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teliphone · 4 months ago

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Neighbors Daughter

Summary: You’re a young adult, a first-time New York Best Seller book writer. This achievement makes you itch to write more, but no significant idea comes to mind. You believe it’s due to the lack of experience. Your hometown is too simple. So, you moved to a new small neighborhood in hopes that the new scenery would bring ideas against your writer's block. Your neighbor's strange family lifestyle piques your interest, especially their daughter. A little sick and twisted, you pick up your pen to start jotting ideas for your new book.

Warning(s): Smut, Stalking, Peeking Tom, Voyeurism, Fingering

Word Count: 4.9K

The box filled with your journals slips from your fingers and falls onto the concrete ground. You grunt and puff your hair away from your face. You ready yourself and bend down to pick up the box again. You didn’t realize how heavy a box can feel when filled with just notebooks. You follow the pathway and into the doors of your new house in a hurry. Once finally reaching the wooden floors, you drop the box down. You decide to sit on top of the box to take a breather. You’ve been moving heavy boxes into your new house for three hours now. Starting from picking the boxes from your old apartment, to making multiple car trips, til now, where you have finally dropped the last box.

You glance around your home entrance with a small smile on your lips. Multiple boxes lay around and you feel like it’s going to take a while to unload. You do not mind though, you feel like you’re going to love your new living area. You turn your head to look out the door. Your new neighborhood is small and uniform. Every yard has perfectly cut and bright green grass. Every car is polished. Every porch has chairs that feel “welcoming”. This neighbor is something straight out of the movies. It’s a little eerie, but you feel like this setting is the perfect atmosphere to start writing.

As you are observing outside, a bright red Jeep car drives by. It grabs your attention when you notice it turning into the house in front of you. Your new neighbor! You lean your body forward in an attempt to get a better look. You can hear the bass booming from the car. The car engine stops and the music starts to lower. The side door swings open and a young woman steps out. She has a white dress on. Her silky black hair is in a perfect long braid. She looks elegant and innocent. She turns her body back to the car and bends in to grab something. The bottom of her dress lifts a little, exposing her white thighs. You feel a wave of envy as you stare at your new neighbor's perfect-tone body. She straightens up and swings her purse across her shoulders. She reaches to touch the top car door and swings it close. As it shuts, she peers below her hair bangs, and makes eye contact with you. She seems a little shocked. She didn’t realize how soon the house across from her got moved in. You give her a wave, to show a friendly neighbor attitude. She gives back a timid wave and hurries into her house. Your eyebrows furrow at the response. Her behavior was odd. You turn your attention back to the boxes lying all around your floor. You suck in a deep breath and prepared yourself to get to work.

You have finally settled in. Everything you brought is in their designated location. It’s currently 10 am the next day. You take a seat at the kitchen table where your personal writing laptop is. You bring a water glass cup up to your lips. After a few full gulps, you sit the cup down. You turn your attention to the laptop screen. An empty Word document showing clear evidence of writer's block. Your fingers pause on the keyboard. You sigh and turn your head to stare out at the window to examine your neighbor's house. The girls' red car was still parked in front. You haven’t seen the girl's parents yet. Curiosity begins to stir. You want to make new friends, but especially the family in front of you. How many people live there? What do their house decorations look like? Do the parents actually love each other?

Your fingers click on a search bar. You type “what to bring to your new neighbor as a friendly gesture”. After a few scrolls, you figure out what to do.

You make sure you look good. Practicing how to smile and what to say. A perfectly baked pie lays on top of your hand. This should be the way to make friends. You leave through your front door, not bothering to lock it. Nervousness pumps in your veins as you walk across the street. You quickly glance at the red car. The inside of the car is too clean, almost as if this is a brand-new car. You look away. Your hands curl into a fist and give the door a good few knocks. You wait, feeling anxious with each second that passes. The door doesn’t open after a minute and embarrassment creeps up your neck.

“No, there should be people at home,” you think to yourself. You give the door another knock, but this time more firm. Suddenly the door swings open revealing a man about forty to fifty years old. His hair and beard are perfectly groomed. He has on a simple white tee and blue jeans revealing a muscular body underneath. He towers over you due to his height.

“Hello?” He says unsure. His voice is deep and dry. You quickly blink yourself into action as you lick your lips. With two hands under the pie, you gently push it forward. He stares at it, not moving yet.

“Hello, I’m Y/n. I just moved into the house across your street and I was hoping-“

“Who is it, honey?” A mature woman with red lipstick appears next to the man. She brings her hands up to rest on his chest. You peek at the ring on her finger. She seems to be around her late thirties. Her visuals make you choke up. She is alluring and sensual. She is wearing a red blouse and black pants. Her hair is perfectly curled. She stares at you between her long lashes. She gives you a friendly smile, but you can feel a slight facade.

“This is our new neighbor that moved into the house in front of us,” The husband explains. Her eyes widen in surprise. She smiles widely, showing off her perfectly straight teeth.

“Oh my! I was wondering who got the privilege to move in!” She beams.

‘Privilege? That’s an odd way to say it,’ you think.

“Did you move in with a husband? Boyfriend?” She questions. A blush appears on your cheeks. You are single.

“No. I live alone,” You answer. You understand why she asked that. The house you moved in is big enough for a small family and yet you live alone. Silence coats the air. They stare at you with a small smile expression. You can tell they are wondering how you could individually afford it. You didn’t feel the need to reveal more information to them.

“I am here to introduce myself. I’m hoping to become friends with my new neighbors. I brought you guys homemade pie,” You beam. It is not homemade pie, you bought it several minutes ago at a nearby bakery store. You wanted to play it safe. The wife stares at the pitiful pie that is still in your hands.

“Thank you! That’s so thoughtful of you…. What flavor is it?” She asks not budging a muscle. You feel dumbfounded. What flavor? Normally, friendly people would just accept it with no question. She catches my silence and straightens her back.

“My apologies. I’m just asking because my daughter is allergic to certain fruits,” She explains with a smile. You feel lies lanced in her statement. But maybe she is being truthful.

“Apple pie,” You confirm, doubt creeping in. You researched what is the most popular pie and apple pie was the answer. This can’t fail, right?

“Sorry, our family does not like-“

“I like apple pies,” a soft voice cuts in. Her. The daughter. She’s even more pretty up close. She appears out of nowhere catching you off guard. Your eyes flicker over her features. Her eyes are so soft and calm as they stare back at you. Her plump lips are glossy pink. She’s in blue shorts and a tight black tee. She’s more tall than you expected from seeing her far away. You can finally see all the family members standing next to each other. They are all so beautiful and handsome. The perfect textbook family. You feel so little and unfortunate next to them.

“Hi, I’m Wonyoung,” She smiles. Before you can say anything back, she brings her hands out to grab the poor apple pie. Her fingertips gently brush against yours. She lifts the apple pie up to her nose and sniffs it. She lets out a soft hum of approval. You feel yourself gaining confidence again. Your lips curl up into a small smile.

“We are sorry to inform you, but we have plans and we must be on our way. It was nice meeting you…” The husband pauses. He looks at you with an expression of confusion. He already forgot your name.

“Y/n,” You remind. You glance at Wonyoung who gives you an apologetic look.

“Ah yes. Thank you for the pie, Y/n. The Jang family welcomes you to the neighborhood,” The husband finishes.

“Thank you! I hope to meet you all again at a good time,” You turn to leave their porch ground. You hear the door shut behind you and you let out a sigh. You feel like this interaction wasn’t the best. But your heart feels warm that Wonyoung accepted the pie. You smile and cross the street back to your house.

From behind the doors of the Jang family, Mrs. Jang takes the pie from Wonyoung’s hand.

“Why would you accept this pie? You know our house does not eat these types of sweets,” She grimaces in disgust. She examines the pie as if it were a bug.

“I was just being nice. She baked it just for us. The least we can do is accept it,” Wonyoung explains, shrugging her shoulders. She watches her mom dump the pie into the trash can. She dislikes how strict her mother is when it comes to food. She rolls her eyes and plops herself on the couch. She pulls out her phone to go through her social media. Mrs. Jang and Mr. Jang prepare to leave.

“We are going to be gone for a while. Don’t stay out too late. Don’t do anything stupid,” Mrs. Jang warns as she puts on her jacket. Wonyoung hums, not looking up from her phone screen. She hears the door click behind her and the house is silent again. Her eyes linger towards the trashcan where the pie lays. She starts thinking about you. She remembers the way your face expressed pure joy as she accepted the pie. A smile appears on her lips.

“Poor girl. She doesn’t know how toxic my family is,” She whispers to herself. She returns her attention to her phone. She sends out a message to her friends to see if anyone is free for lunch.

