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kpop-dungeon-dark · 3 years

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Sinners. (Stalker!San x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Warning(s): Semi Non-Con, sadism, masochism, fear kink, hair play, head shaving, complete submission, humiliation, degradation, anal, camera play, piercing, denial, chastity, Psycho!San, twisted and dark fucked up shit. Read at your own risk. You've been warned. This isn't for everyone. It is purely fiction and doesn't reflect any individual's behavior nor does it encourage it.

It was early in the morning and she was about to go to college in an hour. But instead of running around having breakfast, getting ready and making sure she had her assignments ready, Y/n was standing in front of her mirror, eyes closed as she touched her pussy and touched an electric razor to her head, imagining what it'd feel like if it was on and an imaginary 'Master' was forcefully shearing her. Like a sheep. "Ahh... Master… please..." The girl let a whimper fall from her lips, having no idea that the curtains of her room were open and someone could watch her through the window.

"Fuck…" The man standing outside, behind the PCO booth on the sidewalk outside Y/n's apartment complex whispered to himself, feeling his jeans tighten. Taking a picture of the girl before switching it to video mode, planning to send her the photo later. It had been a while now. Maybe a bit more than a while. He was ready and sure now, unable to wait anymore.

San had to have Y/n now.

He had to claim her rightfully his. Or, he felt like he'd lose his mind now. Just watching the pretty girl wasn't enough anymore. He wanted to touch her, feel her, tell her, that he knew… He knew that she wasn't as innocent as she made herself look in front of the people that knew her. That she was actually a hormonal little dirty girl. And whilst nobody knew that nasty side of her, he did. The thought made the man feel powerful. In control. Like he had a claim over Y/n.

There was no way in hell that she wasn't made for him.

Y/n got done with masturbating and packed up before going to college, having no idea that she had a stalker. The girl spent her usual regular day at college, having no idea of the storm that was coming.

San knew Y/n were in class and that’s exactly when he wanted to send her the photo he took. A sick smirk made its way on his face and he took his phone out, sending it with the caption, 'having fun there?' He knew where she sat, a lone desk by one of the windows in this classroom, the spot he was standing in providing him a clear view of her face. Yes. The man had all the information he could gather about her memorized by heart.

Y/n was drifting off when she suddenly felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, peeking at the Professor sneakily, the girl took it out and unlocked it only to choke on her breath before starting to cough, making some heads turn which caused her to put the device in her hand away to prevent it getting seized. Her blood ran cold and skin paled.

What the fuck just happened?!

San patiently waited for the female to exit her college, her being earlier than the usual time today, however. The man grinned deviously as he texted her again once she passed by him in a hurry, his taller figure getting up to follow her.

'Will you give that show again? Would you like someone to shave your hair off? That’s what gets you off right?' It shamelessly read, making her tremble.

Y/n started to rush towards her house as she didn't live too far away from her college, not having to use any vehicle because it was barely a 10 minute walk as she nervously glanced around. She was quite twisted herself. And so, a dark part of her mind thought... things, making her start to shudder as tears welled up in self hatred. She hated the soft pounds in her southern region, overpowering the thump of her heart ringing in her ears as she reached the building and rushed in.

'What's the rush for, Princess? Are you so eager to touch yourself again? Tsk. Are you horny? Knowing someone is watching you?' San was absolutely sick in the head. Chuckling at his own text, he bit his lip and hit send.

Y/n was shaking as she read the message. Yes. In her fantasies this was… thrilling, exciting, pussy throbbing and she'd like to play like this with her top but… a legit stalker? She wasn't THAT fucked. Or so the girl belived, at least. Rushing to the curtains after locking the front door, the girl drew them while trying to catch someone's glance outside but no luck.

San had mastered the art of hiding as he watched her. It wasn't like this was new or anything.

Y/n felt hopeless. She couldn't even call the cops! What would the girl show them as evidence?! She didn't want to tell or show them this! Her filthiest desire.

The 21 year old was having a mental breakdown! All her savings were in this college. She could not run away, didn't have any friends because Y/n was a foreigner and the people of this country were rather hostile to any outsiders. Couldn't go back home because she had run away from there, which was a hell in itself, when she had received her acceptance letter.

'Aww come on now!' Her phone pinged again, and then again. 'You can’t keep the fun all to yourself!'

The realisation felt like a bucket of ice cold water everytime she was reminded of it. The person had seen her masturbating and that to the fucking… razor! They knew her fantasies and at that the darkest ones! She couldn't even text them back asking him who it was! The girl was simply too embarrassed to! What if it were someone she knew in her college or around the apartment complex!

It was a dark day and it started raining. Y/n felt tears streaming down her face as her heart beat never slowed down, more terror filling her as everything outside got dark and thunder struck.

Maybe she should call the cops... No one else would help a foreigner… She just knew it. Nobody liked college students especially that lived alone because they were 'reckless' and often lied to get a good laugh out of the elders with their friends. So no one really opened their door for a student they didn't know personally.

But what would she tell the cops?! They ask for evidence!

Meanwhile, San stood on the spot he had found. Even if it was literally the end of the world, he'd still be there. Always. She was his and he had to have her all to himself. There was no other way. The man wasn't exactly sure how he'd do it but he’ll find a way.

Y/n called the cops at last when she started suspecting someone's presence outside her apartment. Or window… she wasn't sure anymore. And the loud thunder outside didn't help her situation. Dialing the police the scared girl told them she was afraid someone was stalking her and needed an officer for security right now. i Telling them about the texts and deciding to leave the nasty parts out, she sighed in somewhat relief when they informed that they will send an officer on the way. The student grabbed a water from the fridge and sat on the couch, taking huge gulps while trying to calm down.

Finally.

It only took some minutes before there was a knock on the door. A nervous Y/n looked through the peep hole to only cry out in relief when she saw the uniform through it. "Oh! Thank God, officer! Thank you so much! You're here!" She was overjoyed. "Thank you! I- I am so scared!" A weak sob left her. "Please come in!"

The officer looked around the house, nodding. "I need you to calm down, miss. Tell me everything. We are here with you." His tone was professional. His name plate read 'Park Seonghwa'.

"I- I have a stalker! I don't know how!" Y/n quickly locked the door after he stepped in. "Not many people like me because I am a foreigner! I don't know if it's someone from college troubling me o- on purpose or what... B- But they've been sending me some really p- personal stuff..." She looked up at him innocently, scared.

The dark haired man hummed and nodded. "Do you maybe know the number? Have you noticed any suspicious activity around you before? Is there someone who has a motive to do this?"

"N- No... I got the first text today... I- I am really scared... I've got no one here... W- What do I do?" She told him all of it, hoping that the culprit he caught as soon as possible so she could go back to her life where she was a nobody. No one knew her and she was just another face among many others..

"Alright. We’ll keep a close eye on you. Within this period, try not to hang out too much, yeah? It is best to come directly home after college. And call us on this number if you suspect anything." He wrote a number on a paper and handed it to the shaky girl.

"Oh... Alright officer... thank you..." She saved the number gladly. And since he was supposed to stay with her to ensure the girl's safety, they sat down and Y/n awkwardly turned the TV on. Oh she never had a guy in her apartment before.

After getting used to the feeling of safety, Y/n got up after a while, finally having calmed down as she felt hungry. Cooking some dinner for two people, she went and handed the officer one of the two plates. "You've been here since evening... Please eat." She politely smiled, softly blushing from the embarrassment. The girl was too soft, continuously thanking him like it wasn't his job.

"You're a true hero..." She giggled and sat on the other couch, totally not thinking about how handsome he was. Before a sigh left her as she was reminded of the situation. "Officer... What will happen to my stalker when you catch him...?" He knew her darkest secrets. "I am really afraid... They mentioned some... things... very private... things..." The girl finally confessed.

“Mind telling me those things, miss? It will help us with his punishment. The more detail, the better” he placed his plate down, grabbing his pen and notepad.

"O- Officer... I uh..." Y/n gulped. "I- I can't..." She felt ashamed

“Why not? We should know so we can sentence him longer in the court. This is not okay. And you’re a foreigner. So it may also come under bullying.” His tone was soft and assuring as he looked at her, concerned.

It took the student a bit of persuasion before she spoke, hanging her head low and fingers fidgeting in her lap. "I... I was being naughty with myself... A- And they took p- pictures from my window... A- And taunted me about my... p- preferences, s- sir..." She put her own plate on the table now.

The man only hummed, nodding in an understanding manner. “That’s such a disgusting thing for him to do…” Before the man continued. “You shouldn’t do those nasty things while your windows are open either, Miss… You never know who will be watching.”

Y/n was blushing hard as her cheeks felt extremely hot. "I am sorry, s- sir... I won't do it again..." She couldn’t help but reply obediently. Her sub side sometimes got the best of her.

Besides… The officer was so handsome... It wasn’t helping her situation here.

A few hours later when it was bedtime and Y/n went to sleep in her room after taking care of her assignments and on the work she missed at school today, the officer got comfy on the couch. He was going to be here until tomorrow morning. Unless something happened. The girl was so tired she fell asleep easily, feeling protected and warm despite the terrible weather outside.

It was really late at night when Y/n woke up to a phone call.. "Hello?" It was the police, informing her that the officer that had been sent to her house had a bad ‘accident’ on the way and whether she still needed an officer.

The girl’s eyebrows at first in confusion before it sunk in and her blood ran cold as the phone fell from her shaking hands. At the same time she felt someone next to her. On the fucking bed. Pure terror filled her and she slowly turned to look at the relaxed figure dressed in the uniform. A shaky cry left her as she started trembling, literally mortified.

“Tsk... The stupid cops ruined the fun.” His voice was nowhere near that gentle and warm comforting voice now. Instead a low and deep hiss filled with nothing but mock.

San's eyebrows were frowned when he saw the cop car pulling up. "Oh no... you did not, Princess." The male smirked and shook his head slowly as he noted that it was only one officer. Moving through the shadows, he pulled out his blade from the pocket of his pants, expertly swirling it around in his hand and toying with it like he usually did. "Now, let’s see why do you need the officer, babygirl" his voice was barley a whisper as he made his way over to the car.

San was always so slick with his movements, catching the non-existent sounds of his figure were barely audible to the human ear. Before the officer could even realise there was someone around, the male had banged his head against one of the entrance walls of the low rent cheap apartment building, dragging him into the darkness with him before stealing his clothes and then dumping his body in the river along his car.

It didn't even take him long. He was fast, accurate in his calculations and confident in his abilities. "Now, to my Princess' rescue" chuckling to himself as he climbed the stairs, pinning the nameplate reading 'Park Seonghwa' on his breast pocket before ringing the bell to her apartment.

"The real fun is only starting" San sang as he pinned her down on the bed, holding her wrists tight above her head. "You have no idea how many nights I've watched you touch that bitchy cunt of yours." His hard bulge rubbed against her thigh.

An astonished Y/n was trembling, warm piss suddenly starting to leak out of her in pure terror as her heart threatened to burst out of the skin of her chest. Oh no! Is that what she thought this was?! It took her brain a few moments to understand it as the realisation sunk in like a ton of bricks. "Y- You... You're... You..." She could only whisper, eyes widened to the shape of saucers as an evil grin made its way on his features.

As San felt the bed getting warm, he started laughing at the girl condescendingly. "Look at you! Pissing yourself like a baby! How pathetic and disgusting! Did you really think anyone would help you, tsk?" He loved how she was shaking, the glow of her skin caused by the little droplets of sweat, her heartbeat that he could literally feel and the terror in her eyes.

Y/n started crying, the piss not stopping as it pooled inside her thighs. "Y- You're... You're the... stalker…" She whispered, still in disbelief as to how he managed that. "H- How did... How did you..." Oh God. Oh no.

The storm outside was so loud that screaming for help would just be in vain. It was so late no one would even be up...

"Baby, just like you said… I’m the stalker… I know everything about you…" His tone was sensual as he started kissing up the soft skin of her neck, moaning from how soft and delicate it felt. "Fuck! Your skin is even softer than i- it looks…" San felt himself twitch.

The girl was trembling as she slowly put it all together, staring at the ceiling as a feeling of despair and hopelessness filled her. "Y- You were p- pretending a- all this time! You're not the officer!" Adrenaline filled her as she kneed his cock, swiftly turning on her stomach and crawling off the bed before rushing out of the room. Nobody could hear the commotion. It was too loud outside.

"FUCK! YOU BITCH!" San yelled before laughing loudly. He loved this. Finally something enjoyable in his once lone and bland life. Holding his crotch, the male after her to catch the girl before she got away, catching her easily. "Where do you think you’re going?!" A smack landed on her face as punishment for what she did.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO! Y- YOU CREEPY BASTARD!" Oh she would be getting a lot of beating for this! "H- HOW DARE YOU STALK ME A- AND THEN ENTER MY HOUSE! ILL R- REPORT YOU!" As she reached out to my table to hit him with something, her hand so conveniently ended up grabbing the razor and swung it back, going to hit him with it on the head.

San laughed tauntingly and caught her arm before she could hit him and shook his head, sighing. "Now now, isn’t this the razor you were holding when you played with that tiny little cunt of yours?" The shiny object dangled in his hand.

"P- PLEASE!" She remembered the text he'd sent her. "PLEASE! I- I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE BUT DON'T DO THIS! PLEASE! I BEG YOU!" Y/n had no idea what to say.

"Aww sweetie…" His words were soft. Almost. "Keep your begs for the time when I'll be pounding that dirty little pussy of yours." San held her hands above her head. "You like to be owned, huh? You like to serve your Master and show everyone how much of an obedient little whore you are?"

Y/n was crying harder now, afraid because she didn't know what was going to happen. "N- No! Please no! It's not true! P- Please just let me go! I- I don't want to!" Oh but she had a being kidnapped and raped fantasy. She loved the thought of someone dangerous, like San, terrifying her and fucking her, making her into his cockwhore. And he knew it. She wanted it all. The girl loved the fear and force. But all of it actually happening was something she'd never thought of. "Please! Let me go!" How could it? A whole fantasy becoming true?

"Oh please, my little slut! Let’s not fool ourselves here. I know you love the thrill of this, I know you LOVE getting used like a worthless little toy and I will give you what you want. You can try to resist me all you want but you’ll never get away from me. You're mine. I'll always catch you. You're mine and belong with me." Her eyes were on the razor as she kept thinking about the text he'd sent.

Y/n tried to reach out of his iron strong hold and snatch the razor from him. "Nu-uh…" San sang out as he held the object above him. "What if I shaved your head while I’m destroying that slutty pussy, huh? Would you like that you little whore?"

"No! NO! NO PLEASE!" Oh… But she felt wetness trickling down her leg. Oh no.

"My my!" The man chuckled darkly. "What’s this?" He swiped a finger up her bare thigh. "God, you’re such a pathetic whore, trying to fool yourself by saying no but I know you’re enjoying this. How stupid and dumb. Stupid slut!" His free hand smacked her face before grabbing her hands again.

"N- No! No! Please stop! This i- isn't what it looks like!" Before she somehow broke free again, this time biting his hand before she managed to reach the door, trying to unlock it but her hands were sweaty and cold, fingers literally frozen as she struggled to open the locks, cursing when they kept slipping against the metal.

San pushed Y/n up against the door with the most force he could come up with and pounced himself on her, letting his hard cock feel up her ass. "Don’t fight it anymore." And with that, he pulled her pj shorts down and turned her around before spreading her legs and pushed her up against the door, unclothing his cock and aligning his tip against her vagina before forcefully thrusting into her without warning before moaning loudly, throwing his head back. "God! Such a tight little nasty cunt!" San moaned and kissed along her neck, feeling like he'd go crazy from how delicate and nice her skin tasted.

The girl moaned loudly in pain, a warm stream of blood trickling down the man's monster cock. "O- Oh my God!" A sick part of her wondered if he would also shave her head and face... "I- IT BURNS!" A scream tumbled out of her lips.

"Oh… You were a virgin? Such a nasty little thing. Everyone thinks you’re an innocent little girl but in reality, you’re just a needy little bitch! Needy for cock! All the time!" He picked her up and carried the girl back to her room while still keeping his cock in her before plugging the razor in. "Come here!"

Oh yes. Oh no! Oh… She was having a battle with herself. Did she want this or did she not want this?! "PLEASE... S- SIR..." Please yes or please no...? She didn't even know what was happening anymore. This was fucking crazy. Her stalker who had done God knows what to the cop and had entered her house after watching her for who knew how long. The stalker that had a private photo of her and she didn't even know how many other materials. And now was on top of her like this...

"Please what, babydoll?" San pulled her in and kissed the soft trembling lips roughly, loving how good she tasted and felt.

Y/n cried against his lips, the man's huge cock still in her wet and tight walls. "I- I am scared! P- People will laugh!" Was that the only thing she cared about?

"So you want me to, but scared people will laugh?" San smirked while pushing his hips back and forth, moaning with each thrust. "Let them laugh, that will turn you on even more because you love getting humiliated. I know you too well, baby.”

Y/n had faced such rejection and hostility her whole life from different people she had trusted with her safety from time to time… this was driving her crazy. Her messy emotions got the best of her at the end of it. Her breaths were heavy. "Y- You're right... You know me so well..." She started speaking his language. "Y- You want me? O- Or you'll leave me too?" This was wrong; sick.

“No. I am staying by your side and you’re staying by me. I’ve wanted you for so long... you have no idea.” He groaned at how good she felt, biting back the whimpers threatening to fall out of his lips from the pleasure. “You have no idea just how many nights I have jerked off thinking it was your tiny little pussy, hugging my cock as you moaned and begged me for more, slut.”

The girl blushed, feeling like she was dreaming. This felt perfect… at least to her troubled mind. "You're crazy... You're scary... You made me piss myself out of pure…” She whispered slowly, a small smile making its way on her lips. “...P- Please own me... P- Please shave me... my head and face... make me look like a dumb slut... s- sir... Your dumb slut..." Her shaky hand turned the razor on for him, pussy suddenly clenching around him as she finally acknowledged the pleasure it was receiving, a soft moan escaping her.

“Mmm... that’s my good slut” San hummed and praised, taking the now on machine and placing it against her hairline before running it down the top of her head, both of them moaning, Y/n from the feeling and San from the sight of the sight of now small bristles between her locks as his hips pushed in and out even faster.

The man now shaved off another strip from the spot besides the previously shaved one, humming as he remembered something and took the machine to her eyebrows first and pressed it against the skin, feeling himself hit her g-spot as her eyes rolled to the top of her head, mouth falling open as the male erased the hair above her eyes.

"Yes, s- sir! Please make me your good slut! I- I love you! I'll never leave you! Please never leave me, Master!" She started crying out of joy, kissing his hands as her unstable emotions made her feel absolute joy. He had accepted her as she truly was. In her darkest form. “Please write funny things o- on my skinhead when you’re done. I am a dumb whore!” To her, there wasn’t a man more great than him.

“Fuck yes… That you are.” San grunted as he started to shear the rest of her long locks like one would to a sheep. “You are my dumb little slut who will do nothing but serve her Master from now on!” His free hand landed a smack on her head which was showing up more and more, nothing but thin stubble covering the skin.

"Yes I will, Master! Please! Please treat me like trash!" Y/n clenched around him, near to cumming. “Trash that was born to take your cock! You're so good to me! I wish you'd snuck in my house this morning and raped me right there! I wish you'd have shaved my head and forced me to go to college like that! It would have been a pleasure to be humiliated like that and by you!” She was literally crying out of pleasure

“Oh..” The man chuckled while panting. “I will force you to go like this baby, don’t worry.” He promised as he snapped his hips even faster, feeling himself getting close from the sight and all her filthy confessions. “And I will wake you up by fucking you every morning, making you a mess and sending you off to college like that.” It was done, the only hair on the girl’s head slight messy stubble that he’d remove with a hand razor later to reveal the skin underneath.

"Yes, please! Please always only force me and rape me! Please keep me bald! Keep me at your feet! Please feed me your piss and cum! I want to be your hand and footrest! I want to be an object for you to fuck! A bitch for you to breed! Your little animal! I JUST WANT TO BE YOURS! I WANT TO BE THE DIRT UNDER YOUR FEET!" She was sobbing as she started cumming hard, her tiny body spasming in pleasure while holding one of San's hands because it was her first time cumming from sex.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him from the intensity of it and kissed him while he played with her tits, pinching her nipples painfully as he kissed the girl back and let her ride out her high before pulling out. “On your knees!” San kept pumped himself until he came all over the girl’s pretty face and mouth. “That’s my good little cumdumpster.”

She smiled and started to kiss his cock and hands in respect, then his balls. Y/n really had truly submitted. "You're perfect, Master! Where have you been all my life?!" A pout made its way on her lips as she whined, hugging his leg and kissing it, not daring to go further up out of fear.

San was satisfied with her behavior. “I’m here now baby… And I am never leaving.” He kissed the younger one and slapped her ass lightly after helping her get up. “Lets get cleaned, doll.”

"Master, I wanna drink your piss." She shamelessly told him, not standing up, taking his cum off her face with her hand and greedily sucking at it. "A- And I wanna kiss your feet!" She was way too eager for this.

The man chuckled at her request. “You want to drink my piss? Then open up, my whore.” San held his cock over her mouth before putting pressure on his bladder, whimpering before the hot stream hit her lips.

Y/n was obediently on her knees drinking all of it after cringing at the taste a little, moaning happily. It was her first time drinking anyone's piss. She was in heaven. She finally had an owner! The girl made sure not one drop went to waste. "Thank you so much, Master! It is amazing!" The younger one stopped drinking and let his piss wet her face before starting to kiss his feet, fully in her subspace.

“You’re such an obedient little girl.” San praised, not being able to hold back the smile as he watched her, never having imagined her willingly being like this for him in such a short time period. But then again, he wasn’t surprised. “Good girl.” He cooed patting her head.

Y/n desperately kissed his hand and grabbed it, starting to cry. "M- Master... everyone leaves me... P- Please don't leave me... I- I'll die!" She almost promised him, nothing short of a maniac. Maybe she was even more twisted than San, in a way

“I’ll never leave you, you’re mine and everyone will know that.” Cupping her cheeks, he passionately kissed her, already making plans in his head about how he will modify all of her features as his perfect little pet.

The girl giggled, sucking at his lips greedily. "Master! Your piss was on my face!" She tried to get it off. "Give it back! Ish mine!" Huffing, she lapped at his piss like a needy little bitch.

San chuckled from her antics and swiped his fingers on the pretty face before holding them up against her lips. “Open up…” He let her suck on the piss covering his fingers. “Fuck... you’re so perfect for me.”

Holding his arm like a child, Y/n started sucking on his fingers greedily, smiling. "Thank you, Master!" Before she made his fingers hit the back of her throat, making herself gag and loving it all. "Mashter Mashter! Whatsh your name?" The girl questioned while deep throating his fingers.

“It’s San, baby.” The man replied with a smile, watching her choke on his fingers, her warm drool trickling down his long fingers.

"Shan! Ish sho pretty! I am Y/n!" Letting go of his hand, she hugged him which was returned with a chuckle.

“I know, babygirl.”

"M- Mashter... I- I dunno why b- but... I- I shaw a video too a- and I want you to s- shove my shaved hair u- up my assh and i- in my mouth... a- and take picturesh... Hehe I am sho naughty!" His eyebrows raised as she hid in his chest, a smirk forming on his lips.

San patted her messily shaved head. “Yes. You are, baby. You’re fucking naughty but okay. Daddy is here to help his little girl with all her little disgusting whore fantasies.”

"Y- You wanna?" Before she chirped again. "Mashter I want to be owned like an object a-nd like an animal! I wanna be like a p- piggy! A- And I want you to b- beat me and whip me e- everywhere a- and I wanna be bruished! A- And I want to be raped all the time!" She was too fucking sick and twisted but now that she wasn’t afraid of being judged, she was letting all that was locked deep down out.

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll treat you like one, baby.” San said before chuckling to himself, still in disbelief of just how fucked up she really was.

