. “The bishop, see?” you demonstrated, tracing a line through the air over the diagonal squares which led from your piece to his.

“Ahh,” he nodded, stroking his chin as he considered his next move. It called additional attention to the shadow of stubble which dusted over his jaw.

He maneuvred a rook in the path of your bishop, and you settled back into your chair and you pondered your options.

The next hour went by oddly quickly. Not in a rushed way, just in a way that made you wonder how it had already been an hour.

“Şah,” he informed you as his knight threatened your king. You weren’t sure if it was supposed to mean ‘check’ or ‘checkmate,’ but since you were able to capture his knight with a pawn, it was definitely just a check.

Instead of mourning his knight, he grinned and moved a rook forward, capturing the aforementioned pawn and trapping your king for good. You gasped a little as you realized you’d fallen right into his trap.

“Şah-Mat,” he declared triumphantly. That definitely meant ‘checkmate’; you could tell by the smug look on his face as he crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair.

“You got me, man, that was sneaky,” you smiled. Offering your hand for a shake, you looked up at him: “Good game.”

He grabbed your hand and shook it, squeezing just tight enough that you wondered if you were the only one noticing a certain energy to the air. “Bun joc,” he replied with a nod and a smile.

He let go of your hand after lingering just a little too long, his fingers brushing over yours for an electric moment.

Now the silence was awkward again, as the two of you sat in the high-backed chairs, staring across the table at each other.

“So, you really don’t speak any English at all, huh?” you considered aloud. He looked back at you vacantly. “English? Even one word?” you lifted one finger as a symbol.

“Halloo,” he replied-- apparently a broken attempt at ‘hello.’ You laughed a little.

“Yes, that counts! Did you learn any English in school?”

“Televiziune,” he replied.

“Ah yes,” you nodded, “I know what that is. Television; I’m a big fan myself.”

“Puteți vorbi un singur cuvânt de limba română?” he asked you, raising one finger as well. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

“You mean other than ‘da’? Or ‘salut’?” you asked with a laugh.

“Pentru a fi corect, acestea sunt cuvinte,” he shrugged.

“Teach me,” you requested. “Just one word.”

You looked around the room, settling on a lamp. “What is this? In Romanian-- română?”

“Lampă,” he replied.

“Okay, well, that one isn’t very exciting,” you frowned. “Um, what about this?” you bent down from your chair, picking up one corner of the rug.

“Covor,” he answered, leaning down with you to run his hand over the soft shag.

“Covor,” you repeated, surely butchering it.

“Da,” he smiled. Okay, maybe you didn’t butcher it so bad, or maybe he was just being nice.

“Can you teach me more?” you asked, hoping it wasn’t too demanding.

“Uhhh,” he stalled, looking around the room. Finally, he pointed to the fireplace. “Vatră.”

“Vatră, fireplace,” you tried to memorize it as he said it.

You pointed to the window. “What’s the window called?”

“Fereastră.”

You pointed to the stairway. “Scară,” he informed you, smiling a little. You hoped this wasn’t boring for him, because you were actually having a bit of fun.

You pointed to his feet. He furrowed his brow a little and lifted one, grabbing his shoe. You nodded; “Pantof,” he explained.

You grabbed your blouse and shook it a little, appreciating the puffs of cool air that rolled down your chest; “Bluză.”

You pointed to him; “Sebastian.”

You already knew that, but it was interesting to hear the way he said it versus Mrs. Alberti’s pronunciation. “Yes, that’s an English name too,” you told him, “but pronounced differently…”

You wondered if your name had another pronunciation or translation, so you pointed to yourself; “Frumoasă,” he said, a little slower, a little more thoughtfully.

“Is that the Romanian equivalent to my name-- or does it mean ‘woman’?” you asked. He just smiled vacantly.

“This,” you pointed to the book, “what is this called?”

“Carte,” he answered. “Engleză?”

“Book,” you replied.

“...book…” he said slowly, contemplatively.

Suddenly inspired, you grabbed the loose pages of manuscript that you’d laid on the small table beside you. “Book,” you repeated, flipping through the pages. He seemed confused. “My book,” you clarified, pointing back and forth from yourself the papers. “I’m writing this-- that’s why I’m here.”

“Ah!” his face lit up with recognition. “Ar trebui să scrii o carte!”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m a writer; or, I’m trying to be. My last book did… better than my first, at least.”

“Ce fel de carte este?” he asked. You looked at him with confusion to indicate you weren’t sure what he was asking. “Uhh, book… este--” he made a sad face, rubbing under his eyes like a cartoon character’s weeping-- “sau--” he fake-laughed.

You laughed, actually, at his charades. “It’s a thriller, it’s crime--” you thought for a moment, then made the motion of stabbing someone with a knife.

His eyes got wider. “Este… erotic?”

You choked a little, realizing that your hand movement was… more ambiguous than you originally intended. “No!” you blurted out suddenly. “No, it’s… crime, mystery--”

You looked around and saw a magnifying glass resting on the side table by your chair; grabbing it, you held it to your face and gave your best quizzical look.

“Oh! Crimă!” he grinned. “Detectiv?”

“Yes, yes, there’s a detective,” you sighed satisfactorily, “and absolutely no handjobs.”

shamelessly tagging the people who liked chapter 1! @mariahthelioness29 @navybrat817 @navegandoaciegas @mandalorianspace @2smittinkittin @maizyistrash @honeygingergemini

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fic

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“You get me” Pt. 2 -- aka “I got you” (famous!y/n x harry)

Harry x famous!y/n - FLUFF pretty much

ahh you all are so kind and literally you all mean so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting! Means the world to me! NOT PROOFREAD

also if anyone wants to let me know how to properly do a tag list ?? as of now I have a couple people on the tag list so yah but if it grows i might need some tips

Taglist: @marauderswhisperer, @morgannope, @daddystevee

Now for Pt. 2 - feedback super welcome, maybe we’ll have a part 3 and please no stealing of the work :)

Dedicated to all the peeps out there who find themselves constantly in line with Harry and his vibes but feel weird agreeing with him constantly because people think you’re only that way because you’re in love with him

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissin’ and stuff, nothing graphic

Pt. 1

“Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed.

“No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips but nonetheless he reassured you.

It’s seldom that one person meets someone so perfectly matched to themselves. So similar yet not annoyingly so. Two pieces of clothing from the same custom collection, perhaps. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry. Your conversations ranged from silly situations to music inspiration to any dreams you had unfulfilled. Your answers always lined up - not the same, but exceptionally similar and the other was always quick to say “wait, me too” and jump into their own story.

It was the next morning after hanging out at Harry’s and you’d had trouble sleeping, worrying about not having your phone with you. Luckily, that meant your body was quick to wake you up in the morning even without your usual alarm. When you woke up, you quickly dressed in sweats and a tank top, shuffled some shoes on, and freshened yourself up with some quick hygiene care - teethbrushing, facewashing, and the likes. Then, you jogged to your car, anxious to reunite with your phone and the prospect of seeing Harry again so soon moved your legs far quicker than normal. You had figured you wouldn’t see him very often, despite the amazing friendship the two of you had already cultivated, he lived in England mainly and you lived in the United States - California specifically, the furthest you could get from the Harry within the continental United States, sadly. This mistake gave you the chance to see him much sooner than expected and you were very grateful for it.

As you drove out to Malibu, you kept the windows down and your sun roof open. It was a lovely day and you could never get enough of the warm wind whipping around you as you belted out the lyrics to the old rock radio songs. When you sensed you were getting closer to Harry’s you felt yourself begin to tingle, your nerves were gone this time, only excitement filled you as you took in the now familiar surroundings. Harry’s home was set further back from the street so that random pedestrians and street noises never reached the house. You noticed more and appreciated the total beauty of the grounds while you walked up to the house this time, the daytime sun and the lack of nerves both allowing you to soak it all it.

Your actions mirrored those of the previous night, just in a slight fast forward - everything moving faster. You had began to worry slightly though, ‘what if he is upset that I woke him up, what if he is out and I can’t get my phone, what if he has early morning company?’. Still you proceeded to knock and hoped to hear Harry’s footsteps any moment. Thankfully, your ears were greeted with the sound of rustling and soft, slow steps behind the door. You then heard the deadbolt turn and again Harry was before you. His hair fell into his sleepy spectacle-clad eyes, barely open, but he had raised a hand to rub out the sleep from one of them as he opened the door, skewing his glasses. You took in his disheveled appearance, you had obviously woken him, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a hoodie on that was askew, showing a hint of his tanned olive skin - a corner of one of his laurels if you were being honest but you forced yourself to believe it was just a shadow. His feet were bare and you noticed his toenails were painted electric purple and a deep green.

“Hi,” you squeaked, biting your lip. Harry blinked hard and opened his eyes and raised his brows, just trying to wake himself up, but also slightly confused to see you at his doorstep. He had texted you last night, asking if you’d made it home safely, but had never heard back. He hadn’t worried, just assumed you weren’t always on your phone. His was a light sleeper and had heard the knock on the door echo through the house, so he slipped on a hoodie and went to see who it was, when it was you it was definitely surprising. Your presence was shining through his stupor, a small smile graced your face, but it radiated light as strong as the sun.

“Y/N... s’lovely t’see you again, but why’re you ‘ere, love?” He almost whispered your name, his voice catching in his throat due to the lack of use during his slumber. He quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp and groggy sound he heard emit from his own voice. Your smile grew at the sound of his melodic voice, how he pronounced your name - like it was something fragile and needed great care, how it was rough from sleep, but it mostly grew from his use of love, so common for him, yet it felt so special for you. “I left my phone here last night, actually. Sorry for barging in, and, uh, waking you up, I’m assuming,” you said as you took in his appearance once again. He nodded and mustered enough strength to chuckle.

“When’d you realize you’d left it?” Harry asked as he let you in, as he swung the door open, he hung onto it, to keep him upright. “Oh! Right when I got home, of course!” you started as you began to talk with your hands again. You walked ahead of the slower Harry, through the house, back to the sitting room where the two of you had entertained yourselves last night with each other’s company. “Barely could sleep at all, was so worried you’d have jetted off again already and I’d have to figure out how to break in and heist it out of here.” More laughter. Being around you like this was like a shot of espresso straight to Harry’s veins. He perked up at the sound of your sweet voice and your accompanying hands. He noticed they were void of your rings this morning, he guessed you took them off to sleep and forgotten them this morning, due to the rush.

