#my arm is reached out / i am here / i'll crush every doubt / and every fear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

Text

I Wanna Be Your Slave

A/N: Here’s the next requested fic from my Dirty Little Secret – Super Kinky List! In which you and Jax are locked in a cellar and he ties you to a whipping post and whips your ass lol. Master/slave roleplay but in this fic (unlike some of my other Kinkfest fics...) Jax is actually a good guy not an absolute asshole. Title is inspired by the Måneskin song at the below link! **Please note the warnings: This fic is all about the kinks, please do not read if this is not your thing!!**

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, light choking, degradation, dom!Jax, bondage, master/slave kink, spanking, whipping Request: This Dirty Little Secret request (anon)

Word Count: ~3.8k

Note: As explained in this post, this ‘Dirty Little Secret’ series consists of fics that I had originally written for another character/celebrity, which I’m repurposing for characters of Charlie! So if the characterization ever seems a little off please don’t judge me too harshly 🙂 ALSO note that this fic is just straight up shitty – I wrote most of it years ago without giving a fuck and am not bothering with improving the quality, I sort of used to rhyme back then but not consistently so it’s a shitshow really, I’m just shoving Jax into the setup for this fic with zero context literally, and I realize that the kinks in this fic are totally not mainstream and super filthy, so for once it’s really refreshing that I’m not gonna be sitting around hoping that people will shower my writing with praises or that this fic will explode in popularity 🙃

**Please note warnings above**

Triggering content after ‘Keep reading’ cut…

***************

You're trapped in a cellar.

With Jax Fucking Teller.

There's a whole fucking story behind how the two of you got here—some shit involving stolen guns, some rival gang that hates the Sons, your father being all politically significant and powerful enough that you're now being held as ransom—and honestly you should be crippled with fear. But this tall blonde bastard is so fucking handsome. You've been crushing on him for years. And nothing else matters right now when you're so fucking horny for him that you're damn near to tears.

He looks and smells goddamn divine. You know that's not the kind of thought that should be running through your mind. Not here, stricken with fear for your safety. It's crazy. But losing yourself in desire for Jax just feels... fucking unreal. So damn good. Better than it should. It's comforting, or something. Dangerously comforting. In his presence, you don't even care if it doesn't make sense.

Ever since you got stuck in this mess, you've been clinging to him in the darkness. Clutching his flannel-clad arms in a tight grasp which quickly turns into a desperate caress. Through the cloth you can feel the incredible bulge of his biceps and God it's just...

"It's okay, darlin'," he says. Shifts to give you the comfort you crave as you bury your face in his broad sculpted chest. Presence warming and calming. Even after what's happened this morning, you somehow feel safe in the arms of the crown prince of Charming. It's totally fucked to be honest. "Hey, I'll get us out of this. Promise."

The silent answer in your head is beyond shameless. But here with your cheek pressed against his firm pecs... shuddering in bliss as you breathe in his mouthwatering manly essence... flooding between your legs, 'cause he is pure fucking sex... you could honestly just live and die in this man's godlike presence. You bite your tongue to fight the shit you really want to say, keeping it back. Please don't, Jax... don't get us out of this—I want to stay...

Neither of you has any clue yet that you're bound to serve Jax Teller in this cellar as his filthy little slave today.

With one hand still gripping his strong upper arm you reach up with the other, wrapping it over his leather-bound shoulder, clasping at the back of his neck and clinging to his strong sturdy body like ivy to brick. You can feel a faint layer of sweat on his neck that you're instantly dying to lick.

Your senses are reeling. Here, with him as you give voice to a wild irrational fear, you can't deny that dread isn't the only thing you're feeling. You'll take life-threatening danger if it comes with the reward of you and Jax fucking. "... are they gonna sell us as sex slaves or something?"

The hottest sound you've ever heard bursts softly from his throat. It's low and quiet, caught between a breathy laugh and breathless groan. You bite down on your lip then to stifle your own slutty moan. His bright blue eyes meet yours and you can feel the heat burning beneath, and from the way his tongue traces along the edges of his teeth, you can tell the answer to your question is no.

That's not the answer you want, though. It's precious that Jax doesn't already know. Some part of him probably does but hell if it won't take a little more for him to let it show.

You're gonna give him more than just a little more.

With a bat of your lashes, your flirtiest dirtiest smile flashes; you drop to your knees before him like a whore.

"Oh f—" he mutter, too shocked to even utter the full curse, sapphire eyes wide in wonder, "what are..."

"Practice," you purr as you lick your lips, eager hands framing his hips. "If I'm gonna be a sex slave then I think I should practice performing... service..."

Jax sucks in a sharp hiss as you bury your face in the crotch of his jeans, massaging his dick through the denim with your doting mouth till he's harder than he's ever been.

"Practice makes... perfect, doesn't it?" you say as you savor the smell and the feel of his meat. Good enough to eat. "Though you already are, Jax. Every inch of you is perfect. That's a hard fucking fact."

Jax throws his head back, huge cock throbbing with a luscious twitch. "Son of a bitch..."

"Mmm, make me your bitch, Jax. Please. I wanna be your slave. Serve you in every way. It's what the slut inside me needs... and craves..." you shamelessly confess as your hands set to work on his fly to unleash the glory of Jax Teller. "Nothing else even matters today. We're here now all alone together, in this shady little cellar..."

When his cock springs free you could swear that this piece of meat is your entire life's purpose. All set to be worshiped and serviced, because his delicious existence demands and deserves it. He's so. Fucking. Perfect.

You gaze up at his gorgeous face as you melt in his presence, and finish your sentence. "... so let's make it fucking worth it."

***************

The first order you take from Jax Teller, as he finally falls into his role as your master right here in this cellar... is to get your filthy hands off of his dick. You are not to touch it till you've fucking earned it. Like a dog, like the bitch that you are, he tells you to just sit.

To stay down on your knees and to not move an inch, not even turn your head as he strides toward the far wall behind you, brutally keeping his beautiful self beyond your field of vision for a minute.

You bite your lip, listening to the footsteps and movements that he won't let you witness. Rustling noises. You hope that he's stripping off his stupid clothes. That when you see him next, he'll be towering over you gorgeously naked.

And God yes, he is, when he returns at last to stand before his bitch. You groan in sheer bliss as your awestruck eyes try to take in every last flawless inch of his smooth, glowing skin. There is just... too much perfection. You couldn't even process the divine glory of Jax in a whole damn lifetime, let alone one split second.

Hypnotized though you are by him, your gaze then shifts to notice what he's holding, and... holy shit. Apparently he hadn't gone to the far wall just to undress.

He had taken stock of the supplies and other items stored down in this shady cellar and he has returned bearing gifts: a coil of rope, long and thick, and a wicked-looking leather whip.

"Like what you see, huh?" he taunts, no doubt referring to both his new toys and his nude body, especially his dick. "Kinky little bitch. Now get up and strip."

"Yes, Master," you blurt out, rising to your feet, hastening to obey his order.

"Bad slave. You are not to speak until I say you can," Jax commands, taking a deliberate step toward you. With both rope and whip clutched in one fist, he reaches to cup your chin with his other hand. "Do you fucking understand?"

Fighting your burning urge to scream yes sir, somehow you keep your lips sealed and just nod your head.

Jax's blazing blue gaze devours your face as his fingers descend to frame your jawbone, then to close around your throat. "That's a good slut. Keep that dirty mouth shut. Or else you're gonna suffer some serious punishment."

Fuck—hearing him talk like this, while he strangles your neck in his dominant fist, is too much. You've become a trembling mess beneath his touch.

"Mmm, look at you shaking. Desperate piece of shit. I'm starting to think that maybe punishment…" he whispers in your ear as he tightens his grip around your neck, "...is what you fucking want."

Oh God, your inner voice grunts, struggling not to say it aloud. In the most painfully perfect way, the fact that he's choking you now actually makes it easier to stay silent.

His husky growl and twisted words are sending waves of pleasure through your body, hitting all the spots you never knew you had and soaking up your cunt.

"Yeah, you're begging for it. Already ignoring your master's orders. Disobedient bitch," he scoffs, shoving you up against a nearby wall, his every movement rough and quick. "Didn't I tell you to strip?"

Before you can even manage to nod at him, still just staring, Jax's hand drops from your neck down to the fabric of the fancy buttoned cardigan you're wearing. Your daddy is rich, so you typically dress like a spoiled little bitch.

