#But seriously the “Crawl inside this body—find me where I am most ruined‚ love me there.” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beann-e · 4 years ago

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hi I was on u-tube and saw a bakugou playlist for when he can’t sleep and I thought well , since I just hit 200 followers ( tysm;3 I love everyone who even took the time out of their day to press follow ) why not bring them this idea of y/n not being able to sleep & bakubabe lending his beautifully different services

also abt the sero line I have in here— I personally think it’d be cool if he just learned Spanish because, he has an interest in other cultures and languages but I don’t really see him being actually hispanic

also I really like writing baku bc he’s so rough with everything he says & I kin him so he’s the easiest so, I hope no one thinks I write him too much

Reader with bad mental health & bakugou lends a hand in his own way

No one cares and no one ever asks. Or at least that’s how you felt while standing here in your last period class your hands balled up in fist tightly held at your chest

Your head was pounding and body was aching you couldn’t describe why you were feeling so horrible all of a sudden but

you just were

maybe it was from all the nights you couldn’t fall aleep due to overthinking

maybe it was the way you got stuck on your phone or even your head dropped low eyes trailing over words in a book just trying to find something to take your mind off the fact that you were struggling

whatever the case was

right now in this last period class this wasn’t helping

“ look shitty woman “ you heard the boy huff “ I want to get a good score on this paired project and right now your fucking this up for me “

his anger was visibly present even if his voice was low to where only you could hear the annoyance that sat in it had everyone looking around for the culprit of the sudden change in the air

“ and I don’t like fuckups so get whatever you have going on together and let’s do this —ok? “

you shook your head and let out a soft ‘ok ‘

the fight ending quickly with bakugou staring down on you his hands on his knees face made up in anger “ you keep finding a way to fuck with me “

“ I didn’t even do anything to you “ your voice was soft and tired

his eyes squinting before sighing

“ I didn’t do anything to anyone “

“ cut this shit out right now “ he pulled you up off the ground hands in fists gripping at your shirt standing you up with his muscles alone “ get to your room — sleep off whatever the fucks going on with you “

His eyes dead set on you as you walked off everyone from the class watching as you failed to gain the strength to open the big doors that led you to your shared dorms

“ sero plea— “

“ got it hermosa “

“ really dude “

“ look it’s hot — and just cause we’re in japan doesn’t mean I can’t show off my online spanish lessons “

“ whatever “ denkis voice whined as he shook his head holding the other door open for you “ gonna get some sleep y/n ? “

you ignored the two boys head hung low as you walked to your room door

the strength appearing in your body as you opened it but, quickly dispersing when you found your bed.

Your face hitting your favorite pillow hand coming up to cradle underneath it as you sat on your knees butt high in the air tears coming out pouring into your blankets “ I won’t show — I won’t show it — I won’t get bad again “ you repeated like a chant

The light from outside disappearing as the day grew into night

several footsteps heard departing from your door when you didn’t answer the knocks . Their low calls of dinner was done , lunch was in the microwave , that you’d missed movie time , that you missed denkis attempt of asking jirou out , and todorokis miss understood question of what ‘ cuddles ‘ were when denki offered her his body to do so

“ and you assholes didn’t just think to open the door? ”

your bedroom door swinging open in a crash as the knob hit the wall behind it creating a hole

“ fucking assholes bothering me with this shit “

“ we didn’t even call you out of your room “

“ you came over to her room on your ow— “

bakugous hand moved swiftly to slam the door in their faces

“ bakubro we’ve been trying to get in there all day and your just—“

“ gonna close the door on us “ denki finished in annoyance “ seriously I just know y/n needs my charm right now “

he pouted behind the door “ it always cheers her up and I like her lau— “

“ didn’t ask to hear your fucking crush story charger base “

“ ass — kiri let’s go “

“ so no sleepy boob pics?“

bakugou stiffened hearing the purples freaks voice

“ so I came with you guys because you said she was sad and usually when girls are sad they don’t dres— “

bakugous voice was guttural as he put his forehead to the door voice loud enough for the boy to hear

“ hey — hey purple nurple “

“ I-uh — yes bakugou “

“ come here “ he could hear the small shuffle of feet to the door as he smirked softly

“ put your tiny head to the door — actually press your whole body up to the door —all the way “

“ are you trying to help me get one of y/n’s bras god —- of all people to help I never thought it’d be bakugo—“

“ hey just shh ok — you don’t want to ruin it right and make her wake up right “ he groaned inside his mind

“ she’s slept this long and through all of this— I can’t get you her bra if your loud right purple zit “

“ so so smart “

“ ok so here it is “

the room grew silent as bakugou pressed his palm as low as he could placing it on the door away from his standing body breathing in to suppress his anger so , he didn’t let out a major blast due to his mood

sighing before he felt his hand grow sweaty tiny pops coming out

“ hey bakugou —is my princess ok ? sounds like popcorn in there are her tit—“

it was quick as the door had a hole in it the newly created circle having black burn scratches on it as mineta laid burnt on the floor once purple body now black and smoke wafting off it

Bakugou squatting as he put his left hand above the hole to steady himself and his right one reaching out through it as he grimaced in pain at the stretch his fingers finally wrapping around minetas short body fingers interlocking around his neck as he looked through the new hole in the door eyes piercing into the boy he held

his voice low and dominating “ you ever come back to her room on some creep shit — and I blow your fucking brains out do you hear me “

“ y-yes sir “ mineta let out dazed “ I will stick to yao-“

“ that goes for all the girls you hear me — guys included I know your a little pervy fuck you can’t get your hands on girls underwear you’ll move on to dekus shitty tidy whities”

mineta was silent as bakugou threw him back on the floor watching as he crawled off

his body relaxing as he shook his mind burning.

head in his hands before wiping his face in exhaustion and standing up and turning to you when he felt the air in the room shift , his hands out in jazz hands and a fake smile on his face.

“ ta da “ he was met with your sitting body your pillow covering him from seeing you .

your face dropping in shock moving from his tall figure that stood inching over to the now huge hole that he was trying to hide from you

“ k-katsuki “

“ I told you about that “

“ s-sorry “

“ again I told you about that shit “ his gaze was hard on you

“ do it again and i’ll tell shitty hair to harden in the next hug he gives you — since you and that crappy puppy boy are always touching “ he mumbled

“ bakugou why are you — why does my door have a hole in it “

“ don’t worry about it “

“ h- w-how can I not worry about it my doors black“ you screamed in confusion “ it used to be brown bakugou “

“ bakugou it used to be this — bakugou — katsuki oh my gosh i’m sorry — god do you ever shut the fuck up and just be thankful “ he mocked you soon converting back to his anger ridden voice

“ and whats with this pillow take it away from you — I wanna see your fucked up face “

you sighed bringing the pillow from in front of your head his eyes having a look run through them that you couldn’t figure out but you knew it had something to do with how puffy your eyes felt . Even if they weren’t puffy or couldn’t get puffy you’d never known for a fact because it still felt like they were .

You two stared at each other as the silence grew louder him shoving his hands in his pocket before taking out the packet of pills he’d gotten for you shaking them to show you it wasn’t a weapon like Mr.Aizawa thought after finding him returning to school late and shaking him down like a police officer

his hand putting them on your desk

His other one throwing the water he found in the kitchen to your bed “ not throwing you the pills — need you to move around so you gotta come get em‘ “

your face showed no emotion as he nodded understanding the new tense and uncomfortable emotions thats were present “ ... ok — well got a green headed vegetable to go bully so “

you watched as his hands gripped the door swinging it open as you dropped your head eyes moving to the water in front of you “ why can’t I do anything right “

you cried “ why can’t the world — the days — the stars fucking align for me to feel good for once huh “

you felt even more tears prickle your eyes as your voice grew louder “ why can’t I talk to people without having this voice in the back of my mind screaming — raging like its having a party — why can’t I sit in silence without having to stand up every five seconds and move around because my body screams for attention — for movement because i’ve been sitting still for 5 seconds “

you heard the faint click of the door mouth still moving as if he were still there

“ why can’t I speak what I feel when people ask me“ you laughed shortly “ not like they do — because they can’t tell I just mask so well “

you let your face start to feel heavy and tense as you continued your crying rant into the empty room “ and most importantly why was I so bad at everything “ your eyebrows furrowed

“ why am I so bad at today ? “

“ just a day really ? “ you heard the taller males voice came out questioning

“ just today that’s what your worried about “

“ well I “

“ tch “ he shook his head before turning to face away from you his face dropping into a look he didn’t want you to see.

“ I-i’m sor— “ you knew he didn’t like you saying sorry or even using his first name you two had established that when he finally accepted your friendship or in his words

‘ you can hang around —like shitty hair but one sniff of blabber mouth and your gone ‘

“ I didn’t mean to spill to you I just — I — you can go —no one gives a shit anyways “

“ I will “

your body grew sad at his quick response

“ tell me what your most upset about “

your answer came quick as you let your brain take over “ I wake up in the middle of the night and can never fall back asleep when I do “

he moved to your door for a second time opening it to leave before pausing for a second speaking something to where you couldn’t hear much less make out

“ just knock “

he shook his head before closing the door softly to rival his usual mood.

Your body shaking when you finally realized you’d spilled out your mental thoughts to bakugou letting your body calm down before you grabbed the pills and silently thanked your friend before feeling yourself at some time finally fall asleep

It’s been days since you last felt that horrible it never stopped but you were able to hide it even more and live out your life the happiest you could

until one night you found you beating yourself up surprisingly not in real life but in your dreams

a loud gasp leaving your mouth as you sat up calming down only to bring your knees to your chest arms wrapped around them in a hug

your back moving to the wall to feel comforted after only feeling your cold hands and body wrapped around yourself

“ what I would give to have something warm “

‘warm ‘

your mind raced to bakugou trying to push the thoughts out your mind of him actually being a caring boyfriend who could help you like he did nights ago with bringing you medicine, a boyfriend who would let you snuggle into him and take all his warmt—

stop the track cause that song will never play you thought as you started to think about him again face made up in determination and focus as you tried to remember what he said that night feeling stupid when you finally remembered your quirk

the quirk that brought you pain and contributed to your mental health

your quirk allowed you to take pictures of everyone’s last moments you’d spent together with your thoughts

it was good in some aspects like right now when you could finally remember where sato helped you hide your candy bars from yourself so you wouldn’t indulge in them 2weeks ago

at the same time you can see your problem with it when the last moment you had of your mother was her kissing you goodbye before shapeshifting into a fire extinguisher and landing in your fathers hands as he screamed at you to run out of your home and get more help the last image you seeing of your father was him spraying the fire extinguisher all over the stove in hopes to calm it down before it spread but he couldn’t

it didn’t help when the pictures replayed in your mind like video home movies that you didn’t want to watch

whenever your quirk was used everything spun in your head like a movie reel the downside was it made you watch every single picture you’d taken until you found the one you were looking for

it didn’t take long before you finished your mom and dads memory and got to bakugous last moment you two spent together

you zooming in reading his lips turning up the volume on the moment as he spoke “just knock “

“ just knock ? “ you sat confused in your spot on the bed shaking off your quirk taking as long as needed to process his words only to be even more confused and just knocking on the wall twice between your two shared dorm rooms.

You never paid much attention to him being your neighbor it’s not like you needed him for anything so right now you were a bit curious in why he reminded you that you two shared walls

Eyes closing while you waited for whatever was supposed to happen

“ guess he didn’t mean it like th—“

your body softened when you heard music fill his room and overflow into yours

You heard the drums kick in as the lyrics played muffled through your wall

‘I listened to the cure

I listened to the cure

and then I cried ‘

your eyes widened before you felt your body relax against the wall eyebrows made up in content

eyes watering when you heard your two soft knocks returned on the wall behind you

you let your body go tenseness leaving as the song played moving to grab your phone with shaky hands seeing his name light up on your screen

Godzilla wannab

‘ no one gives a shit about your life right ? ‘

you cried even harder when you saw the message fit the song perfectly the words you spoke a couple days ago as if your were singing the lyrics

you looked around your room before falling on the dent he left in your wall grabbing your phone and zooming in on it to take a picture and sending it to him

Godzilla wannab

sorry your room was just so ass you needed some redecorating be thankful people tend to cry when I redecorate—just ask deku

you laughed as you seen him prepare to send a new message your heart swelling when you read it

Godzilla wannab

look this is gonna sound sus as fuck but

you bit your lip at the new message

‘ if you can’t sleep come over — your rooms cold as fuck and I know that pillow your hugging’s not doing shit ‘

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years ago

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Raise the Stakes, Part 3

Ok, so this section is a lot longer than the previous ones, which is specifically what I was trying to avoid by splitting it up, but I'm certain that there was no way to insert an act break in this without it ruining the flow of the action.

If this is the first part of the story you're finding, you'll want to get caught up:

Place Your Bets (prequel)

Part one Part two

Pairing: Jay White x OFC/ David Finlay x OFC

Word count: 3,007

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, mild violence that some may find upsetting or disturbing.

“Jesus, Jay, what the hell?” You push at his chest, not that it’s going to do you a bit of good.

“Where have you been?” He hisses.

“Oh, are you seriously going to do this? You know where I’ve been. I had a date, I spent the night with him. And then I spent the day with him.”

“Didn’t bother asking for my permission.” His tone is so icy and mocking, and so uncharacteristically controlled that you’re a little frightened.

You exhale and let yourself go limp. “No, I didn’t. And you know what, I don’t give a fuck. I’ve killed myself trying to make you happy and right now I have no idea why. So if you want to try to make me feel guilty for spending every minute I can with someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m beneath contempt, if you want to punish me for running away and feeling happy for a few hours, you go right ahead.”

Your breathing is so rapid that you know he won’t believe that you actually don’t care but what’s the worst he can do? Is it really going to be any worse than what you’ve put yourself through trying to make him love you back?

He snickers quietly and slides one of his hands around the base of your throat. He doesn’t squeeze or push, just leaves it there like a silent threat. He’s more than strong enough to strangle you without even having to exert himself. That’s crazy, though, isn’t it? Yes, he’s abusive and heartless and manipulative but he’s also someone you’ve known for years. There’s no way Jay would actually hurt you. Is there?

He leans his face close so that you can hear his breath rasping in your ear. “That’s sweet. Did your little boyfriend treat you nice? Did he make you feel special?”

“Jay,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice steady, “you need to get off of me right now. I don’t know if you’ve been drinking or taking speed or what but it has to stop.”

His hand pushes just a little further up and feels just a little heavier.

“Answer me. Did he make you feel good?”

“This is none of your business.” You give an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I had a great time. He made me feel like the most beautiful, most desirable-“

For the first time, Jay tightens his grip on your throat, cutting off your air and your words.

“So he fucked you well? Made you come? Had you screaming his name?”

He releases you again and in the wake of the terror of the last few seconds, you’re suddenly furious.

“Yes, he did. So many times. Best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, you want to be mean? Think you’re going to hurt my feelings like you haven’t been panting after me like some pathetic stray dog for years? I pay you, I let you get your little shots in, I fuck you which no one else has until the last week.” His hand drops from your throat but just as quickly, his other hand grabs a handful of your hair, pulling it so tight that you feel a few strands ripped out at the root. He twists your head to the side, pinning it to the pillow.

“Jay, you’re hurting me!” For the first time, the fear is in your voice. You’ve never seen him like this. You don’t know who this man in your bed is.

“You want to know what hurts?” He snarls. “I trusted you.”

“What are you talking about? What do you think is going on? It’s a couple of dates, Jay. I took a day off and didn’t tell you. Can’t you be a little happy for me?”

“I trusted you,” he repeats. “And you betrayed me.”

“Betrayed? Don’t be so dramatic. This is not about you.”

He grabs your throat again and squeezes.

“I saw you,” he drawls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “I saw you yesterday in his arms, all happy and smiling. You couldn’t even be bothered to close the fucking door.”

Your brain scrambles to catch up. Did he mean this morning? No, he wouldn’t have had any reason to be skulking around on a different floor of the hotel. Did Sanada say something after all? Then it occurs to you. Sanada hadn’t closed the door when he left the room yesterday. He probably hadn’t even thought about it. The door was almost always open. You’d closed it because you wanted to work. David had closed it because he wanted to keep your secret. Sanada had opened the door, gotten a drink, and walked out like he always did, and you and David had been so blissed out that you hadn’t noticed.

“Look,” you gasp, clawing at his hand, “we can talk about this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

He gives a pained cry and bites down hard on your neck, making you cry out in turn.

“This is a huge fucking deal. I am not going to let that little mealworm wriggle in and take what’s mine.”

He releases your neck again and as you draw in oxygen, you frantically try to think of how to defuse the bomb on top of you. If he wants to, he can end David’s career in New Japan. He can easily stop the two of you from seeing each other. What’s clear, though, is that he’s not firing you, which would be a mercy, because if that’s what he wanted, he’d have done it already.

What’s also clear, and you hate yourself for it, is that you’ve never been more turned on in your life. Feeling the weight of him on you, the burning intensity of his expression and his words. It’s like he can barely control himself, that he’s fighting to stop himself from tearing into you. You’ve never seen him act like this about anything.

“No one’s taking anything from you, Jay,” you insist, turning to look at him when he loosens his grip a little. “I’m not going anywhere. I work myself to the bone for you and that’s not going to change.”

He gives a sardonic laugh. “And he’s so pathetically in love that he’s fine with the kind of work you do for me?”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it. That was never exactly part of the job description. But everything else stays the same.”

“Except that you’re fucking David Finlay.”

“Except that I have a life outside my job. And you won’t have to put up with me panting after you as you so delicately put it.”

“No.” He says it so loudly it startles you.

“What do you mean no?” You whine. “This is how normal people do things. Some people work together. They have relationships with other people. They don’t crawl into a coworker’s bed in the middle of the night and scare them half to death thinking-“

“No,” he repeats sharply.

“Why?” You whimper.

“You’re mine and he can’t have you.” He shoves the bedcovers out of the way and roughly runs his hands over your nude body. “He can’t have any part of you. Not your pussy, not your mouth, not your loyalty, not your feelings.”

You’re about to argue but he crushes his mouth against yours and although you know the only sane thing to do is fight him off, you reciprocate without hesitation, relishing the little moans and purrs that escape him as the kiss grows more and more passionate.

“I’ve been so terrible,” he murmurs. “My girl needs a reminder of why she puts up with me.”

He squeezes your breast, twisting his fingers around the nipple just firmly enough to make you gasp. And you know you shouldn’t, you know you should smack him in the head or scream into his ear and do whatever it takes to make him go away because you’re very aware what’s at risk. But as he kisses his way down your body, giving little hums and sighs of satisfaction when you twitch or gasp in response, it’s like the lovely memories you were clinging to when you crawled into this bed a few hours ago are becoming foggy and disjointed, like something you might have imagined to make yourself feel better about the situation you’re really in.

For the longest time, he lets his mouth hover around your pussy, just soft licks and kisses over the hollows of your hips, the inside of your thighs, and over the inner and outer lips, gently sucking on the flesh as his hot breath vibrates over your clit.

“This is the best smell in the world,” he murmurs into your skin, “and I never take the time to enjoy it.”

Your whole body is shaking by the time he starts thrusting his tongue against you. You want to push back against him but you force yourself not to, hoping to withstand his attention, to refuse to let him bring you to orgasm. The problem is that when he makes the effort, Jay is an incredible lover.

“Don’t hold back,” he cajoles, having detected what you’re trying to do. “Give into it. Let go.” He looks up at you and flashes an evil little grin. “I won’t tell, I promise.”

You try to curse at him but of course, he intensifies his actions and all you can do is grab hold of the sheet with all your might and try to stop yourself from screaming. He alternates fucking you with his tongue and lavishing attention on your clit, pausing only to keep encouraging you to relax and let it happen, to let him pleasure you and with each passing second, it seems more ridiculous to even try to stop it. You’re too far gone in every sense.

“Oh god, fuck, Jay!” Your silence gives way at the same time as your body and you blurt out his name like it’s the only thing you’re capable of saying.

He lifts his head just enough so that you can see the thick gloss of your juices on his lips and through his beard before he starts kissing you and touching you again. He stays away from your too-sensitive bud but his lips and fingers move everywhere around it, finding a whole ring of nerves outside and inside just begging for attention. You can’t even tell if it’s just powerful aftershocks you’re feeling or if you’re rolling through orgasm after orgasm. Does it matter? It does not.

Gradually he glides up your body, still rocking against you, caressing you all over as he moves, like he wants to make love to every part of you individually. You run your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp like you know he loves. You're rewarded with deep purrs of satisfaction, like he’s a big cat you’ve managed to tame. Usually, you don’t get the opportunity to touch him like this, but you figured it out early on and you’ve never forgotten.

You wonder if he knows he was the first man to make you come. You’ve certainly never told him. It’s not like you were that experienced but you’d been with enough men by the time you first got together with Jay that you’d pretty much given up hope that you’d meet a man who’d be able to figure you out. And then he’d come along and made you fall apart like it was nothing. He still can.

His kisses become more playful and ticklish, which gets you both laughing a little.

“You deserve it.” He says the phrase in the same singsong cadence that fans chant it during shows. “You deserve it.”

This gets you laughing even harder so that you’re almost caught off guard when he starts licking and nipping at your neck in earnest.

His rigid cock is sliding against your soaked pussy but he’s making no effort to enter you. You buck your hips a little to let him know he’s welcome.

“I don’t have to,” he tells you, running a finger ever so delicately down your throat and over your collarbone. “This is for you.”

“You don’t want to?”

He laughs. “More than anything. But for once I’m telling you it’s not about what I want. I mean it. You can send me back to my room if you like.”

“You know I want you.”

“Like this?” He thrusts his hips hard against yours.

“Exactly like that.”

He needs no further encouragement to guide himself into you, gasping like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt as he begins pumping into you.

“That son of a bitch fucked you all night and you’re still as tight as when I met you.”

A pained sound escapes you and the word “no” just after it. You cover your face with your hand and try not to picture where you were twenty-four hours ago.

Roughly, he pushes your hand back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You just feel so good, always so fucking good.”

He kisses you insistently but sweetly, pulling on your legs so that they curve over his broad shoulders, allowing him to push deeper inside you as he picks up his pace. As he moves, he rolls you a little further forward, to the point you think that if his arms weren’t firmly planted on either side of your head, the two of you would end up turning a summersault. The higher the angle, the deeper he’s able to get and the more contact he’s able to get with your g-spot, so that you’re practically screaming again as you feel the tension rising like lava in a volcano.

“That’s so good,” you whine, grabbing onto his bicep. You have to focus on pulling oxygen into your lungs or you’ll pass out. “I’m gonna come again, Jay.”

“I’m right with you,”

Your eyes close for a second before you feel his hand insistently rubbing at your cheek and temple.

“Open your eyes,” he rasps, obviously on the brink of losing control of himself. “I want to see those beautiful eyes when you come.”

You oblige and it’s just in time as you go to pieces, your muscles spasming and squeezing tight around him. And it’s only seconds before you feel him come hot and wet inside you, gradually slowing his movements until the two of you are still, hands running over each other as you catch your breath.

He finally rises, pushing himself down the bed and lifting one of your legs over his. You’ve never seen that look on his face before, like he can’t process what has just happened or how he’s feeling about it. He just sits there, stroking your leg as his expression goes through a series of subtle changes until his eyes come to rest on your pussy.

He’s not making any effort to conceal the hunger in his stare. His hand drifts up your thigh and he strokes at the apex of it with a calloused thumb.

“It’s perfect,” he mumbles. “Fucking perfect. The color, the shape, those gorgeous thick lips. It’s like I never want to look at anything else.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

“I wish I had. I wish I’d said it every time you let me have it.” He squeezes at the flesh just a little and teases pushing a couple of fingers inside. “I want to take a picture.”

“No way.”

“I know, I know. I’d just love to take a picture and send it to him so he could see what he’s missing. So he could see how beautiful it looks with my cum leaking out of it.”

You spring up and try to push yourself away but he instantly has a tight grip on your leg and gives a sharp bite to the inside of your knee.

“I’ll bet he was a good little boy,” he sighs, resting his head against your thigh. “I’ll bet he wore a condom for you so that you felt nice and safe.”