"A- And I want you to fuck my bummie and not let me cum for monthsh! I wanna be forshed to wear chashtity! I want you to make me cry and beg but you don't give in and only torture me more!" She told him. "Pleashe alwaysh shlap me and my head!"

“Fuck... you’re so naughty baby… I love it.” San almost moaned from the sight before getting a chunk of her shaved hair and shoved it in her mouth before getting his phone and taking pics of her all stuffed and messily bald like that.

The twisted girl smiled in the pictures and eagerly nodded, turning her fat ass in front of him now. "Please put hair in assh too!" She struggled to speak, smiling and posing for all of the pictures.

San actually wanted to take a video of him shoving hair up her ass and so that was what he simply did, laughing. “Look at this disgusting little dumb cock whore! So slutty and needy! Loving to be humiliated and looked like a dumb fucktoy by her owner!” He spat on her.

"Yesh I am! Yesh I am!" Y/n spoke with difficulty, showing her stuffed face and head too, arching her back, imagining herself a beauty goddess of her own kind. "My lobely mashter shaved me! And ish gonna treat me like hish trash and look! I habe hair up my assh! And in my fashe! I've got no eyebrowsh!"

“My good little slave… All mine… So submissive” San praised, kicking her ass in the camera and chuckling at her squeak, watching her clench the hair up when her pucker winked. “You’re really loving this, aren’t you?” Lifting her face, he spat on her forehead.

"I ammmm~" she whined, face red before starting to try to rub her cunt against the floor.

“Look at her trying to desperately rub her slutty cunts on the floor…” He filmed it all. Fuck. He loved seeing Y/n all dirty and submissive for him.

Drool was dripping down her chin and boobs. "Yesh Mashter! O- Onwy fow yoooouuu~" a needy whimper left her.

“Mmm... yes, only for me” San spoke and slapped her hard which the girl loved, getting even more wet and kissing his hands. "I- I... cum pleashe..." She whimpered again, loving the control she was in.

“No... get up.” San warned sternly. “You’re not allowed to cum, you’re never allowed to cum.”

"B- But... M- Mashter..." The girl pouted and whined, having forgotten that she was the one that told him that she wanted him to never let her cum and torture her like that.

“Are you talking back to your Master?” Raising an eyebrow, he gripped her chin before slapping her, making sure it was all being recorded so he could fuck her to it later.

Her pussy tingled. “N- No! No Mashtew owwiieee…” The hair in her ass and mouth tickled humiliatingly.

"That’s what I thought" San husked and threw the phone on the bed before pushing her on the carpet again. "Tell me when you’re close."

"M- Mashtewwww" Y/n started crying like a little baby, shaking and dropping the hair from her mouth because it was getting hard to breathe.

"Did I say you could drop the hair?!" The man growled darkly before pushing the hair back in. "Breathe through your nose, dumb slut!"

The girl let out a cry, trembling and sobbing as she nodded. He was rough. It was making her cry. But she also loved it and felt wet. "Yesh!" She loved being at Master's mercy.

"Good girl." He said pushing her down on the carpet more. "Rub yourself nice and hard slut." Y/n started rubbing herself as he ordered, feeling the carpet burn against her pussy but she couldn't help but love it, biting her bottom lip through her stuffed mouth. Oh… She loved it so much. The girl wanted it to bleed almost… Reaching out to hold his hand, the girl spoke. "You're sho perfect... I wish I'd m- met you when I wash l- little..."

"I wish that too baby, fuck... I’d fuck you every night while your parents were peacefully sleeping in the next room…"

"Y- You'd fuck me when I wash a little baby?" This was fucking revolting and twisted. They were both utterly sick. Y/n kept moaning loudly and getting wetter, rubbing harder and harder. "Y- Your fat cock i- in my toothlessh mouth... AHHH... I wouldn't need miwk... You'd have fed me your Mashtew milk fwom youw cock..."

"Fuck yes!" He growled as he felt himself getting hard. "Yes baby… I'd feed you my cum every day. You'd have grown up getting your nutrients from it, eh?"

"Daddy... Daddy... You'd be my Daddy? But inshtead of miwk you'd feed me youw cum evewyday? Ish the besht miwk!" She was very close and her eyes fluttered shut when he started playing with her tits and pinched her nipples before pulling at them. "Then I'd say I grew up drinking Mashtew's cock miwk! Hehehe!" The girl was too far gone.

"God, yes! You’re such a filthy and sick whore!" San knew she were close so he pulled her up. "No cumming!" It made the girl whine loudly and she fell on her face.

"Mashtewwwwww!" Before she curled in his feet, calming down a little when he didn't give in and ripped her pussy away from the carpet. "M- Mashtew... p- pleashe may I wemove haiw now...?" It was getting stuck to her mouth.

"Yes. You may, my little cum rag." The male wanted to use her mouth and feed her his cum so he allowed.

Y/n dropped it and quickly cleaned her tongue and inside of the cheeks with her tiny hands. "Bleg... hehe~" she curled in his waist, rubbing her tiny head against his chest.

"Good girl~" he patted her head before pushing her back in position. "Now use that mouth good baby…" San pushed his cock down her narrow throat, loving how tight and warm she was, making her gag from the rush of it in an instant.

The girl gagged but enjoyed it, loving it all. She quickly started sucking his cock, grazing her teeth against it and swirling her tongue. Y/n had watched all that porn for a reason. Kissing his balls, she sucked on them, whimpering from how his private hair tickled her nose.

"Fuck! look at you! Sucking on master’s cock like a starved bitch!" He slapped her again, feeling his shape against the skin of her cheeks. "You love it, don’t you?!"

"Yesh! Yesh! Yesh!" She hollowed her cheeks and bobbed her head up and down his shaft, sucking and whining as San rubbed the top of his foot against her pussy, smacking her bald head before pushing his cock all the way down her throat, tightly clasping the back of her head.

The man groaned loudly as he twitched in the soft walls of her throat, washing her throat with his hot semen before cleaning her up and finally shaving her head fully until there was nothing but glossy skin left before they went to bed.

"I have shchool tomorrow... Mashter do you go to shchool?" Y/n yawned as she snuggled into San's built chest, whimpering and smiling whenever the realisation of who he was hit her.

She loved being owned.

"No I don't. I will be right here when you come back, my pretty slut." San said while kissing her softly like he hadn't unleashed his sadistic likes on her.

"Why don't you go to school?" She suddenly pouted. "Then how will Mashter have a career?! You'll be poow! I dun wan poow Mashtew!" Y/n huffed brattily. She didn't really care about that, only wanting to see his response because she loved to piss off her top.

"You don’t really have a choice, sweetheart." The male gritted out. "You’re stuck with me forever. If I am living on the streets, you’re living with me."

She opened her mouth to brat but the bell rang. Rushing to the door, Y/n opened it to reveal a police officer. "Oh... hi..." The officer smiled a bit at her and asked the girl if she still needed an officer and why she had hung up when they called. "O- Oh no officer... I was just being paranoid... It wasn't anyone..." Y/n's cheeks blushed because she could see the officer was staring at her shiny bald head and eyebrows. Feeling herself getting wet as humiliation made her blush, Y/n found herself wondering what it'd feel like if he smacked her on her head. The girl's nipples got hard.

But oh... she couldn't cum!

"Okay then, be careful, Miss." He tipped her hat, nodding a little before walking off.

Y/n felt so wet. "Have a good night, officer!" A giggle left her as the man disappeared, starting to rub herself against the door up and down, running her hand against her head.

"Now, what was that?!" San deeply spoke, pushing the girl against the door, making her head hit against it embarrassingly. "Did you forget who alone can make you wet?!" The male yelled before slapping her. "You sick little exhibition loving whore! Not even you can do what you like to yourself! You're all mine! Only I can do whatever I please to your whore body!"

"Yes... You... You sir!" Y/n closed her eyes and held her hands above her head, lowering it for him to slap. "Please hit my head... Ugh... fuck me up... I want my head to be bruised... Ugh fuck! I am so wet... Please beat me!"

"What a disgusting little trash!" The man laughed, slapping her head this time. "You love people making fun of you, huh?"

"Yes I do! Yes I do!" She whined. "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make fun of me! Humiliate me! Hit me and bruise me! Make fun of me! Humiliate and degrade me! I want my whole college to laugh at me!" A loud cry left her.

"Let’s get you bruised up, then." San decided and started slapping the girl's tiny head and face until it was all red and sore. Y/n was crying by the time he was done, literally sobbing as she just fell on her knees and knocked out of exhaustion, her owner carrying her to the bed and then laying next to her knocked out form.

"Good night, my love." The male kissed her soft and red cheek before falling asleep too, holding her fragile body close to his, his slumber calm and satisfying today after so long.

Y/n stirred as she felt her pussy being invaded the next morning, making her stir as she felt lips upon her own and fingers pinching her nipples as her other boob was being groaped, her pussy expanding and sucking in a huge cock. San's huge cock. "M- Master~!" She whispered out when her eyes flew open and she was met with San's face. "W- What… s- so early?!"

"I promised you I'd wake you by fucking you every morning, didn't I, my slut?" He grinned and attacked her lips, eliciting an excited gigglish moan out of her as he started to fuck her fast and rough, pushing his balls in all the way.

“Y- Yes! Yes! F- Fuck!” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head from the realisation that he had been fucking her in her sleep before she woke up, feeling him twitch inside her. “M- Master! I- I… c- cum…” Y/n tried to speak, her back arching from the pleasure of him biting on her nipples before smacking her bald head softly.

“Little breeding whores don’t get to cum, baby. They just take cock and let Master use them like the cum rags that they are.” San’s cock slammed in and out of her pussy, his hand gripping her neck for support when she clenched around him. “Fuck! So tight!”

Tears welled up in her eyes as her face got red from how rough his thrusts were, how much her clit was burning for stimulation, how much her ovaries hurt to cum. “Look at this hairless little whore! Unable to even breathe without my permission let alone cum!” He spat in her mouth before turning her around and pushing up her ass, chuckling when she whined out.

“Sorry, slut. Little whores don’t get what they want around here and only please Master as they are supposed to.” Grabbing a sharpie, San started writing on her head whilst choking her with one hand, pounding her harder and harder up her ass. “Hurry up and please your Master well so we can go to an important place before you go to school.”

‘I am a bald little nasty slut. Please hit my head. I love it.’ Was written on the back of her head as the man laughed, deciding to not tell her what he’d done just yet, waiting for her to find out later when the people on campus would be warming that cueball up.

Y/n was whimpering as San waved at her and she shakily walked inside her college with a bald head, wearing nothing inside her skirt as she sneakily pushed the slipping ass plug back inside her cum filled ass. Lowering her bald head now that she was outside and people were staring at her new look, the girl gulped and felt herself squeezing her legs when some girl giggled at her.

Fuck… She couldn’t help but bite her lip, loving the humiliation as her cheeks felt hot.

Master had gotten her pussy, septum and nipples pierced before walking her to college. He was going to buy a special leash for that that was going to be passed through all her piercings to ensure she was in his control at all times.

Her train of thoughts was broken when a smack landed on her head by a guy passing by before he chuckled at her shocked expression. Before the girl could question him, she received a text by San. A picture message. Of what was written on the back of her head.

Widening her eyes, Y/n gasped and her hand automatically grazed against her head. No wonder the piercing lady had lightly smacked it before Master and she had laughed at the girl. “N- No… you didn’t…” She whispered in shock before one of her ‘friends’ smacked her head, making it jerk forwards.

“Cute look, Y/n.” Before she walked off to class, the people passing by gave her looks and talked about her.

Fuck… She squeezed her thighs in utter humiliation as the wind blew, making her desperately try to keep her skirt down as wetness trickled down her thigh. The girl wasn’t allowed to touch herself and not cumming was one of the rules now upon Master’s order and her foolish confession. She had a whole day to last before getting home and begging him to let her earn it.

Her ass stuffed, body owned, everyone silently chuckling at her humiliating look and getting smacks to the head like that wasn’t going to help.

“Oh, Master…” She whined to herself in despair. “What have you done?”

#san smut #ateez smut #choi san #choi san smut #dark kpop #dark fic #non con #ateez #ateez x you #ateez x reader #san x you #san x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #san

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever” Chapter 2

After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

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Chapter 2 (5061 words)

The first evening in their new house becomes a long, exhaustive dance of unpacking and cleaning in preparation for the movers to arrive in the morning. What, in the past, would have been an upbeat two-step of flirting in the hallways while lugging in suitcases, punctuated by the occasional stop, dip, and smooch, is now a formal, boxy waltz, with Sebastian giving Kurt a wide-berth whenever he hears his husband coming, and Kurt pausing in doorways, eyes darting elsewhere when Sebastian passes by.

The rush to clear the dirt away and make things suitable for the furniture they chose to bring with them affords Kurt ample opportunities to send Sebastian on a host of errands, ensuring him stretches of time that he can spend alone to reflect and think.

Consider the past and plan for the future.

Even after the furniture arrives, they should have tons of space left. They had decided not to bring everything they own with them. They aren’t selling their penthouse. Keeping it furnished for the odd trip back seems like the practical thing to do. So, they only packed those things that they absolutely could not live without.

They didn’t bring any of the furniture from Grace's room. That Kurt donated to the Salvation Army with the exception of one item – a Winnie the Pooh lamp that he had found in mint condition, ironically, at the Salvation Army, on the day he and Sebastian found out their surrogate was pregnant. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh sitting back to back as the base, each holding a handful of balloons. One red balloon, larger than the rest, contains the bulb, the colored plastic lending a rosy tint to its glow. Along the bottom edge are written the words: “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

Kurt’s mother had read him Winnie the Pooh books his entire childhood. He could recite most of A. A. Milne’s writings by the time he turned eight.

The year his mother passed away.

He'd read those same books to his daughter. She’d had them mostly memorized, too.

Seven hours of scrubbing, sanitizing, and (for Sebastian) racing around town wipe the two of them out, to the point where falling asleep is simply a matter of inflating an air mattress and putting heads down on pillows. They had picked up a Queen size one at a JCPenney along the way. It’s nowhere near as luxurious as the custom-made King size bed currently stuck in the back of an Allied Moving Truck, waiting to take a journey on the 495. This mattress is a tighter fit than they’re used to. It doesn’t help that the thing sinks in the middle whenever one of them rolls over. With the both of them measuring six-foot-plus tall, they have to lie in the fetal position to fit comfortably, which would require them to spoon. But Kurt finds a way to keep himself out of his husband’s arms.

The material the mattress is made out of seems perpetually ice-cold, not warming up a touch with their combined body heat, which Kurt didn’t anticipate. They have the gas and electricity switched on, but there’s something wrong with the central heating. They don’t have the requisite amount of blankets to keep from freezing, which adds to the misery. Despite being pissed at Sebastian, Kurt doesn’t have the heart to send him out at one a.m. to the 24-hour Walmart, so he closes his eyes and resigns himself to suffering until dawn.

For the next five hours, Kurt’s mind stays blank. No noise, no dreams, and no flashbacks, thank God. It’s not restful, but it’s the best he could have hoped for. The last half a year has not been conducive to dreaming. The nightmares keep coming, one after the other, the next one worse than the last, shaking him to his core until he jars awake with a pain in his chest like someone had tried, in steel boots, to stomp him into the dirt. But waking up doesn’t solve the problem. He doesn’t know what he hates worse – waking up weeping in his husband’s arms or waking up weeping alone.

Kurt’s feelings for Sebastian are complicated when he thinks they shouldn’t be. Kurt should either love him and forgive him or hate him and move on. But he loves him and hates him. His hands itch to hold him, but a second later, he wants to shove him away. He wants to go, but he can’t imagine leaving.

As much as it sucks, Kurt can’t imagine living without him.

He would prefer to go back to being shamelessly and hopelessly in love with him. Hating him has become a crutch. But it’s enough to get him through. Regardless of that fact, which should tie up the loose ends, mend the hurts and cool the hate, it doesn’t, because Kurt can’t find a way to forgive him.

A well-meaning Facebook friend had told Kurt over Messenger that the problem was Kurt’s pride had been hurt by Sebastian cheating. Push the pride aside and get over it. Ultimately, the marriage is more important. Then he said something about Kurt putting on his “big boy” pants, mentioned God, and quoted the Bible.

A minute later, Kurt blocked him.

That’s another blessing of moving - leaving behind the get over it already crowd. He hates them more than the forever sorry folks. The people who tell him to move on, to get over it, to put it behind him, don’t really care about him. They want him to stop complaining, as if they’re obligated to follow him on social media, and that puts the burden on him, in turn, to make them feel comfortable.

Maybe some of them do care, but not enough to put themselves in his shoes and understand that it’s just not that easy. Being on the outside of the swamp and looking in at a man who’s drowning, yelling at him to grab a branch and pull himself free, is different than being the man stuck hip-deep in mud that feels like cement and losing a fight that’s beyond his control.

Sometimes, as a matter of self-preservation, you simply give up.

Kurt doesn’t know who Sebastian slept with. He has his suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure, and Sebastian won’t confirm. He says it’s because he wants to put it behind him, forget it ever happened, and that infuriates Kurt. If sleeping with another man was something Sebastian would need to put behind him, why even do it? Or (and Kurt hates himself for thinking like this), if Sebastian didn’t want Kurt to dwell on it, why not take steps to ensure that Kurt wouldn’t find out? Sebastian, of all people, should have known that this would eat Kurt up inside. It’s the kind of thing he’d never let go of. Yes, Kurt would be devastated if he discovered the cheating and the cover-up years after the fact, but he’d be in a better place to mourn his marriage apart from mourning his daughter.

What Sebastian did was selfish on so many levels.

Kurt knows that sex isn’t love, but he can't help wondering – was there a moment in the middle of all of it, caught up in the kissing and the fucking, where it felt like love?

Kurt met Sebastian in high school. Kurt wasn’t just a virgin back then. Oh, no. He had created his own category of virgin for which he could have had a cape and costume custom made – Captain Super Prude. Sex was a taboo topic for him, so much so that his high school’s chastity club hated him.

Apparently, he set the bar too high, made them look loose in comparison.

As much as he had fantasized about finding a special someone who would sweep him off his feet, gently usher him into manhood by making soulful but passionate love to him, he preferred not to think about it too often or too in-depth. The "talk” between him and his father was a mortifying experience.

There were pamphlets involved.

He still has some of them.

When it came to finding a boyfriend, Sebastian wasn’t what Kurt had planned on at all. Where Kurt was attracted to debonair, old-school, gentlemanly types a few years older than himself, Sebastian was crass, rude, explicit, and a year younger. On top of that, he was (to coin a phrase stolen from one of Kurt’s best friends, Quinn) the biggest French whore of them all. Sebastian didn’t care for romance and he didn’t attach emotions to sex, but he definitely had a way of making men fall in love with him. Kurt Hummel and Sebastian Smythe were the two people in the world least likely to fall in love with one another. But according to Sebastian, he fell in love with Kurt long before Kurt fell in love with him.

Sebastian claimed that Kurt was the first man he had ever fallen in love with, and at first sight, no less.

He whispered those words in Kurt’s ear the first time they made love.

He said those exact words during his toast at their wedding.

He wrote them in every birthday, Christmas, and anniversary card he ever gave to Kurt.

He said them over Grace’s crib the night they brought her home.

“Look at this little thing, Kurt,” Sebastian had sighed, reaching out to stroke Grace’s cheek. “Our daughter. Is it ridiculous that I’ve only known her for two days and I’m already in love with her?

“Technically, nine months and two days. But, no. It’s not ridiculous.”

“I never thought I could fall so fast in love with another human being before I met you.”

“Really?”

“A-ha.” Sebastian smiled when Grace yawned, her whole mouth moving in a complete circle before she settled down again. “I fell in love with you the second I laid eyes on you. And then, well, it was all over for me.”

Those words, the memory of that happiness, breaks Kurt’s heart. Could it be possible that, after close to twenty years of marriage, after reciting those words so many times, they didn’t mean anything anymore? Had Sebastian found someone else he could fall in love with?

Kurt has asked, but Sebastian won’t answer that question. He says it’s insulting.

Whatever the answer, he probably thinks he’s doing his husband a kindness. What he’s really doing is prolonging the torture, not giving Kurt the information he needs to make a decision that he can stand behind. Every time Kurt looks at his husband, he sees touches on his skin that don’t belong to him, kisses on his lips that he didn’t put there.

Kurt doesn’t know how to make himself see past them.

Instead, he looks away.

The second Kurt feels sunlight on his face, he’s out of bed. He grabs his messenger bag and pads down the hall to his studio before Sebastian can stir.

The room looks different with blurry morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. Kurt didn’t put black-out curtains up, and the sheer curtains that came with the house let fingers of light poke through, bouncing off the wallpaper and brightening the floor.

Yikes.

Kurt examines the floor now that he sees it clearly. It’s a mess - the wood warped as if someone had paced it incessantly. It had been varnished at one time. Spots of resin dot the boards like oily puddles. The wood itself (some variety of walnut, Kurt suspects) has blackened to a morbid pitch with age. It sucks up the light and gives little back.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt murmurs, pressing around the brittle edge of one spot with his toe, watching it crackle into shards. “This has to be completely redone.”

He gets stuck on the idea that this room could have been his daughter’s if she were still alive. He and Sebastian had talked about raising Grace in a suburban environment, and as much as he regrets not giving her a house with a yard and room to grow, Kurt leaned heavily on the side of staying in the city. Some of his motives were selfish. He loved Manhattan. It had been his lifelong dream to end up there. He wanted his daughter to grow up with all of the things he didn’t – culture, diversity, theaters and libraries and museums a train ride away. He didn’t want her raised around the closed, narrow minds of small-town folk. He wanted her to be an independent thinker – liberated, rational, intelligent. But he also wanted her to be compassionate and kind. He wanted her to know the world, its wonders and its failings, the way it truly was, not the way it looked on a movie screen, and long to change it for the better. They participated in fundraisers, gathered donations for the homeless, and volunteered in soup kitchens.

Grace was a pure light, a driving force that, at her age, Kurt didn’t get the chance to be.

So in honor of her, he wants his workroom to be bright and colorful - a mixture of his vintage aesthetic and her fun-loving personality. He’ll paint the walls her favorite colors, put homages to her in the details, choose the furnishings she would have preferred.

Since this will be the room he spends most of his time in, he wants it to be everything about his daughter that he adored.

He opens his bag and pulls out his phone, checking the time. 6:08. The movers are supposed to arrive between eight a.m. and ten. But movers, electricians, plumbers, and cable guys never arrive on time. He fishes out his sketchbook, sits on the floor, and gets to work jotting down a layout. First things first, he decides where his drafting table will go, where he’ll store his bolts, where he’ll put his sewing machine, a spot for a work chair, marking places here and there for personal touches like his mother’s vanity, his first-ever dress form, a few of his awards...

And photographs. Lots and lots of photographs.

He didn’t keep photographs in his studio at Vogue. He had an obsession with keeping his private life private, which he doesn’t apologize for. Since he met clients there, he liked to keep that space impersonal. Nothing to get in the way, spark a conversation that might derail the job at hand.

Unlike Sebastian, who hung candids galore. He stuffed the most Godawful photographs from their high school and college years into collage frames and nailed them to every wall of his office, squeezing things like his degrees and diplomas into far corners so that those pictures could be prominently displayed. He said that people knew the Smythes by name and reputation. If anyone wanted to see his credentials, they could Google them. But when people walked into his office, he wanted them to know that first and foremost, he was a family man.

Sebastian knew from childhood that he would become a lawyer. He never dreamed he would be a father.

Or a husband.

Those were the two accomplishments he seemed the proudest of.

Kurt regrets not having more pictures of Grace hanging on his studio walls, her smiling face to look at every hour of every day, watching his meetings, overseeing his layouts. She was his good-luck charm, his missing puzzle piece. She deserved a place of honor.

Now, he’ll give her one.

