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seijorhi · 4 years ago

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Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

Me attempting a multi-part fic?? More likely than you think! I wrote this fic because this blog started with Hawks and Dabi and kinda got a bit of traction with soulmate au’s so to me it made sense to post it for my first anniversary. I hope you guys like it! 💕

Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x female reader, Keigo Takami (Hawks) x female reader

TW canonical character ‘death’, a little angst and maybe a slight hint of dub-con (if you squint your eyes a little)

Part I, II

You’re eleven years old when your parents take you by the hand, sit you down on the couch and tell you that your soulmate is dead.

It doesn’t make sense. There’s a hollow ache inside of your chest like something important is gone but you were with Touya only yesterday. You had the rest of your lives together, you were gonna leave with him, start something better…

You feel empty and you can’t understand it. He can’t be dead, that’s not how it works. You find your soulmate and you get to ride off into the sunset. You get to be happy, everyone knows that.

But it doesn’t sink in until you’re kicking and screaming by his grave and Endeavor won’t so much as meet your eye and your parents are pulling you back because there’s no body.

There’s nothing left of Touya Todoroki.

And there’s nothing left of you without him.

—

They call it the bloom. A simple touch, the first from your soulmate’s hand, and the mark appears on your skin like drops of ink spilled into water. You’ve always thought it beautiful, the delicate black pattern imprinted on your wrist.

You can still remember the heat you’d felt when it happened. Not the burning kind you knew him capable of, but like the warmth of a fire seeping through you. And you remember the way those bright, blue eyes had widened as you’d tripped and fell, taking him with you. His mark was over his heart; Touya always was stupidly smug about that.

You were just kids. Angry and scared and lost, but you had Touya and Touya had you.

(Not that that counted for anything in the end. He still died alone.)

They say it’s rare to find your soulmate before adulthood, but you’d been one of the lucky ones.

Lucky.

The word tastes bitter on your tongue now. It’s not that you disagree exactly – even now, years after his death you’re glad that you had time with him. You would’ve been grateful for a minute, for a mere glance at his face. Two and a half years with your soulmate was a gift, but having him, losing him so young only meant that you had more years of your life to struggle on without him.

And sometimes you catch yourself staring at your mark, lost in thought. Touya was the one with all the plans, you were always just the tag along, happy to go anywhere so long as he was the one leading you. You wonder what he’d think if he could see you now. Not the Hero you’d let yourselves imagine, though you suppose you both knew deep down that was nothing more than a pipe dream for someone like you.

Gazing around your cramped, messy apartment, debating exactly how badly you need this shitty, barely-enough-to-scrape-by job, you can’t imagine he’d be impressed.

God knows your parents are disappointed, but that’s nothing new. The Quirkless daughter of two mid rank heroes – well, the only thing you ever had going for you was being Enji Todoroki’s future daughter in law, and everybody knows how that one ended.

But part of you likes to think that maybe Touya wouldn’t judge you too harshly for it. You’re doing the best you can. You’re surviving, all on your own, that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

There’s a text message awaiting you when you roll over and grab your phone.

Happy Birthday x

Natsuo never forgets. The rest of the Todoroki’s – you ceased to matter to them the day they buried an empty casket for their son. Natsuo’s the only one who bothers to check in on you, make sure that you’re keeping your head above the water. It’s usually just a message here and there, and he calls you on Touya’s birthday. And on the anniversary of his death.

It’s painful for him, but you suppose you’re the only tangible connection he has left of his brother.

You stare at the message for a moment longer, a strange feeling tugging at your heart. Typing out a quick reply, you set your phone down and fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.

Today of all days, you’d honestly rather just roll over and let the hours pass you by, but your boss isn’t that forgiving and as much as you hate to admit it, you need this job.

The hotel’s already abuzz by the time you clock in, your manager’s jaw tight, a frown pinching at his face. As much as you don’t like him, you can’t exactly blame him for the bad mood – in less than three hours, the ballroom will be filled with a media circus and a plethora of pro heroes. Some big promotional event before the hero rankings are announced; you honestly don’t care.

It just means that everybody’s on edge, you’re gonna spend all day stuck in heels, smiling blandly while you serve people who won’t so much as look twice at you.

And then there’s the real reason you’re dreading today. 6’4”, blue eyed, broad shouldered, currently burning holes into you from across the ballroom while you carry around a platter of canapés. The last time you’d seen Enji Todoroki in person was two weeks after the funeral, and he’d ignored you entirely.

That was years ago; you weren’t even in your teens. Half of you had hoped that in his infinite arrogance and the complete lack of care he’d shown since his son’s death he would’ve forgotten about you entirely.

From the way he’s spent the last twenty minutes staring at you while bulldozing past reporters, though, you’re not feeling all that confident.

And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why your presence seems to be disturbing him so much, considering you’re really only there to serve and then fade into the background. It’s not like you’re chasing after him, demanding an autograph much less any kind of acknowledgement – you’re not exactly thrilled to be here either. Things work just fine with the two of you pretending the other doesn’t exist.

Does he think you’ve planned this? Some big ‘fuck you’ to try and mess with what you’re sure will be an announcement of his retainership of the number one position? Even while Touya was still alive, his father didn’t have a place in your life – he was off training his youngest, you barely saw him and you were glad for it.

While he might have hated him, some part of Touya still idolised him, craved his approval, but Enji had never been anything to you but a selfish, unfeeling monster. A bully.

But now he’s staring at you, slack jawed and wide eyed like he’s seen a ghost and it’s harder than you thought it would be to keep that smile plastered across your face knowing he’s watching your every move.

Your cheeks feels hot, and it only gets worse when you realise that Endeavor’s less than subtle behaviour is slowly but surely drawing attention from others in the room. A few curious reporters have shot you odd looks, heads cocked for a moment before dismissing you as just another waitress, hardly headline worthy.

The other heroes are less quick to brush you off. Mirko, current number five, elegantly clasping her glass of champagne in a gloved hand keeps shooting furtive glances between you and Enji, Gang Orca’s beady eyes following you across the floor, a flicker of what you’re fairly sure is concern maring his face.

It’s mortifying. Your smile is stretched and painful, your throat tight and you feel utterly exposed, but there’s nothing you can do. The flame hero doesn’t seem to care about the attention he’s drawing, or that with every passing minute it gets harder and harder for you to maintain that professional, customer service demeanour you need for this job.

And you’re beyond caring if he’s embarrassed to find his firstborn’s soulmate has sunk so low in his absence, you just want him to stop staring so you can finish your shift in peace. But it seems like the flame hero has other plans, because you’re just beginning to seriously weigh up your chances of keeping this job if you just up and walk off right here and now when Enji’s limited patience finally reaches its threshold.

He doesn’t bother offering excuses towards the poor reporter trying to pry an interview out of him, he just abruptly sets his drink down and starts stalking towards you. Rationally, you realise that with all these people here, he can’t make too much of a scene.

It’s just that even the thought of having to talk with him, to look into those blue eyes that are so painfully familiar yet wrong–

You can’t do it.

Not today.

And so you spin on your heel, stomach lurching. The silver tray in your hands stacked high with champagne teeters and falls, crystal glass shattering on the marble floors drawing gasps from the crowd. Endeavor calls out your name but you block him out, desperately weaving your way through the stunned mass of people.

Most of them give you a wide berth, likely due to the oversized hero barrelling after you. He calls your name again, louder this time. It’s not a scream, or a yell – it almost sounds pleading, though you can’t possibly imagine why. Endeavor doesn’t do pleading.

Your cheeks are burning; there’s too many people staring and hot tears begin to prickle at your eyes. A flash of red blurs past your field of vision and you start, a sharp squeak slipping out as a figure lands before you, blocking your exit.

Handsome with bushy eyebrows, dirty blonde hair messily brushed back and golden eyes gleaming; the hero in front of you would be impossible to mistake, even if it weren’t for the sweeping blood red wings sprouting from his back. Hawks, the current number two pro-hero and the only man standing between you and your fumbling escape.

Your body’s slow to catch up with your mind though, and as you try to stop, backpedal and side-step him at once your foot catches on your ankle. It’s instinctive, the way your arms fly up, wildly trying to catch yourself before you fall on your ass.

Just like you suppose it’s instinctive for him to rush forward to do the same.

It happens in a split second, your fingers brushing the skin of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, his hand grasping at your waist to steady you. Beneath his gloved hand a familiar burst of heat warms your skin.

Time slows to a crawl. The ballroom, all the gathered heroes and the press, your co-workers, they all fade into the background as your eyes dart to your fingertips, resting gently on the side of Hawks’ throat. There, a soft, inky black mark begins to unfurl spreading up to his jaw, disappearing below the collar of his turtleneck.

Over the quiet hum of the classical music playing in the background, you hear his breath catch.

He has you dipped, the two of you frozen as if in a dance and for a moment you dare to meet those piercing golden eyes. There’s a clicking sound, a camera shutter you distantly register, but while it makes your heart jump, Hawks pays it no mind.

He stares at you with impossibly wide eyes; open, vulnerable and raw.

And then he blinks, and that glimpse is gone, his grip tightening as he slowly sets you right. He doesn’t let you go, however.

“Hawks,” Enji’s tone is low and gruff, a warning this time.

Tension, thick and crackling with electricity hangs in the air between the three of you, amplified by the crowd of onlookers. All those journalists, chomping at the bit with the realisation of a juicy story playing out right in front of their eyes. Your name’s called out again, not by Endeavor, but by the reporter he’d cut off before – eyeing you now with an eager leer that has you recoiling back into Hawks’ embrace.

It’s enough to jerk the winged hero into action. His mouth finds your ear, his thumb sweeping soothingly along your side as he speaks low enough for only you to hear.

“You wanna leave, baby bird?”

You don’t remember nodding, but you must have, because in the space of a single heartbeat Hawks has you hoisted up in his arms, those powerful wings spreading wide – and you’re flying.

—

“I don’t think I have a job anymore,” you laugh drily, staring down at the city lights twinkling on the horizon.

Beside you, Hawks snorts in agreement, “Hell of a way to make an exit, though.”

He’s not wrong. You can only imagine what the tabloid headlines will say tomorrow ‘Pro Hero sweeps hotel waitress soulmate off her feet’ ‘Hawks mates for life; Endeavor jealous?’ Even if by some miracle your boss wasn’t intent on firing you on the spot, you’re not sure you can even bear to show your face there again.

It’ll be a pain though, trying to find a new job while your face is plastered across every less than reputable news outlet.

Perched atop the rooftop of Hawks’ hotel, halfway across the city, the wind ruffling gently through your hair, everything feels… surreal almost. It’s your birthday, and instead of crashing through the door of your apartment, exhausted and aching before falling face first onto your bed and not moving for the next few hours, you’re here. With the number two pro hero. Who, incidentally, is your second soulmate.

Having more than one soulmate, it’s not unheard of, just… rare.

And your hand’s entwined with his, his gloves long since discarded, his fleece lined jacket draped over your shoulders. Touya’s mark, long since blossomed across your inner wrist lies starkly between the two of you, unignorable.

“It was his son, wasn’t it?” he asks eventually, breaking the fragile silence as he toys with your fingers. When you nervously risk a glance up, Hawks doesn’t look angry or upset or even that jealous. Those golden eyes study your face with an odd kind of curiosity, but there’s no trace of resentment there. “Touya, the one who died. He was your soulmate.”

It’s not a question, but you find yourself nodding anyway. A part of you’s almost surprised he put it together so quickly, but you guess being a pro hero of that calibre requires a little more than just having a strong quirk.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, because what else can you say?

You can’t possibly imagine how he’s feeling right now, what thoughts are running through his head. You’d accepted a long time ago that while you’d love Touya Todoroki until your dying breath, he was gone; that chance of a fairytale happily ever after going with him. Another soulmate wasn’t something you’d ever considered, much less wasted time longing for.

And yet here you are, another mark inked across your skin and it feels wrong somehow, yet also completely right. Imagining being on the other foot; putting yourself in Hawks’ shoes – a pro hero soulmated to some insignificant, quirkless waitress, and not only that, but finding out she has another soulmate, somebody she loved before you, a ghost of a memory you’ll always be competing against… you honestly don’t know how you’d feel.

“Look at me,” he whispers, calloused fingers coaxing at your chin. Heart thrumming like a hummingbird's you comply, letting out another soft squeak as Hawks takes the hand still entwined with his and lifts it to his neck, right above his mark.

He smiles, nuzzling into the touch as your breath stutters. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” Again, you find yourself nodding without even really being conscious of it. It doesn’t seem to matter to Hawks though, whose smile widens at the sight of it. He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your face as molten pools of honey drink you in. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his touch, mixed emotions warring inside of you as he cups your cheek.

“And I’m yours. That’s all I care about, baby bird.”

He’s drawing you into a kiss before you can even comprehend the words, soft lips moving against yours. Gently at first, but that sweetness gives way to a burning urgency as he pulls you closer, holds you tighter.