You can’t even speak, you're so angry.

“He did, didn’t he?”

“It’s none of your goddamned business, Jay.” You glare at him, wanting to wipe that infuriating smile off his face forever. “Yes, we used condoms. A lot of them.”

“Oh of course. I forgot what an amazing lover he is. All sweet and attentive.”

“Not as sweet as you think, asshole. But you’re right about amazing. Like I said, the best-“

“No, he isn’t.” He pushes the heel of his hand against your pussy, stimulating the nerves without making it physically painful. “Did you tell him you let me fuck you without a condom? That you stay on birth control for me?”

“Funny,” you sneer, “it didn’t come up.”

He stares at you, flicking his tongue over his lips.

“Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” You groan.

“Would you still be here if I wasn’t?”

That hits you like a glass of ice water and while you’re trying to think of a retort, he pulls you up onto his lap and starts peppering you with kisses like he hasn’t just behaved like a monster.

“You think I’m joking but I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not letting you go away. I’m not going to settle for being the second most important man in your life. “

“I don’t think it would bother you if you weren’t thinking you were about to come second to David Finlay. Again.”

He locks his arm around you and stands up in one smooth movement. You know how hard he works on his body and how strong he is but your jaw still drops a little at how effortless it is. He doesn’t even have to hold you particularly tight to support your whole weight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You croak.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And with that, he whisks you off to his adjoining room.

#jay white imagine #jay white fanfic #david finlay imagine #david finlay fanfic #njpw fanfic #wrestling fanfic #wrestling imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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too-scared-to-do-this · 4 years ago

Text

Of the Devil’s head

Chapter twelve - Lose a piece of that non-heart

Sander’s sides fanfiction

Wordcount: 1529

Ship: prinxiety (Get ready people.)

TW: So, a bunch of kissing - though no shirtless people this time; a little bit of for-play (Can it be called for-play if nothing really happens?), hard teasing, flirting, very subtle mentions of cruelty and something resembling suicide, though it is not exactly that, cursing (a lot) and a bunch of light-hearted backstory angst because why not? Let me know if anything else pops up :3

Summary of the whole story: They say, the one that wears the crown rules all - the living, the dead, the walking, the crawling, the rooted, the sane and the mad. They say, once you own the crown, you become the most powerful being on Earth and beyond. Roman’s stolen bigger things - a measly little crown won’t present a problem, even if he has to steel it straight off of the devils head!

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Chapter twelve - Lose a piece of that non-heart

Roman often tends to forget what it is like to be happy. That one little feeling that grows inside your chest, suffocating you in the best way possible until you blow up, smiling and grinning (in his case talking and twirling around like a little princes).

It’s been so long since this feeling grew out of proportion. Since he wanted to jump around and talk someone’s ears of. Wanted to sing out loud.

But right now, no matter how Roman’s body would be reacting to this much happiness in any other situation, he just pulled the Devil closer to him, grinning into the kiss.

V smiled too, leaning his forehead against the thief’s. “You seem awfully happy.” he murmured, teasingly. As if the pink on his pail cheeks and the way his non-heart was beating didn’t imply the exact same thing.

He was awfully happy. And judging by the way Roman was literally vibrating, he was as well.

“I just kissed the man of my nightmares, who wouldn’t be?” Ro grinned even wider.

Virgil couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head against the being’s.

“What? It’s not like you didn’t get lucky! Just look at me!” Ro pulled away, with Virgil still on his lap, gesturing at himself.

“I don’t think emotionally fragile and easily breakable is a think you should be proud of.”

“Hey! I’ll let you know! I’m much tougher then you think! I might just be tougher than you!”

“Oh really.” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Let’s put that to a test, shall we…?” the dark toothy grin wasn’t nearly enough to forebode the kings next actions.

Roman didn’t even have time to blink before he was laying once again. Hands above his head, pinned to the bed.

Something snaked up his leg, circling around his thigh. Too high, he might ad… This was dangerous. Very, very dangerous…

“Now you can show me how though you really are.” the Devil’s eyes darkened, clouds circling around like small tornados. “When someone’s holding you down…” he leaned in close. Close enough that he could feal his breath on his lips. “…pinning you…”

“… what will the though thief do?” he hummed. Deep voice resonating through Roman’s whole body.

“He… am….” the human gulped. He hated how clipped his voice came out.

But Hades, did Virgil love the flustered expression Roman was wearing. He could hear his heart beating faster then light, blood rushing in his wains. See his brain failing to function. Cheeks flushed and eyes unable to leave Virgil’s lips. Roman was completely gone. Melting underneath the Devil.

“He what?” V smirked, voice dark with lust. Tail tightening around Ro’s thigh.

Roman yelped.

A very high-pitched, very restrained, very embarrassing yelp. And Virgil couldn’t take it. He fell back onto the thief’s thighs, tail uncurling, hand’s letting go, howling with laughter.

And Roman just laid there, a giant emotional mess watching the Devil with big round eyes.

“Oh Hades! Lord of the darkness! I can’t, I’m sorry.” the king stuttered out through laughter. “Don’t take it too seriously. I was just having some fun.”

“We’ll if this is the kind of fun you like to have…” the thief blinked, barely breathing.

But Virgil didn’t even hear him through the laughter. He just leaned down and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re adorable when flustered, liveling.”

“Yeah yeah.” Ro rolled his eye, trying to collect his thoughts. He cleared his throat and took in the whole of his supposed captor. Apparently that thing that abused his thigh earlier was a long thin tail, similar to the wings he saw earlier. Huh… interesting.

But didn’t the Devil say- “Where are your horns?”

“What?” Virgil wiped of a tear, trying his best to calm down.

“Your horns. You said ‘tails and horns and everything’. Where are the horns?”

“Ah well… Their here.”

And suddenly, Roman was looking at two small horns poking out of V’s scalp. Barely visible from the hair. “Oh, dear Gods! They are so small!”

“Oh shut up.”

“No! You’ve got small little hornies!”

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“They suit your personality so much! Small and adorable! I just -”

Virgil sighed defeated. “Apparently not…”

His fun has ended…

Nobody knows how long the two didn’t come out of that room.

Well… nobody except Remi. He’s been lounging around the throne room for Hades-knows-how-long, sipping at his delicious coffee.

Souls, no souls, he wouldn’t have been working even if Virgil was around. But he wasn’t. He was off with that boy-toy off his doing dark-knows-what.

If you’d ask Remi, the king went soft. But he never really was tough to begin with…

All those years ago, when they used to go down to earth and do crazy shit nobody even dared to think of! That was the shit! Them - the duo. Tearing people in half and making buildings crumble and burn. But thinking back, even Remi knew it wasn’t Virgil’s free will talking. The former prince always looked back at the damage they caused with a sad look in his eyes. Guilt.

No, it was not him. It was Lucifer.

The former Devil was the truest meaning of the word. Remi hasn’t been here long enough to get to know him, but the twelve or so years spent with him in charge were enough. Abusive, power-hungry, mad. Nothing was ever enough for that creature.

Not his wife, Remi never got to meet. Not his son, who grew up to be too weak for the kings liking. Not Hell itself.

Remi wasn’t blind. Nor was he stupid. Lazy and bitchy, maybe, but those were his best traits! Besides for the obvious great fashion sense and awesome personality. But he was a mind reader for fuck’s sake. And Virgil’s thoughts weren’t exactly quiet.

Safe to say it was best for everyone involved when Lucifer got banned from Hell. Well, not exactly from it - they were demons, but not even they were cruel enough to unleash such a monster to the upper world. He got sent to the deepest darkest pit of Hell where no server had acces to. Not even the prince himself.

And after the immediate coronation of Virgil, the power the former Devil once had now belonged to V. Who never used it, unless necessary.

So yeah… maybe Remi did miss those times when Virgie was more fun, but he sure as Hell didn’t miss those thoughts of his swirling around in both of their heads.

Now at least it was mostly quiet.

The Devil seemed happy. Unusually so. Remi even got his fucking coffee! Who would’ve though?

He chewed on the straw of his almost empty drink. No matter what, the king was the king. And right now, he was locked away somewhere with his little Human doing dark-knows what. And Hell, if Remi wasn’t curious as to what it was!

And what it really was, was nothing.

V laid in his bed with his head on Romans chest, completely oblivious to the outside world. This was their bubble - their safe place. Nobody could walk in without permission and nobody could take Roman away either.

He wouldn’t let them.

Maybe not that. But Virgil knew Ro would have to leave at some point. He couldn’t stay... Though he’d rather not think about that just yet.

Instead, he looked up at his liveling and watched him. Listened to the steady beet of his heart. Who knew it would be a Human thief that would end up owning his?

Hair still damp from the shower he took earlier. Eyes closed. Smiling.

Yeah… Virgil was a lucky son of a Devil. And nobody could deny that.

Father wouldn’t have approved, but mom… Mom would have loved Roman.

She herself has fallen for a mortal. Which ended up being her downfall. But she never regretted. She never coward.

Not once.

“Don’t be afraid love. It doesn’t hurt.” she said.

“But I am afraid, mommy…”

“Don’t be, my dark angel. I am not afraid.”

“How?”

“Because, when you love somebody enough, you’re not afraid to give up anything.”

Now, Virgil knew this was faulty logic. If she loved her son as much as she said she did, why didn’t she give up dying on the account of her supposed love? And why did she need to give up anything at all?

If she loved someone, shouldn’t they be kind and understanding enough to at least come to a compromise? Find some way for his mommy not to have to die?

The mortal probably was dead by now, forgetting all about his beloved mother the moment she stepped out of their life. But she didn’t…

It was faulty logic. Very stupid and faulty logic.

But somewhere deep down, he understood her…

She did love him. More then anything in the whole universe. But sometimes love isn’t enough.

And so, she perished. Erased herself from existence without a single tear ruining her perfect face. And a beautiful smile.

That’s what Virgil remembers. That smile.

And as he looked up at Roman, he saw the same one. Same peaceful, astonishing small smile lingering on the lips he was kissing just a moment ago.

So, he kissed them again. And let the realization of what he was about to do next swallow him whole.

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I don’t feel like this chapter is very consistent... But oh well. I refuse to sit on it any longer. I have a last chapter to write!

Not that I want to end this story, but I have such a juicy ending prepared I just can’t wait to write it!! ^^

Anyhow, this was a little bit of backstory before the actual end. Roman already had his, so now it was time for V’s. And that brings us to the last chapter coming soon.

Also some more art because I feel like drawing V and all his forms. Ya know, all the forms of evil :3.

Okay XD It’s late and I’m just spewing out words now.

As always, hope you liked the chapter! <3

Tag list:

@romano-hottopic

@vpow

@a-formless-entity

@lovelivingmydreams

@alice-only-me

#of the devil's head #Virgil the king of hell #Roman the thief #prinxiety #anxiety sanders #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman #creativity sanders #ts remi #remi aka sleep #sleep sanders #thomas sanders #sander's sides #what else should I tag

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hopelesslygazingthestars · 4 years ago

Text

In Valentines Day spirit... a lil love... and a lil angst.

Fools And Love.

Since long before Ashara’s flower blossomed, she knew that love made fools of men. There were many that came and went, fell over themselves and professed love for her pretty eyes and tinkling laugh. Even a Dornish prince had played the fool for her and sworn off marriage, and instead pursued fleeting desires.

Elia broke her promises and chose Rhaegar. When she uttered the rejection, Ashara literally heard her ribcage crack from the explosion beneath her chest. She had finally conjured up the confidence to confess long-hidden feelings and Elia gave a response she never foresaw. Her sweet Elia, the one she trusted above all others, and the one that loved her like none. The irony was not lost in that, at the beginning, she had wanted to apologize in advance because she thought it would be her to accidently break Elia’s heart and run, just like she always had. Yet, in the end, it was Elia who ripped her heart out and abandoned her.

It was only in Elia’s abandonment that Ashara realised she never healed what was broken inside of her. Elia was the tourniquet to her being, and without her, she was left bleeding on the cold, hard ground.

First, came an agonising emptiness which left her powerless to rise from her bed. Then, a volatile rage she unleashed on anything in her proximity. Next, she chased an oblivion in endless goblets of wine. Lastly, came the venomous desperation, which had her acting out for Elia’s attention in the most foolish ways.

After a long confinement, when Elia had not come chasing as usual, Ashara returned to court like a hurricane, on the centre stage of the Realm’s biggest and most extravagant tourney.

Lord Whent’s tourney at Harrenhal attracted nobility from every hill, river and rock in Westeros. From the sour lords of winter to the prickly roses of the Reach; to the stags of Storm’s End, to the old keeper of the Mountains of the Moon. Even Mad King Aerys, looking haggard and unhinged, crawled out of the dragon’s den for the first time in years, much to Rhaegar’s dismay. However, noticeably, the lions of the Rock were nowhere to be seen, except the newly knighted golden cub, Ser Jaime.

The tourney was as much a political event as it was an athletic melee. Treason was in the air, and the Great Houses of Westeros had more in mind than jousting, archery, and merrymaking. Ashara knew of the great efforts Rhaegar and Elia underwent to secretly fund the tourney in guise of calling a Great Council and initiating Rhaegar’s ascension to the Iron Throne.

After the opening ceremonies, when the dancing walls were hung with magnificent tapestries, each emblazoned with the symbols of the Great Houses, the psychological games began. Aerys made his own power plays and officially named Ser Jaime the youngest knight in kingsguard history. A clear spite at his Hand, thereby claiming the heir to the Rock his own.

Nonetheless, Ashara had plots of her own in mind. Driven by foolish attempts of attention seeking and many a cup of heady Dornish Reds, Ashara dragged Prince Oberyn up after a long evening of introductions and tedious niceties.

“Now, come. Let us show these stiff Northerners how to dance properly, my prince!”

Always ready for mischief, Oberyn set aside his wine before Ashara swept him to the centre of the dance floor.

Ashara expected the many eyes which stalked them, the distrust for the Dornish and their strange ways was something she was long accustomed to. Yet, there was only one pair of dark orbs Ashara cared to attract.

She took one of Oberyn’s serpents and waved to the musicians, who picked up their instruments and began to liven up.

The technicoloured red and blue serpent slithered up her arm and down her exposed mid riff.

Ashara was a foolish maid in love, recklessly seeking the love she was deathly afraid of losing. When she gazed up at the princely couple, seemingly besotted with one another, she knew she would sooner withstand Elia’s blazing rage than her careful distance.

She brought the serpent’s head close to her face and stuck out her tongue as its forked one did the same. The music swelled and she began to mirror its movements seductively as Oberyn stalked around her gyrating form. She moved with a slow and sensuous purpose as the snake coiled around her and slithered into Oberyn’s grip. Her body wove itself lithely in tandem with the growing rhythm of the seductive beats.

To dance was her freedom, to dance was to become a shooting star, and in the crumbling ruins of Harrenhal, Ashara came alive for the first time in so long.

Her movements flowed with a dazzling grace that took away the breath of every person in her audience. She felt her soul become one with the music and she unleashed her emotions into the dance; heartbreak, jealousy, longing. In that moment, she needed to dance as badly as she needed to breath. She wanted to shine and be seen in the darkness.

When she noticed that Elia’s attention remained on her husband, despite the audience she drew, Ashara grew more desperate. She was determined to draw such spectacle that Elia had to do something. Anything. It was not a well thought out strategy, merely a frantic attempt to salvage what had been shattered between them.

When the song ended and the applause came, Ser Barristan the Bold, stepped out another fool in love.

“Lady Ashara, I must insist on the honour of dancing with you. I am no great dancer, but I am certain your talents will more than make up for my lack of skill.”

She nearly declined until she caught Elia curiously watching her. She took it as a small victory and laughed loudly, throwing her head back.

“Ser Barristan, the honour is all mine.”

She took his offered hand, and it was the first of many. She danced with an entire host of men; princes, knights, and lords alike. Ashara was in her element, gliding close to whichever man she held close in her long arms and dared hope to see vexation in Elia’s expression.

She chased Elia and they chased her.

The men would take and so would she, for it was clear love was not meant for Ashara. These men would flirt and dance, perhaps even take her to bed, or to wed, but she knew none of them meant to see her beyond the violet eyes and fair golden skin. The only eyes which had ever seen her were so dark she could scarcely breath sometimes, and now they were blinded by fire.

Despite the sparing glances, Elia made no movement towards her, and Ashara descended further.

She left behind willing partners looking forlorn as she bounced to her next conquests. She flirted outrageously and was vitalised by the scandalised looks.

She was entirely content to continue her path of self-destruction until she saw dark grey eyes watching her. She noticed them follow her as she danced with Barristan, Prince Lewyn, Ethan Glover and Jon Connington. Always watching yet without hungry lust as some, or barely disguised disgust as the others.

She knew he was a Northman from the rigid way he sat between the boisterous young storm lord Robert Baratheon and his patron, old Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Vale.

Her curiosity fell away when from the corner of her eye, she saw Elia gaze over at her before whispering something to Arthur, and when he walked over to her, she felt victorious in her rebellion.

Yet, those hopes were quickly dampened.

“Did she send you here?” She asked.

Arthur sighed and looked at her apologetically.

“No.”

Elia did not want her. Ashara feared that this new meek woman that was Rhaegar’s wife would never love her like Elia of Dorne had.

Were things the way they once were, Elia would have risen from her seat and joined in the merriment long ago, propriety be damned. Ashara yearned for Dornish nights and Rhoynar rhythms, of small soft hands and blood orange scented kisses.

Ashara was taken out of her reverie and reminded of exactly where she was. On the dancefloor of a crumbling castle with near enough every pair of eyes on her except the ones she wished for.

Arthur gently caught her hand.

“Sister, dance with me,” he prompted.

She knew Arthur’s intentions were to soothe her suffering as he always had. For the pleading in his expression, she accepted the request and rocked with him to the slowing tune.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will learn to breathe again without her,” he explained interrupting the stillness between them.

“I don’t want anything without her.” She answered petulantly, cursing herself for sounding like a spoilt child.

She felt more childish when he leaned back slightly and peeped down at her seriously.

“Ashara, you have to learn to live for yourself, not for anyone else, not even for her. For so long you held love with an iron grip but at arm’s length. You could have had your sweet Elia long ago. Inevitably, it would still have ended the same way because duty was always going to call for the prized sun of Dorne…”

His words stirred something uncomfortable inside her. They were difficult truths to accept. She made many excuses for why she waited so long to reveal the depth of her feelings. It always came down to her own inadequacy and inability to feel deserving of love.

“…You deserve love, Asha. Just because it no longer resides where you believed it to, does not mean it is not out there for you,” he finished.

Deep down she still felt like the neglected child that begged for scraps of her mother’s attention – like the abused girl that was sullied long ago.

It was an arduous and complicated set of issues to settle, but for the first time, Ashara was confronted with the truth.

“I don’t know who I am without her,” she admitted.

“Then perhaps you ought to find out.”

She took a moment and considered Arthur’s suggestion.

She wondered if it truly was time to attempt to move on. It left her chest feeling tight because it was something she never even fathomed to consider before. It was in the unknown to exist anywhere that was not Elia’s side.

Before she could respond, she was swiftly whisked into the arms of another, the charming Brandon Stark. He had made himself as well known as the young storm lord that evening, and it would be a lie to say her eye had not wondered to him during the introductions.

“Lady Ashara,” he greeted with a mischievous smirk and mirth gleaming in his eyes.

She feigned disapproval but continued gliding along with him despite it.

“The Sword of the Morning will not take too kindly to that, lord Brandon. I fear you may have made yourself a formidable enemy in the lists tomorrow.”

Brandon was not typical of the stony-faced Northmen. He was bold and confident, which she found attractive, although she would never admit that aloud; there was a cockiness to him that raised her defences.

“It’s just harmless fun, why should he make an enemy out of me?” He countered.

He acknowledged Arthur and nodded in respect, although the twinkle in his eye remained.

“You have a sister do you not – how pleased would you be if a man took off with her?”

The smugness fell from his expression momentarily.

“I suppose for her honour, he would become my enemy,” he answered gazing towards a young dark-haired girl Ashara assumed to be his sister.

She was a pretty thing, with the same teasing glint in her eyes as Brandon.

“Then what makes you exempt from my brother’s wrath?”

His knowing smirk returned as he peered at her with his grey eyes, and she hated how it made her blush.

“For a start, you think me quite handsome, and you enjoy me.” He winked with a growing grin.

Ashara laughed despite herself.

“And that’s enough to warrant his forgiveness?” She countered.

He shrugged playfully before brushing her hair back from her shoulder, with just the right look of heat in his eyes and moving in so close she could feel his lean body pressed up against her.

“Then perhaps I ought to give him better reason to make me his enemy.”

She pretended to be indifferent to Brandon’s seduction. It would not do to allow someone with an ego like his know how much power he had. Thus, she refused to lean in or seem too keen.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“As are you, Ashara.” He looked pointedly at the men that stood peeved in the wake of her abandonment.

“If you came over to insult me Brandon, you can surely return.” She scolded as she recoiled.

Ashara was not a stranger to rumours, men and women alike often set their tongues wagging over tall tales about her. Unlike Dorne, the rest of Westeros were prude little creatures when it came to pleasures, but she would be damned if the would-be Warden of the North, who had his own whispers of lovers and bastards, would question her integrity.

“My lady please forgive my impertinence. In fact, I truly came here to request a dance of you, with a man far more honourable than me.”

Confusion washed through her, but strangely, she was intrigued. Man after man had taken what they wanted from her this night, and it was odd that one remained reserved.

“That won’t take much… but go on, who is this poor fellow?”

A wide grin spread across his features.

“My young brother is too shy to approach you. Don’t be so hard him. Whilst I was blessed with all the charm in the family, he is good and honourable, a man worthy of your time.” He spoke with pride.

As audacious as Brandon had been, it was evident now that it was act to make his brother appear the better man.

“Very well, but I shall decide that for myself.”

Brandon returned to his table and Ashara was surprised to find that his shy brother was the stiff Northman that had been watching her all night.

Ashara could not help but chuckle endearingly when she saw the younger Stark’s back stiffen and panic wash across his features as Brandon whispered to him.

The young Stark was not as tall as his brother, just of a height with her; he kept his long hair tied back messily, and unlike Brandon, wore simple clothing unadorned with any marks of House Stark.

It would be difficult to guess they were brothers if their features were not so similar, and even then, where Brandon was always smiling, the young Stark already had frown lines across his brow.

“My lady, I thank you for the honour of a dance,” he greeted, inclining his head rigidly, and offering his hand.

She took his hand and led him to the dancefloor.

It was awkward at first, because even at their slow pace, it was clear Stark did not have the grace of a dancer. She rearranged his hands until they were in the correct position, and led the steps, anything to occupy herself from meeting his mystifyingly intense gaze.

“Do you happen to have a name?” She wondered, once they swayed in rhythm to the languid tune.

“I do.” He answered, adding nothing further even as Ashara tilted her head in curiosity.

“You’re not very talkative, are you?”

“If you might give me your name, I shall give you mine.” He said unsmiling.

When she finally met his expectant stare, she saw the beginnings of a smile pulling at his cheeks, and something akin to intrigue flared inside her.

In that moment, instead of seeking Elia, she found herself regarding Stark, questioning if he was not shy at all, but instead, reservedly confident.

“It appears you already know who I am.” She answered with a cock of her brow.

“I would rather get the name from the lady herself than the fame which precedes her.”

Ashara found herself pleasantly surprised by their exchange.

“I am Lady Ashara Dayne, lord Stark.”

“Thankfully, I shall never be lord Stark… I am Eddard Stark, although you may call Ned.”

A teeth-baring grin spread, and his face transformed. She found herself strangely attracted to the quiet wolf.

“Ned.” She said testing out the syllables on her tongue.

The song picked up pace, as did she.

Her feet struck the floor in perfect synchronisation with the building tempo and his pursued with every step. Ned’s grey eyes shone behind the shy expression as they advanced, retreated and pirouetted.

The rapidly enclosing space between them felt electric and burning. There was something she could not explain about this quiet Northman, who stared into her eyes as if he could see past all that she armoured herself with and saw the frightened girl inside. She felt admired, as one might the stars on a clear night.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” She finally asked, fascinated in his unravelling scrutiny of her.