Several days go by and you are sitting by the opened window with your journal in your lap. This summer has reached one of its highest heat. You can feel your face starting to sweat, but luckily there is a light breeze that comes by a few times. You stare at the house in front of you again. It has become a routine. You mentally take note of what time each family member leaves and comes back. Mrs. Jang leaves early in the morning and comes back in late afternoon. Mr. Jang leaves around the same time as Mrs. Jang but arrives late at night. For Wonyoung, her routine is interesting. There is not a constant pattern. She leaves whenever and comes home whenever she wants. You start to wonder what she does during her day-to-day life. It seems like she has no job and would rather spend time with her friends.

A sudden movement from the house catches your attention. A window that usually has its curtains closed is suddenly opened. You narrow your eyes to make out the figure behind the window. It's a slim figure wearing a white cropped top, trying to yank the window open. You realize you’re staring into Wonyoungs’ window. The heat must have finally gotten to her which is why she is opening the window. She successfully opens it and returns to her vanity. She puts her hands into her hair and runs it into a high ponytail. You can’t believe how easy it is to look into her room. It’s not your fault… her window is just so big. You watch her put on white headphones and turn on her computer. You examine how straight her posture is and how she slightly fans herself with her hands. You start to wish you could hear her. Is she complaining about the heat? What song does she like to hear? What mood is she in? She slides her hand down her neck. You click your pen and start writing ideas. Ideas where the main character is looking a lot like Wonyoung. The main character in your next book. You struggle to figure out if you should make the character sweet or bratty. This won’t work. You need to know her more.

You walk past the Jang family house and see Mrs. Jang struggling to bring all her groceries in. Of course, you are quick to offer help. One reason: you are being nice and friendly. Two: you will be able to enter their house and look at their layout… but they don’t need to know the second reason.

“Would you like some help?” You call out, approaching her from behind. She gets taken by surprise and nearly drops the bag, but you are quick to reach the bottom of the bag. You look up to see how close her face is to yours.

“It’s okay dear. I can handle this,” She laughs it off. You shake your head, refusing to take a no.

“I know you are more than capable enough to do this alone, but please allow me to help,” You give her a sweet smile. She stares at you in shock at how nice you are. Her guard visibility lowers and she lets out a gentle sigh.

“Okay… Thank you Y/n. Just these two bags,” She instructs. You feel pride soar in your heart from hearing her say your name. She remembers! You lift the two bags and secretly gasp at how heavy they are. You peek into the bag to see all the fresh produce. Very healthy food choices.

“I see you're making dinner tonight,” You decide to start a small conversation as you walk behind her. She laughs again and pushes the front door open. You didn’t hear her response. You were too busy analyzing the interior. Everything is white, polished, sparkly, and clean. There are a few family pictures hung up. You look at the frames closer and note how the father is always in the middle, the wife is to the right and Wonyoung is to the left. You look around more to conclude the lack of comfort or character. Everything is too perfect and… bland?

“You can place the bags on this table here,” Mrs. Jang says. You place the bags onto the white marble table and look out to their backyard. There is a swimming pool which causes you to widen your eyes. There is no swimming pool in yours. They must have installed that after moving in. As you stare at the water you notice a figure floating. You gulp. Wonyoung is floating on a tube with her eyes shut in relaxation. She is wearing a white two-piece which reveals her milky-tone body. Her hair is wet and it sticks against her skin. She has a pleasing smile on her lips.

“I see you noticed our pool,” Mrs. Jang brings you back. You snap your neck to her with an innocent smile. You hope she didn’t notice you eyeing her daughter.

“Y-yes I did. It’s amazing… I wish my house had one,” You slightly giggle. She hums and walks to the backyard door to slide it open.

“Come here and check it out. I love to brag about this pool to my guests. Oh and my daughter is currently in there, but that's okay. We’re all women here,” She chuckles. She walks out and you follow behind.

“This pool took about…” Mrs. Jang continues talking but you were busy analyzing Wonyoung. She opens her right eye to peek at who ruined her peace. She was about to complain to her mom til she made eye contact with you. She rolls off the tube and into the cool water. She swims up and lifts her head above the water. Her wet black hair is perfectly silked behind her back. She walks to the edge of the pool and rests her arms there. She stares deep into your eyes between her long lashes.

“Mom…” She complains, “You didn’t warn me that we had a guest,”

“It’s fine. Y/n is here to look at the beautiful pool I installed,” Mrs. Jang explains. You nod your head to seem nonchalant.

“Sure…” Wonyoung hums with a tint of teasing. She rests her chin on her arms, not looking away from you. You become nervous, nearly tripping over a chair. She softly laughs while biting her bottom plump lip.

“Oh shoot! I left my iced coffee in the car. It’s probably melting so fast in this heat. I will be right back!” Mrs. Jang gasps and rushes out. This leaves you awkwardly standing still with Wonyoung staring. She pushes herself by the edge to go deeper into the pool. She picks up a beach ball and gently plays with it. She bumps it back and forth between her hands.

“So… you’re Y/n right?” She starts. You try not to smile but fail. For obvious reasons, hearing her remember your name is much better than hearing it from Mrs. Jang. With confidence, you walked over to sit at the edge of the pool. Wonyoung finds you more interesting and drops the beach ball. She walks against the water til she is underneath your gaze.

“Yes…You’re Wonyoung right?” You lie as if you don’t remember. She cutely tilts her head to the side. She playfully narrows her eyes at you. She lifts her finger and pokes your leg. Such a small touch, but it makes you blush.

“Yes. Jang Wonyoung. Drill that into your head,” She pouts. You couldn’t help but giggle at her cuteness.

“How do you like the new neighborhood so far… enjoying the view?” She asks with a low voice. There’s a slight glint in her eyes. You furrow your eyebrows. You didn’t quite understand the deeper meaning of her tone. Suddenly Mrs. Jang returns, stopping the conversation. You turn your attention to her and Wonyoung secretly rolls her eyes. Her mom ruined the fun. She goes back to playing with the beach ball.

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” Mrs. Jang apologizes.

“No, it’s okay,” You smile. From the side of you, you can hear Wonyoung getting out of the pool and it took every muscle in you not to look. Mrs. Jang looks at her watch and lets out a gasp.

“Goodness! It’s getting a bit late. I need to start preparing for dinner,” She hints for you to leave.

“I understand. Thank you so much for allowing me to see your beautiful pool,” You thank, taking a step forward to the screen doors.

“I think we should invite Y/n for dinner,” Wonyoung beams. You turn your head to look at her. Your eyes secretly look to see her body wrapped in a white towel while you wave your hands timidly.

“No, that's okay. I really don’t want to bother your guy's family time,” You reject. She frowns and glares at you. She doesn’t take no for an answer. She looks at her mom with a desperate plea. She picks up the cue.

“I agree with my daughter. You helped me earlier and as a thank you, I would love to invite you for dinner,” Mrs. Jang convinces you. You think about how this would be the perfect opportunity to make friends and study them.

“In that case… I would love to take your offer,” You admit. Wonyoung smiles brightly as she plays with the heel of her foot. Mrs. Jang states at her wristwatch again.

“I believe dinner will be ready in about an hour. You should head home and come back after an hour-“

“I can text you to come when dinner is ready” Wonyoung chirps in. She brings out her hand in front of you. Her eyes curve into a crescent moon. You stare at her hand like a fool. Your mind races. Is she asking for your phone number?

“…Your phone?” She hints. Bingo. You quickly reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. Once you unlock the phone, you hand it over to her. You watch her quickly type down her number and shoot herself a text. Her thumb is moving fast. She lifts her head and gives you another charming smile.

“There. Look forward to my text,” She bubbles as she hands your phone back. You stare at your screen. She placed her contact name as normal. Jang Wonyoung. But the message she sent made your cheek turn red.

Neighbors Daughter

You love the sound of it. You definitely will be adding this to the book you’re currently writing.

The text Wonyoung sent wasn’t crazy. A simple “Dinners ready. You can come now” was all she sent. So here you are, sitting at the dinner table with the Jang family. You try to be polite and have manners as much as possible. You sit in front of Mrs. Jang while she sits next to her husband. Wonyoung sits to your left. It sucks how you can’t really see what she’s doing. From your peripheral vision, you can see her slightly poking her food with the fork. Mrs. Jang takes a sip of her wine and gently places it back down.

“You are quite young. How did you manage to get a house on your own? What’s your job?” She starts the conversation. It is clear that she is very interested to know you. You swallow the food in your mouth and take a sip of water.

“I am a writer,” You reveal. The parents stare at you and Wonyoung stops poking her food. Mr. Jang places his fork down. He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry if I sound harsh but I didn’t think writers make enough money to get a house in this neighborhood,” He chimes in. You let out a soft laugh. You get that a lot and honestly, you are surprised too.

“I am not offended. I started by writing a lot for many popular websites, almost like a journalist. Later I decided to start writing books. I’ve released a couple so far…” You start to linger off. You didn’t want to brag about the successes you received from the books. The sales from the books are the reason you were able to afford the house. This stirs Wonyoung interest.