Hawks kisses you like your lips hold salvation, and it’s frightening and thrilling and it feels like every nerve in your body is electrified when his teeth catch at your bottom lip and he moans your name.

There’s some part of you that realises that you’re moving too fast – soulmates or not he’s practically a stranger – but as you break for air, panting and breathless and Hawks looks at you with those burning, beautiful eyes; you’re helpless to resist.

“Keigo,” he tells you as he lays you down on his bed, crawling up between your thighs with a gleaming, hungry smirk that’s nothing less than predatory, “Call me Keigo.”

#yandere bnha #yandere hawks x reader #yandere dabi x reader #yandere keigo takami x reader #yandere touya todoroki x reader #tw character ‘death’#tw dub con #soulmate au #I’m not even sorry #except I am #lmao last one I promise

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daisies-and-buttercups · 3 years ago

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“Love and War / Chapter II″ - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: Waking up to an empty bed and the words that Luca left for you, you soon realise that everything is going to go down today, and you’ll soon have to pick a side.

A/N: I swear that this post took me at least three tries, tumblr kept deleting and/or messing up the formatting so I’m really hoping that this is worth it lol 💕

Words: 2.7k

Chapter I Chapter III

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The next morning you shifted in bed, stretching your arms in search of your lover’s body, but all you felt was the crumpling sheets, still warm from where his body was not too long ago. You groaned, sitting up and scanning the room, eyebrows scrunched into a tired look. If you had to guess what had happened the night before just by looking at your room you wouldn’t have had any clues. Your clothes were neatly folded by the chair and there was no other evidence that anything had indeed happened. No clothes abandoned on the floor, no man lying next to you.

You walked down the stairs almost second guessing yourself, thinking over the night's events while you prepared a cup of coffee that you so desperately craved. Taking a big sip your eyes landed on the small table by the door, only usually adorned by a small plate for your keys and some letters that you hadn’t gotten around to opening yet, now decorated by a beautiful bouquet. You never had flowers around, the item useless and expensive, not something that you could afford with your paycheque, but just with their presence they lit the room up, their delicate perfume filling your lungs. You smiled and walked up to them, lifting the small card up to read it. A simple phrase full of adoration and love, with a few words in Italian, made you blush at the love you felt, but the final sentence made your heart drop.

If today is kind with my soul, I shall meet you in your dreams tonight, mio amore.

His handwriting was smooth and elegant with each word, but the last sentence was slightly messy, revealing his feelings maybe more than he was used to. His fear. He didn’t think he’d make it back.

So today was the day.

You scurried over to the phone, picking it up and calling the Shelbys, hoping that someone, anyone, would answer, but no one did. There was no point in leaving the house, you wouldn’t know where to find them and you had no way of knowing where Luca was either. There were many places where this showdown could happen, and even if you found it, what were you going to do? You couldn’t just waltz in hoping not to get shot. Still, the mix of emotions in your chest made you dizzy. Why didn’t he say anything? You dreaded the images that flashed before your eyes, first that of Tommy’s lifeless body, still clutching his gun, then that of Luca, tumbling as a bullet hit him square in the chest. Tears fell as you pictured those scenarios, but knew that that was all they were. They weren’t real. But even knowing that, you couldn’t stop pacing around the room, counting the minutes and going over the events of the past few weeks. You didn’t know how to feel about this whole ordeal. You never forgot how Tommy and his family welcomed you when you had been left with nothing, giving you a job, food, inviting you over for drinks and celebrations, but as much as you dreamed of it, you’d never be part of them. You fit in, but not fully. You weren’t part of their circle, but you were part of their “clean” life. Tommy made sure to to leave you out of the dirty deeds, even if you gathered what happened behind closed doors, and by doing so he shut you out of the only part of their life that would make you fully fit in with them. Then Luca arrived, and the calls, on the phone that Thomas brought just for you, since you couldn’t afford one in any other way, started becoming less frequent, with less news. No more talking about the business, no more working by their side, no more gossiping with Ada or Polly on Saturday evenings. You still got your salary, somehow left by your door with nothing else attached to it, not even a note, but that didn’t change the stark difference in your routine. You barely felt like family, or whatever you had ended up being, anymore. You felt even more left out now. So when Luca came around and actually listened to you, and talked to you, and shared his interests while asking about yours, you felt appreciated, loved. You had found somewhere where you fitted. And now here you stood, weary of whose death you’d have to cry at the end of the day.

It took hours for the phone to ring with news, which made you jump into alertness, rushing over to answer. “Where is he?” You stayed quiet for a moment, fully expecting to hear Polly’s or Ada’s voice, not Tommy’s. He was alive, and clearly Polly had told him about your meeting with the Italian. “Where is-” “Where is he?” he raised his voice in unison to the loud sound you heard not far from him, probably his fist banging against the table. So they still were both alive. You let a breath out that you were unaware you had been holding, gripping your clothes tightly, adrenaline running in your veins from the news. He didn’t usually raise his voice, so his anger was evident, yet you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or at Luca. He clearly had gotten away, and the thought of that was enough to lift that weight off your chest. “I don’t know, Thomas.” “You knew last night, though, didn’t you? When he was in your bed? Bet it felt good, eh, fucking the enemy?” You didn’t answer, your face blushing in shame and anger. He had no right to spy into your personal life. You knew that in his books you were on the wrong side of the war they were fighting, but his words were harsh, cutting through you without any of the warmth they once held. “Don’t defend a fucking wop. Tell me.” “I don’t know where he is. But this has to end, Thomas, this war you’re-” “Why don’t you tell that to your friend?” He pronounced the last word with sarcasm and hatred, but what hurt him was the betrayal he felt when you made it clear that you cared about him. “I already did. I told him I support neither of your ways. Just stop, someone’s gonna get hurt.“ “And it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfire.” he spat out, the silence ringing in your ears as if his threat were a slap. “Goodnight, Thomas.” You replied, slamming the phone down, not even sure if he was still there to hear you but not willing to argue anymore. You didn’t stop walking around the halls, hoping that someone else would tell you more about what actually went down, still in the dark, but no one did.

That night you laid in bed, thinking over everything that had happened, or at least what you knew. The fairytale routine you had fallen in with Luca, the fancy restaurants, chivalrous words and tender kisses were taken away from you so soon after they started, leaving you desperate for what you had started growing so used to. Had it not been for the vendetta, he’d probably be here next to you right now, drawing circles on your shoulders with his fingertips, kissing you softly. But he wasn’t here, and all you knew was that he must’ve been alive somehow, since Tommy had no idea as to where he could’ve been. Standing up you took a few steps towards the small balcony, desperate for some fresh air. There was barely enough space to stand on it so you leaned on the window frame, spotting someone moving away just as you glanced down towards the back street. Had you been in a less emotional state you’d have never chased after them, but right now all you wanted were answers. You turned the corner, losing your balance as you slammed into someone, but their hands held you up, pulling you against them. “You shouldn’t have come out here, principessa. You never know who might linger in the dark.” With your mouth agape you stood still for a moment, realising who was standing in front of you and finally wrapping your arms around him, colliding with his chest once more. He let out a low chuckle, melting into your embrace and holding you, feeling your heartbeat calm him down, a natural remedy that only you could provide. Your tears fell freely, wetting his coat while you shivered against him. “Well, lucky me then.” you joked, breathing in his scent, the notes of sandalwood surrounding you. “What happened?” “Nothing. The police got in the way.” he shrugged lightly, his hands still around your waist, pulling you against him. “Thomas was looking for you. He called me.” he nodded, looking around the street for any signs of someone spying on them, but no one was around at this time, but he didn’t care either way. “I’m leaving for Camden Town. I won’t be back for a few days, so you won’t see me for a bit.” “And what are you going to do in Camden Town?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. He wouldn’t stop, and there was only one man in London that had a strong connection to Tommy, and not always a good one. You had never met Alfie Solomons, but you knew enough about him to know where this was going. “Not important. I came to get a goodbye kiss.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled, lifting your chin with his fingers and finding his mouth, kissing you with an initial softness, growing into a hunger that he couldn’t afford right now. He groaned, breaking the kiss, resting his forehead to yours. “What are you planning, Luca?” “Goodnight, dear.” “It’s not gonna end well.” “Goodnight, dear.” He repeated, kissing your forehead and lingering for a moment more, before urging you to walk back home, waiting until you were out of sight to slip away, walking towards the car that would take him to London.

You spent days waiting for something, but there was nothing. No calls, no letters, no news. You picked a few books off your bookshelf, books you had never had the time to read, and scanned the pages, not managing to focus on more than a few pages. It was that dark feeling in your chest that you couldn’t ignore, and the lack of news only made it worse, feeding your mind with the most horrible scenarios. It felt like a blessing, if only for a short moment, when a call arrived shortly after dinner. You were resting your head on the sofa, singing along to some old songs while you stared at your hands, the concept of time slowly slipping away, when you received the news, making you sit up in disbelief. Polly had been brief, delivering the news and nothing more, leaving you clutching your telephone and staring into thin air for what felt like hours. She hadn’t said anything more, leaving you with the feelings that surrounded you. Sadness, rage, hopelessness… everything was bubbling in your chest, a feeling of guilt coating everything, making you feel like you were somehow at fault here, like you hadn’t prevented this. You paced around for most of the night, only pausing your wondering when the realisation hit you again, big tears slipping past your eyes as you recalled the memories of the times shared, stopping your incessant actions at the faint knock at the door early in the morning. “I saw your light on.” he looked behind you, his lips twitching up for a short moment, only to fall back into a stoic look when he met your gaze, clearly seeing the tears that you tried to wipe away before opening the door, your eyes red with sadness and rage. “Tell me you didn’t.” It was a whisper, one that made his heart break. It wasn’t just your expression, nor the redness under your eyes, but your moving away from the door, as if you feared him. “Alfie Solomons-” he started, willing to offer an explanation for his deeds. “I don’t care about Alfie! I asked you to stop this after the vendetta happened!” you shouted, getting closer just to throw punches at his chest, yet no matter your anger you were nothing but gentle, barely making him flinch. “He didn’t stop either.” “Because he’s stubborn. He’s-” “I am too. He killed my men. Just ‘cause you were closer to Arthur doesn’t mean that the death of my men means nothing.” “I don’t want to be part of this anymore.” you announced, slipping from his grasp and moving away, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. “You never were a part of this.” “Maybe not, but with how things are going I’m going to end up as collateral damage.” “You know I’d never let anything happen to you. Even if you stood by him, I wouldn’t-” You turned and walked up the stairs, ignoring his words and grabbing your traveling bag from the wardrobe as he made his way up, scoffing but following you into the bedroom nonetherless. You picked your clothes and folded them quickly, placing them in the bag and throwing a couple other belongings in. “What are you doing?” He asked, sitting on your bed and stopping your movements by holding your hips, his touch delicate, in harsh contrast with his look. He always felt so… different around you. Delicate, careful, loving. Little things, like the way he remembered what wine you liked, or some of your little quirks, or the softness of his touches when he was near you. After the night where you both fell into your bed, he’d become more open with showing his affection, but before that he never really shied away from it either. His hand gently cradling the small of your back when guiding you into a restaurant, or the brush of his fingers against your cheek when a stray hair got away from behind your ear. “I’m ending it tomorrow.” He announced, avoiding your gaze. “What?” You turned to face him, not fully understanding his plan of attack. “I called a meeting with Thomas.” “To apologise?” “To make a deal.” He corrected you. “But it might not work. So…” He took one of his rings off, holding your hand and placing it in your palm, closing it around it. “To remember me by. Or not. Maybe it’s better to forget me, after all.” He brought your hand to your lips, as if to seal a deal, smiling. “I won’t have to remember you. You’re not going.” Your hand on his arm was supposed to stop him, or slow him down at least, but he just smiled at you as you would with a child that doesn’t fully understand the state the world is in. “I have to finish what I started.” “Luca, don’t.” you tried to give it back, but he shook his head, moving away from you and down the stairs. “Arthur didn’t deserve it.” “He’s the one that pulled the trigger.” You didn’t speak, not knowing what to add. You knew he was referring to the death of his father, but what Arthur had done was almost out of mercy. Tommy wouldn’t have stopped, so he intervened. There were many mistakes he had made in his life, but dying because of an act of mercy wasn’t what he deserved. “Ti amo, bedda mia.” And with a final look he left, not waiting for an answer, exhaling when the door closed behind him. He saw the way you looked at him, the tears that escaped your eyes, feeling betrayed by his actions, but he did what he had to do. “Luca, we’re not finished talking.” Your words had no effect on the man, just like you knew they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking them. It wasn’t only grief that was holding you back now, but fear. For a moment you saw the man just as he had been painted since the beginning: a gangster, a killer, nothing more but a heartless man. You fell back against the wall, clinging on to the ring he had gifted you, the only thing that felt certain right now. You watched as he stepped out, closing the door behind him ever so gently, to avoid making noise, and wondered what hid behind those eyes. How much could you risk for him?