His answer made the flirtatious grin fall from her face.

“You have danced and laughed quite a lot tonight… But I can’t help by notice, you don’t seem all that happy, my lady.”

Shaken, she abruptly halted her movements.

She remembered the pain in her chest and found Elia across the room, glaring at her with fire behind her eyes. She was confused because this was what she initially wanted, but now she had it, it felt nothing like victory. For with Ned, for just a moment, she put aside her heartache… and breathed.

“You’re very perceptive.” She answered, a slow panic filling her.

“I’ve said the wrong thing.” He commented apologetically, noticing the change in her.

She looked up at him wide-eyed, contemplating the stirring emotions inside her.

For reasons unclear to herself, she lurched to kiss him, but he pulled away just as quickly.

Embarrassment filled her and she exploded into blazing anger.

“Is this not what you wanted, Ned – to say you had an easy Dornish wench to your brother and friends?” She spat turning to walk away.

He chased her before she could escape, appearing ahead desperately.

“I meant no disrespect, lady Ashara. I would never dishonour you in such a way, only when I kiss you, I want it to be because you want it, not because you think that’s what I want.” He interrupted.

That he could read her so easily, and was not scared away by it, terrified her. Just like she always did, she crumbled under her fears and lashed out.

“What honour is there in getting your brother to do your courting? I pity you Ned, that’s why I danced with you.”

He flushed in embarrassment, and deep down, Ashara was ashamed for it.

“Then allow me to rectify my actions, may I do something no other has done today?”

Despite her urgent need to flee, she was intrigued.

“Go on.”

“Will you come sit with me, Ashara?”

“What?”

Again, she was surprised by this strange Northman.

“I want to get to know you, is that so hard to believe?”

She carefully maintained a neutral expression. Yet, even in that, he read her disbelief.

“Come on, Ashara, get to know me, take a chance on a fool in love.” He pleaded.

Love.

The word spun around in her head, and she realised, for the first time, it was something she truly yearned for.

Warmth began to spread through her blood and hammering seized her chest.

“I-I…”

Despite her epiphany, her tongue fumbled in her mouth. She did not know how to articulate such desires and succumbed to old behaviours.

“…I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Without a single glance back she fled, a maid made a fool by love.

#asoiaf fic #fanfic #ashara dayne #elia martell #dorne #house martell #elia x ashara #arthur dayne #game of thrones #ned stark #ned x ashara #house dayne #got fic #brandon stark #Brandon x ashara

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theladyofdeath · 5 years ago

Text

Alone in the Ashes {2}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: And so it begins.

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“When you spend so long trapped in darkness, Lucien, you find that the darkness begins to stare back.” ― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“I’m so sorry, you poor bastard,” Feyre breathed, after learning that Cassian now lived across the hall from her eldest sister.

He chuckled, drinking from his glass. “She doesn’t seem that bad. That guy of hers seems like a real prick, though.”

Feyre snorted. “Don’t get me started.”

Cassian opened his mouth to speak but Rhysand leaned over. “No, seriously, don’t get her started.”

Feyre nudged him in the shoulder, causing him to laugh. “Anyway, where’s Azriel? He said he’d be here by now.”

“Had to go get Mila,” Cassian said, finishing off his glass. “Unexpectedly. Just texted about a half hour ago. There was an incident, apparently. The police called this time.”

Feyre nodded, understandingly. It wasn’t the first time Azriel’s plans had changed last minute, but when he was called on, he always went to get Mila.

Rhysand waved the bartender over, calling for another beer. “Karaoke night. Added you to the list, Feyre.”

Feyre froze. “Uh, no. I’m not going up there. Not after last time.”

Cassian grinned as Rhysand said, “I thought you gave a beautiful rendition of Like a Virgin.”

“Fuck you,” she murmured, and cursed herself for smiling.

A live band played in the corner, the lead singer getting far too into it. He’d taken his shirt off and given it to a drunk girl cheering him on about thirty minutes before, and after that, Feyre just hadn’t been able to take him seriously.

“Alright, I’ve had enough sadness,” Feyre said, hopping off her bar stool and handing her tall glass to Rhysand. “Come on, Cass. We’re going to dance.”

Cassian groaned, but it was all for show, because the moment he was on the dance floor, he had his arms around Feyre’s waist and he was swinging her around.

“You should ask Rhys!” Cassian yelled into her ear above the music. “He’s a better dancer than me!”

“But this is how I get all the ladies to notice you!” Feyre yelled back, grinning from ear to ear.

Cassian laughed, and spun her in a circle.

Feyre loved to dance. She didn’t do it often, only when she went out with the boys. She used to dance with Mor, but she was always busy with school, lately, since she decided to further her education. She wanted to be a doctor. How selfish.

She had called her on the way to the bar, with Rhysand in the car with her, behind the wheel.

Stop studying and come dance with me, she had said into the phone.

Mor had laughed. It’s finals week! A few more days and I get to come home for the summer. Then, we will dance, I promise.

Until then, she had Cassian.

And every time Feyre brought Cassian out onto the dance floor, the girls gravitated toward him.

True enough, as the second the song ended and another was beginning, a tall, blonde woman with a short black dress and combat boots had come up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The second he turned to face her, Feyre hurried away.

Rhysand was laughing, watching the scene unfold. He handed Feyre her glass as she sat back on her stool.

“Works every time.”

“You’re the greatest wing man,” Rhysand agreed, pressing his bottle to his lips. “Alright, now it’s my turn.”

He set his glass on the bar top before standing up and holding out his hand. Feyre drained her glass before putting her hand in his.

He pulled her close to his body. He smelled of lavender and vanilla.

“Have you been using my soap?” she asked, leaning forward to talk into his ear.

He laughed, his breath hot against the side of her face as he said, “That depends...will you be pissed if I said yes?”

“Damn it, Rhys,” she said, unable to stop her grin as one of his hands found her waist, the other still in her hand.

They danced, and Feyre found herself loving every minute of it. Everything came so natural with Rhys. For the first time in a long time, Feyre was enjoying herself without any thought of all she had been going through.

That joy was nice, while it lasted.

Because half an hour later, Rhysand was pulled back by the shoulder and knocked to the floor by a fist that belonged to a man, all too familiar.

“What the fuck?” Feyre yelled, looking into Tamlin’s deep, green eyes.

“I knew it,” he hissed. “I fucking knew it.”

It was what he had accused her of, once more, when she was at his apartment that morning, getting the rest of her things.

You fucking Rhys, yet? He’d asked.

Feyre never answered him. She just got the box of her shit and left.

Rhysand was back on his feet, a bruise already forming on his eye bone, Cassian having come to Feyre’s side.

“Fucking whore,” Tamlin spat, then Cassian was standing in front of Feyre.

“You need to leave,” Rhysand said, as the music died down, obvious that there was a scene about to play out.

Feyre was mortified.

“Why?” Tamlin asked, turning around to face Rhysand. “This is a public space, I am just as welcome here as anyone else.”

“No,” Rhysand said, eyes narrowed. “You’re not.”

“Says the guy that was just knocked on his ass.”

Cassian took a step closer to Tamlin’s back, just as Rhysand took a step closer in front of him. “You need to leave, Tam.”

“Tam,” he repeated the old nickname. “Been a while since I heard that from you. Or Feyre, for that matter. But, I suppose she would stop calling me by my nickname the moment she started fucking you-”

Rhysand’s fist met Tamlin’s jaw, and Tamlin stumbled, catching himself before he could fall onto the floor.

Feyre’s eyes went wide as blood trickled out of the side of Tamlin’s mouth.

Tamlin started forward, but Cassian intervened, pushing Tamlin back by his shoulders. He whispered something feral into his ear, which made Tamlin stop. He looked from Feyre to Rhysand, shook his head, and walked out. Cassian looked back at the band, and said, “Where’s the music?”

They started up again and people began dancing like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Feyre’s hands were shaking, though, as she excused herself and hurried to the restroom. She locked herself inside of a stall and cried.

She was pissed.

Pissed at Tamlin, pissed at the sight of him, pissed that he came to ruin her night.

She was pissed at Rhysand, pissed that he’d punched her ex. He was better that than, better than to stoop to Tamlin’s level.

She was pissed at herself. Pissed that she cared. Pissed that it bothered her at all.

The door opened, and loud footsteps trailed to the other side of the stall door.

“Feyre.” A soft knock. “Open up.”

“Fuck off,” she said, wiping at her eyes.

“Open the door or I’ll crawl underneath and this floor is disgusting.”

Angrily, Feyre unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Rhysand was standing there, arms crossed. The bruise beneath his eye was turning a soft shade of blue. “I’m sor-”

“I’m ready to go home.”

Rhysand frowned. He reached out for her hand, and she let him take it. He pulled her toward him, into his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. Okay? I got pissed. I caused a scene. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t just go around hitting people,” she said, voice muffled into his shirt.

“I know,” he said.

“And I can stand up for myself without the two of you brutes causing a scene,” she said, referring to him and Cassian, who was most likely back to dancing with the tall blonde.

“I know,” he said, and leaned back, taking her face into her hands.

His eyes were full of worry, full of regret.

She understood where Tamlin was coming from, she supposed, in the fact that it would not be the craziest thing for Feyre to end up with Rhys. He was her best friend and she loved him, more than she loved most people, differently than she loved anyone else.

But they had never done anything. They had only ever been friends.

“Let’s go back out there. Drinks are on me,” he said.

“I thought they were already on you,” Feyre said, and Rhysand grinned, although it didn’t meet his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he said. “You can hit me, if you want.”

“Tempting,” Feyre mumbled, before pushing against his chest. “I’m going to poke you in your bruise when you least expect it.”

Rhysand laughed. “Feel better, do you?”

Feyre rolled her eyes, then pressed her lips to his cheek. Rhysand tensed, but it quickly faded. “Thank you for defending my honor, you savage caveman.”

Rhysand’s smile was contagious as he took her hand and led her back into the bar.

He called for the bartender and ordered a round of shots.

~~~~~

“Hungry?” Azriel asked, looking in the rear view mirror of his truck.

Mila sat in the backseat, her pink Velcro shoes kicking wildly. “Yes. I want chicken nuggets.”

Azriel chuckled. “You always want chicken nuggets.”

“Yeah,” she said, as if it were obvious, “because they’re yummy.”

“Alright,” he said, “but then we have to go home and get ready for bed. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, slowly. “When can I see Rhysie?”

Mila loved Rhysand more than anyone else. He was her man.

“Tomorrow, maybe. He’s not home tonight.”

“Is he somewhere being naughty?” she asked, giggling.

Azriel snorted. “Probably.”

He pulled into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant and parked. He unbuckled her car seat and carried her inside on his hip. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

After ordering, they sat near a window and ate chicken nuggets, french fries, and chocolate shakes.

“Is mama okay?” she asked, looking up at Azriel with big, brown eyes.

She may have only been four, but she saw far more than most people thought she did. Her mother, included.

Azriel set down the chicken nugget he was about to eat. “Yeah, babe. She just...she needs to get a little help, you know?”

Mila nodded, slowly, not quite understanding. “Help?”

“Yeah, from a doctor,” he explained, popping the chicken nugget into his mouth. “Here, know what you should try?”

Mila blinked. “What?”

He took the lid off her chocolate shake and dipped a french fry into it before putting it into his mouth.

Mila scrunched her nose. “Ewww!”

“You don’t know if it’s ewww until you try it,” he winked. “Try it and I’ll give you a dollar.”

Mila’s eyes grew wide. “A whole dollar?”

Azriel nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Fine,” she said, sassily, before dipping a french fry into her milkshake. She took a bite and thought about it for a second. “That’s yummy.”

“Told you so,” Azriel said, before dipping another french fry into her milkshake.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He stuck his tongue out at her, too.

She giggled, and continued to eat.

And once she was full, Azriel carried her back to his truck and strapped her into her car seat before taking her back to his apartment. The minute he pulled in, she was already fast asleep. She’d had a big day.

He carried her up the stairs and unlocked his apartment door. After slipping off his shoes, he carried her to the back room, the guest room, which was dominantly covered in Mila’s belongings, and laid her down. He took off her shoes and covered her with a blanket.

Mila flopped around before she opened her eyes, sleepily. With a yawn, she said, “G’night, Uncle Az.”

“Goodnight, babe,” he whispered, and kissed her forehead before clicking on a batman nightlight and cracking the door behind him.

He meandered into the living room and slumped down in his chair. He grabbed the remote but didn’t turn on the t.v.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t like having Mila. He loved having his niece with him, but that wasn’t the point, that wasn’t what pissed him off.

Mila was only four, living in a world she didn’t deserve. She was tossed into a situation the moment she had been born that wasn’t fair.

He fished his phone out of his pocket to see if anyone had called, but his screen was blank. Unsure of what happened with his sister after he’d picked up Mila from the police, Azriel tossed his phone on the side table, turned on the t.v., and settled back into the comfort of his lazyboy.

Mila believed that the crack of dawn was an appropriate time to wake up.

He’d better get some sleep.

~~~~~

“Mother’s tits, Feyre, your breath smells like shit.”

Rhysand had carried her up the stairs, and she had giggled in his face the entire time. By the time they were inside of their apartment and he was dropping her on the couch, he could hardly breathe from the overwhelming scent of tequila.

“Thank you for carrying me,” she sang, reaching up for him.

Rhysand shook his head, slipping off one of her sandals, then the other. “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Says the guy that gave me the shots,” she laughed, and then Rhysand turned on a light and she groaned. “Turn it off!”

Rhysand grinned. “Alright, come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“No,” she said, yawning, snuggling into the couch. “This is where I’m staying tonight. Right. Fuckin. Here.”

“Let’s at least brush your teeth,” Rhysand said, laughing quietly. “And take a quick shower.”

“You just wanna see me naked,” she slurred.

Rhysand lifted a brow. “If I wanted to see you naked, I would’ve made up an excuse a long time ago. Come on.”

A lie, but she cooperated, nonetheless.

She clung to him as she stumbled down the hallway. And when she fell into the little bathroom, Rhysand flicked on a light, causing her to groan again. Rhysand, paying her whininess no mind, lifted her up onto the counter top of the vanity and turned on the sink. He grabbed her toothbrush, and put toothpaste on it, before handing it to her.

She blew a raspberry at him.

Rhysand shook his head, exasperated. “Very mature. Open up.”

“No.”

“Come on, Feyre, open up.”

“Nooooo.”

“Open your fucking mouth, Feyre,” Rhysand laughed, pulling at her bottom lip.

“Fine,” she groaned, obnoxiously, and opened her mouth, wide.

Rhysand, oh so patiently, brushed her teeth for her. “Spit,” he ordered. She did so. Then, he handed her a tiny cup full of water. “Rinse.” She did that, too.

“Better?” he asked, rinsing off her toothbrush before putting it back in the holder.

When he looked back to Feyre, she was staring at him. “You’re really fucking pretty.”

Rhysand snorted. “So I’m told.”

She took his face in her hands and squeezed his cheeks. His lips popped out as he rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna start the shower. Alright?”

She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

Her voice had grown quiet, her hands on his face loosening. “Do you love me, Rhysand?”

Rhysand lifted a brow as Feyre’s hands trailed down his cheeks, his neck, to his chest, where they rested over his heart. “You know I do.”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” she slurred, eyes bright.

“You are a beautiful woman, Feyre,” Rhysand said, smiling fondly. “But you are not a pretty drunk.”

Feyre scowled. “Start my shower, peasant.”

Rhysand huffed a laugh. “Yes, my Lady.”

He turned to do just that, but she pulled him back by the neck of his shirt, until his face was only an inch from hers.

“Will you join me in the shower, Rhysie?” she crooned.

Rhysand had imagined her asking him that so many times throughout the years, but her breath did not smell like mint-coated-tequila in any of those fantasies.

“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think-”

She pressed her mouth against his, hungrily, and Rhysand froze. Her tongue slid against his, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

He pulled back, hastily, and cleared his throat. “Um….I think we should-”

Feyre leaned forward and heaved, puking violently all over Rhysand’s jeans. With nothing left to do, he sighed, gathering her hair into his hands as she cleared her stomach. “You should be happy I fucking love you, Feyre, darling.”

When she was done, her eyes were glazed over, watering, her skin pale, clammy. He waited a few minutes, holding back her hair with one hand and rubbing her knee with the other, before asking, “Done?”

Feyre groaned, eyelids growing heavy.

“Alright.” Rhysand pulled off his vomit-covered jeans and t-shirt and tossed them in the corner before taking off her tank top, tossing it in the corner, too.

“Take off your jeans, Feyre,” he ordered, gently, “unless you want to wake up smelling like shit in the morning.”

Rhysand laid a towel down on top of the mess on the floor and helped Feyre to her feet, where he unbuttoned her jeans and helped her slip them off. Her eyes were already fluttered shut as she sat back on the counter top in her bra and panties. Rhysand covered a washcloth in warm water and soap before cleaning around her mouth and down her chest, her abdomen, and her thighs - everywhere the vomit had landed. When he was done, he gathered her up into his arms, and carried her across the hall to her bedroom.

She was already sound asleep when he laid her down and tucked her in.

After shutting her door, in nothing but his boxer-briefs, Rhysand cleaned the vomit off the bathroom tile and vanity before gathering all the dirty shit and putting it into the washing machine. After taking a quick shower himself, he stumbled into his bedroom and fell onto his bed, face first, moaning as his bruise, where he’d been punched, made contact with his pillow.

It had been a hell of a night.

~~~~~

Nesta stared at the opposite side of the bathroom stall as Tomas thrust himself into her. She tried to fake the noises of pleasure at first, but she eventually gave up as the boredom grew.

Tomas leaned back, eventually, breathing heavily as he took in her expression. “You’re not enjoying this at all, are you?”

Nesta sighed. “I’ve fucked you too many times. Now, it just feels forced and never lasts long enough.”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped back, dropping his grip on her thighs.

She reached for her jeans on the dingy floor as he zipped up his pants and fled from the stall.

“Seriously?” Nesta called after him. “Quit acting like an ass.”

Her jeans were halfway up her legs when he left, leaving her alone in the restroom.

Once she was dressed, she left the stall and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was still looking good, hanging loosely behind her in curls. Her makeup was hardly smudged.

Pulling out a cigarette and her lighter, Nesta left the restroom and fell back into the loud, busy club. She pushed her way through the crowd until she was out the front door, into the parking lot.

When she got to their parking spot, Tomas’ car was gone.

“Fuck!” she yelled, looking around, exasperated, but he was already gone. “Fucking prick.”

She took a drag of her cigarette before running a hand anxiously through her hair.

It was dark.

She lived five blocks away.

It was not the best part of town.

She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, but it was dead. Of course.

With a sigh, and a hope that no one jumped her, Nesta began to walk back home.

Nesta liked the dark, the quiet. She liked being alone.

The only reason she had kept Tomas around for so long was because he was convenient. He bought her whatever she wanted and was able to find the shit that was hard to find. Now, she found all that a ridiculous reason to keep him around.

She dented his pride, and he had abandoned her at two in the morning.

Nesta walked quickly, looking around her often. She finished her cigarette and tossed it in the bushes, crossing her arms across her chest.

Behind her, a black truck turned the corner, driving slowly in her direction.

Nesta’s heart began beating fast, her pace picking up, just a little bit. She didn’t want them to know she was afraid, didn’t want them to think she was vulnerable.

Hopefully, soon, they would pass her and let her carry on with her walk.

She had four blocks to go.

The truck did not speed up. In fact, as the truck got closer to her, it slowed down more.

She walked even faster, her feet starting to hurt against the pavement in her thin flip-flops. But before she could panic any further, the truck was beside her, and the window was rolling down. “Need a ride?”

She didn’t look their way. She kept her eyes forward, walking quickly, chin held high.

“Nesta!”

Her eyes shot to the road, where Cassian was looking at her with a curious expression.

Nesta stopped.

Cassian stepped on the brakes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, arms crossed. “You can’t just drive behind a woman in the middle of the night on an abandoned street!”

Cassian raised a thick eyebrow. “Well, I thought it was you from back there, but I just wanted to be sure. Stopping for a random woman would have been creepy.”

Nesta scoffed. “We don’t know each other. To you, I am a random woman.”

“True,” Cassian agreed. “But we’re neighbors and I’m friends with your sister. So. Get in.”

“No, thanks,” Nesta murmured, pulling another cigarette out of her pocket. “I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Cassian said, following her, slowly, as she started to walk, again. “Get in the car. It’s not safe for you to be walking out here alone and you know it.”

“If I get in the fucking truck will you shut up and let me ride in silence?” she asked, turning to meet him, once more.

Cassian took a few seconds to debate it. “Yeah, alright.”

Nesta rolled her eyes as she went to the truck, but when she pulled on the handle, it was locked. “What the fuck?” she looked at him, annoyed.

“Cigarette stays out,” he said.

Nesta’s lips formed a straight line. “Seriously?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, mocking her tone. “This is a new truck, it won’t be smelling like shit. Put it out.”

Nesta scowled, but did as she was told before opening up the door, this time unlocked, and climbing inside.

Cassian didn’t move.

Nesta sighed. “What now?”

“Seat belt,” he said, and she swore she saw humor dancing in those damned hazel eyes.

She furiously strapped on her seat belt before grinding out, “There.”

“Good,” Cassian grinned, putting his truck in drive. “Do I want to know why you were walking down the street alone?”

“You probably do,” Nesta said, “but I won’t tell you.”

Cassian chuckled. “Fair enough.”

They rode the next few blocks in silence, Nesta staring at the dashboard, Cassian sneaking glances at her, every so often.

“I think you think it’s charming when you look at me like that, but it's not, and I prefer you cut it out,” she mumbled, as they pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex.

Cassian shook his head. “I think you think people are looking at you when they’re not.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable,” he repeated. “Nice word. What others would you use to describe me?”

He parked the car and she got out.

She was halfway up the first flight of stairs before he called from behind her, “A thank you would be nice!”

Her middle finger greeted him as he started at the stairs behind her.

“You’re welcome,” he purred.

Nesta wanted so badly to come back with a retort, to turn around and snap at him, but she didn’t. She was tired. Exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

All she wanted was to go to bed.

After reaching her apartment and digging her key out of her pocket, she opened the door and shut herself inside. A moment later she could hear Cassian’s door open and close behind him.

~~~~~

Elain should have been sleeping along with the rest of the city but she had too much energy.

She played her music, softly, careful not to wake her dad.

She did pushups for a minute.

Looked in the mirror.

Did sit ups for a minute.

Looked in the mirror.

Mountain climbers.

Looked in the mirror.

Leg extensions.

Looked in the mirror.

Flutter kicks…

She was breathing hard nearly an hour after she had begun, sweat glistening on her skin.

She stripped off her clothes and after one more glance in her bedroom mirror, she got into the shower. She let the cool water wash over her skin, let it wash away the impurities - the sweat, the stench, the thoughts she couldn’t shake.

She found her mind wandering all day, those thoughts running wild, after she had seen Graysen’s instagram.

She was so beautiful, his girlfriend. Long, auburn hair, striking blue eyes.

She was who he preferred.

Even when they were together, she was who he preferred. There was a time Graysen had loved her, she knew that, but that didn’t make it any easier when Elain got home early from work one day and saw her little blue car parked in their driveway.

Elain and Graysen were to be married in two months.

But they would not be getting married anymore.

Elain no longer warmed his bed, Elain no longer woke up next to him every morning, Elain no longer kissed him goodbye as they both left their home to go to work, to make money, to save for their future.

Graysen no longer loved her. Graysen no longer found her worthy. Graysen had grown bored with her, bored with the perfect, sweet, Elain Archeron.

The image still burned in her mind.

She had opened their front door and saw her shoes lying by the welcome mat. Noises of pleasure flooded out of the bedroom, from the bed where Elain and Graysen slept every night.

Elain would never sleep another night with Graysen in that bed again.

She and Graysen would never share anything again.

Not even the endless void that he’d created in the depths of her soul, nor the voice of insecurity, the voice that sounded a hell of a lot like his, that never left the back of her mind.