His stomach growls as he works. A smell from somewhere tickles his nose, and he groans. Just a few more seconds of sketching on the hard ground, and he’ll grab a bite to eat… maybe. With his ass numb, he doesn’t see a reason to get up, and bedsides, he’s on a roll. Car doors closing and constant banging echo in, and he winces, his head throbbing from lack of sleep. Dammit! If it would just stop till he finishes! It’s hard enough to concentrate as is! He hopes this is a one-time-only thing. He’d hate to wake up to that cacophony every morning. If he ever decides to go outside and meet the neighbors, he’ll have to find a polite way of asking them not to do whatever that is before he has his morning coffee.

Of course, soundproofing is also an option.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you… ?”

Kurt shifts his legs underneath him. He lifts a hand to massage his shoulders. That mattress must have killed his back. His arms ache something fierce. Sitting on this floor doesn’t help, the uneven boards digging into his legs, but it’s not an impetus for him to stop.

Just one more minute.

One more minute of sketching out this room, and he’ll join the world. One more minute to get his thoughts straight. One more minute to brush aside the things that like to torture him. Forget that his mother died when he was eight, his stepbrother when he was eighteen. Forget that his father passed away three years ago and his daughter six months ago.

Not too long after, his husband cheated.

Five.

That’s how many things he had loved in this world more than himself.

Those are the things that he’d lost.

They were the things he needed to forget in order to make it through till the evening.

He’ll replace the insulation and the drywall, smother everything in a noise-proofing compound, then paint the walls in swirls of pink and gold. He’ll do the ceiling in shades of blue, indigo, and violet, like the sky at night, and cover it in crystals to represent stars the way Grace had wanted to do with her bedroom. Kurt had promised her he would the second everything was over, when they could risk her being around the debris and the fumes.

He has never broken a promise to Grace. He isn’t about to start.

He scribbles those notes in sloppy script in the margin of his paper, wipes tears with the back of his shaking hand. He tries to focus on specifics to bring himself back from the brink of a breakdown. He needs a good cry, but he doesn’t want the comforting that will go with it if Sebastian hears him. He can’t right now. Sebastian comforting Kurt turns into Kurt comforting him back, and Kurt only has the strength to handle one outburst.

“Kurt? Did you want to… ?”

Kurt waves a hand to shoo away the buzzing beside his ear, relieved when it doesn’t take much more than that.

In order to paint the walls, he’ll have to take the wallpaper down.

That brings to mind the corner of torn paper over by the window and the word written underneath.

Darling.

That corner offends him. Kurt keeps entertaining the thought that that word has nothing to do with Sebastian, that there is another layer of wallpaper underneath festooned with line art of flowers, along with quotes from various love poems sprinkled throughout, circa 1800s. But then that would make that one tear and that one word an incredible coincidence since darling is the pet name Sebastian has called Kurt since day one. When he started doing it, every time he said it, Kurt had an urge to sock him on the jaw.

He was a pain in the ass, even back then.

Did Sebastian actually think Kurt would fall for writing darling on the wall? After the things he said? After what he did?

Kurt’s hand trembles so badly, he smudges the ink on his page. He stops writing, takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sun warming his face. It’s gone now when it was there a second ago, which is disconcerting, but he has to ignore that and calm down.

He has to relax.

He promised he’d give this marriage a chance, that he’d try to make this work. Sebastian, so far, has held up his part of the bargain. He’s given Kurt space. He’s listened to him vent uncontested. He’s let Kurt keep tabs on him – where he goes, when he’ll be back, with photo texts in between to prove that he is where he said he would be. Kurt has to give him the benefit of the doubt. If Sebastian extends an olive branch, Kurt should take it.

But did he want to?

“I didn’t hear you when you got up this morning.” Sebastian’s voice starts Kurt’s hand up again. He wants to look busy. He doesn’t want to be caught in a position where he has to give his husband his full attention.

He hasn’t forgotten everything yet.

“Well, you were dead to the world,” Kurt replies, distracted.

“I’m just saying, see? You won’t disturb me. You don’t need to put a bed in here.”

Kurt bobs his head back and forth, adding a place in his layout for a foldout out of spite. “We’ll see. It’s only been the one day.”

“That’s true.” The way Sebastian says it, it sounds like a challenge. A tired challenge. Like Sebastian knows he’s already lost. “So, you like the room?”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

“And what about the rest of the house?”

He doesn’t know why Sebastian sounds like he’s asking. It’s a done deal. They both agreed on a new house. Sebastian found one he thought Kurt would like and bought it. What? Are they going to back out now and magically move somewhere else?

Will moving around from house to house solve what’s wrong between them?

“It’s fine, I guess. I don’t know. I think it’s hard for me to visualize without taking the grand tour. I’ll be able to tell better when I get started decorating.”

“Are you gonna hire that guru guy to help you with the yin and yang stuff?” Sebastian jokes cautiously. “That Kung Fu guy… what’s his name… ?” Sebastian snaps his fingers as if he’s seriously trying to remember.

“He’s a Feng shui practitioner, and his name is Carl.”

“His name's Carl?” Sebastian laughs. “No no no, his name is not Carl. Carl is the name of a dentist. He’s not a guy you call to Wang Chung your house.”

“Feng shui,” Kurt corrects again. “I hired him to help me create balance in our home.” He chuckles despite the fact he doesn’t want to find Sebastian funny. He doesn’t want Sebastian to affect him. But he’s right. The man’s name irked Kurt, too, when Isabelle referred him. “Ridiculous name or not, he seemed like a knowledgeable guy.”

“Do you think that Shaolin stuff could work here?”

Kurt pauses to give the matter some thought, and that kills the moment. The levity becomes saturated by the pain hanging in the room, and Kurt coils further into his sketch.

“That remains to be seen. But I think I’m going to try doing it for myself this time. Of course, the overall effect is going to be completely thrown to heck when you hire whoever never to decorate your office.” Kurt throws a derisive scowl over his shoulder. It misses its mark when Kurt won’t look Sebastian in the eyes.

Sebastian swallows Kurt’s scowl without thinking of a comeback. They’ve had that argument before when Kurt redecorated their penthouse. Kurt felt the need to redecorate whenever something big happened in their lives, but Sebastian’s office was off-limits, so it stayed the same. Kurt tried to find one or two things to put into his design scheme that would bring a theme from Sebastian’s office out so that the penthouse would blend, but whatever the thing he chose was – a print, a vase, an ottoman, or a coffee table – it stuck out like a sore thumb, until Kurt tried less and less.

“Can’t fight City Hall,” he’d say, returning to the business of finishing the rest of the space. Things changed around them, and yet, in Sebastian’s carefully curated world, life stood still. The last time Kurt redecorated was before Grace was born. Nothing in the penthouse matched Sebastian’s office after that.

“I want you to do it.”

Kurt stops scribbling. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt almost looks back to see if Sebastian is serious. He stares at the paper in front of him, the surface more ink than white. “Are you… are you sure? You always said that we need our separate spaces.”

“That’s only because you’re a little heavy-handed with the pastels. I trust you. Just don’t go making it all shabby chic.”

Kurt is speechless. This is the opportunity he has been waiting for their entire marriage – to decorate Sebastian’s office. Once upon a time, he saw it as the ultimate gesture of trust.

Back when he was naïve and fairly stupid.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Kurt debates standing up and giving Sebastian a hug or a handshake. This seems like a time that would warrant it. But when he rolls an inch to his knees, his entire body screams with pain. God, he feels old. How can he be this stiff after just half an hour?

Kurt returns to his planning. Even though he doesn’t feel prepared to leave his sanctuary, he fixes on that solid mask he’s been wearing for weeks around Sebastian. Just one more minute. One more minute, and he’ll go downstairs. He thinks he says it out loud. He expects Sebastian to go back to their room and get ready for the day, but he stays in place like a statue, watching Kurt draw, huddled over his sketchbook with his back turned to him and the door.

Kurt waits to hear the sound of footsteps retreat the way they came, but they don’t. His pencil stops above a square drawn in the corner meant to represent his stereo. He can’t continue his drawing with his husband watching, so he bites the bullet.

“Was there something else you needed?” he asks.

“They’ve… uh… got the bed in,” Sebastian says. “And the TV.”

Kurt scrunches his nose and lifts his head. What does he mean? The bed and the TV are on the moving truck. Kurt looks at his phone, resting on the floor by his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt scoffs. “The movers haven’t even arrived yet. It’s only 7:15.”

“That’s right.” Sebastian speaks slowly, the way he does when he’s explaining something to Kurt that he thinks Kurt might explode over. He leans forward like he wants to come in but doesn’t without an invitation. “It is 7:15. In the evening.”

Kurt's head snaps up, eyes rolling because Sebastian is crazy.

There’s no way.

He's ready to object, but with his gaze away from his page, he notices something different about the light in the room. Instead of a soft, diffused blue, it has become a thicker yellow. Shadows stretch across the floor that weren’t there before. The room is warmer than he remembers, and the skin of his left shin, folded over his right, feels hot and irritated, like he might have gotten a sunburn.

“Evening?” Kurt shakes his head. “How can it… ? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“I tried. I told you when the movers arrived. I asked you what you wanted for lunch. I brought you the portable heater and put a lamp in here when it started to get dark.”

Kurt looks around. In the emptiness of the room, they’re easy to see - a plug-in heater behind him, and, in the corner of the room to the left of the door, standing straight and tall like a structural support beam, a brass lamp without a shade, filling the room with artificial light.

The first two pieces of furniture in his new studio, and Sebastian put them there.

Kurt doesn’t want them. He’d rather be cold and alone in the dark.

“We don’t have WiFi or cable yet, but I set up the Blu-ray player,” Sebastian continues. “I thought I could go get some take-out, and we could have a picnic dinner on the bed. Maybe watch a movie?”

Kurt does a 180 on his sore ass and looks at his husband (which is to say he looks at a spot over Sebastian’s head) with a mildly confused expression. He’s not really thinking about the bed or the movie or dinner at all. Even though he was hungry earlier, apparently hours earlier, he’s not hungry now. He couldn’t be less hungry. His desire to eat simply evaporated. It's been waning for weeks. Sometimes he forgets to eat until Sebastian sticks a sandwich in his face. Sebastian has become devoted to keeping Kurt's stomach full. He knows better than to comment on his weight loss, but he keeps a stock of temptable foods on hand.

He’s keeping Kurt on life support.

Sebastian stuck a spear into the heart of what they had together. Now he’s keeping Kurt alive to help him fix it.

Kurt hates that he didn’t see it that way until just now.

“Kurt? Please?”

Here’s the olive branch, Kurt thinks. He has to decide whether he’s going to take it or toss it aside.

He had promised Sebastian he’d try, and Kurt has never broken a promise to Sebastian.

No matter how much he hurts, he’s not going to start tonight.

His father always said that a man is only as good as his word.

Kurt closes his sketchbook. “Alright. I’m coming.” He tries to unfold his legs, but his knees lock up on him, and he rushes to massage the beginnings of a cramp. Sebastian looks like he’s about to spring in and help, but Kurt puts up a hand. “I’ll be a minute.”

Nodding, Sebastian takes a step back. Even with that rejection, he looks happier, more hopeful. He takes his phone out of his pocket and leaves the room. The grateful smile on his lips should fill Kurt with warmth. It used to.

But it doesn’t.

After a meal of Szechuan from a questionable establishment (not questionably clean, just questionably Chinese) and The Devil Wears Prada (a movie Sebastian swore up and down he’d never watch again), Sebastian falls asleep with his head on Kurt’s chest. And Kurt lets him, even if he himself barely gets a minute of peace.

#kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #sebastian smythe #Kurt Hummel

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miamlfy · 4 years

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Mutual Feelings

A/N: Another Sirius Black X Reader written by yours truly. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this one, I wrote it instead of doing school work. I hope it’s good and you guys enjoy it. Who doesn’t like a good old best friends to lovers fics right?

Pairing: Sirius Black X Fem! Reader

Warnings: None? Fluff

Word Count: 1,633

Enjoy!

(not my gif, credit to whoever made it)

Y/n sighed deeply as she read her notes for Transfigurations over and over again, trying to imprint them into her brain before the upcoming final. She gave up shortly after and laid her head down on the table. There was only a small handful of students in the library, usually Y/n would have stayed in the common room to study but today her housemates decided after dinner it would be great to have very loud conversations with each other.

“You know, sleeping in the library isn’t ideal especially with an ink pot about to spill all over your neat notes.” She jumped slightly at the voice and cursed as she saw a few droplets of ink fall onto her notes. Composing herself, she looked up to find her best friend and long time crush, Sirius Black staring at her with a sly smile on his lips.

“I was looking everywhere for you,” he sat down in the chair and faced her, “you weren’t in the common room after dinner or in your dorm. I was worried about you.” His voice turning into a fake sad tone as he said the last words.

Y/n slightly giggled at him, “It was too bloody loud in the common room and I simply couldn’t focus. Also why didn’t you just use the map?” She turned to fully face him now and leaned back into her chair.

“The map is only used when it is important and needed.” He too leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the table.

“Oh, so I’m not important?” She questioned as she shoved his legs off the table, looking up to meet his eyes that held a slight panic look to them.

“No! Oh Merlin no, t-that’s not what-“

She laughed at his small outburst, “calm down, I’m only joking. I know what you meant.” He gave out a sigh of relief and got up from his chair extending his hand to her.

“C’mon Y/l/n, it’s late and we both need our beauty sleep before our ever so dreadful exam tomorrow.” She began packing her things into her bag, knowing he was right but feeling slightly disappointed at the thought of sleeping, it would only make the exam come sooner. A light blush made its way up to her cheeks as she interlocked her hands with him, thankful the lights in the library were dimmed. Sirius was also thankful for that as his own cheeks held a light pink color to him.

Everyone knew the two friends liked each other, Y/n and Sirius were the only ones who were oblivious to their mutual feelings. Y/n could only imagine that Sirius reciprocated those feelings she had for him, and he could only imagine the same. They both been shamelessly flirting with each other since the start of their third year, yet now in their final year at Hogwarts they both thought it was just friendly flirting.

It was quite annoying for their friends, Sirius would constantly talk about her to the other three marauders. At first they thought it was cute, a simple crush on their friend. Oh but how wrong they were. Within the next four years of school, they would constantly have to hear about how good Y/n smells to how cute she looked while she ate her breakfast and spilled some pumpkin juice on herself. They could only hope that their dear friend grew a pair and asked her out.

Y/n spoke about Sirius to Lily and Marlene as well, however whenever one of them got annoyed at her for talking about her dear Sirius, she would simply tease Lily about James and tease Marlene about her crush that she had that month. All their friends did at some point come to an agreement that their two friends were very much idiots in love.

They walked into the common room, a few lingering students sat by the fireplace reading the books that were placed on their laps. Stopping by the stairs, they looked at each other. Y/n’s eyes wondered from his grey eyes to his lips, he was biting them as if to stop his mouth from speaking. “Something on your mind, Black?” His eyes wondered from her lips to her eyes, he shook his head. He placed a kiss on her forehead and said their goodnights to each other. Sighing, they made their way to their respective dorms and laid on their beds. Slightly disappointed nothing more came out of that night with each other.

The sun shined through the great hall, some students eating their breakfast while talking with their friends and others quizzing each other for any upcoming exams they had. Y/n and the boys, including Lily, were apart of the people quizzing each other. However they kept getting side tracked and constantly going on off topic conversations.

“Say Lily, maybe we should have a date at Hogsmeade and study each other.” James wiggled his eyebrows and smirked at her, Lily mumbled an ‘absolutely not’ and continued to look at her flashcards.

James kept his smirk and looked around his group of friends, the smirk only got bigger when he saw Sirius looking at Y/n with love eyes. Y/n and Remus were quizzing each other, both slightly looking like they’re about to break from trying to memorize everything off what they were telling each other.

“Pads, I guess you’re already on that date with Y/n just without the Hogsmeade part.” James spoke loud enough for Y/n to hear him. Ignoring Sirius glaring at him, he stared at Y/n who was trying to hide her growing blush with her notes. Sirius only grabbed his book and hit James with it.

As breakfast ended, they all got up and started making their way to the class they were dreading to attend. James walked next to Sirius and whispered into his ear,

“Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, you better ask her out before we leave for the Easter holidays. There’s a Hufflepuff who’s been eyeing her in our Herbology class and honestly Pad’s, who knows how long she’ll be single for.” With that, he left his friend to think. There was no Hufflepuff guy eyeing her, James only made it up to give Sirius a little ‘push’.

Sirius couldn’t help but get jealous, he wanted to know who was eyeing her so he could give him a little talk. However he knew he has to make Y/n his girlfriend first and that he would ask her out on a date after class. Giving himself a pep talk before entering the classroom, ‘I can do this’ he thought to himself.

Class ended and sighs were let out by students exiting the room. Sirius waited for Y/n to finish packing her bag so they could walk out together, HIs heart was beating way too fast and his palms were beginning to get clammy. Wiping his hands on his robes, he made his way to Y/n and proceeded to walk her out of the class. ‘Now or never’ he thought.

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” His voice trembled slightly from the nerves.

“Uh nope, why? Are you taking James offer on taking me on a ‘study ourselves date’?” She laughed, secretly hoping it was that. Hopeful that her words were giving him a hint that she wanted to be asked out on a date.

“Actually, yeah. Listen Y/n, I’ve had the biggest crush on you since third year and my words may or may not ruin what we have now but I must tell you because I don’t know how much longer I can hold it in,” He struggled to look into her eyes, “I am so infatuated by you and everyday I fall more and more in love you with every little thing you do. I love it when you tell Slytherins off for being mean to first and second years, I love it when you are not afraid to voice your opinion, I love how funny, sarcastic, and beautiful you are,” he looked into her eyes, “and I think I want to be with you until we grow old together, as cheesy as it sounds. I love you so much, Y/n Y/l/n and I need to know if you’d like to go on a date with me and possibly become my girlfriend.” He let out a soft sigh, ready to face the ugliness of rejection.

Y/n took a while processing his words, wondering if she was dreaming. She let out a sigh of relief and wrapped her arms around him, “Of course I feel the same way, Siri. I always had and I was starting to worry you didn’t feel the same. I will gladly go on a date with you. I very much love you as well.”

“So feelings are mutual?” Sirius was having a little trouble comprehending that her words were also real and not his mind making them up. She simply nodded and gave him a kiss on his soft lips. Sirius, as happy as he’s ever been, began placing sloppy kisses all over Y/n’s face, the corridor they were in filling up with her giggles.

Later that night, Sirius walked up to his dorm, knowing the boys would be in there. He flopped onto his bed with a giant smile on his face, “Boys, I did it! I finally asked her and she said yes!”

“Only about time, I’m happy for you.” Remus gave him a pat on his shoulder.

“See I knew lying about a Hufflepuff being interested in her would work.” James also flopped on his bed, feeling like the perfect matchmaker.

“Wait, you lied about that?!”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #young sirius x reader #hp marauders #marauders

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squidproquoclarice · 3 years

Text

For the @rdr-secret-santa exchange this year, I got to write for @tiredcowpoke. The request I wrote was “Molly/Mary-Beth, possibly a post-game au thing related to their writing?” Happy Holidays, Cowpoke, and I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~

December 1919

St. Denis, Lemoyne

It had been a solemn few years for a poetess, for the world looked upon things with a grim eye, and who could blame them? Between the war and the Spanish flu, that was bad enough. Even a bloody flood of molasses of all things taking lives in a strange and even absurd way. She needed a change from Boston, feeling that urge come over her.

Just as she’d needed a change so long ago and left Dublin for Cousin Brian’s horse farm in California. Back in another life, back when she’d then left Cousin Brian’s horse farm after a few months based on the dark good looks and smooth charms of Mister Aiden O’Malley, or so he’d called himself. Back when she’d been such a fool and become an outlaw’s woman--outlaw’s whore--, something within her liked to hiss still. That part was the one that had been raised to love and fear her father, God the Father, and Father O’Connell alike, a paternal trinity that seemed to have no room for any woman once she wasn’t a virgin.

Some parts of Molly O’Shea clung beneath the skin of Margaret McCarthy nonetheless, and she’d long since had to accept that. Though she listened to them less and less as the years rolled on in their relentless pace. Early on had been difficult. She couldn’t go back to Cousin Brian, couldn’t go back to her father by any means, couldn’t bear to face their condemnation of her shame. So she had gone to Boston, after leaving Dutch and his band of grubby fools behind, a place she had never belonged with a man who used and discarded women. For a woman raised to be an ornament to a man, a true lady, it had been a struggle. But she found eventually that her pen was enough to keep her, rather than the need of a man for it. Forged on into a strange new world where she alone was mistress of her fate, and found it to her liking.

Now here she was in St. Denis for the first time in twenty years, and certainly she was older and wiser and a trifle stouter than the lass of twenty-six who’d never genuinely seen these streets, drinking as much as she had for the heartbreak of it all. It pleased her in some ways to truly experience the city for the first time, finding the old, cultured, European feel of it much to her liking, as opposed to the brashness of Boston that had never quite fit her, no matter how many Irish lived there.

No sooner had she arrived, not even fully unpacking her trunks at the opulent Castille House hotel, built seven years before, than an invitation came from the Krewe of Minerva, whom she was given to understand, had something to do with the Carnival season of Mardi Gras here in St. Denis, and the misspelling of “crew” was quite deliberate, but mostly that it consisted of some of the most prominent women in St. Denis, the wives and daughters and sisters of the powerful, and a handful of independent women as well.

The invitation, printed on heavy card stock, gilt decoration and with neat, flowing copperplate script, asked her to attend an evening celebrating St. Denis’ most prominent female literary luminaries. Oh, the glory of it, to be among people who appreciated such little social niceties as a proper invitation. She thought she understood what they were about--another woman writer had arrived in their midst, and they wished to draw her into their circle. Something in her was giddy about it, even at her age, so delighted to be included, welcomed, in such a way. It hadn’t always been the case.

It was no hardship to attend either given that the reception was in the ballroom of the Castille. So here she was, dressed in a flattering green gown that highlighted her eyes, here to meet the best and brightest lights of St. Denis’ women. Hearing snippets of their chatter as she passed, introducing herself or being introduced one by one, recognizing a few of them from their prominence in the papers.

Henrietta Wicklow, the journalist and ardent suffragette who’d marched for the vote right alongside her deceased mother Dorothy, “Next year we ladies shall all be voting for president--”

A loud voice from a group of ladies clearly enjoying their champagne, a young woman declaring with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, “Enjoy it now, gals, we’ve only a month until this government foolishness of abolishing liquor begins--”

Philomena Castille, wife of Claude Castille, owner of the very hotel they were now in, “--think that the Mardi Gras ball should reflect the theme of a new dawn for a new decade after the frightful few years we’ve had”, and Mrs. Castille then took charge of her to make further introductions with the brisk efficiency of a talented hostess.

Mary Barrett, wife of one of the men involved in St. Denis’ most prominent bookstore, and apparently also the local literary critic Martin Gillis, hiding behind a man’s name. Something about the woman, small, dark, and neat, with a striking small beauty spot on her right cheek, looked oddly familiar. But Margaret couldn’t quite place her. Perhaps they’d met at some literary event before? “Very pleased to meet you, Miss McCarthy, your book of poems is quite memorable.” From her, it somehow didn’t sound like a platitude.

Now another person approached, and Mrs. Castile said, “Oh, and here’s another of our ladies with a talented pen. We call her by her real name in the bosom of friends here, so here’s Miss Mary-Beth Landry. Though,” she winked one sapphire-blue eye, “you would know her better by her nom de plume, Leslie Dupont. Miss Landry, this is Margaret McCarthy, the poetess. She’s moving down from Boston to grace our city.”