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands and huffed out a breath as you looked around the room. “Where could it be?” you asked slightly desperate, more to yourself than to Harry. He suggested the couch, walked over, and began to take the leather cushions off. You sighed and began to help Harry with his search of the couch. The last cushion to be removed from the couch uncovered your abandoned phone. “Finally!” you both exclaimed. Then, you looked around, “We made a mess...shit, I’m so sorry, Harry.” “Don’t, don’t be silly, its an easy fix, and y’needed your phone, c’mon Y/N.” He was quick to discourage your apology, despite your surroundings looking like someone had ransacked his room. All the cushions were discarded haphazardly, some blankets had fallen to the ground, and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and the floor.

“Well I’m not leaving you here to clean up a mess I caused,” you stated matter of factly, quickly beginning to repiece the room. Harry threw on a couple of the cushions then said, “S’alright, really, but if y’insist...I’ll start a pot of coffee. Do you?..” he trailed off, but you understood his question. It was kind of him to offer, but you assumed it was more for himself than you. “Nah, I don’t love coffee, sorry, now tea, that’s another story, but I’m fine really.” Harry glanced over to you and there was that smile again. It’s like it lived full time on your face, Harry thought, no wonder you’d already seen such success, not only were you technically a good musician, you were also a good person. He quickly nodded with a breathy laugh. You two went about your self-given tasks, cleaning and “cooking”. Neither of you spoke much as you worked, but you glanced up when you heard Harry begin to play some song from his phone after he had set up the coffee pot. The moment was domestic and tranquil, like the two of you tidy the house and make coffee every morning together.

A whistling sound cut through the soft moment just as you were grabbing the final magazines from the ground. “I thought you said--” Harry cut you off before you could finish, “I made both, love. Any preference for your tea?” You moved into the kitchen and leaned against the bar top, amazed by the man before you. He’d gotten down two mugs, gotten out an assortment of tea, put on the kettle and the coffee pot, making you what you preferred despite your claim to be fine with nothing. He held the two mugs out to you, “Which?” he questioned moving them back and forth from his chest encouraging you to choose, raising his brows for added effect. One was a wide and short ceramic speckled mug with a line painted fish. The other was a taller cream ceramic mug with a shiny red interior with a colorful scene of a town around the outside, the sun was shining in the little town. You crossed the kitchen to him and placed both hands on the red town mug, encircling the little people and houses smiling up at the two of you.

“Good choice, very treat people with kindness of you.” Harry smiled down at you. Whenever you were in closer proximity to him, his body so obviously towered compared to yours. It would seem intimidating, but really just felt comforting, safe. This moment far tenser than any previous moments that morning. He stared into your eyes and you returned the gaze. His hands still holding the mug you had chosen, you felt the heat radiating off of him and warming up your cheeks. There and then it was gone, you turned from him and went to the stove where the kettle sat. You filled your mug with the boiling water and fished a packet of some pink floral Parisian tea you saw and dropped it in the mug. Again you turned and leaned on the counter. Harry had poured his coffee and was opposite you, leant against the counter as well. Like a silent conversation had gone on between the two of you, Harry said, “Creamer’s in the fridge.” You nodded and went and grabbed it. You scurried back to your place against the counter. Harry set his mug down and crossed the short distance between you. His movement was so sudden and disturbed the peacefulness occurring in the kitchen, the synchronous movements between you two. You tensed and your heart began to race when he didn’t stop moving closer. His body was almost against yours when his left arm reached above and past your shoulder, opening th cupboard, and taking out a box of brown sugar cubes. Slowly, he moved the package between the two of you, either side resting on parts of both of your bodies. His warm coffee saturated breath fanned your face.The smell was warm and all consuming when it mixed with the scent of just Harry, probably a combination of shampoo, laundry detergent, and sweat. “Sugar’s right ‘ere,” he spoke just for you, lingering in the bubble your proximity had created. He couldn’t pull away and neither could you. But you had to. You nodded and took the box of sugar cubes, plopping a few in your tea. With that, Harry huffed an inaudible sigh and grabbed his coffee.

Happy witht the taste of your drink, Harry and you journeyed back to the couch where you been last night. Careful to set your phone in eyeline, you got comfortable, tucking your legs under you on the couch, leaning back and gazing at Harry. Comfortable silence fell between you, but again it was like the two of you were communicating in someway that didn’t require words. You noticed you were situated closer to Harry on the couch than you had been last night. Maybe you were less careful or maybe Harry had chosen to scoot closer to you as well. “So, I’ve been thinking, I know we like literally just met, but I’m just so in awe of how well we get along, Harry. Honestly, when I was little I was a huge fan and when you said you wanted to meet to discuss my work I was on a new level of existence, seriously,” you stated, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being for real,” you feigned hurt when Harry giggled from your word choice. “Anyways,” you emphasized and playfully gave a pointed look towards Harry’s shaking body. “You’re like image in my head that I never thought was attainable and now...feels like we’ve been friends for ages,” you finish softly. You weren’t exactly sure why you were sharing this thought with Harry, but the moment in the kitchen had set your heart beating. You had to say something to try and explain how you were feeling. Harry had grown silent again as you had pressed forward. His brows had slightly furrowed as he had watched you speak. You sensed you’d messed everything up, you believed the silence was a sign of your overstep. You both seemed always to be on the same page and now you’d jumped chapters and Harry was still behind. Learning a spoiler can always be upsetting, sometimes even ruinous.

Shit, you thought. “Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed to add, hoping to salvage any work relationship possible after crashing and burning so hard with this presumptuous statement. “No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips, but, nonetheless, he reassured you. He reached out and cradled your exposed shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down. “I feel it too…s’a bit weird, innit?” Harry kept smiling and you had to smile too. His lips were perfect, you noticed, shape and color. Every feature of him was like that, perfect shape, perfect composition. In your heart, you felt the words of a song beginning to piece itself together just from his face. You wanted to explore its every nook and cranny, the slope of his nose, the peaks of his cheeks, the sleek lines of his jaw, the depressions under his eyes, all of it. You didn’t want to leave a single piece of flesh untouched. It stayed silent and you noticed Harry had leaned in to hold your shoulder and you shifted comfortably towards him in return. And you were about to reach out and touch want you wanted so badly, your faces closer than ever before, when a doorbell rang throughout the home.

Harry twitched his hand away from your shoulder and pulled back from your face exploration activity, throwing his head back on his neck in some sort of disappointment. You were in disbelief, pulled from the trance that was Harry’s beautiful skin, ‘I didn’t know there was even a fucking doorbell here’. “‘S one momen’,” Harry grumbled, running through the house to the front door. You took a deep breath, trying to cool yourself off from what you were pretty sure was just about to happen. You grabbed your mug and took a sip. You strained your ear to hear anything at the front door, but it was all completely muffled, but the conversation seemed to be coming to an end after a couple minutes. You looked inquisitively at Harry when he returned, he waved you off. “Unimportant...what were we doing?” Harry said as he regained his position beside you. “You were about to kiss me,” you replied, taking the arm underneath your resting head and grabbing at his hand. You intertwined your hands as you had last night, when you first noticed that Harry was being vulnerable with you and getting to actually know you. Harry was caught off guard at your forwardness in the moment, but melted at the sight of this confident and caring woman in front of him. You had been so true to yourself on your album he realized after your first conversation last night. You were beautiful inside and out. He looked down at your hand in his, “No rings today…” “I forgot them...had to get over here.” “Were you excited t’see me again?” Harry questioned somewhat out of the blue. “Of course. What about when I showed up at your doorstep?” It was fine Harry hadn’t really addressed your kiss comment, you were so comfortable with him, it didn’t bother you. “I’d ‘ave thrown anyone else out after they’d found their phone if they’d been the one t’wake me up this morning.” He raised his free hand up to your hair now and ran it through until he cupped your ear, then he ran his hand down your jaw and up onto your cheek, his hand cradling your delicate face. “Can I?” He looked into your eyes intently.You bit your lip and leaned forward into Harry. Your lips connected and the kiss was so tender and filled with mutual respect and care, passion just below that surface of soft kindheartedness. Your plush lips pushed against Harry’s and the two of you moved in unison. Soft touches and faint whispers.

The chaste kiss began to turn when you pushed Harry further into the couch and crawled into his lap, your legs seated on either side of his sweatpant clad leg. One of your hands held his jaw in a strong yet loving grasp, while the other was tangled in his hair massaging his scalp. You arched your back as Harry ran his fingers down the back of your spine to land on the side of your hip, his other hand on your neck. His tongue pushed into your open mouth and you made a noise of appreciation and your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. His touch was liquid fire on your skin, seemingly harmless yet burning you everywhere he felt. His hands traveled to the bottom of your ass, slowly sliding over its entirety and squeezing at the bottom. You squealed and Harry grinned, “Easy.” You couldn’t help it, your clothed core was pressed against his toned thigh, his hands were on your ass pushing you down and to top it all off, he was an amazing kisser. He kissed your lips one more time before moving to the corner of them, then your jaw, and finally your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, soft and tender. He was slowing down, taking more time to run his tongue over your neck, massaging it in a way. This was just as amazing as the rougher makeout session that had just occurred. You resumed massaging his scalp and brushing through his curls. Then, you ran your hands down to his broad shoulds beneath his sweatshirt. You drew patterns over his skin and he hummed. “Mm I’like tha,” he whispered into your skin and looked up at you.