Elain hated him.

Elain loved him.

Elain hated that her love for him wouldn’t fade, hated that she still felt the pain so strongly, too strongly, as if it had just happened yesterday.

As the water grew colder, Elain sunk down into the tub and closed her eyes.

Perhaps she would sleep there tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

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@the-dark-swan

@girlgotattitude448

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#fanfic #fanfiction #tacmc AITA #nessian #feysand #elriel #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #modern au

235 notes · View notes

yixxes · 5 years ago

Text

Fast Car | p.p.

Warnings: Hints of alcohol abuse, promiscuity, broken household, angst kinda, swear words

Word count: 1752

Summary: You want to escape and Tom has a fast car, but things don’t always go according to plan.

“Leaving?”

You were never one to disrespect your mother or speak out of turn, but you were more than willing to fight her on this one. She was rushing down the hall as fast as she could in those loud, expensive red heels with you hot on her trail.

“What do you mean you’re leaving, where are you gonna go?”

The two of you stopped at the front door while she grabbed up her scarf and her coat. The look on her face threatened to break you down right then and there. She didn’t even look sad or remorseful, she just looked like she really waned to dart out the front door but was approaching her departure slowly as if delayed action would spare your feelings or make any of this hurt any less.

You racked your brain in a hurry, trying your best to figure out what the right thing to say was, but deep down, you already knew that your fight was lost. She hadn’t shown any signs of being interested in the small family that she had in months. She didn’t love your father anymore and she made that clear in the way that she fooled around with other men and didn’t even try to hide it, and you, she only paid attention to on the days where you’d talk her ear off until she felt she had no choice but to respond. Talking to her these days was the equivalence of talking to a bizarre friendly stranger.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her voice was eerily sweet as if explaining to you that she was walking out on you and your father was no big deal. “I know this is so out of the blue, but.. sometimes in life, you have to choose your own happiness, you have to put yourself first and decide not to worry about the people that try to hold you back.”

Ouch. You didn’t know if that number was directed towards you or your father. Or both.

“I don’t know where I’m going just yet, but I’ll call when I get there. I’m not gonna stop checking in on you, it’ll almost be like I never left.”

You shook your head, shoulders slumped and tears already welling up in your eyes. Maybe if you visibly showed her how much she was hurting you, she’d stay. Something inside of her would click and she’d apologize for being an unfaithful wife and an absent mother and she’d work really hard to make things right.

“Please don’t leave.”

Except this was reality and your mom didn’t care about anyone other than herself. She wasn’t sorry for anything and you couldn’t prompt feelings out of someone that didn’t have them.

Your mother smiled something that almost resembled regret. “I love you, sweetheart.” Almost.

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

Not talking about the thing that weighed heavily on your mind only to have someone bring it up or ask if you were okay was actually the worst thing. Tom had good intentions, you knew, but this was your second time telling him to leave you be and he just wasn’t accepting that as an answer, but hey, that was the Tom Holland way.

Thomas Holland, your best friend since childhood. He knew you like the back of his hand and while things were damaged beyond repair at the moment on the home front, he always made your life so much better.

The two of you came from opposite sides of the tracks, but he never seemed to let the wealth of his family ruin his personality in the slightest. He stayed true to himself like a pro and really seemed rather put off by his lifestyle. You never understood it, but you never questioned him either. Much like your household, there were probably things about his that you just didn’t understand.

You did know, though, that something must’ve been really bad for him to climb aboard your wild fantasies of running away. When he started telling you that he would go with you, whenever and wherever you decided to go, the fantasies converted into real plans. You didn’t understand his desire to leave what he had and you didn’t think you ever would.

Tom picked you up for work in the morning in his brand new car; A gift from his parents for no particular occasion at all. If you understood correctly, he’d spent two short weeks in his parents’ ear about it and they bought it for him just yesterday. He was now the proud owner of the 1974 Pontiac Firebird, Buccaneer Red and it ran like a top.

You didn’t have time to express your excitement before he got to badgering you about what was wrong. He knew right when he saw you that something wasn’t right (you had spent the rest of the night crying and looking after your father after all) and he wanted to help but you didn’t want his help. There wasn’t anything that he could do.

“Okay, fine,” was what he said, but you knew that you’d be shrugging him off about it again later.

Tom moved the conversation on to talking about running away, casual yet relevant seeing that it’d be a lot easier to get away in a car rather than on foot. With all that had happened last night, running away was far down on the list of things that were on your mind and it’d more than likely stay that way for a long time. Your mom didn’t just leave you last night, she also left your father who hadn’t stopped acting like a blubbering, depressed drunk since your mom’s behavior began to change earlier in the year. He had a problem and while it wasn’t directly resulting in anything physical or abusive, you couldn’t just leave him alone. He needed to get help and you seriously doubted that he’d be doing that alone.

“What do you mean?” You were sitting in the car with him in front of the diner, watching him progressively get more frustrated at how aloof and disconnected you seemed about the entire thing. You weren’t giving him the responses he wanted and you weren’t even presenting a valid reason as to why not. “It’s a great time, I’ve got the car, I’ll get us some cash, we can-”

“Jesus, Tom, no, okay? Why can’t you just take no for an answer for once?”

There was so much room to be way nicer but the family crisis plus your two whole hours of sleep that you got did not equal patience and smiles. A sharp, annoyed breath passed your lips and you grabbed your bag, opening the passenger side door and sliding out quickly.

“Thanks for the ride.” You grumbled, pushing the door closed and turning to start towards the front door of the diner.

You heard him say ‘no’ behind you followed by the sound of his door closing and you whirled around, willing yourself to think over your next few words carefully. You could be really hostile under these circumstances.

“This doesn’t make any sense, getting out of this town is all that you ever talk about and now I find a way to make it happen and you completely turn me down!”

“Tom, get back in the stupid car and go, I could not be more serious.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s cool, I thought you’d be happy for me!” Your words hurt him, but you were too far gone thinking about everything else to take it back.

“I am happy for you but I don’t need this right now, okay, I just wanna be alone!”

“Tell me what we’re missing, what are you so worried about, it’ll all work out if you let me-”

“No, Tom!” You practically shrieked. “It won’t work out, the stupid plan doesn’t need to work out, why do you even wanna leave!? Your life is something that other people could only dream of, you have everything, there isn’t anything wrong with your life, you’re just a poor little rich boy who wants to know struggle so bad that he creates fake problems that’ll validate some stupid runaway plan!”

There they were. The most hurtful words you’d ever say to your very best friend, painfully present and hanging in the air. The look on his face told you that it was much too late to take it back. The damage had already been done. Tom got back in his car and peeled off.

“Hi, Mrs. Holland, um, is Tom here, I- I really have to talk to him,” Your body was almost as tired as your mind was, your feet were hurting and all you wanted was to go home and crawl into bed but you couldn’t sleep tonight knowing that he was probably so angry with you and probably hurting because of you, too. You had to make things right, or you had to at least try.

“Oh, honey, right now isn’t a good time, he’s gone to bed early tonight, he’s still very upset.”

Your head fell in shame and you brought your hands together in front of you. “Yeah, I know, I’m..” you picked your head up to look her in the eyes. “It’s all my fault, but I was really hoping that I could-”

“Your fault?” She questioned with confusion evident in her voice. “Oh, no, honey, why would it be your fault? He’s been digging his heels in ever since we told him he’d be going to boarding school next year, says he doesn’t wanna go, but we really think that-”

“Boarding school?” you repeated warily. There was a lot going on in your life that was making your thoughts fuzzy but you definitely didn’t remember him saying anything to you about boarding school.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Her tone was patient yet cautious.

You shook your head numbly, hoping with everything in you that this boarding school was somewhere nearby.

“Sweetheart, Thomas was accepted to Western Reserve Academy.”

Your head was spinning so much thought you were going to fall out right there on their porch. “Western Reserve...” An involuntary gasp cut your sentence in two and you could feel your blood running cold. “Wh-where is Western Reserve Academy?”

She looked at you with sad eyes and you knew that her answer was gonna hit you like a ton of bricks. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what she was about to say.

“It’s in Ohio, up north in the US.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker #mcu imagine #mcu #avengers imagine #avengers

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pastelchris · 4 years ago

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of blood and sacrifices.

❝ there was no joy in his expression, just a heavy bundle of pain and anger, as if he finally lost hope that they would see him as the good guy, too blinded by their fake beliefs to think out of the golden cage they were trapped in. ❞

† PAIRING › hong joshua x yoon jeonghan

† GENRES › heavy angst, oneshot, cult!au.

† WARNINGS › major character death, mentions of blood, mentions of knives and daggers, religious trauma, strong language.

author’s note: okay so, this was very rushed because i was listening to music and i came up with this, it’s still pretty messy so i’d call it a drabble?? but i hope you’ll still like it <3 i projected all of my religious trauma in this hehe. also! you can find a quick playlist i made with the songs i listened to while writing down here!

✞

jeonghan’s hands were trembling, everything around them seemed to rotate and fall, just like the tears from his face, salty reminders of the sins he committed, sparkling just like the stars that he used to see in the other’s eyes.

« listen to me shua- » he pleaded so pathetically that not even he could bear the sound of his own voice.

« no matter what they said to you alright? that’s all fucking bullshit, we’re not sick or twisted for god’s sake, if the heavens ever were to speak, they surely wouldn’t tell us that loving is a sin. »

« we were born sick my dear... » the other kept his stare fixed on the marble statue in front of them, his hands were dripping blood from holding- gripping the golden cross at the edge of the table like his life depended on it. which, ironically, was exactly what he thought.

« well then i’ll be damned if i give a fuck, shoot me right now i couldn’t care less! in fact- » he got up, opening his hands just like the Christ behind him, letting out a dry laugh.

« i couldn’t give less fucks of your stupid words, of Their stupid words. may i be blessed right? fixed, stripped o-of this- this sin that ruins me everyday right? they fucking brainwashed you shua, now c’mon and look at me right in the ey- »

« I FOUND THEM, COME HERE »

from that moment, everything felt unreal, starting from the group of people that stormed inside the church, to the side of a knife caressing his neck, keeping him in place;

he saw his lover looking up and praying; he knew they weren’t going to hurt him, or so he hoped, nothing would matter anymore if they took his life.

« keep him in place. jeonghan, you idiotic brat, you really couldn’t keep that mouth shut am i right? you really had to-»

« take me to church, i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, i’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knives- » jeonghan smiled devilishly while singing to him.

« offer me that deathless death, oh good god! let me give you my life! » he mocked, locking hands on a fake prayer, he made sure that shua’s eyes were closed, too busy praying to pay attention to his sinful lover, who knew he wasn’t going anywhere that night.

he yanked one of the men away from himself, crawling then to the pastor’s feet, looking up at him with a fake pleading stare.

« i’m sorry father, i truly am.....truly.... »

there was a moment of silence,

in which everything seemed to stop,

in which his now fake tears rolled down the cheekbones, to the chin and then falling on his neck and collarbones;

a moment in which he started to smile, a painfully hilarious smile, as if he wasn’t able to take anything seriously anymore, just like his eyes, there was no joy in his expression, just a heavy bundle of pain and anger, as if he finally lost hope that they would see him as the good guy, too blinded by their fake beliefs to think out of the golden cage they were trapped in.

« i truly am sorry that you’ve ended up believing the words from an old boring book and worshipping a fake god, losing both sanity, pride and soul, but see... » he said, slowly getting up, he lessened the space between his and the pastor’s face, still smiling from cheek to cheek, he turned the palms of his hands to face the ceiling, raising his shoulders.

« we’re all gonna die in the end, my love. but when i go- » he turned to face joshua, who was looking at the statue in front of him, cornered by a bunch of guards praying with him, jeonghan smiled, he knew the other was going to be alright, and that was all that mattered to him.

« when i go, don’t cry for me dear- » he continued, caressing the pastor’s warm cheek with a finger.

« because where i’m going, there’s no such thing as slaughter, and everything you preach as right, see- where i am going, none of that matters, we’re bound to live in eternity as one alone, so nothing you’ve preached here will matter. but before i go, i have a last question. » he asked, pushing a dagger on his waist. « do you really think i am going to listen to one of your nonsen-» he ignored him.

« was it at least worthy? all those killed, all those poor souls you extirpated like weed just because they weren’t like you, all those families left without a father, a mother, a brother, all those lovers left alone....was it worthy staining your hands with blood forever? because my dear, i may be a sinful wench, i may be the worst you’ve ever seen, a crazy bastard, a crooked soul. but you see, none of that will matter one day, while your hands, those will stain blood forever, no matter how much you try to wash it off, they will stain and stink and it’ll slowly poison you from inside, so, good luck with that.» he chuckled, looking at the pastor getting paler and paler by the second, he glanced at joshua, who gulped feeling his gaze upon him.

« and to you, my dear, my sun and light, be careful who you side with, there’s more sickness and crookedness here than you might ever think.» he then pushed it, it wasn’t an epic scene, blood started leaping from his side, and his body pathetically fell on the ground, getting heavier and weaker by the second, then everything got blurred and nauseous.

they say while you die, you get seven seconds in which all your life flashes by your eyes. jeonghan thought it was bullshit, and now, staring at the intimidating white statue by him, more than his life, he saw all of his regrets flashing by.

was it really worthy?

was there a way to turn back time?

would he do it all the same then?

funny, he thought, how crazy a man had to be to see all of his mistakes flashing by and still decide to pick them all, make them all... and yet, the first thing he thought about was joshua, his golden wavy locks, his plump lips, candid smile, his infinite love for the god he oh so worshipped, still, it had been just a short sparkle of time he spent with him, and even so, even thought it’d been the death of him, he was glad to have died for him, he realized how the most dangerous thing is none of the ones he was taught about in his youth, at the end, the only one we are all willing to live, kill, die, is love.

he did it all three, and was now happily facing the consequences.

the end.

#svt scenarios #jeonghan #joshua #yoon jeonghan #hong joshua #seventeen #kpop #kpop scenarios #drabble #oneshot #religious trauma #aesthetic #angst #lgbtq #fanfic #jeonghan scenarios #joshua scenarios #Spotify

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years ago

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Face Off || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece go digging for buried witchy treasure. Cece faces more than she bargained for.

CONTAINS: gun (salt rounds, not fired), shenanigans

Blanche had told Morgan that having an object, especially one belonging to the spirit in life, might help the seance go better. Morgan knew from the summoning that bones would probably be the most ideal if there was such a thing, but the idea of planning a trip to Texas ahead of the one she had already scheduled between the anniversaries of her parents’ deaths was more than she could bear. The next best thing? Finding Agnes Bachman’s trove of witchcraft. “So, fun fact, I actually tried to dig this up before, but I got attacked by some wild vampires and had to hole up in that shack until dawn,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Cece. “But that’s why we’re coming back here in broad daylight! Besides, I think this is still sort of on my property line?” She gestured to the pile of rubble around across the street and the brown, barren field between it and where they stood in the Bend, shovels in hand, beneath a suspiciously robust tree. Morgan tried to run the distance measurements in her head. “Maybe not, but that’s gonna be our story if anyone comes asking. But, you know, probably not.” She stuck the shovel into the ground with her foot, pleasantly surprised when it broke the ground with ease. Zombie strength had its advantages sometimes. “So, how’ve you been?”

Drinking and researching a stolen box with Morgan? A-okay. Breaking into a woman’s home to steals some books? Great time. But Cece might have to draw the line at the physical labor. It wasn’t the trespassing on property or potential danger. It wasn’t even the casual mention of vampires attacking Morgan the last time she was here. It was mostly just the digging that Cece wasn’t up for. “We tend to break the law whenever we hang out now,” Cece mentioned, digging her own shovel into the ground and leaning against it, “Not complaining. Just a fun observation. Girls really do just want to have fun apparently.” While digging holes wasn’t one of those things that Cece considered to be much fun, the promise of some sort of buried treasure had certainly piqued her interest. “Aside from the whole being blown up in a Morgue thing, worse than that is dealing with Regan’s replacement.” Cece made fake vomiting noises for far longer than necessary and then forced herself to recompose, “Otherwise I am freaking phenomenal. Clearly you’re living your best life. Loving the Holes vibes that we have going on. So what exactly are we here for today?”

“I heard about that,” Morgan said, wincing. “Regan’s just having a time and a half right now. Hopefully it’ll just, you know, be temporary. Haven’t heard any stories about the new boss, though. Is he, what? Evil? Creepy? Mean? What’s the likelihood of your being able to hex him without him noticing? I put a monkey’s paw on Eye of Newt for a little while, and that was pretty fun.” She reached into her bag and passed Cece a thermos of mulled cider. She could see how, well, not well her share of the digging was going, and aside from the magic ability and know how to work on identifying their finds, Morgan had mostly asked her along for the company. “Here. Have some of this and sit back, I think it only takes one gal to dig a hole. When she’s dead anyway.” Morgan stuck her shovel in deeper, flinging dirt behind her. “And we’re after great great grandma Agnes’ trove of magic. She left home with one bag after the curse started taking her family, which means everything in her trove got left behind in good ol’ White Crest.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Mostly, I want something special of hers for a seance, but it’s gonna be pretty neat to see what kind of stuff she used for her magic back in olden times, right?”

“No, god, even worse.” Cece rolled her eyes. Rickers was the last thing she needed to talk about. “I can handle evil or creepy. He’s way too personable. Keeps telling me about his grandkids. It’s insufferable.” Usually, Cece welcomed casual conversation of any kind. She was a social creature after all, she liked the company of others. But something about that man made her want to jump into a river. “I could hex him so easily. He’s so gullible. Moron.” She wasn’t about to let Rickers ruin the fun though, and instead focused on Morgan’s time with Eye of Newt, “Amazing. I love being friends. Do I mention that enough?” Cece questioned, taking the thermos that Morgan passed over and taking a long sip of the alcoholic beverage. “So you’re saying you just want me to sit back, drink and chat? You get me, Morgan.” Cece happily obliged, leaning back against the grass and watching Morgan use that superhuman strength to dig holes deeper into the ground with a certain fascination. She had always wondered what having super strength must be like. Sounded dope. “Good ol Gram? Let’s hope she left behind something fun. Can’t say that I’d be thrilled about finding some magically glued dentures or alchemical ointment for her joint pain.”

“I love being friends with you too,” Morgan said, smiling bright. There was a certain specific ease with Cece that was hard to articulate to others. Their magic philosophy was different, but neither of them took themselves so seriously that it was a problem. And sharing a lack of compunctions about the law and uses of violence to get out of tight spaces was more important between friends who wanted to stay honest with each other. Morgan wasn’t even sure if Cece had a judgemental bone in her body, except for, you know, reckless cruelty like any halfway decent not-fae. But Morgan’s harm ritual wasn’t reckless. She was full of very specific intent, and every care was being taken. And giving Agnes closure with the news she was deviating the woman who’d condemned her to a painful death? Made for some very thoughtful icing on the cake. “Oh, it gets better than that,” Morgan said, grinning as she shoveled back more dirt. “She was just in her twenties when she left home. So this should hopefully have all the fun shit. Well, whatever fun amounted to in the 1890’s. Maybe it’ll be magic ointment for that poofy old-timey hair. Or old beauty charms? I’d love to see what baby witches got up to back then, like what was magic education even like then?”

Cece liked thinking about witches throughout the years. There was something fascinating about studying how witches evolved with the rest of the times, as well as how spells did. If spellcasters were ever a legitimate field of study, Cece might actually consider going back to school. For now, she’d have to settle through learning about magic through any witches she knew with a long line of witches in her family. “Great question. Can’t say that my witchy upbringing was exactly conventional. If my parents were spellcasters, being adopted didn’t exactly help me learn about it as a kid.” Cece had of course wondered what life might have been like had she actually grown up learning about magic from a young age. “My first exposure was from a coven. A very non-traditional one.”

“Your coven wasn’t with your parents?” Morgan asked curiously. She’d heard them mentioned in passing enough times that she’d just assumed it was at least partially a family thing. Morgan started digging, stopped, and looked at Cece quizzically again. “Wait, so you are this good without having to study your whole life?” She shovelled a few more times. “Jeez, are you some kind of magic prodigy?” She had a decent sized hole going. A few more feet deeper and she’s start spreading outward and--clang! Morgan grinned. “I guess this means you get to pick a prize from grandma’s treasure box. At least something in here should go to someone who can actually use it. But holy shit, Cece. I know I say this a lot when you’re doing me favors, but you’re seriously amazing.” She started working double time until the trunk, just as impressive as you would expect from your average 19th century well-to-do family. Morgan pulled it free just with brute zombie strength and dragged it up from the hole. It was heavy, “Now, before I literally jinx myself, do you think you can run something on this baby to dispel any magic seals and protection? As my ancestor, I’m fairly confident she wouldn’t throw this in the ground without protections.”

Cece shook her head, “Nope. My adopted parents had no clue about my witchy background. I didn’t figure out until like sixteen.” Cece shrugged. She had never considered herself to be uncommonly talented when it came to magic. She was aware that she was able to take care of herself under stressful circumstances but the thought never went much further than that. “Very funny,” Cece let out a sarcastic laugh, “I’m hardly a prodigy. The nice thing about moving around with a travelling coven is that I got to learn from all kinds of witches that specialized in different things. Plus being around nothing but other witches all the time gave me lots of chances to practice.” Morgan finally found the box she had been digging for and pulled it easily from the ground. It landed on the grass with a loud thud and Cece whistled, “Damn girl, those muscles though.” Cece sat up and eyed the box. It was larger than Cece thought it was going to be. Honestly, she was pretty curious about what was inside. “Let me take a peak and see what I can sniff out” Cece rubbed her hands together and crawled over to the box, rubbing her palm across it and feeling the magical energy emanating from it. “There’s definitely something going on here. Give me a few minutes to try to get rid of it.”

Morgan was familiar with the number of ways you could talk small magic into showing itself. In another life, her old life, she would’ve offered some ground thistle and raw energy to do it herself. But Cece had a home brew with the stuff she needed. A little Latin later, the potion absorbed into the wood, and the lock, apparently just an illusion, disappeared from sight. “I know you’re not a coven gal anymore, Cece, but I’d do you a solid anytime if you asked.” Out of habit, fae promise, rose to her lips, casual and earnest, but somewhere on its way up her throat, Morgan remembered Chloe in Lydia’s basement and swallowed her words back down, feeling sick.

A layer of dry flowers and fragrant herbs coated the items. Morgan had to sweep them all away to get to the rest. There were some things she expected, such as a handwritten grimoire, and some she didn’t, like an old party dress and petticoats. Morgan didn’t know anything about enchanting textiles, but she set them carefully aside just in case. They must have mattered to Agnes in order to be included in her trove. Beneath this were more papers, some torn from other books, ink and fountain pens, a few alchemical circles painted crudely on tanned hides, and a lot of jewelry and talismans. “So, she’s my great great grandma, so I get the pretty dress and the books, but you, my wonderful partner in crime, can pick something you like from the rest. I still haven’t thanked you for helping me go against that murder alchemist, so don’t be shy.”

As Morgan looked through the chest, Cece eyed the contents from far away. The chest’s magic had been strong, so it made sense to think that whatever was inside had been valuable to her grandmother. As far as Cece was concerned, that all belonged to Morgan. But aside from a few off limits items, Morgan seemed to think otherwise. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you could find some use for them. Somewhere.” But even as she said the words she slid closer to get a better peak at the contents. She pulled out a few things, including a vial of liquid that glowed a bright red color, “Hm. This is peculiar” Cece questioned, holding it up against the sun. She felt a prickling against her fingertips from holding the bottle. She eventually decided to uncap the thing, sniffing at its contents and jolting from the sudden sensation. “Hm. That shit is strong. Wonder what this stuff does?”