He could feel you looking at him as he made his way out, knowing just how disappointed you were, but he wouldn’t back down. He knew what was going to go down tomorrow, what he’d say, how he'd move, and he’d do anything to have you by his side.

After all, all is fair in love and war.

#luca changretta x reader #luca changretta x you #luca changretta #luca changretta imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #love and war fic #Liza's attempts at writing

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jovnie · 3 years ago

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The devil's desire | Yoongi

Summary;

You fell in love with a man of many pasts, however he desired more than a relationship. He wanted your soul for eternity.

Words: 13k

Devil yoongi! Demon au! Human reader

Very Dark themes

Warnings: religious concepts, gore, porn without plot, death, big dick yoongi, clubbing, kidnapping, non-con touching, blood, cnc, prey ( y/n ), stalker yoongi, drugged, drugs, chains, cutting, rough sex,

"She's almost ready sir!" a winged creature announced. Nodding in his throne, he took the mirror and looked through it. There you were getting ready to meet a mysterious guy at a club or well hoping to once again. He smirked devilishly knowing you remembered to come back to this particular club.

He previously brought you to this nightclub in Korea, hidden through an alleyway in the darkest part of Busan. There was danger and a constant fear of being robbed, kidnapped. Even if Korea was a safe place, things like kidnapping and murder still happen and even more so at night.

He remembered that you kept a knife and a taser with you, he liked the vulnerability you had going to a place not meant for angels let alone humans at night. He found it charming how oblivious you are to your surroundings as well. He was a man of darkness and hell for sure, but one thing was for sure. He only craved humans who were pure and light energetically. 'Suppose you did know that the Club was own by the devil himself, would that really stop you' he thought.

He watched her put on clothes and noticed how delicate she was in his eyes. No, this wasn't the first time he'd watch her. Not the last either, it seemed like a generational curse in his eyes. He wasn't mad he placed it on the females to feel tempted by his actions, however, each one passed the test. you however failed it the first two times, making it the third time.

Sighing, he put the mirror down and stood up. Stretching, he allowed his black feather wings to elongate and move around before putting them away. Looking at his watch it was a quarter past 11 pm, he'd knew you want to be early and try and catch a good table. However the little worry of what if someone wanted to take you before him, hurt you before him. The thoughts riled him up, making him grab his keys and wait by the portal. Besides the gate doesn't open until 11:59, so his intrusiveness can calm for now.

While waiting, he took out the cute little human hand mirror you'd gifted him a while back. He looked at himself and the scar over his left eye, "maybe this is what attracts them" he chuckled softly.

As time fastened, he waited for the lock in the air to appear. He waited long and hard for that little red lock and once it appeared, he opened all the portals from his underworld to the human world and the other one which lead stright to his club.

Formally known as 666 plaza to hadians, the chosen humans only knew it as void 218. To you it was just another club on the holy day of Sunday. Although you were never brought up with Christianity, you had the basics that everyone knew, loved, and hated.

Waiting by the gates or humanly known as "doors" you pulled out your phone to realize there was no battery or charge. Confused as you could've sworn it was full when you left, you herd the doors open and the mini line began moving. Your eyes wandered the room to find the stairs that led to the upper level where you would meet and see Yoongi. You knew it was stupid to keep doing this, but with yours and his schedule it wasn't at all.

Passing by the few people, you found upstairs and walked up seeing there were already people inside which confused you, but you paid little attention to it. Waiting by the usual black velvet seats and area, you head a familiar voice.

"Is this your regular peach vodka with light ice?" yoongi asked loudly over the now loud music playing. Nodding, you sat up and greeted him before getting your drink. Little did u know about his plans with you or what tonight was gonna be.

Smiling softly, yoongi was gentle eyes admired your beauty as he get down with his own drink. He took a sip of his own drink that was laced with a sleeping drug, one that'd do nothing to him and more to you.

"So what are you doing here?" He asked knowingly.

"Well, it's a Sunday and I have nothing planned so I thought I come by" you lied, hoping the white lie would slip. Nodding, yoongi put his hand on your thighs and moved closer to talk to you about life and each other week. You mentioned something about the campus or school you were studying and he lied about his "forensics" job and how hard it was to see how people died. Continuing, he bought the two of you more drinks and when the timing was right offered one of his. Thanking him for the kind jester, you took a sip. He smiled and also took a sip after you, then placed it back down.

"Good isn't it?" he said, reaching over to his phone and at the time. Noticing he did so you hummed and snuck another sip. Then another. Whatever was in had you almost drinking his entire cup down.

"Omg what is this, what's making it so good. I can't put my finger on it" she said as her words slowed down and her eyes blinked slowly. He watched her body start to feel tired, then at the right moment whispered in her ear "apple, cherry, lime, it's a light alchcolic drink and right, drugs."

Soon as her eyes closed and body dropped, he mustered enough strength to pick her up and sling you over his shoulder. "Another one taken by the devils favorite drink, poison apple," he whispered knowing nobody cared to stop him not could. Well not if they wanted hells punishment if not worse death, even if they were immortal. Walking up the last set of stairs he opened the portal and handed the keys to his servant and told him to look after.

Noting the girl, the servant nodded and knew the king was gonna take his time and would be in a long "meeting." Taking charge of the place, yoongi walked up to his Castle surrounded by blue flames in the middle of nowhere and walked in. He demanded for total privacy, meaning nobody in or even near the castle or be banished for eternity and with that everyone wondered what that soul did to get his undivided attention. From there gossip spread about you from one to another creature and it traveled fast.

Meanwhile, he laid you on the bed and looked at his watch. The drug last about 30 minutes and about 20minuets have gone. From there he requested one trusted worker with a list. The list was :

The devils list

Body Chains and rope

Salt and a black cross

2 Robes

Wipes

Black paint

Sheep's blood

Lube any flavor

Nodding the worker flew off and yoongi allowed his wings to expand out his back and eyes to turn a dark blue color as his hair contained white strips. He watched your sleeping body, before checking the time and seeing he has 5 minutes left before you wake up. Taking that in he stretched his neck and before activating his speed and undressing you, cleaning the area around the bed, making sure the chain locks are stable and if not changing them, turning off lights and lighting candals all around the room and the whole castle and finally sitting down at the edge. Checking the time once again, he had 3 minutes left and so did the worker before he'd get pissed and with that thought the worker came to drop everything off before yoongi told him to get lost.

With the activation of speed he quickly undressed, sat the cup near the bed and filled it with sheeps blood, put salt near the edge without touching it as it stung him, put the cross around his neck and began drawing a ritual circle around the bed then finnaly the walls. To end everything he placed the chains on your hands and feet then connected to each end of the bed. The rest of the stuff he just put next to the bed and laid naked above you waiting for you to wake up.

He knew the drug was strong, but he didnt think it was that strong so he checked the time again and 10 minutes had passed by. Sighing, he began taking the knife and cut a slit on his wrist and placed the wound to your mouth. After a few blinks, you began to wake up and within a second you panked and a minute later realised you were chained.

Weak, scared, targeted, blood covered lips, chained and his favorite vulnerability he finally felt aroused at the sight. With lust in his eyes and an aura darker than night himself, he slowly kissed your cheek.

"Welcome to hell baby" he greeted, confused you closed your eyes and for once prayed you'd be able to wake up in where you left to only get the image of him drugging you and making you pass out. To then opne them and see the same sight.

"Wouldn't that make you?" She paused trying to yank the chains.

"Hades, satan the devil or whatever you humans call me for ruling the underworld. Then yes that's me and as you see, you're caged like a bug trapped in a spider's web. How cute. How naive to trust anyone you've properly met either. " he whispered the last bit in your ear as his lips traveled around your chest and neck leaving hickeys as he moved.

Groaning, you tried yanking the chains hearing a noise and hoping it ment it broke to realise no he fooled you with the sound of his nails knocking on the wood.

"Got you" he chuckled as you began scared, moving his lips towards your breast he sucked softly getting slight moans from your mouth. "Mm good girl continue with it an d maybe I'll spare your soul" he joked, sucking and groaning your other breast with his hands. Ignoring him and forcing your mouth to close. He raised an eyebrow and sat up, he then looked at your mouth and then his length.

"That wasn't smart now was it dsrling?" He asked, as his crouch hovered your mouth and his length being rubbed on your face as the other hand rested on the wall. "Noe open wide and if not, I can allways just shove it. Dont think about biting as i can manually remove teeth of needed" he mentioned as tears rolled down your eyes as he slowly entered his length.

"Good girl, suck it like that" he groaned, slowly moving his hips all the way in and out. With doing so he admired the trlaclesnt salty wetness driping from her eyes that he took a finger and wiped it. Caressing her face as he continued thrusting and groaning till he felt hard enough and then pulled out. Wiping her eyes again he grabbed the lube and posed the non negotiable question of

"May I pretty angel, take this as mine?" He whispered softly as he leaned down to her ear. Nodding yes a tear ran and he licked it clean, causing a slight shiver down her body. "Good" he replied, putting lube around his own length and stoking it on.

"If you cum on me will I get pregnant?" You asked shyly.

"Mm, well yes and that's my goal princes or should I say queen. Your body is mine after all." he tells, taking his fingers and tracing a cross between your chest as he watches a dark mark appear in a mini cross between your chest.

Crying harder knowing you've not only been kidnapping, but there was an even little chnace of seeing your family friends and well your little pet. "I love when you cry my love" he said softly as his fingers softly rubbed against you clit and his lips attach to yours. Knowingly you kissed back and surprisingly it felt like comfort but tasted like sin and poison. One your body will soon adapt to. As your mouths moved in unison, his fingers rubbed softly around your bud and you were finally able to relax and enjoy the feeling. He had an undeniable hold on your body, one your soul started to grow a liking too the longer her rubbed and kissed your lips. Soon you became hungry for more and grinded against his hand and with the hint he rubbed quicker as you moaned down his throat and his free hand now snaking behind your back. Moaning more you called his name, in which he loved begging you to say again.

"YOONGi!"you moaned louder as his stomach and cock felt it making it twitch slightly. stoping his finger he guided his tip and put his chin on your neck and slid in slowly, taking his time as you adjusted before moving faster. You pulled the chains trying to hold onto him but he shook his head no and softly held your body up with the help of the chains and began pounding into you.

No it was not a speed nor length you were used to, but the feeling you could by a heartbeat. You legs became weak, your back arched hard, your mouth could only stay open and your head was in a daze as he fucked you without mercy. His length was big enough to make you scream from the top of your lungs and beg for more. He loved that and too started moaning which soon started to sound like deep breathes and heavy grunts. He loved the warm, pulsing feeling of your pussy on him as it dripped with cum around him.

"Ah, fuck, That's hot!" he moaned loudly. Moving his hips closer, he pushed his length in deeper and the sounds of his hips crashing into yours echoed the room. You were now at a point of no return, all you could do was moan and take him, which only increased his horniness and overall arousal.

"I'm close!" yoongi groaned and panted as his hips movements slowed down, but the deepness was still there. Shopping, yoongi's body out of tiredness fell on top of yours and he kissed your neck softly. Without enough energy to pull out, he came deep, groaning in your neck and laying still. Both overly fucked out and deep breathing, laid there until yoongi got enough energy to unchain your hands and drink from the cup of blood that started to reek and fill the room. The room that once smelt like lavender and vanilla now smelled like sex and sheep's blood. Leaning down to kiss you, you kissed back with your body begging to ache like hell and body starting to contort you screamed in pain. Whispering something into your neck, he held you close to his chest as you grabbed and scratched his back till the blood came from it.

"Submit and it'll go quickly." he whispered tired as can be. Taking his advice, you closed your body and let it take over. Suddenly your eyes and hair became white as a dove and the pain stopped. Not only did he claim you as his, the kiss of blood crowned you queen of the underworld.

They laid naked as each could no longer have the strength to get up, but hold each other in a soft hug. Comferting and relaxing, considering what had to happen. They slept wedded that night, perfectly times as the full moon was now full and the ritual circle could light up red as the two came into harmony.

