#I almost thought I wasn't going to finish this I simply couldn't do any art today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

papayatori · 7 months

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Don't Blink!(P4)

LN4 x fem!reader

Warnings: None

a/n, we're starting to get somewhere, oh how I love a good slow burn. ;-; (Also please bear with me, I know these aren't entirely accurate, I'm simply doing this for plot purposes, thanks!)

Why the hell had I decided to invite Lando over for breakfast. I don't know what came over me, whether it was some random confidence or those eyes of his that could drive me mad, I was pissed off at it.

Night owls don't do early breakfast. I know this from personal experience. I also know from personal experience that Lando is a morning person.

This is not okay.

My alarm blared multiple times that morning, I gave up after the fourth time, deciding that Lando was important enough to get out of bed for.

I did my normal morning routine, skin care, brushing my teeth, all of the necessities, before trudging into the kitchen to somehow find the will to not only continue living for the next few hours of the morning, but also find the will to cook breakfast.

I let out a long, exasperated and dramatic sigh before carrying on with my brave quests.

Halfway through the deep and ferocious battle known as making pancakes the right way, I heard a heavy knock on my door. My heart skipped a traitorous beat at the thought of who it could be.

Curse my silly feelings.

I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel I had on the bar and quickly went to open my door.

"Good morning, darling." He had one hand held out to me, the other behind his back. I accepted his hand and allowed him to kiss it the way he had the night before, though not without a growing red color in my cheeks. He pulled his other hand out from behind him, revealing the prettiest rose I had ever seen, and he handed it to me with an expression that was probably just as pretty. The top button of his shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a small portion of his chest for all to see. It distracted me from the rose for a bit longer than I had planned.

"Thank you?" I said finally, in more of a question than a statement. "Why are you all fancy looking today, and what's with the rose?" He grinned, flashing his teeth.

"It's our second date."

I could've slapped myself in the head, but it wouldn't have done any good. I had forgotten that we had agreed it would be our second date, even if it was mostly a joke when I had offered.

When I didn't reply, he stepped past me, brushing his hand against mine as he did so, and walked into the kitchen.

"Pancakes?" He said, a smile growing further when he saw the huge mess in my kitchen. "I'm going to assume that's a yes."

"You would be assuming correctly, Lan. Pancakes are an art I've yet to master." "If I die because of your cooking, I'm taking you with me." He looked me dead in the eye as he said this, no hints to whether or not he was joking. I threw the kitchen towel at him with a laugh.

"I'm not that bad of a cook!" He eyed me suspiciously.

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you."

I rolled my eyes at him, wondering back to the task at hand.

Lando helped me finish prepping. He even helped me set the table, too. Not only did he look the part of a gentleman, but he also played the part very well. I couldn't help but think that we were a family right then. The way that we talked to one another, joked around like we had known each other for years. How he had helped me clean off the bar we would be eating on, since it was completely caked in flour from my small war earlier. Things just felt right at home. Lando was starting to feel like home, and I was starting to look forward to his visits.

"Y/n," He started, pulling me away from my pancakes. "Look at me." He hesitated a bit, reaching his hand up to touch my face. His thumb brushed the side of my cheek gently. This felt far more intimate than the two of us had ever been, and while I wasn't pushing him away, it was almost terrifying how dangerously fast my heart was beating due to his small action. "You had a bit of flour left on your face." He smiled, probably seeing the tint of my cheeks.

"Thanks." I stumbled, dropping my embarrassed gaze back to my pancakes.

...

Lando and I were playing a very dangerous game. Both of us were dancing around the thought of the other, neither of us decided to cross over the fine line between friendship and something more than that. We had spent all day together for the last week, and when we weren't around each other, we were texting each other or tweeting back and forth. Lando had discovered that I posted on Twitter quite a lot, and he never failed to reply to any of my pictures with something witty or stupid, all of which would make me giggle to myself. I had hated actually admitting the fact that I might think of him as something more than what we were, which was strange considering we had really only known each other for a weeks time, but nonetheless, I still felt that way.

You can't really tell your emotions no, can you?

He hadn't stopped on the formalities, either. He continued to kiss my hand when he met me at my door or out in public somewhere. Especially in crowds, he would sometimes squeeze my hand, knowing how nervous I got. All of his small gestures gave me butterflies and sent my pulse so high I though I might faint. My chest had started to ache when he wasn't around. I had started to feel empty after practices had started for the season, though that also meant the race was getting closer.

As we stood now, the race was two days away. It was now Thursday, Lan's second testing of the season. So far, he had come home with nothing short of success to boast about. He always got really excited when he talked about the car or the team. Those blue-green eyes of his would light up every time the topic was even brought up, inviting him to ramble for hours. Not that I minded, I personally find it quite enjoyable.

I heard frantic knocking at my door, knowing it was probably just Lando being overdramatic. I opened the door in a hurry, not willing to admit it to myself, but I was excited to see him.

"Hi" He said excitedly, doing a little wave before letting himself in. I'm assuming he had just gotten back from his practice. It was about that time and he was absolutely drenched in sweat. He went to sit down on the couch, but I held out my hand in denial.

"Lan, you're covered in sweat. You're not sitting on my couch like that." I covered my nose instinctively as I had started to notice.

"Aw, y/nnnn, c'mon. I'm tired." His bottom lip threatened to pop out at any moment, I knew it was only a matter of time before I eventually gave in to his pouting. I wouldn't give up that easily.

"Shower, go, I'll wash your clothes for you." It was his lucky day that I liked to wear oversized clothing. I dug through my closet trying to find one of my bigger shirts. With a triumphant smile, I brought Lan a pair of my larger sweatpants and a baggy shirt.

Hopefully this would do.

"Are you sure?" He asked, questioning my offer.

"Positive, you have no choice if you want to have our movie night tonight." I was practically shoving him into the bathroom at this point, trying to get him in as quick as possible before I was poisoned by the smell of his sweat. "I keep some of my dad's soap under the cabinet, feel free to help yourself." I heard some sort of grunt of approval from the other side of the door, and with my mission a success, I wandered back to my couch, admiring my handiwork.

"y/n 1, Lando 0."

A breath of fresh air hit me as Lando walked back into the main room. "May I sit now?" I looked up at him, his hair still damp and frizzy, curls sticking to his damp face. He could not have been more attractive. Especially since the shirt that I had thought would be big enough, turned out to be rather short, revealing a small portion of his abs to me. I had to look away, nodding my head slowly to his question.

A blush started creeping its way up my neck. I saw him give me a look out of my peripheral. "What's the matter with you?" He asked, as if absolutely oblivious to the obvious. "Just excited for the movies." I lied through my teeth, and if he had known better, he made no effort to say otherwise.

We both agreed on the spiderman movie; though, we had to watch the ones with Tom Holland in them. Well, Lando insisted we watched the ones with Tom Holland in them.

We joked around for the first movie, watching it but not really watching it. Every now and then we would bump into each other, moving ever so slightly and brushing shoulders or knees. Each touch was like fire to me, and it made me feel hotter than I should have. The room got warmer every time he looked at me, spoke to me. I was starting to realize that my feelings really didn't like being ignored, and I was eventually going to have to acknowledge them. The second movie was even harder to get through than the first. My eyes had started to grow heavy, and I knew that sleep was fast approaching. I felt a weight around my shoulders and looked over to find Lan's arm wrapped around me, his eyes focused on the TV. I liked this a bit too much, I decided. His warmth dug into me like poison, my eyelids threatening to fall with each passing second. I knew that if we sat here for much longer that I would be a goner.

My head fell down gently onto Lando's chest, I felt it tense slightly before letting up like he had before when we had hugged the first time. His chest shook with a soft chuckle. Though sleep had taken me, I felt a small kiss to my forehead, causing a smile to instinctively spread across my face.

"Goodnight, darling." y/n 1, Lando 1.

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feed-our-souls-too · 9 months

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You'll Never Feel Ready...... Or Maybe You Will?

Or: How I Learned to be an Artist by Being Ok with Where I Am Right Now.

I never posted my 2022 reflection. I got to it later in January, rather than over my time off between Christmas & New Years, & things started to get busier at work - which was followed by a year with lots of changes and frustrations. It was pretty draining, though I think it's moving me towards some important growth. And my reflection on last year feels like a good touchstone for what I hope for 2024.

///

I think I stumbled into my yearly reflection blog. I couldn't seem to find something that felt right to write about before now, but I was praying and I realized it was obvious. Gratitude.

I'm grateful that I'm where I am as an artist and a person. That I actually am doing art on most days. That I finish most of what I start and what I don't finish isn't neglected out of anxiety but simply too many ideas and too little time. That I feel like, if I were given a project, I could probably figure out how to do it, instead of just panicking; I have some ways of processing through a project that make it doable. That I enjoy art as much as I do when I could be sick of it or just made anxious by it. That I did a real commission and wasn't too excited about it but now I'm almost finished and it was a great experience! Challenging but good. Maybe good for me because it wasn't my go-to thing to draw and it was challenging, but it was good. I've come a long way and I'm getting to a place where I feel ready to seek out doing art professionally.

People always said "You'll never feel ready."

However, they meant we'll never feel perfectly equipped, with every skill and every technique and every way of processing through how a project might be done. Of course, I'm not completely ready! I never will be unless I start being able to tell the future! (hahaha- *how terrifying that thought is...). I couldn't handle my anxiety, so I couldn't finish things - so of course, I wasn't ready. I didn't have any discipline, so there's no way I would've gotten everything done on time - so of course I wasn't ready. I was only creating based on my whims, with no emphasis on learning and growing so I didn't have the tools I needed to work through challenges - so of course I wasn't ready.

The sense of being ready that I have now isn't about the end result being perfection; it's about knowing myself and knowing that I can trust myself when I encounter challenges to stay and not run. Really, it's that I trust God, that He can hold me together through the storm of anxiety. That His strength is greater than the influence of my brokenness.

I guess If I were to say something to those out there who might need it, it would be: If you don't feel ready, then say "No" to being rushed. Take time to ask, "Why? Why aren't you ready?" It could be simple fear and that you just need to dive in. Or it could be that you need to work on yourself first, to be a healthy person, to create out of a good place instead of a bad one. Keep in mind that you have time. You don't have to become a well-paid artist tomorrow. There are ways to get by in the mean time if you must. Learn to be ok with where you are first.

I'm surprisingly frustrated by how long it took me to realize all this and how long people tried to help me get "out there" without asking me if I wanted it or was ready for it. I guess because it feels like they all assumed they knew best without really talking to me. Saying "I'm not ready," was so easily dismissed by everyone as just an excuse as they wielded their "encouraging" platitude of "You'll never be ready, just do it!" It felt invalidating. And then, instead of working on myself, I tried to push myself to be the artist I felt people expected me to be instead of working on the artist and the person I was to someday be ready, to be healthy.

Being a healthy artist now though ("healthy," remember, not "perfect"), I know I owe to God. It sounds sort of over the top to say this, but I don't know if I'd be here if not for recognizing my anxiety for what it was while having art as a tangible way of dealing with it, and it is God who put artistic tendencies in me and equipped me to overcome my anxiety. Not that I don't still deal with it, but it doesn't rule me very often anymore. I can feel the symptoms of panic while knowing it's just my body reacting and I don't have to let my heart and mind follow along in its wake, joining in the panic.

None of that guarantees I'll be the artist I want to be... not in this life, I guess. To say "You have time," when you don't have the hope of Heaven is to say, in a sense, "Pretend you have time - because none of us really knows how much time we have left." And that's true. For me, however, I know God has made me an artist for a purpose, even if it's only for our mutual joy, and there will be plenty time for that in Heaven, in the presence of the Fount of All Creativity. When I say "I have time, so I don't have to become a successful artist tomorrow," there's a degree of contentment with where I'm at (Art is no longer something I'm trying to leverage to escape the things I fear), as well as an acknowledgment that, if not in this life, then in Heaven at least I will have opportunities to be an artist. I'll be given the chance not to make something of this world, but of the Next, to be creative in ways I couldn't even conceive of on this Earth, to be shaped purely and without the filter of sin by the Creator that made all from pure imagination. This excites me but also brings me peace. Peace, because of knowing that I am not racing against a deadline, that I won't "peak" in this life, that I won't run out of creativity, that someday I'll create freely in full safety with no worry of judgment & for the pure joy of it.

I don't have to be everything and all of it now, this instant, or else be a 'Failure' (...whatever that really means when we often learn and grow via failing). There is time and it is worth it to accept that time (& the challenges of being ok with being in that time). It is worth it. We don't have to rush. Take your time.

///

How apt this is. Little did I know that 2023 would be a blur of tiredness and frustration that pushed back my art dreams another year. Yet I also know that I've grown a fair amount: I've improved with color, tried out new stylistic things, realized some of the hallmarks of my style, finished my 2nd paid project, completed a two-piece paid project that wasn't commissioned by someone I know, and made art more consistently (somehow!) among other things.

So what does 2024 have ahead? Of course, I don't really know, but maybe it'll look a little, ironically, like overcoming my fear. Yes, I make more freely. I finish artwork all the time now (a thing I couldn't make myself do a few years back). But it's so easy to be comfortable. I hope 2024 looks like putting myself out there in spite of my fear and seeing at least a little reward back from that - whatever that looks like.

#yearly reflection #artist problems #youll never feel ready #unless you will #art and god #god and art #admin post #artist encouragement #this is me #year in review #christianity #art

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kdramaramattv · 1 year

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Chapter 1

Time is a confusing thing. When you want it to go by fast, the slower it goes. Then it ends up flying by when you least expect it. I can't have my way with time, everything I do revolves around it. It never goes my way. I'm forced to sit here and listen to lectures when I know everything. It doesn't really make much sense to me. That's why I'm sitting here doodling on my paper. This is what I enjoy, I don't like relearning everything that i already know.

"Ashley?" Mrs. Smith called out, bringing me from my thoughts.

"Ma'am?" I ask. She put her hands on her hips and everyone in the lecture hall turned around to look at me.

"Can you tell me the diagnosis of the patient if these are their symptoms?" She pointed to the smart board that held the symptoms.

I looked them over. Headache, nausea, dizziness upon standing, reoccurring stomach pains and fatigue.

"Pneumonia." I told her.

"Very well, if it's a child under 16, how serious is it?"

"Slightly. But you should take careful precautions and treat it within twenty four hours of diagnosis." I recant.

"Very good." She smiled at me and continued on lecturing.

I went back to my drawing, looking it over. I could have majored in art, but the only things I really know how to draw is Hello Kitty and SpongeBob. This is a picture of spongebob and I'm just adding little bubbles around him. I didn't really want to be here, I hate the lecture hall.

"Okay class, that's it for today. Don't forget to do your homework. Pages 373 & 374, problems 1-25. All due when you come back to class." She announced.

Every got up and packed their things, heading out of the building. I waited behind slowly, not wanting to be caught up in the crowd. I tended to like being lonely, so it didn't matter. When everyone was almost gone, I decided to put my things away.

"Ashley, can I speak to you for a minute?" Mrs. Smith asked, standing behind the desk at the front of the room.

"Yeah, but I have work in like twenty minutes." I warned her as I passed through the aisle of desks and descended down the stairs.

"It won't take that long." She promised with a smile.

As I got closer down, she picked up a stack of papers. Holding them out to me, I grabbed them when I was close enough.

"What's this?" I asked, starting to flip through them.

"You don't pay attention in class, and I've noticed. It's like your off into space or something all the time. And when it comes down to taking a test, you do very well. Your grades are magnificent, the highest in the class." She admitted.

"That's great. So what's the problem?" I asked, handing her back the papers.

"You're grades are too good. Material that I taught last week, you didn't even listen. But when you got the test you made a 97." She handed me the paper.

"Why am I getting in trouble if I have good grades? I know all this, it's simple." I argued back.

"It's not. You seem stressed or distracted lately. On the back of the test you drew, not really showing any enthusiasm about finishing." She turned the paper over, revealing my messed up dragon I tried to draw. I didn't understand, she wasn't making any sense.

"If I'm making good grades, then that's good." I sighed and gave her back the paper.

"The question is how do you do it?" She asked.

"Wait, you think I might be cheating?" I was appalled.

"No. I'm simply saying, with your schedule including work, where do you find the time to know all this." She said, her voice was all calm and collected while I wanted to scream out. I kept it in, I wouldn't argue with her anymore. I looked down at my phone, 8 minutes before I have to be in for work.

"I have to go." I bluntly told her, turning around and walking away.

"We're going to have to finish this talk later." She commanded.

"Okay." I rolled my eyes, even though I was pretty sure she couldn't see it.

I walked from the building and out to the parking lot. Opening the back door and throwing my books in the back. I only had 5 minutes left and I've never been late for work. I'm one of the few people who will actually admit they love work. I just enjoy working there, it's the best thing ever. It's only a couple miles from the school, but if you walk to the far end of the dorms, you'll be there.

I drove down the small town road. I was going to play some music, but I really wasn't in the mood. I sped slightly down the road, trying to get the diner quickly. When I pulled into the parking lot, I had 1 minute left. I ran out the car, going into the doors.

"Almost." Mr. Armstrong says from behind the grill.

"I'm sorry. One of my teachers called for me after class." I told him.

"It's fine. Just a heads up next time." He warns.

He wasn't a strict boss, he was actually laid-back. He even let his employees call him by his first name. He'd want you to work, but he wouldn't really make you. I just didn't want to disappoint him since he was nice enough to give me this job.

"Okay." I simply say. I pass by the counter and go to the back. I need to get my apron, pad, and pencil.

"Hey Hun." I hear a lovely voice call out to me.

"Hey." I yell out, knowing exactly who it is.

I come out from the back and see Jolie standing up against the counter. She flashes her lovely smile at me and pulls me into a hug. I wasn't the type to display affection, but she was an exception. Of course I don't like her, but she's a good friend.

"Almost late huh?" She asks teasingly.

"Yeah, my teacher. It won't happen again though." I promised. She wasn't like a manager or anything, but I definitely looked up to her.

"Oh don't worry about it. He's a softie, he won't do anything." She flashed her smile.

"Where's Kenadee?" I asked, looking around the diner.

"Oh, she's with Mitch. You know it's almost her birthday, so he's getting her presents and helping with the birthday party." She admitted.

"How long is he staying?" I asked.

Mitch was her husband for 10 years. Little Kenadee was just 7. She hardly ever gets to see Mitch because he's always touring. I know it's hard on them but I'm sure they'll get through it.

"A few months, they're working on a new album." She admitted. "So are you going to be here for Kenadee's birthday?" She asked.

"Uh, I'll have to work all next week." I said apologetically. I didn't want to miss work, but I couldn't miss her birthday.