You both wore matching smiles, basking in the warmth the two of you had just created. You dropped your head into the crook of Harry’s collarbone beneath his neck, “We should do that again.” “We should definitely do that again, Y/N,” Harry responded emphatically, giving your bum a final squeeze before moving his hands to encircle your waist. You two sat there silently for awhile and then changed to a better cuddling position where you could both still drink from your mugs. You discussed your upcoming schedule, press, time off, and upcoming tour dates. Harry would be in town for a couple more weeks, but was going back to London afterwards. “You should come visit me when you’re on break before tour. We can go out and do somethin’. Tha’d be fun.” You agreed that it sounded fun and that you two should schedule something when it was closer. Harry was largely free during the time that you were on tour. “I dont wan’t to be presumptuous, but… if you wanted, you could come visit me while I’m on tour, we could explore when I’m on my Europe leg?” you said hesitantly. It was Harry’s turn to agree, “Sounds like a great idea, love,” he ran his fingertips up and down your arm idly. You continued to plan the future, nothing had to be defined, it was clear the two of you loved to spend time together, everything just seemed to flow when you were together. Everyone and everything else could fade into the background, as long as you had each other, you were pretty sure you’d be alright.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking some silence that had settled over your cuddled figures. “What for?” Harry looked down at you in his arms. “For getting me,” you smiled for the thousandth time that day. You were sure you’d grow extra smile lines if you continued seeing Harry so constantly like this. Harry returned it and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.”

Pt.3 🥺

#harry styles #you get me #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #mine #my writing #not my gif #love you h #hope you all enjoy #PART 2!#famous!y/n #famous!reader #my writings

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rexsjaigeyes · 4 years

Text

Wearing Only This

Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo x female reader | NSFW, 18+

Words: 2,328

Warnings: getting caught masturbating, unprotected sex, Miguel’s semi-submissive

A/N: Based on a section of my NSFW abc for Miguel. Thank you to @just-a-fan-i-guess for checking my Spanish!

Miguel had been gone all day, which wasn’t out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was that you had been a damn mess since he left; you craved his touch from the second he left your bed, and the ache between your legs was relentless all day long. The hours always felt like they were passing slowly whenever you had to wait for Miguel to come home from work, but this time it felt like torture.

Several moments throughout the day, you had debated taking matters into your own hands, but you knew he wouldn’t appreciate it if you had fun without him. Miguel preferred if you waited for him before touching yourself, but you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out. Staring at the clock in frustration, you muttered a curse under your breath before getting comfortable in bed and pulling off your clothes. You convinced yourself that it would be over before Miguel gets home, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Slipping out of your underwear, you sighed and traced your body with your fingertips the way Miguel would if he was there. Normally, you would have spent more time on the foreplay, but you were too riled up for that so you quickly slid your hands down to your pussy. You could tell that your body was more than ready for release. You were already soaking wet, but something didn’t feel right.

Groaning, you realized that your own hands just weren’t doing the trick. You craved the feeling of Miguel’s weight on top of you, the warmth that radiates from his body when he touches you. You missed the feeling of his hands all over you and the way his hot mouth feels when he worships every inch of your skin.

Sighing in exasperation, you stopped touching yourself and thought of how you could make the experience better. You just needed relief and then you’d be able to relax, but you had to try something different. Weighing your options, your gaze landed on the large closet that held all of Miguel’s fancy suits.

Sheepishly, you walked over to the closet and ruffled through his clothes. You felt a little embarrassed about your plan, but you were too horny to convince yourself that it was a bad idea. You smiled to yourself when your eyes landed on his dark blue suit; it was one of your favorites because you loved how the color looked on him. Carefully, you took the jacket off the hanger before slipping it over your naked body and scurrying back to bed.

You giggled to yourself, shivering slightly from the silk lining of his jacket cooling your heated body. Laying back on the mattress, you sighed, feeling much closer to him now even though he wasn’t really there. You slid your hands down your body and closed your eyes, imagining he was with you. The way it enveloped your body reminded you of how safe you feel when he holds you. The warmth from the jacket morphed into the heat of his naked body, and the faint smell of his cologne on the soft fabric invaded your senses. Now it was much easier for you to imagine he was on top of you, touching you and tickling your skin in the places where his jacket brushed against your body.

Your mind wandered and the pleasure steadily built in the pit of your stomach. You continued touching yourself, getting so carried away that you didn’t hear Miguel enter the house or call out for you before reaching the bedroom door. Your fingers were pushed deep inside your pussy and you were already so close to the edge, but his voice cut through the sound of your loud moans and quickly snapped you out of your daze. You jolted at the sound of your name, and you were greeted with a very exhausted but amused Miguel.

His hair was a mess; the normally perfect, slicked back strands had all fallen out of their place as if he had run his hands through his hair too many times. His shirt was untucked from his pants and his jacket was slung over his shoulders. He must have had a rough day, but now he looked at you with a smirk as if this was exactly how he wanted to be greeted all along.

“No podías esperarme, ¿eh?” He chuckled, and you blushed before trying to come up with an excuse.

You couldn’t wait for me, huh?

You gaped at him, unable to find a way to explain why you were currently sweating through his expensive suit jacket. Tripping over your words, you mumbled a soft apology before sitting up on the bed and attempting to cover yourself. You were expecting him to yell at you or look mad about the situation, but Miguel just grinned and entered the room fully. You watched him with wide eyes, unsure what to say, so you just waited for his next move.

He walked into the closet and discarded the jacket that he had been wearing before lazily making his way to the bed. Miguel kept his eyes on you as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, causing the act to look far too erotic for your sexually frustrated brain. He kept his shirt on his shoulders, only exposing the white undershirt instead of his bare skin. You watched his hands intently as they moved down his body to unbuckle his belt before throwing it aside.

Blushing, you moved to take off the jacket you were wearing, but he sat beside you on the bed and whispered, “No, mantén la chaqueta puesta.”

No, keep it on.

You gasped silently, not expecting the turn of events, but his simple phrase caused heat to pool in the pit of your stomach. He brought a hand to your chin and lifted your head so that your gaze landed on his dark eyes. No matter how tired he looked, you could still recognize the desire on his face.

He smiled and caressed your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “¿En serio me extrañaste tanto, cariño?”

Did you really miss me that much, darling?

You nodded shyly and leaned into his touch, grateful that he was finally home to give you what you craved so badly. You thought he was going to kiss you with the way that his thumb brushed against your lips, but instead you saw his eyes flicker down to your chest. He slid his hand down your neck, his pointer finger tracing invisible patterns on your collarbone before gliding down the lapel of his jacket.

Looking up at you for a second, he silently asked for your permission before pushing the jacket open so that he had better access to your breasts. Your breath hitched when he exposed one nipple to the cool air, but Miguel was quick to replace the cold with his warm hand. Continuing his feather-light touches, he circled your nipple with one finger, taking his time to tease you.

His touch was gentle and lazy, a stark contrast from how handsy he normally gets after a long day. This time, something seemed to have put him in a trance. He was mesmerized by the way you looked in his jacket, his hand slowly moving further underneath the lapel so that he could wrap his entire hand over the swell of your breast and massage it. You moaned when the rough pad of his thumb made contact with your hardened nipple. Miguel always loved paying special attention to your tits, and his hands felt perfect over your soft skin.

“Ven aquí,” he whispered and pulled you closer to him so that he could kiss you.

Come here

Leaning forward, you parted your lips and weaved your fingers in his hair as he kissed you deeply. He continued playing with your breasts, causing you to moan into the kiss and tug on his hair. A few seconds passed before Miguel pulled away, leaving you to pant heavily as he peppered kisses down your neck. He pecked the swell of one breast before latching his mouth around your nipple. You moaned and balled your fists in his hair as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud. He tugged on the lapel of his jacket to keep you in place as you squirmed from his touch.

“Hm, tuve un día duro,” he mumbled against your skin. He pulled away from your chest and laid down on the bed before tugging on the jacket again. “Necesito que seas la que tenga el control esta vez,” he whispered so softly that for a second, you thought you imagined it.

I had a rough day. I need you to be the one in control this time.

You raised your brows in surprise but another tug from him brought you back to reality and you rolled over so that you could straddle him. It was different seeing him beneath you like this; you felt a rush of excitement at the sight of such a powerful man underneath you. You rolled your hips, enjoying the way the rough fabric of his pants felt against your exposed pussy. Miguel groaned in response, and you could feel how hard he was inside his pants. Desperate to feel more of him, you fumbled with the zipper so that you could pull his length out.

He chuckled, gripping your waist and joking, “Tómate tu tiempo, no me iré a ninguna parte.”

Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.

You nodded silently and slowed your movements, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. He rubbed soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs, watching you intently as you took his cock out of his pants. Miguel hissed softly when you cautiously pumped him once, testing the waters. He clenched his jaw but waited for your next move; you were shocked at how he was actually letting you take the lead, but it was a pleasant surprise.

Gaining confidence now, you stroked him again before grazing your thumb against the tip of his cock. He was already so slick with arousal, and the sight made your body ache for him. You were impatient, and Miguel’s eyes were closed in bliss, so you lifted your hips and lined up your entrance before sinking onto his cock. You felt his nails dig into your hips and his eyes shot open to meet your face before looking down to see where your bodies met.

He groaned at the sight of you taking every inch until he was all the way inside. His hips jerked slightly, but he waited for you to adjust to his length. You were sure that you’d have bruises on your hips from the way he was gripping you, but the pain felt good and you would wear the bruises proudly. Throwing your head back, you rocked your hips slowly, loving the feeling of how deep he was now that you were on top.

You built up a rhythm, gyrating your hips and holding onto Miguel’s chest for leverage so that you could bounce on his cock. His hands traveled up your body before resting on your tits. He groped them gently and watched them with hooded eyes, enjoying the way they bounced as you fucked yourself on him.

“Te ves tan hermosa,” he moaned, his eyes flickering all over your body and following the curves of his jacket. “Deberías usar mi chaqueta todo el tiempo.” He tugged on the jacket, bringing your torso down so that he could plant a kiss on your lips. “Me recuerda que eres toda mía,” he hummed against your lips possessively.

You look so beautiful. You should wear my jacket all the time. It reminds me that you're all mine.

He let go of you so that you could go back to riding him properly. You picked up the pace, breathing heavily as you felt your orgasm approaching. You looked down at Miguel, giving him a pleading look that you knew he would recognize. He trailed one hand down your body so that he could rub your clit with his thumb, watching your reactions closely to make sure you were enjoying it. You whimpered, your movements getting sloppy now but luckily Miguel was as close as you were.

In a raspy voice, he warned you that he was close, his voice sounding like a low whine and causing your stomach to do flips. You nodded your head frantically, begging him to cum with you. Clenching tightly around him, you gave into your orgasm and shouted his name. The pleasure washed over you as you rocked your hips lazily. Miguel grunted softly before releasing his load deep inside your cunt. You rode your orgasm out, groaning when you felt his cum seep out of you.