Morgan was flipping through the books, unable to resist the urge to find something interesting. She had to remind herself that it was all useless to her, pure sentimental and academic value, but even the method of preserving alchemical circles was fascinating. What did they use the hides for? Practice? Regular exercise? Were there research experiments in here like what Ruth had done? There were notes and letters in here too, some written in a kind of code, others in Latin. Looking at all of this, Morgan realized she didn’t actually know Agnes Bachman at all. She was the family scapegoat, but she was also just a girl when she left all this stuff behind, too terrified of being the cause of her family’s suffering to stay another year. Poor thing, she didn’t realize that Constance had covered them all. She hadn’t needed to make herself alone on top of everything else. “What did you find? Anything good?” She looked over her shoulder and— “What the fuck, who the hell are you!” She fell back with shock and fumbled for her salt pistol, aiming it at the stranger. Morgan hadn’t even heard her approach. It had to look enough like a normal one to keep the stranger stalking them on her toes, right? “Where’s my friend? What is—Cece! Cece!”

Bored with whatever the liquid was, Cece discarded it back into the pile of unclaimed goodies and moved on to see what else Agnes had to offer. Cece realized that aside from the fact that they had been spellcasters and the curse, she didn’t know all that much about Morgan’s family. Learning a bit about her family through these belongings was more interesting than Cece would be willing to admit without a few drinks. Way too sentimental. She heard Morgan from over her shoulder and didn’t even look back as she began answering, “I don’t know what a lot of it is actually. I’ll need to do some-” she was cut off by her friend’s scream. Morgan was freaking out, tumbling backwards and pulling a fucking gun on her? “What the fuck Morgan? What do you mean who am I? Why do you have a gun pointed at me!” Cece waved her hands wildly, half up in the air in surrender and half accusingly towards Morgan. “Your friend is right here, wondering if she’s about to get capped by a dead girl! You suddenly lose vision or something?”

Morgan scrambled to her feet, still holding out the salt pistol with trembling hands. The woman was middle aged, wild eyed, and a heck of a lot taller than Cece had ever been. She wasn’t sure where she got off trying to pretend they were one and the same. Her angular features had none of Cece’s stubborn charm. They gave the woman a look that was off-kilter even unnerving as she waved her arms around and cried out in her raspy voice. “I am not kidding, whatever magic bullshit you did, some summoning trick, o-or—I don’t know! But you aren’t keeping her!” Morgan shouted I am not losing one more friend to my personal bullshit, you got it? You—” It came on her slowly: the woman’s clothes looked a little like Cece’s but also...not. And she had Cece’s keychain, and there was a bottle at her feet, not quite close right, dripping slowly into the ground. Morgan slowly lowered her pistol, not quite ready to give up the pretense. “If you’re really Cece, then how do we know each other?” She asked.

Something was wrong. Whether that something was with Morgan or with Cece herself was still unclear. Cece stood up, Morgan backing away again but not moving the pistol from it’s target. “Can you point the gun away from me? This isn’t the Wild West.” Though something was clearly off, Cece hadn’t pieced it together yet. For whatever reason, Morgan seemed to think Cece wasn’t who she claimed to be. Was there some illusion? Cece stared at her hands, vaguely aware that something seemed different but realizing that she didn’t look at her hands enough to realize what the difference might be anyways. “How do we know each other? I didn’t know I was signing up for a pop quiz tonight.” Cece laughed, but clearly Morgan wasn’t joking, “Former roomies, forever besties, current hostage.” Cece quipped, “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Morgan lowered the salt pistol, her face melting, touched. “Aw, you consider us besties?” Her face twisted into an expression of cringe. On Cece, that was endearing. On a crazed woman who looked like she was nearing fifty, it was a little...odd. Maybe sad. Morgan tried to find the words to explain to her friend how bewildering this looked from her perspective. Whose face was this? How did Cece change her face and not...know. “Okay, okay…” she started, tucking her pistol away. “Uh, fun fact, the pistol is salt rounds only. I just, you know, couldn’t be too careful. Also: what happened to your face! I said you could take something home, not give yourself a weird makeover!” She fumbled for her phone, still keeping her distance in case this was all a trick and she was just being stupid and gullible. “You did something!” She put the selfie camera on and held it out for Maybe-Cece to see. “A very, very weird something! Are you...mind or body swapped? Are you glamoured into one of my dead relatives? You aren’t really...I mean, look! What would you think if you were me!”

“Of course I do. There’s not many others I’ve broken into a house and been held at gunpoint at!” Despite the awkwardness of currently being held at gunpoint, Cece couldn’t stop the lilt in her voice as she confirmed that the two were basically besties. They had been through quite a bit considering they hadn’t known each other at the beginning of the year. “Well I actually do feel marginally better knowing I would have only gotten blasted with salt. Thank god I’m not a ghost.” Cece laughed, taking steps closer to Morgan following the whole debacle. “I didn’t do anything! Just rooted around in your grandma’s chest and-” Cece stopped talking when Morgan offered her phone camera towards her and Cece got a look at who was showing up on the screen. Except this was very clearly not Cece. “What the fuck?” Cece jumped back, visibly shaken for the first in what felt like a truly long time. “Who the fuck am I? Why the fuck do I look like this?” Cece began rubbing her hands against her arms, chanting a dispelling glamour effect to herself and then looked back at the camera. Nothing. “Why isn’t it going away!?”

Morgan’s face quirked into a smile. She wasn’t as vulnerable or demonstrative with Cece as she knew she could’ve tried to be. Cece was just so breathtakingly together and at ease with whatever chaos came her way, like it was no more than a fly she could spike out of her sphere with a swipe of her hand. However much she accepted the mess Morgan dragged them into, Morgan worried the limit of ‘too much’ was just around the corner. But here they were, standing over a hole in the middle of the woods with a salt pistol and dug up treasures and a haywire spell between them—and still friends. “Ghost, creepy middle aged lady, whatever comes next, I’m still glad we’re friends,” Morgan said.

But, obviously, Cece being her friend as Cece was probably best. “Idea one: this is some weird subconscious thing and you’ve got some stuff about your age or your size to deal with. Idea two: you are wearing the face of one of my dead relatives, or their neighbors, or...something. But either way, there’s a solution! We just don’t know it yet. But we will and you will look...w-well, you don’t look bad, really, when you, uh, think about it, but just more...you.” She winced and came around the side of the hole to offer Cece a hug.

Morgan offered a list of options to Cece, who hated all of them. “Definitely not subconscious. I accepted my height many years ago.” Cece waved the first away but backtracked, “That being said. I get that objectively I’m not that tall still but I do feel like a tall glass or water.” The second option seemed likely. Perhaps it was a type of hex that was put on something she had touched by Morgan’s grandma. If that was the case it was some bullshit hex. “Well either it’s a strong ass hex or some new type of magic I haven’t worked with before.” That frustrated Cece more than the hex itself. She could handle looking like this Milf. What she didn’t like was not knowing how to fix it immediately. Morgan came around for a hug and as their arms wrapped around each other Cece smiled, “You know we’re kind of like the same height now.”

“You do have the energy of a tall woman, I guess it’s just a little closer to being official now,” Morgan said with a smirk. “You’ve got, what, a whole inch on me now?” She raised her hand to touch the top of Cece’s head, fluffing some of the brown hair falling in front of her face. “Stars, if you are wearing one of my ancestors’ faces, does this make you like a temporary cousin? Temporary grandma?” She smirked at the idea. “Sorry. Let’s take everything and hit the books at your place, huh? Do some old fashioned trial and error experimenting. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out.”

Though her head was still spinning at the prospect of looking twice her actual age, Cece tried to compose herself. This had been the most flustered she had allowed herself to be for many, many years. She had no interest in completely losing her cool. Morgan was right, they would fix this. Eventually. Maybe it had a time limit, and Cece would simply wake up in a day or two back to her old, blonde self. In the meantime, how was she supposed to explain this to her roommates? “That’s a good start. Whatever’s going on, I clearly don’t have nearly enough alcohol in my system to deal with it.” Right about now Cece was sure that she had far too much blood in her alcohol system. Depending on how long this lasted, it might be time for a never ending party. “I like to think I just became your cool aunt. I think the moniker suits me.”

#wr cece #wr chatzy #wr cece chatzy #face off #gun tw #wickedswriting

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seeaddywrite · 6 years ago

Text

post-ep 4X07

a/n: this picks up at the start of the porch scene & continues on. no warnings. :)

The air is cooler than usual for a California night; Adrian doesn’t know if it’s the weather or the ice growing around his heart that makes him shiver when he steps onto Jessica’s porch. He’s been cold ever since Deran walked out on him that morning without a word, and he knows that all of the blankets and flannel in the world aren’t going to warm him, not unless they’re paired with Deran’s body heat and some sort of reassurance that he hasn’t ruined both of their lives with his carelessness and lies. He hadn’t expected understanding, or nonchalance at his confession -- Deran’s go-to emotion has always been rage, and Adrian was braced for it. For the yelling, for the fury, maybe even a blow.

As it turns out, this still silence is worse, by far, than rage. It doesn’t just hurt -- it gets into the air and breathed into Adrian’s lungs, turning him cold from the inside out. As soon as he lays eyes on Deran’s back, again, the urge to start yelling wells in Adrian’s chest. He wants to demand the other man turn around, to at least look at him while he doles out whatever punishment might be coming, but the words stick in Adrian’s throat. So he says nothing, and lapses into the same still, painful silence from that morning until Deran finally opens his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Adrian bites at his lower lip, inhaling raggedly. It takes a second to compose himself, but he explains as best he can. The tremble in his voice is barely noticeable, and he hopes that Deran is far enough away that he won’t hear it. But the longer he talks, the more desperate he gets -- Deran still isn’t looking at him, is still so far away that Adrian can’t even reach out to try to show him with actions, rather than meaningless words, that he didn’t say shit about the Cody family. Part of him screams to tell Deran that just a few hours ago, he’d demanded to be put in prison rather than to turn nark on the man he’s in love with -- but he swallows the impulse. Adrian isn’t going to guilt or manipulate Deran. He’s made his bed, and he’ll lie in it, whatever the consequences maybe. And he damn well won’t drag Deran down with him.

Finally, Deran turns around, and Adrian suddenly understands the old adage that warns to be careful what you wish for. Beneath the accusation and the anger in his expression, Adrian can read the hurt, the betrayal in his lover’s gaze, and it hits him harder than any physical blow ever could. He remembers the night before, in the shower, when Deran had just leaned into him and breathed -- the solid, honest eye contact he made when he said that he loved Adrian -- and fuck, Adrian’s knees shake under the emotional onslaught until he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep upright. Still, he takes a step forward, his main instinct still to reach out to Deran when he’s hurting so obviously, but the other man’s words stop him in his tracks.

“You’ve been lying to me for months. How do you expect me to believe anything you’re saying to me right now?”

Deran doesn’t shout, but he may as well have. The words resound in Adrian’s ears, reverberate through his bones until he’s sick with the ringing. This time, he has to lean against the closest support pillar to keep his knees from buckling and dumping him on the ground. His eyes sting, and Adrian blinks back tears furiously, because he’s not going to fucking cry. It’s a fair statement, and he knows that in Deran’s place, he wouldn’t believe his promises, either. Logic has no place in his heart, though, and Adrian aches beneath the weight of the accusation.

He can’t stop his voice from cracking when he admits that he can’t fix this -- that it’s not going away, no matter what he does. Adrian is helpless, pinned between a rock and a hard place, and there’s no escaping. He’s a terrible liar, and doesn’t have the practice Deran and his brothers do in dealing with the cops. Playing alibi, the misdemeanors he committed with Craig and Deran as kids -- none of it was on this level, and Adrian was so fucking stupid to think that he could play with the big boys. And now, both he and Deran are paying for it.

But Deran is the most confusing, complicated man Adrian’s ever met, and the vehemence with which he insists that Pope can never know about the cops, about the deal and the betrayal, gives Adrian a cautious sense of optimism. Because the only time he’s ever seen Deran get worked up like that is when he’s talking about the safety of someone he loves -- usually his family, but right now, Adrian can’t help but think it’s about him. His safety. Because they both know what happens when Pope hears that someone is talking to the cops about his family, and maybe, just maybe, Deran still cares enough not to want that for Adrian.

And that bit of optimism flourishes, becomes full-fledged hope the instant after Deran tells him that they’ll work it out, to get his shit so they can go home. Adrian swallows hard, staring at the other man in wide-eyed disbelief, but Deran never wavers under his gaze. He just waits, outwardly as calm as ever, until Adrian nods jerkily and goes back inside.

Deran doesn’t follow him, but Adrian expects that. This isn’t a great time for chit chat with Jessica, or playing games with her kids. He gives her a half-assed apology and promises to call her the next day, but Adrian can tell she’s not appeased. She hovers in the doorway to the spare room while he tosses his stuff back into bags and hauls them over his shoulder, but doesn’t say anything until he’s almost back to the front door.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, and Adrian hates the worry in her familiar face, because he knows he put it there. “You don’t have to go back to him, you know. If he's not treating you right, he doesn’t deserve you --”

Adrian shakes his head, cutting her off. He can’t bear to listen to her assumptions, knowing that she’s always going to guess Deran was the one to fuck up. She can’t stand that Adrian moved in with him after the violence and the hiding, and Adrian doesn’t know how to explain himself. He can’t tell her the truth, not without panicking her over the thought of him in prison -- so he just shakes his head again, smiling sadly. “It’s not his fault, this time,” he says quietly. “And even if it was, I’m always going to choose Deran.”

He slips out the door before she can respond, takes a deep breath, and lets Deran take him home.

******

The ride back to the oceanside house is utterly silent. Adrian refuses to risk the fragile peace between them by speaking, and it seems that every muscle in Deran’s body is tense. His knuckles are white where they clench the steering wheel, and there’s a tic in his jaw that only appears when he’s grinding his teeth. Adrian tries not to look at him, but his gaze has been pulled to Deran Cody with some impossible magnetism since he was fourteen fucking years old, and Adrian doesn’t know how to fight it.

His knees jiggle with nervous energy for the entire drive, and he has to keep his hands clasped over his lap to keep them from shaking. Why did he agree to this? Why did Deran tell him to come back if this is how it was going to be between them? Adrian couldn’t exist like this, on edge and terrified that at a single word, Deran’s going to stand up and walk away again. They can’t keep on this way. They can’t.

The engine cuts off as soon as the car pulls into their usual parking space on the street, and Deran still doesn’t look at him as he climbs out to get the bags from the back. Adrian follows numbly, grabbing a couple of them and trailing Deran as he lets them into the house. It’s dark and quiet, and Adrian takes advantage of the moment to run a hand over his face and steady himself. Something’s going to have to give between them at some point tonight -- he doesn’t know if it’ll be his sanity or Deran’s temper, but something’s going to break.

“You’re shaking.” The words, and the gentle voice in which Deran delivers them, take Adrian by surprise. He glances over his shoulder to find the other man only a few steps away, looking torn between closing the distance and enlarging it. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, man,” he continues, like he seriously thinks that Adrian’s worried about that right now. “And I told you. We’ll figure it out. Somehow.”

Adrian swallows again, and turns to face Deran fully, giving up his pretense of calm and letting every sign of fear and stress and hurt he’s been trying to hide for weeks show on his face. It puts him in a vulnerable position, makes him undeniably weak, but he needs Deran to see. Needs him to understand, because if he has to go to bed in this stifling silence, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. “And what about us?” he asks quietly, rubbing a hand along the opposite forearm in hopes that it’ll warm him up. “Are we gonna figure that out, too?”

Deran frowns, a furrow appearing between his brows. “What do you mean?”

Incredulity wells in Adrian’s chest, quickly joined by frustration that makes his shoulders tighten and lips firm into a thin line. “You won’t even look at me,” he points out, his voice wavering in a way that makes him furious with himself. “Not for more than a second. You didn’t say a word the entire ride home, and this is the closest we’ve been all day, and you’re so fucking tense you may as well be a statue. You said it yourself -- you don’t trust me. So what the hell am I doing here, Deran? Why did you even bother to tell me to come back if this is how it’s going to be? What’s the fucking point, man?” The tremor in his hands is obvious, now, even to his own eyes, so Adrian shoves them in the pockets of his jacket. He’s drained, exhausted in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever been -- stress and heartbreak aren’t a good look on him, and he desperately just wants to crawl into bed and hide from the world with Deran’s arms around him for a while. But that’s not in the cards, and now he’s started this conversation, he’s got to see it through.

Deran’s looking at him now, eyes dark in the dim lighting of the living room, and Adrian keeps his mouth shut. It’s hard to wait, makes his anxiety sky-rocket, but he’s said his piece. It’s Deran’s turn to talk, and if he doesn’t, well, then Adrian has his answer. At least his shit is already packed, this time.

“C’mere.” It’s not an explanation, or an apology, or anything that Adrian might have expected, but Deran’s arms are open, and there’s a softness to the set of his mouth that’s been missing all day. Adrian all but falls into his arms, clumsy with the relief that’s pulsing through his body, and Deran wraps him in his warmth. There’s a steady, thudding heartbeat beneath his cheek, and Adrian risks slipping a hand beneath Deran’s shirt to find the warm, soft skin of his back. They sway there for a moment, clinging to one another, and Adrian lets his eyes close, content to stay in this moment indefinitely -- but Deran’s pulling away all too soon, and the cold comes flooding back. A small noise of discontent escapes his throat, but Deran’s hand finds his. Their fingers interlock, and Adrian obeys the tug toward the bedroom without any conscious effort.

They separate once the door is closed behind them, and Adrian feels his palms start to get clammy as he glances around the room, trying to figure out what comes next. Deran doesn’t seem worried; he’s stripping his clothes off methodically on the other side of the bed, tossing them in a careless pile on the floor. Adrian follows the sharp angles of his body with his eyes, taking in the tanlines and tattoos as if he hadn’t spent the night before worshipping each one with his lips and fingertips, trying to make up for his betrayal before he admitted to it. He’d known last night that it might be his last chance, that Deran might never want to talk to him again after his confession -- but he’s here now. They both are. And as nervous as Adrian is that Deran’s about to tell him to go sleep on the couch, he can’t help but be grateful for this small intimacy.

Deran slides beneath the sheets, flipping onto his back to stare up at Adrian expectantly. There’s a weariness evident in his expression that Adrian wasn’t expecting, and he realizes, finally, that the last few weeks haven’t only been hard on him. Deran’s hiding things from his family, now, for Adrian, and he knows how that wears on him. And there’s something else, a shadow in his eyes that doesn’t fit the situation, an aura of guilt that wafts from him when he thinks Adrian’s not looking. There’s more to Deran’s hesitance and mood than just Adrian’s problems, which means the list of things they need to talk about has grown even longer. How much can they avoid before everything explodes around them?

“Come on,” Deran prompts, his voice quiet, as if he’s as afraid of fracturing the tentative peace as Adrian is. “It’s late, and neither of us slept last night.”

It’s true. They’d held each other for a while, then pretended to sleep, but the mounting tension had made it impossible until Adrian finally sat up and started talking, and the rest… the rest, they’ve already covered once tonight, and that’s plenty. So, slowly, Adrian strips off the layers of clothing he’s wearing, feeling Deran’s eyes on him the entire time. Sex is the last thing on his mind; he’s pretty sure even his insatiable need for Deran isn’t enough to get him hard tonight, but he basks in the attention anyway. Deran still wants him, is still looking at Adrian like he can’t quite believe that he’s real, and that goes a long way toward melting the ice that’s been forming around his heart all day.

He doesn’t hesitate to get into bed, but he keeps a careful distance between his body and Deran’s, just in case, until his lover reaches out and pulls him into his usual place draped over his chest. Strong arms wrap around him, and Adrian tucks his face into Deran’s neck, inhaling the familiar musk of a hard-working man. It eases the tension in his spine and he kisses along the protrusion of Deran’s collarbone without any thought. The man beneath him shivers, and a hand slides over Adrian’s hair and down to cup the back of his neck, tugging him into a kiss.

Unlike their usual battles for dominance, the kiss is soft and sweet, a reaffirmation of their bond, a reminder that the two of them are still there, still standing, and a promise to keep it that way. Adrian’s eyes slide closed, and he doesn’t open them, even when Deran pulls back to rest his forehead against his own. “It’s gonna be okay,” he breathes into the humid space between their mouths. “The shit with the cops -- and you and me. We’re gonna be okay.”

Adrian wets his lips and looks up at Deran, trying desperately to believe the words. He’s kept the faith all this time, believing that his deal with the DEA would be honored, but he’s been let down too often to think it’ll be that easy. Even with Deran on his side, Adrian doesn’t see a way out of the mess he’s made, and he can’t stand the idea that he might drag Deran into it, too. But the fact that Deran knows and is holding him anyway, that he’s making promises like that -- it warms Adrian to his core, and he finds himself hesitantly hopeful again. “God, I love you,” he murmurs. He hadn’t said it the night before, when Deran did. The timing wasn’t right; he couldn’t say he loved Deran when he was lying to him. It made the words seem cheap, fake, and Adrian refused to do it.

Now, though, with everything out in the open, he doesn’t hesitate. Even if the fucking DEA comes barging through their door in two minutes to arrest him, Deran will know how Adrian feels. He’ll have said it, told him the most important truth, and they’ll at least have that.

Deran kisses him again, just as gentle, and Adrian can feel him smile against his mouth. And if he can still make Deran smile that way, Adrian figures that all isn’t lost yet.

#my fic #animal kingdom tnt #deran cody/adrian dolan #deran/adrian #episode 4X07 spoilers

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queen-of-the-vampires · 6 years ago

Text

the best thing to happen to you

characters: kai parker x reader, damon salvatore, stefan salvatore

word count: 2,176

warnings: fluff

summary: Kai is the most annoying person you’ve ever met, and even more annoying as a child.

squares filled: de-aged // fall asleep on my shoulder

beta: she wants to remain anonymous

author’s note: this is for my own fluff bingo as well as for @fluffbingo and if you have any requests, please send them in!

feedback the glue that holds my writing together

tags at the bottom

Flipping the pancakes, you enjoyed the silence for once in your life. Being a Salvatore meant there wasn’t going to be a boring moment in your life. Your brothers didn’t make it possible for you to find peace in the way you wanted. Every day was spent trying to fix someone else’s problem or to try and fight for your life. There was never a dull moment except for the mornings. If you woke up early enough, you could find the Salvatore Boarding House in complete silence, save for the patter of your feet as you walked down the stairs.

The only time you had for yourself was spent making breakfast for yourself. You found it easier to manage everyone else’s problems when you had blueberry pancakes in your stomach. Before coming downstairs to cook, you had checked your brother’s room to see if they were still sleeping, which Stefan was. The thing was that Damon wasn’t in his bed. It was made as if he had never slept there last night. Deciding not to worry about it, you went on with your life. It was too early to worry about the grown ass man that was your brother.

When your pancakes were done, you started plating them when the front door opened. The silence in the house was shattered by a little kid screaming your name. That was weird, you didn’t know any kids. But why did this one sound like the man you had a crush on? Abandoning your food, you walked into the main room to see Damon holding a squirming child as he tried to get out of his arms.

“Would you fucking stop?” Damon growled.

“Let me go!” the child yelled. He looked so familiar, but you didn’t know any kids much less had any that knew your name.

“Is that how you speak to kids?” you teased as you crossed your arms.

“This isn't a fucking kid. It’s Kai,” your brother sighed as Kai got out of his grasp and ran to you. The little kid grabbed your leg as tight as he could, terrified to let you go.

“Damon, what did you do?” you growled lowly, scared to even touch the man you loved.

“Nothing! I left him alone for 5 fucking minutes, and when I come back, he’s a fucking kid. He won’t stop screaming your name, and whenever I put him down, he cries. Please, take him so I can figure out what the hell went wrong.”

“Went wrong? What were you two doing?!”

“Why are you guys shouting? It’s 7 am,” Stefan complained as he walked down the stairs.

“Go ahead, Damon. Tell our brother how you turned Kai into a kid who not only wants me, but won’t let me go,” you groaned as you tried shaking him off, but the smile on his face meant he only took that as a sign to play.

“What did you do?” Stefan sighed.

“Just, take him, Y/N. Okay? I’ll be back with a cure once I figure out what went wrong.”

“Damon, don’t you dare leave him with me!” you yelled, but your eldest brother was already out the door. Turning to your second oldest brother, you tried giving him the sweetest eyes possible. “Stefan, please…”

“You’re on your own. Kai is annoying as a grown man, I don’t want kid him.”