"Need me to show you how to do it? You that fucking stupid?" he sneers, suddenly yanking it off you with just a few effortless jerks of his wrist. "Now take off the rest. And then go stand against that beam. Hands on the wood, head down, with your ass facing me."

Jax steps away, sharp blue glare dark and daunting as he watches his slave scurry to obey. In a matter of seconds, your clothes and shoes have been flung off, and you practically throw yourself against the wooden beam, grabbing the jagged surface desperately, wincing as the splinters graze your fingers. Even that sharp little sting feels good, because this is what Jax wanted.

You keep your head bent low, bowed submissively per your master's orders, breathing shallow as you feel his presence coming toward you from behind, steady and slow. A gasp slips past your throat when you feel his calloused hands upon your wrists, binding your hands to the beam with the thick, heavy rope. The knots securing you in place are strong and tight, expertly tied. This must not be his first time doing this, you realize, beyond turned on by his well-practiced dominance. By just what a masterful master he is.

"Mmm. You look so fucking pretty like this," he rasps, leaning over your body with his massive cock grinding into your ass, sliding against the crack so that you can feel the tip of it, swollen and wet, hovering over the small of your back. One of his hands tugs at your hair, arching your neck backward a bit as his lips attack the soft skin of your throat in a harsh, biting kiss. "Beautiful baby girl, all bound up naked and aching to be punished. You gonna take it? Good and hard, just like the slave you know you are? Gonna be a good little bitch?"

His hot mouth teases at the corner of your lips, knowing how badly you want to kiss him, to taste him, fucking torturing you with it. Though his firm grip on your hair is anchoring your head right where he pleases, you're sure that he can feel the way you struggle now to bob it up and down, to give him your wholehearted yes.

"Yeah, that's it. Ever done this before, you dirty whore? This sweet ass ever taken a beating?"

You're not quite sure how to answer that—certain guys from your past have given your ass a few smacks, here and there, when you asked... but you don't know if that kind of thing really counts as a beating. The dynamic with them was never nearly as brutal and degrading. And they had only ever used their hands; no toys or torture instruments.

"Can't even answer the question? Dumb little bitch," Jax snickers as his face moves away from your neck, standing to his full height behind you, then stepping back so that his dick is no longer brushing against your crack, leaving you feeling emptier than ever at his absence. "Not that it matters. 'Cause I'm sure you ain't ever been beaten like this."

Ohhh shit, you think, inhaling through your teeth with a loud hiss as you feel the first soft touch of leather on your skin, his wicked fucking whip. For now he is just devilishly teasing you with it, tracing lines down your back with the tip.

"This what you want, slut? Gonna need to hear you beg for it," he orders, his other hand still tangled in your hair, pulling your skull more sharply back. "Go on. Open that filthy fucking mouth and tell me what you want."

"Thank you, Master," you whimper, letting all your shameless words fall out. "I want you. God, I want you to beat me. Hurt me. Please. I want pain, if it will bring you pleasure, sir. I want my punishment."

"Mmmmn," Jax growls, clearly incredibly aroused, and you could seriously cum just from that sound. "Bet you do, bitch. Let's see just how bad you want it, huh? See how wet you've gotten. Needy little cunt."

You've already been dripping now, for more minutes than you can count. The next sound you hear is a soft thud, which you're guessing is the whip having been cast down to the ground. Jax needs his right hand free to start going to town on your pussy.

The words that have just come out of his mouth, coupled with the feeling of his fingers making contact with your slick mound, sliding over your clit, slipping into your slit and stirring you up, swirling your wet heat around, then plunging three digits in knuckles deep, pushing in and back out slowly first before he starts to fucking pound... this just brings all the walls inside you crashing down. Floodgates in you burst open on the instant as your arousal uncontrollably gushes out. It's killing you to stay silent through all of this, but you don't dare disobey his orders, don't dare make a sound.

"Holy fuuuck," Jax grunts as he pulls his hand off of your cunt. "So wet. Tight pussy squirting all over your master. Such a dirty fucking slut."

He reaches over you to shove his sloppy, sticky fingers in your mouth, your cheek pressing against the wooden beam, as you obediently suck them clean. You're not usually one to enjoy your own flavor that much, but fuck, it tastes better than ever now that you are being fed by him, the sex god of your dreams.

Then as soon as his fingers pull out, he leans in and angles your head toward him so that he can kiss your mouth, and holy—wow.

You know right away that you could never get enough of the feel of his full, luscious lips against yours, the taste of his talented tongue as it fucking invades and explores. He hums and groans into the kiss, sending resonant vibrations of his dominance down your throat and all over your mouth, and damn, you kind of really want to die right now.

But you don't. Of course, not yet. More than anything you're still desperate for your punishment.

"Fucking perfect little slave," Jax snarls as he pulls away, and you can hear him squatting down behind you to pick up his whip.

Before he does, while he's down there on his haunches, he takes the chance to manhandle your ass cheeks, groping firmly and then biting down on one of them, pausing to admire the mark that he made on your flesh with his ravenous teeth, then giving that spot a wet, open-mouthed kiss, and finally a sharp, stinging slap. Your knees buckle from how much you fucking liked that.

"Slut," he chuckles as he gives that cheek a few more smacks, each harder than the last. He makes sure to give the same sweet kinky treatment to the other cheek, biting and kissing then spanking both halves with his big, sturdy hands before he finally picks up his whip, one palm still groping your ass as he stands.

"Ready to feel this whip lashing your pretty little ass?" Jax dominantly asks. "Tell me, slave. How many do you want."

You're so blissed out right now that you barely have control over your lolling tongue. "Uh... uh—a lot."

"That's not a number, slut. Give me a number you can fucking count."

"Ughhhh..." you groan out as he trails the strip of leather wickedly against your ass, "...umm, a hundred?"

A soft laugh escapes his throat. "That's cute. You must be new to this, darlin'. I'm not about to beat you dead."

Some part of you right now kind of likes the sound of that. Which is maybe... sort of... bad? Jax is still talking, so for better or for worse, you don't have time to dwell on that.

"I can do a hundred. But only if each one is... weak... and soft..." he tells you, bending over your body to press his lips against your face again, kissing your cheek, tender and sweet. "Is that what you want? Or does this filthy bitch want it hard?"

His mouth has descended to bite down on your neck as he says it, causing you to cry out in bliss. "Fuck yes, please—hard!"

Jax huffs out another sexy little laugh. "That's what I fucking thought. I'm gonna give you ten to start," he offers, leaving wet kisses on the smooth skin that he'd bitten. "Ten nice and hard. That sound good, baby girl? And you just tell me if you want more. Or... if it's too much, if you ever want me to lighten up, or stop—"

"I won't," you blurt out. "God, Jax, I want... I need you to just fucking beat my ass off."

"Mmmn. Babe, you are fucking amazing, you know that?" he growls, fondly nuzzling your neck for a second before he pulls back, standing behind you, with his rock hard cock once again hovering over your crack. "But Jax ain't my name right now. Is it. What do you call me, slut."

You cringe at your own unforgivable error. "Master. I'm so sorry, sir."

"Yeah, you better be, bitch," he snarls, as the whip that has been gliding delicately over your body suddenly lifts away from your skin. "Fucking take it."

Holy—fucking—shit. The sharp, searing pain that you feel in that instant is so goddamn perfect. Electric, explosive, exquisite. Everything Jax is. Your life as you know it is finished; you live only to serve and to worship this god of a man who deals out such sweet punishment. You love it. You love him.

The rugged velvet sound of his voice in this moment just deepens your love for him, heightens your pleasure. "Count 'em for me, whore," he orders ruthlessly. "Want more?"

"One... Thank you, sir," you sigh, hazy from the incredible high. "Please, Master. More."

For a hell of a long time, Jax gives you everything you beg him for. And every second of the pleasurable pain is so damn dirty, so damn pure, completely perfect. But you both know that, given what a desperate slut and dedicated slave you are, you will literally never want him to stop. So Jax is the one who hits pause, when he decides he should.

You never wanted it to end, but this is what your master wants—so as much as it saddens you, still you just give in, and still it feels good.

"Damn, baby," he breathes, dropping the whip, gently kneading your ass as he leans down to leave a trail of kisses up your spine with his soft, sinful lips. "Guess I should've known better than to ask you for a number. Such a good little slave. But we're gonna stop here, okay?"

"Yes, Master," you whisper.

"You know why we're gonna stop?" he teases as his mouth reaches the back of your neck. "It's not just because I'm done with beating you. Nah, the real reason is that... there's something even better I've been dying to do."