“How do you find a subject to write about?” She questions. You turn your head slightly to look at her and she copies. Her bangs look really cute.

“I find things that interest me,” You answer honestly. The corner of her lips turns up as she slowly nods her head.

“If you ever need help with finding something to write about… I want to help. I have many ideas,” She says. She slowly blinks while you stare at her. Her characteristic is just so hypnotizing. How can you write her into words? You fear your main character can’t capture the real charms of Wonyoung.

“Thank you. I would love the help,” You agree. She is the first to break eye contact and returns to playing with her food.

“You must be successful,” Mrs. Jang adds. She takes another sip of her wine. You awkwardly laugh, not agreeing or disagreeing. The rest of the dinner continues as normal. You take note of each person's characteristics. Mr. Jang rarely talks and keeps to himself. He tends to stare. Mrs. Jang loves to talk about anything and took up most of the conversation. She’s expressive with her facial. Wonyoung adds to the conversation when she wants to. She’s very gentle with how she eats and speaks. She likes to take small bites. Whenever you said something she found funny, she would cover her mouth while laughing. It fills you with so much joy that she finds you hilarious.

Dinner ends and you can’t stop thanking Mrs. Jang for the meal. It was nice to have a home meal from someone else other than yourself. It has been a while. Mrs. Jang tells you how nice it was to have you as company and orders Wonyoung to walk you to the door. Wonyoung leans against the door frame with her arms crossed against her chest. Her perfectly curled hair rests on her right shoulder. You shyly give her a goodbye wave.

“Good night Y/n,” She hums.

That night you couldn’t sleep. You roll over to your phone and tap the screen. It’s 1:45 am. You sigh and sit up from your bed. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t sleep. You decide to get up and get a cup of water. As you stand up, you get distracted by a light coming from the Jang family’s house. It’s Wonyoungs’ room. Her curtains are pushed to the side revealing her whole room again. You furrow your eyebrows.

“What is she doing this late at night?” You think to yourself.

You walk closer to your window to stalk her. There’s no way she could see you. Your room is dark. Wonyoung lifts her shirt above her head and your heart stops. Her long hair drops past her shoulders as she lowers herself to take off her shorts. This is wrong. You shouldn’t watch, but you couldn’t take your eyes off her.

She observes her body in the mirror. She turns her body around, slowly sliding her hands across her smooth skin. Her rear is facing the mirror. She turns her head to watch. She sticks her butt out as she bends over. Her finger hooks on the hem of her panties and she tugs it down. Her eyes are heavy and she bites her bottom lip. Your breathing becomes shaky. You take a seat by the window and open your journal. You start jotting down notes. Wonyoung smiles cheekily at herself and turns around to face the mirror. You study how she lets out a laugh as she unclasps her bra. She pulls her bra off and tosses it to the side. She cups her boobs and squeezes it. Her thumb rubs against her nipples as she plays with her chest. Her head tilts back slightly and her mouth opens revealing a moan. She stares at herself a little more before she has had enough of teasing herself. She walks to her bed and lays down. You watch as she runs her fingers across her lower stomach. She lifts her legs and spreads them apart. You feel your body starting to heat up. One of her hands grazes her neck while her other hand starts playing with her cunt. Her middle finger rubs her clit which causes her to gasp.

You squeeze your thighs together and grip your pen. You are getting turned on by just watching her. She swirls her clit for a couple of minutes before she inserts a finger into her wet cunt. It causes her to arch her back. She feels the silky wet substance coat her digits. You suck in a deep shaky breath. You can feel your cunt pulsing and clenching painfully.

She increases her speed and a few cute moans spill out. She had to cover her mouth with the back of her free hand so that her parents couldn’t hear her. Her hair starts to stick against her forehead. She pants hard, her chest going up and down. Her cunt chases after her own two fingers. She tilts her head back as she forces her fingers to go deeper. She then curls her finger to hit her gummy walls. Her legs shake as she feels herself getting close. Your handwriting against your journal starts to get more sloppy. She lets out a soft cuss and a dirty laugh. She feels too good. She goes a little faster and harsher with her fingers. After a few more deep thrusts she reaches her high. Her mouth gapes open and she lets out an embarrassing squeal. She immediately shuts her mouth with her free hand as she twitches against the other. You nearly came in your pants when watching her orgasm. You shift uncomfortably against your seat. You blush from feeling the wetness in your cunt.

Wonyoung gets out of her high and takes her fingers out. She lifts it into the air and examines how her juice coats her two fingers. She chuckles and rolls off the bed. She disappears and you assume she went to the bathroom to clean herself.

You lower your head into your head. You feel so dirty and guilty. You toss your journal aside and return to your bed. Shoving your face against your pillow, you silently replay the scene again. Suddenly your phone buzzes. You lift your head and expand your hand to search for your phone. Once you feel the cold surface you bring it to your face. It was a text message from Jang Wonyoung.

“I hope that gave you more ideas to write”

583 notes · View notes

vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 1 year ago

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With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat.

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other.

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you.

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story.

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

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winters-rose-daughterofcain · 7 months ago

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Fine I'll talk about Bridgerton

One thing this season made really clear to me is that Lady Whistledown is in a way a coping mechanism. It was stared by a lonely, neglected, unhappy seventeen year old girl who felt like she could scream until she collapsed to the ground and it would be into a void because no one would fucking listen to her.

Her mother constantly berates and criticises her, her father (while alive) barely speaks to her and is seen off to the side drinking when he's meant to be chaperoning her, her sisters are openly cruel to her and are still favoured by their mother. She has few friends, and the two relationships she holds closest both have significant blocks to them, with Colin it's her unrequited feelings and..... tbh her and Eloise's friendship is a whole different post and while they clearly mean the world to each other, there where fundamentally issues long before Lady Whistledown was so much as a drop of ink. I think they are both at fault for them and I love both of them, but Eloise's biggest issue comes from just not listening to her and in general as a person having a bad case of tunnel vision and hyper focusing on certain things while completely missing others.

Pen is outcast from society from the moment she steps foot in it, ridiculed and despised by those around her and bullied by girls her age for literally no fucking reason. She is seen as unattractive and undesirable, she believes the fundamentally human want to be loved a silly childish delusion because she is told from every angle that she is not worth it. She's not even worth listening to.

I think her resentment and hurt had been building for a while, she's never under any assumption that she will be treated or seen better. How could she be? When she is constantly reminded how much she fails to be what is wanted or respected or valued, primarily by her own damn family. Still, she's a kind girl. She's sweet and attentive and a good listener, she's patient and reliable and, before Whistledown started, probably extremely loyal, if how much guilt she felt whenever she genuinely betrayed someone says anything. She's someone who has never felt or had any power, who has so much hurt and resent and bitterness from years of this shit building and building.

But she's also smart and witty and funny and extremely intelligent. She has a talent for writing and words and clearly has the potential to be successful. I think being pushed into society a year earlier than she wanted (again, because her mother wouldn't listen) pushed her over the edge. She wrote her observations, the things she learnt from being pushed to the side for so long down, and published them. I don't think she ever intended for it to be as big as it was, and I think the bigger it got and still gets the more in over her head she is. Because for once people listened, for once people cared, for once what she thought and said and worked for mattered.

It is a young girl gaining her first glimpse at power and being deeply unprepared for the consequences. When things go wrong and she doesn't know what to do and no one will listen to her as Penelope, this is the only way she can make them. No matter how disastrous the affects, using Whiseldown gets results, it just also hurts people, pushing her further and further down this cycle where Whistledown is one of the only thing that makes her feel better and allows her to process the things in her life, while hurting the people around her and making her more dependent on it.

She truly meant to give up Whistledown after the disaster with Eloise, but on that night she had her connection or trust from the two people who she cared about and who cared about her the most broken. With the fight with Eloise and then overhearing Colin she lost both of them in the span of an hour, what else dose she have aside from her writing?

And again at the ball in episode one. Even after a complete upheaval of her entire look she still fails to talk to those guys, she still isn't enough, it's proof it is not her youth or her mother influence something fundamental in her can't do this. Then Cressida rips her dress with Eloise standing right there, then Colin comes and (even tho she is incorrect) confirms to her that he too, is embarrassed by her. So what dose she do? When she's miserable and powerless? She writes. She takes it all out in Whistledown and says the (admittedly true which is why it hurt so much tbh) cruel things about Colin, which she regrets literally a day later after actually talking to him. Adding more guilt and keeping her stuck in this cycle.

It's a business definitely, and there are many parts of Whistledown she genuinely enjoys, but I don't think it's good for her. It hurts the people around her and it hurts herself, she's in over her head and definitely knows she should stop, but I don't think she knows how. She doesn't let herself rely on others enough to be okay without this one thing that has allowed her to cope and be heard and respected and valued. That's also why I think she couldn't have stopped before this season, now she's finally getting that, she's finally being listened to and respected and valued and being told she is worth something. Not by many people, and it is still too new to change the fundamental thought patters about it she has, but it's a start.