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years ago

Text

nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fic #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #nobody does it like you do #ndilyd #im so nervous to post this lol #hope you all enjoy #cw: past drug abuse #cw: minor character death #cw: violence

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ginnyweasleymybeloved · 4 years ago

Text

evermore x hp / masterlist

hp x readers based on the absolute masterpiece that is evermore by the love of my life taylor swift. i’ll be posting these fics once or twice a week and i will update the links once i’ve posted each one <3 really hope you guys enjoy <3

// these aren’t going to be exact line by line songfics, but based around a particular line or verse //

all fic masterlist

[🌸 = fluff, 🍁= angst]

taglist: @padsfirewhisky

[🌸] willow - fred weasley x reader

“life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

they count me out time and time again

life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

but I come back stronger than a 90's trend”

summary: hogwarts’ most popular playboy has made it very clear that you, his best friend, are not his type. seeing as you were crushing on him hard, you decide to take matters into your own hands

«»

[🍁] champagne problems - ron weasley x reader

“you had a speech, you’re speechless

love slipped beyond your reaches

and i couldn’t give a reason

champagne problems”

summary: on a cold night in november, your boyfriend, ron, gets sentimental thinking about a future that you’re not sure you deserved

«»

[🌸] gold rush - ginny weasley x reader

“and the coastal town

we wandered ‘round had never

seen a love as pure as it”

summary: revelling in the fact that you have the most amazing girlfriend in the world, while unbeknownst to you, she’s thinking exactly the same thing

«»

[🌸🍁] ‘tis the damn season - cedric diggory x reader

“so we could call it even

you could call me babe for the weekend

‘tis the damn season

write this down

i’m stayin’ at my parent’s house

and the road not taken looks real good now

and it always leads to you in my hometown”

summary: you bump into an old flame and old feelings catch up to you as you find yourself rekindling said flame

«»

[🍁] tolerate it - harry potter x reader

“i made you my temple, my mural, my sky

now i’m begging for footnotes in the story of your

life

drawing hearts in the bylines

always taking up too much space or time

you assume i’m fine, but what would you do if i

break free and leave us in ruins?

took this dagger in me and removed it?

gain the weight of you then lose it

believe me, i could do it”

summary: in the chaos of war, harry pushes the one person he didn’t ever want to lose, to the brink of walking away from him

«»

[🍁] no body, no crime - marauders x reader / peter pettigrew x reader / sirius black x reader

“i think he did it but i just can’t prove it

no, no body no crime

but i ain’t letting up ‘till the day i die”

summary: your best friends, lily and james potter, were betrayed by their secret keeper however you’re sure it couldn’t have been sirius.

«»

[🌸] happiness - remus lupin x reader

“there is happiness

past the blood and bruise

past the curses and cries

beyond the terror of the nightfall

haunted by the look in my eyes

that would’ve loved you for a lifetime

leave it all behind

and there is happiness”

summary: after the death of his friends and the betrayal of sirius, remus fears that he has lost the capacity for happiness. until you came along

«»

[🌸] dorothea - hermoine granger x reader

“hey dorothea

do you ever stop and think about me?

when we were younger

down in the park

honey, making a lark of the misery

you got shiny friends since you left town

a tiny screen’s the only place i see you now

and i got nothing but well wishes for ya”

summary: you see your childhood best friend for the first time in nearly a decade, you hold the same love and respect for her now as you did then

«»

[🍁] coney island - george weasley x reader

“the question pounds my head

‘what’s a lifetime of achievement?’

if i pushed you to the edge

but you were too polite to leave me

and do you miss the rogue

who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?

will you forgive my soul

when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to

care?”

summary: business is booming and the joke shop is expanding at a rapid rate, by the time it reaches its peak, geoege wants to bask in his success with the woman he loves, only to realise he’d completely neglected you in favour of pursuing his dreams and he doesn’t know if you’ll forgive him for it

«»

[🍁🌸] ivy - harry potter x reader

“how’s one to know?

i’d live and die for moments that we stole

on begged and borrowed time

so tell me to run

or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become”

summary: he thinks he’ll only ruin you, you think he’s worth the risk

«»

[🍁] cowboy like me - sirius black x reader

“you’re a bandit like me

eyes full of stars

hustling for the good life

never thought i’d meet you here

it could be love

we could be the way forward

and i know i’ll pay for it”

summary: sirius runs into you at a pure-blood party he’d been dragged to, the pair of you find solace in each other and gravitate towards one another from then on, however, noting the similarities between you and him, you deduct that you’ll end up paying dearly when you begin to crave more than secret rendezvous at pure-blood occasions.

«»

[🌸] long story short - george weasley x reader

“and he’s passing by

rare as the glimmer as a comment in the sky

and he feels like home

if the shoe fits, walk in it everywhere you go”

summary: george weasley is undoubtedly the love of your life, you realise

«»

[🍁] marjorie - remus lupin x lupin!reader

“the autumn chill that wakes me up

you loved the amber skies so much

long limbs and frozen swims

you’d always go past where our feet could

touch

and i complained the whole way there

the car ride back and up the stairs

i should’ve asked you questions

i should’ve asked you how to be

asked you to write it down for me

should’ve kept every grocery store receipt

‘cause every scrap of you would be taken

from me”

summary: your father dies in the battle of hogwarts and you’re left to go through his things

«»

[🍁] closure - fred weasley x reader

“yes, i got your letter

yes, i’m doing better

it cuts deep to know ya, right to the bone

yes, i got your letter

yes, i’m doing better

i know that it’s over, i don’t need your

closure”

summary: you and fred have a messy breakup and after a few months he owls you to see how you’re doing, and it just so happens that you’re doing fine without him

«»

[🌸] evermore - harry potter x reader

“and i was catching my breath

floors of a cabin creaking under my steps

and i couldn’t be sure

i had a feeling so peculiar

this pain wouldn’t be for

evermore”

summary: a soft moment between you and harry as you heal from the war together

«»

[🍁🌸] right where you left me - sirius black x reader

“did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

time went on for everybody else, she won’t

know it

she’s still 23 inside her fantasy

how it was supposed to be

did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion?

break-ups happen everyday, you don’t have to

lose it

she’s still 23 inside her fantasy

and you’re sitting in front of me”

summary: when sirius is condemned to azkaban you wait, and wait, and wait, right where he left you

«»

[🍁] it’s time to go - george weasley x reader

“that old familiar body ache

the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul

you know when it’s time to go”

summary: transitioning from best friends to lovers isn’t always the best idea, sometimes it’s better to walk away before there’s nothing left to leave

«»

#harry potter x reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #ginny weasley x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #hermoine granger x reader #ron weasley x reader #cedric diggory x reader

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mmvalentine · 4 years ago

Note

feysand prompt: first kiss. i didn't really like how their first real kiss was like during/after they'd touched each other. so could you maybe please write a first kiss scene between them in acomaf? maybe like a starfall kiss scene or maybe at the summer court. thanks :)

Okay firstly I am SO SORRY this took so long, I loved this idea but I felt nervous because of course I wanted to do this right. (LORD imagine how Rhys felt lol). As smoking hot as that ‘one bed’ scene was, I agree that it was a shame to rush past their first kiss. And Starfall seemed so perfect. So without further ado...

First Fall

Rhys sidestepped me, veering toward the balcony rail, but not fast enough to avoid the careening star that collided with the side of his face. He leaped back with a curse. I laughed, the sound rasping out of me. Not a chuckle or a snort, but a cackling laugh. And I laughed again, and again, as he lowered he hands from his eyes.

The entire left side of his face had been hit.

Rhys was examining his hands, covered in the dust, and I stepped toward him, peering at the way it glowed and glittered. He went as still as death as I took one of his hands in my own and traced a star shape on the top of his palm, playing with the glimmer and shadows. His fingers tightened on mine, and I looked up. He was smiling at me. And he looked so un-High-Lord with the glowing dust on the side of his face that I grinned back.

I hadn’t even realised what I’d done until his own smile faded, and his mouth parted slightly.

“Smile again,” he whispered.

I hadn’t smiled for him. Ever. Or laughed. Under the Mountain, I had never grinned, never chuckled. And afterward…

And this male before me… my friend… For all that he had done, I had never given him either.

So I smiled at him, broad and without restraint.

“You’re exquisite,” he breathed.

The air was too tight, too close between our bodies, between our hands.

Rhys went to move away, but I reached out to stop him. Didn’t mean to, and I couldn’t tell you why exactly I did it, but Rhys reacted immediately. He pulled me flush against him, put his hands on either side of my face and touched his forehead to mine. The sudden closeness was overwhelming.

“What do you want, Feyre?” he asked, an edge to his voice that, if I didn’t know better, I might have called desperation.

Problem was, with him this close, with this thumbs running over my cheekbones and his breath ghosting my lips, my thoughts swirled and I couldn’t conjure a single coherent thought.

“I…”

What did I want from him? Everything I could never ask for. After this past week, it all seemed so precarious. Rhys’ eyes squeezed shut for a second.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll make it easy. I’ll tell you what I want.” Despite the glowing splatter that still smudged his face, the laughter and lightness of only moments ago had suddenly vanished.

Rhys’s hands were careful, but he angled his head and slid his nose all the way down mine. “I want as much or as little as you want to give me,” he said hoarsely. He brushed his lips back and forth over my jaw. “That’s all.” He exhaled at my throat. “Me? You can have all of me. You have all of me.” The tip of his nose ran up the column of my neck. “But I think you know that, already.”

Rhys hovered his mouth just over mine. “So what is it you want, Feyre?” he asked again, and the words moved his lips just barely against mine. “Please tell me,” he asked. Begged.

And still, I didn’t know how to find the words. So I just stood up on my tiptoes, and pressed the barely-there touch into a kiss.

Rhys responded with his whole body. He stepped forward as if he could get even closer, one arm dropping to circle my waist. His hand cupping my face pulled me in, and his lips chased after mine.

For a moment, everything held still, like the peak of a pendulum swing. It was like the world held its breath when we did- and we slid apart only to come back together immediately. I remembered to breathe in at the same time as Rhys exhaled, and something like Rhys’ starry darkness filled my lungs and floated through my veins.

Rhys moaned softly, and kissed me again.This was not like when Isaac had kissed me, or Tamlin for that matter. The first kiss with someone had always felt uncertain to me, exciting and green but cautious. Testing each other. This was something else entirely.

Kissing Rhys was at once entirely shocking, and also deeply familiar, as if something was clicking into place that should have been there long ago. I found that the more I kissed him, the more I seemed to feel like I had been missing him for a very long time, and I could have wept with relief now that he was here. Wrapped around me and pouring molten midnight straight down my throat. The sea and citrus taste of him was suddenly a craving that I didn’t know I had, and I felt like I could get drunk off the wine of him.

When Rhys pulled away, with a soft scrape of his teeth on my bottom lip, I felt strangely empty. I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me, violet wonder and pale-green stardust filling my vision.

“I think,” Rhys said slowly. Breathlessly. “I think if I don’t stop now I very well might keep you here all night.” He brought my fingers to his lips. “Not that I would be at all opposed to that, myself. But I can’t let you miss the Starfall.”

“Then dance with me,” I said, entirely unwilling to let him go. “All night, if you wish,” Rhys said, his voice raw and his eyes eternal.

****

Thanks anon for this sweet request. I had such a godsawful day today, writing this was food for my soul. I hope you like it, and I hope that I did them justice.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @thalia-2-rose @asteria-of-mars

#asks #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine #fluff

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ohnopoe · 4 years ago

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The Long Road Home | Frankie Morales

Ship: Frankie Morales x Reader Summary: After a one night stand with your best friend, it feels like everything’s going to hell... maybe you just need an escape Word Count: 5.6k+ Warnings: Angst. I looked at this doc and went ‘I haven’t hurt myself with pain for a while yet’, and just put a months worth of angst into one fic. I am sorry. Author’s Note: Oh look! It’s another super late entry to something! This time it’s for the FABULOUS @autumnleaves1991-blog and her writer Wednesday... as I post this at 3.30am on a Monday... yikes. I’m so sorry this is so late, thank you for being so kind about it! And yes, I did give up very quickly on making this gif look good. I’m too mentally done to try harder 🤣

The car was filled with a stilted silence, heavy and thick in the air-conditioned air. Never before had the awkwardness sat so oppressively, least of all with the one and only Frankie Morales at your side.

For years now, your life had been filled with laughter and smiles, of warm hugs and secret looks that hinted at inside jokes that no one had a chance of guessing. For years, your life had been plentiful with the simple fact that Frankie Morales, the kindest man you had ever known, was your best friend. Was it enough? Maybe not. But it was better than the alternative, and you knew that clearly now.

One night. It had only taken one night, to destroy the very foundations of your friendship, to send your comfortable little bubble crashing down into a cacophony of pain and agony.

Oh, the night itself was anything but agony. No, that was filled with euphoria and the sounds of absolute bliss. His taste scarred into your memory, his touch forever melted into your skin. Sleeping with your best friend might just have been the best damn thing you’d ever done, were it not for what came the morning after.

Perhaps you had been naive, waking up in his sheets, craving the warmth that had surrounded you as you both blissfully drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms. Perhaps you ought to have realised the moment you found his spot cold to the touch, but your mind was still too filled with the fuzzy drunkenness of the best damn fuck of your life.

Perhaps you should have come to realise when you slipped out into his living room, seeing him already fully dressed, sitting silently on the couch with his head in his hands, his emotions on display so clearly that it would have broken your heart right there and then, if only you’d been awake enough to see them.

But no, it wasn’t until you were forcing a reassuring smile onto your lips as you desperately begged your features not to give away the heartache you felt that your world truly came crashing down around you.

It was a mistake.