Part of you already knows what it is. And all of you wants it. Needs it.

Jax tilts your head to claim your mouth in a kiss, as his huge dick aligns with your soaking wet slit. "Mmmn. That's it, bitch," he moans into your lips. "Gonna fucking fuck you."

Every damn thing about Jax Teller is literally magic. So, as his massive cock basically breaks your body in half, as his heavy balls slap up against your cunt with each ferocious thrust so hard and fast, as his dominant hands grope and grab all over your just beaten ass... every inch of you feels so damn blessed upon contact.

You can't imagine any better way to recover from your punishment. Not that you ever really want to recover from it—mostly you just want more and more of it—but no matter what you want, healing is what you need.

And Jax heals just as well as he hurts. Even better, in fact.

Once he's done fucking your pussy rough and dirty, shooting his divine cum deep inside you just the way you beg him to, he unties your ropes and then spends the next hour or so kissing and caressing and cuddling with you, massaging your ravaged ass cheeks with his hands and mouth, taking you to heaven when that sweet mouth eats you out, and even when he lets you worship his cock the way you've been dying to do, even when he grabs your head and fucks your face before he explodes down your throat, even then it still feels like healing. You both really needed that feeling.

He lifts you up to kiss you, deep and slow, on the lips before you are even done swallowing his cum. You let yourself drown in that beautiful face, hoping that Jax knows how damn good he tastes. How perfect he is in every way. That he is a fucking god, that everyone on earth should kneel before him as his slave.

When the kiss finally ends, as you both try to catch your breath for a few seconds, the cold hard fact of your predicament sets in again.

"We should probably put some clothes on, babe," he says, coming down from the high of his sex-heated haze. "Then I've gotta work out a way to escape."

You can tell that Jax sincerely meant it, when he'd promised he would save you from this place, and you don't doubt it for a minute.

Still, there's no denying that you two are stuck in the middle of some serious deep shit. But after having experienced such punishment and pain and pleasure, such submission and service, such sex and love with Jax Teller, today down in this cellar—which you're pretty sure would not have happened under any other circumstances ever...

"Well," you sigh, breathing in his scent for what you hope won't have to be the final time before you die, "whatever happens next, Jax, this was..."

"Definitely," he cuts in to interrupt you with a few passionate kisses, then smiles down at you so devilishly it's delicious. So hellish it's heavenly. Finishes your sentence and it's just so fucking perfect. "Fucking worth it."

***************

… Sooo I know that was SUPER kinky shit, but I hope there are some filthy bitches who enjoyed it, and would love to hear if you did!! 😅❤️

– Main Masterlist

– Dirty Little Secret Masterlist

***************

Kinkfest Tag List – Join Here!*

*If you’re unable to use that link to join the tag list, just let me know and I’ll manually add you to it!

@itsme-autumn @rebelwrites @malethirsty @coffeequeenxx @turner-cris @innerpaperexpertcloud @est11 @magic-room @littlebennettwitchsblog @snow-white-74 @sunflower12335 @trishmarieofficial @got-to-love-a-badboy @thesimonkshow @noneofyourbusinessssblog @notquitecannon @travistheaussie @alexa-rae-dreamz @i-love-scott-mccall @band--psycho @helloheyhihowdyheya @beth-winchester21 @inlovewithcharliehunnam @amberembers @pedritomando @badboy86uk @scarletmeii @barbiewasacommunist @englishmuffinwritesbooks @addcrastinator3 @southrenlove @malikadnan77 @thesuicidalflower @gemini0410 @louisianalady @ravynfenyx @weasleytwins-41 @mariska0610 @zozebo @christycarnell6 @i-hav-no-life @labramusic01 @thatgirljayy @boredintheglade @guerra-e-paes @charliehunnamlove @rayslittlekitten @heyitskat101 @dilftony @velvetcardiganbucky @midnight-dreams-23 @celine-and-hafiz @romanreigns-supreme @synnersaint @writtingbyacrazyperson @norwegian-princess @itsmycorneroftheinternet @suicidepanda07 @abby-splace @gunmybear8o @luv-nd-serenity @ficsilovetoreadwithcats @missusnora @starstruckbluebirdtriumph @kesskirata @msmorganforever @jeeperky @spactucs-blog @sinnforsir @leilani-writes [hit the 50-tag limit – list to be continued in a reblog of this fic]

244 notes · View notes

shysneeze · 3 years

Text

phases of falling in love (ginny weasley x fem!reader)

Description: the painful process of reader falling for her Ginny Weasley, her best friend.

Warnings: angst af, I can’t think of anything else specific but please let me know if you come across anything and I’ll add it

Authors note: in love by khai dreams and she by dodie fit this in my head and are worth a listen.( edit, : i have a playlist here that fits this entire fic) .

...

(Y/N) has decided that falling in love comes in three distinct phases: realisation, denial, and acceptance, though with various forms of panic in between.

No one’s ever boasted that falling in love is easy, the bitter angst of doing so the subject of too many pieces of literature to be doubted. Yet, no one’s ever told her it would be this hard, but she supposes the stakes were always going to be higher when it’s your best friend.

Realisation came first during a party, sat in a small group by the fireplace as the cheers and laughter so typical of a Gryffindor victory party raged on around them. They weren't much different from the others, talking loudly and laughing with their heads thrown back dramatically. They were discussing the game, (Y/N) thinks, though she can hardly remember now, nor was she particularly invested at the time.

How could she be with her just across the from her, fair freckled skin aglow from the fire, who's light danced across her face with each flame’s flicker. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders effortlessly, as if it was pulled straight from the ponytail she wore during the afternoon's match.

That was the night she looked at Ginny Weasley and felt something in her heart, longing perhaps, that went beyond mere friendship, the first night Ginny's smile made her chest tighten and her eyes finding hers with a wink made her gulp.

It was the first time she looked at Ginny and saw her best friend but longed for more.

Denial was easy after that, the whole thing flippantly dismissed as a fluke of the evening, blamed on the giddy feeling that accompanied the house’s victory that Ginny played such a vital part in securing. It was nothing more appreciation, awe.

Weeks later though, and the tugging in her chest still lingers, holding her hostage and controlling her every move.

It flares up unexpectedly, from a smile at lunch, a wave during matches or a laugh hidden behind textbooks during classes. There is an endless array of quirks and habits that (Y/N) has never once before paid attention to that now leave her stomach victim to butterflies and her heart to palpitations.

Yet the denial continues, excuses ranging from the outlandish to the self-deprecating. Perhaps an insensitive prank, a love potion slipped regularly into her morning orange juice, or maybe it’s just all in her head, a crush manifested from loneliness, from the desire to be loved by someone.

Excuses are easy to provide, yet even easier to disprove and it soon becomes clear that every attempt to deny her own feelings is fruitless. Acceptance looms over her, unmindful of the heart it’s about to break.

Acceptance comes reluctantly during an evening’s study in the library. There’s no blame to place on atmosphere this time, hidden together at the end of an aisle of shelves, sat across from one another at a desk most certainly made for one.

The characteristic smell of old books lingers in the air and speckles of dust are illuminated by a dim lamp as they float aimlessly around them. The light does nothing to highlight the red in Ginny’s hair the way the flames of the fire had during the party, or to draw the warm brown from her eyes, yet (Y/N) is enamoured.

(Y/N)'s quill hangs limply between her fingers, ink drying on the tip with a word half-finished on her parchment. Across from her, Ginny bites her lower lip in concentration, deep brown eyes scanning each word she writes, occasionally lifting her hands to fix the loose bun holding her fiery red hair from her face, ridding her eyes of the messy stray strands with a frustrated rush of air from her pink lips.

(Y/N) gulps and panics slightly that in the quiet of the library, her best friend might hear the hammering of her heart in her chest. They're so close that their knees touch under the desk and (Y/N) is left unsure on whether to move her legs or not from fear of only drawing attention to it.

She's trying to convince herself to act normal, that this is all normal, a scenario they've been in so many times before with procrastinated essays and last minute deadlines, that she has no reason to act any different, yet her heart races, and she can hear it in her own ears.

It’s terrifying.

She's mid inner quarrel when Ginny lets out a loud sigh of surrender and lets her quill clatter against the desk. (Y/N) blinks out of her daze, dropping her own quill in surprise and frowning at the red head.

"Snape is asking for one of the twin's puking pastilles in his tea." She grumbles.

"They'd give you them for free if you tell them it's for Snape." (Y/N) manages a laugh. "How much more have you got to do?"