"It'll be here at the diner. Billy will let you take off. Won't you Billy?" She raised her voice so it was sounding a bit intimidating.

"Yeah, I'll just get someone to cover your shift." He admitted with a shrug.

"Thanks." I told both of them who gave me a smile.

I started looking around the diner and saw more people coming in. Some that were already there were finishing up their food.

"I think I'll get to work." I told Jolie, who just nodded.

I went by, waiting on tables and clearing them off. It wasn't a dull job, but it wasn't the best. Yeah, maybe I could have been doing something better as a job, but I didn't want to. Practical was perfect enough for me. I took an order up to the counter and noticed that Jolie was gone.

"Where's Jolie?" I asked Billy.

"She had to go meet up with Mitch. Do you think you can cover both shifts? I'll pay you double overtime?" He asked. I couldn't turn him down, he's given me so much.

"Sure. What time would she have gotten off?" I asked.

"12." He bluntly stated.

"Okay, just a couple extra hours. I can handle that." I smiled and grabbed the upcoming order.

As I carried the plate to the table, I heard the door ring. It was signaling that someone had come in, so I tuned my attention to it. Walking in was a tall, scrawny man. He wore all black, and had on attire that was covered in spikes. He turned and headed towards one of the booths away from the windows.

I saw that he was wearing a jacket with one sleeve cut off. The arm that was revealed was covered in tattoos. His jacked simply had the word 'Prophet' written on the back of it. Just from watching him, I was already scared. The thought of going up to this guy caused even more fear to erupt inside of me.

I sat the plate down on the table and walked quickly over to Billy.

"Looks like we have a tumbleweed." He chuckled. He called anyone who stuck out in the diner a tumbleweed. "Why don't you go take his order?" He asked.

I was hesitant about going over there. I didn't know him, and for all I did know, he resembled a serial killer. There was no way that I was going to end up dead. But of course, I couldn't say no to Billy. I smiled and nodded to him, before walking over to his table.

As I slowly approached him, I could see him better. His well chiseled jaw, his God like features. His lips could have practically been painted on. They held a very unique distinctiveness to them, the way they curved. I also saw that they held a ring between both of them. It was locked around his lower lip. He also had one entangled in his nose.

He didn't seem that bad, but I didn't want to judge off first impressions. I stopped nearly two feet from him, and watched as he overlooked the menu. Scanning through it continuously. I looked around and saw an older woman and a younger one get up to leave. I would have to get their plates and clear off the table for future customers.

"I'll be back for your order." I mumbled slightly. I turned around and was getting ready to walk away, when I felt a hand grasp hold of my wrist. I was pulled back and then released.

"I'll take the BLT and a black coffee." He spoke coldly.

I nodded and slowly walked back until I was out of his reach. I turned around and made out the order. I handed it to Billy as I walked by, going to the tables. I only serviced a few more tables before the bell was rang.

"Order's ready." Billy announced.

I sighed before going to the counter and picking it up. I leant down under neath the counter and grabbed a coffee mug, setting it down. With my free hand, I slowly poured the freshly brewed coffee. I finished, and picked it up, before walking over to him.

I laid the sandwich platter down, and the coffee above it. He didn't say anything, just sat back, staring at the food. I took that as an okay sign to leave. I turned and walked away to the bar, before sitting down. I was tired, and there weren't many people who would come in after 11.

That's where I sat, barely moving, unless it was to clear a table or wait on people. I was exhausted, but it didn't matter. One thing that did catch my attention was how the tumbleweed guy had been eating his sandwich for two hours. I didn't think it would take anyone that long to consume food.

Before I thought about it too long, Hannah and Oliver came in. It was their shift now. They would work late, like a few hours to closing, which was 3. The only difference was they'd have to come back in at opening, which is 7, and stay until 10. I greeted them before going to the back to put my things away.

"Night Ashley." Billy said as I walked from around the counter.

"Night. Take care. See you tomorrow." I waved off to him.

I went out the diner doors, going to my car. It was parked almost directly in front of the doors. I took out my keys, fumbling through them to find the right one. I ended up dropping them from my hands. I knelt to the ground, patting it softly, desperate to find them. I took out my phone and shone the flashlight, finding them behind the tire. I put my phone in between my teeth and picked them up.

I was still using the light, I needed to find the right key. When I found it, I unlocked the doors and climbed in. I put my phone in the cup holder and the key in the ignition. I looked up, seeing two piercing blue eyes looking directly at me. I couldn't move, it was like I was under a spell. They blinked, as if releasing me.

I couldn't quit staring at them, though. It was truly terrifying how they were looking past my eyes into me. It wasn't long before the eyes started to smirk. The starting of a motor and they were gone. I watched the red lights of a bike trail away and disappear.

#blackveilbrides #ofmiceandmen #piercetheveil #bringmethehorizon #sleepingwithsirens #fanfic #fandom #andleyxxkellic #Andley #Kellic #fanfiction #wattpad #oliver sykes #ashley purdy #andy biersack #Rebel Love #original post

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squill79 · 2 years

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Lines and Shapes

More Adventure Time fan fiction! I've always found Jermaine to be a super underrated character and I wish he was used more. I really like this story tying together the end of his titular episode in season 6 with his appearance in Abstract. Enjoy!

Everything was destroyed. All of Joshua and Margaret's possessions. All of them. Bryce was free from his prison and Jermaine was free from self-obligated duty, his burden, his pain. The two were free to start anew. But there was one problem. They had nowhere to go. "Man this sucks like crazy", Bryce complained. "We've been walking forever. Makes me wanna choke someone out ya know?". Jermaine looked at him angrily, "I told you to stop with all this macho-man aggressive talk, it's annoying the bajeebs outta me". Bryce scoffed, "Whatever man, you're just too soft". "Well regardless", Jermaine added, "we should camp out here for tonight". "Right here?!?!", Bryce yelled, "Out in the middle of the wasteland?". Jermaine chuckled, "Yeah man I'm getting tired. Luckily I brought some camping stuff in my bag", Jermaine began pitching a tent. "Yeah like I'm sleeping in a tent with you", Bryce scowled, "I'm sleeping outside". "Suit yourself", Jermaine replied. The next morning Bryce woke up to Jermaine cooking fried rice. "Want some?", Jermaine asked. "Oh... sure", Bryce replied. "Ya know, I've been thinking", Jermaine said as Bryce began eating, "maybe we should take a break for the day. I mean we've just been walking aimlessly for almost a week. Let's give ourselves a day to relax". "RELAX!?!?", Bryce screamed as he threw his plate on the ground, "We don't have time to relax, we NEED to find a new home!". Bryce then saw a mountain off in the distance, "We should climb that! See if there's any place on it we can stay". Jermaine stared at the mountain, "Actually, it is a nice-looking mountain. I should paint it! Good thing I brought some supplies with me", Jermaine reached into his bag and pulled out a stool, canvas, and paint, "I've been meaning to get back into art". "How can that bag carry so much stuff?", Bryce asked. "Well it was actually my dad's", Jermaine replied, "He made a demon put some sorta curse on it. I couldn't let ALL his stuff burn". "Huh", Bryce responded, "well have fun doodling, I'm gonna climb that mountain". Jermaine went to paint, but was instantly intimidated by the volume of the mountain. "How am I gonna capture all those details?", he thought to himself. He simply stared at the mountain for almost an hour. Suddenly he heard a voice from behind him. "Hey what'cha doing?". Jermaine was spooked and turned around. It was the James's. "Oh... sorry you startled me". "It's alright, I startle a lot of people, that's why I was banished here", James replied. "Alright well I'm trying to paint this mountain but... I dunno, I'm just not feeling it", Jermaine answered, "I used to paint all the time before mom and dad died, but until recently I was too busy taking care of all of their booty. Problem is, I just can't get back into it. I have a picture in my head, but when I try to put it on paper it's just... I dunno, not coming together". James pondered for a minute, "Well... what if you broke the mountain up into little mountains? That doesn't sound so hard". Jermaine was disgusted, "Ugh, you mean like abstract art? That's for pretentious losers". "Well... I still think you should try it", James told him. Jermaine paused for a moment, "Well I guess I'll give it a shot" and as he began painting he was instantly entranced. The way his brush flowed as he gently spread his paint across the page, it was like nothing he had ever made before. He wasn't focused on every little detail of the piece, he simply let his emotions drive his art, using lines and shapes to express himself. When he was finally finished, Jermaine turned to see James, shocked at what he just witnessed. "So... do you like it?". James, still in awe, asked "Can I have it?". "Sure", Jermaine answered, but as he was giving him the painting Bryce returned, "That stupid mountain had nowhere for us to st-" Bryce then noticed the painting, "Whoa did you make that?". "Yeah", Jermaine replied. Bryce stared at it, "It actually looks pretty rad, sorta reminds me of my poster, do you think you could make more?". "I plan on it", Jermaine responded (continued)

"Hey did you say you were looking for a place to stay?", James asked, "Because I know a place". James took the two to a wall made entirely of water. "None shall pass through the wall of water", they claimed. "Not even for a portrait?", Jermaine asked. And with that, Jermaine and Bryce found a new home within the wall of water and Jermaine discovered a new way to participate in an old hobby.

#adventure time #fan fiction #writing #storytelling

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persephoneyss · 4 years

Text

The Monster.

Pairing: park jimin x f!reader.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish.

Summary: ❝You can be reborn like spring, but your nightmares will follow your footsteps at night.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, voyeurism, Jimin is a little delusional, implicit murder, death threats, a little violence, stalking, death of secondary characters, reader idolizes his mother, humiliation.

Number of words: 6000+

︙ Author's note: this is my first fic here, sorry if there are errors. My first language is not English and I don't speak it fluently either, so I used the translator. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, I am open to criticism. Thanks!

(Puedes leer este y más fics aquí en español.)

To block.

Your mind felt strangely familiar, like it was processing the same situation all over again. And then the same thing happened again.

Blocking.

You never noticed those little details, invisible to the eyes of others. Or maybe you took too seriously the message and advice that your mother always told you when you were afraid of being left alone in your room because of the obvious and silly repetitive story of the monster under the bed, you were crying looking for your mother's room in the middle of the night. You were looking for refuge in her arms. However, the only loving words she had for you were: "Ignore him and he will go away, darling."

It seemed very clever to you, you began to close your eyes ignoring your worst fears and in a short time you could do what most children could not at your age, sleep alone in the dark.

Your mother was wise, maybe that's why you never understood why your father left her overnight. She never commented on the subject and little by little it was forgotten in her daily lives. Your father never existed, you never saw him again.

In his small town no one was exceptionally well known, unless he had done something good or bad enough to be called a hero or, in the same way, a villain. You were barely seven years old when it happened, a family with a lot of money had chosen your town as a decent land, enough to build their luxurious house where their children who came from golden cradles would grow up. According to the gossip, they were foreigners coming to invade their town and rule it, when in reality the Parks never got more involved in politics than necessary.

They were just rich, spending money.

Young women from all over the world and even from other distant towns came every day to try to conquer the privileged children of the great mansion built finely and strategically in the middle of the main square. The young women were beautiful, many times you stood at the door of your house admiring their distinguished perfect faces and you wondered if the children of the Park family were really worth it so that young and beautiful women who had previously been rejected would come back again. in search of new opportunities.

Your mother sometimes stood next to you with a smile and released another phrase that ended up marking your style of thinking, her voice sounded so ethereal: "Money compensates for external beauty, plus the dignity that you lose to those who possess it, it will never have a price."

Your lost look made her smile beautifully badly, then that same sweet voice that taught you things that other women would see as irrelevant, she too moments later she orders you to come home to eat. You thought about it so much, your mother was beautiful, she could remarry if she wanted to. However, she never did, or at least until that day.

You were poor, you were never afraid to accept it. You noticed it almost immediately, when you saw other children playing with toys that seemed impossible that you will ever possess, your mother was friends with the one who was best friends with your father, a carpenter who seemed to be very kind. He always gave you toys that came out with small defects and he couldn't sell, he was a good man until he seemed to misinterpret the situations and her relationship with your mother, unexpectedly asking her to marry him. Obviously you had to stop seeing him after the rejection. However, you were stubborn like the woman who gave you life, almost every day after finishing school you walk two streets to her local.

"How is your mother? Any suitors who weren't rejected the first time?" You laughed, helping him finish his last job. You shook your head, Peter was always very nice and honestly funny, you still didn't understand how your mother could reject them, but you never got into adult affairs. You were just an eight-year-old girl.

"She still misses dad." You whisper trying to drive a nail into loose wood, before being interrupted by Peter.

You look curiously at his downcast face of hers, as if she was keeping something deep within himself. But he quickly changes his expression as well as the subject. "Very good girl, no more help for today" he says, removing the dangerous tools out of your reach, you let out a exhausted sigh wanting to help him. Deep down you felt guilty. "How are you doing in school? I heard that the Parks will start a new campaign to help more in the education of the children, maybe you can see someone from the family up close."

You move your head in distracting affirmation playing with a piece of wood, Peter watches you for a moment and then sighs. You really were special, and if I could tell what happened to your father, you would let go of that glow for sure.

The following days passed in the same way, there was only a radical change in your routine. Now they forced you to stay longer in school so that you could take art classes with the children of the Park family. You had heard many mothers talking to yours about how handsome they were, and since their daughters would undoubtedly have a chance with Jimin, who was the eldest son and of course the first-born heir, you thought for a long time about a tall man with more years than all those young women who hallucinated with the perfect millionaire husband. However, it was all an illusion. Jimin was not a man, he was a seventeen year old teenager.

Perhaps the young woman who did win him over would be very lucky to marry someone her own age and not a bitter old man who only had money. Jimin was everything, young, handsome and a millionaire, the best bet of any woman.

His first class was alongside his current teacher, introducing each child in the Park family. They were all very handsome, but Jimin seemed to shine brighter than the stars in the dark night. You wondered if his younger siblings would become jealous of him, it would be an interesting concept considering you had no siblings.

Your hands moved the clay very patiently, your classmates seemed to enjoy these classes and they were undoubtedly fun.

"What a beautiful flower ..." You smiled nodding, no one would ever think that someone like Jimin would be delighted with the common drawing of any girl. Her gaze traveled around your pure and innocent face, as if she couldn't get enough of you. She sat next to you, admiring how your hands continued to play with the dough creating new shapes and I certainly enjoyed every second.

She had never met someone who would attract so much attention from her, you were ethereal. Jimin was immediately drawn to you, your gaze clear as daylight and your soft features, maybe you were just a girl but you seemed to tempt his attention incredibly badly from him. He felt the strange sensation of making sure you were okay, safe, probably in his arms.

He followed you closely, always arriving at the same time. Her mother used to say that Jimin was very irresponsible, she never complied with the basic principles of being a Park: Discipline, order and punctuality. Jimin was different, his siblings may have fulfilled those three bases just to give what they wanted to their parents and receive more affection from him, but not him.

Jimin was obsessive. Impulsive, and he had self-control issues.

The biggest dangerous trait that his parents noticed since he was little, is that he suffered attacks of anger against anyone without caring about the consequences of this. More than three of his babysitters claimed that little Jimin had hit them, slapping and shoving them. But all of this was radically ignored by the Parks, who turned a deaf ear claiming that their son was simply too controlling, and in a way, he was. Jimin liked to have everything under control, at his disposal.

Jimin found himself fascinated with your little eyes looking at him without fear and, even though it was painful for him, without love. For you, he was nothing more than a stranger. He tried to change that, sitting next to you every day and talking to you a few times when he could get more than two sentences out of you. He liked art, I could tell by the way you focus too much on a small painting of an insignificant tree.

If you liked trees, Jimin could buy a forest for yourself.

You loved roses, he could plant thousands in every corner of town.

Or maybe, your obsession with the smell of vanilla. Jimin went wildly for the most expensive vanilla scented lotion, hoping for some praise from you and he really didn't fail.

No, when the next day he sat next to you and your gaze turned to him with a kind smile. "It smells great, Mr. Jimin." Your soft tone and your minimal compliment was enough to make his entire body shake, his hands began to sweat and his voice seemed to falter. It was amazing how you managed to make him so nervous, while he was still a child.

"Y-do you like it?" She asked even knowing the answer, your head bobbing in a quick nod and an even bigger smile adorns your features.

You put your painting aside for a moment to continue responding, Jimin feels elated to see that his plan worked. Now you're just looking at him, as it always should be. "It smells like vanilla, I like vanilla." You say honestly.

"I see, I also like vanilla." You seem shocked, Jimin increases the tension of him fearing that he said something wrong. He really wasn't lying, maybe vanilla wasn't something he used constantly but he didn't dislike it either, he was just disguising and embellishing a crude truth.

And before long, Jimin feels his life take an unexpected turn, people had started to notice his closeness to you. They called him an angel when in reality he was a devil, rumors and silly praise that he would be a good father were not lacking and the young women who came to his door every day to look for a date with him increased in an exorbitant way. You were oblivious to all that, clearly. However, you could not ignore all the looks that fell on you when you accompanied your mother to the market, as from one day to the next you became someone important just because you were the focus of attention of him Mr. Jimin, as you used to call him with respect. Peter also suffered the consequences of this, you had not stopped going to his store and the young women looking to conquer Jimin or at least get his attention began to follow you wanting to win your affection so that you will speak well of them with their desired man, no you were interested in what they could offer you but the biggest problem was that they did not like to receive a clear 'No.' as a reply.

They were insistent and often annoying. They followed you closely, even when you went to school or to visit Peter who now only went twice a week, you did not want to go out and have to face the pity that it gave you to see many beautiful young women begging for a vague love and that I was looking for more money arrangements than anything else. Also, not all of them had good intentions with you. Your mother made sure of your safety in the face of any incident, and with that came her last word, her strict order not to approach Park Jimin again until he found a wife.

The rest would be history.

He would surely forget you and start forming his own family, having his own children and likewise, looking for his own problems. Instead, that never happened. Jimin had discovered your plan, he was angry, he couldn't believe that you were ignoring his attempts to approach you in such a way. Your attitude was so pure but you were hurting her so much.

He was delusional, she knew he was. But he didn't want to stop. So, he did the only thing that would make you stay by his side.

You felt strangely calm, you had been to and from school with no one following closely in your footsteps. Until you noticed that the whole town seemed to look at you with superiority, with caution. Peter never stopped taking care of his store, however, that day it was closed. You gave little thought to that coincidence, walking home with slow steps. Deep down you were scared.

Maybe you thought you could feel it, in front of your house a crowd of people lay watching the most unexpected marriage request. Your mother was uncomfortable, you could tell by how her face was distorted, and how her hands seemed to shake for reasons not yet known to you. You watched in horror as Jimin knelt before her with a smile pulling a ring out of a small red box.