Carefully, you slipped out of his jacket and threw it to the side of the room, not wanting to get it any more dirty than it already was. Sighing in bliss, you slowly lifted your hips and tried not to get all riled up again as you pulled yourself off Miguel’s cock. You both made a mess all over his clothes and the bed, but he didn’t care; he smiled and pulled you down to lay on his chest. Miguel stroked your hair and pressed gentle kisses on your forehead, waiting for you to catch your breath. You knew he wouldn’t be staying in bed with you once you calmed down, but you were enjoying resting your head on his chest too much. With each rise and fall, you felt yourself relax, and you could hear his heart beating as quickly as yours. Pulling away reluctantly, you rolled over so that he could get off the bed whenever he was ready.

You pouted and played with one of his hands that was splayed on his chest before asking, “¿Hay alguna manera de convencerte de que te quedes en cama más tiempo hoy?”

Is there any way I can convince you to stay in bed longer today?

He chuckled softly and kissed your forehead again. “Tal vez si me prometes recibirme así todos los días cuando llegue a casa del trabajo,” he joked with a smile.

Maybe if you promise to greet me like this every day when I come home from work.

“¿Eso es todo?” Your smile widened and you wrapped your arms around his waist with no intention of letting him leave the bed now. “Entonces es un trato.”

That’s all? Then it's a deal.

-------------------

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Lmk if you wanna be added to my Félix tag list!

#divswrites #narcos mexico #narcos mexico smut #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos mexico fanfic #miguel angel felix gallardo #miguel angel felix gallardo x reader #miguel angel felix gallardo smut #felix gallardo #felix gallardo x reader #felix gallardo smut #diego luna #diego luna fanfiction #diego luna smut #smut

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themattress · 3 years

Text

Holy Shit!

https://imgur.com/gallery/WKkli

https://imgur.com/gallery/j9OQylb

Beyond the proof that the guy who uploaded this is involved with Bad Robot that he provided at the end of his second post, these definitely seem legit because the first post was in 2018, before The Rise of Skywalker came out, yet the treatment contains some blatant concepts that ended up finding there way into that movie that I have a hard time believing anyone but J.J himself could have come up with (plus, the rest of the plot is very J.J-like, as I’ll get into.)

So these definitely seem to be the discarded Episode VIII and IX treatments. Thoughts?

- Luke’s reasons for coming to Ahch-To definitely seem more in line with TFA than in TLJ, seeing as if he wanted to just “go there to die” he wouldn’t have left a freaking map to the place behind, plus it seemed off that someone disillusioned with the Jedi ways would go to the site of the first Jedi Temple to begin with. His portrayal also matches what we saw at the end of TFA (seeming to be in mourning for Han), and fits the “kind but sad” description from the script. And far from cutting himself off from the Force, Luke has been influencing it from afar as part of his grand plan, explaining Rey’s vision when she touched his lightsaber.

- Luke has a wife and kids! Sadly for EU fans, the wife is not Mara Jade.

- It was Luke’s influence via the Force that explained the things Rey could do that fans deemed her a Mary Sue for, plus some other things that weren’t so routinely noted such as the remarkable coincidence that she and Finn just happened to run into Han and Chewie right after obtaining the Millennium Falcon. Not sure how well this would have gone down...

- Saccrum, Snoke’s home planet, is literally Exogol. Secret ancient Sith planet that is nigh impenetrable to all non-Sith, site of the final battle and (as we’ll soon learn) where Snoke is repeatedly cloned and where Palpatine is resurrected by Sith alchemists...it’s fucking Exogol.

- I recall concept art for Kylo Ren’s partly metallic face floating around.

- Dathan Naut seems cool, but she never really amounts to much.

- So it seems J.J Abrams and Lawrence Kasdan’s vision for the Sequel Trilogy always seemed to boil down to “All the generations of Jedi vs. all the generations of Sith reaching a climactic battle, with Skywalker vs. Palpatine at the heart of it, and the Palpatine who becomes a Skywalker as the key to victory.” That idea was always where they were going.

- Jedi/Sith Holocrons were always gonna be a thing, which is why Rebels worked them in.

- Live-action Ahsoka was also always an objective, it seems, and I bet the way they wrote her out in Rebels’ “Twilight of the Apprentice” was to potentially serve as a lead-in for her appearance in the Sequel Trilogy. But because that never came to pass, they brought her back toward the end of the series and set her on the new trajectory that she’s currently on. Honestly, I think that’s for the better, Ahsoka wouldn’t have really fit in the main film series.

- Not big on this Cfi-Xi character, she mainly seems to be here to “no homo” C-3PO. And her main role relating to the Sith Planet ended up played just fine by C-3PO in TROS anyway.

- BB-8 had the kind of fake-out death they ended up giving to Chewie.

- Wow, so Hux was supposed to die in Episode VIII and Phasma in Episode IX originally. Funny how that got totally flipped backward in the versions we actually ended up getting.

- OK, this “family time” that Rey’s getting is precious. It’s sad we didn’t get to see this.

- Hoo boy, “this is the bad ass Luke Skywalker we’ve been waiting for!” Really? Et tu, J.J and Kasdan? In light of the recent showing by Luke in The Mandalorian, I again question why this portrayal of the character is so widely beloved by fans when it has little to no basis in the OT.

- Rey vs. Kylo Ren in a raging ocean backdrop; here in Episode VIII rather than IX. Similarly, it’s a duel that Kylo clearly has in the bag, but a fluke in the Force allows Rey to survive, although I much prefer the fluke we got to the one this treatment proposes because....

- Goddamn it, J.J. You’re doing the time travel / time paradox shit again? Were Lost, Fringe and Star Trek not enough for you to explore that concept in? This is the biggest part of these treatment drafts that rubs me the wrong way, it’s just so needlessly convoluted and cliche.

- Also, yet another Mystery Box in Luke’s severed hand on Saccrum.

- No Jedi Leia in that flashback? Yeah, I can see why Kathleen Kennedy rejected this.

- Btw, Rian Johnson wasn’t the only one who was going to turn Luke into an asshole failure, it seems. Making this highly risky plan with Ben and not letting his parents know about it? Dick!

- Snoke is the one who destroys Luke’s academy, not Kylo Ren. And he does so as he is dying; another clue-in that there’s more to Snoke than it seems given that he’s still around.

- Lando would have been in Episode IX anyway, albeit still running Cloud City.

- The idea for this Episode IX is that the Skywalkers are a Jedi dynasty that long predated Anakin (Shmi being a descendant of it), and the Palpatines were their Sith enemies. Sheev Palpatine also would have died his first death generations ago and was being constantly resurrected via clone bodies made on Saccrum ever since, so the one that Anakin killed wasn’t the original; Palpatine can’t be stopped unless Saccrum is destroyed. While not as convoluted as the time paradox shit, I appreciate the simpler route they ended up taking.

- J.J and Kasdan always wanted Rey’s father to be a defective Palpatine clone.

- There was never a planned origin for Snoke in these treatments; wherever he came from the bottom line was that Palpatine brought him onto his side by promising to share his key to immortality (constant cloned bodies made on Sacccrum) with him. Again, this ended up being simplified into Snoke just being a whole-sale creation of Palpatine’s from the very beginning.

- Since these are treatments, the “love” part of the dynamic between Rey and Kylo Ren is highly underdeveloped and would likely have been fleshed out in screenwriting. The end result, with the deprogramming vision of Rey and Darth Vader, sounds pretty effective though, but I think I much prefer the Leia death / vision of Han version that we ended up with.

- LOL, the “droid way of making love”. I want to see this idea repurposed someday.

- That’s an interesting twist on Alderaan, although it really doesn’t amount to anything given that the planet Leia grew up on and called home still got destroyed by the Death Star.

- “Magic blood”, another J.J-ism. Again, I much prefer the simpler version TROS gave us.

- The climax’s structure is basically the same as in TROS, with Rey (and others) heading to the Sith planet from Ahch-To and then Leia’s Resistance forces going there from their base, with Rey and Ben facing Palpatine. The biggest differences is that we also have Luke vs. Snoke and Finn vs. Phasma battles going on, in addition to a Jedi vs. Sith ground battle.

- Yeah, I don’t really care for how Phasma’s death is handled: making her hideously scarred and treating her sympathetically don’t sit right with me. Rian Johnson did it better, IMO.

- No red stormtroopers here, but there are red Tie Fighters.

- Ben still gives his life to save Rey, albeit in a less literal manner.

- Palpatine still wants Rey to ascend to the Sith throne and rule by his side. Also: “he loves the smell of burning hair, it reminds him of home”!? Wow, that’s dark in what it’s implying...

- OK, so while not a Jedi, Leia is the Big Damn Hero in the end. That makes sense.

- WTF? Rey straight-up kills Palpatine with Sith lightning!? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t ever gong to fly with Lucasfilm, since it totally contradicts ROTJ’s message! It was inevitable that we’d end up with the more correct “Rey deflects Palpatine’s own Sith lightning back at him”.

- “Rey Skywalker” is the end point for the story here as well, but it ending on Tatooine is so much more emotional than ending it on Alderaan Prime, a place that only just now exists.

My final impression is that we probably could have had the best version of the Sequel Trilogy possible IF the right corrections were made when adapting these treatments into real screenplays, such as axing the more convoluted and pointlessly fanservice-y elements and making different choices for a few of the characters (Rey, Kylo Ren, C-3PO, Phasma, etc...also something more substantial for Poe since they clearly had no idea what to do with him). However, it was also an impossibility for it to ever happen due to many different factors, the biggest of which being Carrie Fisher’s passing in 2016. So as it stands, I am still satisfied with the version we got and am especially happy that J.J returned for TROS to provide the end of the Skywalker Saga with some of his original (mercifully fine-tuned and simplified) ideas.

#Star Wars #J.J Abrams #What Could Have Been #Opinion #Analysis

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half-bakedboy · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your writing. I saw your fluffy ficlet thing and couldn't resist. #20, Jimon, please! No rush :) Thank you so much!!