Ginny peers at her own parchment, then at (Y/N)'s with a questioning frown, reaching over to snatch it into her hands. She examines it with arched brows and stifles a small laugh at whatever she's read.

"Better than you- You've neglected to finish the word 'assignment', (Y/N)." She snorts softly. "It just says 'ass'."

(Y/N) stands abruptly to grab it back from her amused friend with a quiet 'oi' and a flustered wide-eyed expression that only adds to Ginny's laughter until she's clasping her hand atop her lips to muffle the sound.

"I got d-distracted." She explains embarrassedly. "It's just the first draft."

"Oh no, I think you should hand it in as is." She grins. "I want to see Snape's face."

"I'm not getting detention just so you can get a laugh." She argues.

"Aw, come on." Ginny pouts. "Not even for me?"

A part of her, a shameful part, almost instantly concedes to the offer, despite its teasing nature, just for Ginny's puppy dog eyes, which (Y/N) has until now been immune to. She falters for only a second before fixing her friend with a frown.

"No, not even for you." She decides firmly. "Lets hear yours then, Gin."

Ginny dramatically clears her throat with a grin, something that eerily reminds (Y/N) of her elder brothers, and begins to read aloud before (Y/N) stops her with an eye roll, cautious of the pacing click of Madam Pince's heels as she roams the aisles for the opportunity to evict noisy teens.

"You'll be surprised to hear I finished all my words and never once spoke about my arse."

"Sod off." (Y/N) rolls her eyes again.

"Well, what’s got you so distracted you felt the need to conclude that you 'learned lots about counter curses from this ass'?"

"You memorized it all ready?"

"Of course." She beams cheekily. "How else am I to tell the rest of our friends?"

"You are the worst."

"You love me really though."

(Y/N) worries when she can't laugh that off, when she falters for only a second, but enough to remind herself of this new and scary situation. She forces on a smile and hope she's been quick and convincing enough to seem normal, though something in Ginny's eyes tells her otherwise.

"Are you okay, (Y/N)?"

"Fine."

"Hmm, you look nervous." Ginny hints. "What are you hiding? Is it a girl?"

(Y/N) is exposed instantly by the involuntary widening of her eyes and Ginny grins menacingly at her from across the tiny desk. She leans over, palms flat against the desk and head so close to (Y/N)'s that their foreheads almost touch.

(Y/N) forgets to breathe.

"Who is it?"

"No one." (Y/N) manages, edging back as subtly as possible. "It's not anyone."

"Aw, c'mon." Ginny rolls her eyes. "Tell me."

"You're going to make Madam Pince kick us out again."

Ginny tuts, rolling her eyes and returning to her seat, allowing (Y/N) to drop her shoulders in relief. She sighs as she picks her quill up again, soaking the tip in ink with a rejuvenated intent to write, motivated by the chance to change the topic of conversation.

"You're no fun." Ginny mumbles. "I'll find out."

“There isn’t anything to find out.” (Y/N) exhales, not daring to look up from her parchment, knowing once again her expression will betray her. “Or anyone.”

“Oh, but there is.”

(Y/N) doesn’t need to look up to know the red-head is grinning, it’s evident in her voice. All she can do in response is take a deep, calming breath and continue with her work.

It’s not long before she can feel Ginny’s eyes on the top of her head and she freezes again, not sure when this became a talent of hers, to tell just from some new sixth sense that Ginny Weasley is staring at her.

“Can I help you?”

“Is it Willow Kings?”

“Been there, done that.” (Y/N) mumbles with a sigh. “She’s nice but talks about her owl too much.”

“Hmm.” Ginny hums in contemplation. “You’re not crushing on Pansy again, are you?”

In every single way, (Y/N) wishes that was her current shameful crush, rather than the girl currently interrogating her. When (Y/N) denies it, Ginny begins to hum again in thought.

“Luna?”

“Luna’s just a friend.” (Y/N) sighs, distinctly trying to convince herself the same thing about Ginny at this exact moment. “I’m not telling you, Gin.”

“Ugh, why not?” Ginny grumbles loudly.

The red-head’s face pales when the methodical clicking of the Librarian’s heels halts, wincing at what is soon to follow. The sound begins again, quicker and sharper as it approaches the pair.

“Shit.” Ginny curses, already gathering her work into her arms. “Here we go.”

“You two.”

The girls turn sheepishly to the other end of the aisle, where Madam Pince stares them down, one hand on her hip, other extended outwards to point at them with a disapproving look.

“We’re just leaving.” Ginny assures.

Ginny stands, reaching out innocently for (Y/N)’s hand and clasping it in her own to drag her to her feet as she splutters out protests, flustered instantly by the action. Ginny only gives her enough time to gather her things before pulling her towards the exit.

“S-low down, Ginny.” She pleads. “Sorry, Madam- “

The librarian scowls at them with an icy look as they squeeze past her towards the exist, Ginny’s laughter barely concealed as they go. (Y/N) can barely focus on anything other than the hand in her own.

Once in the corridor, convinced of their own escape from the strict librarian, Ginny flings he rhead back in a laugh, bun bouncing on her head at the action, cheeks flushed from the excitement of it.

“Every time!” She exclaims. “We get chased out every time.”

“I-“

(Y/N) is too stunned to form a sentence, stunned not by their actions, one’s regularly performed to avoid Madam Pince’s wrath, but rather how suddenly loud her heart is in her own ears.

She could blame adrenalin, it would be so easy to do so, but she knows it’s not. It’s many things, but not adrenalin. Instead Ginny’s laughter, her free and proud laughter so cheerful on her ears, it’s the baby hairs framing her face, endearingly messy, and it’s most certainly the hand still clasped in her own, warm and soft.

Acceptance, that final phase. No amount of excuses in the world could hide it now, that (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is undoubtedly, and most terrifyingly, in love with her best friend.

In this moment, watching Ginny’s grin, that infectious smile that has (Y/N) own lips pulling into a smile of her own, she’s about ready to risk it all for her, to tug her closer and ask, even beg, to kiss her.

“Ginny- “She starts

“Harry!”

Like that, the spell is broken and Ginny’s hand is slipping from (Y/N)’s and her feet carrying her towards the red faced boy-who-lived at the other end of the corridor, flinging herself eagerly into conversation with him and leaving (Y/N)’s smile to drop.

The tugging feeling in (Y/N)’s chest returns, and she finds herself back in reality. Ginny likes Harry, she always has, it’s been the topic of so many late-night teasing, how could (Y/N) possibly forget. It hurts though, in a way it never has before, a painful stab of reality sent straight to her heart.

(Y/N) has just learned for herself that falling in love is never easy, even if her heartbreak isn’t one likely to be documented as a great tragic romance in future. No one told her it would be this hard, but as she watches Ginny grinning up at the boy across the hall, her heart twists with the reluctant acceptance that, not only is she in love, but that her best friend is in love with someone else.

#ginny weasley x reader #ginny x reader #ginny weasley imagine #ginny weasley reader insert #ginny weasley #ginny imagine #ginny reader insert #harry potter #weasley x reader #fem!reader #i'm a bi stereotype it's ridiculous #ginny fanfiction #ginny weasley fanfiction

167 notes · View notes

cutwarmth · 3 years

Text

sometimes you ramble for 4k+ words and it looks like you’ve accomplished nothing but i swear this has unlocked a development path for rui

anyway: tw for discussions of abuse (as a recurring theme), guilt, and rui’s illness as a human

It never got any easier.

Family – family would always be something important to Rui. That was why he swore he could still hear his parents sometimes, he thought, as if they'd never really left. It wasn't like that was a good thing, though. He couldn't hold them. He couldn't run to them at the end of a bad day and cry while his mother stroked his hair and told him it was okay, she loved him, tomorrow would be better.

And they haunted him.

Rui.

He could always hear it echoing in his head, disappointed and horrified, every time he had to find something – someone – to feed on.

Rui.

It would catch him off guard any time it happened, weighing him down until he felt like he had to choose between being allowed to live or being crushed by guilt. If he stopped eating, the guilt would go. But the hunger, gnawing and ever-present, would grow, and grow, and grow.

Rui!

And it hung over him the rare times he let himself sleep, when the weakness from how little he ate and how much this city had taken from him became too much and he couldn't stay awake anymore. He could always imagine them being disappointed in him, causing tears to burn at his eyes and inevitable nightmares to creep into his mind.

“Rui–!”

“I told you I don't like when you do that.”