For a moment, you thought about your father. You felt strange, you always wanted to have a warm fatherly hug but it made you uncomfortable to imagine Jimin occupying that place, you did not want him, you did not love him as a daughter to his firstborn or as another similar relationship. He was a stranger.

Your body fell into the seat reserved especially for you, your eyes observed any place in the church trying to disperse your mind. Your little shoes brushed against each other, your hands rested on the wooden seat waiting for the wedding to end as soon as possible. You never wanted to oppose your thoughts to the idea of your mother falling in love or getting married again, you really didn't care much as long as that person was good for her.

However, he was Park Jimin. You felt disgusted when her mother looked at you from afar with despicable eyes, just as anger consumed you when Mrs. Park tried to embarrass your mother in front of everyone. You didn't ask for this, nobody asked for it.

Maybe you spent too much time thinking around you to notice that Jimin was unhappy. A little upset. He had done what he had to do, chained you to him in some twisted way, marrying your mother and he felt happy, at first. I could see you walking through the church, you were wearing a little white dress to match your mother's and for a sinister moment I imagine that you were the one walking towards him to be named his wife. But he quickly came back to reality, you weren't his fiancée. You wouldn't be his wife.

Deep inside him, he knew how gross it was to feel like this.

Your mother's eyes reflected how unhappy she was, her gaze was uncertain. Jimin smiled seeing how you kicked the decorations that fell to the ground, you were completely oblivious to everything and more to the look of her that she followed you closely. Many called him a good father. Seeing nothing but his protective attitudes, but under the circumstances there were only hints of what might come next. You weren't allowed to leave Jimin's house, his father had left the mansion where his whole family used to live.

Mrs. Park could find no better excuse to leave than the sudden tantrum of her first-born son for marrying an older woman, a widow, and a daughter. This is a mockery and disgrace to her family's last name. Jimin just let her go, he wasn't even there the day her mother boarded the first train to her grandmother's house.

Your mother flatly refused to leave her house at first, she did not want to leave the little cabin that your father had built with his own effort so that both of them would live there and in the future raise their children, you always lived there and you did not want to leave either. But you never had a solid vote, your mother ended up agreeing from one day to the next, you did not know how Jimin managed to change his word so suddenly. Maybe there was never one reason, but you became all of them.

You were painfully present at all times. You observed how little by little, the wispy and wise glow that your mother possessed was getting lost between her empty eyes and her bent body, her head was never raised as she taught you it should be. She was a stranger, you felt scared in her presence. You remembered very well how her face seemed to light up when she saw you coming home from school and how she taught you something new every day.

"Mommy..." You spoke, your hands were still busy with the picture that you hadn't finished painting. But curiosity began to attack your mind.

Your mother came out of the kitchen with a little gray apron, she smiled when she saw you sitting on the floor. "Yes, honey?"

"Why do people get married?" Your gaze lifted from the sheet of paper, wincing at her glowing eyes.

"It depends, it's not necessarily for love. Maybe for money, comfort or ..." her voice trailed off, she still staring at you she leaned down to take your face in her hands. "Because they found someone, as cute as you!"

"Mommy ... I want to marry you!" Your mother began to laugh, your gaze traveled all over her face, joyful of hers and for a moment, you swore that you would hate anyone who dared to take away the great happiness of a genuine smile.

You finished your drawing, just in time because the front door echoed through the entire cabin. Your father appeared with a small drawer in his hands, your mother seemed to be illuminated with an angel when she saw him enter with a kind smile. Both were such for which. They were, more than lovers and husbands, lifelong best friends. Your life seemed to have something that many do not get even after death.

An outer and inner peace. It was perfect.

Almost so perfect, it wasn't true. White roses were always your favorites. However, you began to detest its soft light petals when it seemed that all the townspeople bought the same bouquet of white roses for the funeral of your, now, deceased mother. You took a seat next to her grave, ignoring everyone's greetings and goodbyes, who apparently forgot how her criticism of her increased even as the days, months and years of her wedding with Jimin passed.

You couldn't blame anyone. Or you just didn't want to.

Because the rope around his neck was not placed by them. And the multiple scars on his wrists weren't his marks. A small part of you felt helpless, angry and respectively, disgusted with yourself. Could you help her? Yes. No. Maybe if you had ... And he had stayed in the past.

The little white rose in your hand fell to the floor, everyone had left the room to go to the large buffet served at the reception. You froze, then with the same rage you began to step on the already dead flower at your feet, the petals of it were no more than a pure color, now they were disgusting and dirty. Jimin appeared minutes later, your gaze fell on his hand that was holding a black and a red rose.

"We should go, honey." He whispered as if afraid to scare you even though you were already looking directly at him. Your immobile figure instinctively ran into his arms, which greeted you with an incredibly loving warmth. The roses were placed on top of the coffin, a smile spread across your face when you saw the color red stand out against so much white, and for a second you came to compare the beauty of an outstanding color with your mother.

She stood out in a world where everyone wanted to paint themselves pure white.

Jimin was even more welcoming to you now. He pretended to sleep waiting for 11:30 to arrive so that he could hear your footsteps on the way to his room, you had developed a great amount of fear of loneliness. Jimin knew you always did that, but before it was with her instead of him. You would walk for several seconds looking in the dark for his room, which was next to hers, then I would always hear her voice singing for you, making you rest in his arms. For a long time, I want to be her. But now he was gone and I knew it was a matter of time before your steps stopped at his door.

She loved the closeness of your body to hers, how your hands clung to her nightshirt when you were cold or a horrible nightmare was projected into your dreams. Jimin horribly wishes he could see beyond your dreams, although that would be disrespectful to your privacy, he wouldn't mind breaking your trust too much if he could be sure that you would never walk away from him, even in your dreams.

He managed to chain your life to his, your scared look was the most beautiful thing I have seen before. I want to touch your little face and kiss your soft lips that tempted him every time the word "dad" came out of it.

Time was his greatest enemy.

Your presentation was no better, your hands were trembling again while your feet moved from here to there restlessly. Jimin just watched silently, but the distance between you and him was gigantic, he just wished that the damn bitch that was presented before him would shut up and leave his house. It was remarkable how you seemed angry, maybe it's jealousy, she has feelings for me. He thought sickly, a smile spreading across his face discreetly at his incoherent thoughts of him. The young woman sitting on the sofa in front of him smiled thinking that her talk had caused some pleasure in the young and widowed man.

Jimin admired her face, she was very cute, also she seemed to have good manipulation technique in people. She noticed it quickly when she walked through the door, her smile that seemed uncontrollable and genuine lit up his childlike face. He took a few seconds, he knew he shouldn't do it but he couldn't help comparing the woman to you. You were shorter, you were obviously younger and your gaze was more pure. Jimin was proud of your firm stance, knowing that in the two years since your mother's death you had developed a closer connection with him, and likewise, you were a beautifully perfect copy of him. Your hard gaze and your legs crossed with each other showed your firmness, and your silent opinion.

You wanted the fucking bitch sitting across from your stepdad outside your house.

You laughed at the very idea of one day finding a really good replacement for your mother. You couldn't replace a rose with bad herbs. For you, as selfish as he was, Jimin was your father, and he was your mother's love from the day he married her. No one would replace his position.

It was all three of them, and a part of your mind conned that Jimin still wasn't over the love he had for her. Or he would have remarried long ago, when the young women stood in front of the door of his house asking for a date with him. In those moments you didn't care, Jimin was a stranger, but now he was your father and you were his only daughter. No one had the right to ruin their harmonious relationship, they were both alone and someday serious like him.

You will be successful, you will make a lot of money and you will be able to marry someone you love.

But for now, your gaze fell on the little worn and dirty shoes of the woman in front of you. A smile crossed your face, your gaze lifted surprising the woman. While Jimin waited with his arms crossed for your following action.

"Woman." Your voice seemed to cut her tranquility, her face lost total color of life and a small grimace of fear passed over her fragile face. "I can't allow shoes like that to step on the carpet in my house ..."

The woman looked at Jimin who seemed indifferent, distracted by the painting on the wall.

"I'm sorry miss" she whispered trying to remove her shoes, his hands seemed more clumsy than usual. Her face burned when your hand moved closer to hers to prevent any further movement.

"Go away." A tiny part of you felt sorry for his embarrassed face and flushed cheeks. But it quickly came to your mind that she thought she was good enough to believe she was your mother. When she couldn't even challenge a stupid girl who acted like a spoiled brat. "Get out of my house, or I'll have to ask you not to just take off your shoes."

"I-sorry, I'll go now-..." A sob interrupted her dialogue, her hands searched for the notebook she was carrying but she gave up making a quick bow to Jimin and running outside.

The garden was your favorite part of the big house, the walls constantly made you believe that you were going to be eaten by them. Every day you came out of your lair admiring the many roses of many different colors growing beautiful and healthy. Your school stage was about to begin and you did not want to neglect your garden, which was also a tribute to your late mother.

So you hired a gardener. You were seventeen years old and soon to be eighteen. To say that you managed to experience the best of all those years was ridiculous, and deep down inside you, you thought that all of that was possible because of all the things Jimin did for you.

You had a debt, which you planned to pay in the future. You thought about leaving and letting him have a quiet life from now on without having to run to solve your problems, even if you never asked him to.

Jimin had eyes watching your every move, he clearly remembers how he put security cameras throughout the house, observing how you slept, what you did in the comfort of your room and privacy. Even when you walked into the shower and your hands ran over your body covered in water. Sometimes he felt guilty, for how he seemed to enjoy those moments that seemed so short.

However, it was repeated that as long as you were safe.

Breaking your trust wasn't that important.

Your eighteenth birthday was moderately quiet, Jimin was not used to throwing parties, and honestly, you never asked for one. So you just stood at the door of your house receiving expensive and cheap gifts from people who when they gave you the gift had a forced smile that told you many things. Most were familiar faces, of women who had previously sought a date with your father, obviously being rejected.

The little birthday cake looked so monotonous, the candles were the only thing you could stand out for. You were never aware that you had started to be privileged and extremely ambitious since Jimin proposed to your mother and forced her to marry him, pointing a gun at her pathetic silly little head. You had it all, and in your previous years maybe you managed to get excited about the new toys and accessories that were brought to you from other countries, you had everything that others did not, and a strange epiphany collapsed over you.

It was you, it was déjà vu. You were them, and those who were before, were now you.

You had all of them, and they didn't. Now, by your side, they were all poor. Jimin showered you with gifts, causing you to gradually lose interest in money. You remember your thoughts when it all started and likewise, you still remember the woman with the dirty shoes. You will be successful, you will make a lot of money. It was what you thought in the future for yourself, but now that was it, in a nutshell. Completely boring. You stayed for a moment thinking about them under the watchful eye of your stepfather who tried not to smile when you saw you, you were an adult now and he could finally take you as his own. They would be husband and wife, as it should have been from the beginning of its history.

And you will be able to marry someone you love. You still had only one option left, you blew out the candles with a single sigh causing Jimin to clap his hands and approach you to hug you fondly. The maids behind you only blushed when his boss started showing all of his affection. They weren't used to seeing him so often, Jimin had a firm and tough stance with everyone but he seemed to become as soft as clay in your presence. You came to mold Jimin in your favor, making him a cold person in front of his own demons and then, you left yours.

"I want marriage proposals, father." A gasp came from the mouths of the maids who just immediately fell silent. Lowering their head as they were taught. "I am ready to get married."

Jimin hummed still keeping his arms around you, your body was trapped in theirs. Your skin burned when his fingers squeezed your skin, leaving permanent marks. There was no reaction from you, you were used to this kind of unexpected treatment and it just didn't hurt.

"Get married?" His arms pulled away from you in disgust, there was no other reaction either. Jimin taught you not to object unless you knew you should. Stay calm and you will win. "And can you tell who would want to marry you? Useless little girl."

"Useless?" Your low voice seemed to make him happy for a moment.

Quickly his hands took the utensils to cut the cake, with a soft and sweet voice he continued: "Honey, men do not look for a girl with a lot of money like you. They look for someone to tame, and you, you could easily crush everyone with a wave of your hands."

A piece of the cake perfectly positioned on the plate was placed in front of you, a sob escaping your lips. You were really pathetic, eh? You clearly wanted to live something that has been claimed many times. You weren't going to get married, not without having it all like Jimin said. Then, you would lose everything and go back up to crush the others with greater pleasure.

"Aren't you going to eat? It's your cum-..."

"I will go to a neighboring town, I will finish my studies there."

Jimin looked down at his plate, ignoring how you got up from the table and put your cake aside. Then, your sweet voice finished destroying his self control that he thought he mastered long ago.

"I never liked that cake taste."

And it was the end.

You went back to the start again. You were planning to leave tonight, your bags were ready. Everything you needed was never in that house, it was never him. They were those that never existed in your present continued.

Your shoes did not seem to contrast with the dirt on the town's floor, you were also aware that those would end up in the trash. You didn't care, they were just shoes Jimin bought for your birthday, insignificant.

People were observant, and often foul-mouthed. It was no different than they spoke far from you or close to you, yet their mouths moved in a fussy way exaggerating reactions and creating new lies.

"_____...?" Your posture was decreasing, you no longer had to pretend. A smile covered your face, framing many emotions in one. "Come in please, it's your house."

Peter stepped aside, leaving room for you to enter. Your hands trembled but this time from cold, you still did not get over the harsh winter that suddenly passed. You took your shoes off quickly, briefly forgetting that this was no longer your home. You had sold the little cabin at a minimal price, and you were even happier when it was Peter who chose that place as his future home to live with his wife and his future child. Now he had two more. The little children ran in the tiny room playing with each other, a feeling of nostalgia invaded you when you saw them. You used to do the same before, together with your parents.

Those moments.

"Glad to see you around here, daughter." Peter hadn't changed, he was still the same kind and understanding person as ever. The opposite of you, of course. "Do you want to have tea? I heard on the streets that you would go to study far from here."

"Coffee, please." You responded still reluctant to talk about your departure.

Peter just laughed at your exaggerated denial, nodding and leading into the kitchen. You took a seat at the small table looking around. "You didn't change the decoration."

"Uh? ...." He seemed surprised by your observation, but he quickly smiled. "No. Actually, I think I liked it from the beginning how your ... er ... your mother decorated it. Besides, my wife loved it too. For her, it's beautiful as spring."

"Spring?" You ask, avoiding looking at it. You look down looking for some reason not to feel sad, in a way, you had compared your mother to spring as well. However, Jimin said that you were his. You never liked being called a light, because you always tried to be in your mother's shadow. And you liked it. "She believed that she is very wise, my mother was like spring."

"Thanks." A voice whispered from behind, your gaze fell on her and her face very much like your mother's. But they were obviously completely different. "I never doubted that you were just as wise. Spring represents the new beginning, a new beginning. Did you manage to find yours?"

Peter tried to intervene, clearly noticing the way his wife was trying to make you talk about your life after your mother died.

"I did. That's why I'm leaving here tonight."

"I'm glad we all need to be born again at some point."

You affirm with a small movement of the head, concentrating your gaze on the coffee cup in your hands. The smoke fell directly on your face hiding your grimace of disgust. Nobody deserves to talk about her like that yet.

"Ok, honey." Peter began by sitting across from you, with a cup of green tea and a serene expression. "Are you planning to go alone or with someone? I heard that travel today is very dangerous."

"Actually, I am accompanied by an acquaintance. His name is Jungkook, he also planned to leave and started working for me as a gardener to get the necessary money. We became good friends." You spoke remembering the adorable smile of the young man, he used to accompany you everywhere you went as if his job was to protect you. At first it was cute, but then it was annoying. Even after all that, you preferred to travel with him rather than alone.

"Oh that's very nice. I'm glad you managed to meet your goals. Good luck."

Your goals?

"Thanks, Peter."

His gaze lingered on your face for a moment, then he seemed to remember something very important. She gave you a smile before getting up to leave the kitchen.

"I have something for you, you are old enough to know this."

It was an envelope. Common and ordinary, but its envelope was beginning to deteriorate, showing that it was an old and very reserved letter.

You questioned your decision but took it, not wanting to read it in front of anyone even more when you read who wrote the letter.

You sat on the small wall, the trees and the cool breeze boosted your adrenaline. Small pieces of paper fell to the ground. So, you weren't thinking correctly at those times.

"I only married a man that I loved in all my life, I was happy. I had a daughter. I lived years of solitude and then, I was chained to an empty love."

"I know what you're reading this now. You're weak, darling. Maybe that's what made us mother and daughter. Because from the beginning I never had the courage to tell you that Jimin put a ring on my finger and a gun to my head. Or maybe, I was weak when I didn't get in the way of his errand, I should have told him that I hated him and that he could put a bullet in my head before giving it to my daughter. And maybe, I should have told everyone who passed by me that He was the same one who murdered my husband, he never left. I made you believe that. You never asked. "

"I saw you so happy today, you were running between the garden and the wedding. I could see his gaze following your hurried steps, I was almost completely sure that he was trying to get closer to you at all times. I told the woman next to me, But she shut me up saying that I can't be jealous of a father and daughter relationship. You weren't her daughter. She also ordered me to let them create a closer relationship, because I already had Park Jimin's heart in my hands. Liars."

"I always loved your curious voice. You used to ask me everything, and why everything was like that. But lately, I don't know what to answer. Why am I crying? Why is there a dark stain under my eyes? Why is there blood in the bathroom? Why did I never ask for help? I see you worry and you don't let me give you affection, because you prefer to give it to me. I also see how I start to bother him, I am a hindrance. Now I understand, I knew it but I never wanted to accept that it happened. He was everywhere, and likewise, I was never part of the plan."

"There were only two things I didn't tell you. I love you and my last piece of advice. Honey, lock it up and fly to the start, whenever you feel lost. A fresh start and never forget spring."

You stifled a sob. Covering up your pain. You had not noticed that the night had covered the sky, a dark blue blanket arrived. It took you a long time to assimilate that all the fragments were torn papers, and it was not a letter. It was an envelope filled with, apparently, incomplete sheets torn from a notebook. There was a fragment that was not part of the leaves, but rather was written later.

"Lost parts of a sad widow's diary.

Peter."

They were from your mother's diary. So where was the rest? What actually happened? A message came to your phone, you read it quickly still drying your tears.

JUNGKOOK:

Our trip is in an hour, I hope you said goodbye to everyone.

Received at 7:05 p.m.

I still do not:(

Received at 7:06 p.m.

Along with both messages was an attached picture, a photo of him and his grandmother. Jungkook talked a lot about her, and hers, her brothers. You smile, still wiping the tears from your face.