A mistake.

Of all the words he could have used, somehow that hurt the most. He didn’t claim he didn’t enjoy it, didn’t blame you for the way your lips had sought out his when he’d been looking so damn beautiful with the warmth of the fireplace dancing across his features. No, he regretted it, and that, that hurt deeper than you had expected it too.

But you had put on a brave face, reassuring him that nothing would change, that you were still his best friend, if that’s what he wanted, and you pushed the heartache away until you were safely secured in your apartment, where the tears could fall until they ran out, until there was nothing but your empty sobs to fill the echoing apartment, as the man you loved seemed further away than ever before.

A week passed, then another, but nothing got easier. Your interactions seemed awkward now, the overwhelming reminder of what you had done hanging over the two of you like a thick blanket, threatening to suffocate you both.

It was impossible to move forwards, to think of anything but him.

The anguish you felt only grew as your friends seemed to pick up on the fact that something was wrong between you. It was Will who came to you, a silent support when your world was still crashing down around you, but you never dared whisper so much as a word of what had happened.

How could you ever guess it would get worse?

How could the all consuming pain you felt ever grow to something more when you already found yourself mourning the ease of your friendship every night when you sat alone at home?

Your answer came in the form of a beautiful stranger.

She was kind, gentle, beautiful… everything Frankie deserved, and what’s worse, she seemed to truly like him.

You hadn’t meant to spy, hell, you hadn’t even known he was going to be there. You were just at the cafe to pick up some lunch when you saw them, laughing and smiling, hand in hand at a small booth in the corner.

He didn’t even notice you as you entered your favourite cafe, the same cafe that you had spent countless afternoons in with the man who was still your everything, even now, even as he sat there with another.

Strength was becoming a part of you. You could hold off the tears, hold off the wails of anguish until you were safely at home, until you were alone once more.

But your strength was waning. How long could you continue on like this, mourning your friendship with the man you had secretly loved for years? How long would it be until he introduced this beautiful stranger to the boys? How long would it be until you had to force a smile as he fell in love, as he found himself marrying her?

There was only so long you could be strong when the object of your pain sat so close, yet so far.

Perhaps it wasn’t your most thought out plan. Perhaps you ought to have put a little more care into your actions, but you needed to get away, needed to be free from the anguish that had plagued you for over a month now.

Working freelance was a wonderful thing when it meant you could quite literally pack up and work anywhere. However, it was not the best when it came to stopping you from making a rash decision.

Clothes and essentials packed up in your car, you didn’t give yourself a moment to think as you fled the town you had called home for so long.

Was it a permanent answer to your problems? Hell no. Did it, realistically, cause more issues than it would solve? Sure. But this wasn’t the time for critical thinking, this was the time for an escape.

It had all been going so well.

For hours, you drove.

The chaos of the city fell behind you, the long open road ahead. Your phone filled your car with music, allowing you to fill your mind with anything but thoughts of home, and the thought that you might just find freedom from your agony seemed tangible.

With the windows down, the fresh air licked at your skin, cool and refreshing, filled with promises of renewal.

With each passing hour the crowds thinned and the light fell low.

A quick pull into a gas station had you filled up with fuel, snacks, and the motivation to continue on, moving ever forwards, even though no destination was set in your mind.

Perhaps you should have found a hotel for the night, somewhere safe to stay until morning came, but you were determined; the need to get away spurring you ever onwards in your pursuit of something you could not name.

Night fell, and even the houses spilled away into nothing, your only companions the rich sand that surrounded you, and the road that continued on into the horizon.

Yes, this was what you needed.

It was all going so well, until it wasn’t.

The headlights began to flicker, that was your first clue that something was amiss. Then it was the clock, staggering between minutes.

You weren’t particularly mechanically minded, there wasn’t exactly a need for it when your best friend was always there to fix whatever hiccups your car decided to adopt, but even you knew it was time to pull over.

The air was cold, colder than you ever would have expected in the depths of the desert, but then, with the sun slipping past the horizon, you could hardly be surprised to find the temperature dipping too. Opening the bonnet gave no answers, only a steady slew of steam that drifted upwards at the sudden release, only furthering your fears.

Well, that certainly didn’t seem good.

Perhaps you could find a mechanic or a garage, surely there was another gas station somewhere along the long and dusty road. But the moment you hit the ignition, the car stalled. Another attempt, another stall. The engine refused to budge.

This was not how things were meant to be going.

Your hand hit the steering wheel with fervour, doing more to hurt you than to dissipate your growing anger.

This was meant to be your escape, your freedom from everything that was weighing you down, but now even your car seemed to be working against you.

The sun was now fully eclipsed by the horizon, and there you were, stuck on the side of an empty highway, alone and crying your frustrations into your steering wheel as, once more, your emotions got the better of you.

Someone would come, they had to. It wasn’t as if the stretch of road was forgotten and beyond repair, it was still a popular stretch… for some.

Locked in your car, with no engine to run your heater, you went for your phone, hoping you could call for help. Picking you up hours away from home wasn’t exactly the kind of favour you could put on anyone, but the boys were never ones to say no to a person in need, least of all one of their best friends. Perhaps you could call Will, see if he could pick you up or help you get a tow.

The black screen of death was the last thing you needed. Plugged into the car’s power, it seemed even it wasn’t immune to whatever had eaten away at your car’s battery.

So there you were, stuck on the side of the road, alone, desolate, and now without any means of communication.

Perfect.

Hours passed, or at least, you assumed they did, with nothing but silence as your companion, and suddenly, all those thoughts and memories you had been pushing away filled your mind with an aching determination.

Memories of nights curled up in Frankie’s side as you laughed at the stupidity of couples in films, as you hid your face in his neck as he laughed at yet another horror film he insisted wasn’t that bad.

Memories of nights when the world felt like it was crashing down around you as yet another relationship failed, and you found solace in the warm hugs of your best friend and the sweet taste of ice-cream with whatever alcohol was in the house.

So much of your life had revolved around your best friend, and here you were, weeks without so much as a word shared between you, desperately searching for something to fill the void within you.

In the dark of the night, you could admit this wasn’t your smartest plan. With the cold air struggling to make its way into the insulation of your car, even you knew you should have at least told someone you were going. Will wouldn’t have judged you, at least, not outwardly. Benny would have come with you, given the chance. Santi, well, Santi would have read far too much into it and probably figured out exactly what was breaking you down…

And then there was Frankie. Frankie who would have listened, who would have held you as you cried, who would have whispered sweet words of comfort and reassurance until you no longer felt the need to escape at all. At least, the old Frankie, your Frankie, would have.

Now, everything was so different. What would he have said if he knew you were leaving so suddenly? Would he have realised it was because of him? Would he even care?

The darkness of the night seemed to match your darkened mood, allowing the heartache to consume you, to plague your mind until a restless sleep fell over you.

Dreams and nightmares melded into one another, happy memories turning sour with rejection, those four words haunting you with every attempt at happiness.

This was a mistake.

How could a voice you loved so dearly bring words of such pain? How could he be everything good and everything horrible, all at once?

A bright light, and a deep, loud sound shook you from your slumbers. A truck was passing, a truck!

Perhaps they could help, perhaps they could- your sleep filled mind suddenly plagued you with images of your body chopped up into tiny pieces, lost to the desert and never seen again…

Ok, maybe wariness was the way to go.

But it was slowing down, past you by some hundred meters, but slowing to a stop nonetheless.

With the taser Santi had bought you years ago held tightly in your grip for protection, you watched as a smaller light came towards you, footsteps echoing behind it on the empty road.

You could do this, you said to yourself, unable to fool even yourself with your attempt at optimism.

The man seemed alright, from what you could tell. A sympathetic smile, and a safe distance away so as not to scare you, he seemed as non-threatening a stranger as you could hope for. But you couldn’t shake the warnings the boys had given you over the years.

“Never, and I mean never get in a car with a stranger,” Santi had invaded your space as he drunkenly forced his advice upon you.

“What if I don’t want them to be a stranger?” you had replied coyly, loving the way the group of men, who had taken it upon themselves to act rather like older brothers had squirmed uncomfortably in their seats at your response.

“If they’re a stranger, they’re not good enough for you,” Santi had replied, his gaze flittering around the group as if struggling to leave his sentence there. “If you don’t know them, keep it that way. You’re safety is more important than your- than your-”

“Than your sex life,” Will finished with a roll of his eyes, never ceasing to be amused by the way Pope struggled at the idea of you having sex.

You didn’t dare open your door, and with the engine out of commission, opening the window was an impossibility, and so it was a conversation of yelling in the dark empty desert.

“You alright there?” his cheery tone put you at ease more than it ought, but the man was clearly aware you were alone, and equally aware that his large frame could easily be construed as intimidating.

Half of you was ready to nod in response, to claim you were just fine and not give anything away. But, well, even the threat of being murdered seemed a little less impactful when you knew, realistically, you needed help.

“Broken down,” you yelled from behind the safety of your locked door.

“You called someone to get ya yet?” he actually looked concerned at that, but then a thought seemed to flit through his mind, so loud that it was shown across his features as he second guessed his words. His southern twang resonated loudly as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, hand barely missing the full grey beard that looked oddly reminiscent of Santa Claus. “Or ya need a lift or somethin’?”

“Actually,” the trepidation was clear even as your voice echoed in the car. What you needed wasn’t exactly easy, and, while he certainly didn’t seem dangerous, Santi’s words still rung clear in your mind. “You wouldn’t have a phone I could use, would you?”

His smile was reassuring, easing your worries more than it ought to do. Broken with missing teeth and crows feet that showed the man clearly smiled just as often as he could, it was almost tempting to take him up on his offer. But he was nodding before you could second guess yourself.

“You wait just here, I’ll go get it.”

The moment he was gone, relief flooded you, easing your wound up shoulders, and giving you a final glimpse at hope. Now all you had to do was call someone you trusted, someone who wouldn’t mind a call at the ass-break of dawn.

Will still felt like the safest option, even if he did mind, he’d never say it, and you could always make it up to him with a carton of beer.

Your hand reached for your phone, ready to bring up his number, when realisation struck you. Dead. It was dead. That was the whole damn reason you needed another’s phone in the first place.

A groan escaped you as you realised, once again, just how badly your escape was going.

A knock on the door woke you from your pity party, an empathetic look mixing with bemusement as the truck driver watched you jump in shock.

“Here, I’ll pop this on your hood. I’ll just be over there,” he paused to point back towards his truck, “you just holler when you’re done, ok darlin’?”

And then he was gone, his phone large and clunky on the hood of your car as his flashlight bounced light off the road with every uneven step he took.

Getting out quickly, you grabbed the phone before returning to the safety of the locked car. Ok, so you needed someone who’s number was memorised, someone who would answer, someone… fuck.

“You can drop me off here,” your voice was soft and uncertain, barely breaking past a whisper, and yet echoing in the silence of the car. The first words spoken in an hour, hanging so heavily between you that you almost wished you could suffocate once more in the overwhelming silence from before.

His hand crashed against the top of the steering wheel; anger, raw and unrestrained, shining through as he clenched his jaw to swallow words he might regret.

“I’m not leaving you at some shitty garage,” the words were grit out, harsher than you had ever heard him before. His emotions, once bottled up and held deep within, were now clear for all to see, even as he refused to so much as glance in your direction. “I’m taking you home.”

“Frankie, I-” you cut your words off at the sudden glare that was thrown your way, gulping down the fight you had been willing to make in order to make your point. You had never seen him like this, even on his darkest days, he had never spewed forth an anger so heated and vile that it had you almost scared to speak.

And so you fell back into silence once more, letting the empty road fill your gaze with its monotonous landscape, desperately pleading with it to help clear your mind of the whirlwind of emotions that brewed within.

Perhaps you ought to have wished it upon Frankie instead.

Just as you thought the silence had begun to settle, some ten minutes later, he exploded once more, passionately angry in a way that had no right to pierce your heart as it did.

“The hell were you thinking, running off like that?” he practically spat the words out, wondering aloud rather than directing the question at you. But still, it had you fidgeting uncomfortably in the passenger seat. His anger was new, but somehow that didn’t hurt half as much as the disappointment you heard now as he rolled his fists over the steering wheel.

You could practically see the way his mind whirled with thoughts, his gaze flittering over the road as he did his best to stay in control.

“Pull over,” your words were barely a whisper louder than the last time you had spoken, but there was a determination in them now.

Frankie merely scoffed in response, shaking his head as if the thought was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“I’m not- I’m not going to rush off, just- please Frankie,” and if your tone sounded more desperate than it ever had before, well, so be it.

A glance was thrown in your direction, filled with suspicion, as if he were trying to see whether you were telling the truth, whether you were simply looking for another chance to flee from his life. But you met his gaze, soft determination filling your own as you silently pleaded for him to do as you say, before he ended up causing a crash.