And that was… strange. The voice saying his name didn't sound like his parents anymore, and there was another voice and it sounded like him but he didn't like the words he was saying or the tone he was saying it with. If this was a dream, it felt too… aware? And as Rui focused, everything shot into existence around him, and he was –

“–huh?”

“Home,” was what his brain told him instinctively, but it wasn't. He would recognize this place anywhere, but home was where Hanako and Himari were, and this was…

This was…

Rui jumped back. His “mother”, eyes wide, let out a startled cry, her arms raising as if to protect herself from something inevitable.

“I-I'm sorry, Rui! I wasn't thinking, I-I promise I’ll–”

Rui just stared. He stared, with no words coming to mind. He knew she was still talking, because the sound of her voice was buzzing in his head, but it didn't feel like they were words. Teetering slightly in his spot, Rui had to force himself to turn around (–and that made the noises stop).

It had to be a dream. Just a strange, realistic dream. A dream that he was too aware of everything happening in, that everything felt too real in. Rui flexed his fingers at his sides, and that felt normal. His breathing felt normal. The scent in the air was normal, a constant sting of the scent of pine and leaves. The grass underneath his feet felt soft.

It was like it was real.

“Ah,” Rui managed, and his voice sounded too quiet and unlike himself. Whatever threat there had been to his words before… he couldn't even recall them, now.

He didn't… want to…

“Please don't tell your father, Rui.”

The voice reached him, this time. Rui glanced over his shoulder, forced himself to, and the fear he could sense radiating off his “mother” made him feel so disgusted he wanted to be sick. Hadn't he liked that, once? He'd craved it, hadn't he?

“I –” Rui’s eyes were as wide as hers were. “– I wasn't. Going to.”

And he hoped that that would be enough. Shouldn't it be? She wasn't going to be hurt anymore, so Rui had done something right. But he could just tell she was tensing up more. She didn't trust him. (Why should she?)

“I'll…” Her voice was so weak, even though she was trying to sound strong. Before she could finish whatever she was going to say to try to get out of his arbitrary punishment (that he wasn’t even going to give, now), though, Rui had turned back around.

“I don't want to hear it.” He… needed to think, anyway. What was going on? Why was he– “You're fine, Emiko. You're doing your best.”

He would have chalked it up to the fact he had said so much more than he normally would have being what made her so audibly gasp behind him as Rui started to leave. It hadn't even crossed his mind that – like this, here – he shouldn't know her name.

They all had their own places they went to for comfort, to pass the time, whatever. Rui hadn't known their reasonings then, and he didn't know them now. Emiko was prone to go where the trees were thinner and rocks sprung out from the grass, his sister would sit in the branches of the taller trees, and Rui would stay perched on his threads in the air, unreachable.

So maybe it made sense that something felt wrong about where he was now.

He hadn't… been able to work anything out. It was at the base of a tree that Rui sat now, knees drawn up and hugged close to his chest, very reachable and very small. He was just… thinking. Trying to figure something out.

But –

– but –

What was there to figure out? What was the point? He couldn’t… really be here, could he? Because if he was back on Natagumo… why would he remember everything? He was dead. This was a point before his death, and yet Rui clearly remembered everything from this point. After this point. If he was really back, he shouldn’t know these things. But he remembered dying, he remembered Spirale – he remembered being there for a year. That couldn’t all just be a dream.

It…

(He couldn’t have made up the pain of remembering his parents, after all. Could he? He couldn’t have made up Hanako, shining as vibrantly as the sun, or Tsuru and her too-kind faith in him, or Mitsuri, or…)

He could hear the whispers. He knew his “family” thought there was something off about him. And there was. There was. He could hear the muttered “Rui’s in such a strange mood” and all the fear that came with it, but he didn’t… care. He would have, once. Him being in a mood meant that he’d hurt them all.

Why had he done that?

Had being a demon really made him drop so far?

He didn’t understand.

Was he really so different?

Rui hugged his knees tighter to his chest.

(He knew the answer to that.)

And… maybe it was a false Natagumo. It likely was. Hadn’t the city proven it could throw anything at them, at everyone in it, and they’d just have to handle what came their way? So this was something… for him, something he had to address. Even if the voices of his fake family sounded real, even if they acted real, they weren’t. Were they? And yet…

… becoming a demon meant losing yourself. If Rui had known that when Muzan had shown up (he was still scared to think the name, but nothing happened; still, he grimaced), he doubted he would have accepted. It was that emptiness that had led to him becoming someone so far from himself, someone who was still recovering and trying to get properly back in touch with all of his emotions. That revelation hurt every time – the fact that Rui might never feel normally again, simply because that part of him wasn’t human anymore, never would be. It was the hollow core of Rui that had punished this fake family so badly.

But that hollow core was still part of who Rui was now. He just… had the lost, sickly little boy who had longed so badly to be strong as part of him again.

And even if all of this wasn’t fake, he…

… he wanted to… try.

Rui was… nothing if not a stupid child, wasn’t he?

In retrospect, absolutely yes.

Because he hadn’t thought things through, other than well, if he was here, he should do better somehow, shouldn’t he? He was given this chance, and even if it wasn’t… real in the grand scheme of things, it was certainly real now. The trees, the grass, his family – they all felt real. The only difference was that Rui… knew, now.

And was that okay? Was that right?

If this was actually somehow something real, would the him here return to the heartless husk he’d once been once he left? That would make everything worse than it had been when he’d arrived here, for whatever reason he had. And yet he… still…

The Rui who remembered, the Rui who knew about his parents and about Spirale and about what happiness could feel like, wanted to try.

Which had led him to – this, to whatever he was doing now. Which, um, appeared to be… well, it was…

Rui was still not very good with expressing himself, even after over a year of experience. That was something difficult to re-learn, especially since becoming a demon had made his natural response to things be to lash out or hurt people, and he didn’t… want to do that anymore, because it hurt him when he reacted so terribly.

He was holding Emiko’s hands tightly in his own, barely even able to make eye contact with her.

And, worse than his awkwardness, he could tell she was shaking.

“Rui…?”

And the face she wore that looked like his wasn't her actual face, and once upon a time Rui had preferred that. Seeing her look like him now just made his heart ache so badly that if he could reach into his chest and guarantee that tearing it out would stop the pain, he'd do it.

He swallowed thickly, past a lump that had risen in his throat, and tried to find the words.

“... I don't… want you to be my mother.”

She tensed up, a horrified cry catching in her throat. Rui loosened his grip enough that she could pull her hands away if she wanted to. Maybe out of fear, she didn't. She just let him hold them, loosely. And he – he understood. Because that made it sound like she'd done something wrong and he was going to kill her for it.

She was still shaking.

“You've,” Rui’s threat was burning. Every part of him hurt. He was trying so hard to keep his voice steady and doing a terrible job of it. “You've been so much better than you think you have. And I've – I am awful. To you. To all of you. I know.”

(Was it worth even trying if he didn’t know how long he was going to be here for?)

And… if it was just a short amount of time… if this was another thing the island was throwing at him, how long could it be? One week? Two? The sun was already close to rising – he’d wasted most of the night curled up against the tree, lost in his own thoughts (it was funny how quickly time could pass when you had decades of nothingnessbehind you) – and… how much progress had he even made?

Emiko was so scared, and still looked like the mother role he had made her take up, and Rui didn’t know how to convince her to drop the act without her believing he was going to hurt her. The burning in his throat had spread in waves up to his eyes and he could feel tears burning there, and Rui knew that he wasn’t –

– to them, he wasn’t someone who cried.

To them, he wasn’t someone who cared at all, a husk.

“I don’t,” Emiko started, her voice small and scared, “believe you.”

The Rui his family knew would have hurt her for that, too, or ordered his fake father to. Rui as he was now slowly let his grip of her hands loosen; his arms fell back down to his sides, and he was silent.

It wasn’t like he could sleep. The only thing that held the nightmares back was Hanako, anyway, and he wasn’t here. Rui didn’t even know if he’d be able to see him again, and that almost hurt more than the fact he was back here being confronted with everything he never wanted to have to handle head-on again. Or maybe it did hurt more?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know himself.

He wasn’t tired, anyway.

His father and brother weren’t an issue. His brother was basically just as much of a menace as Rui was; Rui couldn’t recall many times he’d ever felt the need to punish him, and his father was mindless enough that he’d listen to whatever Rui had said.

What a sad excuse for a family he’d made himself build.

No wonder nothing had made him feel anything.

None of them had ever been happy.

“So what do you think you’re doing?”