Your feet moved, the leaves in your hands seemed too heavy. And yet it was something you needed to do.

"Are you at home." His monotonous voice invaded you, he was busy reading a book that rested in his hand. The maid came over leaving a cup of coffee beside him, greeting your presence politely. "I have some things to discuss with you, darling."

"Me too, Jimin." It was the first time you had said his name without due respect, he seemed surprised for a moment. But his expression changed to one of happiness, as if he had been waiting for it. "I couldn't say goodbye, I'm leaving today. I think you already know that, though."

"Actually, no. But it's nice to hear it from you."

"I ..." Your voice dried in your throat, a giant doubt fell over you. You didn't want to leave without telling him how much you hated everything about him. His attention, his affection, his smile, his gaze, his voice. Everything about him was disgustingly charming. "I think I'll go get my bags."

Jimin nodded, ignoring your presence. Still distracted with reading him.

"Before you go, can you give me that back, darling?" Your gaze followed where he pointed his finger. Your hand. The leaves were still there.

"It's something of mine-..."

"Oh I don't think so. It really is very easy to threaten someone, just suffice to say that you can put a bullet in their head to make them your obedient little puppets."

"I do not understand your..."

"Me? It was obviously me. I'm surprised you thought your mother would be smart enough to leave a confession letter to her ex-lovers, days before her death. You really had a lot of credit for her." His chatter was accompanied by a laugh. You were paralyzed, shaking in your useless state of shock. "But I will not say that I did not plan, I hoped that you would never have the courage to try to leave my side. And even if that were the case, I knew that you would say goodbye to the only person who reminded you of her. Peter, she has a family. lovely."

Nor did he expect you to have the courage to cheat on him with another man. Oh, the gardener. Poor Jungkook, his body now rested leaving behind your favorite flowers. Jimin bit his lip, another mocking smile peeking out with intensity remembering the cutthroat figure of the innocent but guilty young man.

You were his...

"How can you be so cruel?" The doubt in you seemed to want to keep growing, passing second by second through your head. You weren't sure you could understand that everything that happened in front of you was actually planned by the same person who swore never to leave you alone. The same man who disguised himself as a sheep so he could eat you like a wolf. "Did you kill my mother ?!" Jimin seemed surprised by your desperate tone, he did not expect to be able to unbalance your state so easily.

It was lovely. Certainly.

"No sweetie." He murmured closing the book in his hands, setting it on the table next to the steaming cup of American coffee. "But it would have been exquisite to be the reason for his pain. Unfortunately, it was your father who won that title."

"Where did you get this from? I know she wrote it, and I also know that she would never give it to you knowing what a monster you are." Tears were running down your cheeks like water, you knew you were a mess but Jimin seemed to look at you like you were a perfect work of art.

"I found it." He spoke casually, getting up from his seat. Walking slowly towards your trembling figure. "It was a coincidence, I like casual things. It was a coincidence that you studied at that school, that your mother was a widow, that your father died. That he will make me fall in love with you."

What is your goal now?

"I love you darling."

Escape from the monster.

#yandere bts #bts yandere #bts #yandere!bts #yandere bts au #yandere kpop #Yandere #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop smut #bts smut #bts x reader #jimin x reader #yandere jimin x reader #jimin yandere #jimin x you #park jimin #yandere!jimin #jimin smut

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wasabito · 4 years

Text

had so much fun writing for my baby boy tendou, so here’s my entry for the hqhq sfw server collab! be sure to check out the rest on the masterlist found here! enjoy ✨

words: 3.0k

prompt: “you woke me up at 3am for this?”

synopsis: your neighbor is ridiculous, kind of annoying and little bit on the weird side, but you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You had to be the biggest idiot on the planet—an obvious exaggeration, yes, but you were still inclined to believe it was true.

How else could you explain the feeling of being so utterly fed up with one’s actions like this? Were there enough words in the dictionary to describe just how exhausted you were by your own antics, more specifically, your forgetfulness since that’s what had landed you in a world of pain and embarrassment?

The answer was no.

You sat with your back pressed against your front door, head in your hands and chin tucked between your raised knees and chest. At your side was your wallet along with stacks of newspapers, coupons and whatever else had been stuffed in your mailbox, bills probably. Advertisements too. Honestly, it was hard to be happy about a new restaurant opening up down the block when you were currently stuck—locked out of your apartment to be precise.

The landlord of your cheap little complex wasn’t expected to be back for another hour according to the sign posted outside of his office. So until then, you’d remain posted up by your doorstep like some loiterer.

You shifted in place and blew a puff of air from your lips, feeling little pinpricks in your legs. For the fifth time in the last forty-five minutes you felt like kicking yourself, hard.

The sun hung low, nearly touching the distant horizon signifying the end of another day. Even the sky was painted a warm umber, casting dim shadows.

“Locked out, huh?” came a snide, but accented voice.

It took you way longer than necessary to realize that suddenly you weren’t the only person on this floor. God, where was your head at?

A pair of forest green crocs stood before you, complete with a few odd charms and trinkets. A cartoon volleyball, pinned next to a smiley face, a donut and a gaudy “i heart paris” chain dangling from the ankle strap. A person’s shoes could say a lot about who they were...your mother thought so, at least.

Resisting the urge to projectile vomit all over this stranger’s rather questionable taste in footwear, your wary gaze panned upward, glossing over white tube socks and a pair of the longest legs you’ve ever seen on a person—yet another exaggeration. You came face to face with a crooked smile. Curious ruby eyes returned your stare with almost the same amount of scrutiny.

Who the hell was this guy?

Mystery-man easily towered over you, and not only because you were hunched over and sitting. He was tall as hell, all lanky build, gangly arms and legs disguising lithe muscle and a surprisingly sturdy frame. He looked like the i-run-every-morning type; semi-athletic at the very least. His buzzed hair was the color of cinnamon, no that wasn’t right, paprika maybe? Either way, it contrasted sharply with the paleness of his skin, so much so that you could see the faint blue of the veins in his arms.

“Yoohooo, anybody hooome?” He tilted his head at you.

“Huh? Oh uh, yeah, I’m locked out. I forgot my key inside and Mr. Laurent won’t be back until later.”

“Hmm. That sucks...”

“...Um… do I… do I know you or something? You look a little familiar.”

He pinned you with a funny look, before pulling out a set of keys from the back pocket of his shorts.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t~ I mean we are neighbors, after all.” Laughing as if he’d made some sort of joke, he entered his apartment with a twirl and a dramatic wave of his arms.

You stared at his door for a solid minute, only to finally succumb to your urges and facepalm at your own idiocy. Of course he looked familiar, how could he not when he literally lived four feet away.

With a sigh of resignation, you braced yourself for another hour spent sitting outside your front door. It wasn’t like there was any other place you could go or anyone you could call. The battery icon on your phone blinked red, warning that it was soon to run out of juice. Guess that meant no Among Us or Subway Surfer for you.

Five minutes later, the door next to you opened. It was Mystery-man again, but this time, he sat in front of his door, just like you were. And he did so with a bag of pretzels and a jar of nutella in hand.

“Must be bored out here by yourself.” He crunched on a pretzel before offering you the bag to take some. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep ya company.”

You weren’t sure why, but there was something about this guy that intrigued you. You half-wondered if it was the funny little curl of his smile, or the wideness of his eyes that made it seem like he was looking at all of you, all at once.

"You must be pretty bored...uh,"

"Satori Tendou, but most people call me Tendou. Miracle boy works just fine too."

"Right... Tendou, as I was saying, you must be incredibly bored to come sit out here with me. You sure you don't have anything important to do?"

Tendou's grinned widened. "Positive! And it costs me nothing to be neighborly, so don't even sweat it."

That was...nice of him?

If sitting outside with you was the way he wanted to spend his late Tuesday afternoon who were you to deny him? And truthfully, you didn't mind the company, at least not really. Provided this guy wasn't some creepy-stalker-weirdo, you were sure there wasn't any harm in getting to know the person who lived one door over.

"So, Tendou, how long have you lived in the area? You don't really look like you're from around here...I could be wrong."

Tendou raised a thin brow at you. "Weeeell, if you're asking about how long I've lived next door, it would be about three maybe four months give or take, but if you're asking how long I've lived in Paris, it would be a year next month. Speaking of, I think Semisemi has a birthday coming up..."

You watched as he pulled out his cell phone and tapped away at the illuminated glass screen. You couldn't help but notice the goofy little anime stickers on his phone case. One in particular caught your attention.

“Is that...Kirara? From Inuyasha??”

“Oho! So, you recognize this?”

Backtracking, you mumble out, “Ah, well…only a little.” Though your face was turned away, the tiny smile on your lips was not hidden from Tendou and he thought you were pretty cute.

Funnily enough, what you had expected to be a rather unnerving and possibly creepy exchange turned out to be anything but. Tendou was incredibly fun to talk to—a bit teasing and a little overwhelming with his superfluous hand movements and gestures. But he was funny and a lot kinder that you would’ve given him credit for.

You learned that he was originally from Japan; it explained his accented French. He had come to Paris right out of high school to study culinary arts in one of the most renowned countries for it. Now he worked as a chocolatier, under the tutelage of a master patisserie in the city, an older man who was both a creative genius and a thorn in Tendou’s side. Tendou spoke of his teacher with equal parts awe and annoyance.

And he got to know you too. How you’d found yourself in Paris, thousands of miles away from home in an effort to rediscover yourself in the city full of rich history and culture.

You didn’t have many friends here, and it truly was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.

Soon, you both heard the telltale sound of jangling keys as your landlord rounded the corner with his clipboard in hand. Once you were able to get your door open, you waved a goodbye to Tendou.

“Thanks for keeping me company, you really didn’t have to.”

“No biggie, it was fun!” He threw a mischievous little grin and a peace-sign over his shoulder and reentered his apartment.

You found yourself wanting to cross paths with him again, and hopefully in better circumstances. But you hadn't known your wishful thinking was soon to manifest as you ambled through grocery store aisles a week later, eyeing down any items with pictures on it.

“Why in the hell is this toilet paper so expensive.” You mumbled.

“So, you complain about the price of toilet paper, but wear sneakers that cost two-thirds our rent.” That voice sounded familiar, and after hearing it for about an hour just days ago, you were a bit surprised you could recognize it so quickly.

Stunned, you looked up to find Satori Tendou, your quirky neighbor with an arm full of pita chips, a milk carton, and baby carrots.

“I never said I made the best choices.” You found yourself smiling despite the previous crease in your brow. “...Dude, get a cart before you drop everything.”

Instead of getting his own, he simply dumped what he had into your cart with a teasing grin. You couldn’t argue with his logic there. Tendou sidled up against you, once again towering over you with a kind of ease that should be criminal. “Need help reading something?”

You wanted to say no. You almost said no. But swallowing your pride, you gave a weak nod. “Yeah, this word right here.” Pointing to the unfamiliar script printed on the label. “What the heck is this?”

“Weeeeell, looks like that brand is scented, ya know, for when ya—”

“Don’t bother finishing that sentence...please.”

You quickly grab what you need and continue on down the aisle with Tendou following closely behind.

Just like when you’d first met him, he made conversation the entire way. By the time you both made it to the cash registers, you’d argued at least three times over french pronunciations and whether cashews were the cousin of peanuts.

And just as last time, he left you with a grin and a peace-sign while you stared after his retreating back, paid groceries in hand.

After an entire day spent baking, you found yourself on Tendou’s doorstep with a tupperware full of baked goodies later the next evening. You had been meaning to thank him for being such a good neighbor to you. It was certainly unexpected, but a welcome gesture nonetheless.

You only had to knock twice before the door was wrenched open and you were greeted with the set of...vanilla? Some pop song played in the background while your neighbor looked at you curiously.

"H-Hey Tendou, I um...I baked you these." You held out the plastic container, hoping he'd simply take it from you without question and you could return to your apartment without somehow embarrassing yourself. "There's a little bit of everything in there, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, macadamia nut—wait you aren't allergic to anything, right?"

"Nooope! Not a thing, thanks neighbor!"

"It was no problem, especially since you've helped me, not once but twice now."

Frowning, you couldn't help but be a little upset with yourself. You'd come to France to prove that you could, in fact, live a normal life outside of your family’s jurisdiction but day by day you were proving to need them more and more.

It was disappointing, to say the least.

"Hmm, what’s with the constipated look on your face. Did the toilet paper not help?” Tendou tilted his head at you with a teasing grin, lips curled at the edges, taunting. You blinked up at him, surprised, and if you were honest, a little annoyed too.

"Hah?!"

"Just thought it was worth a mention, nighty-night~!"

Tendou proceeded to shut the door on you; one hand rested on the frame and the other held on to the cookies. You quickly took a step back lest he chop your entire arm off, ready to trudge off in the direction of your own home but not before sticking your tongue out at him.

Stupid Tendou, always saying stupid shit.

You were on the couch, half asleep when it dawned on you that it had been his own twisted, “Tendou” way of cheering you up.

The rest of the month passed just like that. Occasionally, you would bump into Tendou at the grocery store, or the leasing office, or even the laundromat. And every single time, he’d either make you laugh until your sides hurt or annoyed enough to want to give him a friendly punch. At one point, you two had even exchanged phone numbers, because according to Tendou “it was ridiculous not to have your friends on speedial” which only led to hours spent on Facetime or playing iMessage games.

You knew exchanging numbers would come back to bite you in the ass, it was only a matter of when.

It was clear you weren’t going to any sleep tonight, that was for sure. The incessant buzzing of your cell phone every five minutes was an enemy to your circadian rhythm. You could name on one hand those in your contacts with enough sense to know that you lived in a completely different time zone from them now.

Somehow your neighbor was the very last person you suspected, but it was his contact photo that stared back at you, goofy looking grin and all. You squinted against the brightness of your screen in your otherwise dark bedroom.

you up?

come quick

gotta show ya somethin

come oooon

you're awake, i know you are

It took you less than a minute to shuffle on a pair of slippers, grab your keys (you weren't going to forget them this time) and slip out of your apartment.

You hadn't even knocked twice before the door was pulled open. Tendou looked a mess, more so than usual. Unidentified stains littered the apron looped around his thin waist, streaks of what you hoped were just flour and granulated sugar were all over his hands. You almost wanted to ask if he was baking or dealing dope.

“You woke me up at three in the morning...for this?”

“Yuuup!”

"When I said you could call me at any time, I really didn’t mean any time.” You scratch your side, a contemplative look on your face at the sight of Tendou in what you would assume to be his pajamas. An old volleyball hoodie with the words "Shirazorizawa" printed across the front, and old sweats the were so obviously cut with scissors at the knee.

Rolling your eyes, you mumbled a curt, “Alright, move aside.”

Tendou ushered you over to his kitchen where several of his cooking supplies laid on the island, along with a tray of some chocolate dessert spread.

“It’s all still in the testing phase, but I think I’m onto something here.”

He was definitely giving off “mad scientist” vibes. You tried not to snort.

Holding a small chocolate cake in his hand, he smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Open wide."

You obeyed, far too tired to argue, and let him pop the treat into your mouth. Tendou watched as you chewed, as if it were the most interesting thing ever. His wide gaze carefully took in every shift in your expression.

"So? Whaddya think?"

"I...," You chewed a bit more. "...It's delicious! Is that—"

"—Pistachio, why yes it is!"

Tendou was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement. "It takes the entire thing to a whole new level."

You had to agree with him there. This was probably the best chocolate madeleine you'd ever tasted. "Great work, miracle boy. Will you be introducing this new recipe to Claude?"

Mentioning his teacher seemed to sober him up a bit. "Ehh, maybe? The old man's a bit of traditionalist, so I'll just have to figure out a way to get him to approve."

"Maybe try calling him at three in the morning?"

Tendou stuck his tongue out at you before popping a dessert in his mouth. The pure delight on his face was so contagious, you found yourself smiling just the same. You couldn’t help but admire his passion.

“Hey, Tendou… do you like your job?”

He blinked at you, chewing coming to a slow halt. “Well of course! The pay isn’t the best just yet, but it’s a labor of love. I’m willing to put my all into it at least.”

“Huh… that’s pretty cool.” You wiped your fingers on a nearby rag. “I hope to feel the same one day… if I can figure out what I wanna do.”

“Why not bake? You’re pretty good at it.”

“Oh am I? Last week you said my baking needed some work.”

“Well, duh, but my standards when it comes to confectionaries are impossibly high. Even so, I think you’d be successful as a baker. What’s stopping you from pursuing your labor of love?”

And that was the thing with Tendou. He talked a lot, teased even more, but it was never idle ramblings. Somehow, he always seemed to hit right at the heart of the issue with almost painfully uncomfortable accuracy.

“I don’t really know so…” You looked away, trailing off.

“Either way,” he said and placed a finger under your chin, raising your head until you were looking him in the eye. “I’m rooting for you.”

For a moment, you simply stared, awestruck. It was the first time in a long while someone was actually putting their faith in you, believing in you. He had come blazing into your life unabashed with his easy grins and gaze alight with mischief. His encouraging words, sincerity, sensitivity. Tendou was really incredible.

“Tendou…” You took his hand in yours, squeezing it. “Thanks. For everything.”

“Of course, what are neighbors for.”

BONUS:

Three months later you sat curled up next to Tendou on his sofa, his entire apartment smelled of chocolate cocoa with hints of cinnamon.

Before you was an application. Culinary school.

“You really think I can do this?”

Tendou placed his head on your shoulder with a tiny smirk. “One hundred and twenty percent!”

You pondered for a moment, then decided that if he thought you were up for the challenge then you’d believe him.

“For the record, you probably aren’t supposed to recommend your girlfriend for an interview. You know, conflict of interest and all.”

Tendou laughed and pulled you closer. “Trust me, we’ll be fine, so don’t worry your pretty little head, ‘kay?”

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #tendou x reader #tendou satori #satori tendou #satori tendou x reader #tendou satori x reader #sabi.writes

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cottoncandy-jester · 4 years

Text

✨lie down darling it's time for a dream✨

Princess (hajime iwaizumi)

Okay so..once again I was inspired by someone's random drabble or thought. The person you all are to blame for this trashy horny mess is @iwaizoom

✨Sorry this is late was busy telling gender dysphoria to fuck off and it made me lose inspiration for a few days✨

Sorry it's short was gonna type more but tumblr app said absolutely not and deleted my last two drafts if this

This story contains: public sex, feral iwaizumi, light nipple play, iwaizumi with dick piercings, degrading, light breeding kink

A soft hum escaped you as you walked into the familiar shop that you tend to visit everyday, this time you were on a mission. You were wearing a pair of black leggings and a jacket which wasn't so bad but under that jacket was quite the surprise.