She’d heard of Leslie Dupont, a semi-scandalous writer of semi-scandalous books. She had read several and rather enjoyed them, though some part of her blushed to admit it. But there was the part of her that would always adore romance and adventure. Though she hadn’t touched a great deal of Leslie Dupont’s books, including her most popular novel, “Sunset Over The Red Sage”, because those ones were about outlaws, highwaymen, bandits, and pirates. If there was one thing she had no wish to read in this life, it was a romance involving that sort of man. She’d been hurt enough by her own fantasies of that life without needing to read another woman’s ignorant rose-tinted version of it.

Oh, but she wasn’t so ignorant at all, because as Mary-Beth Landry turned, it had been twenty years, but Margaret still recognized her. Not Landry at all, oh no, but Gaskill. Those tumbledown golden brown curls, the soft blue-grey eyes, the liberal sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose that all still gave her something of an appealing girlishness even though she must have passed forty herself, and the lines beside her eyes and mouth said it as much as the ones Margaret saw in the mirror.

Her first instinct was the desire to turn and run before Mary-Beth could say her name, her old name, and expose Margaret in front of all these people as every bit as much an imposter as her. The second was a flare of anger because even all these years later, she could remember being forced to endure watching Dutch sniffing around her, flirting with her shamelessly, and thinking to herself with raging despairing humiliation, That cheap little tramp, what does she have that I don’t, aside from a few more years of youth? The third was to calm herself, because that was all old history and Dutch Van Der Linde wasn’t worth her concern, and frankly, she had drunk a glass of very fine whiskey eight years ago in pleasure at hearing the government’s Bureau of Investigation had finally caught up with him. Bastard. I hope the Devil himself has you as you deserve.

Mary-Beth’s eyes went wide and startled, and she blurted, “Molly!”

Margaret might have slapped her, but she held herself together. “My, it’s been so long since anybody called me that.”

“You two know each other?” Mrs. Castille said, looking at the two of them with surprise, but at least no suspicion.

“Oh, it was so very long ago,” Mary-Beth said, recovering rapidly. “I’m ashamed to say that I...I broke her cousin’s heart.”

“You’ve broken quite a few hearts, my dear,” Mrs. Castille said cheerfully. Yes, Margaret had heard about Leslie Dupont’s fast ways and string of romances never quite come to fruition. Was there such a thing as a rakess?

Mary-Beth’s gaze stayed on hers, and she gave Margaret a shy, apologetic smile. Surprisingly, she felt her pulse suddenly jump at the gesture, and it didn’t feel like alarm or anger. “I do hope you can forgive me, M--Margaret.”

“Oh, long since forgotten,” Margaret assured her, glad she’d jumped quickly to cover her gaffe, and happy to follow her lead with that story. “The fellow wasn’t worth the bother in the end, now was he? We both said good riddance to him.”

“I’ll let you two catch up,” Mrs. Castille said, gesturing towards the balcony. “The night air is quite fine.”

Given two weeks before she’d been in a miserable Boston winter, the weather here made for a pleasant change, she had to admit. Knowing there was no escaping it, she followed Mary-Beth onto the balcony, some part of her very reluctant to have this conversation, but another part strangely intrigued by what the woman had become. Curse her eternal romantic streak, but of course moving from dreamy guttersnipe and pickpocket to a successful authoress made for quite the tale.

Mary-Beth spoke first, keeping her voice low. “We all wondered what had happened to you. You just--vanished.”

“There was nothing to stay for,” she said, managing to keep the bitterness from her tone. “I was never quite one of you, now was I?” So she had simply not followed them when they cleared out from Shady Belle in an almighty hurry, saying the bank robbery had gone terribly wrong. She’d gone to St. Denis and drunk herself silly for nearly a month, and then she’d sobered enough to tell herself she would take the first train in the station, wherever it was bound, which brought her back to Valentine. Of course she would never stay there. The first train into the Valentine station was bound for Omaha. And she kept doing that until chance brought her to Boston.

“Oh, Molly--”

“Margaret,” she corrected with all the fierce, frosty bite of those Boston winters she’d left behind her. “Molly” was only for her intimate friends, and Mary-Beth Landry née Gaskill was and had been nothing of the sort. She relented somewhat, and asked, “What happened to them, if you know?” She might not have belonged to them, they had made that quite clear, but that didn’t mean she wished them ill, let alone shot to pieces by Pinkertons. She’d read about the big gunslingers of the gang dying in the papers over the years, of course, but all the little people like her, like Mary-Beth, had escaped notice.

“We got lucky. Nobody else died that year after Lenny and Hosea,” Mary-Beth answered. “I left a couple of weeks before the end of it all, Pearson and me together, but I’ve run into enough of them in the years since here and there.”

“Arthur died, though?” Margaret said in confusion. He clearly had been killed. The papers had blared it everywhere in triumph, the Pinkertons bagging one more significant quarry even if Dutch himself slipped through their fingers.

If there had been anyone else in the gang she probably should have let herself like and consider halfway to a friend, it might well have been Arthur. There was an awkward gentlemanliness and kindness towards her and all the women beneath that drawling uncouthness, as if he tried to keep the best of himself well hidden. Fetching her that mirror only because she mentioned wanting one? That was the sort of man Arthur Morgan had been, even if she’d been too much of a snob to see it at the time, far more swayed by Dutch’s smooth manners and darkly seductive charisma, the veneer of the proper gentleman of the sort she prized. She couldn’t say she had mourned Arthur at the time, but she had thought about him now and again since. He seemed like a better man than Dutch had let him be, and that felt like a shame.

Mary-Beth leaned closer, and she gave a knowing cat’s smile. “The reports of his death may have been exaggerated. The Pinkertons left him for dead, but it seems that wasn’t quite the case.”

“No!” Delicious gossip, that, even if she could never tell another soul. “Then--what? Who?”

“Sadie’s the one who got him out alive. They stayed together, ended up married, and they’re up in Canada with their children. We don’t write much, just the occasional Christmas card, but it sounds as though they’re well last I heard.”

Margaret had to shake her head, trying to not laugh. Arthur Morgan had married Sadie Adler? That brash, angry half-feral woman strolling around in her pants and swearing a blue streak and toting a rifle, who had made it clear she’d as soon kill a man if he looked at her wrong? But that was old Molly O’Shea talking, a posh lady looking down her nose at Sadie as a coarse farm wife who prided herself on being unnaturally mannish besides. Well, well. Hidden depths to her, I suppose. Or perhaps she changed herself to something finer when it was all said and done. She had done so herself. It seemed Mary-Beth had, at least in some ways.

“Some of the rest are up there in Canada as well. Charles, Karen, Abigail, and such. Pearson’s out in Rhodes, and the Reverend in New York, last I heard.” Abigail, still chasing the feckless boy-man father of her child when the boy was growing old enough to read. Karen, a loudmouthed, chubby creature who fancied herself a hellraiser, had even punched Margaret in the face once. Though I suppose deserved it, mocking her as I did. Saying Sean MacGuire was a brainless, reckless fool and I knew hundreds more Irishmen just like him. Certainly we both turned too much to the drink for the love of men who could never love us as we needed. Abigail never did that at least, though John wasn’t nearly worthy of her that I saw, but the heart wants what it wants. I made quite a solid proof of that lunacy. “Susan, Miss Grimshaw, she stayed around here for a bit, but she always was restless. She’s out in San Francisco now, moved there a year after the earthquake.” Margaret absorbed that, remembering the older woman and her need to feel relevant by bossing people around. The two of them had quite the mutual disdain, Dutch’s young lover versus his older former flame. Whereas back then she’d rolled her eyes at the jealous old biddy who clearly had it in for Dutch choosing another woman, now she was about the age Susan Grimshaw had been then. She could look on it with some sympathy--how much it had hurt to see Dutch already abandoning her, and Susan’s loyalty and love for Dutch had been there even so many years later. How hard must that have been? How hard must it have been to be an unmarried woman approaching fifty, who most men now didn’t value at all? Margaret had escaped that snare, but Dutch had kept Susan dependent on him all that time. Perhaps that was the softening of years, and wisdom, that she could see such things now.

Mary-Beth continued, “Tilly was actually here until earlier this year. She and her husband Henri headed north to Chicago. Better opportunities there for them there, though. I do miss her dreadfully. We used to try and meet every other Thursday at least, sometimes with the children. I’d spoil them with candy and books and toys, and Tilly would always just smile at it. Five children under twelve, quite the handful, but oh, how wonderful they all are. I wonder if baby Amelie will even remember me. She’s only two and a half now.” She wore a wistful, faded, sad little smile at recounting those memories.

Hearing Mary-Beth talk about all the women that had been with Dutch’s people then, it eased something in her to hear they all seemed to have done well and lived happy lives. She’d long since had to face the idea that her youthful dismissal of all of them as a pack of cheap, coarse unmannered creatures not worthy of her time, as different from her bearing and breeding as chalk and cheese, had been wrong. Learned that the line between being one of those women in the gutter and safely embroidering samplers in a graceful parlor was painfully razor thin. Then Mary-Beth shrugged in a sharp, almost dismissive way, and there was something striving too hard for chipper casualness in her tone when she said, “So now it’s only little old me left here in St. Denis.” “And me now, I suppose.” She said it before she could think better of it, laying claim to something she hadn’t cared about in so long, and hadn’t even felt a part of when she was in the thick of it. And yet.

She’d heard that loneliness in Mary-Beth’s voice, and recognized with a startle that she’d felt that same seemingly indefinable loneliness all too often, for all she hadn’t been around anyone else who ran with Dutch’s gang, let alone thought she’d wanted them there.

There was a part of her she couldn’t ever truly talk about, both from the shame of a foolish romance that would have labeled her as firmly ruined, and from the fear of being known as someone who’d been involved with all that unsavory outlaw business. To be with one person she didn’t have to fearfully conceal that behind an ironbound mask, and recognizing the sheer bloody effort it had been these past twenty years to do it, felt like an agonizing relief that she had never known she wanted. Like taking her corset off at the end of the day, laced stern and tight now against the ever-encroaching flesh of middle age, and breathing.

Mary-Beth looked at her, a gentle smile curving her lips. “And you now.” She hesitated, and then said almost shyly, “I did read ‘Odes to a Far Country’, you know. Though my favorite poem in it is ‘The Butterfly and the Phoenix’.”

“Oh!” She felt herself blushing, pleased but surprised. “That’s unusual. Nobody ever likes that one best.” One of her earliest published poems, and she looked back on it now as a somewhat mawkish, clumsy rumination from a woman facing an uncertain future, writing about metamorphosis, slumber, and fire from the ashes. The symbolism in it felt treacly and heavy-handed to her now. “It’s...very untidy.”

“Well, I like it.” Mary-Beth spread her hands and shrugged. “It’s honest. It’s a very messy thing to remake yourself, isn’t it?”

She thought she understood now, with a flash of insight. Mary-Beth had always seemed dreamy, even a bit dull at her insistence on painting everything in a romantic light, as if she simply couldn’t see the awful reality they lived in. How much of that was true then and how much was an act, Margaret couldn’t say, given she wouldn’t give herself much credit for being terribly perceptive in those days. But she had the suspicion Leslie Dupont now saw things clearer, and still chose to write those silly romances only because they brought some joy to the world. Perhaps she wrote about outlaws and pirates only to purge her own demons in some way.

She felt that flicker in her chest again, confessing, “I liked ‘Ribbons of Scarlet’ best.” That one was about a French noblewoman bound for the guillotine, and her love for the humble gardener who’d been her childhood friend. Who then, of course, helped break her out of the Bastille itself, and they fled together, escaped to freedom in America.

“Nobody ever likes that one best,” Mary-Beth said, imitating Margaret’s Dublin accent dreadfully, turning it into some God-forsaken stage Irish and a poor one at that, and Margaret found herself smiling helplessly at it. “People prefer their French Revolution stories with tragic and doomed endings, I’ve found.”

She sighed, looking out into the electric lamp-lit city at night, like a thousand fireflies glowing, fighting back the darkness. “I think we’ve had rather enough of tragic and doomed endings.”

They’d been young enough then, and foolish, and unable to see things clearly, let alone each other. She’d been twenty-six, and Mary-Beth, what, twenty-one perhaps? Now here they were, two middle-aged women brought together again in St. Denis by fate and literature both, and looking at the other woman, Margaret thought she felt something about Mary-Beth that just fit in some peculiar, easy way. “I think we have,” Mary-Beth answered softly. “I only wrote one. My first book. And I only implied it that way, and then, well, I undid it in the sequel anyhow when I thought better of it.” She turned to look at Margaret. “But here we are talking away and you’ve just gotten here to the gathering, and I’m keeping you all to myself.”

“I don’t mind, not at all,” she blurted, before she could help herself, and found herself blushing hotly again, and was surprised to see an answering blush in Mary-Beth’s cheeks. At their age, no less, blushing like two schoolgirls in braids! “But I probably should make the rounds, of course. See and be seen.”

“Of course.” Mary-Beth smiled at her. “Do you have plans for Christmas? I certainly don’t, not aside from the usual round of parties, but you know what I mean. Real plans for Christmas Day, not social ones. If not, you’d be welcome to come to my home, if you’d like.” She reached out to touch Margaret’s arm gently, and oh, how glad she was the fashion was no longer for elbow-length gloves along with an evening gown, because the touch of those fingers on her bare arm sent a frisson of longing through her like she hadn’t felt in years. She’d taken some to her bed discreetly when the mood struck, pleasant enough interludes, but there had never been anything of her heart in it. This, oh, this? This had destroyed her once and it could destroy her again, but how she suddenly wanted, something that wasn’t the overwhelming possession she had craved from Dutch, but something finer, brighter, something like kindred souls finding each other after so long.

She didn’t have a mean bone in her body then, and I very much doubt she does now. She’s not Dutch. Telling herself that, feeling her heart hesitantly peek open only a crack, it was enough for now. She looked up into Mary-Beth’s eyes, and smiled back. “I’d like that very much.”

A/N: Since it was a “Molly lives!” AU already, I decided to just go full “The gang members who died in Chapters 5 and 6 actually live!” AU, since neither Molly nor Susan are tough to spare their sad Beaver Hollow fates, Karen’s is ambiguous, and I’ve definitely explored the idea that there was a clear chance for Arthur if Sadie came back for him. Especially the chance for Molly to reflect a bit on Susan and Karen with greater age and wisdom and see the similarities felt too good to pass up.

#molly o'shea #mary beth gaskill #rdr2 #rdr secret santa 2020 #mollybeth #tiredcowpoke #getting to write two 40something bi literary women for the holidays was lovely #writing #holiday exchange

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

Too Smart for Your Own Good: Part 1

Pairings: Machine Gun Kelly x Reader, (Past and Future) Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, one night stand, unprotected sex

Word Count: 2,551

A/N: Doesn’t have a completed end yet, but just giving you more content to try to get myself out of a writing funk.

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

“So there’s something you need to know about my cousin.” Ashleigh sighed as she took her ID back from the guard at the gate of your very exclusive Malibu community. Colson looked over at his best friend and manager as she ran her fingers through her hair and looked out the front window for a moment. With a small shake of her head, she looked over at him with a small sigh. “She’s weird, OK? And like… stupid rich.”

“Stupid rich.” He confirmed with a huff as the guard got off the phone with you and let your guests into the beach side development. “What, you got a fucking actor in your family I don’t know about, Ash?” Your cousin sighed again, trying to figure out just how to explain the one branch of her blood line no one really ever talked to or about.

“She discovered a new branch of stars and like micro planets and shit in the Milky Way that no one knew existed… when she was eleven.” Kels felt his jaw actually drop as his friend continued past the extravagant houses to the only gate guarded house at the very end of the road. “So her grandmother, Ann was the woman that invented the baby carrier in the 60’s for her son, my Uncle Negan, who is now the president of a motorcycle gang in LA- the Sanctuary? You heard of them?”

“Heard of ‘em.” He confirmed with a nod as he looked up at what he could see of the massive house through the slow moving bars of your personal gate.

“He married my mom’s sister, Lucille, and they had (Y/N). Aunt Lucille died in child birth, and Negan and my family got in a huge fight over who was a better fit to raise my cousin. With all the money that she was lined up to get, it was almost a sickening free for all for my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. But in the midst of the arguing, it turned out she was genius level smart. Like Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang Theory was literally loosely based off her and she gets royalties off that shit. And after seeing all of the fighting going on over her for no reason, she convinced her dad to write us all off as a toddler. Which he happily did because he does anything his little girl asks him to do. She doesn’t talk to any of the older generations of my family but she talked to must of the cousins occasionally as long as they weren’t asking for money. Which, in the end, basically left me because I just see her as my cousin and not for her money.” Kels nodded his head slowly as Ashleigh parked her car and turned off the ignition.

“She’s an amazing person that has had one hell of a life because of her circumstances. Picked on for being rich, for being smart… for actually remembering her mother’s death. And it doesn’t help that her dad is in a gang or that he’s in prison for manslaughter or something like that.” Ashleigh shook her head again and grabbed her purse off the back seat to go inside. “She never had a chance. But I love coming up here when I come to town…”

“You better have my love child with you!” You shouted as you headed up the stairs on the side of your house that ran along the edge of the cliff which acted like a giant privacy wall for the left side your property. “Hi, I’m all sandy but still.”

“He’s with me.” Ash giggled as you wiped your hands off on your short jean shorts and stopped for only half a second to kiss her cheek. “I need a favor.”

“This is not favor town, Ash.” You said as you pulled open the back door to coo at your second cousin, Ashton. “This is Auntie love time! Hi munchkin!”

“(Y/N), this is Colson Baker, AKA Kels, or Machine Gun Kelly.”

“Kels is fine.” Colson said as you tossed Ashton up in the air a few inches to make him laugh.

“Mr. Baker works just as well.” You cooed to your cousin as you put him on your hip and turned to head inside. “Because I’m going to assume that the favor the pair of you need involves him, which leads me to deduce that this is a business transaction of some kind. You may either follow, or stand in my driveway all day, either option is acceptable in the world today. Freedoms and whatnot. Unless you are waiting for a formal invitation in which case, I’d be more than happy to write one up for you.”

“Her social skills with new people aren’t the best either.” Ashleigh whispered as low as she physically possibly could as she slung her bag over her shoulder and followed you toward the wrought iron gate at the entrance of your atrium. “But it’s better when you get to know her…”

“I can hear you talking shit, bitch.” You said evenly as you stopped and held the gate open for your guests. You gave the stranger to you a once over with your eyebrow raised as he passed by you and gave him a slight half nod. “I don’t see the purpose of small talk and sarcasm is the best defense in the world.”

“Small talk is over-rated.” Kels agreed as he, too, checked you out as shamelessly as you had. “Nice ink.”

“Save it.” You huffed with a smirk as you walked through the guest atrium and pushed open your ten foot tall, solid wood, pivot hinge front door to reveal the breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean you had. “What do you need? Yes, I’m putting you down.” You giggled as you set Ashton down on the floor and reached down for his hand to lead him over so he could push the window button, which made the glass panels slide open like doors into the walls so he could play out in the little private yard you had.

“Well… OK, so every year…” Ashleigh started as you helped Ashton into his favorite swing. “…we put on this concert for Christmas called XXmas. It’s fuckin’ crazy and it’s been sold out the last few years easy. It’s a two hour long set and they do some local Cleveland rappers for openers. (Y/N), you gotta see it some time. I mean, the following that Kels has managed to create…”

“The concert is in two days.” Colson interrupted when he noticed the slight hint of annoyance on your face. “And my guitarist broke his arm in a car accident last night. Now, Ash says you’re some kinda musical genius or some shit and you’d be able to help…?”

“I have plans.” You stated evenly as you kept your eyes locked on the toddler in front of you.

“It’s one night.” Ashleigh breathed, pleadingly as she took a step closer to you so you’d almost be forced to look up at her. “One night and I can make sure you are on a plane back that night or early the next morning. I’ll even pay for a private jet out of my own pocket to get you back on time to see your dad for Christmas if I have to.” With an audible sigh, you looked up at your cousin with a small shake of your head.

“Fuck you.”

“I love you, too.” She beamed, knowing that you were never going to say no to helping her out. You rolled your eyes and growled as you continued to push your cousin.

“Alright, play your songs. Which ever ones you want me to know, start playing them before I change my mind.” Colson looked a little stunned and glanced over at Ashleigh, who quickly pulled out her phone and nodded.

“She has an eidetic memory. All she needs to do is hear it once and she can memorize it.”

“Changing my mind over here.” You joked, flatly as you shot her an annoyed glare. “And it’s too close to Christmas to fight with flights so I’ll hire a jet. Hope your tickets are refundable.”

——

You choose to spend the four and a half hour flight sitting in the back of the private jet, with three different head phones in, listening to the full set list on repeat in your right ear, a narrated dissertation of someones research on further exploration of one of your original dissertations about the Milky Way’s cannibalism of surrounding stars in your left, and the feed back from your electric guitar in the head set you had over both ear buds. Your dad always told you you were crazy when you ‘nerded out’ like this, not being able to understand how you were able to have three different forms of audio stimulus going at the same time, nor how you could differentiate and focus on all three simultaneously. Even though you had your eyes closed, you could see the shift in the sun light in front of you and no matter how much you tried to ignore the feeling of eyes boring into your face, you couldn’t.

“This better be good.” You sighed as you pulled off your head set and pulled out both ear buds in an attempt to look civil.

“Three head phones?” Colson asked as you dropped the hardware in your lap and paused the two recordings on your phone.

“Keeping up with a dissertation from a colleague, listening to the set list, and messing around with it on my guitar.” You told him as you pointed to the corresponding head sets.

“Messing around with the set?” He asked as he scooted forward a bit in his chair and looked at the classic honey burst Les Paul on your lap. “Gunna share with the class?”

“Didn’t plan on it.” You responded as you tucked your legs up on the chair and held out one of the headphones. “But I’ll indulge all the same.” He nodded his head and put only one side over his ear while you handed him the other music headphone, put the original one in your ear, and pulled up the next track on the list. Your eyes closed again as the opening cords for ‘Rehab’ started playing, and you jumped right in with the riff that you had wrote in your head more to play for your father when you went to see him for Christmas.

“You wrote that?” Colson asked when you had finished. “You write music, too?!”

“No. No, I don’t.” You said quickly as you took back your headphones from him and put the extra ear bud away. “I… well, I remix songs. For my dad, mostly. When I go and visit… well I have a guitar there, and on nicer days, we sit outside and play name that tune. And I get my competitive side from him so I’ve gotten really good at recreating songs so that he can’t guess them but so they still sound like the original track.”

“So what’s he in for?” He asked innocently, which made you instantly stiffen and throw a wall up.

“Does it matter?” You retorted a little sharply. “He’s in prison.”

“Yo, my bad.” He said quickly as he held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t know it was a touchy subject.” You nodded your head and glanced down at your lap as you started putting your headphones back in.

“Look, I’m not here to make friends, Mr. Baker. I’m here to help out some family, then I’m going home. That’s all. I don’t need friends…”

“Yea, you fucking got it.” He barked back as he got up from his chair to go back to his friends. With a shake of your head, you started your music and your paper back up, and slipped back into your anti-social bubble for a little bit longer.

——

You had never been an adrenaline junkie in your life, having had enough experiences with the club, but as you stood on the stage, playing through the set, you actually started craving the feeling. The high that the crowd was creating, feeding your soul and the music pouring out of the speakers behind you. You felt like a total rock star and you were glad that this feeling was something that you would remember forever.

It hadn’t taken you long into the set for you to notice Kels either, and not just notice, but really notice him. How sexy he looked in his low slung red pants with his ethika boxers peeking out. You hated that you were turned on by this stupid punk… but fuck if you couldn’t help but want to fuck his brains out. Even if his kid was only a hundred feet away from you, even if you never planned on seeing or speaking to him ever again. You almost needed to be under his sweat drenched body as fast as you could or your head was going to explode.

“She smiles.” Colson teased when the last cords of the last song faded away in the auditorium. You smirked and pulled out your ear phones as you handed off Ace’s guitar to the stage hand.