Just Like Buffy and SpikeRead on AO3

When Jace entered his room at the Institute, the last thing he expected to find was Simon spread across his bed, his head hanging off the foot of it and a comic book held over his face. It didn’t look nearly anything close to comfortable and Jace’s neck hurt just watching him. Simon seemed too entranced in the comic to look up, but that didn’t surprise Jace. He had heard too many references he didn’t understand to assume Simon was a giant nerd.

He slammed the door closed as he entered, but Simon still didn’t look up. Jace shrugged and took off his ichor covered clothes from the hunt, tossing his holster to the ground with a thud. When even that didn’t grab his attention, Jace frowned. He figured taking off his clothes would at least get Simon’s nose out of the comic, but apparently whatever he was reading was better than seeing his boyfriend shirtless. Jace pushed aside the jealousy he felt as he got dressed into comfier clothes consisting of a pair of Simon’s pajama bottoms.

He walked over to Simon and leaned over his head, waving his hands between his face and the comic. “Anyone home?” Jace asked. Simon groaned and swatted at Jace’s hands, lifting himself up to change his position. He moved to his stomach, the comic laid out on the pillow as he read furiously. “Simon, seriously?” Jace couldn’t help but laugh as he rested himself on top of Simon, his chin curling over Simon’s shoulder to peek at what he was reading.

“They’re getting together, Jace. This is a momentous occasion for me,” Simon explained as he flipped to the next page.

“I want normal, too. And I want it with you,” Jace read aloud. Simon hollered and waved his hand in excitement, almost smacking Jace in the face. Jace grabbed his wrist and pinned it down onto the mattress before any damage could be done. “What has gotten into you?” Jace asked as Simon squirmed underneath him. Jace rolled over and plopped next to Simon, grabbing the comic and flipping through the pages. Simon gaped at him and grabbed it back, pushing himself into Jace’s side. Jace instinctively wrapped his arm around Simon’s shoulder and leaned their heads together so he could see the page Simon was presenting to him.

“Seven seasons, Jace. Seven seasons of TV and two seasons of the comic and Spike and Buffy are finally together,” Simon said like it was the most exciting news in the world. Jace pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. When Simon looked up at him, he shrugged. Simon let out an almost painful groan and Jace couldn’t help but kiss his head.

“Is that… good?” Jace asked tentatively. He figured he already knew the answer, but he honestly never knew with Simon and his nerd things.

“Look at this!” Simon practically yelled as he pressed his finger into the page. Jace saw two shadowy profiles, one with their fingers underneath the others chin, lifting it like they were about to kiss. It had Jace remembering his and Simon’s first kiss and he had to smile. “Spike is this anti-villain with a heart of gold who is constantly pushing himself to be better, for Buffy, and self sabotaging himself at every tu--” Simon stopped talking, his eyes darting back and forth between the pages of the comic and Jace. He sighed heavily and leaned his head back into Jace’s arm. “Oh, that makes so much sense,” Simon muttered.

Jace peered down at him and narrowed his eyes. “What?” He asked, even though he was worried about whatever Simon would say next.

“You’re Spike. You-- You’re everything that Spike is, how did I not see this before?” Simon said incredulously. He closed the comic and tossed it aside before throwing his leg over Jace’s waist and straddling his lap. “Spike has this innate need for violence, for destruction, and this need to have… power. So, he kills slayers, the ones sworn to kill his kind. He’s so insightful and intelligent and has so much to offer, much more than what he chooses to, but he doesn’t see himself as anything more than a, a demon.” Simon stroked Jace’s hair back and looked down at him so lovingly, Jace almost had to look away.

“He sounds… interesting?” Jace chimed in, becoming increasingly overwhelmed when every word Simon spoke was like poetry about him. Simon continued seemingly unconcerned with Jace’s disinterest.

“He carries himself with this swagger, like he’s the coolest person in every room, and he might be,” Simon agreed as he leaned his forehead against Jace’s. “But he only thinks of himself as the bad guy, all throughout the series, but he sacrifices himself to save everyone, to save Buffy,” Simon sighs. “He falls in love with the very thing he swore to eliminate from the earth, Jace, don’t you see it?” Simon said excitedly before kissing Jace so passionately, Jace had to grip onto his hips to ground himself.

“See what?” Jace asked breathlessly as he licked his lips, staring into Simon’s eyes.

“You’re Spike. You’re… You’re everything,” Simon said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Jace felt his entire body heat at the words and the emotion Simon put into the kiss. He leaned up, the hands on Simon’s hips sliding up under his shirt and pressing against his solid back. Jace kissed him again, his own way of telling Simon that he was everything, too. He laughed when he pulled back and grabbed at the comic. He read a few pages, his eyes searching the way that Spike and Buffy kissed fervently for the next few pages.

“You know that makes you Buffy, right?” Jace said. Simon ducked his head into Jace’s neck, placing a few soft kisses there as he shook his head.

“I am not Buffy, by any means. I’m the thing she hates most in the world,” Simon mumbled into Jace’s skin. Jace heard the acceptance and the slight twinge of sadness in his tone, but he wouldn’t let him get away with it. He pulled Simon’s face back to his and studied his eyes.

“Buffy saw the good in Spike, right?” Simon nodded and tilted his head. “So against everything she believed in and everything she thought was right, she let herself fall in love with Spike?” Jace questioned as he licked his lips. Simon nodded again and that time, looked to the side to avoid Jace’s heat filled gaze. “Then you’re everything, Simon,” Jace admitted, pressing a gentle kiss to Simon’s cheek. Simon looked back at him, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes darting down to Jace’s lips and back up to his eyes.

“Does that mean we can be Spike and Buffy for Halloween?” Simon asked hopefully. Jace rolled his eyes before pushing Simon off of him and moved so he was straddling Simon instead. Simon smiled brightly up at Jace, that dorky smile that Jace never imagined falling for.

“Only if you wear that skirt,” Jace said with a raise of his eyebrow and a tilt of his head toward the discarded comic. Simon seemed to consider for a moment before shaking his head.

“Say you’ll wear fangs and we have a deal,” Simon countered. Jace sealed their deal with a messy kiss and a bite to Simon’s neck.

#jimon #jimon fic #jace wayland #simon lewis #simon x jace #jace x simon #there are so many #buffy references #in this fic #and this author regrets none of them #thank you for prompting!!!#fluffy ficlet prompts #my writing #long post #moonlight-breeze-44

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bxnesof92 · 4 years

Text

Don’t Look Over Your Shoulder

A Ralbert multichapter fic

"A three-hundred thousand degree baptism by nuclear fire I'm not sorry, we had it coming A surge of white-hot atonement will be our wake-up call Hope for our future is now a stillborn dream"

Except, its not. The days keep passing, the wind rolls through the desert. Nuclear oblivion ravaged the landscape and broke everything that the world held dear, and yet, people kept going. The city rose up by means of the wealthy, and they created insurance policies to make sure that it wouldn't happen again.

Carthage. Much like ancient Rome: a celebration of opulence and bloodlust-treating the poor like a disease and hunting them for sport.

Underground lies a different city, a rebellion known to few dedicated to bringing down those in power.

A new boy, new promises, restrictions, loves and tribulations leave the Rebellion of Manhattan keeping eyes on their resident lingust Racetrack, and his cagey recruit.

Chapter 1: There’s a New World for the Winning

Read on Ao3!

“God. Shit. Fuck.” The boy sprinted, stumbling every few paces when he dared a look behind him. One risked glance sent him sprawling into the hot sand, coughing and praying that the wind would blow away his footsteps. He pulled down the fabric covering his mouth and nose and coughed violently, body lurching forward with each unconscious exhalation. His imminent sense of danger had lessened with each footstep, as had his sense of direction. The only comfort that came from this was the hope that his assailants had lost their way as well. When the dust had finally cleared from his lungs, the boy chose instead to cover the top of his head, his red hair a beacon in the otherwise desolate landscape.

Nuclear annihilation in an era much before his time had left his surroundings a wasteland, and yet, he was surrounded on all sides. Far in front of him sat Carthage, a gleaming city where he knew he would be shunned and discarded, and far behind him was whoever he had just had the misfortune of interacting with. He checked his bag: Water bottle? Nearly empty. Rations? Completely gone. A coherent plan? Not a chance in hell that that was still around. Finally rising to his feet, the redhead was faced with a decision, get killed one way or die another.

As he lost sight of those who were following him before, he began to walk in an unknown direction, desperate to find shelter or supplies before night fell.

Discarded cans here, corroded batteries there, and so forth, until the sun began to set and he was sure he had found the Holy Grail:

A shitty, beat-up Trans Am half buried in sand and with a radiation content higher than was healthy.

But hey, it’s shelter, he thought. The door was easy enough to get into, a few good slams with his hip and it gave easily. Inside was hot, hotter than the usual desert temperature, but the glove box alone was worth the sweat. Bandages, a few coins of an obsolete currency, a handful of hard candies, and goggles. Escaping with his prizes, the boy climbed on top of the car, discarding some of his many layers to ward off the burn of the metal. He popped a candy into his mouth and looked off, ready to await the night.

– –

Race hadn’t seen a day so hot in years, given, his home underground allowed him to skip out on most of the heat. He readjusted his goggles and fished his gloves out of his pockets before leaving the Woodside sector. Inter-rebellion relations were not his favorite duty, but as a favor to Jack –and Katherine and Davey who fixed what Jack’s bullheadedness sometimes caused– he had ventured to his least favorite side of their alliance. Woodside had it’s name for a reason, their operations and quarters coming solely from a shack built half-above ground, and completely wooden. Race was responsible for a lot of dumb ideas, but never one as stupid as a wooden shack -God only knows where they got the wood- in the middle of a dangerous wasteland, much less one without any underground connections to other sectors.

The trek was long and brutal. Distance, heat, and a ruined environment required Race to dress like the scrappy rebel he truly was, in layers of tattered clothes and fingerless gloves, not to mention the tinted goggles and mouth coverings. He gave off a presence that anyone would be wise to stay away from.

He whistled a tune with a name long forgotten, and tried to gauge the fall of the sun. He had no way to contact his sector and no way to predict how much time he had left, so Race began a race against the clock. The Woodside conflict he was sent to resolve was urgent and left little time for preparation, sending him into the desert ill-equipped to handle the dangers that came with nightfall. The pack at his side held only water enough to last a single person, and an archaic wayfinder that would help him find his way back home.