"babe!"

You called out only to see iwaizumi look up at you from cleaning the needles, it wasn't surprising to see you here but he didn't have any other clients today so it was just you two.

"hmm? Whats up princess?"

"I want a tattoo!"

Your words made him quite excited as he already had ideas of what tattoos to give you, he's done small tattoos for you in the past and everytime it gets him excited to know that he will be the one marking you and making your beautiful body into art.

"alright take a seat and tell me what ya want"

Phase one was now in order, you happily skip over to the chair before took a seat and unzipped your jacket while iwaizumi was setting everything up.

"well I was thinking of getting your name, I want it here!"

When iwaizumi looked up his eyes widened as he gulped and watched you feeling his cock harden

You lifted your shirt before trailing your hand to the area sitting right above your chest, iwaizumi's eyes were glued to your chest as he bit his lip to hold back to urge to attack your nipples with his mouth, honestly ever since you got those damn things he has been fucking you like crazy and it was coming to a point where it was like a trigger to him

It was like his mind blanks and next thing he knows he's balls deep inside of you with you shaking under him and begging him to stop before you break, this time he kept from blanking and simply stood up before pointing a shaking hand to the room in the back. He was now sweating as he tried to form words but his mind was filled with different positions to put you in so he could make you scream.

"g-gonna come up with the design in the back sit tight, and get ready"

As son as the words left his mouth he was rushing off while you pulled your shirt down holding back a devilish laugh, honestly his reaction was way too perfect.

When it came to doing the actual piercing, iwaizumi sat in front of you with his knees in-between his legs as his eyes were focused on your tattoo but ever so often his chest would brush against yours and the feeling of your nipples touching his thin tank top made him want to stop and just ravage you

finish the tattoo

Finish the tattoo

Finish

The

Tattoo

He was sweating bullets and once he finished he never wrapped a tattoo faster in his life before slamming the ink gun down panting softly as he glanced at his jeans which showed his throbbing bulge. He couldn't stand that fake innocent smile you gave him as you tried to pull your shirt down only for him to rip his gloves off before yanking your shirt right off before he reached out and gropes your chest with his thumbs rubbing along your nipples

"ah! hajim-"

"shut the fuck up, you nasty girl"

You felt a chill go down your spine while a feel of arousal hit you right in between your legs, he was definitely pissed off and that only made you more horny. You immediately reached for his bulge only to feel him slap your hand away before he leaned forward resting his hands at your hips while his tongue replaced his hands now trailing his tongue along your breasts but also being mindful of your new tattoo

"you thought you were so cute strolling in here and practially shoving your tits in my face knowing what I'll do, god you piss me so off when you act like a needy slut"

His voice was deep as he moved one of his hands to shove it down your pants now feeling your wet hole that begged for him to feel it, the slick feeling made him smirk as he trailed his lips down your stomach, he slipped your underwear to the side only to plunge two fingers deep into your wet cunt.

"why is the princess so wet, were you hoping to piss me off like this?"

"Mmmm..n-no.."

Iwaizumi now pumped his fingers faster in and out of as he watched your lustful expression as you squirmed around lightly. He simply pulled back only to hear your panicked and needy whines with a light scoff as he licked the juices off his fingers while watching you whine and babble about how you needed him.

Honestly he felt the exact same about you, he didn't have the time for foreplay or any of that like he usually did so it wasn't quick before he was throwing his clothes off and doing the same to you, his cock pressed against your wet cunt as he rubbed the piercings against your slick pussy.

All ten silver balls starting from the base with and ending just below the tip with just an inch of space in between each piercing got soaked in your juices which only fueled his lust more to the point where he just couldn't help but shove himself into you.

"fuck- how do you always stay so tight baby, we've been fucking almost every day and yet your cunt is still milking my cock like this"

As he pushed deeper he watched as you would shudder everytime his piercings rubbed against your inner walls, the sight of you enjoying that always made him chuckle.

"ah..you like my piercings? Yeah baby I love yours too, such sexy little things"

"h-hajime..please"

He wrapped a hand around your throat and added light pressed as he shoved his cock as deep it would go before glaring down at you, his cold eyes alone could make you cum but you knew why he was pissed off.

"you know what to call me princess, now say it"

"d-daddy-"

A single word was enough for him to start sloppily thrusting in and out of you with little to no mercy, he leaned down kissing and biting along your breasts but made sure to avoid touching your new tattoo though he did have the sadistic idea of cumming all over it but he figured he should wait til it was healed for him to do that

"ah daddy! P-please-"

"hmm? What do you want, babydoll? You're almost crying so badly you must need something good"

He glanced up at you as he pulled back now pulling your legs over his shoulder as he deeply thrusts into you with an unsteady breath.

"p-please fill me with your hot cum! I want to have your babies"

Now iwaizumi is normally not the type to go absolutely crazy during sex unless you pissed him off enough to engage in angry sex which has happened before but this, oh this was different and before he knew it he was ravaging your poor cunt giving you animalistic thrusts as he thought about your stomach swollen with his baby, that would prove that you are all his plus he did want kids with you.

"if that's what you fucking want baby, I'll pump a baby into you and get you pregnant, our baby. God you drive me so damn crazy you want me to breed you? Yeah you fucking do you naughty girl, be my little pregnant wife. "

Iwaizumi was now kissing your inner thigh as he roughly slammed his hips into you letting out a shaky breath as he felt you tighten against him, a feeling he knew all too well.

"is the little slut going to cum? Do it then baby. Coat this cock with your slutty pussy juice and scream out for daddy!"

"ah! Daddy- please please please-"

Iwaizumi couldn't help but chuckle at your crazy begging and sobbing, his eyes landing on your breasts bouncing with each rough thrust he gives you, those damn piercings would be the death of him.

As he felt his climax approaching he was now like a savage animal breaking you with his harsh thrusts and wrapping his hands around your neck starting to squeeze it but of course not too tightly but just enough for you to feel the rush if adrenaline.

"cum for me pretty girl! Cum for daddy like I know you want to!"

His demand and slamming into you one final time made you squirt all over the chair and his cock. The sight alone drove iwaizumi to his own climax now filling you up and watching as your body twitched and shook under him.

As you both started to come down from your highs he just realized how messed up the chair was, from the sweat and cum to the claw marks gifted from you during this little session.

A wave of annoyance hit him as he glared at you with a light scowl, damn you! He couldn't really stay mad for long and he simply pulled out before kissing the top of your head.

"oi, get dressed we are going home alright?"

As he moved to get dressed he could hear a comment from you that made him pause and feel his cock harden all over again.

"i-i should get my clit pierced, yeah hajime?"

Okay so maybe another round wouldn't kill you both, after all shop was closed and you two had all the time in the world.

#hajime iwaizumi #haikyuu smut #haikyuu imagines

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dumblydork · 3 years

Text

Summer

Hello! I am SO sorry for having gone MIA all of a sudden on Tumblr and Ao3, but life caught up once exams ended and I was in a deep, dark place for sometime. But not to worry, because I'm definitely better now, and finally got over my writer's block/unmotivation (if that's a word) and what better way to start off writing again if not with a Hinny fic?

As usual, I hope you enjoy this sort of non-magic alternate universe, maybe a modern meet-cute of sorts? From the one and only Ginny Weasley's perspective, of course.

Again, you can find my Ao3 right here where I post quite fluffy Wolfstar one shots!

----

The summer was harsh in Cornwall, which was where Ginny's family home was situated. She went up to university in London, just having recently finished her second year in Drama. Last summer, she was on a long trip with her best friend Luna, and hadn't been able to make it down to be with her family. But this year, she fully intended to spend as much time as possible with them, even if her older twin brothers were being annoying arses.

"Fred, George, just wipe the bloody tables already!" She screamed, exasperated, even though the twins were not even 20 feet away. The only unique cafe-by-day/restaurant-by-night was owned by Ginny's family. It was a quaint place, serving the best coffee to tourists and locals alike, along with not such a sharply contrasted cosy restaurant theme the place adopted when the sun went down.

And currently, the cafe was a few hours away from opening as a restaurant, and was left in the care of Ginny and her older twin brothers. She had another older brother after the twins, but he was off with his university friends (being an year older) and had even MORE older brothers ranked above the twins. Her oldest brother Bill, worked as a vet in New York, also where the second brother Charlie worked as an art curator. The third brother Percy was currently obtaining his PhD in some sort of Math which Ginny was too 'humanities' to understand (in Percy's own words, that subject bigot). The brothers after Percy, twins Fred and George were as stated, being annoying prats but worked in some sort of prank shop, much to their mother and Percy's chagrin (Between us and her, Ginny never understood why Percy felt a need to voice this opinion, because if Ginny also opened her mouth to provide an opinion on every single thing under the sun, working in a prank shop was perfectly acceptable).

Finally the last brother Ron went to university in Devon, having recently finished his degree in Astronomy combined with Philosophy, and that was it. Growing up with 6 older brothers, Ginny was significantly hot tempered, a trait often made fun of because of her (and her whole family's) flaming red hair.

"Oh for God's sake the two of you, just shut up if you don't want to do any work!" She finally snapped, causing two identical pairs of brownish eyes to look at her.

"Okay!" They smirked, before actually rushing away to the back of the cafe. Ginny sighed, wondering for the tenth time that afternoon why she bothered to come down here in summer. The twins, despite being her favourite, were useless gits-

"Ginny! Where are Fred and George?" Her mother's voice flew out from the front of the store, removing Ginny from her trail of thoughts, where Molly stood with hands laden with grocery bags. Her father, Arthur, she saw outside from the huge floor to ceiling windows, was unloading the boot of their car of more paper bags.

"They ran away after being absolutely useless gits." She muttered angrily, almost aggressively wiping a glass and placing it on the shelves behind her.

Her mother let out a long suffering sigh, but nevertheless joined Ginny in tidying up the cafe. "They're quite irresponsible." Molly sighed, wiping down tables at a superhuman speed.

"Mum if it's okay, can I join Ron and his friends at the party happening down at the beach?" Ginny asked apprehensively. The question had been burning at the back of her mind since the morning when Ron actually invited her to the beach party being thrown by one of the local boys. He had brought his uni friends and girlfriend down from Devon, and Ginny had already met Hermione, Ron's soulmate, if their behaviour was anything to go by.

Being in an all girls school, Ginny practically grew up with her girlfriends gushing about boys and celebrities, often almost swooning like some Victorian women when boys from the neighbouring school passed by their grounds.

However, Ginny was smart- if having six brothers had taught her anything, it was that boys were annoying, and only a few handful of them were actually decent. But now, looking at how close Ron and Hermione were, Ginny was starting to long for her own sort of romance. It had been over a year since she broke up with her first and only boyfriend Dean. She was convinced the breakup had solidified her stance on relationships, which was that relationships were okay but there was no need to actively look for one. Ron and Hermione's lovey dovey-ness was revolting, but uncharacteristically had Ginny pining away for her love story as well. Not that she'd ever admit it, of course.

"Well there's nothing really to do, and if it's busy there's a lot of pairs of hands to help. So sure, go on." Molly finally said and Ginny could almost fist pump, if it wasn't for the wet rag she was holding.

The evening rolled around quicker than Ginny anticipated, and before she knew it, her and Hermione stood in Ginny's small attic bedroom, getting ready for the party. "So, tell me, how was Dean?" Hermione asked, looking behind at Ginny through the mirror, where the younger girl stood blinking away extra mascara.

"Oh well, he was alright. Nothing like fireworks or sparkle." Ginny flushed slightly as she processed her own words. Oh, how she sounded like a lovestruck 12 year old.

However, Hermione didn't seem to mind. She simply grinned. "I'm sure with the right person it's more than just sparkles and fireworks." Hermione winked, and Ginny wondered if there was more to the statement than she understood. However, Hermione was already done with the topic, now going on about her course and what plans Ginny had for after university.

They walked downstairs, finding Ron standing at the door, his eyes glued to Hermione as she walked down the stairs. To be fair, Hermione definitely looked stunning- even if it was for a casual beach party. Ginny noted slightly bitterly to herself how the simplest pair of jeans and top could make one gorgeous to the right eyes. She breathed deeply as Ron wrapped an arm around his girlfriend, the girlfriend in question smirking back at Ginny as she followed them. Okay, very confusing.

The walk to the beach from the cafe was short, and there was already a bonfire going in the distance, with some upbeat song playing from someone's phone. "So, where is Harry and everyone else?" Hermione asked, looking around. Ron still had a hand in Hermione's as the two of them looked around for who had to be Ron's friends. "Neville!" Ron suddenly yelled good naturedly, as a tall guy walked towards the three of them with a big grin on his face.

"Ron! Hermione!" Neville hugged each of them in turn, smiling broadly at Ginny.

"Neville, this is my younger sister Ginny. Ginny, that's one of our friends from uni, Neville." Ron introduced. Ginny waved, which was returned by Neville.

"Is your girlfriend here as well?" Hermione asked, to which Ron added, "Oh, do we finally get to meet the elusive To-Be-Mrs. Longbottom?"

Perhaps having noticed Ginny's confusion, Neville clarified. "These two here haven't had the chance to meet my girlfriend- well, fiance as of a week, yet. In answer to your question Ron, no, she unfortunately couldn't make it. But she's been inviting the two of you over for dinner since ages." He turned to Ron.

"Actually yeah, we should definitely go. Anybody seen Harry?" Ron asked, looking around the small crowd of people. Ginny moved away from the couple to sit next to the fire, and grab a cold beer in the process.

She had just made herself comfortable slightly away from the warm fire when a figure sat down next to her, causing shivers to go up her left side. "Hi, you must be Ginny." The figure spoke and Ginny looked to the source of the voice, to be met by the unruliest mop of black hair she had ever seen on a human, and twinkling green eyes. In the soft light from the fire, they glowed slightly amber.

"I am. But I don't think I've met you?"

Ginny didn't get an answer because Ron's voice interrupted them. "Harry, you came!" He shouted, the figure (Harry) getting up to tackle Ron in a hug.

"Of course I did, getting sloshed at your best mate's beach party is always infinitely better than home." Harry grinned, and Ginny started to feel her heart race.

"I see you've met Ginny." Ron said, sitting down in between her and Harry.

"I just did, yeah." Harry smiled mischievously. They had moved closer to the fire, and in the brighter light, Harry's face was more distinct. And boy was he fit. The hair, even though messy, was not unattractive (quite the opposite), and his face was slightly round, made rounder by the permanent grin which seemed to reside there. And his eyes were covered by round glasses, reflecting off the orange from the fire.

"Well anyway, Gin, this is Harry, my best mate from university. He just made it down here to Cornwall." Ron said, and suddenly got up to fetch more drinks, but Ginny didn't miss the glares Hermione was shooting Ron from across the fire.

"Do you reckon we go a bit further away?" Ginny, being so busy interpreting the look Hermione was giving Ron, hadn't noticed the boy had shifted closer to her.

"Uh, sure." She found herself slightly tongue tied, staring into green amber.

"Brilliant, Let's go?" Harry got up, and lent Ginny a hand. She took it, and a slight warmth, probably not from the fire, ran down her spine when their hands remained connected.

They walked away from the party, not too far that a search team would be required, but just far enough to hold a conversation in peace. The music slightly played in the background, a slower guitar theme, and Ginny turned around to see Ron and Hermione swaying around the fire, the brightest smile settled on both their faces. Ginny simply let out a happy sigh, attention darting down to entwined hands.

"So, Ron tells me you're in drama?" He asked, as they sat down near the water with their legs bent, just that the waves touched their toes and washed back.

"Yes, I am, final year now. Although I haven't heard a lot about you?" Ginny teased. Harry simply chuckled, a sound she realised she found much more attractive than she should have.

"Well it's a shame since I am his best mate but, Harry Potter, third year medic, at your service." He lightly bowed his head, eliciting a giggle out of the girl.

"Medicine huh, that definitely sounds hectic." She commented, as her fingers drew an absent minded pattern in the sand separating their sitting figures.

"I also captain the football team." He replied, eyes shining with humor. Ginny looked up, wondering if it was a coincidence that the man she found extremely fit also checked off all her criterion of 'boyfriend'.

"Oh- well I don't know how you found the time to be here, what with studying and football." Ginny smiled. Harry looked back at her, eyes boring into her brown ones. "Only because I was told someone stunning was going to be here." He said in a lower voice. Ginny flushed under the stare.

"I'm sure having those feelings for your best mate's girlfriend is not a good idea." She teased, feeling some confidence seeping into her. Harry scooted closer, placing a hand on Ginny's.

"And what if I said they weren't for the girlfriend, but for the sister?" His eyes darted down to her lips, her own pulse quickening. Then continuing with her sudden confidence, she unconsciously leaned in, her lips just millimeters away from Harry's. "The sister would definitely like that because she thinks you're extremely fit too." Ginny whispered, her lips just brushing against Harry's before he closed the distance completely.

The two of them sat there, away from the party, lips moving in slow sync as if they were doing the communicating. Getting to know each other in silent movements, a dance of attraction and dominance. Thee music faded in the background, as behind her closed eyes Ginny saw stars, and faintly made out the sound of fireworks exploding behind them. Not that she'd admit it to anyone, of course.

But in that moment, it was just her, Harry and the cool water playing with their feet. And when they finally pulled apart, Ginny secretly swore that she saw her reflection in green pools glow and sparkle.

Not that she'd ever admit it, obviously.

----

TAGLIST: @amy-herondale-chase // @purplepygmypuffskein // @ginnypxtter // @alwaysmagica1 // @norakelly // @her-blazing-look //

----

Okay, I hope you guys enjoyed that! I wrote that when I was half asleep, so I'm not even sure if most of it makes sense haha.

As usual, if you want to join the taglist and be notified whenever I write a new Hinny story (which will be much more frequently now), please interact with the pinned TAGLIST post on my account!

Thank you for reading, and please interact with the post! Reblogs are always appreciated but likes and comments are just as amazing! Loads of virtual hugs xxx

#hinny #alternate universe #harry potter #headcanon #harry x ginny #ginny weasley #romance #au #fiction #beach #summer #party #okay out of tags #writing #ao3 writer #taglist

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dylanlila · 4 years

Text

LITTLE WOMEN FANFICTION

CHAPTER 4: GOLD RUSH

Flickers of Light

"What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?"

"I don't like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush."

- gold rush, Taylor Swift

"single daydream where you get lost in thought for a minute and then snap out of it.”