With a sigh, and the most unnecessary use of a turn signal you had ever witnessed, Frankie eased the car to the side of the road, making a show of turning off the ignition before he turned to you, watching you so intently that his very gaze seemed to melt into your skin.

“I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“Thinking, you asked- I- I wasn’t thinking. I just-” you sighed. Unable to meet his searching gaze, your focus fell to your fingers, fiddling anxiously in your lap in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pent up energy that was brewing within you. “I needed to get away from everything.”

I needed to get away from you.

“And you didn’t think to let someone know?” his anger was radiating throughout the car, hot and fevered, and it almost made you feel guilty, almost. “Do you have any idea how it felt to hear your voice on a stranger’s phone? To know you were trapped, alone, hours away- You should have told me.”

“Told you?” you couldn’t help the scoff that fell from your lips at that. Perhaps you should have told someone, but of all the people in the world you could have informed of your sudden trip, he was hardly an option. “Frankie, we don’t even talk anymore!”

“What are you-”

“Ever since that night, you’ve been distant,” you interrupted, refusing to accept his attempt at ignorance. After years of practically living in each other’s pockets, there was no way he could simply not notice the time that had passed since you last spoke. “Hell, it’s like I don’t even exist anymore! We haven’t spoken in weeks. Weeks, Frankie!”

“Well I-” he tried once more, but even he stumbled for a response to that. It was true, and there was no denying it, no matter how much he wished he could.

But the dam was broken now, emotions and words flooding out, filling the car where once silence lay.

“Do you have any idea what that’s like? To lose your best friend all because of a mistake,” the word was spat with more aggression than you had intended, but it stung to think about it. The very word was tainted now, filled with the memory of his forlorn face as he had uttered it into the morning light.

You didn’t notice the way he gulped at your words, as he desperately tried to alleviate the way his throat suddenly felt drier than the desert that surrounded you.

“I am trying my hardest to keep it together,” you continued, your voice steely now as you spoke resolutely, staring out at the long road ahead, refusing to acknowledge the steady stream of tears that made their way down your face.

“I am trying so fucking hard to not break every second of every day, and the moment I do something for myself, the moment I try and accept that I need to move on from my best friend, the world just screams ‘no’. I don’t get to just move on like nothing ever happened, I don’t get to go on dates with beautiful women who hold my hand and look at me like I’m the world. I get to suffocate under the knowledge that I’m in love with a man who thinks I’m a mistake. So, forgive me if I needed to get away from it all. Forgive me if I needed an escape from the never ending circle of pain that it is to simply survive.”

Each word seemed to burn your tongue as it escaped you, a fiery, fierce explosion filled with all the things you had kept secret for too long. It was so damn much, too much, perhaps, but then… it was a relief. After years of keeping your feelings to yourself, they were finally free, out in the atmosphere and untethered from the confines of your mind.

Was it the best way to let them out? Probably not. But after holding them down for so long, it was liberating to let go, even if you knew no good would come from it.

The silence that followed was, surprisingly, not the worst reaction you could have expected from your spiel. In fact, in respect to the alternatives that raced through your mind, it didn’t seem bad at all.

Perhaps you could continue like this. Perhaps you could make it home in silence, with your secret no longer a secret anymore.

Perhaps you could face tomorrow, even if it meant you could never face him again.

You couldn’t bear to look at him, not now that the words were out there, that he was aware of just how long you had harboured feelings for him. You couldn’t dare see the disappointment or disgust in his features as he struggled to find a way to let you down easy.

“You’re not a mistake,” the words were so soft that they took a moment to register in your mind.

But you knew that tone, it was the same tone you heard when Frankie’s world was crashing down around him. It was the same tone that crept out of him after hours of silence the night he came home from Columbia, turning up on your doorstep disheveled and broken and oh so silent that it had hurt to witness.

You wanted to scoff at the words, an easy attempt at placating you after you had practically offered your heart on a platter, baring your very soul to him, but for that tone.

There was no room for doubt or fear when he spoke like that, no room for anything but sheer acceptance. He believed what he was saying with his entire being, and you wished you didn’t know him well enough to tell.

It would be so easy to be angry, to ignore those words as he had ignored your admission, to doubt him and call him out on it, to ask the question your heart begged for the answer to… then why say it in the first place?

Wiping a tear from your cheek in a hurried movement, appalled at just how wet your skin felt, and the fact that your emotions had betrayed you so easily, you merely shook your head, still not daring to look his way.

“Doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, forcing your attention out the passenger window to the seemingly never ending sea of sand. “Next time I’ll tell someone, ok?” your voice was small, insecure, each word focused on entirely the wrong thing. “And I’ll get my stupid car fixed too.”

Was it a poor attempt at humour? Yes. But you were desperate. You needed to end this conversation, needed to get back to the comfort of your bed where you could allow the tears that seemed to haunt you to fall once more as you accepted the heartache that only grew with his silence.

“Next time,” the words seemed to die on his tongue, voice shaky as his hand reached out for your own, pulling your attention towards him as he grasped it tightly on your lap.

There was a desperation in his gaze now, a determination that you hear him, that you take each word he offered to heart.

“Next time, we both go.”

A scoff of laughter fell from your lips, your head shaking even as an incredulous smile dared to show itself in the corners of your lips.

“Frankie,” you sighed his name, gaze falling to your joint hands, to the way his thumb ran over your knuckles, even as he held your hand so tightly. “You’re missing the point of me getting away entirely.”

And then, for the first time since he had pulled up next to your broken down car, he smiled.

“I’m not,” the lilt of his voice almost tempted you to glance towards him, amusement dancing in the corners of his tone as he sought you out.

“Frankie,” you started once more, although you weren’t quite sure what you planned to say. How could you begin to explain your need for freedom from him?

“I was wrong,” he shook his head, more to himself than anything, as he spoke softly. “I made two mistakes that night-”

Would this man ever cease to shatter your heart? Surely it was already in pieces smaller than the grains of sand that sat outside your door.

“I should never have said it was a mistake, and I should have told you the truth.”

“The truth…” it came out more as a statement than a question, as if you were testing the very words on your tongue. Even with your focus flittering between his intense gaze, locked onto his very being you could still hear the suspicion in your tone. What truth would you learn if he continued? Would it hurt you further, or heal the shattered remains of your heart? Could you even risk considering the latter?

Your sights fell, focused on the warmth of his hand in yours, on the comfort he was trying to bring you, even if this was the moment your world came crashing down around you. Perhaps, with his hand in yours, you could bear it this time. After all the times your world felt as if it were imploding within you, perhaps you could face it if he just kept holding your hand.

“I have loved you since the moment I met you.”

“Frankie, please don’t-” you could see what he was doing, softening the blow, reminding you how much you meant to him. You were his best friend, and he loved you, just as he loved Santi or Will or Benny… minus the whole one night stand issue.

Your hand was stock still in his, unable to clench onto the one thing that could keep you together and break you apart all at once. It was still despite the way his thumb still ran over your knuckles, desperate to soothe and reassure as he had done time and time again. And it was the only thing you could focus on.

The sound of him shifting in his seat was both deafening and oddly muted as you trained your focus on your joined hands that sat in your lap.

His other hand reached over, his touch so light as it traced against your wet cheek that it had you closing your eyes without a thought.

“Hey,” his voice was broken now, rough and raw with emotion that you didn’t dare let yourself focus on. The touch of his hand felt stronger now as it dipped to your chin, silently begging at you to look his way. Silence sat between you as he waited, with a patience only Frankie knew, for you to give in to his plea.

Even here, stuck in the middle of the desert with tears flowing freely down your cheeks, you could never truly deny Frankie anything.

Your eyes opened slowly, painfully so, but the sight that greeted you was somehow worse than the unknowing blackness you had before.

He looked worse than he sounded, an echo of his worst days, his face haunted with a mirage of emotions that you never wished him to experience. And for a moment you wished you could take it all back. The relief you felt at finally telling him how you felt, the way your heart screamed at no longer having to suffer in silence… none of that was worth it if it was causing this pain to the man you adored.

His smile was small as it crept onto his lips. You could see the uncertainty in the way his eyes flickered over your features. But his hand that still sat in your lap held your hand with a determination that was meant to reassure, although you couldn’t quite tell if it was meant to reassure you or him.

“I have loved you since the moment we met,” he repeated, pausing as he took a deep breath. “And I have been in love with you for almost as long.”

Your eyes met his without a thought, needing to see whether there was truth in his words, needing to see whether he meant what he was saying, or if he was simply doing what he could to keep you safe and by his side.

But there was no lie in his eyes, no fear that you could see past his words into a hollow land of half truths. No, the only fear that sat there was trepidation, anxiety… timidity.

What if you didn’t believe him? What if, after all you had both said, after all that had happened you didn’t want him?

But how could you not?

Frankie, the man who had been at your side through thick and thin, the man who had driven for hours to pick you up when your car had decided it no longer wanted to work… he was still your everything, he was your Frankie.

Hours of exhaustion and desperation, filled with tears of heartbreak and frustration, slipped aside, replaced with the smallest of smiles.

“You love me, huh?” the teasing lilt to your tone surprised even you, but the way his entire being lit up at the words was addictive. Your features seemed to mirror his, smile growing until it was all you knew, until the happiness you felt seemed to chase away the anguish you had felt for so long.

His hand tightened in yours, and finally, you moved with it, squeezing reassuringly as you watched emotions dance over his features.

“Honey,” he stopped, pulling your joint hands to his lips as he pressed a tender kiss to the back of your palm, never letting his gaze drop from yours for so much as a moment. “I’m crazy about you.”

#writer wednesday #Frankie Morales #frankie morales imagine #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fic #Triple Frontier #My fic

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1000fiction · 4 years ago

Text

Day 8: Menstrual Sex ft. Cicero

Relationship: M/F

Species: Unspecified

Warnings: Vaginal Sex, Period sex

Summary: Mother nature is a cruel mistress, but when relief is required from her most painful bounty, the listener and her keeper seek each other in their most vulnerable moment.

The listener was absent – Cicero observed unamused. Whilst this was not strange, it was strange for him to not be informed. Had she gone on a contract? No, she would have surely asked for his company as she always did. It was then a realisation hit him, and quickly he counted the days since her body's last purge. It was most certainly the correct week, and so it was likely the listener was indeed hiding away in her private quarters.

Such a day was one of few excuses to leave his mother unattended, and instead spoil his listener as he longed to do daily. He was swift about gathering necessities, a soft towel, a clean cloth, a full jug of water, and two sweet rolls. It was safe to assume she hadn’t eaten, and heaven forbid he attempt to feed her something healthy on the heaviest day of her flow.

He hesitated briefly – as he always did – outside her door, the words “my door is always open to you, sweet keeper” echoing quietly in his head before he finally shouldered it open.

He found her as predicted, reclining against the headboard with her knees tucked as tight as she could to her chest, a towel clenched firmly between her bare legs, and Nazir’s handwritten contracts littering the bed, evidence of a desperate want of distraction. He took a moment, as he quietly closed the door, to take in her appearance. No bright eyes, no welcoming smile, she was tired, pained, and considerably disheveled. No doubt, his listener was suffering from an intense flow, mother nature demanding compensation for such a gentle cycle the previous month.

“Fret not dear listener, your keeper is here to take care of you.” His voice was music to her ears as he began his ritual, a tired smile gracing her features for the first time today.

Hydration came first, and the keeper sat at her side, idly tracing the skin of her thigh as she drank from the jug. Having drunk her fill, he swept at her chin, wiping away the stray droplets that had trickled there.

Second came appearance, just because one felt wrecked needn’t mean they look it, and it was quietly reassuring knowing one’s struggles aren’t visible to the world. Only to her keeper. The cloth was dampened with the remaining water, and gently the keeper swept it across her face, effectively erasing the crust from the night's restless sleep. He continued to clean her as far as he could reach, her neck, her collarbones, behind her ears, and even so far as to scrub at her fingernails.

Refreshed, and in good company, the listener had already begun to feel better, but that didn’t quell the intense pain her muscles were experiencing. Which led finally, to her physical condition. As gentle as he had been with everything so far, Cicero ordered them to roll over, arms folded to rest their head upon as they stretched out on their stomach. The old towel was taken, thrown into the empty jug, and he laid the new softer material beneath their pelvis.

The removal of his gloves was an intimate act in the listener's eyes, only the most important people in the jester’s life were allowed his naked touch, and she was one so lucky. The fragrance of a soothing balm met her nostrils as the scent permeated the room, the keeper smoothing it into his hands to ensure not a single callous scratched her skin. His weight made the bed dip, but he was careful to not lay too much of it upon his listener as he straddled their behind.

His hands were quick to work, firmly rubbing from the aching lower back to the tense shoulder blades. his hands were warm, thank Sithis, and she’d missed his touch. It was sincerely comforting to know the intimacy they shared, and the ministrations against the listener's skin had her mind drifting from the pain to other, more pleasurable, thoughts.