“Occasionally. Only when I’m having a really good time.” He nodded his head and looked around for a moment before grabbing your arm and turning you toward a side stage door. “Colson…?”

“You… are driving me fucking crazy.” He growled as he locked the door behind him with a shake of his head. “And I want to be pissed off at you for being a bitch for no fucking reason… but fuck I wanna fuck you way to Goddamn bad.”

“Oh, fuck…” You moaned as he pushed you back against a shelving unit and quickly started ripping at your jean shorts button. “Kels… the crew… your daughter…”

“Guess I’ll just have to be quick then.” You whined at him as he shoved your bottoms off, and lifted you up off the floor by the backs of your thighs. He pushed his boxers and pants down only as far as he needed, and slid into you. Your eyes rolled back and you grabbed on to his shoulder and the shelving unit you were pressed up against. It was short, quick, and dirty, and you both got off within a couple minutes, but it was absolutely worth it… until it wasn’t.

“Thanks for helping out… and not just on stage…” Colson said, almost dismissively as you both pulled up your bottoms. You let out a huff and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Do me a favor and don’t even so much as think my fucking name ever again.” You snapped as you pushed past him and threw the door to the closet open. You walked quickly to the green room, grabbed your bag and your guitar case off the floor and pulled out your phone to call a cab as Ashleigh called out your name from across the room. As a lone tear fell down your cheek, you simply walked away from her, back through the stadium halls, and out the back door, leaving your brief lapse of judgement in the janitors closet behind you.

Part 2

#machine gun kelly x reader #mgk x reader #colson baker x reader #Henry Cavill x Reader #Too Smart for Your Own Good

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angelsfalling16 · 5 years

Text

(Wishing to be) The Friction in Your Jeans

Rating: E

Read it on ao3

Inspired by the song “Sugar We’re Goin' Down” by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 3045

A/N: The edited and extended version of a ficlet I wrote the other day for Anon.

***

Simon

I know that what Baz and I have been doing with each other was just a bit of fun, a few nights where we forgot our old school rivalry and gave into pleasure, but as I watch him dancing with some other guy, who is grinding shamelessly against him, I feel something like jealousy rise up inside me.

I want to be that guy, dancing close to Baz, causing that friction in his jeans. I want to hear those soft sounds he lets escape as I move against him, and I want to be the only one who can touch him like that.

The nights that we’ve had together could be seen as drunken mistakes, but truthfully, neither of us were really all that drunk, and I don’t think that they were mistakes.

It wasn’t even supposed to happen more than that first time, but it began to seem like every time we ran into each other, we ended up in bed together, unable to keep our hands off of each other. Which, if I’m being honest, is the reason that I came out tonight.

I was hoping that I would run into him and convince him to come home with me, playing it off like it was nothing.

Of course, it no longer feels like nothing. (I’m not sure it ever did.)

I don’t know how Baz can act so indifferent about it. I guess I’m just not as good at meaningless flings as he is.

As I watch Baz dance with the strange guy – if you could even call it dancing - Baz looks up and catches my eye, smirking as he allows the other guy to suck on his neck, the same way that he told me not to, not wanting any evidence of what we were doing together to be left on his skin.

I grind my teeth together, feeling more than jealousy now. It’s feels more like anger as the feeling rises to the surface, and I know that if I don’t get out of here now, I’ll do something stupid, like deck the guy who is now shamelessly groping Baz’s arse. And Baz is letting him.

With one last glance in Baz’s direction, whose eyes have now fallen shut as he grips onto the other man’s waist, holding him close, I turn and stomp out of the club, accidentally bumping into a few people as my anger blinds me.

I only make it as far as the alley beside the building before I slump against the wall, my hands balling into fists as I try to regain control of my emotions.

Stupid Baz and his stupid hair and his stupid hands that hold onto other guys.

I close my eyes and suck in a slow, deep breath, knowing that it won’t help, but I have to try to calm down. Then, I have to get out of here.

I should have known better than to allow Baz to get under my skin, especially after all of these years.

We never got along very well in school, and I never expected something like this to happen.

I never expected to like him.

I tear a hand through my hear, frustrated, and I don’t hear anyone approach, but suddenly someone is there, talking to me.

“I never took you for the jealous type,” a familiar voice says, startling me.

It’s not just someone. It’s Baz.

I wonder how he managed to detach that guy from his neck.

I open my eyes to find him standing less than a foot away from me. I look, but I don’t see any marks on his neck, which should make me feel better but only makes me angrier as I remember the way that guy was just all over him.

“I can practically smell the anger burning off of you.”

I scowl at him before looking pointedly at the cigarette butts littering the ground.

“You know…” Baz says, stepping a step closer, “I don’t think that your anger would smell quite like that.”

“Yeah, then what would smell like?” I ask, unsure why I’m playing along with this.

“It would definitely smell nicer, like something cooking, rather than the acrid smell of cigarettes.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you? What with all the smokers you hang around.” I hate how jealous I am, hate how much I want to be the only one who is allowed to touch him.

“More like from how much time I’ve spent around you.”

My breath hitches in my throat as he crowds me up against the brick wall.

His breath is warm against my ear, as he brushes his lips along the line of my jaw.

“What happened to that other guy?” I ask distractedly, my hands coming up to loosely grip his hips.

“Does it matter?” He asks, pulling at my ear with his teeth.

“Not really.”

“Good.”

Then, he leans forward to kiss me, and I lean into it without putting up any kind of fight.

Too soon, he’s pulling back to look at my face.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

I nod, and he’s instantly pulling me out of the alley and in the direction of where he parked his car.

I can’t keep the grin off of my face, feeling like I won, but it doesn’t matter because he can’t see it. He’ll never know how I feel about him.

He’ll only ever see me as a good fuck.

***

We arrive at Baz’s house, and I barely let him get the car turned off before I’m leaning over to kiss him, hand cupping his cheek, unable to keep away from him for a moment longer.

The kiss is anything but gentle as I put all of my need and desire into it, telling him without words how much I want him.

He returns the kiss for along moment before pulling away.

“We have to actually get out of my car if you want to do anything.”

“Who says?”

“Me,” his fingers come up to curl in my hair for a moment, and I have to fight to keep my eyes from fluttering shut. “I want you in my bed.”

I growl, feeling my cock harden in my trousers. “Okay,” I agree before turning to get out of the car, listening to him chuckle softly before following after me.

As soon as we get inside, though, Baz is pushing me up against the door, his hands roaming under my shirt and his tongue brushing over my lips, seeking entrance. I part my lips, allowing him in, moaning as our tongues meet and swirl around each other.

He presses his body flush against mine, and I can feel the hard line of his cock against my thigh. I reach for his hips to pull him even closer and direct his movements against me, moaning as our cocks rub together. It feels amazing even through the layers of our clothes.

Desperate to feel more of him, I start to unbutton his shirt, slowly revealing the smooth of skin of his torso. Apparently deciding that I’m moving too slowly, Baz helps with the last of buttons.

Pushing the shirt off of his shoulders, I move to trail kisses down his neck and down to his collarbone, biting down but trying not to mark him – and also trying not to think about how that other guy was touching Baz, kissing his neck.

Baz chose me tonight. That’s what matters.

I push into him, rubbing our cocks together again, before leaning back up to capture his lips with mine, tugging on his bottom lip with my teeth.

“Bed,” he gasps, and I see can how much of a struggle it is to pull away from me. Then, he’s tugging me forward and leading me towards the hall.

Not wanting to part from him for long, I hurry him, attempting to kick my shoes off as we walk, stumbling a few times. He does the same, and we make it to the hallway before it’s my turn to push him up against the wall and kiss him silly.

I fumble with his belt as I explore his mouth, trying to undo it blindly. Once I’ve finally got it undone, I start to move to the button of his jeans, but he’s pushing my hands out of the way so that he can get at my clothes, tugging my shirt up and off, tossing it behind him, before moving to my jeans.

He slides his hand inside my trousers to palm at my cock through my pants, and I moan loudly, bowing my head and resting it on his shoulder, kissing his neck as he rubs me off.

I swear I could come just from this, moans escaping me wildly now.

Usually, I’d be embarrassed by how much noise I’m making, but I’m enjoying myself too much to care right now.

He rubs at me agonizingly slowly before letting go, causing me to bite back an embarrassing whine at the loss of his touch, and pushing me towards his room once more. I allow him to lead me the rest of the way there without pushing him up against any more walls.

“Take the rest of his clothes off,” he commands once we’ve reached the bed, and the way he says it sends blood rushing down to my cock, hardening it further.

“Fuck,” I breathe before doing as he says.

He does the same, and I bite back a moan as I watch him strip off his pants.

“On the bed,” he says, unashamedly eyeing me up and down.

Eager to get on with this, I scramble onto the bed, lying on my back against his pillows, and wait for him to join me. He watches me for another moment before slowly crawling across the bed until he’s hovering above me, straddling my thighs.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s just the two of us. Nothing matters except this moment right here, gazing into each other’s eyes, like there’s no one else in the world we’d rather be with.

Then, unable to take it any longer, I push myself up so that I can kiss him. It’s mostly tongues and teeth this time, but it feels good as he pushes me back down on the bed, slowing rubbing his cock against mine with nowhere near enough pressure to satisfy.

He keeps doing it, tracing my lips sensuously with his tongue. I swallow a whine, and finally tired of the teasing, I grab his hips and flip us.

He groans as I rub our cocks together roughly, finally getting the friction that I need.

I kiss him, plunging my tongue into his mouth, wanting to memorize the taste of him.

I suck on his tongue, chasing the taste of him and drawing a low moan from him, before moving to kiss down his neck, wanting to suck and bite at it, but respecting his desire not to be marked.

His fingers come up to tangle in my hair, and he pushes my head down closer to his neck.

“Mark me,” he whispers.

Surprised, I pull back to look at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to see.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

I want to press for more, find out why he’s suddenly changed his mind, but now is not the time for talking.

I start up a new path down his neck, biting and sucking, leaving several marks as I move down his chest to one of his nipples, biting it before licking over it soothingly.

I move over to the other one, drawing it between my lips to suck on it before releasing it and moving back up to eye level.

Suddenly, I feel nervous.

We’ve done this same thing multiple times, but for some reason, this feels different. Like it may be the last time that we do this.

It’s probably for the best, now that I’ve fallen for him. It’s no longer casual, and I don’t know how many more times that I can do this before I snap.

I kiss him once more, softly, our lips barely brushing. It’s probably the gentlest we’ve ever kissed, and I take a moment to savor it.

When I pull away, I meet his eyes before saying, “I want to ride you.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yes, do it.

I reach over to the drawer of his nightstand to grab the lube that I know that he keeps there from the last few times I was here. His fingers dig into my hips to help steady me, and the pressure is just this side of painful.

Slicking up my fingers, I press one into my hole slowly, moving it around a bit before quickly adding another, eager to have something else inside of me.

As I finger myself open, Baz’s hands rub up and down my thighs, then my sides, over to my nipples, which he rolls between his fingers, occasionally pinching them.

Moaning, I remove my fingers from my arse, adding more lube to them before slicking up Baz’s cock.

“Ready?” I ask him, meeting his lust-blown eyes.

“Yes,” he says, his hands moving back to my hips as I position myself over his cock.

I take a deep breath before lowering myself down, gasping as the head of his cock breeches my hole. I stop for a moment, adjusting to it, before continuing, sliding down his cock inch by inch as he fills me up.

I lean down to kiss him once more, giving myself a moment to adjust to the feeling of his cock inside me.

Then, I shift my hips slightly, moving up his cock just the slightest before slamming back down. His fingers dig into in my sides, probably leaving marks, but I don’t care.

I do it again, moving off just an inch or two before thrusting back down, and we both moan.

“More,” Baz grinds out

Sliding slowly off his cock, I move almost all the way off before sliding down, hard. I keep doing this, gaining speed as I move, starting up a fast pace.

My hands rest on his chest, fingers digging into his skin, the beat of his heart just below them.

Baz starts to thrust up to meet me, and he hits the spot that sends sparks of pleasure throughout my body.

One of his hands slides from my hip to my cock, and he begins pulling me off in time with our thrusts. The feeling of his hand on my cock and his cock thrusting into me send sparks of pleasure throughout my body, and I have no hope of holding back the moans that have been threatening to spill out of me.

We keep moving together, and I come first, my come shooting out across his chest. It isn’t long before he’s coming, too, spurting his come deep inside of me.

It’s a struggle to keep myself upright as my orgasm rips through me, my arms shaking where they support me on top of Baz.

As I come back down from that delicious high, I carefully lift off of him, feeling suddenly empty without his cock inside of me. I move to the side, avoiding the mess that I’ve made and collapsing onto the bed next to him

We’re quiet for a while as we catch our breath, and I wish that I could reach out and touch him again, intertwine my fingers with his. But I can’t. Baz doesn’t want that.

Before I relax enough to start to fall asleep, I sit up.

“I should probably get going,” I say, looking around for my clothes before remembering that we strung them through his flat.

“Stay,” he says, and his hand reaches out to wrap loosely around my wrist.

“What?”

He’s never let me do that before, always insisting that we don’t stay the night together. I’ve never argued it before, no matter how much I wanted to. It was better to just leave so that I didn’t get too attached. (Not that that really helped.)

“I want you to stay,” he says, and when I turn to look at him, his expression is soft, his eyes hopeful

I find myself about ask him why, but then I start to wonder why I’m protesting. I want this. Baz wants this. He wants me to stay with him, in his bed. Why would I say no?

“Okay.” I nod.

***

After we’ve cleaned up and are lying in his bed together, a thought occurs to me.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” He asks.

“Danced with that other guy. You wanted to make me jealous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says innocently.

“If you wanted me in your bed, all you had to do was ask.”

“Noted.”

We’re quiet, the only sound his breathing as I pull him against my chest, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

I take a moment to admire the little love bites that I left on his neck and across his chest, the places where I claimed him. The places he allowed me to mark him, without any protest.

He rolls over so that his back is pressed against my chest, and I smile to myself, burying my face in his hair.

I’ve just about drifted off to sleep when he speaks again.

“You’re welcome in my bed anytime.”

“I don’t think that’d go over well with all those other guys you bring home.” Even with Baz in my arms, I can’t hide how jealous I was earlier.

“What other guys?” I can hear the nervousness in his voice as he says it, and I know that he isn’t lying.

I’m the only guy he brings home. It surprises me, but it also brings a pleased smile to my face.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, your bed is rather comfortable.”

“Wanker,” he says, pinching my arm, but I practically hear him smiling.

I laugh into his hair and wrap my arms tighter around him.

I think I might just take him up on his offer. I don’t want Baz to be with anyone but me.

#snowbaz #simon snow #baz #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on #rainbow rowell #snowbaz fic #my writing #friction in your jeans

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douxreviews · 5 years

Text

Willow (1988) Review

"W-w-i-l-l-o-w! You i-i-i-i-d-iot!"

With Willow, George Lucas tries to do for High Fantasy what he did for Space Opera. He really shouldn't have bothered.

Set in a fantasy land so generic they don't even bother to give it a name, the film kicks off with the birth of Elora Danan, a child prophesied to bring about the end of Queen Bavmorda (Jean Marsh, there to collect an easy paycheck). Who is Queen Bavmorda? No idea. This film never really takes the time to delve into the backstory of any of its characters. All you need to know is she is your standard evil monarch/sorceress with an imposing looking castle in a desolate wasteland. Fantasy movie villains never build their castle anywhere scenic. Do they have something against nice views? Are they worried they'll attract too many tourists? Or are they just really cheap? I imagine real estate prices are low in desolate wastelands. Ideal for a evil queen looking to save some cash while fighting a lot of expensive wars.

In a moment of shockingly lax security, the guards leave the baby alone with the midwife who then promptly escapes from the castle with the newborn and sends it floating down a river, Moses-style, before she is killed. Bavmorda sends her daughter, Sorcha, and head minion, General Skelator, to find Elora and bring her back so she can cast her into another dimension with a ridiculously long ceremony instead of, you know, just killing the little shit then and there. Honestly, movie villains would fail a lot less if they didn't give into their inherent need to pointlessly over-complicate things.

Eventually the baby is found by the family of Hobbits Nelwyn led by Willow Ufgood, a farmer and amateur magician who longs to be apprentice to the local wizard. After the village is attacked by one of Bavmorda's hounds, the local wizard tells Willow that he must go on a grand quest to return the baby to her people. A quest that he decides to sit out. I guess he knows what happens to fatherly mentor figures in these type of movies and realised he was better off staying home.

If this all sounds familiar that's because it is. Willow doesn't just rip whole pages out of every major fantasy novel ever written, it recycles the plot of Star Wars (I am not calling it A New Hope). Willow is basically Luke, a farmer who longs to escape his farm and become a great Jedi wizard. He's reluctantly entrusted with transporting the means of defeating the bad guy (a baby instead of a droid with Death Star plans) first to a OAP with magical powers and then to a rebel base. Along the way he teams up with Val Kilmer as a poor man’s Han Solo who later develops a love hate relationship with Joanne Whalley's spirited princess who just so happens to be the daughter of the villain.

I mean, it technically isn't plagiarism if you're just shamelessly stealing from yourself.

As with Raiders of the Lost Ark, Lucas entrusted this potential new franchise to one of his dear friends. Unfortunately, that dear friend was Ron Howard not Steven Spielberg. Now, Howard isn't a bad director, he's just a rather unremarkable one. He's the epitome of a safe pair of hands. He's the type of guy you hire when you want the film to come in on time, on budget and to spec. That's really all Willow is: a by the numbers tale made so competently that it lacks anything even remotely distinctive or memorable.

Davis is likeable, if bland, as Willow while Kilmer and Whalley are just bland. There’s no denying that Kilmer can be a magnetic presence in the right role (see Tombstone or Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang), but his character is nothing more than a dashing rogue stereotype, there to balance Willow’s earnestness with snark. And his romance with Sorsha? God, that is as clumsy as it is unconvincing. The same can be said for her decision to switch sides halfway through the movie. Just as the film never bothers to develop its villain, it is also skips on her relationship with her daughter or what would motivate her to betray her, besides meeting a cute boy.

Notes and Quotes

--Despite playing the title character and hero of the film, Davis gets third billing behind Kilmer and Whalley.

--Lucas' original title was Munchkins.

--The finale starts off with two sorceresses throwing special effects at each other until they run out of money and then it's just two old ladies punching each other.

--Industrial Light & Magic developed new digital morphing technology for the scene where Willow tries to turn Fin Raziel back into a human, but keeps turning her into different animals instead.

--There are some comedy pixies that are a worrying sign of the horror that was come with Jar Jar Binks.

--Lucas wrote a trilogy of novels with X-Men writter Chris Claremont, entitled The Chronicles of the Shadow War, that picked up the story fifteen years later and followed a teenage Elora Danan.

--James Horner provides a rousing score that is typical of his 80s output.

Willow: "What are you doing?" Madmartigan: "I found some blackroot. She loves it." Willow: "Blackroot? I'm the father of two children, and you never, ever give a baby blackroot." Madmartigan: "Well my mother raised us on it. It's good for you! It put's hair on your chest, right Sticks?" Willow: "Her name is not Sticks! She's Elora Danan, the future empress of Tir Asleen and the last thing she's gonna want is a hairy chest!"

High Aldwin: "Go in the direction the bird is flying!" Burgelcutt: "He's going back to village!" High Aldwin: "Ignore the bird. Follow the river."

Two and a half out of four imposing looking castles in desolate wastelands.

Mark Greig has been writing for Doux Reviews since 2011

#Willow #George Lucas #Ron Howard #Warwick Davis #Val Kilmer #Joanne Whalley #Jean Marsh #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews

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chaoticnootrals · 6 years

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Hargrove

AN: This is going to be my first series! It’s pretty wordy at the beginning and there isn’t much Reader x Billy interaction in this part but there’ll be a lot in the next part!

Summary: The reader is one of Hawkins brightest students with a top notch reputation, it isn’t until the arrival of some newbies from California that she begins to break out of her shell. The blossoming of a beneficial relationship between y/n and the Californian bad boy himself.

Part summary: Introductions have gone better than this one... (Takes place in episode one of season 2)

Word count: 4.7k

First period. History with Mrs.Langham, or “Mrs Lang” on a good day when her husband isn’t spending so much time with his mother than with her. You sat poised in your assigned seat at the very front of the class, smack bang in the middle row. You watched with sophisticated intent as your teacher sprawled out details of the revolutionary war upon the dusted over black board. At this time of year when the seasons had settled and the spirit of halloween began to intensely consume everyone’s October lives, your school hours began to calm as teachers seemed more concerned about how they were going to manipulate the halloween season to get students to be more interactive in their classes.

With the dull and lifeless droning of Miss Langham’s voice, paired with the early hours of the school morning, you observed as your history class peers dozed off and entertained one another with Hawkins high’s latest tall-tales and teenage gossip rather than paying any notice to what was happening in today’s lesson, everyone except you. Instead you sat in your forward on position in your seat jotting down specific bullet points and information regarding who did what when and where what happened in regards to the war that won your country’s independence.

You sat silent. Everything around you was clouded by the intensity of your own concentration, a habit you’d developed from a childhood governed by the numerous expensive and strict tutors your parents had hired to get you a head start on your education. Since then, you’ve excelled in all of your classes throughout your schooling, earning the title of one of Hawkins’ most respected honour students, both socially and academically praised because of it, therefore lying the reason that you were the only one paying close attention to the lesson playing out in front of you, whilst your classmates swapped gossiping whispers behind you.

“Did you see the new guy this morning?” A feminine voiced chirped quietly.

“Oh my gosh, yes, and did you see his car?” Another sang cheekily.

As their whispers continued behind you, your focus fought with your curiosity as you desperately tried to block them out. To your own dismay, you are human, and a teenager at that, and from time to time you can’t help but indulge in the joys of being a teenager, if only for a moment. You watched Miss Langham closely as she continued to drone on about the war and wrote up crucial information as she spewed it. You watched and waited for an opening, for a moment in which you could engage with the girls behind you without getting singled out for not paying attention. Within seconds she picked up the old blue dusted history textbook from her desk to copy out information she hadn’t already memorized onto the blackboard, providing you with the perfect opportune moment to join in the conversation.

You swiveled your body around, immediately capturing the attention of the group, “I don’t mean to ease drop, but did you say something about a new guy?” You whispered coyly.

Carol shifted her eyes from left to right, examining her surroundings with such smugness. She looked looked as if she was about to reveal the information of a celebrity scandal she’d been forbidden to talk about, which only seemed to peak your interest.

“He just arrived this morning in a sexy blue Camaro.” She purred, “and apparently, he moved all the way from California to Hawkins. Isn’t that crazy?” Carol exclaimed in a whisper.

“It honestly just makes him hotter.” Tina added with a giggle, earning exaggerated gasps of surprise and a wave of mischievous giggles from the group.

You laughed along with them, despite having missed Tina’s comment, your mind adrift somewhere else. As the girls continued to exchange stories and information about Hawkins high’s hottest new gossip topic, your thoughts remained elsewhere as you pondered who exactly this new guy was and what in the world he was doing moving to Hawkins of all places. It baffled you to think that anyone from somewhere as lively and rambunctious as California would move to Hawkins. Yes, it was common for people from large cities to move and settle in small towns for new beginnings and fresh starts, yet such things never happened in Hawkins, nothing ever really happened in Hawkins. At least that’s what most thought anyway. Living in Hawkins for the most part of your life no one had ever been known to move from somewhere that big and that far just to settle down in your town. No one except for you.

Before you were able to piece your thoughts together, the flow of your concentration is interrupted by a familiar grating voice calling your name.

“Miss Y/L/N.” She repeated.

You leerily turned around to see Mrs.Langham standing in front of your desk, arms firmly planted upon her hips. She stared down at you disappointedly, her thick rimmed glasses sitting loosely on the bridge of her nose.

“I expect better from you, young lady,” She scolded, “but since you have so much to say, would you care to tell me who our first president, George Washington’s right hand man was during the war?” She had a smug expression slapped across her features, expressive and obvious through the way her lips tightened and her brows cocked.