Now she just has to grapple with that fact that this thing that has given her a voice and found her comfort might just be the dealbreaker for the real people in her life who can actually offer her the love and care and respect she deserves and craves and has been denied for so so long. It sucks and it's a cycle she can't get out of now, she's made her own trap without knowing how she did it.

That's what happens when a 17 year olds coping mechanism continues and grows and expands for years, when people unknowing pay to see more of it, and when she doesn't really know what else to do. Whistledown is Pens choice and all her actions for better or worse, but it would not exist without the context of her life. It would not exist if Portia was a better mother, if she had better sisters or a better family. It would not exist of other girls her age were kinder to her, if they excluded her a little less. It would not exist if she were not seen as a lost cause for love before she had the chance to try. Lady Whistledown would not exist if someone just fucking listened to her.

#bridgerton s3 #bridgerton #penelope featherington #lady whistledown #colin bridgerton #portia featherington #eloise bridgerton #character analysis #bridgeton fandom people don't kill me #living in fear posting this fr #if you hate me please just block me #polin #eloise x penelope #my girls please fix this friendship I miss you #analysis on their friendship next maybe???#idk we shall see

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

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Dirty Work 29

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: almost at 30.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stand paralysed at the end of the bed. You stare at Mr. Laufeyson as he gazes back at you. He devours you in a glance. His heads tilts just so, his jaw just out just a little as he exhales through his nose. The air catches in his throat and rumbles through him. His sight narrows as his long fingers curl against his thigh.

You shiver, not cold but terrified, embarrassed, and entirely helpless. He stands so suddenly you sway, steadying yourself as you step back with one foot. You turn as he strides up the side of the bed and comes around the end. You stagger back with his abruptness, hitting the other corner with your hip.

He grabs your arms and pulls you before him, holding you at arm's length, another snarling breath escapes him. You can't speak. You don't dare.

He squeezes and moves you to whim. You let him turn your back to the bed and he walks you against it. Your legs bend to his will and your bottom meets the mattress firmly.

He urges you onto your back, like before, pinning your shoulders as he bends over you. His lashes flutter and he drags his hands down your arms, standing with sigh. He flicks his finger, gesturing you further onto the bed.

You obey his silent command and push your hands into the mattress, pulling yourself up until your legs are straight across the bed. He rolls his shoulders as he observes you, his posture sinister in the lamplight. You are prone and exposed, entirely at his mercy. He nears the bottom of the bed. You wince but don't shy away.

He touches the arch of your foot, running his knuckle along it then brushes both hands down to your ankles. He trails up your calves as you twitch and brings himself to straddle you, moving on his knees as he follows the length of your legs to your hips. He lowers himself over you, keeping you penned in under him as he fixates on your body.

His eyes cling to his fingers as he explores your soft flesh, feeling along your stomach and sides, sending another wave of ripples through you. You whimper as your body reacts. Your nipples bud and that tingle sparks between your legs. You can't help but squirm as he traces swirls across your skin.

You feel the restraint rigid in his touch as his fingertips crawl further up your body. He brings his hands to your chest, framing your tits, groping and fondling as his thumbs twirl around your beaded nipples. His breath is deep enough to hear, his chest rising and falling markedly. A tremor flows from him into you.

He spreads his hands wide and pushes them up to the flat of your chest and curls them over your shoulders. He wiggles his pelvis as he brings both hands to grip your neck. Your eyes round as you tremble. He squeezes, not enough to choke you, but enough to make you gasp.

He bends over you, his nose brushes the side of yours as his lips hover just over your mouth. He groans and tightens his hold just a little then all at once releases you, planting his hands on either side of your head as he huffs. He glares down at you, face wrought as he lifts himself slowly. He sits back on his knees again.

His eyes wander down your body, following the line of your limp arm. He takes your hand and opens it in his. He draws the lines of your palm as he considers it. Then he moves it down, pressing it around the front of his pants. You let out a groan as it adds to the throbbing in your core. He groans too, closing his eyes as he holds your hand against his hard bulge.

He shudders and smirks, shoving your hand away sharply. He tosses your arm out and shakes his head. He lifts his knee and swings off of you. He tuts until he's snickering. He stands and quiets, keeping his back to you. You squeeze your thighs together and whine.

"No, not yet," he sneers as he turns so you can see his profile, "now you know, pet, how it hurts, don't you?"

You blink and part your lips speechlessly. You look down at yourself, your legs moving against each other almost without thinking as you try to sate the heat blooming in you. You peek up at him again and roll over to hide your nakedness.

"I promise, pet, when it happens, you will be begging," he snarls, "you will be crying out my name.”

He spins and gathers up the heap of your disposed clothes. Without a glance back, he struts to the door. You don't move as you listen to him go, the lock clicking to assure you of your isolation.

You curl up on your side again and feel the beating in your chest with your hand. As much as his absence lends you relief, it leaves you wanting as that fiery sensation gnaws at your insides.

✨

When Mr. Laufeyson appears again, he tosses a silk nightie on the bed. You snatch it up without command and slip it on, happy for something to cover you up. He doesn't say a word as he loosens his tie and goes about undressing.

His movement is deliberate as he strips piece by piece. You lay with your back to him, feeling uneasy knowing he's bare behind you. His shadow looms over you, outlining his naked figure in a lurid reflection.

You close your eyes and shudder.

He gets into bed and you stay as you are. He jostles you slightly as he does and leans against the headboard behind you. You hear the scratch of pages as he opens his book, the lamplight dimmed on the other side of him.

He's silent as he reads, almost as if you aren't even there. You flutter your eyes open and stare at the wall. You'd like a book of your own but you suspect you've spent all his generosity. You merely lay in the tension as he flips to the next page.

You wince as you feel a tickle on your shoulder. He caresses you with his fingertips as he hums, his other hand still firmly around the book. You just stare at the shadow, stuck in place.

He hooks his fingers under the strap of the nighty, playing with it, twirling and letting it loose. You shiver and he grips your shoulder firmly.

"Ah, pet, don't be so jumpy," he reprimands, urging you onto your other side, "come."

He pats the bed next to him. You hesitate, pushing yourself up and sidle over to him. He sweeps his hand over your head and urges you back down, against him, nestling so your head is almost in his lap, just on his thigh.

"Isn't that nice?" He muses, his hand wandering down your back once more.

You're quiet for a moment, "yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

He hums again and drags his hand away, only to flip to the next page, quickly returning it. As he rubs your back, trailing up and down, you notice a twitch next to your eye. You try not to react, keeping your head straight as you strain your eyes to see.

Another twitch and another, until you see the shape of him clearly through the silk pants. You swallow a gasp at the sight. You feel that pluck again and a curiosity that makes you fidget. You remember how he felt in your hand, rigid... big.

He snickers and brings his hand to your cheek, "you can be endearing, pet. A sweet little thing," he coos as he continues to caress you, "I can hardly be mad that so many want a taste."

You wiggle, unsure how to answer, not thinking he wants one. He is reproaching you, something quite the opposite. He relaxes against the headboard and shifts the book in his other hand.

"Shall I read to you?" He asks.

You think, pursing your lips. You nod so your cheek rubs against his silk pajamas and you utter your acquiescence. You need anything to fill the silence.

"Very well," he clears his throat, resting his hand on your head.

You feel odd as you lay there. Smaller than usual. Like a thing for him to possess, to hold, to move as he likes. You are like a kitten in his lap, there for him to pet and tease.

He begins to read and his timbre carries a roll that enthralls you. Melodic and deep. You never noticed before how nice his voice can be. If only he were the same.

✨

You awake to an empty bed. You barely recall falling asleep, nor Mr. Laufeyson's departure. You sit up and rub your eyes, yellow light casting in between the curtains. You yawn as you peer around. The same book sits on the night table. You only remember your eyes drooping to the steady drone of his voice.

There, at the foot of the bed, a bolt of black and white catches your eye. You stand and go to examine it. There's no confusion as to why it's there. Monday was wasted and you still have to clean the first floor. And Mr. Laufeyson's expectations are even clearer as you lift the short garment to hang from your fingers.

The black velvet sheath is slit on both thighs, extending no further than just that, and the bodice is trimmed in white lace that matches the edges of the tie-on apron. It would be ridiculous if it wasn't absolutely humiliating. It's less than practical and the reason for it is easy to understand. To put you even more in your place.

You change reluctantly, the matching panties are cut halfway along your cheeks and the stockings have a little polka dot pattern in the thin mesh. You put them all on along with a pair of low blunt heels. You feel like a clown but embarrassed nonetheless.

You near the door, expecting it to be locked as the day before. It's open. You let yourself out and proceed down the hall. You stop just at the top of the stairs. You don't hear anything. You descend, clinging to the railing until you're on even ground. You tromp back to the closet and take out what you need.