Rui glanced up at where Sanae sat in one of the trees. She – well, he’d seen her look angry before, but this was probably the angriest he’d ever seen her. She’d prided herself in being the one member of the family to never mess up, right? She’d always been silent as everyone else was punished and would do anything to keep herself on his good side.

Rui hated looking at her because the fact she was the one thorn in his side that would never, ever forgive him made him feel like he was being torn into a thousand tiny little pieces.

But he made himself look.

He didn’t answer.

“Do you think any of us are going to fall for it? Whatever you’re doing – we have to do so much to keep you appeased, are you just going to use it all against us when you’re done with this approach to your game?”

She normally wasn’t the type to call him out on these things. She must have been feeling exceedingly brave. But Rui couldn’t… argue with her logic, because from her side of things, that was how it would have looked, wasn’t it? He ducked his head away, and still didn’t speak.

Sanae clicked her tongue, leapt from the tree, and left.

Rui didn’t follow her.

He didn’t want to be here anymore. What was he supposed to achieve? He was only going to hurt them all more – himself, too, but that was… that was… – the longer he tried to change anything.

Rui was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest again, back against a tree. Time was moving so slowly, now. Hadn’t he thought it was going quickly, before? Everything felt like forever and yet like no time at all. His eyes were shut, the burning was still in his throat. If he tried anything, it was wrong. If he didn’t try anything, it was wrong.

This wasn’t fun. This wasn’t home.

He wanted to go back.

… there was the sound of shuffling fabric and a sudden weight against his side. Rui jumped, his chin lifting from its spot against the tops of his knees, eyes reopened to peer at whoever had joined him.

It was Emiko.

She wasn’t –

“... I never told you my name,” she said, quietly. “But you knew it. That’s not… that’s scary, but I – I want –”

– she was herself. And she hadn’t said it, but Rui knew: she wanted to be herself.

And with his mind fully his own again, no matter if this was reality or not, Rui became terribly aware of how young she was. She must have been turned into a demon at such an immature age; she couldn’t have been any older than nine. Far younger than him. Far younger, and he’d forced her into acting like a mother, and any time she’d slipped up…

… she was a child.

Rui slowly raised a hand. Emiko flinched (it made Rui’s heart sink), but she seemed to relax when his hand just came to rest on her head instead. He just let it stay there for a moment, not fully sure what to do with himself, and then… awkwardly, Rui let himself ruffle her hair.

And he – he was smiling. It was small, and there were tears burning at his eyes again, but he was certainly smiling. Emiko stared at him with wide eyes that didn’t look like Rui’s own for once, clearly trying her best to not let her own composure crumble.

“I like you better when you’re yourself,” he said, quietly.

Emiko paused to glance away, but made herself look back. Rui could tell she was trying to process everything, and he wished he could take away all the hurt from her. He wished he’d never agreed to let Muzan turn him into a demon, because it wasn’t just his parents he had destroyed.

He’d hurt so many people.

“I like me better as myself, too,” Emiko finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Demons shouldn’t be in touch with their emotions this much. Rui’s had been shaven down to just anger and emptiness before he had died, and he had no doubt others were the same way. But it was… strange, because even though she was a demon, Emiko still seemed so full of life.

Rui wondered what had happened to her, but knew she wouldn’t remember.

And he knew he couldn’t fix what he’d done to her, but he wanted to do better while he had the chance, and she seemed to at least want to have faith in him. She was too good to have become a demon. Had it been an accident? He wondered.

And by too much faith, he meant she was definitely pushing her limits, because –

– he’d gotten roped into piggybacking her around.

Her arms were wrapped around him and she seemed to be… enjoying herself, to some extent, as much as she could be, and Rui didn’t know if she really believed he was trying to do better or if she just wanted to enjoy the moment while she could, but he was.

Glad?

He thought he was glad.

His brother was laughing about it, his usual snide teasing, this time saying that whenever Rui got out of his slump that they’d all be in trouble.

And from the shadows of the trees, Rui could feel Sanae’s piercing glare.

Emiko was nice as a younger sister. There was a part of Rui that always felt like he was responsible for his own lack of siblings; like if he had been born healthier he would have been less draining on his parents and he would have been able to be an older brother. And even if this was brief, it did feel like progress, even if sometimes he moved a little too suddenly and Emiko still would duck away from him.

She was still herself, and he preferred it that way.

When she’d been in Spirale briefly, Rui had felt how scared she was of him. But he had… felt like he had made at least some attempt to breach that gap between the two of them, to try to humanize her. She might never have believed he was sorry, but he at least wanted to do better. He was still feeling that, now, but…

… it was… better than… the alternative.

What a terrible hole he’d managed to dig himself, that both options were something so awful. Choose the lesser of two evils. The him that had done these things that he wasn’t and was at the same time.

And he kept saying it.

“You’ve been better than you think you have.”

Emiko never quite looked like she believed him.

But she looked at him like she wanted to.

Hanako had told Rui that even if no one else ever did, he would forgive him. Rui didn’t think any of this was worth forgiveness.

(Even if he accepted the part Muzan had played into shaping Rui into the ideal Demon Moon – wasn’t that just trying to shrug the guilt off Rui’s own shoulders? No one had hurt his family but him. No one had made him do that.)

And there was only so much somebody could do in a few days. Because when you have years of hurt that you’ve both caused and received under your belt, that isn’t something you can magically undo. Just as Rui felt like he was paving the way to be able to make progress with Emiko, another obstacle came up.

And that obstacle was Sanae.

Of course he wasn’t going to be able to fix things like magic. But he was beginning to feel like he had a chance, and a second day had passed, and a third night had set in. His time was being spent with Emiko because she seemed like the easiest place to begin – it wasn’t any less hurtful for him to realize that her trauma had manifested in self-doubt and timidness where Sanae’s had manifested in anger, but it made him feel like he had a fighting chance.

He didn’t know why he would be here if not to at least try?

Sanae confronted him again, on that third night.

She had her own face.

“You’re keeping this act up, huh.”

Rui looked at her and rage burned in his chest, but he made himself keep looking. He didn’t want to look away. He didn’t want to be angry about her, seeing her like something unconquerable. She had every reason to hate him and to not trust him. Rui was selfish, ever-stubborn, and Sanae would always be a blot that he couldn’t wash out.

The more he thought about it, maybe he was okay with that. Because that wasn’t the sort of thing that you could just…

… erase?

And he–

“... if I explained it to you, none of you would believe me.” He was alarmed by how unlike himself his voice sounded. Rui wanted something to do with his hands but he didn’t want to give in to what everyone thought he would be. He flexed his fingers instead, but he wanted to summon his threads. His threads meant pain, and he… didn’t… want that.

Rui didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.

“Try.” Sanae’s voice was harsher than her already-piercing gaze. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and Rui could have applauded her bravery. He wouldn’t have wanted to stand up to the person he’d been, either.

So he just shook his head.

“What do you think this is going to achieve, then?”

“I don’t know.” That was… unfortunately the truth. It wasn’t like it could undo anything. If this was real, he’d return to the way he was for them, and return to Spirale for him, and everything would be back where it began. And if it wasn’t real – then it wasn’t as if it would change anything, anyway. “But I want to try.”

And the Rui of a year ago might not have wanted to. The Rui before death would definitely have not wanted to.

He made himself look at Sanae, and he made himself smile.

Her upper lip curled in on itself.

“Try what? We all agreed to this because you made us. We walk on glass around you, and you just change your mind?”

Oh. Her voice was sounding more distant?

Rui reached a hand out. Sanae slapped it away.

He stared.

“This isn’t the sort of thing you can come back from, Rui. And if you think you can carry ‘Mother’ around and make that fix everything you’ve done–”

His head was hurting. She was right, but everything really hurt.

“I–”

“Trapping us in this and then acting pitiful and like you’ve changed your mind? We’re demons! You made us have to do this! You think you can just–”

Why couldn’t he make sense of what she was saying anymore? Rui reached his hand back out but Sanae looked like she was being muddied by water, and even though he tried to grab hold of her he never reached. She was definitely still talking, and Rui thought he might be crying, because she –

– of course, of course, he –

– that was always part of him that would –

(He couldn’t just fix it, he couldn’t just…)

–Sanae had morphed into colours that slowly faded to grey, and the tears were burning at Rui’s eyes and a lump was burning in his throat again and he… he was…

There was a house in front of him, and it was his, the house he’d made in Spirale. The trees of Natagumo weren’t around him anymore. He could still feel his fingers brushing against Sanae’s hand but Rui was on the floor, his knees given way, and everything ached.

What was…

… the point?