The question was sudden, and you weren’t paying attention but you didn’t need to in order for you to answer, and although it may be rude you looked forward to putting her in her place.

“Uh, Alexander Hamilton, Ma’am. The main author of the economic policies of the George Washington administration and one out of the seven key founding fathers.” You finished with a sickly sweet smile.

“Well done, Miss Y/L/N, well done indeed, although I expect no less from you from now on.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Happily contempt with your impressive display of intellect she strode over to her desk proudly, internally praising herself for your own genius despite none of it being to her credit. A few minutes flew by before that same mundane ring of the bell echoed throughout the halls; at last, the end of first period. You hurriedly packed up yours things, wanting to get out as soon as possible you hadn’t been bothered to put away your textbooks. You had waited in anticipation for the remainder of your history lesson, prohibited from finding out anything else about this Californian new guy if you waited to stay on good terms with Mrs.Langham, and with class over you had a chance to group up with your friends to find out more, because if anyone knew about any new arrival it’d be Steve.

As you walked through the halls of Hawkins high, you notice yourself closely scanning those who pass you by, watching to see if you could find any unrecognizable faces in the sea of familiarity. It was cliché, but oddly you felt a weird connection with whoever this guy was. Much like him, you weren’t from Hawkins, you were from Washington, and you knew the heartbreak and detachment that came from abruptly leaving behind the only place you’ve ever called home, only to be suddenly being somewhere completely foreign to what you’ve known.

Despite moving to somewhere quite the opposite to Washington, you knew Hawkins fairly well. Every summer break your parents would send you and your older brother to Hawkins to stay with your grandmother. When she fell severely ill, unable to care for herself, your parents decided to buy a house in Hawkins so they could move and take care of her since she sternly refused to be admitted to a retirement home. Looking back now, you’re certain she just wanted her family back with her one last time. When she finally passed, you never moved back to Washington. Your parents liked the quiet, they liked the atmosphere, and it was easier for them to work in a secluded area rather than a loud and hectic city, and it wasn’t like they’d have any trouble traveling elsewhere for work, if need be. Since then, you’ve lived in Hawkins, but you never stopped missing the life you left behind in Washington.

You proceeded to scan the faces of the students who passed you by, with none seeming to stick out. Your eyes continued to browse when your gaze landed on three familiar faces, faces in which you were rather over joyed to see. You began to speed up your step to catch up with the group when of course, Steve and Nancy shamelessly display their affection to everyone passing, by making out in the hallway. You can clearly see the discomfort in Jonathan’s face as he slips away from the two and you can’t help but giggle at the motion; these were you’re closest friends, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Not wanting to third wheel the couple, you decided to pass them by and catch up with Jonathan instead as you had the same class.

“Hey, Nance!” You called out as you ran past the pair, “Hey, Steve!” You greeted.

When you finally caught up to Jonathan’s side, from the momentum you’d built up trying to catch up to him, you lightly placed your hands on his shoulders and used them to assist lifting you off the ground for the jumping greeting you decided give Jonathan. “Hey there, shutterbug!” You announced giddily upon landing on the smooth hallway floor.

“Hey, jumpy” He replies timidly, yet still mockingly so. “How’s it going?” He says, looking down at you curiously.

“Pretty good, found out I aced my history test.” You answer with a gushing smile.

“As usual.” Jonathan comments with a half smirk.

“Shut up,” You nudge him playfully, “How about you?”

“Same old, same old. Had English first period, so y’know.” He shrugs. You know.

A lot of your casual conversations were simple and plain, but you enjoyed them thoroughly. So much so, you found yourself often looking forward to them during the day. It’s always been like this between you and Jonathan. One minute you could be talking about the dullness of your school days and the next you two could fall down a hole of what the true function of the male nipple is, no matter what, it was always refreshing with him and it’d been like this since the beginning. Your grandmother used to babysit Jonathan in the summers you would visit so naturally you spent a lot of time together, and just as naturally a friendship blossomed between the two of you, and your move to Hawkins only strengthened your bond. The two of you grew closer with age and even though you had managed to branch out and make more friends over the course of your school years, whereas Jonathan seemed to become more recluse and isolated himself off from others, you always had him within arms reach. He was more than a friend after all, arguably more than family.

The two of you continued to walk and talk about the most odd topics you could conjure up to discuss, when out of the corner of your eye a glint of vibrant blonde hair flashed in your passing sight. From what you could see, it had been styled in a way you had only ever seen on rock stars on TV. Accompanying such a hairstyle, you saw that their body had been fully covered in light denim which seemed to cling to them in all the right areas. It was natural for the school halls to be crowded, but it seemed that whoever this rockstar-esque person was, had a small group of people trailing after them.

Initially you were intrigued, but for the most part it just seemed odd. Who could possibly be so important (at Hawkins no less) that they could cause a band of people to follow after them so desperately? Despite thinking it silly, due to your curious nature, you still wanted to know who it was, and judging by the attention, all signs pointed to it being the new guy. You stopped mid conversation to turn around and get a better look, Jonathan walking a few steps ahead of you before stopping to see you weren’t by his side. Your eyes darted over the waves of students, your head tilting and feet tip toeing to get a better view, focussed on finding that same cluster of unruly blonde hair and denim, but just as quickly as it’d appeared, it seemed to melt away into the ocean of Hawkins teenagers.

“Hey, are you okay?” You heard a small voice peep in front of you.

It was calm and quiet but it’s familiarity dragged you out of your own mind and landed you back into reality. Looking in front of you, you see Nancy now standing before you with an expression of concern and confusion painted across her features, mellowed out by her trademark Nancy Wheeler smile.

“Oh, hey! No, yeah, I’m fine.” You said giggling at the realisation of your own distraction.

“Okay, good.” She sighed, linking her arm with yours, “You scarred me for a second there.” She continued, pulling you along to meet up at Jonathan’s side.

“Sorry about that, I just thought I saw the new guy everyone’s been talking about.” You laughed.

“New guy?” Jonathan asked, looking cluelessly between the two of you.

You simply shrugged in reply, being just as clueless as him on the matter.

“Wait- I think I saw him this morning?” Nancy chirped, drawing both yours and Jonathan’s attention, “Yeah, I was helping Steve with college applications when some guy shows up in the parking lot in a blue Camaro.”

“Seriously? A Camaro?” Jonathan asked with furrowed eyebrows, jaw practically dropped.

“A blue one too.” You added cheekily, hiding your mischievous smile. Your comment earning a playful bump from Jonathan.

“Yes, a blue Camaro.” Nancy giggled, “I think he has a sister in Mike and Will’s grade too?”

“So, what grade’s the brother in?”

“Ours? Maybe Steve’s?”

With no other curiosities, you nodded with content as the three of you continued to walk to your classes. You felt comforted by the fact that Jonathan was just as oblivious to the situation as you were, at least you weren’t the only one out of the loop.

“On another note,” Nancy began, “Unlike Jonathan, I expect to be seeing you at Tina’s Halloween party?” She continued, practically bouncing with anticipation.

Your lips tightened and your eyes narrowed as you scrunched your face in response, humming in a higher tone than your usual. Parties were never really your thing, yet you weren’t opposed to the idea, but you had other commitments you tended to prioritise over parties. You had your job, school work and grades, not to mention all of the clubs you were involved in that added to your busy schedule. So, just like all the others, you weren’t planning on going, even if Nancy begged you to change your mind.

“Come on, y/n! Don’t be a party pooper like Jonathan-“ She whined.

“Hey-” Jonathan interjected, half offended.

“Oh, hush, you know you are.”

Jonathan scoffed.

“I dunno, Nance? I’m just so busy with work and school, a-and I’ve got cheer practice as well-”

“Please, y/n? It’s just one night.” Nancy pleaded with clasped hands. You laughed at her seeming desperation, but with how anxious she was to have you there it was almost impossible to say no to her.

“Maybe, okay? I’ll think about it.” You sighed, flashing her a reluctant smile.

Nancy clapped her hands together happily and quickly wrapped you in a hug of excitement.

“I’ll take that as a yes” She exclaimed, flashing you a triumphant smile, “and I will see you two after bio”

With that Nancy skipped off down the hall towards the science labs, leaving you and Jonathan at the entry of your shared calculus class. As students began to flood into the room past you, you noticed Jonathan looking straight ahead smugly, avoiding eye contact with you. His arms were tightly tucked into his pockets by his sides as he tried to hide the mischief that was so clearly written across his face.

You looked up at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips before speaking, “What?” You stated bluntly, piercing him with narrowed eyes.

Finally looking down at you, you can see just how pleased Jonathan looks. You stare at him expectantly, which only seems to amuse Jonathan’s more.

“You’re so easy.” He says chuckling and shaking his head at how easily Nancy had coerced you into (basically) saying you’d go to the Halloween party. He’s now leaning against the door frame of the classroom, still laughing at your own dismay.

“I am not!” You protest.

“You so are.” He detests, “I just said no.”

“Wait- You’re seriously not going?”

“Nope, I’m taking Will trick or treating. Plus, me and parties don’t really mix.”

“Ugh, really? Can’t I just, I don’t know, come with you? I’ll help look out for Will and I haven’t seen the kids in ages and I just-“ As much as you wanted to plead your way out of it, by the way Jonathan stood there with crossed arms and content facials, you could tell that there was no way out of it. Yet, it wasn’t his expression that gave it away, it was the familiar look in his eyes you’ve seen too many times before. He was studying you; listening without taking it in since you both knew there’s no turning back.

You slump your head and shoulders, sighing heavily, “I’m going to that party aren’t I?”

Jonathan pushes himself off the door frame and places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“Hey,” He speaks with a soften tone. You look up at him with an exaggerated bummed out expression, “You’ll have fun, I know you will. Besides you definitely fit in with that crowd a lot better than I do and you’ll have Nancy and Steve with you too”

You reply with a groan, but you can’t help but smile when Jonathan laughs at your extravagant reactions.

“It’ll be fine,” He drags the ‘i’, “Plus, you might get to hang out with that new guy you’ve been looking for so much.”

“I don’t-“ Is all you can manage before your words are caught in your throat, and before you can recollect yourself, Jonathan’s already walking into the class and finding his assigned seat near the back of the room. You follow his lead and sit down in your seat beside him. “Shut up.” Is the best comeback you could think of.

Jonathan simply chuckles and ready’s his books for class.

You had to admit to yourself that Jonathan wasn’t one hundred percent off the mark with his last remark. Your curiosity had been peaked and in a town where seemingly nothing happens you couldn’t help but find yourself interested in the new and exciting strangers from California.

From then on your classes went by like a breeze as the majority of your teachers were focussed on incorporating the topic of halloween into their lessons rather than the actual subject lesson. It was corny but nonetheless entertaining. As your day drawled on, you were surprised to find no trace of this supposed ‘new guy’, you were beginning to wonder if there even was one. Were your classmates all in on the this joke about a new kid from California? If you were honest with yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was all a rumour. Hawkins wasn’t exactly the most exciting town to live in. As a matter of fact the last most exciting thing to happen other than the sudden disappearance, death and revival of Will Byers was when your family moved to town, other than that, Hawkins was as dry as a desert when it came to eventfulness.

Before you knew it, it was your last period. You had senior english with Steve and Nancy, a class in which you had both been moved up a grade; a natural progression as a result of your grades. While Nancy and Steve sat closer than need be in a classroom, you sat beside them, quietly listening to your walkman since your teacher, Mr.Harlock, had so carelessly popped in a tape for the class to watch while he reclined in his chair for an afternoon nap. That’s when it happened, the door to your classroom opened with purpose as Hawkins high’s principal stepped in, causing Mr.Harlock to whip forward in his seat.

“Good afternoon, seniors,” She paused, eyebrows raised at your teacher, “Mr.Harlock.”

“G-good afternoon, Ms.Valli,” He stuttered, trying to compose himself. “What seems to be the occasion of your visit?”

“Class, we have a new student joining us at Hawkin’s high. I am here simply because he had seemed to lose his way to this class, so I thought I would escort him.” The sarcasm was blatant in her speech. “Therefore, I would like to introduce you to Mr.Hargrove.”

With that, a tall and rugged figure walked through the door. He was the spitting image of confidence and trouble, all clad in denim and hair product. He was who everyone at Hawkins High tried to be, but failed tremendously, you could hardly believe your own eyes.

“Feel free to introduce yourself, Mr.Hargrove.” Ms.Valli continued.

He looked over the room of dumbfounded stares and smirked, “The name’s Billy. Billy Hargrove.” His voice was gruff yet smooth, more matured than a teenager’s should be, leaving you and what seemed like half of your class speechless.

“Oh, so you’re the Californian, huh?” Commented Mr.Harlock.

“That I am.” Ms.Valli then cleared her throat with expectancy. Billy merely looked at her with defiant eyes before complying with a simply, “Sir.” to conclude his sentence.

“If he’s any trouble, you let me know. I’ve had two of his teachers come to me already.”

“Will do, ma’am.”

The principal then proceeds to exit the classroom, leaving Billy to stand before your class in an aura of superiority.

“Alright then Mr.Hargrove, you may take the free seat at the back of the class.” Your teacher directed before continuing to play the film.

You watched as he walked down the rows of students to his newly assigned desk. You watched as your classmates stared up at him as if he were some kind of celebrity, an idol, a deity, and understandably so, he was definitely a sight to behold. Although, you were more intrigued by the fact that there was legitimately a new student at Hawkins high. Yes, his looks were something to behold but his presence was a rarity which sparked your interest more than anything.

He’d taken up the desk three seats over from yours at the back of the class. You wouldn’t normally be seated so far from the front, but Steve and Nancy insisted. For the remainder of that class you kept sneaking involuntary glances across at him. He leaned back in his seat carelessly as he etched whatever defacement he’d thought of into the desk’s surface. His hair was styled to look messy, but you could tell it was done thoughtfully so. His personality screamed indifference, but his clothing labeled him with desired popularity. He was definitely an anomaly in Hawkins. An anomaly you couldn’t keep your eyes off.

Before you knew it class was over, and Nancy was dragging you out the door alongside Steve who looked more in love than ever.

“So I was thinking we could go in themed costumes y’know like we could-“

“Uuuh, I wasn’t really gonna dress up for the party.”

“What? Why not?” Nancy said in a puppy soft voice.

“You know me Nance, I’m not really into all that stuff.” Steve said, guiltily rubbing the back of his head.

Their conversation went on, but you were disinterested, your mind still on Billy. You got to your locker and let the couple continue their usual petty argument beside you as you loaded and unloaded schools books. It wasn’t until you shut your locker that you caught a glimpse of the anomaly himself. His locker had been located on the opposite wall across from yours. A sudden determination came over you. You didn’t know what it was, but you wanted to make yourself known to likes of him.

“I’m gonna go introduce myself.” You blurted out, shutting your locker behind you.

“Oh, Y/N, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea-“ but it was too late, you had already made your way into the crowded stream of students to meet Billy on the other side.

You took in a deep breath and with that, “Hey there,” You said sweetly.

He looked down at you with hungry eyes, giving off no intention of speaking.

“It’s Billy, right? We’re in Mr.Harlock’s English class together.” You smiled.

“Funny,” He said leaning against his locker, now facing you, “You don’t look like a senior.”

“Oh, I’m not, I’m a junior. I was moved up a grade for English.” You laughed, attempting to seem more relatable.

“Is that right?” He replied lowly, a smirk plastered across his lips as he looked you up and down like a predator does it’s prey.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m-“ Before you can finish, Billy cuts you off.

“Oh, I know who you are, Y/N.” Your name feels dark rolling off his lips, unlike any other way you’ve heard your name spoken before, “and I got one question for you, sweetheart. What is it that you want from me?” With that sentence, Billy’s entire composure shifts. He’s no longer looking at you like he could devour you in seconds, his gaze is now cutting through you with malicious intent; you’re nervous.

“I’m not sure I get what you mean-“

“I said what do you want from me?”

“Why would I want something from you?” You ask timidly, trying to make sense of Billy’s brash question to which you had no answer.

“Well, from what I’ve been told, considering that you’re known around school as Hawkins high’s signature good girl, next to Wheeler over there,”

“Good girl?” You interject, slightly aggravated. Billy only talks over you.

“Y’know, perfect grades, perfect life, a scholarly reputation, and I bet you belong to at least a club or two. With all that under your prim belt, I have serious doubts that you would waltz your ass over to me without a motive. So, what is it, Princess?”

You look up at Billy, at a loss for words. It was a rhetorical question, yet you could see he still examined your face for any sign of an answer. How could you say anything, when really there was nothing to say? Normally you would’ve stood your ground, called Billy out on his rude and crude behavior, but in that moment he had you stumped. Be it the way his eyes burned right through you with their piercing blue, or the way that Billy had gotten progressively closer towards you, close enough that he was looming above you like a grim reaper; you were stunned, and all you could do was study him.

“That’s what I thought.” He spat, finally breaking the intense silence between the two of you. “Now, you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, okay sweetheart?”

With that sentence, Billy firmly jolted himself off the lockers he’d leaned on and walked past you, acting as if your encounter hadn’t just happened. That was it, your first encounter with the now infamous new kid, Billy Hargrove.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #Billy Hargrove #Billy Hargrove x reader #stranger things x reader #Dacre Montgomery #Dacre Montgomery x reader #Nancy Wheeler #Steve Harrington #Jonathan Byers #Jonathan Byers x reader #protective brother jonathan

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kpopeo-blog · 6 years

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Prompt: He was your strength, your power. He was your soulmate, the one you were fated to be with, and you stuck to him until you couldn’t anymore.

oneshot // fluff // angst // 5k words // unedited

a/n: a silly little thing i wrote while also trying to cram my other requirements. it’s pointless, but i decided to post it, anyway. inspired by namjoon’s letter, even if i forgot about the main idea. i just remembered, “be that ‘him’, who is also strong.”

freshman year

“Yah, yah, stop it, Yoosung,” you said, swatting the boy away when he tried to feed you mushrooms, something you despised with your very being. He dropped the mushroom, thankfully, on his bowl. Your other friend, Hwaein, looked at you two with a big grin.

You got distracted by her suspiciously large grin, and when you opened your mouth to say something, some slimy thing was placed in your mouth, on your tongue, right where you can taste it. Almost immediately, you spit it out, trying to mask the taste with some coke. Hwaein and Yoosung burst out laughing at your reaction, and you glared at them.

“Ah, you guys are so annoying...” you muttered, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

“What was that, (Y/N)ie? How did the mushroom taste?” Hwaein asked in a teasing tone. You rolled your eyes at them, and stood up. The girl stopped laughing and her mouth formed a pout. “Aww, don't be so down. We were just joking.”

“I'm going to the comfort room,” you announced, and when you were halfway through the diner because for some reason, the comfort rooms were at the back, you collided into someone. Your face immediately hurt, and you rubbed your face while stuttering out apologies of your own.

“I'm so, so sorry, oh no... ” you said, checking if he had any spills on his body or any food he dropped. When you checked that there were none, you had looked up into his eyes. They were a gentle dark brown, and you could see that he was checking if you were injured or anything. You felt a slight spark when he met your eyes as well. “Are you okay?”

“I'm supposed to ask if you're okay,” he said, a small twinkle of something in his eyes. The words sounded familiar, and, when your brain was trying to remember, your sleeve rode up, the same words plastered on your wrist. His eyes shifted to your arm, and you followed his gaze. And suddenly, you remembered.

How could you even forget your own soulmate's first words to you?

“Ah—I...” you felt heat creep up your neck, and in no time, your cheeks were red. He probably memorized the words that were plastered onto his own wrist, unlike you. “I'm (L/N) (Y/N).”

“I'm Yoon Jeonghan,” he told you, a small smile adorning his face and making your heart flutter. You smiled back at him, and somehow, you knew that memories with him would be priceless. He seemed to be thinking of something else, until he finally spoke again. “Would you... like to get coffee this Saturday? Are you free by then?”

“Yeah, I would like that,” you said. Once the two of you exchanged numbers, you went back to your seat after going to the comfort room. Jeonghan was nowhere to be seen, and you conluded that he left. Yoosung prodded at you.

“You're glowing. What, did something happen?” he asked. Of course you looked like you were glowing, you just met your soulmate. And it was so...

“Dreamy.”

“What?”

“Dreamy. That's what I'll use to describe his eyes,” you said, taking a seat and looking out the window. Your mind drifted back to his eyes, his face, and the way he smiled. The butterflies in your stomach were making a mess again, and this time, it was finally because of your soulmate.

“What's gotten into you?” Hwaein asked, reaching from across the table to place a hand on your forehead. She raised an eyebrow at you. Your temperature seemed fine, but your eyes had a faraway look in them. And you were just describing someone's... eyes. She gasped. “No way. You met your soulmate, didn't you? Oh my god, she's not responding... Yoosung, she met the one!”

You met with Jeonghan that weekend as promised, in the cafe that served the best cinnamon rolls and had the best ambiance for meet-ups. It was like a dream-come-true, and your soulmate looked dashing. Apparently, he was a trainee at PLEDIS, and he even invited you to watch a show called Seventeen TV. You giggled at his advertisment.

“Okay, I'll be sure to watch it, Jeonghan-ssi,” you said, deciding to humor him and go along with it, but even you knew that when you got home, you'd be opening your laptop and looking for a show like that. It was somehow so easy to forget he was your soulmate, and you treated him like a new friend.

“You'll like seeing me on screen,” he said, once again shamelessly promoting himself. Under that gentle and caring demeanor, there was really just a guy who wanted to be pampered, too, and it made you feel special now that he was showing this side to you so quickly. Maybe it was because you were his one and only soulmate. “Hey, this is awkward... but I gotta go. I'll see you next week, maybe?”

Your freshman year ended with you and Jeonghan in giggles, with him presenting some gifts during Valentine's and you presenting him chocolates that weren't too sweet, as he liked, on White Day. By the end of the spring semester, you two would walk around with hands linked together and small, shy “I love you”s that were accompanied with blushes and the two of you would promise to see each other, despite the clashing schedules.

sophomore year

“How was class today?” Jeonghan asked as soon as you got beside him, smiling at you with those gentle and caring eyes that you grew to adore. You found his hand and squeezed it.

“It was alright, thank you,” you said, giving him a smile that rivalled his. You played with his hand while walking to your apartment, and you were suddenly confused as to why he was here. “Wait, aren't you supposed to be training right now? Why are you here? How did you pick me up at school? And why are we walking to my apartment?”

He stopped walking and he tapped on your nose. “Too many questions, (Y/N)ie. I'm given off-days from time to time, too, you know,” he said. He started walking again without warning, and you had to catch up to him by running. You tugged on the sleeve of his jacket that was perfect for the crisp autumn weather.

“I know this is such a downer, but it's almost midterms for the fall semester, and... I wanted some help, you know? Could you... help me some time?” you asked. You knew it was such a boring activity, and you immediately regretted asking him. Jeonghan was your boyfriend, not your classmate! You could've asked Hwaein, or--

“Of course,” he said, tilting his head that made him look so cute and endearing, but you also knew that he was probably curious about your expression right now. You had a tendency to display your feelings and emotions, and he might've sensed your hesitation. “What's wrong with that?”

“It's just that it's so boring, and it's probably a burden, anyway,” you said automatically, and you almost wanted to curl up into a ball. You didn't mean for your thoughts to get out, especially those ones. “I, uh, meant...”

He gripped your hand tightly. “Don't say that,” he said, a sad tone in his voice but you didn't really notice it. You were still too busy mulling over your mistake and his words startled you. “You're not a burden to me, and I enjoy being with you. Even if it's just studying. You have to study for your midterms, anyway. You enjoy that 4.0 GPA, and if you still want to, you have to study.”

“Thank you,” you said in a hushed tone, still too embarrassed to say anything else. He heard it, and he just held your hand tighter. He never wanted you to feel that you were a burden to him, or even just think about it.