Though the signal kept cutting out, Race was assured that he was heading in the right direction. “… Get Smalls to fix… get But-, no, I’ll have to get… patch up,” he disjointedly muttered, staring down at the screen. He whacked the side repeatedly in an attempt to get a clearer path marked out and veered slightly out of his way.

Admitting defeat to himself at the fruitless attempts at fixing his aged technology, Race finally realized his deviance and stopped, looking up to see the sun begin to fall in the sky. Race immediately knew that his return to Manhattan was going to be rough. The overall lack of poor planning in this venture had already been driving their leader crazy, and the thought of Race being defenseless in the night was a risk that he was surprised they allowed themselves to take.

Race surveyed his surroundings, only to find them familiar, he couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes from his destination, yet something felt oddly new– strange, even.

In the dimming light Race saw nothing but the usual discarded cans, scraps of metal, and sand. Broken pieces and junk were commonplace in their corner of the desert. At times like this, he really wished that his near-empty pack carried at least a flashlight, scanning over the small dune to the east, scraps right across, and the car that’d been stripped for parts, yet had something new up top.

New wasn’t welcome, new in the wastelands was dangerous and concerning, as New could blow their entire operation to bits in a matter of hours. New was exactly the thing Race loved to face.

Unclipping a knife from his belt, Race inched forward, the New nothing but unintelligible shapes in the growing dusk. This had to have been the worst time to face New, and yet the adrenaline rushed through his veins as lumps took the shape of a body, a body wrapped in scraps worse than his and unmoving as Race approached.

Now identified, Race formulated the best plan he could at the moment: Check the pulse, and then check the pockets.

He doubted the value in anything that a person this worn-down could carry, but quite honestly, his group could use whatever it could get. He stepped forward as silently as the sand would allow, and hovered near the mid of the body when he found himself severely misguided.

Whatever experiences or backgrounds that allowed the person to look so ragged had honed reflexes that Race envied, as within seconds he found himself nose-to-blade with an even more impressive weapon.

Reverting back to everything he was taught in youth, Race raised his arms, dropped and kicked away his weapon, and stepped back a pace or two. He analyzed. His assailant bore a striking resemblance in demeanor to his boys back home. Just a scared, defensive kid. He couldn’t have been much older than Race was now, seventeen. Threat level: medium, Race guessed. He was unknown and brandishing a weapon that he obviously knew how to use. With the sudden movement, the other boy’s tatters had fallen off of his head to reveal the most striking mop of red hair that Race had ever seen.

Their stare down lasted a minute at best, Race noting how the other boy’s breathing was labored and ragged in comparison to his collected breaths. Against, yet perfectly in tune with his natural instinct, Race lead.

“Ok, I’ll fold. Not too big a fan of falling first, but I‌’m also working on keeping myself out of trouble. Name’s Racetrack.”

The redhead slowly lowered his weapon, but the tension remained rigid in his shoulders. Race continued,

“Ok then… Tu parli Italiano? Русский может быть? Throw a language at me and I’ll speak it, I just want to talk.”

“Nobody speaks Russian anymore, dipshit.” The boy replied

“Well I’ve counted at least one who does, and I never miscalculate. We’ve moved past the language barrier pretty quickly then, I’d suggest you start talking. You could start with a name, you could start with an affiliation, you could start with anything really, I’m not picky.”

The boy considered Race’s words for a second before pocketing his blade and admitting, “I’m just looking for somewhere to stay alive.” Race’s eyes narrowed.

“Well there’s plenty of those. Why aren’t you taking shelter in that shiny-ass city ‘cross th’ way?” The sudden shift from curious to interrogative brought what little tension had left his shoulders back into them.

“Yea, not really lookin’ to get killed,” he replied, “A fella like me wants nothing to do with anywhere that treats the poor like street rats and fightin’ dogs. So really, if you’re gonna send me into the dog ring I can’t assume that there’s anything safe about you.”

The knives were drawn again.

Race, once again, was calculated. He knew what answers he wanted out of this bout of New lurking so close to his home, and he was bound to get them. His opponent on the other hand, was wild, angry. With every breath he had taken in the last few minutes he had shown Race exactly what he needed to see, revolutionary fervor, and a hatred for the shining city sitting in the desert.

He smirked, making a point to put his knife in his bag where it would be harder to reach. “Finding somewhere to stay alive, yeah? I’ve got somewhere that might do a little more than that.”

#ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #Jack Kelly #newsies fic #Newsies #racetrack newsies #albert newsies #syd tries writing #dloys ralbert

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cutiesonthehorizon · 6 years

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Exorcist fic - The Price of Vision part 6

You can find the newest chapter of The Price of Vision under the cut, on AO3 or fanfiction.net. As always, thanks to all who reviewed and commented and specially to starrylizard for her help with a quick beta. All mistakes left are my own.

Hope you’ll enjoy and let me know your thoughts:)

The night before Harper was released from the hospital, Marcus Keane sat on the stairs in front of their motel room. He was holding a rosary, eyes locked on something invisible in the darkness and mouth moving in silent prayer. It was nothing new for him, this praying in solitude, but lately it was like talking to a void. There was nothing on the other side, just the taunting echo of the words the demon in Cindy threw at Marcus several days ago.

'But you're not a priest, are you? Oh, God abandoned you. You're nothing but an empty vessel.'

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith," Marcus started to pray, even as the demon kept talking, it's vile words cutting deeper and deeper into Marcus' mind.

'Why do you wanna pray, when you know no one's listening to you? You think your friend will discard you too?'

"...we find peace with God through Our Lord Jesus Christ-"

The demon cackled and Cindy's body twisted.

'Father Tomas, God's new favorite. He doesn't need you. You need him, so your wasted life has a purpose.'

"-we glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance-" Marcus found himself repeating the verse, trying to ignore that voice in his head, echoing Cindy's words. God abandoned you. Father Tomas, God's new favorite. He doesn't need you. No one does.

The last one came from somewhere deep inside and suddenly Marcus was back, feeling the hard stairs underneath, the crispness of the night air. He looked up, towards the stars, eyes filled with hurt and fear.

"Why aren't you answering?" he asked with choked voice. "Did I make a mistake? Is this all a mistake?"

There was no answer, no light inside his chest, nothing. Just emptiness and a crawling fear that maybe he was wrong, that taking Tomas onto this journey wasn't what God planned for them. That somehow, he fell from God's grace and there was no way back.

"What do you want from me?" Marcus asked in whisper, looking at the strongest shining star as if it could give him an answer.

The door behind him opened and Marcus jerked when he heard Tomas' voice.

"Marcus? Dinner's ready."

"I'll be right in," Marcus said, his voice hoarse. He could feel Tomas staring at his back, waiting, dying to ask if everything was alright. "Just... give me a minute, yeah?" Marcus chanced a glance and saw Tomas nod, his face wearing a puzzled frown. Still, there was no protest, only the soft click of the closing door and Marcus let out a sigh.

"Why is it that each time I pray for a sign, you bring me him?" Shaking his head, Marcus looked down at his rosary, biting his lip. If God was answering, it was in ways Marcus didn't comprehend and it didn't make him feel any better. Doubt was growing in his heart each day he couldn't feel God's light coursing through his body and he wondered how long it would take until the power of words left him too. What will be left then? Just an empty shell of a boy that watched his mother being murdered by his father, a little boy who pulled the trigger and made himself an orphan. Marcus wasn't sure there would be anything left of him to salvage then.

Tomas knew something was bothering Marcus, something that wasn't connected to Harper or their latest exorcism. Maybe it wasn't even connected to Bennett and the last six months they spent on the road. No, this was something much deeper, lurking and dangerous and Tomas wished he could help his friend fight it. Several times that day he found himself wishing to ask, but knew the older man must decide to tell him himself. With Marcus it was like that... he could be stubborn to death, but the moment he decided, everything came pouring out in raw detail. Tomas hoped that when that happened, he would be near and not held down by his own demons.

They ate dinner in amenable silence. They prayed together and Marcus turned on the TV while Tomas prepared for bed. He still got easily tired and battled the residual headache, but thankfully the dizziness was gone. Lying down in bed, Tomas noted that Marcus at least turned down the volume a bit, although his choice of programming was more than questionable. The screen lit up in fire as an impressive car crash involving too many vehicles to count played out, killing almost everyone on the screen in one or other horrible way. Tomas frowned and Marcus chuckled, popping a candy into his mouth, his eyes shining like a kid who was allowed to stay up late.

"What are you watching?" And why? Tomas wanted to add but bit his lip when he saw the smile on Marcus face.

"Final Destination... dunno which one. Someone who's supposed to die survives and saves the others, so the whole movie they're being killed off in the most absurd ways. It's hilarious," Marcus said just as there was another gruesome death on the screen.

"Sounds... interesting," Tomas muttered, ignoring the smirk Marcus was giving him. "Think I'll give it a pass though. You can tell me in the morning if anyone survived."

"Doubt there will be anything to tell," Marcus said and turned back to the TV, though when there was another loud crash he turned the volume down even more. Tomas fluffed his pillow and lay down, hoping the sounds coming from the TV and Marcus' occasional commentary on the stupidity of one of the protagonist's actions would help lull him into a somehow peaceful sleep.

While he managed to fall asleep rather quickly, the sleep that came was anything but peaceful.

The dream started innocently enough. There was a boat, just a small rowing boat, not much bigger than a canoe. Tomas was in the boat with a paddle in each hand. He was sitting in the middle of a deadly calm lake. There was no ripple on the surface; the dark water looked almost like a mirror. The sky was grey, the sun hidden behind a cloud. Tomas could barely see the shore, the lake was covered with thick mist, but he started rowing and the shore was getting closer.

There was a figure standing on the shore and for a moment Tomas' heart relaxed, thinking it was Marcus here to help with whatever was wrong with this place. Because something was disturbingly wrong, Tomas just couldn't put his finger on it. After what felt like an eternity, Tomas finally reached the shore. A hand reached toward him, offering help getting out of the boat and he gripped it before realizing that this wasn't Marcus at all.

It was a woman... a stranger, but with familiar eyes.