He wanted to fix it.

Why –

– why wasn’t he given enough time to…?–

#emiko is the name i'm using for spi/dermom and sanae is spi/dersis bc when we had them in isola they were those names #isola challenge #i'm like shy to post this but i'm simply going to take the L i guess #i think basically i'm saying please don't perceive this

8 notes · View notes

ethereal-wishes · 3 years

Text

Meet Me Halfway: Part One

Sir Maurice – Duke of Avonlea – had pledged his daughter, Belle, to be wed to King Raul's son, Neal, ever since she was born. The pair would wed on her eighteenth birthday. Belle French had never met Neal, but she had met his father – King Raul. He was a man with short graying hair and a stern countenance. He never smiled, and Belle was aware of the ruefulness always lurking within his soulful depths. When, Belle, had asked her father why Neal had never visited, Maurice had informed her he was a sickly child. Raul would often journey to Avonlea and converse kingly affairs with her father. He'd never spoken to her in passing, often pretending she was invisible whilst in her father's presence.

Belle inwardly dreaded the day she would have to leave Avonlea and become the wife of a man she'd never truly met. She'd filled her time with educating herself about kingdom affairs, leading up to that moment. She'd received an extensive education during her childhood, because she didn't intend to be an ignorant ruler. By the time her eighteenth birthday arrived, she assumed she would meet the prince she was destined to wed. She'd been mistaken when her father revealed that Prince Neal had died a few short years earlier of the bubonic plague. In fact, Raul's wife – Queen Milah had passed as well.

“I don't understand, Papa. What are you saying? I've been expecting to marry this prince my entire life, yet why am I just finding out he's deceased?” she queried, her mind buzzing with questions.

The duke exhaled sharply. "There will be a wedding, Belle. It just won't be to Prince Neal.”

“Then who!?” She demanded, sickness roiling in her gut.

Maurice swallowed hard, averting his gaze. "King Raul still intends to honor the marriage agreement we forged at your christening. You'll marry him instead. He's without an heir and needs a new queen to rule beside him.”

Belle's countenance fell at the mention of the callous, standoffish royal. “You can't be serious, Papa. That man has the personality of a dead fish,” she countered.

Maurice sighed, wrapping his arm around his daughter's delicate shoulders. “You don't know him like I do. I know he's twice your age, but he's an honorable man. He'll be a good husband to you, I have no doubt. Though you may find you have little in common, you'll have a comfortable life.”

Belle nodded. “I'll accept King Raul's proposal because it's the right move for both of our kingdoms. I never knew the prince, but I'd hoped to.”

Maurice smiled, pulling her close. “You make me proud, Belle. Tomorrow, Raul will arrive for the wedding celebrations, and then you'll be escorted back to Albannach.”

“Let it be as you say,” she consented, spending the rest of her evening being refitted for her wedding gown. When she was finally granted some solitude, she spent her time reading in a cozy nook in her personal library. She would dearly miss her castle, her father, her friends, including every other piece of herself she was leaving behind.

~X~

The day of the wedding left her stomach tied in knots. He'd met her at the altar, decorated in his kingly ensemble. The veil hid her rouge cheeks and lacquered lips. The first words they'd speak to each other would be their vows. She fought back the urge to tremble as she spoke the sacred vows pauper and prince had exchanged for ages. His eyes fixated themselves on her, studying, committing each detail to memory. She became enraptured by his eyes, the wind being knocked from her as he brushed his lips ever so slightly against hers. She blinked as the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. There wasn't time to contemplate what had just transpired, before she found herself being led by his arm to a carriage. Once the doors shut, she knew she'd never step foot in Avonlea again. A tear trekked down her cheek, and she couldn't stop the way her body trembled. The king gazed at her, his eyes filled with something unreadable.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “For ripping you away from everything,” he spoke – the sound of his lilting brogue filling the carriage, startling her.

“Pardon?” She spoke, startled by his phantom voice.

“The ripping. I'm sorry for ripping you away from your homeland, your friends, your father,” he paused. “The ripping hasn't stopped though, the seam hasn't been mended.”

“Why do you speak in riddles, your highness?” She addressed him formally, trying to wrap her mind around his enigma.

He smirked at her response. “I'm used to the ripping. My son was ripped away by the plague, my wife, my subjects, my countrymen. There's so much blood it would flood the towns. I need the ripping to stop.”

His countenance fell, revealing those same sad eyes she vaguely remembered during her girlhood. She longed to reach out to him but wasn't sure if it was appropriate, but she supposed it mattered little because it was their wedding night. Soon his hands would be anywhere they wished, marking her as his prize.

Despite her hesitation, she reached out to him, grasping his hand in her own, and testing the weight of it in her palm. He stiffened, and she assumed he wasn't used to this kind of touch, but she continued, stroking his fingers, admiring his beautiful, weathered hands. “You have beautiful hands, you know?”

He scoffed, amused. “There's nothing beautiful about me, princess. The years have worn me away, until I'm a shell of the man I used to be.”

“Your highness, I believe we're all layered. And maybe the years have been unkind.” She continued her gentle ministrations over his digits. “But my father said you were a good man, and I don't doubt him at all.”

He interlaced their fingers, startling her. Her breath hitched in her throat as he began making obsolete patterns on her skin. “These worn, despicable hands have killed men, princess. Yet, you touch me without revulsion.”

Belle dared a glance into his eyes. “I'm aware the cost of keeping a kingdom, securing your reign for centuries to come. It is built upon blood and alliances. And it's the reason we're sitting here in this carriage. I wasn't supposed to marry you, and you weren't supposed to marry me. However it's the way fate destined it to be – You and I, sitting here in this carriage, hand in hand.”

“Now who speaks in riddles, princess?” His age lines crinkled into a smile, as he drew her knuckle to his lips, kissing it reverently.

Belle's breath hitched in her throat. “Tonight, I apologize for my inexperience.”

The king gazed at her, full of wonder and awe. “And I apologize for mine, it has been many years since a woman has warmed my bed,” he admitted, sending a shiver down her spine.

He gathered her hands in his own, gazing into her cerulean depths – his eyes filled with so much sincerity, it wrenched her heart. “I would never hurt you, princess, and tonight I will treat you as a delicate flower. It will be a new journey for us both, this union. I'm sorry I'm not young or handsome.”

“I think you're handsome though.” She brushed prettily at his statement, and he half smiled. He couldn't help but think of her as his delicate flower, one he hoped wouldn't wither at his touch.

“And twice your age,” he teased, planting a sensual kiss against the underside of her wrist. She shuddered at the contact, aware their hands were still connected.

“38,” she answered coyly.

“39,” he corrected. “Today is my birthday.”

Belle blinked owlishly at his statement. “Why ever did you choose to wed on your birthday?”

The king shrugged. “To make a fonder memory. My birthday isn't exactly a joyous occasion.”

Before she could inquire further, the carriage came to a screeching halt. Screams erupted from the outside, and her eyes grew wide as she observed him brandish his sword. “Stay in the carriage, and whatever you do, don't leave. I shall return,” he commanded swinging open the door. He shut it, and she bolted it, sinking down – muffling her ears to drown out the screams coming from the outside. She wasn't sure if it had been hours or days, but the screams finally ceased and all was quiet. She stayed frozen in the carriage, wondering if he was dead. Suddenly the door swung open, revealing his cloaked form.

“Bandits, bloody bastards killed my driver and a few guards, but we got them rounded up,” he cursed, and Belle's face paled when she noticed the blood drenching his tunic.

“Are you hurt?” She inquired, her ears beginning to ring. He reached for her, bracing her fall. He pulled her onto his lap, commanding his men to make haste. He knew she'd only fainted. She was too delicate for him, and he secretly feared he would crush her with the weight of his sins. An innocent lamb caught in the lion's den.

She awoke, lying in his arms. She blinked, noticing a far away look in his eyes. The carriage was dark, and she assumed the sun had already set. She admired his beautiful, careworn face. She absentmindedly reached up to caress his jawline. He shuddered, gazing down at his new bride, unused to such a reverent touch.

“What are you doing, princess?” he mumbled, taking her hand and delicately kissing the underside of her wrist.

“I was hoping to, get a feel of what my new husband's skin felt like,” she spoke, blushing deeply from her admittance.

He gently brushed chestnut locks from her eyes. “Oh how delicate you are, wife. So innocent and fair. What have I done to deserve such a gift?”