He cared for her oh so well, jumping to tend to her needs without hesitation. He was skilled in far more than stealth and death. He knew how to please her, it was instinct, an old instinct that blurred the line between the personas of his past self and the jester she’d first met with the broken wagon. It would have been lovely though to indulge in, to read too deeply into, but the listener found herself thoroughly distracted by the growing bulge pressing against the curve of her rear.

The keeper, despite his dedication to his ‘family’, was still a man, and the feel of his listener's skin beneath bare fingertips never failed to awaken senses he’d usually bury beneath duty. The listener didn’t mind - as she consistently reminded - to assist with such matters, as his pleasure was her way of rewarding his dedication, and cicero did so love being rewarded.

The feeling of his growing cock had the listener arching into him, the keeper groaning as his listener presented herself to him. He bent to kiss at her neck in thanks, silently parting his clothes just enough to slip out his cock. It rested heavily against her, and he slowly rutted between her cheeks, the long drags synchronised with the stroking of his hands across her back.

She felt herself seep, though with blood or wetness she wasn’t sure, but the need was undoubtedly there. Her aching hole craved attention equally as much as her muscles, but only one was receiving such delicious attention. A quiet whimper left her lips, her hips rising higher.

Not one to keep his listener waiting, Cicero stuffed a pillow beneath her, he would never allow her to exert so much energy holding herself up when she was in so much pain. Comfortably supported, he rocked back, the head of his cock trailing the curve of her ass till it met the lips that concealed her quim. He pressed in, feeling slick and hot liquid against his sensitive skin, his trickle of precum mixing with her mess.

He knew some men were cowardly enough to cringe at such a sensation, but he felt there was no feeling more rewarding than pleasuring his listener and relieving her pain simultaneously.

She was tighter than usual, and her cunt gave resistance as he pressed his prick deeper into her. Reeling at the sensation, a sharp inhaled gasp sounding as he stretched her inner walls. The keeper keened, relishing for a moment as his listener welcomed him into her most private place.

His thrusts could hardly be called such, slow languid movement that caressed her inner walls with patience that inferred he’d be taking all the time in the world. His hands resumed their stroke along her back, the heels of his palms digging deep into her muscles as his cock sank deeper into her quim.

When blissfully hilted, he peppered the listener's neck and shoulders with feather-light kisses, a stark contrast to the weight he pressed into her.

The position didn’t allow for depth, but the pleasure was no less intense, and the heat from her companion seeped into her skin and soothed her, mind, body, and soul. Her eyes lost focus, and her head became empty of thought, the only sensation being complete relaxation over her entire being, as cicero once again resumed his torturously delicious motion.

His hips rolled without pause, and despite the slowly tightening knot in the pits of his stomach, his hands still soothed against his listeners back. His grin grew, chest swelling as he observed his listener drift in and out of reality, her teeth grazing the skin of her arm as uncontrolled gasps and moans dribbled from her mouth.

He picked up his pace imperceivably with each roll of his hips, and it was with the tightening of the listeners cunt around him, the release of her own rolling orgasm, and the dreamy unfocused pronunciation of his name that he braced his hands against her lower back, lifting his hips ever so slightly in order to thrust and finally chase his own release. He felt as if he were to burn up, the coil too tight to hold back, but the feeling of his listener around him too good to finish. He found himself lost in his orgasm; their title of listener thrown to the wind as their name flowed from his lips in gracious thanks. It was only in this moment they were his identity truly blurred, and the emotions she brought upon him made him feel far too human.

In a moment of indulgence, he pressed his body against hers, drinking in the smell of their sex on her skin, and kissing her behind the ear as she faded into very needed sleep.

“I love you.”

#Skyrim #Skyrim x Reader #Kinktober #Kinktober 2019 #Cicero #Spicy

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fallen-in-dreams · 3 years ago

Text

The Serenity of Madness

Also on AO3. Pairing: Gaara/Sakura. Summary: He knew it. Or rather, something inside of him knew it. Some primal instinct drove him. And suddenly, everything was very clear: she was his. GaaSaku canonish. Prompt: Soulmate. Rated: M. Words: 3,805. Status: Complete. Author note: I wanted to do one of the other prompts since nobody else was doing them but... when the muse has to muse there’s nothing else to be done. Enjoy. ^_^

Warnings/tags: Mention of prior SasuSaku. Angst with a happy ending. Implied sexual content.

This is for week 3 of the @gaasaku-fanfests prompts. The rest are coming, I promise. :)

.:.

“One look at you my heart is filled with happiness, it’s the closest thing to magic I know.” ― Kensie Lawson

He had no idea what he was doing. It was pure instinct that took over and Gaara felt his way through the entire experience. There was a connection between them. A pull that both had either ignored or dismissed for years as simply attraction or madness. But he was no longer in denial, and when he finally pushed inside of her, everything suddenly became clear. She was his.

There was a fine line between serenity and madness. And inside that tumultuous place, lay glorious confusion and hedonism of the highest quality. Acceptance. Desire. Pain. Eternity. Rebirth.

Gaara felt it when he still housed Shukaku. It was his one constant in life, this promise of pain and death. He subsisted off of it for years. It twisted its claws, sinking inside of him until there was very little left of what he called human. But it was a madness he’d come to understand and grudgingly accept. Not that he had a choice, but the alternative was ugly to say the least. Full madness, a lifetime stuck in the Shukaku form: this was what the tanuki had been aiming for. Gaara didn’t know if it was the nature of the seal used to house the tailed beast in him or his own weakness, but if it hadn’t been for Naruto, and then the onslaught of kindness from others in his life, this capitulation might well have become his reality.

This wasn’t what bothered him.

No, there was a different madness to dissect now. And it felt nothing like anything he’d ever known before. The madness of wanting someone so badly he’d gladly return to the bloodlust and insanity of his past in order to have her all to himself. A feeling so alien to him he didn’t know where to begin with understanding it. It filled his heart and thoughts and unlike the insanity that ruled his youth, this one might very well kill him.

This madness came with peace as well as chaos. His entire being violently trembled at the idea of actually being at peace. He’d known it and it was the goal of every professional aspect of his life. But Gaara had never thought, even for once, that his personal life would hold anything other than dear friends and beloved family. It was all he needed, though he craved for something… more.

He just hadn’t realised until recently. And of all people, it was her. It all came to a head that night weeks ago.

They’d been flirting with each other over Sake, but not getting drunk. Gaara realised, in hindsight, that it had been silently understood they were going to have sex that night. And while sober. So, they drank, albeit slowly, while complimenting each other and hanging on the other person’s word. He’d enquired about her day-to-day duties in the Konoha hospital and innocently mentioned that the Suna hospital could learn a lot from her.

Sakura had reciprocated by asking about his duty and how it had brought him to the hidden leaf, following up with how she’d love to teach the Suna ninja how to heal properly; the latter literally purring its way out of her mouth while she stroked his biceps.

Gaara knew there was something between them, even as he’d ignored her and pretended nothing was amiss. It was easy to do, since they lived in different villages, and he had been viewed as a monster for so long. Not to mention that, according to the grape vine, she was still infatuated with the Uchiha. The one with the hateful eyes. Even a slightly tipsy Sakura coming onto Gaara hadn’t persuaded him that she really wanted to explore him. Or the bond between them.

It was her birthday celebration, and he was easy to push into spending an inordinate amount of time with her. Especially after their previous interaction.

But now, a month later, he couldn’t tell if it had been a good or bad thing that they’d fallen into bed together. Both of them were suffering for ignoring each other. She smiled so sweetly, so brightly, but he saw through it. The woman he’d taken to bed, given his body to when no other had ever seen it, missed him.

Something told him it was true, but he had no idea how he knew.

Gaara shifted slightly and the beams of sunlight passing through the tops of the nearby tree flickered over the ground twelve feet away from him, releasing his eyes from the blinding light of the sun. Impediment gone he was now free to stare at the bane of his madness from his hiding place. The Konoha breeze did not make him shiver. The afternoon was barely a flicker in the peripherals of his awareness. No, the slight tremble of his body came from her.

He watched her smile and laugh as Naruto regaled her with some story, both of them exhausted from sparring. The smile did not reach her eyes, but she was otherwise carefree, unknowing of the anguish in his own heart. She was the very picture of health and happiness. It didn’t bother him. No matter how many times he told himself it did.

It had all started four months ago on his birthday, when Gaara had kissed the object of his affections and proceeded to make out with her for over an hour before she left him behind. Confused and too drunk to know any better, he’d gone home sombre and yet oddly happy. Gaara woke up the next morning with his very first hangover and a symbol on his chest he’d never seen before. He’d never been marked by anything other than Shukaku. Nothing permanent, anyway. But that morning had been jarring. Where the hell had it come from?

It looked like a black cord wrapped in the shape of a stereotypical heart. Which only made him laugh.

‘Love’ on my forehead and ‘heart’ on my chest.

Still, it gave no answers, and he would remain ignorant until the morning after Sakura’s birthday, three months later. He’d woken naked, in a bed that wasn’t his own, and marked all over. They were bite marks, made from human teeth.

Belonging to one Sakura Haruno.

The very pinkette who’d been sleeping peacefully next to him in said bed, also naked. He couldn’t fathom it. There was something strange stirring inside of him, like pain but not pain. And that was also a first. The pleasure of merely being in her presence clouded' his confusion and frustration.

Three months before, Gaara had woken with a strange mark on his skin. The same mark that was now on her.

He didn’t understand it. It scared and excited him, and he wasn’t used to this feeling. So, he fled.

The melodic sound of her laughter reached him and Gaara looked over at her once more. Her hand on Naruto’s shoulder. Soothing. Stroking. Now gripping tightly. Her smile turned up toward him as he returned it, oblivious to the lack of warmth in hers.

Gaara’s heart clenched, and his stomach burned with anger. He was jealous, he knew it. But she wasn’t his. He had no right to claim any kind of ownership over her. It also wouldn’t go over well if he stormed over to the training ground and demanded she remove her hand from her old friend.

He clenched his fists at the arrival of a new chakra. This was someone who actually was a threat to the feelings that had bubbled up inside of Gaara. The Uchiha was her former flame. Someone she actually had a romantic connection with. The man didn’t look at the redhead, but he stepped up next to him, like he was about to invite him to lunch with the team.

Gaara didn’t want anything to do with him, and Sasuke knew it.

“You pity me.”

He’d accused the Uchiha of this and more, the last time they spoke. But he knew now it wasn’t true.

“No.”

Gaara hadn’t believed him.

“She doesn’t want me.”

What a self-indulgent thought.

“How do you figure?”

Sakura had left him behind in Suna after they’d made out. Then Gaara had run out on her the morning after their tryst. But he had had no intention of telling the Uchiha that.

“She hasn’t approached me.”

That had earned him a scoff.

“And you haven’t approached her.”

What did Sasuke want from him?

“Stop pretending you don’t want her. She’s had enough heartache.”

It was true. Gaara turned his head to look at Sasuke, who muttered, “coward” before flash stepping quickly away from him, reappearing beside Sakura and Naruto. They greeted him and the redhead watched as the pinkette cocked her head to the side, like she was assessing something other than her teammate.

Before she could sense him, Gaara did the only thing he knew to do in this situation.

He fled. Again.

.:.

The deeper he thrust into her the hazier her vision became. Sakura could admit she was falling. The thought that she had never fucked anyone so hard, or been taken so thoroughly, before entered her head. When she eventually came down from her high, she would realise how weird that sounded, since Gaara was her first. And then it would put everything that had happened to her before today in focus. All the failed relationships as she tried to escape her fate. But she was never destined to win that war. Until Gaara decided to reach over and kiss her, reigniting her desire for him. Every single, sinful inch of him.

They were both idiots. Sakura could barely believe she’d let it go this far. Who in their right mind denied themselves something (or someone) that made them happy?

Idiots.

She sensed as Gaara left, the emptiness of his chakra and warmth leaving her shivering in the cool air. She barely reacted to Sasuke but plastered a smile to her face as he arrived, approaching her tentatively. He knew. She wasn’t happy. The bastard could see right through her. She tried not to pay attention to the fact that Sasuke had been standing next to Gaara before teleporting over to them. The insolent child in her would not run after the redhead. She would wait for him. She was tired of always being the one to instigate her relationships. Of confessing to empty air. And of only being approached by men she had no interest in.

The night of Gaara’s party in Suna was an eye opener. Something was pulling them together. It drew her to him and then exploded on contact when they kissed for the first time. This was unlike anything she’d felt with Sasuke. Kissing Sasuke had felt wrong. And trying to go further with her teammate had sent the raven-haired man to the hospital. They didn’t talk about it afterward, how he he’d suddenly doubled over, other than his one line of “it was you” to her. Like she’d done it to him.

So, when she found herself attracted to Gaara at his party she decided to test if she was indeed the problem. The ensuing kiss had knocked her socks off. Figuratively. It was so much better than the awkward touch of lips she’d previously experienced, and this time she didn’t feel weird and sick to her stomach afterwards. It was slow and deliberate and warm. She fell into him and lost track of time, making out with the only man who’d made her feel things. Good things. Comfortable and exciting things.