“Fuck you,” you spat as he went back upstairs.

“Potty mouth!” Kai yelled.

“Kai, seriously? Get off me,” you groaned as you pushed him off your leg. That only encouraged him to snap back on, and you knew this was going to be a very long day. Thanks to your vampire strength, the weight of him was practically nothing as you walked to the kitchen. There was a reason why you hated kids; they were so fucking needy, and Kai was no exception. Taking a seat at the table, you began eating when the little siphon untangled himself from your leg to climb onto the bench by your side. He reached over and stole some of your food with no regards to how you were feeling.

“Malachai,” you growled. He stopped mid-bite to stare at you like a little kid would if they got in trouble, “this is my food. Go watch some TV or something. Okay? Leave me alone.”

“No!” he yelled before climbing onto your back. “Piggyback ride!”

“Damon is fucking dead,” you muttered to yourself.

Since breakfast was ruined, you decided to get a headstart on your day by doing some of the chores you neglected to do during the week. The first thing you needed to do was clean your room since Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie were over a few nights ago and had ravished the place. Your sleepovers were always hectic, and the condition of your room when your friends left always proved it.

Upon reaching your room, Kai ran inside before jumping onto your bed. The first thing you needed to do was change your sheets, so you kind of pushed the little kid off the bed before stripping it.

“Hey!” he complained before popping his head from the other side.

“Stay out of my way. I am trying to clean my room. I didn’t sign up for babysitting, so don’t do anything that will piss me off,” you sighed as you pulled your bedsheet off. Kai immediately grabbed the bottom corner piece as he pulled, needing to have a little fun. “Kai, seriously!”

“Kai, seriously!” he mocked you.

“Now I know why your parents neglected you,” you snapped which caused all the happiness in his body to dissolve. His face fell at that unnecessary jab, and he let go of your sheets. His big blue eyes filled with tears, and you immediately felt bad for saying something in the first place. Little kid Kai showed a lot more than adult Kai, and it broke your heart to see him cry. Dropping the sheets, you ran to him before picking his small frame up. He started to struggle in your arms, but you held onto him tightly.

“Kai, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, okay? I don’t do well with kids,” you sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“No, you don’t get to be sorry. Here,” you placed him on the bean bag in the corner of your room before taking one of your throw pillows and spraying it with the perfume you always wore. Handing it to him, he clutched it as much as his tiny arms could. “Stay right here while I clean my room, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighed. Satisfied with his answer, you quickly cleaned your room. Your laundry basket was filled to the top, a new change of sheets was on your bed, and you had time to dust your room as well. Kai watched patiently on the bean bag chair with his face in your pillow. Because he was so good, you decided to let him have a bit of leash this time.

“Want to help me with laundry?” you asked.

“Yeah!” he screamed as he got off the bean bag and ran out of your room with the pillow still clutched in his tiny hands. Chuckling, you followed after him to the laundry room. It was weird to think that he knew where everything was, but then you remember how much time he spent here in the prison world. If he was like this as a kid, you kind of felt bad for him because all he really wanted was some love.

“Okay, you can hand me the clothes,” you said as you started the washing machine. Kai was much better company this time around, but that didn’t stop him from acting like a little shit from time to time. Looking down at him, you saw he had one of your bras wrapped around his torso, so you snatched it away from his little body with an eye roll. He giggled very loudly, and you caught yourself thinking if he was a giggler as an adult. Seeing him as a child got you thinking about him as an adult. Like, what would he do if you yelled at him for being in your way as an adult? He would just smirk and continue to do it like the asshole he is. But not kid Kai, he was something sweet.

After the laundry was done, you thought it would be best to watch a movie to pass the time. Wherever your brother was, you hoped he was finding a cure because this little guy was taking a lot out of you. While Kai put on the movie, you got the popcorn, and soon you two were watching whatever he picked out. He decided that he didn’t want to be on his own side of the couch, and crawled into your lap.

It was weird to see Kai this way because he would never do this as an adult. He showed so much emotion, it was hard to accept that when he turns back, this will all go away. It was also weird that he wanted you when adult him and you hated each other. Well, “hated” each other. That was code for “secretly in love with but too stupid to say anything, so I’m just going to stew in my feelings and lash out at the worst possible times while denying it until I die”. He was already screwed too much in his mind, so you didn’t want to put the pressure of a relationship onto him.

As the movie progressed, Kai began to get sleepy. Kids had endless amounts of energy that quickly dissolved at the most random times. From screaming to running around to getting on your nerves, it tired him out quickly. Before you knew it, he was putting his head on your shoulder as he slept. Looking down at the boy, you swiped his hair away from his eyes as you kept him comfortable. He looked almost peaceful, and you didn’t want to disturb him.

“I did it!” Damon said as he came barging into the house. This woke Kai up, and he began whining as he nuzzled his face in your neck.

“What the hell? You just woke him up,” you snapped at Damon.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to wait until he’s had a good night’s sleep, or did you want him to take the cure?” he sassed back.

“Come on, Kai. You need to drink this,” you said when Damon handed over the drink. He didn’t want to, but since you asked, he complied with your request. “When is he going to change back?”

“Should be by the morning.”

“Should be? You don’t know?”

“Hey, they didn’t really have a manual on what to do when an evil psychopath gets turned into a kid. So, yes, I don’t know.”

“Come on, Kai. You can sleep in the guest bedroom,” you said as you picked him up.

“No, I wanna sleep with you,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Someone has a crush on the babysitter,” Damon smirked. Flipping him off, you trekked up the stairs to your clean bedroom. Placing Kai on the bed, he nuzzled under the blanket while you changed into pajamas.

“Just stay on your side,” you said before getting comfortable. You don’t really remember much except that he scooted closer to you and placed his head on your chest.

Something felt different. There was another person in your bed, but he was a kid. Wait, did that cure even work? Opening your eyes, you saw a very naked and adult Kai laying on your body. Blushing immensely, you tried to scootch out from underneath his embrace without waking him.

“Where are you going? You’re warm,” he chuckled as he pulled you back into him. His face nuzzled deeper into your neck, and he placed a few kisses on the patches of skin he could reach.

“Malachai Parker! Get off me!” you exclaimed as you pushed him off. All he did was laugh as he saw the discomfort on your face as well as your reddened cheeks.

“I thought you always wanted to share a bed with me.”

“Get the fuck out of here. And put on some clothes!”

“I think you enjoyed last night. Cared for me in the way you wanted to. Me turning into a kid was the best thing that could have happened to you,” he said as he stood up without shame. Covering your eyes, you threw the first thing you could grab so he could cover himself up. He caught the throw pillow you gave him when he was a kid with a smirk.

“I’m keeping this. I’ll come back every so often to get you to spray that perfume that drives me crazy,” he laughed as he grabbed a throw blanket to wrap around his waist. He left the room but not without leaving an imprint on your mind. If the stress of your everyday life wasn’t going to kill you, he certainly was.

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cinnbar-bun · 6 years ago

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What Makes the Sky Blue (Sandalphon x Reader){Soulmate Au}

Anon said: *inhales deeply* Okay, so, I love WMTSB series and I love Sandalphon. And I suddenly thought: Soulmate AU where people can’t see a specific color (which is their soulmate’s eyes color) until they meet. Sandalphon, and blue-eyed reader (I don’t have blue eyes myself but it’d be cool). Title: “What makes the sky blue”. Ahem, sorry and, uh... pretty please? I apologize if it’s bothersome! PS. Apart from Sandy, I love you and your fics too <3

A/n: Of course I’d do this dear! No need to apologize, I love soulmate Au’s a lot and I love Sandy a lot too. I hope you like this though!

Warning: Contains some spoilers regarding Sandalphon and GBF. Also AANNNNNGGGSSSTTTTT

Red.

There was always the age-old fairy tale on why nobody could see the color of their soulmate’s eyes until they met. Some say the gods had punished a pair of lovers and cursed everyone to be unable to see some spectrum of color. Others say the gods felt pity and wished for humanity to find their fated lovers.

You haven’t really thought much about it, but what you did know is that it stunk not being able to see certain colors.

Yours happened to be a color called, ‘red’. You didn’t know what red looked like, and most didn’t know how to describe it. Lyria would usually say, ‘Vyrn is red!’ While you would’ve loved to see what color your childhood companion was, he only came out in shades of monochrome and slight white. Lyria was a colorful myriad of blue, and you were thankful you could at least see how she looked.

Some struggled with telling you what red was.

“Red is like fire, ya know?” Rackam said, lighting a match. You could not see it.

“Red is like apples!” Io would smile, holding one out to you. They tasted sweet, but unless they were other specimens, you could not see it.

“Red is the color of roses.” Rosetta would pitifully smile, gently holding the flower to you. They smelled nice and looked beautiful, but still, no idea of what red was.

It frustrated you sometimes. Most of the crew members had found their soulmates-or simply didn’t care- and they sometimes forgot what it was like to not be able to experience the beauty of the world.

But you had a job, you were a captain first and foremost, not a lost wanderer. You would not allow this slight annoyance to take over your mind.

You looked thoughtfully out into the sky, seemingly an endless stream of blue. Many had commented that your eyes were the same shade as the sky, some also saying they couldn’t see it until they met their soulmate. Seeing the sky everyday, you thought it was pretty, but you would like a change of scenery. What did red look like? What did fire look like under a night sky?

Blue.

Sandalphon could not see color. Pandemonium was an awful, hellish nightmare, and it stripped him of whatever sense of justice and humanity he had left. He wanted revenge. He craved destruction.

What good was a world that did not want him?

He was no replacement. He was the end all-be all. If humanity-if Lucifer- couldn’t even see that, then he’d be the reason for their downfall.

A single pulse echoed in his heart, and in the heart of Pandemonium.

Finally, escape.

It was a surge of power unlike any other he had felt.

The fated meeting of the girl in blue and the red dragon.

This was the power that was practically unknown to all of them. Lucifer probably could not even comprehend it. He smirked, it was no matter if Lucifer couldn’t understand it, he’d finally show him what he was capable of. All of them would pay for trapping him in Pandemonium, for denying him of a purpose, for leaving him behind, for even thinking of scrapping him.

He crawled out of Pandemonium and felt power.

The air was fresh, unlike the suffocating atmosphere of his prison. There was color. He finally could remember what color was. Grass was green, flowers were yellow, trees had brown bark. But still, the sky remained as cloudy and dark as ever. Water was also gray.

No matter, he’d paint the skydom red by the time he was through.

Chaos, chaos everywhere. People were screaming and all you could hear was destruction. Crumbling buildings, burning market stands, everything was getting destroyed one by one.

All from this strange man.

He had been fascinated with you since the beginning, whispering how you were the singularity.

He was more than happy to plunge the skydom to the bottom, and the sick pleasure he got from hurting your friends made you angry. How could someone be this hateful?

It was no use thinking over why he was what he was. He had nearly acquired all the primarch’s wings, save for Gabriel’s, and had become an insane monster possessed only by the thought to destroy, destroy, destroy.

You had to fight him. You had to stop him before he ruined your home.

You felt your strength waning as you desperately swung at him, hoping he would stop this senseless fighting.

Hope had finally been born again when you finished him.

Reduced to the power of a mere mortal, he was on the ground, laughing loudly at how you of all people managed to defeat him.

“Of course the singularity does it! Of course they do! You must feel so proud right now, so happy that you have a purpose! You have meaning and the power to change this world! Lucky you!” He rambled on before laughing even more.

So that was why.

You looked at him, and a sense of pity began to form inside. All he wanted was a place, a purpose. He looked up at you, his smile still there but showing something more...bitter, perhaps jealous?

“Don’t look at me like that, mortal.” He spat the last word out like it was poison inside his body. “I don’t need your damn pity. Why don’t you just kill me, huh? Why don’t you just throw me back to Pandemonium? Why don’t you just make me suffer!”

“I...I...” You stumbled backwards and fell on the ground, shaking at how angrily loud he was yelling.

“You don’t know what it’s like to suffer alone! You mortals die so quick, you’d never understand what a primarch goes through!”

“Enough, Sandalphon.” A voice cut through his screams with a serene presence you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Lucifer.

“Lucifer...” Sandalphon murmured, and he seemed shocked he was even before him.

“Old friend...this was my fault. I had waited to see when I should come down to put an end to you. It seemed the Singularity handled it.” Lucifer gazed down at you softly, then turned back to Sandalphon, a mixture of pity and regret in his eyes.

Sandalphon didn’t seem to be happy that Lucifer was there, in fact, he had begun shaking even more violently.

“Y-you didn’t even think I was that big of a threat? You didn’t see me as nothing more than a nuisance that a mere human could stop? You didn’t even take me seriously? You...” Sandalphon gripped the dirt in anger and screamed in anguish.

He was even more pitiful than he thought.

“I thought of you as a friend. My only friend, who had looked to me as an equal, not the supreme creation.” Lucifer responded.

“Equal? Equal you say? We will never be equal! So long as you’re alive, you’ll be praised! I was nothing more than your damn replacement, and I failed at the job before it began! I am not- and will never be- you! You have purpose, you have meaning! This god damn Singularity has more influence than I ever will!”

“Accept your failures, primarch.” Michael’s harsh voice cut through. She stared in disgust at her enemy, joined by her other siblings.

“Heh...yeah...I guess it was foolish from the start, right? To think that I, of all things, could ruin this world. Then punish me as you see fit.” He heaved a sigh and seemed to relax, accepting his mistakes so calmly and sadly.

“We will see to it, Sandalphon.” Lucifer responded.

“Before I’m sent away forever, allow me one more request.”

“What is it?”

“Allow me to thank the Singularity. For having been enough to put an end to my destruction.” He looked at you and smiled, his brown hair disheveled and knotted after the vicious fighting.

The primarchs did not object, and he got up slowly and walked over to you, his hand outstretched. You stared at it in confusion and debated whether or not you should go through with it.

“Come now, won’t you fulfill this last wish of mine?” His voice teased. You decided against listening to your subconscious and extended your hand back to him.

Before you made contact, you looked at his eyes and saw they were a monochrome color.

So they’re red, then.

As your fingers touched, a jolt of electricity ran through you and you gasped. His eyes had turned a marvelous color you couldn’t begin to describe. They shown beautifully under the shining sun, twinkling like gemstones. You wanted to get lost in them forever.

“Ah... my enemy is my soulmate, huh?” He chuckled darkly before his face turned serious as he leaned towards your ear.

“Your hands are so soft...” he whispered, “This is what the sky looks like, hm? Thank you for showing me one more beautiful sight before you go. Have a safe flight.” His frown had turned back into a large smirk as he grabbed your wrists and flung your body off the cliff.

You couldn’t begin to process it as your emotions and thoughts swirled into one.

“(Y/N)!” You heard your friends scream and the echoing laughter of Sandalphon.

“In the end Singularity, you’re just mortal! Just flesh and breakable bones!” He yelled.

“Why you-” Michael lunged for him and knocked him to his knees, making him double over in pain. “Uriel, come with me now!” She screamed and tried to rescue you.

You couldn’t hear anymore. You couldn’t scream.

All you thought of was memories.

Meeting Lyria, becoming a captain, traveling around the world.

How unfortunate it would have to end by the hands of someone who was supposed to love you. Perhaps this was your punishment for thinking about it too much. Your death would serve as a reminder to never let your selfish desires overtake you.

Time seemed to slow down as you fell, and you looked at the massive horizon all around you. You smiled serenely, this sight alone was enough to make you accept your untimely end.

The sky below had turned a pretty shade of red, signifying the day’s end. And you finally got to see it.

Red was a wonderful color, indeed. This was what you had desired, and now seeing like this felt surreal. There was no more regrets. There was no more hate or ill will. Peace. Peace was all you felt as you plunged deeper into the end of the sky.

And then black.

That event had served as a new beginning for you. You don’t remember much, Bahamaut roaring for you to wake up, to sweep the world into its new evolution. Lyria and Vyrn huddling over you, weeping over how they thought they lost you for good. But one thing haunts you to this day.

Sandalphon’s eyes.

The other things may have been a blurry fragment, but you could never, ever forget his eyes. After learning of red, after seeing how much emotion and desire he displayed from his eyes alone, it had stuck with you.

Some part of you even wished to see him again. You’ve thought of what it must be like if you had been born in another world. Another world where he had a purpose, where he was not confined to Pandemonium, where you could meet him once more.

Some times you cried over it. A bond with a soulmate was irreplaceable, and the event of being broken apart made you feel so utterly alone. Like a part of you had been taken along with him.

You wondered how stupid it would’ve sounded to the others. You cared for a man who wanted the plunge the world into chaos? You cared for a man who sent you flying off a cliff? You hadn’t told them he was your soulmate. You sometimes kept up the act you could not see red, but pretty soon, you knew they would catch on to you hiding something.

You looked at Vyrn, now a red dragon instead of the gray he once was. Was this worth it? You wanted red so bad, but at what cost?

After another day of pondering over useless what-ifs, you stumbled onto your bed and fell asleep quick enough.

“Singularity...” You recognized the voice.

“L-Lucifer?” It had been months since you last talked to him.

“Yes, (Y/n). You are still troubled by what had occurred long ago, correct?” of course he would know, you sighed.

“Yes...it’s so stupid of me! W-why do I care so much? Why do I want him so bad?” You wept.

“That is the curse of the soulmate link.” You’ve never heard used in that way.

“Soulmate link?”

“Yes, the link that binds you to Sandalphon. The chain that is your connection to him.”

“Then why do I feel so bad about him not being here?”

“You see the color red now, right?” You nodded. “When you touched, it was like the chain finally connected. And him being away severs that chain slowly. It hurts, unfortunately, and I cannot guarantee that the pain will ever go away, so long as he is still being reborn.”

“T-then what can I do?” Your disheartened voice made Lucifer frown slightly.

“There is nothing, unfortunately. I know he suffers as much as you do, but I cannot awaken him when he’s still in this cycle. You’ve stopped him once, but I cannot allow another disaster to happen.”

“How long will this cycle take?”

“However long it needs to be.”

He sees only black.

He’s not fully conscious yet, but he has enough awareness to think. The cocoon is as dark as Pandemonium, but unlike that hellhole, it feels warm. He snuggles in closer to whatever that warmth may be.

But he feels a slight pain in his heart. All he can feel is regret, regret for turning on the world, for betraying Lucifer’s trust,

for hurting you.

Sandalphon clearly recalls that day as if it were yesterday. The pain he caused you for his selfish desires is something he will always punish himself for. You were his soulmate, you were supposed to be the one he was fated to meet.

The meeting (quite literally) nose-dived into utter madness.

Being in the cocoon makes him wish he could take back his mistakes. He wants to be let out, to be free again, and to finally do his purpose, to make the skydom better.

Most of all, he wants the chance to see you again. To support you like he was supposed to. He wants to remember the blue of the sky and your eyes, he wants to be a part of something with you.

Would you even accept him? Would you even forgive him for what he has done? He has no idea. He wants to be better, but he understands his mistakes were not exactly tiny ones.

He reminds himself of the tiny fragments of dreams he has had while in the cocoon, and some of them consist of seeing the blue sky. Before, he had thought he would never get to see the vast atmosphere in its true form. That day, when he made contact with you, it sparked something within him.

The sky was gorgeous. It held a light so unlike any other thing, and he was glad he got to witness it at least once. As much as he loved the sky, he could never forget about your eyes.

He huddles himself into a ball until he feels his consciousness drifting away.

It had been a painful year for you.

You had loved and lost during that period, and you wonder just what will happen in this coming year.

You stare somberly out on the deck of the Grandcypher, watching the sun rise to form hues of red and yellow on the horizon. It always reminded you of him.

You start to wonder if there’s a point to even holding onto him. How do you even know if he isn’t going to just kill you? You feel your exhaustion from waking up too early start to creep in, your eyes slowly closing until you drift into sleep.

A loud noise rings through the Grandcypher, and it jolts you up immediately.

“What the hell...doing here?” You hear slight pieces of what sounds to be like Rackam yelling. You sigh and walk to where all the commotion is and rub your tired eyes.

“What’s going on?” You yawn and scratch your head.

“This guy was insistent on-” your gasp cut Rackam off as you stepped closer.

“Sandalphon? I-I thought...” You can only stare. He was here, right in front of you. His red eyes looked surprised, almost hesitating in how he should react.

“Yeah, I guess I finished.” He awkwardly laughed and gave you a small grin, but one that instantly rose your spirits. You tackled him in a hug and almost felt the tears build up again.

“I thought I never would’ve been able to see you again! I’m so happy to see you here!” You say, although it becomes muffled in his chest.

“A-ah, I, yeah I’ve missed you too.” He lets out a sigh and smiles, wrapping an arm around you. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I forgave you long ago, you’re here now, so that’s what really matters.” You look up to him, and he sees those precious blue eyes that he missed so dearly.

“Thank you.” He whispers, only for your ears. The other crew is gobsmacked by the whole exchange, and some still don’t fully trust him.

He understood this was what he was signing up for, but he quickly comes to realize that you still love him so unconditionally. You put your faith in him, and he wants to be the man you always knew he could be.

Funny, he never thought a mortal of all things would be the one to make him feel invincible. The blue sky above is even prettier just by your presence alone, and he can’t help but feel like this was what he had been missing all his life.

He thinks back to when Lucifer talked to him about the blue sky.

“What makes the sky blue?” He’d ask. Hearing Lyria ask that again made him ponder that thought once more.

Whether it was created by the gods, the Astrals, or some unknown scientific experience, he had an answer that he felt could explain it.

Your love.

#soulmate au #Sandalphon #Granblue Fantasy #GBF #Granblue fantasy imagines #Sandalphon (gbf)#sandalphon x reader #writing

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walkerismychoice · 6 years ago

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For Law and Love Chapter 4

Book: Desire and Decorum - Modern day AU

Paring: Ernest Sinclaire X MC

Raiting: PG

Summary: Another week of class begins. Will Anna ever be able to look Sinclaire in the eyes again?

Count: ~2000

Law and Love Master List - Catch up here

Anna met up with Annabelle to walk to class Monday morning. She hadn't talked to her, or anyone really, since the party Friday night. She spent a good part of Saturday sleeping off her hangover and then studied all evening. Sunday she went home to do laundry and have dinner with her dad. She told him about Luke being her TA and that she went to a gathering at his place, but omitted any and all details about Ernest Sinclaire. After her performance Friday night, she was certain he'd want nothing to do with her outside anything pertaining to Business Law.

"Hey, what happened to Friday night?" Annabelle asked with brows furrowed. "You just disappeared."

"I disappeared? I was told you had already left."

"I was still there. I was just, uh, busy with Eva." Annabelle averted her eyes shyly. "Sorry about that."

Anna smirked. "No, I get it. I'm glad one of us had a good time."

"You didn't walk home alone did you?" Anabelle inquired, concern evident in her voice.

"No, but I wish I had. I made a complete fool of myself." Anna buried her head in her hands.

"I'm sure whatever it is couldn't be that bad." Annabelle patted her on the back and Anna proceeded to tell her everything. Annabelle cringed. "Okay, yeah, that's pretty bad."

"Ugh, what's wrong with me? I'm so not looking forward to seeing him today." Anna had noted the TAs were taking turns attending class after the first day. It was just her luck that Hamid was Wednesday and Luke was Friday, so it had to be Ernest today. Why was life so cruel?

They arrived in class and took their usual seats in the middle of the room. Anna spotted Sinclaire at the front and kept her head down to avoid any chance at eye contact.

Annabelle leaned in. "He's totally looking at you."

Anna scoffed. "Is he giving me the death stare?"

"Is that any different than his normal stare?" Annabelle chuckled.

“You have a point. He’s got the RBF down.” They both giggled and were hushed by a guy in the row behind them. “Oops, we should keep it down before they have to split us up.”

Class went along as usual with Professor Richard’s self-important prattle sandwiched between short bits of important information. Anna alternated between taking notes and staring at the back of Ernest’s head thinking of all the ways she messed things up. Was there really anything to mess up anyway? He had shown zero outward interest in her. But there were those little things, like the way his eyes always seemed to be on her, or the spark she felt from the brief touch of hands at the party. It gave her hope the attraction was not one sided. At least it had until she made a literal mess of things.