"Quien eres tu?" Tomas asked and the woman smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile and Tomas felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Better question padre is, who are you?" she spoke, but the voice didn't belong to her and Tomas took a step back. He felt his leg stepping into emptiness, he expected to feel the boat under his feet but there was nothing, just cold water. No boat, no pier... and no woman. Only ice coldness and Tomas slipping underneath, gasping for breath and choking on water instead.

He felt himself sinking down into the darkness, felt the water fill his lungs with painful clarity. He wanted to scream, but there were bubbles of precious air leaving his mouth. The darkness closed around him and Tomas thought he might just be dying... maybe he was already dead. There was nothing, only him, the darkness and the sticky wetness pushing against every pore of his skin.

It lasted forever or maybe just a second, Tomas didn't know.

'Tomas?' he heard a familiar voice calling from far away.

'Tomas!'

A hand reached down, bringing light and hope. Tomas blinked, the water stinging his eyes but he didn't care anymore. There was a hand offering deliverance from this nothingness and with last of his strength, Tomas reached towards it.

There was a flash of light, a huge ripple tore through the water and suddenly Tomas was standing on a pier, his clothes dry and his lungs filled with precious air.

The shock of it drove him to his knees, a litany of prayers on his lips. He looked up, searching for the hand but it wasn't there. He still felt the warmth of it coursing through his body, but he was also acutely aware of the darkness crawling all around him in the shadows.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Tomas realized this was just a dream... God, he hoped it was just a dream and not a vision of things to come, but that realization was overridden by the sharpness of his senses, by his feelings. His skin was hot, but there was moist coldness in the air. He could feel a familiar smell of the aftershave and sweat mixed with the less familiar stink of rotting bodies and dead fish. It made his stomach turn, but there was nothing to come up and Tomas swallowed, his mouth suddenly parched. The worst thing however was the utter silence and the stillness of the air. As if time itself stopped.

"Hello?" Tomas called out, startled by the sharpness of the sound he made. It was like a crack of thunder and Tomas quickly turned around, as if expecting to be hit by lightning. It would've been a relief at this point; however, there was no such salvation. Instead there was the sound of steps on the wooden pier.

"Olivia?" Tomas asked with disbelief and frowned at the familiar figure that stepped out from the mist.

"Tomas!" Olivia ran towards him and Tomas enveloped her in a confused hug.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh Tomas, he's gone," Olivia sobbed into his shoulder and Tomas froze.

"Who's gone?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Luis. They... they took him. You must come back, come back home," Olivia gripped his shirt and looked at him with such despair Tomas couldn't think, couldn't speak. He felt that with each second the warmth that came from the hand raising him from the water was vanishing, being replaced by coldness and dread.

"No, it's not possible. You and Luis are safe in Chicago," Tomas finally said with choked voice, gently pushing Olivia from his chest.

"They took him, Tomas! Because you weren't there, because you couldn't protect us!" Olivia shouted, her pain quickly changing into anger as she hit Tomas on the chest. "They took my boy and he's gone, because you ran away like a little coward you are" the voice changed and Tomas gasped, pushing the woman away from himself. It still bore the face of his sister, but the eyes were wrong... the eyes were metal red and the smile was cold just like that water. The being inclined its head and laughed.

"What's wrong, padre? You don't like to hear the truth?"

"You speak no truth, only lies," Tomas said, a prayer on his lips. 'Father, in the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ I decree that, by your grace and wisdom, I, my family, my church and all those that concern me are well taught of You.'

The being only laughed harder, as if the words were of no consequence here, as if they had no power. Tomas started shaking and backing away, but he still kept on praying.

'We are well grounded in the Word and we know the difference between the holy and the unholy. We have discernment to differentiate the clean from the unclean and the true from the untrue. When life and death is set before us, we choose life. When blessing and cursing is set before us, we choose blessing. Therefore we live and do not die. We do not fall for lies and deception.'

"Ah, lies and deception are such strong words. Maybe I do speak the truth of the future... maybe you really are a coward who left behind his sister and nephew, in a city crawling with demons. Maybe you're the coward who's too afraid to stand up for himself, a coward who must hide in the shadow of an old lion. You're just a cub, Tomas, nothing more. A toothless cub brought to a hunt." Olivia, or rather the being wearing her face cackled and Tomas choked down a sob, shaking his head and repeating the words that should bring him peace.

'Lord, lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.'

The being let out a howl of laughter and the metal red eyes turned back to the familiar black, which were now filled with horror.

"Tomas?" Olivia gasped in her own voice, then there was a sickening snap and Tomas watched as his sister fell to the ground in a boneless heap.

"No!" Tomas shouted and rushed over, cradling his sister in his arms. Tears poured down his face as the prayers were forgotten and all he could mumble over and over again was a wish for forgiveness, a plea to God to take him instead and spare his family. The body in his arms twitched and Tomas opened his eyes, only to find that he was no longer holding his sister but Harper, small and barely breathing, a look of accusation in her eyes.

"This is all your fault, Father Tomas. Look at me, look at what you did to me!" Harper gasped hoarsely as blood started pouring from her mouth and Tomas couldn't handle it anymore. He screamed in pain and rage, feeling as if his heart was going to burst from all of it. And suddenly there were hands all over him, small hands of children, sticky with paint and blood and Tomas could take no more. His eyes rolled back inside his skull and all he knew was darkness.

TBC

#the exorcist #renew the exorcist #my fic #the price of vision #new chapter #tomas ortega #marcus keane #whump #h/c #missing scene #season 2 #2x04

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ruffoverthinksthings · 7 years

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Thank you for answering that. It would make a lot of sense with how Jay is bulked up, and how forward he is wth ladies yet knows to discard them because love isn't a thing on the Isle. It's weird that La would be th "mother" figure in the equation making him a mini-warrior. What did Jay call her, his dad's "gf"? Was she more or less encouraging that Jafar's or just as harsh in training? Any drabbles of the few talks they had or training?

“Gangactivity” also tends to hint that they all know the extent of howloveless, purely practical, and oftentimes violent“relationships” can be on the Isle. I wouldn’t be surprised ifthere were a lot of VKs getting into relationships with each othersolely as a power trip, or to feel superior to someone seeing astheir parents mostly just bring them down.

La isn’t much of a “mother”figure to him in the traditional sense as there was very little thatwas warm, emotional, or very nurturing about her; she was more akinto a drill sergeant on steroids, concerned with getting the very bestout of the members of her tribe, constantly pushing them but never tothe point where she breaks them (too badly) for them to fight, andespecially not to get fed up and defect.

Certainly, she’s farfrom the ideal ruler you want to be under, considering what youwill need to throw yourself at on a daily basis to stay in her goodgraces, but she’s one of the better leaders in the Isle.

Admittedly, this isn’tsaying much.

Jay unironically called her“Your Highness,” “My Queen,” “Her Most Badass” and otherterms of endearment related to royalty and her exceptional strengthand combat skill.

He largely avoids using termsor even referring to Jafar’s affair with her as he does notappreciate being reminded of it, and will punish him accordingly, butwhen he can, he refers to La as “Top Cat.”

About the only term he’sunable to use with her is “Her Evilness” as that is reservedexclusively for Maleficent, and more so, La gets REALLY pissedoff whenever so much as make vague references to her.

La does not have beef withMaleficent for using violence, magic, and manipulation to gain andmaintain her power (it would be hypocritical of her if she did), butshe does have great issue with how she’s essentially letmost of her people loaf and waste away, and leave them to their owndevices, relying on the likes of Rourke, Mozenrath, Helga, and therest of her underpaid and underappreciated lieutenants to do most ofthe dirty work, and find out if a problem actually needs her personalattention, can be comfortably delegated, or will solve itselfeventually.

(Ever since Maleficent’sbig victory fifteen or so years ago, any form of serious resistanceor uprising eventually starves from lack of resources, expertise, andsupport, or eats itself alive from in-fighting.)

La is actually much better inthe verbal abuse category than Jafar. Certainly, she isn’t kindwhenever Jay screws up, but she usually backs it up with remindersthat he is a warrior, that he still has yet more strength inhim waiting to be unleashed, and that something like this shouldn’teven be a problem for someone as strong as him, or that he can do it.

And when he does succeed, youwon’t find anyone more proud and quick to praise him, even if–orsometimes specifically because–Jay is covered in blood andviscera from a vicious animal he has killed with his bare hands andteeth, or through a mixture of cunning and the weapons you canmanafacture or loot on the Isle.

With Jafar, he maintains hiscontrol over Jay with a carefully used a mixture of making him feelworthless and praising him and inflating his ego, doing enough of theformer to destroy any amount of self-esteem he and quash ideas ofbecoming independent of Jafar because he’s become confident enough,and enough of the latter that he doesn’t become sick and tired ofthe lack of acknowledgment and praise that he also runs away.

“Youknow, he’ll never give you what you want, what you crave,what you need, Jay,” Lasaid on one of her last visits to Jafar’s Junk Shop.

“What,you mean girls, sweet loot, and a better pair of leather boots?”Jay replied. “Because it’s kind of a given that I need to stealthose from someone else if my dad doesn’t have it in stock.”

“Youknow what I’m talking about,” La replied coolly.

“Wellyou’ll have to spell it out for me, because I sure don’t know,”Jay said.

Lachuckled. “Why am I not surprised?” she cast a look to one cornerof the shop, where the oftentimes ceiling-high piles of junk andassorted “valuables” were intentionallycleared andarranged in complex, inconvenient, and sometimes dangerousconfigurationsso one would always be able to see the portrait ofJafar in his glory days.

Helooked so handsome then, powerful, confident, regal—nothing likethe fat, lazy, sweet-talking buffoon he was now, and who she had beenfar too late in realizing would never change.

Jayfollowed her eyes, said nothing; everyone onthe Isle knew that portraitwas never for sale, that itwas firmly nailed down to the wall and wouldn’t budge no matter howhard you tried—not without utterly ruining it and the entirepoint of attempting to stealit.

“Whatis it about him, Jay?” Laasked.

“Whatis it about him that makes you so keen to follow his every command,working yourself to the bone like an obedient hunting dog?