Feeling bold, Belle raised up to capture his lips in an inexperienced kiss. The one they'd shared back at the ceremony was brief, but this time, she allowed herself to truly explore the outline of his lips – truly taste him. He kissed her back fervently, cradling her face in his hands. She'd shifted her position and was now sitting on his lap. He nipped lightly at her lower lip, and she carded her fingers through his soft mane.

He gripped her hips gently, securing her onto his lap. The kiss made her feel pleasantly warm, and she ground her hips into him, causing him to jerk forward. He broke the kiss, a predatory look in his eyes. “Be careful, little lamb, not to awaken the lion. The beast within has quite an appetite,” he warned.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27360130/chapters/66855967

Belle experimentally ground her hips into him again, causing his grip on her to tighten. She flushed deeply, her rosy cheeks eclipsed within the darkness of the carriage. His gaze grew intense, and he bruised her rosebud mouth with his lion teeth. Tongues and teeth clashed messily together, battling for dominance. The kiss was short lived for the carriage had came to a halt.

“We are here, my delicate bloom,” He purred deliciously in her ear, causing her entire body to tremble in the most pleasant of places. “We are in Albannach.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fanfic

1 note · View note

issaxcharlie · 4 years

Text

Story: Messing with the stars

Chapter 1

Bobby

I always end up here. It is as if her voice drags me back. It’s a miracle that no one has noticed how often I sit here to see her.

She finishes rehearsing, I grab my backpack and race to the parking lot to catch up with my friends.

Lottie, Gary, Lucas and Hope are waiting for me in front of Lottie's car.

"Bobbycakes, where were you?" Lottie looks annoyed, the others just get in the car.

“Sorry, Lottie. Mr. Hughes wanted to talk to me about my homework.”

My eyes move like magnets to her, like every single day. She has her dark brown hair tied up in a beautiful braid. Her green crop top matches her beautiful eyes perfectly. She laughs as she walks home with her best friend, Kassam. The two quickly bonded over their love for music and had being inseparable ever since.

“Bobby, are you listening?” Lottie brings me back to the real world, she looks angry. But decides to just get on the wheel. I walk into the passenger seat and turn to see her beautiful face one more time.

“Did you hear that this time it will be obligatory for us to participate in the school play this semester? It will directly impact our Drama class. ”

Everyone sighs in frustration.

“Why are we taking Drama again?” Asked Gary, clearly annoyed.

"Is mandatory this semester, an attempt by the school to make us more creative and versatile, or something like that." Says Hope, somewhat disinterested. After all, she is known for being good at whatever she does. She doesn't mind leaving her advanced math class for a semester in order to recite some lines.

"It wouldn't be a bad thing if I had to kiss that beautiful theater freak." Gary is smiling, definitely imagining himself in that situation. Gross.

“Alison Light?” Wow, Lucas seems to have been paying attention to her too.

"Hell yeah mate, she’s gorgeous." Lottie rolls her eyes, and Hope dramatically changes the conversation.

Alison Light, aka Sunny or Sunlight. (Or at least that's how I would call her if I had the guts to speak to her.) Everyone else calls her Ally, and I'm embarrassed to say that my friends call her theater freak.

There is a rumor, that Sunny's dad passed away 5 years ago. Her mom found a job in London, so they had to move from Scotland. Alison took refuge in music, which has always been what she loved the most, entered the choir, the school band, each play, whatever was involved with music, she did it. That's how she earned the ‘theater freak’ nickname from everyone else, especially, Lottie and Gary. Unfortunately, everyone listens to Lottie and Gary.

I came to school a year later. Lottie immediately thought I had the potential to belong to her group, to this day I have no idea why. She told me that if I wanted to belong, I had to be around people with potential, and when Sunny approached with vibrant eyes and a huge smile to introduce herself, Lottie pushed her to the side, and made fun of her for having a 'crush' on the new kid and behaving ‘desperate’.

I didn’t defend her. I followed Lottie down the hall, and didn't turn to see her even once.

Every day when I see her in the hallway I wonder why I chose a scary stranger instead of the girl with the most beautiful smile I have ever seen, and the conclusion makes me quite embarrassed.

I chose Lottie because I was tired of being the kid everyone made fun of regardless of the consequences, the one who was just a joke. The boy Caitlin Evans cheated on by pretending she wanted me to be her boyfriend just to humiliate me in front of the whole school. I saw the opportunity to be someone different, and I took it. Letting go not only poor and humiliated Bobby, but also the opportunity to meet Alison in the process.

The next day I walk with the boys to the auditorium. Most of the students are already there. The music is quite loud, and her perfect voice immediately reaches my ears. As we get closer I can finally see what's going on. Kassam and Alison are doing a duet of the song "Into the Unknown" which in my opinion is not easy to sing. I’m annoyed to admit that they sound perfect together. Their harmonies are beautiful and their notes are totally clean and well placed. All of us who do not normally belong to this class, have our mouths open.

“As you could hear, this class has talent to spare. I will not accept less than what I know you can give. Everyone will sing a part of the song you wrote me yesterday on the list.” Mr. Hudson loves music as much as Alison, and has been an important person in her life for the past few years. He has always been kind to me, and has invited me multiple times to participate in his plays due to my and i quote ‘charming personality ’.

Auditions started. Surprisingly my friends did a pretty decent job. I would not choose them as the protagonists but they were not bad.

I always wanted to try theater. I've been watching it for years, since I've never missed a play by Alison, no matter how delusional it sounds. And I always liked singing, but believe me or not, I have stage fright. Also, even if I sang, the chances of me beating Kassam in the lead are microscopic.

"McKenzie, let's go. I have a feeling you will do a good job, I am excited to hear you.” Mr. Hudson, I honestly hope I don't fall off the stage while I go up, for me that will already be a victory.

The music starts playing, but I am unable to open my mouth. I turn to meet her green eyes, which for the first time in years seem to speak to me. She tries to tell me to focus on her, and I do. The song starts again, and this time I manage to start singing the words, which sound more whispered than anything else.

"Of your kiss, your touch, your love" Sunny starts singing with me, everyone turns to see her, but she seems determined to help me sing this song. I remain somewhat fearful during the chorus, and she takes the second verse like a queen. Focusing on making me feel comfortable, still staring at my eyes and taking my hand.

Suddenly, she is the only thing I can see.

The connection I felt the first time I saw her feels stronger than ever as we dance together across the stage, our voices sounding perfect next to each other, like they're meant to fit together.

I'm definitely not half as good as Kassam is, but without a doubt my connection and chemistry with Sunny is much stronger, or at least that's what I want to believe. A man has to have hope. It was a magical moment, like when Troy and Gabriella meet and sing 'Start Of Something New' together. Don't judge me, I saw her with my sister Gemma.

The song ends and everyone is shocked. Lottie seems about to pass out, and Lucas looks at me in disbelief.

"I've found my stars." Mr. Hudson whispers, his eyes lit up.

"What? No way! They were supposed to be solos, not duets ” Lottie yells, clearly about to lose her patience.

"My decision is final. I've never seen so much chemistry, it's like they were meant to be together. ” Seems like I'm not the only one who thinks so. I knew Mr. Hudson was a smart guy.

"This work is going to be the best we have ever done, I assure you." Sunny blushes slightly, we are still holding hands, and I honestly don't feel like letting her go, but she starts to pull apart gently.

"Thank you, Sunny." I whisper, she looks at me with mischief in her green eyes. That's when I realize what I said. WE ARE NOT NEAR THE STAGE OF NICKNAMES, GOOD ONE IDIOT.

"Omg, I'm so sorry, Alison. I, You probably don’t even know my name and I’m calling you by a nickname, this is so embarrasing.” I start to mumble things that I don't understand myself.

She smiles at me, trying to calm me down. "It's okay, Bobby McKenzie. Professional joker, awesome baker, beautiful eyes. From Scotland, just like me.” She emphasizes my name, so I have no doubts that she knows who I am. And I almost passed out with the beautiful eyes thing. Fuck, she's so sweet.

“Sunny sounds adorable, I was getting tired of theater freak anyway. And like Mr. Hudson, I could see your full potential. You just needed a hand.”

I blush, hard. She likes it. Both the nickname and the fact that she made me blush. I can see it on her face.

Lottie grabs my arm and starts dragging me toward Hope to leave.

This time I don't let history repeat itself.

"I'll see you tomorrow... Sunny." I wink at her, trying to sound and look as cool as possible.

She smiles. "See you tomorrow, partner."

#litg bobby #litg mc #litg2 #bobby x mc #bobby mckenzie #love island bobby

2 notes · View notes