- Taylor Swift, on gold rush

Nice, France, 1868

Everything looks painfully artistic in the rain. It’s like suddenly, life is a painting. Movements turn into colours, pavements become landscapes. Here, utterly mesmerized by her surroundings, Amy March doesn’t see people. She sees flickers of light.

There exist many peculiar ways to look at things One object can represent almost anything depending on the person whose attention it captivates. Amy desperately wishes to immortalize her perspective. She craves to capture all of her feelings, everything her eyes have ever had the pleasure to meet. The scenery she's fortunate enough to be a part of is a scenery only a foreign city can provide.

When Amy arrives back to her hotel room, she finds herself to be in some sort of arrangement with the rain drops. It's silly because she has no memory of having any direct interaction with the weather today, yet her rather soaked appearance is telling a different story. She must have accidentally gotten lost in her marvellous surroundings. Concord, after all, is no match for Paris.

When she finally brings her looks to a descent level, Amy takes her french books and forces herself to encounter the magic that is the language of love. She loves french, she really does, but she used to study from fun and because she liked the sound of the words. It all made her feel like a lady, like someone she never in reality had a chance to be. But now, when she was indeed a lady, it felt like more of a habit than anything else. She wanted to excel in this, she wanted to be the greatest french speaker there ever was. But she simply couldn't find the motivation. Her paintings, her unfortunate creations, occupied her mind still. For them, she had the motivation. She had the time and space. She had everything. Everything except excellence.

They weren't good enough.

To an untrained eye, they were perfect. To a stranger, they were just fine. To a fellow artist, they were interesting. To her sisters, they were masterpieces. To her and to her reality they weren't good enough.

Amy sat in silence, french textbooks long forgotten, eyes glued to the foggy window.

Everything looks painfully artistic in the rain.

***

People will tell you that Amy is mad. They will tell you she is picky, stubborn and impossible to satisfy.

Amy will tell you the same thing.

***

The art atelier was glowing. It wasn't a metaphor or anything (metaphors fell under Jo's area of expertise). In actuality, it was glowing. The rain from the day before was replaced with astonishing rays of sunlight. But even then, specks of water were still visible. Amy found inspiration in that. She again felt like she needed to immortalize the moment.

So, Amy decided to paint.

She was painting all of the things that were inside her.

She was painting herself.

***

Amy woke up every day and every day her painting woke up with her. Hours were spent in the art room. Layers of colours, structure and observations were added to the creation with each passing moment. Still, Amy felt she needed to do more. Be more.

Great or nothing.

***

"I think this is as far as I can go."

It's said to no one in particular. It's pronounced loudly, as if it was meant for someone to hear it. Yet the only available listeners were the unbothered statues of Greek gods. Amy was annoyed by their presence. They just kind of stood there, judging her, mocking her for not being able to give birth to something marvellous. Amy stared at her now supposedly finished painting, the personification of uselessness. She knew it. She had known it for a long time. She had to give up her foolish artistic hopes.

Great or nothing? Right...

***

Dreams are just that. Dreams. They don't come true. You have to work and struggle in order for them to enjoy the same oxygen as you. You work and struggle even though you may get nothing in return.

***

Dreams, freshly discovered and pink coloured dreams.

Dreams, innocent, unaware, untouchable dreams.

Dreams, doubtful, changed and windy dreams.

Dreams, undevelopedly developed dreams.

Dreams.

***

The world wanted to crown her its ornament.

The world claimed her its diamond, its possession, its jewel.

The world she did not blame. Her blamed the world.

Incandescent. Amy felt an incadescent love for life. She felt love for clumsy passengers, long forgotten scarfs and giant ball rooms. And as much as the world blamed her, she still loved it.

It was the way sun rose up every morning. The way a hand is held and never dropped. The way everything is constantly moving and craving and breathing.

She will never be smart. She will never be a genius. She will never be great. It's these thoughts that haunt her, restrain her and hold her back. The world is so bright, so full of incredible, bright individuals. The world is so bright, and she's barely a spark.

***

People will tell you that Amy is a patient observer, a collector of light and a fantastic french speaker (even though she didn't use to be).

People will. Amy will not.

***

Concord, Massachusetts, 1871

It's already been a couple of years since Amy has left Europe and returned to Concord. Right now, she is nurturing flowers, big bright yellow hat decorating her golden locks. Her husband is on the back porch, carefully holding a tiny person. It's her Bess. Her daughter. Amy's standards may have been hard to reach, but her little Bess surely is a work of art. Sunlight is blessing her eyes. Sound of birds is blessing her ears. Her senses are wonderfully awake.

Amy never touched a paintbrush after Paris. Her last painting was brought to Massachusetts because Laurie insisted on it. He said something about her last drawing (her drawing of him) and her last painting being meant to coexist in the same universe. He hung them in the living room. Amy allowed it because it made Laurie smile. She has always loved seeing people smile.

***

Concord, Massachusetts, 1882

"Elizabeth, where are you? You haven't finished your homework! What are you doing for heaven's sake?"

"I think this painting is talking to me mom."

"Bess..."

"I clearly don't mean it in a literal sense. It's just that it resonates with me, despite the fact that I'm not familiar with its creator. It's like somebody's reaching towards me, trying to share their story."

"I think it a bit absurd. I still don't understand why your father likes it so much."

"Well, I think it to be...incadescent. Yes, that's the right word. Incandescent."

Bess continued to look at the painting.

Amy smiled.

Great or nothing, huh?

***

Sunlight only exists because it's made of rays. Rays of sunlight only exist because they are made of light. Light only exists because it's made of flickers.

Specks. Flickers. Light.

"She,

In the dark,

Found light

Brighter than many ever see.

She,

Within herself,

Found loveliness,

Through the soul’s own mastery.

And now the world receives

From her dower:

The message of the strength

Of inner power."

—Langston Hughes

Authors note: "What if gold rush is about a person who feels the pressure of everyone loving the same thing they do? It's like you thought something was only yours, but then other people liked it too, and suddenly, you weren't good enough. I guess I'm saying it doesn't have to be looked at from a romantic angle. It can represent the struggle of an artist who desperately wants to do something splendid and be original, but can't because everyone else is already doing the same thing? Or they think everyone else is doing the same thing?"

I wrote this paragraph some time ago and it was the exact thing that led me to writing this chapter. I'm not sure if everyone is going to agree with my impression of Amy, but I always felt like she loved the things around her with burning passion. Of course she's realistic and mature, but I think she's also extremely passionate. I think she feels things in a big way. While Jo has more of a "the world holds nothing for me so I ought to make it better" mentality, Amy is more of a "the world has so much to offer and I have nothing to give in return". Now, her not being able to offer something worth remembering is mostly in her head and that is why I added the Bess part at the end. Every person is important and means something great to someone. As I like to say: we, as humans, are all constantly decorating each other's portraits. You may not be a genius(and it takes strength to admit such a thing to yourself which makes Amy ten times more memorable), but you made an impact on someone. Your life, all on its own, has a meaning and a purpose.

You matter.

*the word "incandescent" was specifically used because of @the-girl-who-cried-wolf I felt like it captured the emotion perfectly since I wanted to create a little dance of light with this chapter so I knew I had to make your favourite word a part of my messy creation.

PS. I like to believe Bess learned the word "incandescent" from her aunt Jo😊

#little women 2019 #little women #louisa may alcott #taylor swift #folklore #evermore #amy march #jo march #amy x laurie #laurie laurence #jo x laurie #beth march #meg march

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xtrash-writing-trashx420 · 4 years

Text

Cheeky Minx || John Shelby x OC

//Welcoming the New Recruit//

"Makenna Aoife MacTavish, A.K.A. Makenna Muldoon; Duchess of Glenbrook, Aged 23

Served at the Somme as a field nurse and,"

The man before me takes a pause and looks up at me in faux surprise, as if the information on the paper he's gawking at isn't exactly why he's come seeking me out, and then continues in an almost condescending manner;

"Hm... and soforth was awarded title as Duchess and Sole Proprietor of Glenbrook Estates and Enterprises in Boston for her acts of valor.," He pauses again to throw down the file he was reading and light himself a cigarette.

I take in every detail, knowing that this meeting can end up only one of two ways, and assess the scenario. Tilting my head slightly and leaning back into the armchair in front of his desk, I cross my legs; his eyes glance from his ministrations with the box of matches he's holding and zip down to my left thigh where one strip of honeyed milk lies perfectly exposed between my black leather garter holster and my thigh-high nylon stockings.

I see the slight glint of mirth cross his steel blue eyes as he catches my not-so-subtle warning and continues to light his cigarette. I watch as he pulls his drag, the way his fingers just barely drape the stick of tobacco between them without effort, the way his eyes study mine, the way his free hand keeps switching between his knee and the top of the desk.

'A gangster like this doesn't get nervous over one woman with a snubnose purse pistol... Who is he waiting for?'

"I'll take one, while your at it." He smirks at this, and goes to hand me the one he's smoking. It's my turn to smirk, as I nod to his pack.

"A new one, if you don't mind." He raises his eyebrow, but nevertheless, complies. As I lean forward to take the cigarette, he lights another match and lights it for me, leaning over his desk so I don't have to.

'A gentlemanly gangster, not too hard on the eyes either.,' I admit to myself, studying his sharp features and piercing eyes.

Finally, after what seems like ages of simply sitting across and analyzing eachother, he continues.

"You're titled Duchess of Glenbrook but the common people call you Miss Kenna. You have 15 bars, 2 breeders farms, a horse track and 27 plots of real estate, and that's just in London alone. Glenbrook Estates is what, a mansion? And it says here you have 3 vacation homes as well." He scoffs and throws the file down on his desk.

"Well, let's get on with it, Mr. Shelby, as you well know, I'm a busy woman.," My voice is far too suave for my liking, but the situation calls for a little theater. "I would assume you called me here for a reason, this is hardly the place for a business meeting with someone of my status."

I sound like a proper posh cunt, and it seems as if he's taking the bait as he groans out a sigh and leans back into his chair. He lifts a hand to rub his temples, and then slams his fist on his desk in a motion so fast and loud, I was almost startled.

Almost.

He seems unfazed my lack of reaction, and continues on.

"Let's not pretend like you don't know what I want. You have influence all over, spies everywhere, and a very high standing. Everyone knows who you are. Nothing happens without you knowing about it.-"

"-As if I don't already know that-" I snappily interject.

"And I want your men, and your cooperation when we take over London. You're the most untouchable woman in all of North America. If you tell someone not to fuck with us, they won't. And those that do, you have ways of making it so they never existed."

I frown, sinking into the armchair infront of his desk once more and taking a long drag of my smoke.

"I see."

For the next few minutes we simply stare at eachother while we finish off our smokes, picking, analyzing, contemplating. Finally, after he offers me the crystal ashtray to put out, I appraise him and ask one simple question.