“Evenif instead of praise, a meaty bone, and a warm place to sleep atnight, you get whipped, insulted, and told to come back withsomething better?

“Evenas you watch him take your treasure out of your mouth, viciouslyguard it with his life as ifhe was the one who had risked it,never to share with you even a fraction of what he’ll make when hesells it back to whoever you stole it from orwhomever wants it that badly?

“Youcan’t say you don’t know what it’s like to live under my rule,Jay.

“Youknow I would never dare stealthe credit for the achievements of one of my own. Youknow I reward them with something they can see, feel, and taste, thana promise of something that was not even spoken from his lips, noreven a thought that had crossed his mind.

“Andyou know that youcould make a much better life out in my kingdom, than you could inthis literal pit of garbage.”

Laturned back to face Jay, her eyes calm, curious. “SoI ask you again: what is it about him?”

Jaydidn’t turn his head. It was silent in the junkshop for a fewmoments, save for the noisy clatter of something that finally brokeoff or completely collapsed. He finally faced her with a playfulsmile on his face, but she could see it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’skinda hard to pick up hot girls and go to all the fun parties way outthere in the wilderness,” Jay replied. “Cruellahas the only working car on the Isle, too, and the rickshaws chargethrough the nose.”

Lasmiled and shook her head.“Ah, youth…” she saidas she got up. “When you’vefinally had enough of all this folly, Jay, andtime and experience finally clears the haze of ignorance from yourmind, know that you willalways be welcome in my kingdom.

“Youare meant for great things… but you will not find them here.”

“Theheck is that thing, and where can I get me something like it?”Aziz asked as he came up tothe window of their room.

Jaysnapped out of his reminiscing, his hand instinctively closing tohide his treasure from sight, and make it difficult for someone tosnatch it from him. “Alligator tooth, memento from the Isle.”

“AmI going to hear a story about you punching one so hard you knockedthat tooth right out of its mouth?” Azizasked with a smile.

Jaychuckled. “Nah—just stole it.”

“Figures,”Aziz said. “Anyway, you ready for the big game tomorrow? Onlythe quarterfinals, but it’s still going to decide whether we makeit to the top or not.”

“Hellyeah I am!” Jay replied. “We’re the Fighting Knights—wecharge in heads high, shields up–”

“–Andour helmets definitely screwedon straight,” Aziz finished with him. He shookhis head. “Man, I stillcan’t believe our slogan wasbased on a true story.”

“Weirderthings have happened,” Jay said, gesturing to himself.

“Truethat,” Aziz said, pointing at him. “I’m just going to leave youto whatever it is you’re doing here, unless you’re not in bedwhen you’re supposed to be and I have to physically drag your assunderthe covers.”

“Oh,that’s rich comingfrom you, Az,” Jay saidwith a knowing smile.

“Tuquoque, Jay—justbecause the kettle’s also black doesn’t mean the pot magicallyisn’t,” Aziz said before returned to his bed.

Jaywaved goodbye with his free hand, before he opened his palm. He heldup the alligator tooth once more, a hole bored at the top where thereused to be a string that attached it to a certain jungle queen’sdress.

“’Youare meant for great things… but you will not find them here’indeed…” he muttered with a smile.

#descendants #leopard men and cobras

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leslieohdamnjr · 7 years

Text

Dèesse (Lafayette x Reader)

Word Count: 1213

Genre: Angst

Request/Summary: “Laf x reader fic pls? Angst that may or may not result in smut. 1, 17, 18, 19, 20, 52 & 59. Angsty as possible. I want the reader to be best friends with Laf and then starts to drift. He gets worried, and starts question her. Her confession then slips out.” - @depressedtrashcan16

Sorry, I don’t think I got all the prompts in. I tried to go ‘angsty as possible’ but I don’t know if I did very well.

Pairing: Marquis de Lafayette x Reader

AU: Modern

Warnings: kinda sucky writing, implied smut, fighting/arguing/yelling, bad french translations (from google)

A/N- When I wrote this (At roughly three in the morning) I was like ‘oh my god I’m so proud of this one. Ahhh I love it!’ the next morning I reread it and I cringed much. I feel like I’m losing my mojo! I’m sorry guys, I’ll see what I can do to get it to pick up again.

Please tell me what you think, I know there’s something in my writing that’s deteriorating but I can’t figure out for the life of me what it is. If you guys catch it, I really really would like to know, thanks.

Day 1

“You love him.” Eliza stated.

“Love’s a strong word.” You responded, shaking your head.

“Not for what you have.” Angelica countered.

“Hey guys what’s up?” Lafayette asked, sitting down at the table with you.

“Hey Laf.” Peggy sang teasingly.

“You know, I gotta go…” You stated standing up and pulling your purse onto your shoulder.

“But I just got here.” Lafayette pointed out, his brow furrowing.

“I have… work.” And you were out the door before any of them could say anything more. Once you were safely out the doors of the cafe you whipped out your phone. Why’d you invite him??? You sent the text to Angelica before hailing a taxi.

Day 2

Coffee later? You thought about ignoring the text from Laf and later telling him you’d had your phone off, or you’d left it somewhere but instead you picked it up and replied Sorry I’m busy all day. You set down your phone again and bit your nails as you waited for him to reply. Can we do another time, I really need to talk to you. You sighed. I’m really slammed, I’m sorry Laf, I’ll let you know when I get some free time.

Day 3

“I don’t know. We’ve been best friends ever since I came to New York.” Lafayette said, downing another gulp of his drink. “But for the past few days she’s just been… distant.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Alex stated. “Just give it time, maybe she’ll come back when she’s got less stuff to do.”

“Maybe.” Lafayette shrugged, deciding to wait it out and see if anything got better.

Day 6

“She hasn’t texted me since this.” Lafayette stated, showing Hercules his phone.

“That was only four days ago and she said she’s busy.” Hercules shrugged.

“We usually text everyday. It’s been almost a week!” Laf complained.

“Give it time.” Herc advised.

“I have.” Laf groaned.

“Give it more.”

Day 9

We haven’t talked in awhile. Any time? You glanced at the text from Lafayette but just elected to ignore it this time. You were tired. Tired of hurting when you saw him flirting. Tired of that pang of pain when he called you his friend instead of his girlfriend. Tired of waiting for him to make a move. Tired of convincing yourself that even the tiniest part of him liked you back. You were just tired. Your phone ‘bloop’ed again, signaling a new text. Hello?? It was from Lafayette again. You ignored it again and returned to your thoughts. Your phone interrupted again, you sighed, but quickly perked up when you say that it was from Eliza rather than Laf. You doing okay? Lafayette said you weren’t responding to his texts. It read. You quickly responded, I’m in love. This is a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies.

Day 10

A knock on your door dragged you out of your thoughts. You got up and pulled open the door.

“Oh.” Was all you could say when you found Lafayette standing in front of you. You began to shut the door on him, not knowing what else to do, but he stopped it with his foot.

“I’m not home.” You said stupidly from behind the door.

“Seriously (Y/N), I just saw you.” He drawled. You hesitantly let him in.

“I’m busy again. Can you come later?” You tried.

“Real busy with Doctor Who.” He nodded, gesturing to the TV.

“Why haven’t we talked?” He suddenly lashed out, you flinched at his tone. “Why are you avoiding me, (Y/N)?”

“I said, I’m b-”

“You’re busy?” He cut you off. “Too busy to answer my texts, but you still managed to respond to Eliza? Why won’t you just tell me the truth?”

“You don’t know about everything that’s happened Laf.” You told him, your tone adopting it’s own aggressive edge.

“Then tell me.” He growled back, his voice raising.

“You don’t even- urgghhh.” You cut yourself off with a groan of frustration.

“What don’t I know (Y/N)?” He barked.

“You don’t know how much it hurts to watch you flirt with other girls! You don’t know painful it is waiting for you to make a move! You don’t know the agony I’m in when I remind myself the reason you’re not making a move, because you’re not interested! You don’t know how it feels to hear you call me ‘mon amie’ instead of ‘ma cherie’!” You shouted into his face, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. “You don’t know how much it hurts just to see you, Laf! You don’t know!”

“I’m not- I don’t-” He stuttered.

“I love you Lafayette!” You yelled. It felt like the whole world was silenced at the words.

“What?” He whispered.

“Did I stutter?” You choked back a sob. How could he not notice? You were so obvious about it, how could it take him this long? “I’ve been in love with you.” You continued. “For so long. So forgive me if I find it difficult to watch you hit on Peggy, or the barista, the waitress goddamnit. You took advantage of any sense I had and stole my love without my consent. And to be honest Lafayette, I’m really starting to hate you for it.” He stepped toward you, you flinched away.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” His brow furrowed, his voice surprisingly soft.

“You already have.” You turned away from him. You felt his hands come to rest on your hips, beginning to slide forward for his arms to wrap around your waist. You closed your eyes, you could melt into those arms any day. You snapped out of the dream life in your head and pushed his hands away. You pinched the bridge of your nose, you’d possibly just ruined one of the best friendships you’d ever had.

“I think-” Lafayette started.

“Shit. Laf, I didn’t even think. I’m sorry can we just forget I said anything.” You cringed at your own words.

“(Y/N)-”

“Oh god, I feel like such an idiot.” You turned to face him.

“Can you-”

“We were friends and I completely ruined i-” Lafayette finally managed to get you to stop talking, but he had to use a different tactic. His lips moved against yours in a heated and sloppy kiss. I have to be dreaming You thought, pressing your body against his. His hands latched around the backs of your thighs, lifting you so you could bring your legs around his waist. He began to kiss your neck, you sighed and reached to your left for the door handle. You exhaled contentedly as he nipped at your neck, carrying you through the door you had just opened. I better not be dreaming. He set you down on the bed and hovered over you.

“Je crois que…” Laf whispered between more open mouthed kisses to your neck. “Je t’aime aussi.”

“What?” You breathed stupidly, dragging his shirt off of him. His large, calloused hands slid up your sides, dragging your tank top with them.

“I said,” He began after discarding your tank top. “I think I love you too.” You sighed, his words inciting a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach.

“Dieu (Y/N). Tu es une déesse.”

#did anyone catch the lams letter reference?#lafayette x reader #marquis de lafayette #hamilton x reader #hamilton imagine #hamilton imagines

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