You begin your usual rote. It almost feels like normal as you set off in your solitary tasks. The kitchen is empty as you start there. Not too much to do but a bit of extra scrubbing on the stove. As you wipe off the counter, you have to stand on your toes to get the back. You feel the skirt lift enough to expose the bottom of your ass.

"There is some on the floor, pet," Laufeyson startles you and you spin to face him, bracing the counter.

He eyes you shamelessly. He grins as he enters and nears the other side of the island. You flutter your lashes as your cheeks pinch. You turn around and continue your task, pausing to bend and grab the fleck of dirt from the tile.

"I'll mop..." you assure him but a low hum underlines your words.

You snap up and the skirt brushes the top of your thighs. Oh gosh. You continue to wipe the counter as he tuts.

"You are so diligent in your work. It's almost admirable," he marvels, "oh, oops."

You gasp and jump back as the sugar dish rolls off and hits the floor, dumping powder across the tile. You gape at Mr. Laufeyson as he gives a crooked smirk. He pokes his tongue out as his eyes flit down to the mess, "well?"

You flinch and bend to pick up the dish and its lid. He purrs again and you stand up, your chest nearly falling out of the cups. You face him again and step forward to put down the dish.

"I'll get the broom--"

"You'll get on your knees and clean it," he commands as he leans forward across the counter.

You gulp and nod. You lower yourself down and use the cloth to push the grains of sugar into a pile. You cup your hand and sweep it into your palms. You get up to dump it in the bin. You feel him watching you're every move.

"Lovely, now you've cleaned up that mess, some tea would be in order," he intones.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.," you murmur.

"Louder, pet, I can hardly hear you," he taunts.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you repeat, louder, voice quaking.

He scoffs but doesn't comment. You take out the tea pot and put the kettle on. You add bags to the porcelain and keep your back to him as you watch the silver vessel hiss in its slow boil.

His sole slips over the tile and his heels tap slightly as he comes nearer. You expect him to step up right beside you, instead, he's behind you. He reaches his arms around you to place his hands on yours as you grip the counter. He holds himself flush to you as a hardness prods your back.

"Pet, that is a rather nice uniform you have today," he purrs as he trails his hand up your arm. "Ravishing..." You quiver as his hand creeps along your collar bone and up your throat, "it fills my head with all sorts of ideas." His other hand falls away and he shifts, bringing his other hand to your ass. "It does accentuate your better features."

You curl your fingers against the granite and squeak. He squeezes, nails digging into your flesh, and wiggles his hips. He bends his head to nuzzle your crown.

You're overwhelmed by his intensity. Not just his proximity, but his words. The way his longing mirrors that brewing in your chest. The knot tangling in on itself that you keep trying to ignore. Is this what it feels like to be wanted?

"Don't make me do all the work, isn't that why I hired you?" He grabs your wrist, his other hand still across your neck.

He guides your touch back, bending your arm as he places your fingers at the top of his trousers. He releases you and your hand shakes against him. He picks open his fly before guiding your hand down the front. He retreats, just a step, and he grips your shoulder to turn you around.

You gasp and stare at his throat, bobbing as he swallows tightly. His hand covers yours as he urges it further and he closes your fingers around his hard length.

"You sinful little creature, do you feel how you have me pent up?" He growls.

Your lashes bat as your skin sears. He moves your hand up and lets out a grunt, then leads it down again, quaking at the motion. He tightens his grasp for just a moment then rescinds it.

"Keep going, pet," he grits.

You obey. You don't think. You're almost curious as you touch, repeating the same pumping movement along his length. Watching how he tenses and twitches. As you stroke him, you almost feel powerful.

His breath hitches, escaping him in fractured spurts. He frames your neck with his hand once more, his other bracing the counter as he leans over you. You dare to look down and see his dick poking out over his pants.

Your lips part as you're hypnotised by the sight of him and your hand around him. You speed up, just a little bit, and he groans. As your thumb slips over the edge and you bring it back, he croaks and chokes on his voice. He squeezes your neck tighter.

He bows and curls forward, resting his head on your shoulder as he shudders. His hand squeaks on the granite as you keep going. His breath dampens your skin and your breath slows against his hold on you. You can feel something burgeoning in him, he trembles and all once, unravels with a stuttering groan. A hot flow spurts out and coats your hands, smearing between your touch and his skin.

He whines and pulls back, grabbing your hand to slow you as he spasms. He breathes through the O of his lips and quakes.

He's silent as he looks down at himself. You are too. You draw your hand away and he lets you go. You stare at the sliminess on your palm as he latches onto the top of his pants. He leans back on one heel and whistles.

"Mmm, it seems I have a mess of my own to clean up," he rasps as he turns, "I trust the tea will be ready upon my return."

He struts out as you stare after him, slack-jawed as you hold your hand up dumbly. You did that, to him. And he liked it so much. Maybe you're not entirely worthless if you can make him so happy.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #avengers #mcu #marvel #thor

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qsycomplainsalot · 1 year ago

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AI isn't Art it's just Illegal Predatory Randomized CGI

Reposting this because OP blocked me, can't begin to guess why.

Photography, collage, readymade and various of the more abstract styles of painting and drawing are all art, and AI isn't. Why is that ? Simply, there are skills required to make technically interesting artpieces using these media, let alone meaningful ones. A skilled photographer might not be skilled with a pen, but their knowledge of composition and observation will always be transferrable to a new medium, in a way that they'll never start their art journey from scratch again. Because they're already an artist, because they've already done art and are skilled at it. Speaking for myself it took me a decade to get to a level where I was able to get paid for my work drawing traditionally, and once there it took me less than a year to reach a somewhat similar level switching over to digital. The skills are more comparable than with say collage or sculpture but the core principle still stands: I had gone and learned traditional art in art school, and while there I learned a slew of skills that were not at all limited to one tool, and when it came to switching I did not have to learn these skills again. Because by that point I was already a trained artist. I could just switch to sculpting with clay tomorrow and the biggest challenge would be to find a new market more than any skill issue.

Meanwhile fucking about with a computer to generate new pictures randomly has NO transferrable skills whatsoever. So much of the work has been taken out of your hands by a pattern seeking piece of software that it is impossible to learn anything from the experience. It's just plain to see when before you click the doodad to generate a new picture, you have NO IDEA what it will look like, none whatsoever unless you've been iterating on it before. You're not having an idea, formulating it in your mind and applying your skills to getting it out into the world, you just sort of have an idea and then a machine does the actual art work for you.

The only way you could possibly get better as an artist from doing this is if somehow you were deluded enough to think the process of scalping every artists' work in history was ethical, while also being observant and caring about art history enough that you'd learn critical skills from looking at the result of your quotation mark work end quote. Which is something you can do by going on a museum, or the internet. And if being an art historian isn't good enough for you, I invite you to actually join the elite exclusive vip club you're funding the death and automatisation of, by simply picking up a pen and piece of paper and starting to draw. It's that fucking simple.

PS: People trying to compare writing prompts with poetry: poetry does not include a stage in its process where all your artistic intent is surrendered to a machine to churn out a mash up of unethically sourced content. Nobody is going to buy a small book of computer generated picture prompts to keep on their night stand. You guys are delusional.

#rant

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thevirginwitch · 10 months ago

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City Magic: Painted Rock Wards

This post was released a week early over on my Patreon! You can subscribe for free to be notified of important projects announcements, or subscribe for as little as $2 a month to gain early access to my content, exclusive access to research/reading notes, and free digital goodies! Your support means the world to me and helps me to continue doing what I love.

We’ve all seen those pretty painted rocks over on Pinterest, right? These bad boys? Or perhaps you’ve even seen them around your neighborhood/public parks.

Traditionally, these are meant to be painted (sometimes with words of encouragement) and left in public spaces for people to take home, as an act of kindness. Some others paint them for their garden, either to deter pests with vibrant colors, or they’re used to label whatever’s in their garden.

Now, if you live in a big city, you probably have felt a disconnect from your craft or your practice. It’s difficult to connect with a nature-oriented spirituality, such as witchcraft, when you live in a concrete jungle! But there are many, many ways to feel connected to your craft, even if you don’t live in the middle of the woods or have a lot of nature around you. One of these ways is to connect with your neighborhood.

Your neighborhood has mass significance to your life, whether you realize it or not: this is where you live, where you work, where you breathe, where you practice your craft – you must make yourself known, and make the neighborhood known to yourself as well. One of the best ways to do this is to take walks!

Whenever you’re ready, take a walk through your neighborhood and bring a map, notebook, and a pen. As you walk, observe the behaviors of the residents around you. Do they seem to be struggling with anything? What kind of people are they like? Write these characteristics down. If you notice any parts of your neighborhood that evoke any specific emotions (such as unease, happiness, peace, or anxiety), mark them on your map. You might also notice some “problem areas” – perhaps some patches of the road or sidewalk are horribly paved and need to be repaired, or there’s a lot of loud dogs constantly barking at the end of your block. Mark these areas on your map as well, and report back to your home when you are ready.