Time was almost up and Anna was ready to bolt out the door immediately, when Professor Richards announced Ernest would be handing back the papers they turned in on Friday. There would be no avoiding him completely. They gathered near the front of the room and he listed off their names one by one.

"Edgewater," he called out. and she quickly shuffled over, trying not to look him in the eyes. She grabbed the a paper from his hand and turned towards the door, not even waiting for Annabelle who later caught up with her outside.

“Wait up Anna!” Annabelle was short of breath by the time she caught her. “You know you can’t avoid him all semester. That was....awkward back there.”

“I just grabbed the paper and left. I don’t see anything weird about that.”

“I don’t know, he just stood there kind of stunned for a few seconds too long and fumbled to get the next persons name out.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Whatever, I’m sure only you noticed it because you were looking for it. She flipped through her paper which was thoroughly marked in red with comments and corrections and the intials ‘E.S.’ Of course he would be a super critical grader. “I got a B? Look at all these marks. This is brutal...Ernest is brutal."

“If it makes you feel any better, I got a C.” Annabelle held out her paper which was not nearly as marked up but still showed the lower grade.

“But I don’t get Bs.” Anna shook her head in disbelief. “I always get As.”

Annabelle laughed dryly. “Welcome to Harvard. You’ll get used to it.”

“Ugh. I don’t want to get used to it.” Anna flipped to the last page to see the final comments signed by Sinclaire. “What the- How is yours signed?” Annabelle held out the page to her which said ‘Ernest Sinclaire’. “Oh my god.” Anna buried her head in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” Annabelle questioned

“He signed mine ‘Ernie’, in quotes. The embarrassment is unending.”

“Am I missing something?”

“I actually almost forgot about it until now, but I might have drunkenly called him Ernie at the party.”

“You did not!” Annabelle exclaimed before doubling over with laughter. "It seems like he thought it was kind of funny though if he wrote it on your paper."

"I don't know. There are a million comments marked on mine," Anna huffed. "He hardly made any comments on yours."

"But you still got a better grade." Annabelle snatched the paper from her hand and pointed to the B on the front. "Maybe he just cares more about you."

"Or..." Anna swiped it back. "He's trying to get back at me for acting like a fool and ruining his shoes."