And when she came to the realisation of what had happened, it scared her. What was this pull between them? The night of her own party had ripped the curtain away completely and irrevocably. She wanted him. Desperately. He’d been her first, and she’d heard about how awkward it was going to be. Sakura had prepared for it. But there was something… different about the way they came together, like the universe had said, “hey, I know you two are supposed to suck at this thing you’ve never done, but I’m going to make it so incredibly fucking good that you feel like you’ve been fucking each other for years”.

It felt right, and effortless, and powerful all at the same time. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Either way, reality had hit her when she woke up the next morning, alone. He’d abandoned her and then spent the rest of her Suna visit pretending nothing had happened. But through the ache of her heart, she could tell he didn’t think less of her. They had both been virgins. Perhaps the familiarity of each other had startled him too?

Or perhaps it’s that weird mark.

The one she’d seen on his chest as she rode him to completion, tracing her fingers over it as he hummed and came inside her. The same mark that had inexplicably appeared on her chest the next morning, right between her breasts. She’d freaked out, thinking he’d done it to her. Sakura spent over an hour fuming about it before deflating. The damn thing wasn’t red and raw like a new tattoo would be. And if she didn’t know any better, Sakura would believe it had always been there. But it was impossible, no matter how much her heart warmed at the idea. No matter how much a voice in the back of her head told her it was true. It was terrifying, so she’d put off researching the mark out of fear of what her heart was already telling her.

Something that, if she wasn’t so scared of the answer, she’d have looked up by now.

“Sakura-chan, you coming?”

Sakura cocked her head to the side. Sasuke gave her a knowing look and she realised Naruto had just invited her to Ichiraku’s. But she didn’t have the constitution for that right now.

“No,” she said. “I’ll see you two later.”

Naruto’s smile was also forced. He wasn’t a complete idiot. Something had been bothering her for months and all three of them knew it. She gripped his shoulder tightly then trailed her hand down his arm absentmindedly and promised to pay for his lunch next time, to get him to let her go without complaint. She avoided Sasuke’s questioning gaze and left, returning to her apartment. She wasn’t sulking, not really, just feeling morose. She had no idea how to lessen the aching in her heart. Nothing other than storming over to the V.I.P rooms where the Sunagakure delegation were staying and just staking her claim on Gaara.

No, never again.

She was not a doormat.

Instead, Sakura put on some music as she made herself some Taco rice. It reminded her of when she was a kid, and she hated the stuff. There were a lot of things that she once hated but now loved. Like hiking through the forests surrounding Konoha. And dining alone. She relished solitude more than anything lately, but rarely partook given her responsibilities around the village. It wasn’t just her shifts at the hospital, but all of the friends she’d made over the years as well as the civilians would seem to flock to her on market day, to greet her. She was so well known and rarely found time for herself. But despite the fact that she craved it, it wasn’t a bother.

She would be alone at night, when everyone else had gone to bed and she could finally feel free to dance with herself.

Sakura closed her eyes, moving slowly to the sound of the music, forcing herself not to think. It felt so serene, so freeing, and enticing. Her breath deepened and for the first time in months, she felt herself just give into something other than sheer panic. The music throbbed through her, and she pictured, in her mind’s eye, Gaara’s hands on her body as they danced together. He was warm and gentle, his breath in her ear as he pulled them close. Eventually, she would begin rubbing her hands over his back and his body would respond as he grew hard against her.

Daydreaming and ignorance had become a part of her daily routine.

Sakura stopped dancing and opened her eyes to the emptiness of her apartment.

Had she truly given up on love? Sasuke was her focus for so long. The fact that her heart had replaced him so easily and quickly scared her. It wasn’t about Gaara, not really. He was a good man, and she had no qualms about letting him into her life. No. This was about her.

She sighed and pushed the thought away. She was supposed to be relaxing. But the contemplation of what she could have wouldn’t go away. She knew it was true: she loved him. And she’d seen the looks on his face, no matter how fast he ran from her: the Kazekage loved her too. There were so many questions swirling in her head. Why now? How had it happened? And what were they supposed to do now?

What the fuck is that mark?

Sakura would have to face it eventually, and search Konoha’s archives in the hope that someone, somewhere, knew what she was going through. Sakura had access to much more information than people knew. Being the protegee of the fifth Hokage, the former student of the sixth, and teammate of the future Seventh had its benefits. So, what was stopping her?

“Sakura…”

His voice was embedded in her brain, and she felt the warmth and peace surround her. She felt the heat of his gaze whenever he visited Konoha. It was constant and powerful. It left her aching with need. An itch that nobody but him could scratch. One that she tried to alleviate on her own, but her hand could only do so much against the raging fire he’d ignited in her.

Sakura was intelligent. Everyone knew that. Apart from Shikamaru, she was the smartest of the Konoha 12. Some might even say she could give him a run for his money. But she’d spent so much time fangirling over Sasuke until her skills were funnelled into her training with Tsunade. It took intelligence, control, and perseverance to become a medic, let alone a combat medic that would one day surpass the Sanin.

She’d survived on being able to assess and predict her opponent.

But she had not figured him out. She did not see him coming.

.:.

It happened almost immediately as they grasped each other. The implosion of their bond. The coming together of every inch of them, awakening something deep within them that neither knew existed. A magnetism they could no longer ignore. It made no sense, but neither were cognizant enough to care. They just continued to hold each other as he thrusted and she could never have let go, even if she wanted to.

“You’re here.”

He just stared at her. Sakura was in the middle of trying to decide between satisfying her ache and having a cold shower when she felt his chakra approach her apartment. She stood still, like a deer caught in the glare of a Light Release Jutsu, unable to comprehend what was happening. When he’d knocked, her body moved instinctively and by the time she blinked heavily to disperse the haze of her confusion, he was looking right at her.

Gaara moved forward and she backed away as he closed the door behind him. Had she invited him in? She didn’t remember. There was a rushing of sound in her ears, blocking out her awareness and hearing. It was her nerves. As much as she wanted him to come to her first, she hadn’t devised a plan on how to deal with him if he did it. Sakura had been failing, on multiple fronts, to predict both her heart and the actions of the man before her. This wasn’t like her. She needed to get a grip.

But as he stared at her hungrily, his eyes travelling over her body, her breathing deepened in anticipation and all she could do was focus on the way his body was reacting. His longing gaze, the way he stood as if he towered over her instead of being mere inches taller. His sheer intensity. His gaze always affected her, even before she knew she wanted him.

It felt like he was viscerally ripping her apart but instead of pain, she felt contentment. Like no matter what he did to her now, it was what she wanted all along. Overwhelming happiness and completion. It was so corny that in any other frame of mind, Sakura might have laughed out loud at the thought. But they’d bonded. Whatever that meant.

Had sex.

Yes. Whatever it was, it had always been a hum in the back of her mind, a tug on her heart; but now it was screaming in her head. And far from being frustrated or annoyed, Sakura just wanted to run into his arms and complete them once more.

Gaara moved to her the same moment she stepped toward him. She panted, he growled. And they came together like crashing waves, neither knowing why or how it happened. Words failed them. It was purely instinct as they kissed, parched and aching; the throbbing pulsing through them both as they gave into it. Finally. Wholly and completely.

Sakura bit his bottom lip and didn’t hesitate to devour him as he gasped at the feeling. She sighed and pressed her body against his, never releasing her death grip on him. Every touch, every brush of the skin, and breath was electric.

Their clothes were no longer necessary. Touch over bare skin as they memorised each other’s body was the only thing they needed now. Gasps and pants echoed through the one-bedroom apartment, no words. They didn’t need to tell each other how they wanted it. Something deep inside of them had already known. It felt like they’d been doing this for centuries. Forever. The waves crashed over and over again as they fell into each other completely, connected.

There was only awareness of sensations, not of the meaning. They could figure that out later. And when it’s all over, when the dust was settled, they would talk. Gaara had come to talk. But this thing… whatever it was, could not be denied, and he was done doing so. He felt feral as he poured himself into her. He was done. They were intertwined. They’d irrevocably fucked themselves over. Somewhere inside of him he recognised that this was both inevitable and chaotic. But there was also the sense that they’d postponed something far worse.

The ache of eternal loneliness. There was no going back now.

.:.

#GaaSaku #gaasaku-fanfests #2021 GaaSaku Events #Soulmate #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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organic-guacamole · 3 years ago

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episode 210 here we go

awww seb doing the intro

congratulations to milky white and her baby chocolate milk😌

seb is so funny

but seriously, clean up that milk fast or else it will smell so bad in there....

was that Lauryn just randomly doing cartwheels? idk any theatre kids irl but that seems like it's a common thing...

is it just me or has ms Jenn been getting more harsh to Ricky and Seb mainly-

like what did they do to her

no because I actually snorted with laughter at the "you came back" WHAT IS THAT VOICE-

AND THE MASK OMG

yeah so my throat hurts now

I'm dying over here

KOURTNEY'S FACE

SAME GIRL SAME

Ricky's fake death got the whole place in tears /s

he looks like an asthmatic walrus

Seb's on piano, I love

we all know if he was the beast we'd all actually be crying✋

ok but I listen to Julia's version of home on Spotify when I want to cry-

right so gimme a second

is Ricky scratching his face.....while he's dying?

"belle i-" *flop*

round of applause to Ashlyn for trying to make Ricky's earthworm seizure look less.... yknow

Kourtney's just dying there

WAIT IS THAT NATALIE

did she really just disappear for 9 episodes just to come back and stare dramatically into the camera

WAIT SCRATCH THAT SHES HERE TO MURDER ASHLYN AND RICKY

oh so Ricky's wearing a gay shirt now too

so that's the real reason why Rini broke up, see y'all next season when Gini and caswen become canon /j

wait that was a long intro scene-

what was that look Carlos-

TALK TO MY BOY OR ELSE

carlos' run is so funny to me

therapist Ashlyn to the rescue

"that is...super" son you good?

ms Jenn call Benjamin, he would willingly put his loved ones on a rocket and blast them into Venus for you....

maybe

"I don't want you kids to be disappointed" girl you do realise you're the one that's most invested in this?

"a smooth opening night" wasn't there just 1 show though-

like their opening night was closing night too

"I think I was Troy at one point" PLEASE THATS THE MOST ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF THE SEASON 1 FINALE

me Jenn looks like a serial killer during that clap and I'm lowkey scared for zacky

"I have notes"

oo if you're taking suggestions, lemme get my list

"mother is freaking out" uhhhhhh

right....'mother"

"is everyone sitting down?"

*looks around awkwardly*

*big red slowly sits*

"no..."

please seb was the only one sitting-

does that mean Carlos looked at Seb as soon as he walked in and assumed that everyone else was sitting too or am I a seblos clown🤡

"is this about the transformation"

WOW MAYBE OT IS RICKY

WOW HES A DETECTIVE FOR FIGURING THAT OUT SO QUICK🤩

YO WHY IS NATALIE HERE-

she just shows up when it's convenient? is she gonna be at the sleepover too?

Seb's heavy swallow after Carlos shouts at him makes me so sad

"I never learned how to lie but I figure if I keep my mouth closed, I can't tell the truth" *nods and smiles at Nini when she asks*

why are they casually standing up all over the pizza shop, just sit at a big table and talk instead of blocking passageways and blocking off at least 6 tables-

"how about I invite myself" WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS FEEL THE NEED TO INVITE THEMSELVES TO ASHLYN'S HOUSE-

YOU CAN ASK BUT JUST FORCE YOUR WAY IN?

so Cash Caswell has a bigger house than... Dennis Caswell.... who would've thought

ah yes there's the good old EJ 1.0

Nini: "boys vs girls"

Gina: *looks devastated and glances longingly at EJ*

way to be inconspicuous

"but north high should be" *cracks her knuckles in the most uncomfortable way*

good for Ashlyn for getting more confident though

oo bossy big red

"i get bossy around the power tools"

is that why Ashlyn was holding up the drill in episode 8 orrrr 🤠

Lily, leave him alone please

she's literally not blinking, is that what makes her creepy?

the diss at big red and his face afterwards is priceless

isn't that similar to what Gina's mom said to her in season 1? hmmmm

but seriously please don't try to redeem lily, let us have a character to hate, or to love because they're evil.

not everyone's a good guy.

"im not liked here and I don't know what to do"

let antoine finish his salad and it'll fix everything

"hug emoji" *gags*

y'all realize Lily's literally 14?

why is she calling a 16/17 year old from another school for personal advice-

"he gets weird around tools"

I shouldn't be laughing so hard

"deja vu maybe?" awkward silence

I'm dying here I love EJ so so so so much

"where's seb"

*cuts to seb being held hostage hoping that they'd notice he's missing and go look for him*

"don't ask"

"oh ok"

"100% real faux fur" as you should queen