Picking Your Purpose

Now that we’ve identified a few “problems” and made observations within your neighborhood, we can decide what we want to do. Do you want to protect against thieves? Ward against illness for one of your elderly neighbors? This is the time to select the primary purpose for your ward.

Picking The Area

Take the map that you marked up during your walk. Connect any common points you see (for example, connect up the "peaceful" areas you marked on your map, or connect any points that have a common theme). What kind of shape does it have? Does it remind you of any popular symbols? Can you use the general shape of the area to generate a sigil or symbol that represents the area? What area(s) would most benefit from your rock wards?

Here is an example of how I created a sigil from a fictional city map I found! Obviously, play around with this idea until it makes sense to you. You can connect up different routes, or perhaps create a border around the areas that feel safest to you.

Now is the time you also want to pick where you want to place your wards - you can use your neighborhood sigil to influence where you place them, or, place them based on intuition or based on need. For example, placing a rock ward at the end of the noisiest block, or in the middle of the block that has the most number of children in the area.

Creating and Using Your Sigils/Symbols

Now, you want to develop symbols or sigils for your purpose. You can use any method you’d like! You may wish to incorporate your neighborhood sigil into each one you create, but ultimately the design is up to you. This is also the point where you would “charge” your sigil, with whatever method you see fit - as long as the design, intention, and charging method makes sense to you, that’s all that matters!

Painting Your Rocks

Finally, onto the fun part!

Now, you could simply paint your sigils on your rock and call it a day. Or, you could paint your sigil, and layer a more “mundane” piece of artwork on top of the sigil, leaving the sigil hidden underneath. This technique works best if the “mundane” artwork connects with the ward’s purpose in some way (for example, if your ward is for protection against nosy neighbors, you could paint eyes; or if your ward is for health, you could paint green colors, or even a red cross). I definitely recommend this “layering” method of painting your rocks so no one in your neighborhood ends up reporting any “suspicious looking rocks” with “satanic symbols” on them to your local Facebook groups!

Materials

acrylic paint

rocks

paint brushes

toothpicks (optional)

paint markers

outdoor/water-proof sealant such as Mod Podge: Outdoor

Instructions

Lay out your rocks and other materials

Seal your rocks with a coat or two of your sealant before you begin painting. This is an important step, since rocks are porous and will suck up any paint you try to apply!

Paint your rocks to your heart's content! If you are layering paint on your rocks, please make sure each layer is dry before painting the next.

Once your rocks are completely dry, seal them up with your outdoor/water-proof sealant so they don't get damaged in the elements.

Lastly, take another trip through your neighborhood to place your rocks. Converse with the neighbors if you feel inclined, and make double-sure of the locations you chose for your wards. I recommend taking regular walks throughout your neighborhood to check on these wards, and make sure they’re doing their job. You may wish to refresh the wards with a new coat of paint, or replace them with something new if the situations within the neighborhood change.

Ultimately, magic is what you make it, especially when you live in a big city. Warding your neighborhood and showing care for the people that live there is one of the many ways you can connect to your neighborhood on a deeper level and feel more connected to your practice locally.

Recommended further reading: Urban Magick by Diana Rajchel

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halloweenbitch2764 · 1 month ago

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It's A Scream, Baby! (Reboot)

Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher

Chapter One

F/C- Favorite Color

Y/N- Your Name

F/B- Favorite Book

I sighed as the last box sat in front of me on my bed. This is what I needed, a fresh start. My first year at college wasn't horrible, but it wasn't great. I needed a college that would better suit my major, and I found one. It was in a small city located next to the infamous Woodsboro. I didn't even live there to see what happened, but I did some digging, and it wasn't hard to figure out. The whole situation left a bitter taste in my mouth.

A killer had terrorized the town a few years before, "Ghostface" as they were called. They would break into unsuspecting teenagers' houses and kill them viciously. Somehow, the police had never caught the suspect, and the killings had stopped. People still hadn't stopped talking about it online. They desperately wanted to be the one to figure out who did it.

I snapped myself from my thoughts and opened the box. The box mainly contained school supplies. I pulled out my backpack and started packing the supplies into it. Pencils, pens, notebooks, and much more were loaded into the F/C bag. Suddenly, the door opened.

A woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes entered the room. She had a box in her arms and walked to the bed opposite me, setting it down. 'I forgot I had a roommate. I think the paper said her name was Ashley Hansen.' I thought. She turned to me and eyed me up and down, seeming to size me up. "Oh hi, I'm Y/N-" I barely got my name out before she spoke. "Listen, I don't really care what your name is. We aren't friends. We just share a room. Keep your stuff on your side, and we shouldn't have any problems."

I was taken aback by how blunt and rude she was. 'Well, this isn't off to a great start.' I thought. I just nodded to what she said and went back to unpacking. After a couple of hours passed, I had everything set up the way I wanted it (making sure none of it ended up on my roommates side). I dusted my hands off on my pants and decided I wanted to go for a walk. I didn't really want to be around Ashley.

I left my dorm and started walking. The campus was fairly big, and I walked on the sidewalk, simply observing the buildings and their names. I crossed the road and made it to a small park that sat across from campus. It had a playground, some benches, and some trash cans. It wasn't anything impressive. I walked into the park and sighed softly. Traffic whizzed behind me, but the trees blocked some of the noise.

The noise became more muffled the deeper I went into the park. I heard a noise and stopped, looking down and noticing a paper. It looked old. It was crumpled and slightly torn. I bent down and picked it up, smoothing it out and reading.

"Meet at the south side of Saint James Campus at midnight."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. What was this referring to? Had this already happened? Was it happening tonight? Many questions fluttered through my mind as I read and reread the note. I checked my watch to find it was around seven o'clock.

As if knowing the time as well, my stomach growled. I folded the note and stuck it in my back pocket. I decided to head to the dining hall.

Once I got seated after getting my food, I began to eat. Questions about the note still weighed on me. "Can I sit here?" A feminine voice asked. The voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up at the woman. "Oh, yeah - Sorry I wasn't paying attention." She smiled and waved her hand, sitting down. She began to eat her food, and I slowly ate mine. "So what's got your mind going?" She asked between bites of food. "Oh, well..." I wasn't sure if I should share what I had found.

I grabbed the note from my back pocket and unfolded it. "I found this today. Do you have any idea of what it could be talking about?" I asked. She read the note a couple of times before shrugging. "I have no clue. I don't recognize the handwriting. Though it does kind of look how the rumors describe..." She trailed off. My curiosity instantly piqued. "What rumors? I'm new to campus, so I haven't heard anything." I explained. She nodded.

"Well, basically, there's rumored to be a cult on campus. One that worships Ghostface. Have you heard about them yet?" I nodded. "Well, supposedly, that's happening, but nobody has been able to prove it. It's basically just an urban legend." She explained. I nodded again. "Weird." She hummed before taking another bite. Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she quickly swallowed her food. "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask you your name. I'm Amanda." I smiled at her. "My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." She nodded in agreement.

We spent a little bit eating and conversing about where we came from and why we were going to college at Saint James. Suddenly, her pager beeped. She looked down at it, and her eyes widened slightly. "I hate to cut this short, but I have to take this. I'll see you around?" I nodded, and she smiled, taking off to take care of her business.

I got back to my dorm around eight-thirty and found Ashley was not in the room. She had seemingly unpacked as well. Only a couple of boxes sat on the floor by her bed. I sat on my bed, grabbed F/B off my nightstand, and began to read. I waited for Ashley to return, but each hour passed with no sign of her. I would be lying if I said I wasn't happy about it.

Eleven-thirty rolled around, and I decided to head to where the note said. I exited my dorm and headed for the south side of campus. The walk wasn't too long since the south side was close to the dorms. I arrived about ten minutes early to see people already arriving. They wore masks, similar to the one Ghostface wore but more homemade and black hooded robes. They seemed to be setting candles up in a certain formation and lighting them. I hid behind a tree and watched them. Was this the cult Amanda had spoken about?

As the time drew closer to midnight, more people came dressed in the same attire. Suddenly, one of the members turned in my direction. Before I could duck back behind the tree, they spotted me. They walked over to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me out and towards the other members. I struggled, but it was no use.

"Well, who do we have here?" A masculine voice asked. I looked in the direction of the voice. This member stood out, having a red robe instead of a black one. "Are you looking to join us, perhaps?" It was then that I noticed the knife gripped in his hand. "O-Oh well, actually -" The man cut me off. "You've heard of the all mighty Ghostface, correct?" I nodded slowly. "So you'd like to worship him with us?" I noticed the members beginning to close in around me. I noticed each of them also had a knife. They were different from the man with the red cloak, though.

"U-Um...okay." I felt like I didn't have a choice. Join their cult or be crucified to Ghostface. I didn't feel like being murdered today. "Fantastic. Let us begin intitiation. What's your name?" The members backed away and formed a circle around me, and the candles with the man in red at the front. "Y/N."