A week after you asked him about, they were thankfully given more free time. The why always lingered in Jeonghan's thoughts, but he knew better than to question it. After all, it was more time to see you. He texted you, telling you that he was free and ready to review with you. You replied with a “Hannie! Oh, thank you so much! Let's meet up in front of the apartment, okay? I love you!” and he mentally read it with your voice.

As much as he was shy about it, your confessions made his heart pound and his words get all tangled up together, but he loved everything about it. He loved everything about you, he decided. He bought some food from the convenience store, and patiently wait for you in front of the apartment, like what you told him to do.

You eventually showed up, panting and gasping for air. He stood up from the bench he was sitting on, and he coaxed you into sitting with him. “I...ah! Ran all the way,” you confessed, giving him a proud smile. “'I'm fit now! I didn't want to keep you waiting.”

“Aish, you're not fit, you're exhausted,” he said, waiting for you to breathe normally before handing you a drink from the bag of food he had bought. “Here, drink some. When you're ready, let's go and study, hmm?”

During that study session, you told him about the annual Halloween party at your friend's house, and invited him. You two figured you would go in a couple costume, and the two of you were still thinking of what to wear after studying for midterms. A brilliant idea popped up into your head as Jeonghan was cooking dinner for both of you.

When you arrived at Sunhee's party, your friends couldn't help but applaud your choice: you were a blanket, and Jeonghan was a pillow. A concept that both of you appreciated because your love of sleeping was overwhelming. Saeyoung, a mutual friend of Yoosung and yourself, approached the two of you.

“Well, if it's isn't (Y/N)!” he greeted, a bag of the chips he loved so much in his hands. He recently came back from schooling abroad, but now that he was here, you were genuinely excited to see him. “Oh, it's your soulmate, too! I've only heard about him in calls with Yoosung.”

“Ha! He's even better in real life,” you said, momentarily forgetting that your boyfriend was right there. You were about to give him more comments when Jeonghan cleared his throat.

“I never knew you thought of me that way, (Y/N),” he teased, and you turned red from embarrassment. “Thank you.”

“Ick, don't do this in front of me,” Saeyoung said, feigning a disgusted face. “Chanmyeonnie hasn't arrived yet, so excuse me if I'm bitter,” and waltzed away, leaving you and Jeonghan alone in the crowd.

The sophomore year drew to an end when you studied for the spring midterms again, of course with Jeonghan, and you maintained that 4.00 GPA that you worked hard for. While you were proud of yourself, you were proud of Jeonghan, too, for sticking with you and tolerating you and your existence. Some soulmate he was.

junior year

You and Jeonghan spent less time with each other now, since he had officially made his debut with a group called Seventeen, and in no time, you were a fan. You always loved Jeonghan's voice, and now that he was becoming an idol himself, you felt as if you two had come a long way. You snapped out of your thoughts when Jeonghan's voice brought you back to life.

“Jagi?” he called out, his sleepy voice bringing you of out your own sleepy trance. “It's getting late already. Why don't I meet with you tomorrow, hm? You should get some sleep. I love you.”

You barely processed the words he had just said, but you did hear the last three words. You were on the verge of falling asleep again before you mumbled out a thick “I love you,” that was barely recognizeable. Jeonghan smiled at you fondly before saying “I love you” back and hanging up. Just as the screen of his laptop turned off, Joshua came into the room, lookking confused as to why Jeonghan was still awake when the latter was usually asleep.

“Jeonghan?” Joshua called out, making Jeonghan's head turn to his direction. “Was that (Y/N) just now?”

Jeonghan's mood darkened, knowing how Joshua would react to him talking to you. The company always urged Jeonghan to break up with you, pressuring him because it was always either you or his career. It just so happened that even Joshua would also tell him to stop seeing you. It hurt his heart everytime, but he always wanted to push the idea away and focus on both his career and you.

“You know what PLEDIS always says, Jeonghan,” Joshua said, crossing his arms and giving the boy on the bed a disappointed look. “And I don't know how I'd react to them kicking you out of the group because... because of her.”

“You don't understand, Joshua,” Jeonghan said, slowly getting his frustration and anger to build up. Angry at the company, angry at Joshua, and angry at the circumstances. “(Y/N)'s my soulmate. Even now, we have to see each other every now and then or else we'll get soulsick. She's my everything, can't you see? I love her, and you know that.”

“But you also love your career. You can't keep on avoiding it, Jeonghan. One day, the head will personally come here and tell you everything I've reminded you about,” Joshua retorted, turning his back on Jeonghan and finally exiting the room again. Jeonghan huffed. Why did he even come in there, anyway?

He thought back to Joshua's words. No. He did not want to stop seeing you, especially when you were a year closer to graduating. He wanted to be there when you graduated. He wanted to be there when you reached a milestone in life, and he wanted to be there to support your life after school. He wanted to continue being with you, his soulmate.

You were his soulmate after all, and he was yours. But was there a way to stop being soulsick when the two of you were away for so long?

Jeonghan shook his head, not even wanting to know the answer to that question, and quickly willed himself to sleep. Joshua hasn't even gotten the chance to meet his soulmate anyway, who was he to judge how it would feel to have a soulmate?

“(Y/N)ie! How are things going?” Saeyoung exclaimed, his arms linked with Chanmyeon's. The girl greeted you silently with a nod of her head, but she still smiled at you. Chanmyeon was an odd girl, usually quiet but she had the strangest things to say. Nevertheless, you took a liking to her, since she got Saeyoung out of a bad mood and always made him happy. The two were clearly soulmates.

“I'm fine, and I could see that you and Chanmyeon are doing well, too,” you cooed. You were waiting for Hwaein and Yoosung—they always took too long, damn it, but they'd always show up late with ruffled clothes and unruly hair. Saeyoung and you rolled your eyes at them, but Chanmyeon just blushed. “Huh, look at these two lovebirds. C'mon, we're going to miss the Christmas marathon the cinema is holding.”

“Why? Where's Jeonghan, anyway?” Hwaein asked. You felt your heart drop at the mention of the name, and the answer was stuck in your throat. He bailed out, said he was too busy, you wanted to say, but you knew better than to antagonize him in that way.

“He had to take care of some things,” even you cringed at the words, but you were quick to cover it up. “Don't worry, he said he'll be home by Christmas eve. He wouldn't miss Christmas with me for anything, you know.”

“You can always tell us if he's ignoring you, (Y/N),” Yoosung said. “Hwaein gets real angry whenever I ditch her, so I feel like you're angry and hurt, too. Our presence isn't as good as a soulmate's, but hey, at least we're here to cheer you up.”

You smiled at his offer, but you waved your hand as if to dismiss the topic. “It's really alright. Now, let's go see those movies!”

Jeonghan did appear on Christmas eve, but he seemed to be more distracted than ever. You didn't nag him about it, even though you were concerned, because you didn't want to be that clingy girlfriend. Eventually, though, you had to ask him about it.

Junior year ended with a faraway look in your boyfriend's eyes, and a doubting look in yours. However, you're not supposed to doubt him, since you were soulmates after all. The two of you were fated to be together, and you weren't as unlucky as the people who had soulmates that had passed away or had fallen in love with the wrong people. You were thankful for that, and you hoped he was, too.

senior year

To say you were stressed was an understatement. You were beyond just frazzled, and you were so close to pulling all your hair out when your professor squeezed in just another presentation last-minute the day before your oral defense for the thesis. You were close to tears, and even if Hwaein and Yoosung tried their best to console you, all you wanted were Jeonghan's comforting words.

Speaking of Jeonghan...

He still hasn't replied to your text that you sent a couple of hours ago, which was slowly becoming normal for both of you. Surprisingly, you weren't starting to get soulsick, unlike that time you didn't see him for two days and suddenly you felt sick. It was like your connection to Jeonghan was being ripped apart, piece by piece, and the worst thing was it wasn't even on top of your priorities now.

After all, it didn't seem like you were on top of priorities either. Seventeen was growing in popularity, and it would only make sense he's busy promoting and trying to balance a lot of things in his life. Not that he couldn't, but you knew it was hard being an idol. Still, you wished he would sometimes spend time with you, even call for at least 3 minutes before leaving again. But now? He wouldn't even talk to you, and this had been going on for, you don't know, weeks?

Your phone buzzed just as you finished the presentation, and your eyes widened at the time: 1:05 am. And your jaw dropped when you saw that Jeonghan texted you back, even at an ungodly hour.

From: Hannie

Hey, I'm sorry I wasn't able to reply. Can we just talk tomorrow morning?

You tried your best not to cry, but you were tired, stressed, and ready to bitch to him when he just... rejects it? You felt hot tears well up, and you guessed that it was better if you didn't reply, anyway. You were too drained for this, for dealing with him.

You would just take what you can get from Hwaein and Yoosung.

The next day wasn't any better. Your presentation had gone well, and so did your oral defense, but Jeonghan's message still left you feeling empty. Hwaein was busy, too, especially with all the stress and requirements from her even worse professors. Yoosung was your best bet right now, but watching him play LoLoL was starting to get boring, as well.

You settled for watching dramas on your laptop, sick of your own drama and life. You watched as a couple's love bloomed, and when it withered, they tried their very best to revive it. Alas, the guy got tired, and left the girl for good. After the short 5 episodes, you were crying your eyes out for the girl, and it got you thinking, what if this happened to me and Jeonghan? Will he, too, leave me alone for good?

You wiped your tears, and cocooning yourself with your soft throw blanket, you stayed in bed like that for a while. The thought of Jeonghan leaving you made you feel numb, and it made you wonder if you could ever live without him.

He barely isn't here anymore, anyway.

“You still haven't broken up with her?”

Jeonghan didn't want this. He didn't want to feel forced to look at the head of PLEDIS, and he didn't want to be forced to choose between his soulmate and his dream. Sure, he wasn't able to see you at all because of his dream, but he knew that even in the middle of all this chaos, he still loved you.

“You know you are jeopardizing your position in Seventeen, yes?” the man asked again. Jeonghan nodded, too anxious to say anything. “Well, I don't want to be that person to make you choose, but what will it be, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan wanted to screw his eyes shut and drown everything out. Everything boiled down to this moment; everything he worked for and hoped for and he would throw one away just to save the other. And he knew that even if he missed you dearly, he knew that you wouldn't feel proud of him if he chose you over his career. He imagined your sad smile, your eyes that would try and mask the disappointment, and his voice almost faltered when he spoke.

“I'll make sure to leave her as soon as tomorrow.”

You were nervous. Jeonghan had called later that night, after your little drama session, and asked you to meet with him in the park tomorrow morning. You almost didn't reply, but managed to get out a “yes” before he hung up. He hadn't called you or anything until now, and he hadn't especially asked you out on a long time.

Was this it? Was he finally making an effort to revive this withering relationship? You wondered as you walked to the park that morning, hands inside the pockets of your hoodie. From a distance, you could see his figure on a bench. His form was a shape you'd recognize anywhere, and it automatically brought a smile to your face.

You would still be smiling if you hadn't noticed the morose look in his eyes. And finally, you were able to name that distant look you've been seeing since last year. Your mood sank, matching the expression that his eyes had.

“Hannie? What's wrong?” you asked, resisting the urge to place a hand on his shoulder. “'You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“(Y/N),” he started, and you had inkling of what was he going to say. You wanted to avert your gaze, but as if you wanted to play a cruel joke on yourself, you wanted to see his expression when he said it. “I... I want to break up.”

There was it. The slow, but sure breaking of your heart when you heard those words. You wondered why you didn't look away at first, but it hurt to see when he wasn't even crying and you could feel the first few drops on your face already.

“Why?” you heard your voice crack, but you were somehow still steeling yourself for the answer. Jeonghan's eyes finally broke contact with yours, and you knew that it wasn't going to be such a nice answer.

“I fell out of love with you, (Y/N),” he said. “I don't know when, but... I did.”

You bit your tongue, trying to not answer back. You realized you wouldn't be able to get any words out other than an “okay”, anyway, especially with that lump that formed in your throat. You sniffed, bowing and leaving the park before you could cause a scene. It was so anticlimactic, so disappointing, and you wished your relationship didn't end like this with him.

When you had disappeared from Jeonghan's sight, though, he finally let out a small sob, and then the huge drops of tears came rolling down his cheeks. He didn't mean to hurt you, or to tell you that. He had meant to tell the truth, but for some reason, his words didn't match with the ones he wanted to say. He wanted to scream your name, call you back and hold you in his arms, and then reassure you that he would never fall out of love with you.

He knew that you were probably out there, beyond stressed and not knowing what to do anymore, and he felt even guiltier. He didn't deserve you. Why was he your soulmate? He ruined you a month before your graduation, too. A milestone he said he'd celebrate with you, and be proud of you when you finally finished. And the thought made him cry harder, not caring about the stares of strangers in the park.

He promised to love you forever, and even if you were convinced he didn't anymore, he knew that he would still continue to love you.

present

You sat in a booth of the quaint cafe that sold not only the best cinnamon rolls, but they also mastered the art of making banana cakes. Everytime you came here, you'd remember when you and Jeonghan first had a date. You smiled sadly at the memory, which was a long time ago and was only just a memory now. You couldn't relive it anymore even if you wanted to.

It was midnight, yet the cafe didn't close until the wee hours of the morning, open for the people who were nocturnal or the people who needed a quiet place to think. There were at most three or four customers inside, with you included. A young couple was sitting in the back, talking to each other, and another man was sitting in a booth, engrossed in a book that was in his hands.

The usual night shift waiter, Gayeon, brought you a plate of a cinnamon roll that you didn't remember paying for. “Don't worry, it's on me,” he said, winking at you and sliding the cake to you. “You stay here sometimes, and until such hours, too. I bet you needed this food.”

“Thank you,” you told him, and he walked away, leaving you alone once more. You stared at the food, ready to eat it. As soon as you cut a piece of it, though, the bell of the cafe tinkled, and you automatically looked up to see who it was.

You didn't even think twice about trying to seclude yourself from his view as much as possible, squeezing in deeper into the booth. You heard that voice order something, and there was a soft patter of feet that stopped at your booth.

“(Y/N)-ssi,” the voice greeted, and you felt obligated to look up and stare at those same gentle eyes that held the somber look two years ago. “Can I sit here?”

You stared at him, not trusting your voice to speak, and yet he sat across you. His gaze was powerful this time, though, and he was able to hold yours. And suddenly, you felt the anger rise within you. You were even shocked when he had the audacity to even greet you as if nothing ever happened between the two of you.

“How are you--”

“How dare you,” you spat out, and you desperately wished you would stop before you caused a scene, but you needed this. The proper closure that Jeonghan neglected to give you was going to be wrenched out of him. “How dare you come here and think you can do whatever the fuck you want?”

“I...” his soft voice trailed off, leaving you more frustrated and confused.

“You—you were supposed to be my soulmate,” you said, this time the one to have a strong gaze. “And you tell me you fell out of love? Tell me, what was it? What made you fall out of love with me?”

“You won't understand, (Y/N)-ssi,” Jeonghan said, flinching when you scoffed.

“Like hell I would, Yoon Jeonghan!” you said, your words dripping with venom. “You left me! I couldn't think straight for weeks, and when it was time for graduation, I was barely happy. This—this is all your fault! You don't leave someone with an explanation, Jeonghan, it'll make them think they've done something wrong their whole lives!”

“You haven't done anything wrong, (Y/N)!” he finally retorted. You immediately shut up, startled by the sudden outburst. You were still quietly fuming, but you thought it's be better if you listened to him now. “I was the one who was in the wrong. They forced me to choose between you and my career! I wanted to choose you, but I knew you'd be disappointed that I never got my dream because of you!

“Even for months after we broke up, I couldn't stop having nightmares about you. They'd start out sweet and innocent, but then they'd turn horrifying. The members... they keep on saying that I'd sometimes scream your name in my sleep, too. If you thought I wasn't suffering, then you're... wrong.” he said. He took in the tears that were rolling down your previously rosy cheeks, and he wonders if he's the reason why there weren't any colors left.

“I have never stopped loving you, (Y/N). No matter what the company makes me do, because in the end, I'll always be yours. Falling out of love with you was a lie, and I didn't even know why I said it,” Jeonghan confessed. “I love you so much it hurts. It felt incredibly numbing when I thought I'd lost you, my soulmate, forever.”

As you cried, you felt his arms wrap around you in a warm, comforting embrace. You cried harder in his arms, and he just held you tighter. It was as if the spark that you felt when you first met was there again. “Yoon J-Jeonghan, I hate you so much.”

He felt his heart drop again, and the unwelcomed heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach. “I'm really sorry, (Y/N). I promise I'll be better,” he said. He would take whatever you'd give, even if you didn't want him back. “... will you take me back, (Y/N)?”

You choked on a sob before punching his back lightly. “God, you're such an idiot. I... don't know if I have the energy to let you, Jeonghan,” you said. “You're still an idol, and one with growing popularity. PLEDIS won't agree to this.”

“I know, but this time, I want to make it work. An effort to make it work,” Jeonghan said. “PLEDIS saw how much it affected me, anyway. We are soulmates after all.”

You smiled at him, despite the runny nose and the tear streaks on your cheeks. “I'm willing to let you try again, Jeonghan.”

The night ended with you in his arms again, hanging out in your apartment after the cafe had to close down for the night. The two of you were emotionally and physically drained, and resorted to just lying down on your bed. You didn't care if the two of you weren't together again yet, you just wanted to feel safe in his arms again.

He was your both your strength and weakness, after all.

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #jeonghan #yoon jeonghan #yoon jeonghan fluff #jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan angst #jeonghan x reader fluff #jeonghan x reader angst #seventeen #svt #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #soulmate au #kpopeo

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canaryatlaw · 6 years

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okay. another long and mostly good day. The vast majority of it was good but I got slightly peeved at my family and of course particularly at my asshole (older) brother, but whatever. Jess’ alarm went off at 8, and we started getting dressed. I was doing my Ramona Flowers cosplay today, and I was pretty sure I was going to melt because the outfit was legit a hoodie and then another jacket over that, but I did my best to find ones that were described as lightweight. I was doing normal make up today so I ddi that and then we headed out. My house perpetually never has breakfast food, so we stopped at McDonalds for food and coffee, and then we were on our way. The ride there and back went pretty smoothly both days, nothing really crazy that would be an issue. We got there right around 10 when it opened, and there was quite a line to get past security and inside, so we had to wait outside and I was doing my best not to totally overheat lol. I set the metal detector off at the juvenile courthouse so many times that now whenever I walk through one and don’t set it off, it feels like an accomplishment honestly 😂 but we got in, Brandon wasn’t out yet so we browsed for a while mostly looking at funko pops, Jess wanted the ATOM of course and I was casually looking for Ramona since I know they have one and that would be cool to have. I’m also going to buy the Elektra from Daredevil pop at some point, just haven’t gotten around to it yet (and my stack of dark haired women that can kick your ass funko pops is getting quite tall lately). We also went back to the t-shirt place from yesterday and browsed for a bit, I resisted the temptation to buy more wonder woman shirts, partially because they were just in unisex sizes that I don’t like how they fit me. But I did get the “Nelson and Murdock: attorneys at law” shirt I wanted so that made me happy. It reminds me of my first year legal writing class which is all graded anonymously through your student ID number so our prof said we could make up a name to actually sign it with, and I ended up putting “Sara Lance, Assassins at Law” as opposed to attorneys at law and I felt very clever lol. I’m pretty sure I put the address as like 123 Comingforyou drive too. Good times. So then we made our way back to Brandon’s table as he had arrived, so we were good and waited in line, then talked to him of course, he noticed and complimented my cosplay immediately, a lot of people actually told me they liked it which I was pleased to hear because she has a lot of different outfits in the movie and it’s not like you’re gonna memorize every one, but I’m sure the wig with the rather distinctive larger pieces in the front helped. So we chatted with him and took some selfies, which thankfully look better than the ones from yesterday that were god awful. I told him I wanted to do a fighting photo op pose, so we were prepared for that. The photo op wasn’t till 1:30 though and we didn't have much else to be, and Brandon was kinda swamped so we couldn’t really just chill with him. So we walked around a bit more then ended up sitting in front of their main panel stage, and happened to watch the kids costume contest, which was sooooooo adorable, so many precious children. the one who takes the kid though was definitely this little boy who dressed as a transformer, with like, incredible detail and care, but the kicker is when he lays down HE CAN ACTUALLY TRANSFORM INTO A TRUCK and if that’s not the coolest idea ever I don’t know what is. So, unsurprisingly, he won, got some sort of star wars land speeder things, idk. That started at 12 and we wanted to be at the photo op at like 1 because they tended to start early. Brandon wasn’t at his table, so we talked to his handlers for a bit, who are both super nice and like, actual friends with Jess now lol, so we did that before going to the photo op, and unsurprisingly they started like 20 minutes before the scheduled time. We were sent to wait behind the photo set up and I’m standing there waiting and this guy in a fucking spider-man costume just like, walks past me and places himself on line and I really, really wanted to be like “hey asswipe, do you actually know how not to be a fucking moron??” but the small amount of common sense I do have decided that it wasn’t worth it so I just glared at him periodically. When I got into the photo op we kind of figured out our pose and then took the photo, and it came out super good, I’ll grab it and post it on here in a minute (well, when I’m done here). Once we had the photo we went back over to the table and shamelessly cut the line (wow I’m a hypocrite but like we have street cred here we can do that) to show Brandon the photo op, and he of course signed it without me even asking, and wrote a very funny message about the two characters, so that made me happy. Having done the rounds a lot and not really having much else to do we decided to say goodbye and head out, Brandon was leaving at 3 anyway so he could get back to Courtney and their son for Father’s Day (awwwwww). Saying goodbye is always hard and like, it’s hard to say when we might see him again since not a whole lot of stuff has been announced so far. I definitely did miss Courtney being there too. But anyway, we headed out and decided we needed some lunch, so I decided Jess needed to try authentic New York pizza (on the hierarchy of NY foods non-Yankees need to try while here is like 1) bagels 2) pizza 3) either carvel or friendly’s, 4) kosher delis 5) diners, and 6) normal delis). so I just googled mapped the nearest pizzeria and went there, because I know we can get fab pizza at any place there, and it was very fab! I love getting pizza whenever I’m here, so it was really a must. Jess very much enjoyed hers, even if she continues to talk about how Chicago deep dish is better, but I’m quite aware that’s more to antagonize me than an actual opinion at this point 😂 when we were walking out she was yelling like “DEEP DISH IS BETTER!!!” and I was like “careful, you can get shot for saying stuff like that here” and this random guy who was walking away from his car was like “I’ll get the gun” and we both basically died laughing. Drive home was fine, hit a bit of traffic but nothing bad. When we were right about to pass a Carvel I had the bright idea to ask if Jess wanted ice cream (because I always want ice cream, of course) and she said heck yeah so we pulled into the place. I got my favorite vanilla soft serve with chocolate crunches on the outside and in a waffle cone, Jess ended up order a combination of their three different types of sherbet that they made especially for her 😂 it was also funny because we were chatting a little with this lady standing next to us, whom we discovered was also from Chicago and was here visiting, lol. so that was good. Carvel doesn’t have a seating area or anything, so we just went back to the car to eat them, and damn, they tasted so good, but it took sooo long to finish them (and that was the “small” version), When we did finish I drove the rest of the way home, things were a bit busy with everyone prepping for father’s day dinner, one of our family friends was over and in charge of the steaks, so there was all that. We basically just chilled in my room until we got called for dinner, which was being held outside at the table on the patio, which is always nice. Dinner was pretty good, things were pretty solid, We broke before dessert and then rejoined a bit later, and while dessert was very lovely my asshole older brother started making asshole comments and like....objectively it was nothing, I know it was nothing, but it just makes me so damn mad when he says does things like laughing at me and then saying “oh please, Rachel would be a terrible lawyer for (specific area of law” and I really just wanted to get up and punch him and like.....I hate this so much because I so want to be at a point where stupid little things like that don’t get under my skin, but honestly the stupidest little jerk comments just trigger all these emotions in me because this, and much, much worse, happened for so many years, and when he does it now it’s like I’m right back there, living a life I desperately wanted to get out of any way possible- any way at all. Of course it only got worse from there, because we were talking about job shit and my parents were pulling more of this “well you’re just going to come to New York even though you’ve told us like 12 times on this trip that you want to stay in Illinois” and just like the fact that they really don’t seem to give a damn about how I feel about major decisions in my life and that’s really infuriating. And then of course the friend of my father’s came up in conversation and it was the guy who posted the creepy comment about “smiling” on my facebook photo and I said so, and then of course nobody took me serious at all, they’re all laughing and making fun of me for even being creeped out about this and it was surely not what he intended, and I mean, of course I held back that like 10 years ago when I was 16 he messaged me late at night a few times and asked me creepy invasive questions, so one damn comment of “smile” (which is bad enough tbh) meant a whole lot more than that. So I was kinda pissed over them still refusing to take anything I feel into account, they just laugh every time I get upset and mad and I really just want to fucking punch them and be told my feelings are valid for once in my fucking life, for fucking ONCE for one of them to be sorry for something they did to me, fucking tortured me, and the word “sorry” never came to their lips about it, and they think they never did anything wrong, and if I tried to bring it up I would only be mocked and shit on more, and I’m just like I’m done with this. However, within and in between all of this happening, my dad decided the best way to get me to stay in New York would be for them to basically adopt Jess (and I mean, he ain’t wrong) and move us both out here, like he's legit getting in contact with people who might know of teaching jobs because my dad is fucking wild okay. And there is currently at least one semi-viable lawyer position open on LI right now so I mean I’ll see what happens there. My parents seem to be of the opinion that I should stay in NY even if I don't have a job lined up because I’ll get one eventually but like, that’s the exact same situation as Chicago, except I have way more contacts there and dad’s contacts have been totally unsuccessful up to this point, Sigh. This is long, Guess I had a lot to say. After dessert we pretty much retreated to my room and spent the rest of the night in here, with my dad coming in two times setting up information about jobs for both of us, and like, I told Jess before we got here my parents were probably pay her rent if I asked them too, and they definitely proved that this weekend. We didn’t really do anything else before getting ready for bed, so that’s about it. I am super super tired and we fly out early tomorrow morning (not like 6 am thankfully, but 8:30 flight still means I have to get up at six, so I am officially ending this post here so I can actually shut my eyes before the do some involuntarily. Goodnight babes. Stay gorgeous,

#daily journal #June 2018 #Rachel's cosplay adventures

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astorytellerforthatgirl · 6 years

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Maine Mendoza and This Storyteller’s Three Fulfilled Dreams (Blog Entry #5 of 7)

As I write this blog entry, I want to remind you guys this will be my most personal blog entry yet. I will let you delve in my heart. I will let you have a glimpse of the heart of the storyteller as I narrate the whole experience I have as a storyteller and supporter of Maine in that night of 3.14 or #EnchantressMaine23. If you have already read blog entry #1 of this series, this special blog entry will be more detailed, elaborate, and specific but it is limited to that short but memorable encounter.