"What do you want from me?"

~~~~~~~

It's been 2 months since my meeting with Thomas Shelby at his gambling den, and 6 days since our last correspondence.

"Pack what you can in a suitcase and my men will come to collect you on Thursday. You're not safe."

No explanation, no reasoning, just that little tidbit over the phone while gunshots rang true and the sounds of men fighting grumbled in the background before he abruptly hung up. And since Thursday had come and gone the day after the call, I had resorted to relieving all of my staff save for my most trusted.

The only ones left on premises were my gate guards, my doormen, and my butler amd personal guard Carleton, who had only worked for me for 2 years but I was rather well aquanted with. We had hit it off rather well, and I considered him more friend than staff. He was a tall, broad shouldered Jewish man with a scruffy, large beard and bright eyes that reminded me of a child's, with a contradictory scowl that would make a grizzly piss himself.

Initially after receiving the warning, I had brushed it off without care. Being hunted was nothing new to me after all, being a woman who had served in the war and in other more internal battles of politics. But this was different.

I remember after the call I had snorted in laughter, summing it up as a joke and continuing on with my day. I had been untouchable, faceless and anonymous since the war. Only the most internal government files and most skilled intelligence organizations even knew what I looked like, let alone my real name. That was what had led me to agree to take up business with Thomas in the first place. But 2 months into business with the bloke and I show up to my race track to find every single one of my employees and horses shot and beat to hell.

Since then, I had taken to locking myself in my art studio with my easels and paints to distract myself; though it did little to nothing to soothe my racing mind. For the millionth time in just that day, I wondered why I wasn't safe, I wondered if Thomas and his Blinders had been picked off by their enemies, I wondered if my name had been let slip by one of his lackies in a braw deal that ended badly. I couldn't understand how I had gone from being untouchable, to going into hiding.

The only constant in each equation was none other than Thomas Shelby, and I made a mental note to tear him a new asshole when I got the chance.

I gave a start, knocked from my thoughts as Carleton entered with my afternoon tea, and my paintbrush skewed off stroke.

"Oh, fuck." I swore crassly, looking around my desk to find the paint I had used on the background to cover my mistake; not noticing my butler's sarcastic and smug grin over my classless use of vulgarity.

"Your tea, and lunch, Miss Muldoon." He presented my tray with grandiose show of putting it on my desk and lifting the cover to reveal my tea and what looked to be ladyfingers and some sort of meat sandwich. I didn't care, I was starving and anxious, so I sat and ate, thankful for the distraction.

"Don't be so smug, Carleton, I'm going mad up here." I complained as I ate, gesturing around me. "That smug bastard Shelby is going to pay for this. I've lived so comfortably until now."

"Speaking of, madam, you received a telegram."

"Oh bother, burn it."

"It seems important, ma'am. It mentions the race track."

At this I lean back to look over at him, he's moved clear halfway across the room to speak, and he's shifting his weight and wringing his hands. I sigh, and wave him on. He reads it out slowly, and I "tsk" in disappointment.

"You haven't been practicing," I chastise him, pulling a "give it here" motion with my fingers and taking the telegraph from him as soon as he's close enough. "Have you even read any of the practice books I've given you?"

"...No, ma'am, it's more difficult when you're not helping."

I glance at him with an incredulous look.

"That's no excuse, and you know it." I say, finally taking a moment to look at and read the telegraph in my hands, but it doesn't matter, because as soon as I go to focus, a gunshot resounds from outside the estate by the gates.

With a start, I get up and run to the window, moving the curtains to get a better view. I hear Carleton move the opposite way, closing the doors behind him as he leaves.

I continue to watch out the window, trying to see whats happening, though not to much success. The large fountain in my front garden is centre view from this room and all I can see behind it is a motorcar at my gate and my gatemen pointing their rifles at it. As I walk along the windows to try to catch a better view, I just barely see an arm come out the window of the motorcar with a piece of paper clutched in their outstretched hand before my gatemen move to unlock the gate and let the car through.

That's all I need to see to know.

The Peaky Blinders are outside my house.

(SO this will be a series based off of a slightly Mary-Sue character but it just is part of the story, please don't hate me for it lol. It'll make sense as to why she's this massive standing character later on. She's still a normal ass broad with hormones and issues so its okay lmfao. But anywhoooo, this is basically just a filler character intro to explain why Kenna is around and stuff. John will be in the next chapter, don't worry 😉 also my dumbass didn't proof-read this because its 6:00am and I NEED sleep. )

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #thomas shelby #john shelby #arthur shelby #polly shelby #michael shelby #michael gray #peaky blinders imagine #peaky fucking blinders

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 4 years

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A Helping Hand

a/n: It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic. Ive been working on my health considering how much stress I was under at my old job, but I’m doing much better now. Anyway, I hope you guys will enjoy this.

This fic is set before Zeta 7 and the reader were dating, and when they were still friends. Set during and before the beginning of The Fluffy Adventures With Your Boyfriend Doofus Rick series.

In this fic the reader only wants to help.

————-

It was almost time for you to eat again. At times it almost seemed to be more of a chore than a necessity to have a meal or to follow the routine of it, but hunger had led you here. And although there were many other things you might've preferred to do, this was what had to be done at the moment. Anticipatory feelings were lacking as you opened up the fridge; had it been conveniently full of delicious food which didn't need to be put together, and could simply be warmed up, that would have been great, but that was wishful thinking. Of course, you hadn't gone food shopping yet, so your old fridge was bare; eating out was an option, but you already did that for lunch and it didn't feel worth getting properly dressed for.

It had been while you were thinking of a creative way to use elbow pasta and ketchup when a song played through the tiny speakers of your phone; it was a phone call and you didn't have to hesitate to answer; it was from your favorite person; from Rick. You tried not to get too excited whenever he would call, but you couldn't help yourself; hearing his voice alone could make you happy. Pressing the green answer button on your touch screen, you smiled despite his inability to see it. “Hello Rick. How are you?”

“He-hello? I'm um - I'm fine. I hope this - is this a-a good time?”

His usual soft, cheerful voice seemed reluctant, almost shy tonight. You always thought he sounded sweeter over the phone, and it just made you want to tease him a little. Leaning against your kitchen counter, you could not help but laugh. “A good time? It is now. So, what’s up? Other than the ceiling. ”

He chuckled at that and you were relieved he couldn't see you at this moment, for the warmth in your cheeks would take a couple of minutes to recover from. “Gosh," he started, "I-I-I-I-I was just wondering if y-you would like to come over. It’s almost time for dinner and I um - I finished cooking, but…”

“You cooked too much again?”

“Y-yeah.”

"You're going to go through all your groceries that way."

"I-I couldn't help it." he confessed. "This recipe called f-for a certain amount of ingredients, but then a-again I guess it's f-for multiple servings."

You heard him sigh, and the thought of his frowning face came to mind. So, this was simply to invite you to dinner: it didn't matter what he might've called you for; the answer was almost always yes. As of late, Rick had been cooking more than one person could eat at a time; you always did think it was odd that he'd cook in abundance, especially since he lived alone, but he'd blame it on old habits. However, it made you wonder if he was looking for reasons not to eat alone; not that you minded. Interrupting the silence, you commented. “Well, I guess I'll have to help you make it disappear then."

"Huh?" he brightened, "Is that a-a yes?"

"What do you think it means? Yes, that's a yes. Goodness," you giggled. "I'll see you soon.”

You hung up and rushed back upstairs to change. What a silly man you thought. Such a silly…but adorable man, who had so much room for kindness and doubt.

——————

It was lovely to see him, and to listen to what he'd call gossip but was only the latest development of the pigeons which had made a nest in one of his fruit trees. "Y-you gotta see how they've made their nest. Boy, it's - it's fascinating how they used s-some old magazine clippings and hair ties."

Touching his hand lightly, you wondered. "Do you have any pics of them that you can show me?"

With raised brow, he started. “Sh-sh-show you?"

"Yeah," You leaned forward a little, and smiled. "I want to see what you've been telling me about."

Without hesitation, he searched his labcoat pockets and retrieved his phone; scrolling through his gallery until he came across said pictures. "I-I-I-I took these a couple of - of days ago."

Your fingers lightly brushed his palm as you grabbed his phone to glance through the pictures; he had a good eye for angles and lighting, and from the looks of it, the pigeons seemed to be relaxed so he might've fed them first; how nice. "They're so cute. I can’t get over how fluffy they look."

Replacing the phone into his palm, he visibly tensed; your fingers had brushed his palm again. Now, the urge to allow your hand to linger there was strong and the thought of lacing your fingers with his had been tempting, but you did neither. You quickly withdrew, with a new sense of embarrassment over such thoughts. He wouldn't understand how you felt, because he didn't see you that way.

“How do y-y-you like them?”

Hiding behind your water glass, you answered. “Way more than I thought I would.”

_________

Rick was still eating, but not with the same vigor from earlier. You wondered if you had insulted him or something; he had been avoiding direct eye contact for a while. You were no reader of minds, so there was no telling of the feelings inside; of those senses which couldn't be touched. "Rick, is something wrong? Have I….. have I overstayed my welcome and you don't know how to tell me? Is...is that why you won't look at me?"

"N-no, that's not it."

"Then, did I hurt your feelings? I hope not."

He sagged a little in his seat, and he didn't answer, but he shook his head no. You thought back to earlier, and how you had looked at the pictures he took and called them cute, but other than that, you didn't say anything problematic. Was it because you asked? Maybe it wasn't.

It was easy to hurt his feelings being as sensitive as he was, and although it might've been against your better judgment, you reached out and touched the back of his hand. "Please talk to me. I don't know what I did, but I'm so sorry. I don't want you to be upset at me."

With widened eyes, he's gazed at your hand, then back towards you. "No, that’s not th-the problem."

"Then why are you so quiet all of a sudden? It isn't like you."

"It's because I…I'm s-s-sorry I talk so much."

"What do you mean? Where is this coming from?"

"It appeared as though y-you were getting tired of all my talking.” He started in an almost accusatory manner but must've realized how it sounded and continued with more calmness. “Gee, I-I didn't want to sour the evening, s-s-so I thought I should just sh-shut up."

"But I don't want you to do that. I love all your talking."

"R-really?"

His surprise at this pained you. How could he think that you'd tire of it and him? Maybe when you were thinking, he mistook it as disinterest. How could you show him you cared? You did what only seemed natural and squeezed his hand but he stiffened.

You realized that when he didn't answer right away, that the napkin he had been using had been dropped and was now on the floor; a faint blush dusting his cheeks and the tops of his ears. You didn't think that it'd be such a big deal to randomly touch him, but you thought it was sweet that he'd get flustered like that; if he wasn't so shy at times, you'd think there was more to it; if only there was. "It's fun hearing you talk.” You confessed. “I feel as though I have so much I can learn from you. So feel free to talk to me."

The relief that washed over him was palpable and he smiled warmly at this. It made your heart swell, and you withdrew your hand although it appeared that he wouldn't have minded. Still, you didn't want to upset him again with misunderstandings. "Y-you're a really nice person. It's - I'm glad t-to know someone like you."

You were glad too.

____________

"Anyway, it's interesting how they can take one man's trash and turn it into a home, but what could they do if given better materials?"

Taking a drink of water, he managed to recover a little. "I-I bet they could make a-a work of art if given the right materials. Wh-why do you ask?"

"I just wanted to know what you were thinking in that brain of yours. Must be interesting, especially with all the things you can come up with."

Yes, you did find the topic of pigeons fascinating but not as much as you found that toothy grin of his inviting. Having finished eating, you listened happily to his delightful little tales and knowings; watching as he'd start eating but then forget his food when he was at the peak of his explanation. He always did seem more cheerful when you were over and had so much to tell you when you were here, but you attributed that to the fact that he didn't have many friends. Though, you didn't mind his need for conversation; rather you enjoyed how random and easy it was to talk with him; his sweetness enriched your soul whenever he was especially happy and attentive in conversation. Handing him a new napkin, you teased. "I'm surprised you haven't made a mini-mansion type birdhouse for them out of whatever spare wood you have in the garage. Unless you already have. I bet it'd be all tricked out with a little warm birdbath and a small mirror so they can check themselves out, fluff their feathers and such."

"Gosh," he sighed, waving his fork a little as he ruminated on his thoughts before the beginnings of a boyish smile appeared on his lips. "did I already tell y-you about that?"

"No," you giggled; happy that your assumptions weren't farfetched. "but I took a wild guess."

He was that kind of guy after all; soft-hearted and fond of the living things around him; it was one of the many qualities that endeared him to you. You wished you could've taken part in its construction. "If you had told me sooner," you mentioned. "I would have helped. I could've helped painting it or something."

"Gosh, I thought y-you had other things to do so I…it wasn't a-a big deal. It was simply an um - an old man's hobby."

"It's just….it sounded like fun. I know it might not mean much saying this, but I would've enjoyed spending that time with you. Working side by side and discussing little details about it. I would…. You see, I love spending time with you."

It was only after you had said all that, in which you realized how easy it would've been to misconstrued. Sitting there, you resisted the urge to bury your face in your hands; wondering what was with you these days. Since when was it okay to get bold and be frank like that? Every so often, when you did say such things, you saw, for fractions of moments, confusion and more….as though he ought to say something; there were no tears and there never was, but you thought he seemed hurt; glassy-eyed and lost. Studying you, he opened his mouth to speak but closed it again; preferring to examine his napkin and tableware then to continue that thought.

He did this often, especially when you surprised him; for better or worse. Perhaps he didn't want to appear foolish, but whatever he could've said was interrupted by your sudden movement. You reached over for his empty dish and went over to the sink to begin on the dishes. However, he jumped up and insisted that you needn't help to clean, snapping out of whatever mood which might've overcome him a moment ago. You thought it was the least you could do; if you had been a decent cook you would've offered a meal in return, but it wasn't likely that it was going to happen. "Rick, you cooked so I might as well help you clean."

"Gosh, y-you don't have to do that. I was the one that invited you over. As th-the host, it's my responsibility."

"That may be true," you reasoned, feeling responsible for him in some way. "but you're always doing stuff for me, so I thought I'd stay and help for a bit."

"Huh? Wh-what?"

"Yeah. I mean what good are friends if you can't put them to work every so often? Besides," you quieted a bit as you scrubbed away at the baking pan. "I want to help you."

It's not like you were using this as an excuse to stay a little longer now. Right? Well, just a little. It was still early and you didn't want to go home yet. Grabbing a kitchen towel, he chuckled lightly. "Well, I-I guess I'll help y-you dry."

Standing beside you, his warmth radiated off him, and from this close, you could smell spices, a hint of vanilla, and motor oil? Perhaps it was the scent of his house, but it was comforting. Good thing you had the excuse of concentrating on scrubbing because otherwise, it would've been obvious on how affected you were by him.

_______

After you finished wiping down the counters, you checked the time and thought you'd be better off heading on home. Grabbing your keys you were ready to say goodbye, but he followed you to the door. "Are y-y-you going?"

Without facing him, you nodded. "I am."

"Then I'll walk y-you home."

"Okay."

In the past, you had told him that it wasn't necessary since you lived so close, but you came to enjoy those small moments of kindness; of his sincere care for your well-being that made the world a slightly easier place to live. The walk didn't take long since you only lived a few doors down, but it was lovely nonetheless. "Thank you for the food. It was really good."

Scratching the back of his neck, he answered. "I-I hoped you would. I um - I enjoyed y-your company."

"Me too."

You played with your keys a little, wondering why you should be so nervous. It's not like you two were dating; it's not like he'd even consider the possibility, but it was moments like this that made you hope and contemplate if you should just tell him. It was always on tip of your tongue; the words which begged to be said, but you weren't feeling brave yet. You needed more time; just enough to be ready for a change. There was no rush, but logic and feelings didn't coincide. "Rick," you started, unsure of what you were doing. "can I um….can I ask you something?"

"Y-yes! Of c-course. What's on y-your mind?"

Think of something you thought. "You'd tell me if you needed help, wouldn't you? I'm not talking about what we did this evening, but stuff that….like if you need help with your chores or something. I know you get busy sometimes and I'd hate it if you weren't all caught up on the latest news about your pigeons or if there were dishes that needed washing."

"Gosh, I-I thought I was doing f-fine with all that," he confessed. "but it - I'll be sure t-to let you know."

"Good, that's...that's good because I'm always happy to help you."

Gathering whatever foolishness which laid at the pit of your stomach and daydreams, you rested a hand on his arm and smiled up at him. "Rick, I'd do almost about anything for you….that is…if that's….. that is what friends are for, right? At least that's what I think."

Though, was that what you thought? Wasn't this just a roundabout way of saying you wanted to be around him more? Oh, if only he could understand. You knew it wasn't right to mislead him, but he never reacted the way you thought he should.

Glancing down at where your hand still laid, a wistful, almost sad quality passed across his stormy eyes before continuing. "Boy, th-that's thoughtful," he began, though as easily as a summer sky could change so did his words. "but I-I wouldn't want t-to bother you or take up your time with anything like that."

"That's the thing, it wouldn't be a bother at all."

This is where you thought you'd messed up, but you couldn't seem to keep quiet when he was involved. It felt as though you were trying to monopolize your way into spending more time with him; as though you were desperate to get him to be around you. "I mean, as a writer, I can just do my job whenever. So, you don't have to hesitate."

That familiar flit of sadness passed over his eyes again and you thought that maybe he pitied you because all you had in the world was yourself and a house you simply inherited. You didn't want to tell him you were lonely, because if you did, you didn't want him to think that it was the only reason you spent time with him; it'd break your heart if you hurt this sensitive creature, but you couldn't help yourself; it was your selfishness talking. True, you were making this more complicated than it had to be, but you didn't know how to fix that yet. "I just…I don't mind being around you more and hanging out. That's all."

Although, it might've not been as complicated after all for it didn't take much for him to lift up your moods. All he had to do was smile, and to pull you into his arms for a big hug. Did he know?

"Rick?"

Squeezing you a fraction tighter, he confessed. "Gee, it's - I-I appreciate your worrying a-about me," he started, his soft, warm voice brushing past your ear and giving you goosebumps. "but I can't - can't help but wonder why y-you look as though you could use a friend right now. Are you al-alright? Did y-you want t-t-to talk about it?"

Your fingers dug into the worn fabric of his sweater and you wanted to cry because he was so devastatingly kind, and you knew in that one moment it didn't matter how long you held on to him; he'd let you hold him for as long as you needed because he was great at empathizing. Little did he know it unraveled your heart every time. "You're right Rick, I do need a friend. I…I need...."

You; the word which refused to leave your mouth. His assumption filled in the blank. "You probably miss your dad on nights like this huh? It's hard t-to go home to an empty house."

That was partly true. "Mhm."

Rubbing your back, he sighed. "Th-there there. Everything is going t-t-to be alright."

Is it? Would it be alright? No, he didn't know or if he did, he ignored it. Though, like this, you could almost believe there was more to this relationship than… then being good friends.

With your face hidden in the softness of his sweater, held so sure and firm, with such strength that seemed unnatural for one his age, he was as you thought of him; as a man you held in the highest regard, beyond reason or doubt that you could love if…if it was appropriate. Why couldn't he stay that friend that you needed and why did you wish for more than this? Was this to be your punishment? To adore someone who made you happy but couldn't be more than society should allow?

"Will I be alright?" you confessed more to yourself than to him.

Squeezing you a fraction tighter, you felt him nod. "Y-you're young, so y-you will be."

That's right, you were young; too young for him. While you had been ready to beat yourself up for it, he continued in a voice that was above a whisper. "I'd like t-t-to help you if I can but only if y-you want me to. Is that o-okay? Do you want me t-to?"

You wanted so much, but more than anything you wanted what he was willing to give. Rubbing his back in a similar, soothing motion, you softened. "Please do."

Another sigh escaped him, but he continued to rub your back; the warmth of his hands and sounds of his breathing making you a little sleepy. You hadn't been checking the time, but you were sure that it had been a while. What you hadn't been sure of was what the neighbors were going to think if they saw you two in such a warm embrace at this time of the evening or anytime for that matter; you didn't care because this felt right. It was as though you could melt into him with how comforting it was. Who knows how long you must've held onto him, but eventually you heard him say softly, albeit oddly disappointed. "It's getting late and I-I should let you go. It's…and you…but y-you can always call me if you - if you can't sleep."

Glancing up at him, you wondered why it ever had to end. However, with reluctance, you pulled away, but only enough so that you could hold him a little longer. "You're right. I…I should go to bed. Thank you for the lovely evening, my wonderful… my friend."

And with that, you released your hold on him. However, if you hadn't known any better, the look he gave you was softer than his usual ones. Was…no…it must've been nothing. A trick of the dim porch light. Half hidden by the dark, he confessed. "Thank you f-for being my - for being my friend. It makes me happy t-to have you around. I'll um - I'll be sure t-to make myself more available to you if you need me."

Your heart ached with half affection, half guilt. You really were asking for so much you didn't deserve. "Oh Rick, I'd appreciate that."

For a quick second, you saw him stretch out his hand but just as quickly let it fall back to his side. Then, he stepped back and reminded you. "Don't forget t-to lock the door."

"I won't."

You opened your front door, and smiled up at him from your doorway, trying to channel all that you felt in a single word; knowing that was all you could do for now. "Goodnight."

Softening, he turned away quickly, mostly hidden in the darkness, and waved. "D-don't let th-the bed bugs bite."

Closing the door behind you, you barely made it to the couch before you began to cry. What were you thinking? Playing around with a lonely man's feelings and possibly confusing him. Could you ever get over him? Would your heart let you?

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you thought back to only minutes ago when you were secure in his arms, and you felt as though you belonged to him. And how your blouse smelled like him now or that his care for you was almost enough. Though, were his actions like that of a parent? You could only wonder. Though, if you couldn't get over him, couldn't you help change his mind?

When you had calmed a little and had time to change and get a drink of water, you found that you still weren't sleepy. It was late but before you could give it much forethought, you dialed his number and he picked up right away. "C-can't sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Me either. I um - I was thinking a-about what you said about th-the birdhouse. While it is built, and I'd painted it, I would be happy t-t-to have you over when you're available and help me make it pretty. Gosh, it's - it's only if you want to."

"That would be lovely. Too bad it's late because I would've come over now if you'd asked."

"Y-you see, that wouldn't um - tomorrow would be better."