He beckoned me to him as I stood, frozen in the center. "In order to prove your loyalty to Ghostface Y/N, you have to cut the back of your hand. You must make it deep enough to leave a scar. Once that is complete, you will officially become a loyal servent." I started to panic internally. A blood ritual? Just how crazy were these people?

All of the members started chanting a phrase as the man in red approached me. He offered the blade to me. It seemed stained with a rust colored substance. It clearly wasn't new. "Before you cut yourself, know that this blade was Ghostfaces. This blade ended the lives of many people. Respect the blade." I nodded before reluctantly taking the knife.

I pressed the sharp edge to my skin. I felt so many pairs of eyes on me. It sent shivers down my spine. I took a deep breath before pressing down on the back of my hand, dragging the knife across the flesh. I bit my lip to avoid crying out and pulled the knife away. Blood seeped from the wound and dribbled onto the dirt below.

The members lowly chanted something before ceasing all at once. "Welcome to the group."

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher fucker #x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #its a scream baby #scream #scream 1996

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writersdrug · 1 year ago

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Random Konig Headcanons

I have writer's block for Ch. 2 of I Don't Need You, so here's a treat for you and a palate cleanser for me. Enjoy! Short but fun. Established relationship. Let me know if you guys want an NSFW Pt. 2!

He definitely listens to Rammstein. While he works out or showers, he's playing their music, and similar bands. Sometimes - hardly ever - you're lucky enough to catch him humming along.

He's a little bit of a control freak. He likes his desk to be neat, with a specific spot for his coffee cup, a pen, pencil and sharpie always within reach, and his chair always pushed in when he wasn't in it. He also folds everything, shirts, pants, socks, you name it. Not a single piece of clothing crumpled or dropped on the floor (which, of course, you never complained about). For this very reason, he hated when he lived in shared dorms with people who just dropped their shit near their cot and called it a day. He was so relieved to get his own room, tidy and orderly.

That sniper hood gets MUSTY after missions. When you see him, first thing after he returns to base, your first instinct is to lift the hood and kiss him underneath it. The first time you tried that, however, was the last time, after you caught a whiff of two weeks worth of unwashed face and sweaty t-shirt. He laughed at your near-death-experience there, before you sent him off to wash up. He sat in your shared room, sniper mask off and in the wash, just breathing in the clean air and enjoying being out of that thing for a few moments.

He's definitely forgotten to lift the hood before he moves a bite of food into this mouth. Same with water or coffee.

He loves observing you. Not in a creepy, perverted, peeping-tom kinda way. But he loves to watch you talk about something, getting lost in your own world when you do. Especially when you talk about your interests and stories. He loves to watch your mannerisms when you do everyday tasks; like the way you purse your lips to the right side when you're concentrating, the way your nose scrunches at the end of a yawn, the way you love to wrap around his bicep when the two of you are sitting together. Again, pretty typical things, but the way you do them is what makes it so interesting to Konig.

If he's angry, he goes to you. You'll listen to him vent, and you'll be perfectly honest with him - whether he is right to be mad, or if you think he should try to see it from the other point of view. And he listens to you because you're honest. Other people would be too scared and would just agree with him regardless.

If you're mad, he knows to stay quiet and let you get it all out. If you want solutions, you'll ask. Otherwise, he's on listening duty.

If you get mad at him, it never turns into a full-blown argument. When it comes to you, Konig makes sure to listen to everything you have to say, only speaking when you've finished your part. He never raises his voice at you, and he really does try to see it from your eyes. Even if he does end up disagreeing with you, he always says it with kindness and love. Sometimes it irks you, how good he is at being so... amazing, as a human being.

It's unspoken, but when you casually need help from him, he feels like the strongest man on earth. When you ask him to reach something for you (sometimes he'll show off by lifting you towards whatever it is, rather than getting it himself), or even when you ask him to help you find something. He just likes feeling like he is needed and appreciated.

Sometimes you'll ask him to help braid your hair, because you're "just too tired" after your shower - which is bullshit. You just love the feeling of his hands running through your hair, freshly shampooed and conditioned or not. Konig knows this, but is happy regardless. He's really good at braiding your hair now, and he's just happy to have the quality time and physical touch with you.

He especially loves it when he gets to carry you around, which isn't too often. But he loves when you get just a little too tipsy at the bar with the team. You'll challenge Soap to shots every single time, arguing that last time was different and that you've built up your tolerance since then. Of course, you'll end up nodding off at the bar after three shots or so, while Soap is mostly still sober. Konig gets to pick you up - bridal style or sack-of-potatoes style - in front of the guys, saying it's time for the two of you to head back. He loves being able to show everyone that he's your protector, your designated person. He's the one you chose out of everyone there, and damn if that doesn't feel good...

He adores it when the two of you cuddle, especially when you're both on your sides, his face nuzzled in right below your chest, with his arms wrapped around your waist. You'll be leaning against the headboard, arms wrapped around his head, one hand running your fingers through his soft hair. He'll be so tall that his feet might be hanging off of the end of the bed, but he doesn't care. He's too preoccupied with planting soft kisses onto your stomach while you hum contentedly.

As much as you do, Konig LOVES when you play with his hair. He'll sit in his office chair, eyes closed, sniper hood in his hand, while you sit on his desk behind him and run your fingers through his soft locks. You'll braid a small group of strands, then unravel and comb it out with your fingers. Sometimes it put him to sleep, it's so damn relaxing. Of course, half of what makes it relaxing is your presence, and your soft humming while you work. Other times, when you're feeling a little left out of the fun, you'll start tugging gently on his hair, pulling a little harder each time, until Konig starts groaning with desire, knuckles white as he clenches the arms of his chair. Soon after, he shows you why it was a dangerous idea to toy with him so innocently.

Overall, Konig is a simple man with simple needs: to be needed, to be wanted, and to be appreciated. He wants to be seen as the caring and thoughtful person he tries to be, and he wants to feel like you love him just as much as he loves you.

#konig cod #konig x reader #konig headcanons #call of duty #cod #konig fanfiction #konig imagine

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dairymistress05 · 6 months ago

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Penelope IS Beautiful…

Penelope Featherington is absolutely gorgeous. So why aren’t the men of the “Ton” tripping over themselves for her hand?

I think the explanation for that lies not in the way she looks, but is in fact is the way she carries herself and feeling she doesn’t belong. She is not and hasn’t ever been confident in her own skin. I mean, as she herself said, she created Whistledown as a way to participate in society. So, whether her lack of confidence stems from being overlooked for so long, picked on by her sisters and mother, the fact that she was forced to debut a season too early or the way her mother always dressing her in citrus colours, she has constantly struggled to find her footing in the world.

When she does try to venture out in the world she believes that the only change she needs is wardrobe. Even Madame Delacroix doesn’t suggest that there might need to be some internal reflection, because she knows the whole of Pen (LW and all). So, then to Pen the most logical conclusion is that it has been how she has dressed all along that she doesn’t have suitors lined up the block? The simplest way to garner the attention she seeks is changing her wardrobe.

When she changes her wardrobe she assumes that this will have inspired all the confidence she needs, but it didn’t. This fact was actually confirmed by Nicola herself. When Pen arrives at LDs ball, in that that deep green dress, she appears completely changed. Granted she does feel much more comfortable in the clothing she has chosen and that seems to help, if only for a minute.

During her entrance, she removes her cloak and all eyes are on her. As she walks down the stairs it is clear that she is trying to change the way she carries herself, exude confidence and then 3 suitors approach. However, the conversation that follows shows just how much ‘changing the outside didn’t change the inside’. She is not confident, she stammers and stumbles and makes inappropriate word choices for the conversation all while crossing her arms in front, hugging her body. Heck, she can’t even make eye contact with any of these men who are speaking with her. She’s looking up and around the room while she speaks.

Nicola actually spoke about this in an interview; once she is down those stairs and has to actually open her mouth and interact, it is clear “that she has done no internal work.” I just love the parallel here too, because let’s be real, Colin hasn’t done any internal work either (but that’s a post for another time).

—— As an aside, to anyone who says Colin only fell for her at this point were clearly not paying attention (but again, that’s a story for another post). ——

Since her debut Penelope has often been on the outside, she has been an observer of the world, rather than a participant within it; and although she is a keen observer of other people, she doesn’t seem to have that same awareness of herself. It is not until some of the attention she is receiving and she takes Colin’s advice to not worry so much about how she is perceived, that she begins to come into her own. Even the whole debacle with the fan in the park, the assessment before the lessons, is a blatant display of just how awkward “in a train-wreck kind of way” she truly is. It is in fact not until Colin is giving her “lessons” which aren’t really lessons in charm, but an encouragement to be herself, that she begins to see herself how she has seen others all along.