Who is Maine, by the way, for me?

For me to be able to give you an understanding as to why I respect and care for Maine this much, let me share first a glimpse of who she is for me. I saw Maine first in her viral dubsmash videos but I did not remember her name yet at that time. Her Yaya Dub days made me remember her name I tend to forget about her right after watching Eat Bulaga. One day during still in Pre-Tamang Panahon era, I was just curious about her and did a simple online profiling upon her. I stumbled about her blog. One of my passion is creative writing. I am very picky when it comes to reading blogs. I don’t like those who always discuss about romance as if it’s the only important thing. I don’t like also those romanticizing sensitive issues such as depression. I don’t finish a paragraph if the blogger tends to write as he or she craves for online attention. There I was, reading Maine’s blog with my critical lens scanning through her words. Within minutes, I found myself reading more of her entries. Maine has a knack for writing. Her tone, stylistics, choice of words, and heart in her own version of storytelling made me her fan that moment. I stayed as a silent fangirl from that time until she released her talked-about Open Letter. I become a vocal supporter in January of 2018, and here I am now, writing my blog entries about her. I even separated a fangirl Tumblr account for her, aside from my personal blog. This is how Maine gained my respect and admired her.

I said I respect and care for Maine. Why do I care for her? This person knows nothing about me at all but how did I end up caring for her? Let me just say I am proud to have these battle scars which I got from the darkest days I experienced. God is just so good to surround me with people who loves and cares for me, hence, I was able to fight back again. God knows my heart too and He always uses people whom He know I will listen to. Family, friends I trust with my life, and volleyball kids I treat more than little sisters—they are the constant instruments God used to remind me especially when I choose to be stubborn. The more I isolate and freeze my heart, the more God surrounds me with these people. Little did I know God would send Maine too to ignite hope in my heart. It was in December 2017 that I read her words:

Things may go from bad to worse and you might feel like it’s never going to change, but believe me when I say it will get better. Everything will be all right, I promise you. We may have our own different battles, but remember there is only one God. He is always looking down on us wherever we go and whatever obstacle we face. You may currently be in a lot of pain, but you never know what God has in store for your future. Marami pang magagandang bagay ang mangyayari sa buhay mo. Magtiwala ka. Kapit lang, laban lang. P.S. If you are looking for a sign on whether you should still hold on or give up, this is it. Hold on tight, my dear. Don’t you ever give up; never ever give up. “When you feel like giving up, just remember the reason why you held on for so long.“

The cascading effect of the Open Letter and reading that excerpt from her book made me see Maine more than a celebrity but it feels she becomes a college best friend for me. These two events encouraged me to be vocal of supporting Maine in my own way as a Team No Group and as a storyteller. Maine deserves to feel higit pa tayo sa sampu nagstay para sa kanya. God stirred my heart with her story and my passion for creative writing compelled me to start this blog.

How did I prepare for 3.14?

It was really I who volunteered to do that performance in #EnchantressMaine23. I felt God wanted to use me as one of the numerous supporters to remind Maine of some things she may tend to forget or she may not believe at all. I prayed only the words God will allow that I will able to speak in that party. Aside from creative writing, I also have a passion for public speaking. I was still hesitating that time if I can do it but as days passed, the words are filling up my outline. I don’t write down my draft for a public speaking stint but I just write the outline to freely express myself more than strictly following a script. I prepared a two-part for 3.14. For the first part, I wrote a flash fiction. For the second part, I wrote a personal message for my co-fans of Maine, family of Maine, and for Maine herself. This will be my birthday gift for her—to give a piece of my storytelling as I combine both creative writing and public speaking in it.

What happened last 3.14?

The organizers asked me if I am the one who will perform too. I checked the tech team and asked for a wireless mic. I do not know the program of the event. I told myself that anytime I’ll be called, I must be ready. Oreo and Jester called my name as the next one who’ll perform. I told the hosts I’ll do a storytelling and a pep talk.

As I grabbed the mic, I told the audience these will be in two parts. I stood at the left part down the stage. That’s the right side of Maine. I began the part one.

I narrated that long-time ago in another dimension, a princess was born. I do not remember exactly how I delivered it but I will share the gist of the flash fiction. The princess very shy and she does not know how to use her magical powers. Others decided to use their own powers for healing or protecting the kingdom. One day, this princess decided to use her magical powers to what she loves most—making people happy. Slowly, people like merchants , commoners, royalties, warriors, nobleman, craftsmen, scribes, and everyone from all walks of life admire and respect this princess. Even people from other kingdoms know and respect her too. They showed their support for her. Not long after, she is overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. In one of her prayers, she said “Lord, if it is not much to ask, in my next lifetime, allow me to continue making people happy.” God was so touched with her prayers that she reincarnated last March 3, 1995. I paused and smiled at Maine in that time. I turned to the audience, smiled, and said “We all know who she is now.” I cleared my throat and made my voice louder with my ending line: “Long live Princess Nicomaine Dei, beloved by the people of this kingdom!” I saw Maine’s timid smile at that moment.

For the second part which I did the pep talk, I first introduced myself to Maine as a silent fangirl who become vocal after the Open Letter and shamelessly plugged my fangirl blog for her. Hahaha! I told the audience to close their eyes and remember all the great moments about Maine. Was it her Yaya Dub days? Was it their personal encounter with her? Was it her funny antics? Was it her motivational words posted in her social media accounts or her book? Afterwards, I told them to open their eyes and asked them how did they feel. I even pointed the mic to the audience into which the mic picked up the word “Happy!!!!” (yes with exclamation points). I told them that is how we should always feel whenever we fangirl over Maine. We will stay happy whatever happens. I reminded them that everything we do will reflect back to Maine hence we need to be objective and sensible. I commended the fans too as they stayed supporting Maine after all that happened. I challenged them that more people should be happy too by sharing our blessings and helping others. Pay it forward. I reiterated we keep on supporting Maine. For the Mendoza family, I thanked them first and mentioned their names, Sir Teddy, Ma’am Mary Ann, Ms. Nicolette, Ms. Coleen, Sir Nikko, and Sir Dean. Since they sat on the other side, I slowly walked near them. From the left side of the stage, I slowly walked to the right side. I could see the Mendoza family nearer. I first gave a message for the parents of Maine. I said more than the education, money, and business any parent can give for their children, it is always more important to raise them up as a good person fearing God. That is what they exactly have done to their children, and most especially with how we see in Maine. I shared that seeing Maine doing mano to elders warms my heart. Also, it’s nice to see her folding clothes in an episode of Sugod Bahay. Maine is a daughter of a Class B family and seeing her doing household chores speaks not just of her character but by how her parents brought her up. In this life, as I told them, there are two ways to follow God’s will: (a) be obedient in His word, and (b) raise children who will follow God’s will. I congratulated Maine’s parents as they successfully did both. For Maine’s siblings, I thanked them for being cheerleaders for Maine. It is great to see how open they are with each other especially how they bond even over funny things. Again, I thanked the Mendoza family.

I turned to Maine and smiled at her as if I want to annoy her. Hahaha! I asked, “Maine, pwede ba kita paiyakin?” That is the closest distance in that time between us as I do the pep talk. My estimate is around 4-5 ft. I can see her eyes. I can see her aura clearer in that proximity. Maine replied with, “Sige try mo.” in a voice similar to the tone of “Sure ka ba teh?” hahaha! It was as if a childish banter just happened with that short exchange. I began my pep talk to Maine by saying I will only say three points. First point was it became a running joke among us who is the only 10 fans whom Maine said? No one among us would want to give up that spot as a fan of Maine. It even became a little battle cry with that tagline from the mini-banner with “Isa Ako Sa Sampu”. I proceeded with saying I have a suggested how we can solve that matter. I asked her to place her right hand over her chest where she feels her heart. Maine, in her natural comedic core, said she cannot feel her heart. Hahaha! She looked for her heart in her pulse, neck, back, shoulders, etc. She then placed her hand again over her heart. “Maine, bilang ka ng sampung heartbeat. From now on, yun pang sampung tibok ng puso mo, kaming mga fans mo yun. This time I am sure kasya na kami dyan kasi malaki ang puso mo.” (non-verbatim) I said this with much tender and softness in my tone, as if I see one of my kids/little sisters-like in her. I did not know how Maine processed what I said but she become more serious compared to the comedic Maine I saw minutes ago. “In return, we will also allot our 10th heartbeat as a reminder this is you in our heart. Pag namimiss mo kami tapos private yun event or work mo, hanapin mo lang kami na 10th heartbeat mo. Kasama mo kami palagi as we pray and support you.” (non-verbatim) Second point, I told her just like the song Defying Gravity, may she continue to soar and spread her wings. The entire world is the journey for her passion. I reminded her she traveled to different countries that are work-related for her commitments in the entertainment industry. “Continue being a game changer Maine. Shatter standards. Nullify norms. Exceed expectations.” (non-verbatim) For the third and last point, I began with “Di ba Maine, sabi mo ano ba talaga meron sa’yo? Ano bang ginagawa mo? May sagot ako dyan.” I paused for a while. Take a quick breath, and said “Maine, naging Bearer of Light ka.” She was looking at me too as she intently listened and reacted. Yes, for several times, I bravely looked in her eyes, this writer wants to strongly relay God’s reminders for Maine through me that’s why I looked at her eyes in some parts of my pep talk. Light as I told Maine, is the metaphor or symbolism for everything good like life, hope, positivity, encouragement, inspiration, grit, enthusiasm, encouragement, passion, faith in God, etc. For us to be a bearer of light, we need to have a discerning mind, compassionate heart, and faith in God. I told Maine too that we live now in dark times where bad things happen, all the more that people should accept the role of a Bearer of Light. “Kaya salamat Maine na hindi mo lang tinanggap pero niyakap mo pa ang pagiging Bearer of Light” (non-verbatim) I said I always pray may Maine turn into actions every good intentions she feel because that is a stirring of God telling her to do His will. I reminded her the effect of that RT she did to Jessie and the scholarship drive of Aldub fans. Her influence is so vast that whatever she do, more people will notice. I said I am proud of her because I can see she is happier and more free recently. May she continue to always stick to her principles, and as what she said before, values is the thing she will never compromise. I thanked Maine that she is one of God’s instruments to us, her fans, as we slowly learn to embrace our own light too. I told her one day if I reach to that destination, I will never forget to thank her too as part of my journey. In one part of my pep talk within the third point, I had the most unforgettable eye contact with Maine as I keep on emphasizing the message. I saw her eyes glistened with tears. She looked away from my eyes and looked at the floor, but she did not turned her head down. She kept on listening to me while nodding her head. I understand she does not want to cry. I do. Again in that moment, I felt I’m talking to one of my precious kids. I knew at that moment, she understood more what I said. Did I overwhelm her with my choice of words? I do not know. What I do hope is she always remembers the message and not me. Nevermind me because the message is more important for me to Maine to remember than me, the messenger/storyteller. For my last few lines, I asked her if I could hold her hand. She answered with a nod. I went up the stage, stood beside her, took off my eyeglass, held her hand with my right hand, and said: “Maraming salamat sa lahat Maine. Ibabalik ko na ngayon ang liwanag na kinuha ko mula sa’yo.” I smiled, let go of her hand, and greeted her Happy Birthday and Godbless. I turned to the audience, waved at them, and told them to enjoy celebrating Maine’s birthday. “Godbless you all guys!”, these are my parting words. I was rushing to go back to my seat because I know I exceeded my promised time. The official photographers told me though to sit beside Maine as they will take pictures of us. I told her “Maine, alam mo yun Palanca?” She said “Hindi eh.” I told her straight, “Papaalam ko na lalaban kita sa Palanca na ikaw yun bida. That is an elite competition for literary and creative writers.” I asked for a selfie into which she smiled elegantly. Lastly, I asked for a hug, she did hug me. The photographers took pictures of us. I said thank you again and I rushed back to my seat. In that performance, three of my dreams come true: a storyteller, a public speaker, and to see Maine personally.

What is the aftermath?

I realized I was able to do what I want to say to Maine like what I have written in my first blog entry entitled "Bearer of Light” about her.

“And I wish one day, when fate smiles upon this random storyteller and the universe conspires with me, I can smile personally at you, look into your expressive eyes, and say with a cracked voice but a convincing tone: “Maraming salamat sa lahat Maine, ibabalik ko na yun liwanag na binigay mo sa akin.”

Although I changed few words, the message remains the same. It happened and came true. God allowed it to happen. Bless His name for His profound plans and ways.

I have to be honest I do not know how I was able to do all of those things. I did not feel scared or shy that moment. It felt God gave me a preview of how does it feel like to deliver a public speaking to an audience with an influential personality listening to me. It is another passion He revived in my heart. No other than Maine did God used to remind me to continue sharing what I love doing. From all the personalities I fangirled over, so far it is only Maine whom I shared both my creative writing and public speaking.

Three fulfilled dreams of this storyteller—all happened in one moment with one of the Bearers of Light I genuinely care for. I am humbled and grateful to God for this experience.

Thank you so much Maine. May God continue to let you shine on a wider galaxy as your light radiate in this universe.

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#maine mainemendoza

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mjvliteraryblog-blog · 5 years

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Do People Actually Judge A Book By Its Cover? Why Your Book’s Cheap Exterior Might Be Hiding A Literary Gem

Photo by rawpixel.com from Pexel

“You can’t judge a book by its binding.” Passage from the African journal American Speech, 1944.

Just two years after this phrase was coined, it would go on to be adapted into mainstream idiom and pop culture, first and most notably in the book Murder In the Glass Room, by Edwin Rolfe and Lester Fuller, which featured the phrase “You can never tell a book by its cover.” On the surface, of course, this is a self-explanatory term, and even as a metaphor for any large number of scenarios and character assessments, its meaning is clear. However, metaphors and analogies aside, perhaps ironically, a field in which it is quite difficult to simply nod agreement with this is when actually judging a book by its cover.

WHY JUDGING A BOOK BY ITS COVER SAYS MORE ABOUT YOU THAN IT DOES ABOUT THE BOOK

To many, the answer may be straightforward: yes, we do judge books by their covers and no, perhaps we shouldn’t, but that doesn’t stop us. Absolutely, this is true on both counts for many people. However, there are many reasons why the answer to this question is actually more profound than it may first appear, and why its answer – individual to each of us - actually reveals far more about our own personality traits than it does about the writer, the book, the designer who created it, the publisher who chose it, or even the decision to print it. What it raises in us - those actually making the judgement - is questions of how much importance we place on perceptive visual importance, stereotypical presumptions, patience, openness to and tolerance of new talent, respect for opportunity, assumptions of financially social inferiority and perhaps more than anything else, loyalty.

IS READER LOYALTY EXCLUSIVE TO THE RICH AND FAMOUS?

To add a measure of context to that list, let’s first consider the last of them: loyalty. If I explain that in this case I mean loyalty to authors with which we have already established our position in their fandom – most likely famous – then perhaps the list might start to make more immediate sense. Consider the newest novel you bought by your favourite best-selling author – you may remember the title (you actually might not), but can you recall, without checking, the cover? Try to, right now. One thing which will almost certainly have been true of it, assuming your best-selling author is a famous one, is that his or her name was in much larger font than the actual title of the book, itself. Check your latest Stephen King or Michelle Obama book – it is a safe bet that the author’s name is at least 30-40% larger than the title. What kind of a message does this send, then? That if you are a famous, established author the cover doesn’t matter – even the title of your book doesn’t matter? If it’s a horror, it used Chiller font and a dark theme… probably; perhaps there were pictures of balloons or a pram, but who can remember? All that matters is the author who wrote it, and that it is the one you don’t own yet. The book might be bad – the cover might be terrible - but you’ll still probably buy his or her next one.

Compare this, now, to a new, unknown author. Those of us fortunate enough to work in the literary industry with up-and-coming authors should see things – including shabby book covers - very differently, and should pride ourselves on an inclination to appreciate the less superficial qualities mentioned in that list: openness, opportunity and new creative talent; this is, of course, a vital element of our profession. As a book reviewer, beta-reader and copy-editor, I myself am acutely aware that amongst every dozen or so rough stones there is a diamond (to shamelessly use yet another clichéd metaphor). That diamond may be hidden within a low-resolution crust of an exterior, which is offensive to the eye and needs not just polishing, but entirely discarding – of course, I won’t know this unless I dig. Many new authors may be unpublished; they may also be broke financially, unable to commission anything more expensive than some free or cheap Photoshop-alternative. So, rubbing their hands in excitement and anticipation of their new graphic design hobby, they become hands-on and expand their skillset to include book covers. With glee and relish, the author then prides himself that he is able to make a cover and can now do Photoshop-ish. But, is it right? Quite simply, is it good enough?

WHY BOOKS BY UNKNOWN AUTHORS HAVE TO LOOK TWICE AS GOOD – AND BE INSTANTLY RECOGNIZABLE!

By this rationale, is it therefore fair to say that if you are a famous author - probably wealthy with a loyal fan base - we have a right to judge your cover critically and view it cynically, whereas if you are an up-and-coming new face, we should afford you leniency for your budget and withhold judgement until we have read it? After all, for all we know behind that cover may be one of those hidden gems – and, behind some there absolutely, undoubtedly will be. Well, no actually; this is the very reason why you should not expect leniency! You don’t have the luxury of a half-page author name self-selling your new book – you have yet to achieve that status. Besides, the better your book is, the more enticing your cover should be! I designed all of my own book covers, and whilst deeply proud of every single one of them, they have been upgraded and reissued over the years. Why? Because they weren’t good enough to reflect what was inside them. Whilst you should always strive to create the best art you can – both inside and outside of the cover – your book’s cover is invariably little more than a shop window, with one primary objective: to get people inside it. And, even whilst those in the business are less likely to judge a book so harshly by its cover, they are still going to have an inevitable, innate aversion to really bad covers; avoiding creating a terrible cover is a good place for you to start selling your book. In fact, I’ll admit that there is undoubtedly still some degree to which a cover might help me select my next review read. In spite of this, take a look at the BOOK REVIEW BLOG – seek out the books which have been awarded 5-star reviews and take a look at the poor quality of some of their covers; they gave no indication of the immense quality of what I was about to read.

Image property of MJV Literary Author Services

Whilst you are there, by the same inverted principle, look for the lower scoring reviews; those with a professionally created and undoubtedly more expensive high-res cover – it would perhaps be a safe bet to assume that these would have more sales on Amazon than the rough gems do. This is a tragic waste, and all the more reason why a good cover is so important. By earlier asking “is it good enough”, of course the question refers to its defining measure: good enough to sell. As far as the paying readership goes, sadly, and often inaccurately, they undoubtedly judge a book by its cover, if not totally, then to enough of an extent that this factor cannot be simply ignored when conducting your analytics – the number of Amazon sales will probably speak for themselves, as far as professional covers goes. Whilst I am certain there is a huge number of people with the sense to acknowledge that an extremely good quality book may be hindered by its unknown author’s lack of budget, there are also most definitely particular universal expectations of the cover, which are consistent with genre – if you can’t tell your reader how good the book is, at least tell them what it is about, by its cover; at the very, very least, your cover must ascertain genre, even to be visible to your market audience. Too many books hide their action-thriller credential behind a stock cover of a mountain – this means very little to a browsing reader. I earlier mentioned the horror theme, briefly; sci-fi fans will probably expect high-resolution, technologically stunning imagery and artwork; period or romantic readers may be looking for beautiful scenery or lavish, costume-wearing characters; action readers will prefer a gripping, rousing cover, maybe featuring weapons or cash; family drama may invoke expectations of emotional people in melancholy and poignant poses; take a look at the colour themes of other books in yours’ genre, because they all have them… The point is, if there is only one piece of advice to be taken from this article, it is that your cover, at the very least, must be recognizable to your target reader at first glance – or at least enticing - otherwise your marketing work is going to be a whole lot more difficult! When you are rich and famous, your cover might not need to be memorable or even good, but at first glance it will still meet the genre theme, and that will be enough.

A GOOD BOOK COVER IS AN INVESTMENT

As far as goes any degree of importance readers place on the character traits mentioned - perceptive visual importance, stereotypical presumptions, patience, openness to and tolerance of new talent, respect for opportunity, assumptions of financially social inferiority and loyalty – all people are different, and each respects some of these qualities more than others; this is a calculation you must make for yourself, as the author or indie publisher paying to produce your book, and adapt to your buyers’ persona. One thing is clear, though, and probably made more so by looking at the not-so-good books which are selling well, rather than by the good ones which aren’t: a professional book cover may not be a creative necessity, but it is a business one - a relatively cheap investment, too, considering it is your book’s shop window. Take a look at some AFFILIATED COVER DESIGNERS and their rates – you might be surprised.

Posted by Matt McAvoy: 31st July 2019

#book cover #cover designer #author #writer #publishing #books #book creation #judge a book by its cover #ReturnToRealBooks

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