"Whatever you say, Anna. I've go to get to class. Text me later?" Anna nodded and Annabelle took off in the opposite direction.

~~~~~

Anna stewed over her grade from Sinclaire and was still thinking about it the next day. It wasn't just that she wasn't used to getting anything less than an A, but she was confused by the comments as well. They were actually positive for the most part with only a few minor corrections. She couldn't understand where she went wrong enough to drop an entire letter grade. It was ridiculous to obsess so much, and the only way to stop was to talk to him about it during his office hours. Of course this meant facing him and owning up to her embarrassment, but she’d have to do it sooner or later.

As Anna approached the office she could see he was with another student. He nodded his head to acknowledge her presence and she took a seat in the chairs outside to wait. No sooner had she sat down when Professor Richards peeked his head out the door.

“Can I help you with something?” His eyes ran over her body as if he was trying to survey what was underneath her clothing, causing an uneasy shiver to run down her spine. Maybe there was some truth to the rumors.

“Oh no. I’m just waiting for Ernest.” Anna looked towards Ernest’s office as she spoke and saw him look up at the mention of his name and narrow his eyes at the professor.

“I’m sure I can help you out with whatever you need Miss-”

“Edgewater. But no, that’s quite alright. I can just wait.”

“Edgewater! I can see the resemblance to Harry now. He wasn’t as pretty as you though.” Professor Richards winked at Anna, making her skin crawl.

At that moment, Ernest stood up and hurriedly rushed the student out of his office, telling him he could email any further questions. “Anna, please come in.”

Professor Richards smile turned to a scowl but he didn’t protest. Ernest ushered Anna inside and shut the door. He didn’t explain nor did she comment on why he closed the door for her and not the other student. He was shielding her from the creep next door.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Ernest said softly before his features hardened. “He shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“It’s fine, It wasn’t a big deal.” Anna lied. Professor Richards hadn’t said all that much but he didn’t have to. His tone and mannerisms were enough to make her uncomfortable.

“No Anna, its not. He crossed a line. I’ve heard rumors before, and some were pretty terrible, but I had never seen anything in person. If you want me to help you file a report-”

“Ernest, it’s okay...really.” Anna’s pleading eyes begged him to drop it. “It was gross, and yes he crossed a line, but he didn’t really do anything. I hardly think him calling me pretty is going to get him into any actual trouble.”

Ernest finally relaxed his tightly clenched fists. “Just be careful around him.”

“Luckily he’s too busy to care about us measly undergrads, and we’re stuck with you.” Anna grinned and Ernest smiled back, a genuine, honest smile she hadn’t seen before.

“What brings you in today? Here to apologize for ruining my shoes?” He still had a hint of a smile on his face.

With the unwanted attention from Professor Richards, Anna had finally forgotten, if only for a few minutes, how mortified she was. But was Ernest actually teasing her? He seemed to find it much more amusing than anything. “I’m so sorry. That was so embarrassing, and so not like me.”

“You mean to say vomiting all over someone is not a typical sign of affection from you?”

“Were you hoping for some affection from me?” She knew she shouldn’t flirt with him but she couldn’t help herself.

Ernest cleared his throat and sat up straight but his cheeks were flushing red. “I assume the actual reason you're here has something to do with the class.” Ernest speculated, trying to get back on track.

Anna sighed. He was so hot and cold. One second he was starting to let down his walls and them next he was more difficult to infiltrate than Fort Knox. “Yes, that. I wanted to talk to you about my paper. I have questions about the grading."

"You got a B. You did well." He stated matter of factly.

"But I looked at your comments and the criteria, and I don't see what I'm missing." Anna turned to the rubric on the last page.

Ernest looked over it thoughtfully and pointed to the issue. "The specifications were for 12 point font. Yours was 11."

"Seriously?" Anna questioned with an edge of irritation. "One little detail, and I drop a whole grade?"

Ernest shrugged and threw his hands up. "I don't make the rules. Besides, missing one small detail could cost you a case in court. I'm doing you a favor to be strict with you now. I expect you will now read all instructions thoroughly."

"Fine," Anna muttered. "Lesson learned. I guess I'll see you in class.

Anna stood to leave when Ernest grabbed her hand. "Wait!" He exclaimed before looking down at his hand on hers and suddenly pulling away. "I should give you my number in case you need to text me...for class related purposes."

"I do already have your email...like all the other students." Anna suppressed another smirk.

"Right..." Ernest ran a hand through his hair. "Texts are a much better way to get ahold of me if you have any urgent questions." Ernest scrawled his number on a post-it and handed it to her.

"Sure...if i have any burning questions about business law I'll make sure to text you." Anna saved the number in her phone and texted him. Ernest's phone lit up on the desk and he checked the text. "You know, in case you have any questions about my assignments that must be answered immediately." This time she failed to hold back her sly smile as she stood to leave. "See you in class Mr. Sinclaire."

Tag List: @quacksonlover, @cocomaxley, @tmarie82, @simplyaiden-blog, @lizeboredom, @alexanderkeith, @debramcg1106, @llholloway, @zackzilberg, @confessionsofabrokegirl, @writtenbycandy, @butindeed, @shelivesinthewoods, @nicestrokepam, @leelee10898, @fluffy-marshmallow-heart, @future-mrs-gremlin, @c.e, @walkerduchess, @pens-girl-87, @sweetfluffyunicorn18, @blackcatkita, @jadedpixiescribbles, @damienazariostan, @yesterday4, @snyggflicka, @endless-vall, @choicesatnight, @hopefulmoonobject, @enmchoices, @theroyalweisme, @the-everlasting-dream, @too-poor-to-buy-keys @mr-sinclaire @hhiggs, @mfackenthal, @alesana45, @thatspicegirlssong, @quartzandarrow, @flyawayblue56, @choicesyouplayandmore, @catlady0911 @boneandfur, @lovethroughthemiles, @flowerpowell, @andy-loves-corgis, @akrenich, @nekkidmolerat, @katurrade

#desire and decorum #playchoices fanfiction #Ernest Sinclaire #mr. sinclaire #for law and love #my fic

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admirable-mairon · 6 years ago

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Thuringwethil and Ilmarë

... I did the thing. I had to.

As most of you know, @swilmarillion has an absolutely amazing fanfic called “Follow you down” that you need to go and read right now. That fic has a little sibling, so to speak, called “Semi-charmed life” where she recently introduced the idea of Thuringwethil and Ilmarë being.... ehm....... ‘friends’.

I simply felt obligated to write something on the matter, while also projecting some of my emotions while coming out to myself a couple of years ago onto Thil and........ well here it is! Enjoy this fanfic of a fanfic!

Thuringwethil was not running through the halls of the court house, but she WAS walking very briskly to the point where those who happened to come down the hall from the opposite side had to move out of the way. Some of them cursed, but most were used to the climate and didn’t even bat an eye. Being a lawyer was occassionally very stressful after all, and there was no one there who didn’t know WHOSE lawyer she was.

Yeah. No one would be shaming Thuringwethil, Melkor Bauglir’s lawyer, for being stressed.

As she rounded a corner however, she crashed into someone who just came down the stairs and with a pair of surprised cries they crashed onto the marble floor – the papers flying and whirling around them.

”Oh my god, I’m so sorry…! Here – let me help you!” said the person, who Thuringwethil was VERY ready to shout at, but she found that her words simply got stuck in her throat as she laid her eyes on the lady who had crashed into her. Said lady was currently helping Thuringwethil gather her papers in a neat pile, and seemed so focused on the task that she didn’t even seem to notice that Thuringwethil had simply frozen in place.

Long and silky hair, a beautiful contrast against her pale skin. The pencil skirt and the shirt she was wearing seemed to be of the best quality and Thuringwethil felt a jolt of jealousy go through her chest as she saw just how perfectly beautiful she was. It... had to be jealousy, didn’t it? What else could that jolt mean?

”Are you okay? The floor is pretty hard” she said (and damn her, even her voice made that jolt come back) and extended a hand to help her up, clutching the papers in her other hand.

”I’m... I’m fine. Thank you” Thuringwethil replied as she took the offered hand and stood up, self-conciously straightening her clothes and fixing her hair before taking the offered papers. ”Are you alright yourself? Those heels looks like they could kill a man” she joked, trying to break the tension she felt within herself, and luckily the other woman smiled and even laughed a little at the compliment.

”Yes thank you, I’m fine. I am preparing for a big case in a couple of days and I find that few things bring me as much confidence as strapping weapons to my feet” she joked in return, flexing her feet and showing off both the shoes and the effect they had on her legs (really – that jolt in Thuringwethil’s chest had to take a fucking break...! Maybe she needed more coffee.... with some scotch).

”I’m sincerely sorry though” she then said, a faint blush on her cheeks. ”I would love to make it up to you. Ehm... How about lunch later? There’s a lovely italian restaurant just down the street”

”Oh! I… ehm, thank you but that won’t be necessary” Thuringwethil said, immideately hating herself for turning down the offer.

”Oh I insist! Let’s meet outside the great entrance in.... two hours?” she suggested, winking and turning down the other staircase. ”I’ll see you at 12!”

It was only once she was completely gone that Thuringwethil realized that she hadn’t even asked for her name, or her number.... And really, it would just be impolite to turn it down, wouldn’t it? And... a free lunch was always nice.... It’s always good to broaden one’s network of contacts.... Yeah... Yeah that was totally the reason she was giddy and felt as though her chest was going to burst.

---

”I can’t believe I forgot to even tell you my name” Ilmarë laughed as they were seated at the restaurant. ”I swear, I’m not normally that clumbsy and forgetful. I have to seem like I’m a horrible lawyer” she said, that adorable little blush on her cheeks again.

”Well to be fair I forgot to tell you my name, and I forgot to actually look at where I was going” Thuringwethil assured her with a shrug, her own cheeks heating up a little bit and she attempted to hide it behind her menu. What was this...!? Why did she feel so weird...!?

”I guess it’s a good thing I gave you a time and place then, huh?” she said with a little smile, looking over the menu briefly. ”I could really recommend the mushroom tortellini – I even know which wine goes the best with it... Unless you have a case later today of course”

”Not at all, though if I did I might’ve needed a whole bottle for myself” Thuringwethil joked, deciding that she’d have whatever Ilmarë had.

”Oh right! You’re mr. Bauglir’s lawyer, aren’t you? I know it would’ve been improper to ask in any other case, but you have been in the news a lot lately”

”Don’t you worry about it. You’re buying me good wine, so you get at least one improper question”

”How generous”

”That’s me – a generous and loving soul forever trapped inside a lawyer’s harsh body”

That made Ilmarë laugh again, and a part of Thuringwethil decided that she really really liked the sound of it. Seriously, no woman had the right to be quite that perfectly beautiful. The jealousy kept sparking, but she somehow found that she didn’t mind.

”I might have to steal that trick of yours though – I could use some weapons strapped to my feet. My only problem is it might all be ruined if I slip and break my legs while wearing them”

”Nah, you’d be just like one of those monsters from that one horror game that crawl towards you using only their hands” Ilmarë teased, holding up her hands like claws as if to mimic the image, causing Thuringwethil to laugh this time around.

”You know, that would actually be hilarious. Melkor is a paranoid narcissist, to put it nicely, but he’s also a pompous show-off and a scaredy cat. He’d scream like a banshee”

”I don’t know if I could actually imagine mr. Bauglir scream in fear – I mean I’ve only seen him on TV and in the newspaper, but the looks rather intimidating”

”I mean, you might get an opportunity to see it some day soon if you want”

”Oh?”

”Yeah – Have you heard about this year’s haunted house by Dol Goldur?”

---

”I told you it was hilarious” Thuringwethil laughed as she poured them a glass of wine each, handing Ilmarë one before joining her on the sofa.

Once they were done at the haunted house (and Thuringwethil had gotten herself the money Melkor owed her) they had split with the group and went home to Thuringwethil’s. It seemed they shared a certain love for good cheese and crackers as well as a good red wine, and Thuringwethil couldn’t be happier. Ilmarë had bought the wine and Thuringwethil had chosen some special cheese for the night.

”I mean, it really was” Ilmarë snickered as they clinked their glasses together before taking a sip each – finishing with a pleased sigh. ”I was surprised by just how sweet they were, especially Gothmog. I mean, he looks huge and rather scary honestly, but he was just… the sweetest. A teddy bear”

”That would be an accurate description of him I’d say” Thuringwethil agreed with a laugh.”Just wait until you’ve tasted his food – He tries to set a new record every single thanksgiving”

”You celebrate thanksgiving together?”

”Yup – All holidays, basically”

”That’s… really sweet” Ilmarë said sincerely, scooting a little closer.

”I.. Ehm, yeah, it’s tradition by now” Thuringwethil said, trying to hide her blush by taking another sip. That damn jealousy was back again, but she couldn’t for her life figure out why. ”How... How about you? Have any friends you celebrate it with?”

”I normally celebrate with my sister and her husband. Occassionally my cousin stops by as well, but he’s quite busy” she shrugged, seemingly not too keen to talk about that, but Thuringwethil didn’t mind too much. She was quite honestly too focused on how warm and soft and close Ilmarë was to her.

They kept the conversation going for quite some time, but neither realized just how long they had been talking as it was all so relaxed and the words just seemed to come so naturally. The cheese was good, the wine was good, but soon they were out of the first, and with only half a glass of wine left each.

Sometime through glass number three they’d become quite giggly, and it had just seemed natural to snuggle closer.

”Is it just me, or is it hot in here?” Ilmarë suddenly asked, startling Thuringwethil who had been busy admiring just how pretty and silky Ilmarë’s hair was.

”Hm? Really? I hadn’t noticed”

”Yeah, it is like – really hot in here” Ilmarë insisted and shrugged her sweater off, leaving her in just a rather loose tank top and her skirt. For some reason, Thuringwethil had a REALLY hard time looking away from them (well who could blame her? They looked perfectly soft and nice and kissable).

”I… Don’t think that helped”

”Hm?”

”I’d… argue it just got hotter in here”

Ilmarë blinked at that comment, and looked into Thuringwethil’s eyes quite intensly. She had expected her to laugh, or to tease, but instead she just... Looked... And it made Thuringwethil’s heart miss a few beats.

”.... Thuringwethil-”

”Call me Thil”

”Thil” she said, running her tongue over her lips – So beautifully stained from the red wine. ”.... Can I ask you a question?”

”Go ahead”

”Cause I mean.. it’s like.... a real improper question”

”You know my rule about buying me wine and asking questions” she said quietly, her cheeks far too hot for her liking, and that burst of jealousy kept slamming against her ribs.

”So… One improper question?”

”Yeah”

”Okay…. Can I… Can I kiss you?”

Once again Thuringwethil completely froze in shock, her eyes wide as she looked down at Ilmarë and how she leaned so beautifully against her – her pretty cheek resting on her shoulder….

Kiss her…!? Why… Why would she? She wasn’t a lesbian or anything, she was completely and utterly straight. Totally. Everyone thought women were beautiful, even straight women, right? And... sometimes straight women kissed other women because they could... because they were drunk....

.... Totally straight.

Really sincerely wanting to kiss a girl was a totally straight thing to do, and so she simply breathed the answer:

”Yes”

Ilmarë tasted of wine and fuck, how were her lips so soft...!? Thuringwethil felt as though she was drowning – as if she couldn’t get enough. Kissing men never felt like this – they were never quite this soft.

She kissed her some more, because it was simply impossible not to, and when Ilmarë let out a breathy sigh against her – just the briefest teasing touch of her tongue against hers – she knew.

The emotion that was raging in her chest wasn’t jealously.

It never had been.

She was in love with Ilmarë.

#swilmarillion #thuringwethil #Ilmarë #I just had to

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looselucy · 7 years ago

Photo

March

“He’s very pretty.” Grace whispered into my ear. I stared at Harry across the table, unable to disagree, because how attractive Harry was, was very apparent. I had once denied it, but Harry really was attractive in every sense of the word.

I had pulled Grace off and told her about me and Harry a little earlier on in the evening, because she was a third-party member and she could definitely keep her mouth shut. I had asked her not to say anything to anyone, and I knew she wouldn’t. “I know.” I mumbled into my glass, before downing my drink. “I say you just bang him.” She shrugged. “Noooooo!” “Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?” “Harry and Tally don’t even talk! I’m being serious. They can’t even be in the same room. I’m living with him next year! I really don’t want to fuck this up. I like being his friend.” It felt stupid even saying that. Because, in a lot of ways, I was desperate to have sex with Harry. It was taking all my strength not to drag him off into my room and just forget everything and have him. Keeping composure was difficult. “What difference would it even make at this point? Seriously?” She lowered her voice even more. “He’s already made you cum twice, you might as well return the favour!” Her saying that made me feel like it was a little bit stupid. We were doing good, even after everything, we were still friends and we still spoke. But even I was aware the flirting needed to stop. God, fuck, if any other boy had walked in on me in the shower I would have gone absolutely insane. “Harry probably sees this the same way I do.” I spoke back. “We’re really similar, and I think we both agree that sex would be crossing a completely new line, one that isn’t easy to uncross.” “I guess so.” “And I just keep thinking about how if we can stop sleeping together, we can stop this flirting mess, too! We can. I just... I am finding it harder than I anticipated.” “Hm. It’s almost like... to move past it... you need to get something out of your system...” “Yeah, it is- NO! No, Grace. I’m not sleeping with him. That’s too much. No. It’s too much. I’m not ruining my friendship with him.” “Okay. I’m not really sure why, but okay.” It made sense, not sleeping with him. Well, it didn’t, but it did. I knew Harry was on the same page or it would have happened already. Because I was all for not letting it happen, but I didn’t have much willpower, and if Harry had tried to sleep with me, I wouldn’t have said no. I was just glad he hadn’t. Sort of. Kind of glad... I suppose. I had been practically gawping at Harry the entire time, but as soon as he glanced over to me my head shot round to Grace so quickly, you would think it was a bloody crime for looking at him. Maybe it was better to convince myself it was, that could help the whole situation. “I need to get so drunk tonight, that I throw up, rather than crawl into his bed.” I murmured. “Good idea!” Grace chirped. “I... I think I’m going to have to kiss Mike.” “I would say that’s a good idea, but there’s a good chance that even you leaving tomorrow will break his heart.” “Hm. We’ll see where the night takes us. Anyway, I’m gunna go talk to him though because I miss him, so-” Without another word, she practically ran to him, and I swear to god, I could see the fucking fire in his eyes as soon as she was close. I could literally see the fact that he was itching to be even closer to her, crying to be alone with her and just talking to her, finding out everything he had missed in those few short months, and things he didn’t even know about her yet. I couldn’t wait for someone to look at me like that. He turned his entire body towards her as she spoke, blocking out other people, a dozy little look on his face like she was casting a spell on him, and I couldn’t help but think back to the lecture we had where we spoke about body language, and the fact that Mike couldn’t hide his feelings for Grace even he was trying his absolute best to cover it. His body said everything. I must have been staring longingly at the encounter when Liam came over to me, balancing his forearm on my shoulder and putting near enough all of his weight on me. It was clear to see he was wasted, but it wasn’t all surprising. Unlike many people, Liam hadn’t travelled and spent the whole time drinking, he hadn’t really drank much at all. This was probably the heaviest session he had had since his final week at university. “I love Louis.” He told me. “He is like, the coolest guy ever.” “He is a pretty cool guy.” I sighed. “I did tell him he was a douche for cheating on his girlfriend and stuff.” Liam’s voice gradually went higher and higher as his sentence went on, before it dropped again. “But then we started chatting and like... he is a sound... guy. Sound as a pound.” I turned to face him, still trying to get used to the way he looked, the fact he was there. I guess the main thing for me was, that throughout the day, spending time with Liam kind of proved, other than appearances, nothing had changed. We were still the same. I loved that. “Glad to have you around, Payno.” I grinned. “Glad to be here, Lil Payno.” He smiled back. “So when are we going out?” “Soon. I just... I need to down about twenty drinks.” “Then drink up. I need to dance, and I need to do it now.” + + + A birthday night out meant we didn’t go to Thimble. It made sense, because Thimble was tiny and we went all the bloody time, it was hardly like a special occasion type of place. But venturing further into the city always intimidated me, a little bit. We were in some giant, unfamiliar club, surrounded by unfamiliar people, and the whole thing made it that little bit harder for me to get drunk, seen as I wasn’t completely at home. It’s like I always had to be slightly aware of my surroundings and what was going on. Either way, I was still pretty drunk. Okay, I was very drunk. So much so, I was smoking. So was Harry. So was Liam, but I figured maybe he was a smoker and he didn’t have a heart to tell me. He was using the alcohol as an excuse. “Hey… Pip-Squeak.” Harry tried for my attention. “Hm?” “Remember the last time we were here?” He ticked one eyebrow. “We’ve been here before?” I baffled. “Yeah! When I knocked that guy out cold, remember?” I furrowed my brows in deep thought, taking a big sip of my whiskey. Then suddenly it clicked. That guy who Harry had knocked into and spilt his drink, and when he started squaring up to Harry, he had punched him square in the face and left him lifeless before he even had a damn chance. “Oh shit!” I cried, looking into the corner where it happened. “Fuck. I hated you so much then.” “That is so weird.” He tutted. “I am impossible to hate, thanks to my good looks, charm, and admirable wit.” I stuck my middle finger up at him and shot a sarcastic smile, thinking about how once, such a comment would have drove me insane, but now I loved the cheeky manner in which he spoke, the way he was joking at the same time as being kind of serious, because Harry really loved himself. He grinned and scrunched his nose at me, then took another sip, beginning to look back round the smoking area. I was staring at him again, I could tell I was, but I just couldn’t bloody help myself. Thankfully, Zayn came and sat on my knee, a cigarette still dangling from his pretty mouth as he tired eyes looked down to me, smiling dimly. “Hey babe.” He slurred. “How’s ya birthday going?” “Quite well, Zee. How’s your night going?” “Mmmmmmmmmm GOOD. Yeah. No. S’good. Swell, some may say.” I honestly loved drunk Zayn so much, he made my heart burst. He was genuinely the most wonderful little pea imaginable, in any case, and alcohol always brought out the very best parts of Zayn. “You look pretty.” I told him, stroking the loose strand of hair from his face. ”The lack of surprise in your voice comforts me.” He grinned. ”Woah woah woah.” Harry stood himself up and wandered over to us. “What is going on here? With you two?” “We’re being cute!” Zayn argued sweetly, wrapping his arms around my neck. He kissed at my forehead, snuggling even closer to me, and I could see the look in Harry’s eyes, proving how little he was enjoying myself and Zayn being so touchy with one another. “Well... I think, you should… not be being cute. This could lead down a very dangerous path.” Harry shrugged. Jealous. He was so jealous. And holy god, I loved it. I mean seriously, I didn’t want to be one of those girls who was fuelled by a boy being jealous of other boys because of me, but god damn it turned out I was one of those bloody girls. Shit. I ignored the fact that I really wanted to be a better person, above all that, but instead I decided to fuel it further, add a little more spark. I was also obsessed with the fact that he was so jealous of Zayn. Zayn for god sake. He knew we were best mates and he was still jealous. I wrapped my arms around Zayn’s waist, pulling him further onto my knee. “Don’t you think we’re cute?” I cooed, fluttering my eyelashes. “What dangerous path?” Zayn questioned. “Sleeping with friends! It can ruin everything. You two, definitely shouldn’t do it. I mean, that’s just my opinion.” “What? You’d fuck Pip in a heartbeat!” Zayn scoffed. “I wouldn’t!” He cried, to which I dropped my mouth in joked offense. “NO! No I would, Pip-Squeak. You’re gorgeous, of course I would, but-” “I told you!” Zayn turned to me. “NO! Fuck off, Zayn. I mean… Fuck. I need a drink. For fuck sake.” “Harry, calm down!” Liam chuckled. “I am calm!” He yelled. Before anyone else could say anything to him, he stormed inside, running a hand through his short hair, then shaking his head. Suddenly, I didn’t like the jealousy thing so much. I kind of forgot how Harry could get so aggressive, and I had seen it bubbling in him then. “I’ll go look for him!” Liam said gently, getting to his feet. Zayn moved from my knee and took up the seat that Liam had been in, taking one last toke of his cigarette before he threw it on the floor, turning to me with a serious look on his face. Well, as serious as it could get with that much alcohol in his veins. “Pip?” He began. “Look, I... I think Harry likes you. I just… You need to be careful.” ”He doesn’t like me.” I shook my head. “Maybe not, but… he’s definitely feeling something, Pip.” I gulped hard, still not willing to tell Zayn anything that had happened between Harry and I, because with him talking like that, drunk, it would be prime time for him to read too deeply into it. “You’re just drunk, Zayn.” I tried to turn it round on him. “Just... Please be careful. With the three of us living together next year, that’s a risky game. I’m telling ya.” Zayn didn’t even know anything that had happened, and he thought myself and Harry were playing with fire. I had to stay away from him. No matter how hard, I just had to. It wasn’t worth the risk. It wasn’t worth going back to how we were, hating our living situation for the next year. We had to start being careful. We just had to. “Can I borrow a fag?” I sighed, even though I had just finished one. I literally felt like I needed one, as some kind of stress relief, but I only got to spark one up for a second before Liam ran desperately to the smoking areas door, gasping as he arrived to us. “Harry’s in the middle of a brawl!” He cried. + + + Antiseptic wipes were something that my mother had given me in my little basket to take off to university, and they were coming in handy once again as I cleaned up the cut on Harry’s left eyebrow. I had sobered, after walking into that club and seeing Harry fighting against at least six other guys, and for the first time I had seen Harry look like he was struggling. I had seen Harry losing the fight. I sat on his bed with him, cleaning up the blood on his eyebrow with the wipe, watching as he scrunched his face slightly, eyes closed, trying to pretend like he wasn’t in pain. It was helping with how drunk he was. If he had been sober, I knew he would have been whining and complaining. He gulped hard, and I watched as his Adams-apple bobbed silkily underneath his skin. “Got jealous.” He mumbled, eyes still shut. “Over Zayn?” “I know. It’s stupid, I know.” I moved a little closer to him, not because I needed to, just because I wanted to, hovering my lips close to his in the hope that his jealous rage would urge him to close the gap and I could just be with him again. Yeah, so I hadn’t sobered completely. “Why did you start the fight?” I asked, concerned. “He looked at me funny.” “He looked at you funny? For fuck sake, Harry. Why are you like this?” “Always been like this.” He shrugged. “Well it needs to stop.” He opened his eyes and glared at me, the muscles in his face completely dead as he just watched me clean up the cut, and I avoided his gaze. “You don’t like it when I fight, do you?” He grunted. “No.” “Why?” “Because it’s pointless and people get hurt.” He just continued looking at me. It was almost like he was still in fight mode, his face was so low and lifeless it was almost intimidating. I adjusted my body, almost cringing under the intense gaze. “You don’t like seeing me get hurt?” He quizzed me. “I don’t like seeing anyone get hurt.” “You especially don’t like seeing me get hurt.” He told me, like it was a fact. I couldn’t argue with him, though I wasn’t sure it was necessarily true. I had hated seeing Harry getting into fights, even when I hated him. But I guess I had never had a sinking feeling quite like I did that night, seeing Harry get punched like that. I really despised the thought of him being in pain. I didn’t say anything, I just carried on cleaning the cut, even though it probably didn’t need my attention any further. It was just an excuse to stay close with him whilst I could. “Will you stay?” He asked me after some time. “It’s probably not a good idea.” “It is.” He fought. “I really, really don’t think it is.” He pushed my hand away from his face and raised to his feet. That was when I figured he had taken something. Something other than alcohol, even something other than MDMA, because Harry definitely wasn’t on a high. I was no drug expert, so I had to ask. “What have you taken?” I asked him. He was rolling his shoulders, facing away from me, like he was still ready for a fight. I think if there was someone there who he could have started a fight on, he would have. “Coke.” He told me glumly. “I don’t like you on coke.” I sighed. “Do you like me at all?” He spat, whipping round to face me. I always knew there were bound to be times where myself and Harry fell back into our old routine, snapping at one another and generally not getting on, but in that moment, it just happened so quickly. There was a hatred in his eyes as he turned around to face me that I hadn’t seen for over a month, and it saddened me. I decided not to rise to it, no matter how hard I found that. It was completely out of character for me. Mine and Harry’s relationship had been all over the place for a while, but I refused to go back there. I got to my feet, rolling my eyes as a release and hoping he wouldn’t notice. “I’m going to bed.” I tried to hide the groan in my throat. “Goodnight, Harry.” As I tried to get past him, he grabbed my arm, his grip tighter than it should have been, that same intense glare on his face. “Stop!” He attempted. “Do not fucking touch me.” He dropped my arm as quickly as he could. I was breathing harshly through my nose, staring at him in a way that silently said he should never touch me like that again. I had let Harry off for being aggressive with me before, once I had learnt his reasons, but it wasn’t something I was willing to repeat over and over. “All I want to do is touch you.” He told me, fierce but calm. My breathing increased even further, now jumping out of my chest and pushing through my throat. We had never looked at each other like that before. Our kisses and everything else had always felt so rushed, so sudden and heated. That interaction, was hot, drawn out, uncertain. “I’m going to bed.” I attempted once more. “Stay with me. Please, Pip. I want... I want to be with you.” “We’re not doing that again.” “No. I want to be with you. In a way we haven’t before.” He spoke with authority. “I want you.” We were still just staring at each other. I gulped at his suggestion, my whole body crying and begging me to say yes, but my mind telling me that it would ruin everything. My heart told me the same thing. It was hardly like it would become anything. All it would be was sex, maybe once or twice, and then what? Just awkwardness? Just jealousy that wasn’t even needed? I had never wanted something or someone so much in my life, but every other instinct told me it was the wrong thing to do. No matter how low his voice, how tempting and tall and gorgeous the damn boy was. “You wouldn’t even kiss me when I had taken MDMA, and you want me to sleep with you for the first time like this? You’re kidding?” I scoffed. “I’m fine.” He fought. “You’re not, Harry!” “Then tomorrow.” He stepped closer, engulfing my cheek with his palm. “Be mine, tomorrow. Please... I-I need to get this out of my system.” I sort of hated what those words had just told me, like I was merely a blip of an infatuation and he could just fuck that feeling away. He was edging to closer to me, trapping me in his charms and his words. I couldn’t help but think of him using those words on other people to get them into bed, and that thought alone was enough to make me cringe. It shouldn’t have been that way. “I don’t want to be something you get out of your system.” I scowled. I meant that in so many different ways, ways I wasn’t even aware of at the time because of how stubborn I had always been. I said goodnight to Harry one last time, seeing him watch me walk away without another word, his face dropped and confused. Honestly, I’d never felt so lost in my life. + + + I awoke on my floor. But usually when I woke up there, I would have drooled on the floor, still in my dress from the evening before, cold and confused. This time, there was a pillow under my head, cushions beneath me and a sheet thrown over me, and my older brother asleep in my bed. I have to say, it’s the happiest I had been waking up on the floor, ever. Also, thanks to the fact I had sobered up slightly the evening before, my hangover wasn’t half as bad as it could have been. I wasn’t feeling the best, but as far as birthday nights out go, I was feeling amazing. A triumph, to feel so healthy. I sat upright, attempting to crack my neck, listening out for a familiar sound that I often woke up to. I spotted it. Sizzling. Zayn was cooking. Zayn was always bloody cooking and I always appreciated it so much more in the morning. Liam’s arm was dangling off the bed, so I grabbed at it, shaking him lightly, knowing he had never been much of a heavy sleeper. “Urrrrrggggggghhhhhh.” He groaned. “I feel like absolute death.” “You want some breakfast?” I giggled. “I’ll probably throw it back up, but yeah. Yeah. I need it.” He was speaking without moving or even opening his eyes. I couldn’t even imagine his hangover, that was genuinely the most he had drank in years. He told me that before we even left the flat. “You’ll be fine. I’m exactly the same, but for some reason, Zayn’s cooking is a gift and I haven’t thrown up from it once!” “Gimme five minutes.” Liam groaned. I patted his head and got to my feet, walking out of the door quickly and strolling down into the kitchen. Mike was asleep in a camp chair, Ed was asleep on the sofa, and Louis, for some reason, was under the table, asleep too. “Holy shit.” I laughed under my breath. “We carried on drinking when we got back.” Zayn shrugged by the hob. “Bad move.” Harry was sat on the counter next to our food cupboards, his left eye now a deep purple. I had never seen him looking quite as rough as he did then. Usually, I would have poked fun at him, said something silly and waited for his retaliation, but it seemed me and Harry hadn’t halted things quite soon enough, because I felt too awkward to say anything. I turned to face Zayn instead, ignoring the way I could feel Harry’s eyes burning through my skin. Zayn was practically cooking a feast. The first thing I spotted was about 20 sausages, a full pan of beans, and the grill on in the oven, bacon well on its way. “Did you buy all this?” I gawped. “Yup. Figured we’d all need some food.” He smiled. “I feel like I dismiss the amount of times you’ve definitely saved my life.” I smiled, leaning to kiss his cheek. Clattering as he went, Harry jumped down from his spot, marching over to me and whispering in my ear awkwardly. “Can I talk to you? In private? Please?” Zayn eyed us suspiciously, but didn’t say anything. I was almost sure he knew. Not that he knew everything, but he knew something, even more than he had mentioned the night before, and he wasn’t happy. I nodded, and followed Harry into his room, wondering where the hell this conversation was going to go. “What’s up?” I asked, folding my arms. “I’m sorry... about last night. I was on another fucking planet, so... I dunno. I didn’t mean to get jealous and I didn’t mean to be so... upfront and weird. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I promise.” I unfolded my arms and smiled, easing a little. Already, the interaction could have gone a lot worse. Things were going well. “S’okay.” I shrugged. “Can we just forget about it?” He asked, his face cringing. “Yeah. Of course.” “And I mean the whole thing.” He began. “Like, the kisses, and everything. We really do need to just be mates now. I stepped over the line last night and I’m sorry, but I think if we stop everything now we’ll be good. Like... I won’t walk in on you in the shower anymore, though I might think about it a couple of times-” “Harry!” “-but I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself and I’ll stop the flirting, just so we can always keep this friendship. Just so things work out next year. I promise to do it if you promise.” “I promise.” I smiled. ��Zayn is catching onto us so... Quit whilst we’re ahead.” “We’re hardly ahead. I’d say we’ve done a pretty terrible job.” He grinned, before choking on his next few words. “You’re just... you’re beautiful. Makes it hard.” Blood rushed to my cheeks as my eyes dropped to the floor, knowing him calling me beautiful and me blushing wasn’t the best start to us putting everything to a stop, again, but either way, it was nice to hear. But as always, compliments were near possible to accept, so I hunched my shoulders and tried to move on, unable to wipe the smile off my face. “Okay. Yeah. No. Okay. That’s good. Let’s get back, put it all behind us.” I began walking out of his room again, my fingers wrapped around the handle before Harry spoke again, his voice serious now, the humour completely gone. “Pippa, wait.” I turned around, my smile fading now, my body now itching even more to get out of there because I knew I wouldn’t really like what I was going to hear. “Yeah?” “We should both fuck other people.” My stomach did about ten flips and honestly, I could have thrown up, I genuinely worried for myself for a couple of seconds as I stared at Harry, whose hands were deep in the pockets of his jeans. “What?” “We should sleep with other people.” It sunk in more the second time. “Both of us should. Put a line under this. Then it’s not like one person can get jealous and annoyed. So... Yeah... I think that would be a good idea.” I couldn’t say I agreed with that all too much at the time, but I had to understand his point. If I was to do it, Harry would be bitter. If Harry was to do it, I would have been painfully jealous. If we both did it, no one could say anything about it, and it would be a good way to move on from whatever it was that had happened between the two of us. “Yeah. Okay.” I agreed. + + + I wasn’t too upset to be bidding Liam farewell. In the middle of May, I would be moving back home, moving into that tiny house with my mum and my brother, more than likely sleeping on a sofa, but at least I would be around them again, at least that meant I could start getting used to the new foundations of our family. In a bizarre way, I was excited for it. Liam’s train pulled into the station right on time, causing him to swing his bag over his shoulder, still the roughest person I had ever seen in my life. He moved and began giving me a tight hug. “Gunna miss you!” He said, kissing the side of my head. “Not long now.” “Well, compared to the years we’ve just been through, it’s not long at all.” “Loved having you here though.” I smiled, pulling away. “Of course, it’s been amazing.” He said, beginning to move backwards. “Good luck with your exam! And good luck with everything with Harry.” “I’m sorry, what?” I gawped. He laughed at me like I was a total idiot, and I probably was. Having something secret going on with someone was very difficult when my emotions were something I had never been able to hide. “I’m not a complete idiot!” He laughed. “I saw the way you looked at him.” “I don’t look at him in any way!” I yelled as he walked through the train doors. “Just be careful, alright?” I tutted and rolled my eyes, waving one last time as Liam winked, still laughing as he went to find a seat on the small train, leaving me stood there wondering how all of this had happened in just a month. Me and Harry had been through a ridiculous amount in such a short space of time. I wondered where the month of March would lead us.

#READY TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS #BB25 #1DFF #Harry Styles

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hotcocosharing · 7 years ago

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Guilty Not Guilty Part 3 (KBTBB x MFW)

Fandom: Kiss By The Baddest Bidder & My Fake Wedding Category: Angst / Mystery? Character: Soryu Oh / Takao Maruyama / Eisuke Ichinomiya / Samejima Koichi OC: Kaori Fujimoto Summary: Basically the idea is OC in the witness stand, canon Takao as the lawyer- struggle between WHO to trust and WHAT to believe. Is OC guilty or innocent? Notes: This may or may not continue and combining anon request below, hope you don’t mind I include this in a potential series:

Also tagging these amazing people and thank you for their help and support medievalbingeprincess69 / sugaak / deepmushrooms /cascadedkiwi / exo-nation / mrszala

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

“We need to talk.”

The words pulse behind her eyelids, clouding her mind, filling her head with thoughts when all she really wants to do is crawl into a hole and hides forever. Takao is firing her questions after questions but she doesn’t hear any of them; her eyes dart over the walls and over her phone screen even though she’s not absorbing anything.

Her mind’s been blank from the moment she’s taken into questioning, asking and answering repeatedly about what’d happened while she remains clueless till this very day. The vivid images of coming home to find the body of her ex-husband laying cold in the middle of her tiny apartment, his colorless face which she once adored and soon being the murder suspect for a crime she didn’t commit.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, her secret was on display for a full court of people to see while she sat there like sitting duck, waiting for her death sentence.

“I’ll be right back,” she announces. Takao stands in disbelief, this is a critical time for her and they have zero defense for what the prosecutor has presented. Now is definitely the time to focus, to come clean.

Kaori really doesn’t think at all as she rushes out of the law firm; her feet simply guide the way. Feels like a walking ghost, she soon finds herself in front of his door. She purses her lips, suddenly itching to turn and run. She shouldn’t be seeing him, she can’t risk another secret getting out but she’s also dying to know the truth. And he’s her best shot, she is running out of options.

A heavy exhale escapes her lips as she closes her eyes, raising her hand to knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Her hand turns the doorknob at the sound and nervously slips in with her anxious stares casting downwards.

“Close the door behind you.” The stern voice instructs, “What do you want?”

The man stands up from his chair, eyes on her, searching for signs. “I don’t have all night, Ms. Fujimoto.”

Kaori doesn’t answer immediately, she hasn’t exactly gathered her thoughts. “I want to know the truth.” She keeps it simple and honest, the kind of person she is.

“Don’t we all?” He huffs out a breath and crosses his arms, leaning against his oak desk.

“I don’t know what happened!” She repeats what she’s been telling everyone, the police, her friends, all the other lawyers till Takao takes her case. She winces at her own cracked voice, “I .. I just want to know the truth.”

His face remains expressionless, with his brows raised and jaw clenched. He grabs an A4 size envelope and tosses it to her, he doesn’t expect any kicking or screaming but he’s watching her closely not to miss the slightest and most instant reaction.

“How did you get these? Did you set me up with Samejima?” Is this one of his sick jokes or his way of cornering her for her most ultimate truth?

“Soryu gave them to me for safekeeping.”

She looks up in confusion, “Soryu?”

Eisuke sneaks a glance at the clock behind her and decides to lay it out to her. “The place has hidden cameras everywhere. As interesting as the tape was, I had no time watching you getting fucked by a kid.”

“But why?”

“For your safety, I suppose though he’s beyond upset when he saw the recording himself. You know he never quite liked the idea of sharing you, whether with his subordinate or a close friend.”

She rolls her eyes when he leans forward at the word “friend”, “Did you have to ruin me by sending these to the prosecutor?!”

The king makes no attempt to hid his chuckle, “Ruin? I ruin you? Or perhaps your marriage too?” Eisuke leaves his desk and heads towards her, “Don’t credit me for something you’ve done. You sought for my help, I delivered.” Now sitting next to her, she finally sees the fire burning inside his dark eyes. “He’s my best friend, you wouldn’t expect me to choose you over him, would you? After all, you’re his woman.” His hand lifts her chin up while glaring down her chest, “Just because we fucked doesn’t make you any special.” His lips quiver dangerously into a smirk, “Should I tip them off about our shared sessions too?” His fingertips begin running across the collars of her blouses, getting too close to her liking. “I have always enjoyed seeing this expression of yours, so bitter and sad.” His face now centimeters away from her neck, “Such a turn on.”

His tongue traces over her soft skin, nibbling her sensitive spots all the way down to her breast. Sucking her hardening nipple through the thin blouses, Kaori Fujimoto clenched tightly to his expensive couch. Ashamed of her anticipation, he’s almost impossible to resist. “Please, Eisuke.”

“Hmmm.. I do like it when you beg.” Humming his way down, Eisuke teasingly grazes his hand on her inner thigh. “You have to be specific and I seriously don’t have all day. Just fifteen minutes, I suggest you make it count.”

“Please help me, Eisuke.” She’d feel the sting of the first tear running down her cheek. “I didn’t kill him.”

He pauses without looking at her, “Do you have proof?”

“No! But you are the only one who can help me, please.”

Leaning back to his couch, Eisuke raises his chin. “And what do I get in return?”

“Must everything be a deal? Don’t you care about the truth?”

Eisuke lets out an annoyed sigh, “Yes but it doesn’t mean I have to help you. Haven’t I helped enough?” His eyes set on hers, accusing her. “Wasn’t that the biggest favor?”

Kaori knows exactly what the king’s talking about as the very scene begins playing in both their heads, that’s where the nightmare begins.

Her marriage was failing way before the death of her parents, 3 years passed and her heart was still captivated by Soryu but her body disagreed. She felt nothing when he touched or kissed her, she felt guilty how she rolled her eyes when his head was buried in her neck. She lost interests.

She tried, hard, but it made no difference to the fact that her body didn’t want him. She wanted someone else, anyone but Soryu Oh. She missed the anticipation when a new set of warmth on her, exploring and tasting her for the first time. She didn’t want familiarity, she craved something new.

It took all her courage to suggest the idea of open marriage to Soryu who of course did not approve. He could not understand how Kaori called it love when she said right to his face that she wanted to be with other men as if only physically would somehow hurt him less. How was that not betrayal? But it was that or divorce and he didn’t want to lose her.

Perhaps, she was already gone, their marriage and love were long gone before they had realized. Perhaps, who knows for sure?

Soryu reluctantly agreed with one condition- it had to be Eisuke. Kaori was surprised but at least he didn’t give up on them, they still had a shot. It wasn’t easy to break it to Eisuke- the king didn’t believe in marriage but he was more shocked to find his best friend agreeing to such idea. Even he hesitated for a moment, Kaori was a fine woman but he had no desire to do his best friend’s wife.

It pained Eisuke to see Soryu almost begging, “It’s the only way to save my marriage.”

And that repeated in Eisuke’s head every time he had sex with Kaori, what kind of woman put her man through such pain!? The vivid image of her sitting on his bed and vibrating with excitement. How she tensed up when he entered, how relieved and satisfied she was when Soryu watched from afar. She didn’t look at her husband, she was too occupied. No matter how rough Eisuke was, she seemed to enjoy it. Kaori would shamelessly ask him to go faster and harder, Eisuke did just that. It wasn’t difficult, given how hurtful Soryu looked, Eisuke slammed in and out of all her holes, hoping she’ll break at some point.

She never did, at least Kaori Fujimoto wasn’t the one who breaks.

“I’ll disappear, I’ll leave Japan and none of you will ever see me again.”

Wouldn’t it be convenient? Eisuke thinks to himself, “You want me to be your alibi?”

“You WERE my alibi! You’re the last person I saw before I went home!”

“So you want me to tell the world that we’re having an affair with your husband knowing?” Eisuke still doesn’t understand what Soryu ever sees in her, “You may not have a reputation anymore but I am Eisuke Ichinomiya.”

The king stands up and heads back to his desk, Kaori Fujimoto has officially bored him. She’s becoming predictable and predictable is one thing Eisuke doesn’t need. The sex was okay, he could handle the hatred and guilt he so desperately tried to ignore. Teasing Kaori was merely a tactics Eisuke used to push Soryu over the edge but his friend had swallowed his pride and dignity when it came to Kaori. Was she responsible for Soryu’s death? Would the world laugh at his dead friend for being a slave in love?

“Tell your lawyer to add me to the witness list.” He says, eyes back to his laptop. “And if you’re ever to walk free, Kaori. Don’t ever show your face to me again!.”

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

No idea when I’ll update this next, totally swinging this but man, I love torturing Soryu, don’t I?

#guilty not guilty #cross over fic #voltage fanfic #voltage inc #voltage mystery #voltage thriller #voltage drama #voltage fanfiction #voltage oc x canon #voltage oc x eisuke #voltage oc x soryu #soryu oh #eisuke inchinomiya #kaori fujimoto #hotcocosharing #no idea what i am doing #no don't know where this is going

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