"What's the matter? A little sleepover never hurt anybody." You teased.

Right away you heard a clatter and then a crack. Did he drop his phone?

"Rick? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I-I-I-I just - my phone had fallen."

"I see. Sorry for the bad joke."

“It's o-okay. Just surprised me is -is all.”

A chair scraped the floor, and you heard the click of either a pen or a small appliance. "I-I don't think I'll be able to sleep t-tonight but I won't keep you up with m-my thoughts. It'd get kind of boring for you."

"I mean, I am tired, but I don't mind listening to you for a while. Could you just talk? It can be about anything."

He sighed into the phone, and you heard paper. Perhaps he was flipping through a book. “I-I was thinking of reading, but my eyes are a-a bit tired.”

“When you do read, do you only read nonfiction?”

“I-I like to read a little bit of everything.”

“You do? Well, how convenient. I happen to have a bunch of books and if you'd ever like to borrow any of them, you're free to do so.”

“Boy, I'll have to take a-a look the next time I’m over. Hey, um - I do have a-a story you might enjoy. It has t-t-to do with how I came to have jasmine in my backyard. Would you like t-to hear it?”

Grabbing a pillow, you nodded. “Yes, I really would. Though, tell it slowly so that I don't miss a thing.”

With a chuckle, he began to explain, and you placed the phone beside you; careful as to not drop it as his sing-song voice twisted and curled about you in your lonely room.

Fin

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #j19z7 #j-19-zeta-7 #rnm #rick x reader #rick and morty #rick j19zeta7 #j19zeta7 #rick and Marty fanfic #rick j19z7 #ram fanfic #my fanfic #my works #my writing #rnm fanfiction

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elenajohansenreads · 3 years

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Books I Read in 2021

#45 - Vanity Fair, by William Makepeace Thackeray

Mount TBR: 43/100

Beat the Backlist Bingo: Chapter title page has art (illustrated by the author, no less)

Rating: 3/5 stars

I haven't had an experience quite like that since I first read Les Miserables in eighth grade. It took me just over a month of steady, dogged reading, and I carried that book with me everywhere--to every class in school, every time I was sitting in the backseat of the car while running errands with my parents, every time I read before bed.

Vanity Fair reminds me a lot of Les Mis, not in tone or subject matter, but in my sheer determination to get through it, even when it's slow going. Because I started this book in February. The wit and charm and lively characters carried me through the first two hundred pages fairly easily, but then I began to lose steam. I took what I thought was a short break to read something else before going on, and when I went back, suddenly it was hard to read more than a chapter or two at a time. I told myself to keep going. After all, I was still enjoying it--it wasn't the same feeling of epic struggle to stay interested that I had with War and Peace last year. I liked this book, yet somehow, I couldn't motivate myself to read it.

Pretty soon it became clear the problem wasn't Vanity Fair itself, or at least, not mostly. I was just in the worst reading slump of my adult life, because nothing I read could hold my attention long. I took almost an entire month off reading, but when the mood struck to try again, I'd either try a new book and set it down after five pages, or nibble at the edges of Vanity Fair. When I declared (to myself) that my reading slump was over, I was just past 400 pages in.

Like magic, once I'd warmed up with a few light reads, the pages began to fly by again. I could finish several chapters in a sitting, and genuinely want to read more.

But this is a book review, right? Not the story of my reading slump. So what was it that was giving me difficulty, specifically, about this work?

The names. Formal name etiquette in British high society is just the pits. Our main character, Rebecca, probably showed up in the text under about a dozen different names or epithets throughout the course of the story, because she's got her first name, her full name, her nickname, her married name both formally as Mrs. Husband's Name and Becky/Rebecca Husband's Name, and of course any given description posing as a person that Thackeray wanted to attach to her. Eventually at the very end she's mostly Mrs. Becky, which I didn't recall being used much before. On top of that, there were other instances when a change of status caused me some confusion, because first we have Pitt Crawley, no title attached, son of Sir Pitt Crawley, but when the elder Crawley dies, of course Pitt becomes Sir Pitt because the title passes on, even though that's also the name of the now-dead character. Any male character in the military might be referred to by his rank rather than his name, and when multiple military figures are in the same paragraph (as they often are) they are all referred to by an inconsistent mix of their names and ranks.

And all of this is happening constantly through the entire nearly-700-pages of the novel. It's exhausting.

When this was published, I have no doubt this was common enough that readers had little issue with it. Now? I often had to stop to parse who was who because of the constant flux of designations.

If I could strip that stylistic inconsistency out, that would fix a lot of my problems with reading this right away. However, there were still others. While the core cast of characters is relatively small compared to some epic classics of this length, Thackeray does like to veer off on tangents frequently and spend a chapter or three detailing the life and situation of a minor character. That's something I remember loving in Les Mis, which, again, is the thing I have read that is most like this book; but here, somehow I was never as fascinated by these little portraits as I was when Hugo did it. Here I was invested in Becky and Amelia and William Dobbin (in fact, the resolution of his story is the primary reason I finished this book at all--I was hanging on for that happy ending.) But I did not find myself particularly interested in Lord Steyne or Mrs. Major O'Dowd or the Gaunt family. The minor characters were not completely without charm to me, as I particularly liked the single-page tale of Becky's little French maid abandoning her. What the girl took, what became of her, how she fared after Becky's tyranny, that was all grand. But it was also short, and seeing as it came immediately after we read of Becky's downfall, it felt timely and appropriate. Many of the other, larger tangents from the main story line left me scratching my head about why I was suddenly learning new names or jumping to a different country. I admit to skimming some of the side bits that seemed less relevant or interesting, in order to get back to the "good" parts.

How do I feel three months later now that I'm finally done? It was a long walk to that happy ending I was 95% sure was coming. I'm pleased to be finished but not particularly eager to try any other Thackeray works, because while I liked many things about his style--the wit and humor, the insertion of himself as narrator into the story (occasionally) as a character, the biting satire--there's also simply too much dead weight to carry in order to get to all of that. I'm glad I read it, but I never need to reread it. It's rare for me to find myself finishing a classic novel without either loving it to pieces (My Antonia, Les Mis, Jane Eyre) or hating it with the fiery passion of a thousand suns (too many to name.) But I found this book simply good--not great, not terrible.

#booklr #vanity fair #classics #book photography #my photos #my reading challenges #mount tbr 2021 #beat the backlist bingo #food

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pietromelim · 4 years

Text

A Thomas Lightwood Bisexual Story (Part 1)

Art by NairaFeather

Takes place AFTER Chain of Gold,so will have spoilers.

Thomas Lightwood was currently at the Devil Tavern,drinking a ginger beer,and trying to understand his own feelings.

He didn't want to admit that he was struggling to understand what was happening to him. After telling Alastair Carstairs to never talk to him again,he expected to feel lighter,the rumors Alastair spreaded about his father were awful,and it caused pain to his family. It made Gideon angry,it made Sophie cry. And yet,there he was,wondering if he was too hard on Alastair.

Couldn't he simply forget all about it? Maybe that was why he asked for the beer in the first place,but then again,getting drunk would only make him forget for a period of time. He would remember eventually.

Still,it wasn't like he had a better idea anyway. The Devil was quite full this night,werewolves screaming and having fun,vampires drinking blood with some kind of weird extra ingredient,not to mention the faeries and their silly giggles.

It was hard to focus on the drinking with all that noise,Polly herself was quite curious when she saw Thomas enter all by himself. He couldn't blame her,The Merry Thieves were always together,it was hard for one of them to show up alone there.

But Thomas desperately needed to be alone. He loved his friends,but James, Matthew and Christopher wouldn't understand what he was going through now,and that was not a surprise for Thomas.

-Give me another one Polly,please.-Thomas asked,Polly stared at him with a concerned expression.

-You sure about this? Aren't your parents worried about you or something?-She asked.

-They always are,but i don't have time for their blabbering,at least not today.-Said Thomas.

-Got it.-Polly said,giving Thomas another ginger beer.

Thomas gave her a weak smile,and drank from his beer. In times like these,he wished he had the same ease Matthew had in getting drunk. Too bad,it would still take a little more for him to get there.

-Mind if i take a seat beside you?-Asked a female voice,unknown to Thomas,but she had a strong accent.

-Not at all.-Thomas said,turning his head to see who was the woman.

She had black hair,almost the same color of James',her eyes were light brown,and her skin light.

But what really caught Thomas' attention was the Voyance Rune on her hand. She was a Shadowhunter.

Thomas knew he couldn't hide his shock for a moment. A Shadowhunter girl in the Devil Tavern? Surely she was either mad or didn't knew of the reputation of the place.

-A fellow Shadowhunter in a place like this? Surely this was the last thing i thought i'd find here.-She said.

Thomas carefully chose his next words. It was kind of weird,he grew up with three women in his house,his mother and his two sisters. It was easy for him to talk with Lucie,Cordelia,even other girls that usually showed up in the balls. So why did it felt weird talking to this one?

-Pardon me,have we met before?-Asked Thomas.

-We did not. Or maybe we did. I can barely remember faces that i see in balls or other occasions.-She said.

Thomas didn't knew what to say. Surely he wasn't expecting anyone besides Polly to talk to him. He never really understood why some people would simply approach him for a conversation.

If Matthew were there,he could chat with the girl himself,or maybe if James were there,he would come up with a excuse to make them leave.

But they were not there,and Thomas had to be a gentleman,or Sophie would consider herself a terrible mother.

-I do believe we have not met before. My name is Thomas Lightwood.-He said,waiting for her answer.

-I am Giovanna Monteverde,pleased to meet you,Thomas. I am relieved to see i will have some company tonight.-She said.

-Monteverde? I think this is the first time i have met one of your family. Which is a little strange,considering that i have lived in Idris for a good part of my life.-Said Thomas.

-It is the first time i meet a Lightwood myself! Though your family is a lot more popular than mine. I do believe it is because of a certain Benedict Lightwood?-She said,smirking.

Thomas nearly blushed.

-Oh yes,there is quite a story there. Not really something us,Lightwoods,appreciate anyway.-Said Thomas.

-I see. Anyways,i have always been at the Rome Institute. Have you ever visited there?-She asked.

-I have not. But what is an Italian Shadowhunter doing in London?-Asked Thomas.

-I turned eighteen a few weeks ago,and i have decided to visit the London Institute. After all,it was here where the Mandikhor attacks happened,was it not?-She asked.

Thomas blinked,he didn't even liked to remember the Mandikhor. Their deadly poison took Barbara from him,and that wound would never heal.

-I see. So you took interest in London due to that? I assure you it was quite an awful time for us all. Luckily,we have an antidote,so if more Mandikhors show up,they won't be able to harm us that way never again.-Said Thomas.

-Oh i took interest in London for many different reasons. I heard balls in this time of the year are absolutely gorgeous. I'm excited to see all by myself.-She said.

But Thomas could barely understand her. The noise was way too loud. To be expected,after all,they were in the Devil Tavern.

-Would you like to talk in a more silent place?-Asked Thomas.

She nodded,and followed him upstairs.

When they got in the room,the thought of being alone with a girl crossed Thomas' mind,causing a strange sensation.

It was a little hard for Thomas to understand himself sometimes. He knew that people were different from each other. Even in aspects,that technically,they should be all the same.

One example was his very cousin,Anna Lightwood. He knew that dressing like a man wasn't the only thing Anna did. He knew she could seduce any girl she wanted,even though she was a girl herself.

But Thomas didn't quite felt like that. He felt attraction to girls,he knew that. But it wasn't only to them. His time in the Shadowhunter Academy made him realize that.

He felt attraction to boys too. But it seemed way too messy to think about that. He wasn't sure of the reactions something like that would cause.

His family did seem to accept that. His Uncle Gabriel and his Aunt Cecily loved Anna,and they got really mad when people used bad words to describe their daughter. All the others seemed to care for Anna the same way. His parents,his cousins too.

Still,Thomas simply didn't felt ready to reveal anything. Perhaps he was still figuring out who he trully was.

-Quite scandalous,isn't it? What would our society think if they saw a lady and a gentleman that do not have an understanding getting in a room together?-She said,laughing.

-Is that a problem for you? Also,we are only having a conversation. How could something like that be scandalous?-Thomas asked.

-Oh,i don't have a problem i assure you. But my parents would definitely have,if they knew i came to a place like this,they would be quite furious with me.-Giovanna said.

-They are not with you? Well,that's not surprising. I went to Madrid all by myself as well.-Said Thomas.

-You did? Well,seems like we have quite a bit of things in common. We are both 18 years old. Both went to different countries to visit different Institutes. And both don't really care about this whole "understanding" thing.-She said.

After Thomas locked the door,Giovanna suddenly kissed him.

It took him a few seconds to understand what was happening there. She was a stranger,still,they were kissing. Maybe he was not crystal clear in his intentions? He really brought her there just to talk.

They broke the kiss,both in need of air. Her lips tasted like alcohol and something sweet,almost like strawberry.

-Don't take me wrong,i don't really do this with every gentleman i see.-She said.

-I think you may have misunderstood me. I wasn't planning on...-Thomas was saying,but he didn't even knew how to finish that sentence.

-I was though. Unless you have an understanding with some lady in London? If you do,i am more than ready to leave.-Giovanna said.

Thomas just stood there for a moment,thinking about the answer he could give her. He could lie,lie and make her leave him alone there. Seemed like the more reasonable thing to do. He was a gentleman,and he didn't want to ruin her reputation,like a man once did with Eugenia.

Still,was that what he really wanted? If she was visiting London,then certainly they would meet again,probably at the Institute at any moment. But he could have this little secret of his.

-Should i leave,Thomas?-She asked again.

Thomas shook his head.

-No.-He said,and kissed her again.

They fought for dominance,deepening the kiss as they moved towards the small bed in the room. It wasn't a big room really,but then,Thomas never thought he would ever do something like this.

Giovanna unbottoned his shirt,revealing Thomas' tanned muscled body,she ran her hands over his chest and his hard abs,it was quite the sensation.

-Raziel bless the Shadowhunter training.-She said,Thomas almost laughed. It was surely something a lady should never say. But he didn't care,and Giovanna didn't seemed to care either.

-Is this okay for you? I truly do not wish to do something you are not okay with.-Thomas said.

-Do not worry,Thomas. Nobody in London knows me,and i don't really care about what people think of me. And it isn't like you are ruining me or anything. I want this too.-She said.

-Very well then.-Thomas said,taking his shirt off and laying with her on the bed.

"The Next Morning"

Thomas woke up with the sunlight on his eyes. He still was at the Devil's,and the memories of the last night invaded his mind.

Giovanna. They had slept together. It was definitely one of the most amazing nights he ever had. Surely one he would never forget.

He wasn't wearing any clothes,and only the bed sheets covered him.

-Damn.-Thomas said,after realizing that all his clothes were scattered on the floor. It was quite a wild night.

He heard footsteps,though he wasn't really sure if he had completely woke up yet. Perhaps he was still sleeping?

-How strange. I don't really remember locking the door after we left.-Said a voice he knew well.

Matthew. What bloody hell was he doing there so early?

-I'm pretty sure we left the key with Thomas.-Said James.

-We didn't find him anywhere though.-Said Christopher.

"Oh bloody damn hell!" Thomas thought,they were all here? And he wasn't even dressed!

-Thankfully,i always bring my spare key with me.-Said Christopher.

There was no time to do anything. They entered the room and saw Thomas in that situation.

All of them looked absolutely in shock. Matthew looked like he was about to laugh. Christopher was blinking quite fast,and James gasped.

-Tom? What on earth? Why is the room this messy? Are these your clothes on the floor?-James asked.

Thomas looked at the window. Alastair crossed his mind. He was probably awake and living his life as if nothing happened. He probably didn't even care if Thomas wouldn't like to talk to him ever again.

Yet,he was still there,on his mind.

Perhaps there was more than just attraction and sex in the world. Perhaps love was an actual possibility.

But Thomas wasn't sure if he would ever figure that out.

#tsc #the merry thieves #the last hours #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #james herondale #christopher lightwood #matthew fairchild #cassandra clare #chain of gold #original character

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onewaigu · 5 years

Text

Ring On My Ears (Pt. 2)

Genre : projectpartners!au

Theme : fluff

Pairing : Cya(Onewe) X Reader

Description : you were going to go to Giwook's apartment to do some planning for your art project. when he left you in his room to bring in some snacks, his phone went off. hearing his ringtone, you were extremely confused because you could've sworn you heard a really familiar voice coming from it.

Part 1 Part 2

You hopped off the bus with a heave as your black guitar case casually swung behind your back. Giwook's apartment building wasn't far from the busstop so you didn't mind the weight at all.

Scanning the stretch of buildings for the address he sent you through KaTalk the other night, you finally spotted the fairly new building and headed towards it. As your hand was reaching out to press the intercom signalling Giwook of your arrival, someone came out of the building. The person probably wasn't aware of your presence at the entrance because he immediately bumped into you, almost causing you to trip over some steps.

Thankfully, he was just in time to catch you and proceeded to apologise to you profusely. As he was apologetically bowing, you awkwardly straightened out your clothes before assuring him that it was okay.

When he looked up at you, he suddenly stopped bowing. Instead, he took a long glance at you. You were about to smack the creep's head into oblivion when he excitedly asked whether you were going to see 'that one college boy on the third floor'. You simply nodded. You didn't want to continue talking to this person.

“Well then, go ahead”, he gestured inside with his head as he held the door for you.

O..kay.

“No problem, anything for Cya's friend!”, you heard him shout as you entered the building.

You paused in your tracks. Rushing back to the entrance, your head turned from left to right searching for the person but unfortunately, he was already out of sight. Maybe he had gotten the wrong person cause you had absolutely no idea who this 'Kiya' was. Much less, be his friend.

Ignoring your odd encounter, you headed up to the third floor where Giwook was staying at. He had told you that he was living alone because of the college transfer so he warned you of the mess he called home.

A few hours later, you were in Giwook's room laying flat on his bed while he strummed some chords on his bass guitar. You were caught by surprise when you learnt that Giwook had a talent for producing. Thanks to his genius, the two of you were halfway done with the music samples for the different genres.

The sound of your grumbling stomach was the cue that both of you needed a break. Giwook, being the kind friend that he was, offered to bring some snacks from the kitchen. That left you alone in his room, rotting away in boredom.

You were mindlessly reaching for Giwook's bass guitar that was lying at the corner of the bed when you heard his phone go off. At first, you ignored it thinking that he might've heard it. However after a few more calls, he still hadn't entered the room to pick up the call. Hence, you decided not to let the other person on the line feel like they were being ignored so you answered the phone.

All the while when you were waiting for Giwook to pick up his phone, you couldn't help but notice a really familiar voice coming from his ringtone. It sounded almost identical to Giwook. The only difference was that the voice coming from the ringtone was a bit harsher than Giwook's soft-spoken one. But maybe, it was just in your head. That was what you assumed..until you heard the person on the other line speak.

You froze once you had picked up the call.

“Yah Cya, why were you ignoring my calls?”, a voice asked in fake hurt.

“Giwookie's probably tired of you”, another voice in the background humoured.

You could hear laughter and struggling from the other line.

“Anyway, what time are you guys done with your school project? You do remember that we have a performance at the Rolling Hall, right?”, the first person continued.

You stayed quiet throughout the whole conversation. You didn't know how to react so your thumb automatically pressed the end call button on the screen before the other person could say anything else.

After the call ended, you slumped your back against the wall behind you with Giwook's phone still in your hand as you stared at the door. He entered the room not long after with a plateful of fried chicken and two bottles of Coke. So that's why he took so long.

He, on the otherside, took notice of his phone that was in your possession.

“Y/N, why do you have my phone?”, he quirked his eyebrow at you as he didn't want to assume wrongly.

“It's nothing, just that apparently you have two names and that the creep I met when I came here knew I was your friend”, you monotonously replied to his question.

“Oh, and I think I heard your voice coming from your ringtone”

Your eyes followed him as he placed the snacks down on his table and began to pace around his room. He scrunched his nose in deep thought. Even amidst your confusion, you thought that was adorable.

Finally after much pacing around, he stood in front of you and took a deep breath before explaining.

From what you gathered, Giwook or rather Cya was part of a newly-redebuted band. He was in charge of the bass guitar and rap. The ringtone you heard was a song from their 1st single album, 'Ring On My Ears'. So, the voice you heard was really his. They were actually supposed to perform at this performance venue in Hongdae right after the two of you had wrapped up for the day that evening.

You held up your hand to stop him mid-explanation while looking at him incredulously.

“Then what are we still doing here?”

Giwook gaped at your sudden interruption.

“You have a band to meet up with”, you said hopping off his bed and dragging his arm towards the door.

“But- the chicken”

Was he really finding an excuse right now?

“Bring them chickens along”, you continued dragging him till you reached the venue.

The place was smaller than any other concert venues you'd seen but it was cozy. There was a neon sign in front that said 'Rolling Hall'. You awed as you took in everything while Giwook, who was still in your grasp, shyly scratched his head. Your eyes caught the banners that hung from the microphones. Onewe. That was probably the name of their band.

Your eyes moved to where the drummer was supposed to be and..

“You!”, you pointed accusingly at the person who was also pointing mockingly at you.

It was the guy from before. The weird creep that let you in the building. He was in Giwook's band. As you let your mind register that fact, the drummer placed his drumsticks down to come and greet you.

“This is Harin-hyung, he plays the drums”, Giwook introduced.

“Hey, didn't you say you had a cru-”, he unfortunately didn't get to finish the sentence as Giwook nudged him in the guts with his elbow.

Oblivious to what they were talking about, you just laughed at their silly exchange seeing both faces turn red in a millisecond. Giwook's from embarrassment, Harin's from pain.

Eventually, you decided to stay and watch Onewe perform. Just before they started, you waved at Giwook or Cya from your seat at the very back. He caught you waving but only smiled at the whole crowd. Oh right, professionalism.

Then came silence. The mini concert began when the blond guitarist strummed the first few chords. Starting off cooly alongside Harin's drumming, Cya took over rapping away the familiar verses you heard from his ringtone. They were performing 'Ring On My Ears'.

A few songs in, you noticed that the Giwook on stage wasn't that one quiet boy in your art class in college. He wasn't just your art project partner either. No. He was the charismastic, passionate bass guitarist, rapper, and producer of a band called 'Onewe' who just so happened to be your friend.

You let the thought sink in as you watched the band. It was during the performances, you finally noticed a pick-shaped earring hanging from Cya's left ear, glistening under the dimly-lit hall. You couldn't help but realise that the way it kept hitting against his ear truly reminded you of something familiar.

[a/n]

aah finally part two is out y'all! giwook is babie i can't..i just wanna squish them cheekies > <

stan onewe

#oneweoneshot #onewe fluff #onewe #cya #onewecya #leegiwook #cyafluff #harin #oneweharin

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