It’s actually quite beautiful how she begins to bloom, pun intended, when she begins to see herself how Colin does. It harkens back to his quote from season 2 I believe, “If Penelope can see me this way, then surely I can too.” And it’s a stark contrast to how she has seen herself all these years through the eyes of her family who for whatever reason (I want to write about this too later 😉) have not truly seen her.

So when Colin says “you already know how to do this”, Yes he is completely clueless as to the reason Why, but so is Penelope herself. She has always been searching for her place in the world, where she belongs, as a friend to the Bridgertons (a glimpse of what when you are accepted) or in writing Lady Whistledown. And until this season that feeling of belonging, has only ever been in fleeting moments for her. Sunday teas at Bridgerton house, talking about books with Eloise and writing to Colin, to name a few.

IF she would have married Lord Debling these fleeting moments of belonging would have continued that way. I know some have said he was a good match but I wholeheartedly disagree and this is a prime reason. The love story between Penelope and Colin is not just between them but also a love story with themselves. They both have to “find that love in themselves” and “not live for the estimation of others” to be truly happy. Colin and Penelope love all the parts of each other, especially those things that have made them both outsiders in the past and they each have to learn to love the truest version of themselves.

And so, it is Penelope finally loving herself the way that Colin does (before he himself even knows it) that gives her the confidence to participate in society, to find her own voice and to “come away from the wall”.

In this way, she finds herself where she belongs; in love with her best friend, which is surprisingly enough, is exactly where she has always been.

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin #romancing mister bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #penelope x colin #bridgerton netflix

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odoraful · 6 months ago

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sneak peek at my next love & deepspace fic 😳 it's an au where zayne and fem!reader grow up together based on a request ! it's definitely getting up there in terms of word count, but here's a snippet from a moment in highschool:

Zayne never wished to draw attention to himself, but it seemed to follow him regardless. He preferred to keep his head in a book (study book, sketchbook or otherwise), and he sometimes wished his fellow peers would do the same. Instead, he was the choice of conversation among the cohorts for being an enigma. Teenagers were not the most subtle people, and whispers would follow everywhere he walked. He made mental notes of what was being said. After all, those who were quiet were often the most observant.

“He’s the one who skipped a year right?” No, that isn’t true.

“One year? I thought it was two!” That would be more accurate.

“The serious guy with glasses?” At least they know what I look like.

“I heard that he thinks he’s better than everyone.” Now that really isn’t true.

“No way… is that why he’s a loner?” A loner…?

“Doesn’t he always hang out with that one girl though?”

He stopped spinning his pen around his fingers. Study period was usually the time where people would get updated on the latest news. His focus pulled away from his notes to the conversation happening behind his seat. The irony of the situation was not lost on Zayne, people were quite literally talking about him behind his back. Careful to not signal that he was eavesdropping, Zayne began to write on his page, summarising information from the textbook. Unfortunately, the pair had become more hushed, and he could barely make out what was being said. One word did slip from the conversation, however. Said in a surprised, high-pitched tone: your name.

“Shh! Not so loud!” One of them scolded.

Zayne quietly sighed, the breath slipping out between his lips. He got up, making little effort to subdue the sound of the chair’s legs scraping against the floorboards. After packing things away in his bag, he strode past the table behind him, the people seated there already peeking at him leaving. He levelled a look at them as he walked, adjusting his glasses. The students turned further inwards, completely blocking any prying eyes and ears. He casted the interaction aside. It was almost the end of school day anyway, which meant he could finally meet with you.

#odorawrites #i have not forgotten about writing for love and deepspace you'd have to pry these blorbos from my cold dead hands #this fic is getting longer than i originally thought but i'm enjoying the process!#thinking of writing a quick drabble soon about painting each other's nails with all the LIs just to take a step back from this :)#zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace

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twstgarden · 1 year ago

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❀ ❝ 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲 ❞

━ malleus draconia x fae! gn! reader ━ part 2 of so close yet so far. unable to find the strength to let the prince know of your true feelings, you decided to pen down your thoughts every night. unfortunately, you failed to safeguard those letters properly, which caused the prince to receive those letters and reply back to you with a surprise announcement.

may include a few spoilers for chapter 7! f/n stands for first name.

do not steal or translate without my permission.

‘to his royal highness prince malleus draconia,

this is another of the unsent letters that i’ll write to you. we have known one another for a century or so, and i have always thought this job of mine would be mediocre, but i often find myself waking up in the morning filled with motivation to guard you properly and to be around you.

though inexperienced, i am no fool for i immediately knew i held romantic feelings for you. however, i do not have the intention to make you aware of it. you’re a prince and i’m your guard, that’s all we’re destined to be.

it is enough for me to stand by your side in regard to your safety. it is enough for me to see you sit in the lounge with the rest as you sip on your drink and zone out from time to time. it is enough for me to be around you.

with how sappy and emotional this letter sounds, i am, quite frankly, relieved that i do not need to send this letter to you.

forever yours, f/n l/n’

you sighed to yourself as you placed the pen down and folded the paper, tossing it into the treasure chest box by your study table along with the other unsent letters you wrote for the prince. your working hours were done a few hours ago, so you found yourself seated alone in your room as you stared at the disorganized stack of folded letters in the treasure chest.

after a while, you stood up and stretched your limbs before crashing onto your bed to get a good night’s sleep and forget about your worries for a moment.

another day to persevere and hold back your feelings for the young master.

you were currently in the courtyard with the young master and the other two retainers. it was minutes after class dismissals and malleus wanted to sit in the courtyard for a while, possibly to relax. it was quiet, at least for you since you were zoning out. silver and malleus were both talking about the black coffee they drank this morning before class and sebek, once again, seemed rather upset at not being able to spend some quality time drinking the same drink as malleus due to his dislike towards the beverage.

at some point in their conversation, malleus told the two of them to go ahead and train since the courtyard did not have a lot of people around, leaving you and malleus to sit together on the bench. despite the blank expression on your face, your heart was beating really fast at the slightly close proximity.

well, you need to calm down because he’s only sitting.

your eyes stayed on silver and sebek as you observed their combat moves, unaware that you were already evaluating their performance and felt proud at how they’ve improved over the years. after their combat training, sebek looked at you with a rather proud smile and even the usually reserved silver was smiling at you too.

“lieutenant! i did better than silver, right?! have you seen how i blocked his last attack?!” exclaimed sebek in excitement as you smiled at them. you hummed with a nod as you responded back, “mhm, you two did great. you’ve improved a lot! keep at it, you two.” silver thanked you politely as you continued conversing with the three about their swordsmanship and combat skills.

with your attention focused on your juniors, you failed to notice the way his sharp eyes stayed on you for a long while. though his expression was blank, it was evident that he is impressed with your skills as he always has been and will continue to hold you in high regard.

later on, you got back to your dorm room as it was already late at night. you sat by the window as you stared out at the dark backyard of diasomnia in silence, spacing out and falling into your daydreams with a small smile on your face.

however, your little delusional moment was interrupted by a bird flying right into your window and settling on the windowsill with an envelope in its beak. you raised a brow in confusion as you noticed the words ‘to l/n’, “for me…? thanks.”

you grabbed the letter from the bird as it flew away from your window, leaving you alone with the letter and opened it to read the contents with an intrigued and confused expression because who sends letters at 2 in the morning? especially to you of all people?

‘to my dearest,

this letter may arrive to you in the dead hours of the night and you may find yourself wondering who or why this was sent to you. i have received one of your “unsent”, as you claimed, letters. perhaps it ended up on my desk by accident, but i recognized your handwriting immediately.

to know that you’ve held such deep feelings for me leaves me astounded. it is a surprise, but a wonderful one.

you may remember the conversation a few days ago in the lounge about lilia announcing my grandmother’s wish to aid me in my search for a spouse. i have no need for the aid as i had already found the person i wish to marry and i, as well as my grandmother, have spoken to your family yesterday to request your hand.

you say we are destined to only be the prince and the guard, but perhaps a proposal from me will make you change your mind about this ‘destiny’ that you speak of.

meet me in the dorm garden 30 minutes after the bird sent you this letter.

i shall see you then.

eternally yours, m.d.’

you blinked your eyes several times as thoughts started running through your mind. ‘m.d.? m.d.??? as in malleus draconia? as in my master? his royal highness? the man i’ve been crushing on?’

“holy fuck,” you mumbled in surprise as you stared at the letter. he claimed to have already spoken to your family yesterday, so it seemed your father was made aware of the young master’s interest in having you as his spouse. your mind started to drift back to that night when you heard the announcement from lilia, and thought that there was something you might have missed that made you not realize it was you all along.

"so, i've heard queen maleficia wishes to help you find your significant other, malleus... what do you think of it?" asked lilia, which broke you out of your trance, suddenly interested in the conversation but remained silent, as usual.

"hmm..."

a hum escaped malleus' lips, setting down his teacup on its saucer as his sharp green eyes stared at his beverage in deep thought. your eyes were glued on his figure, taking in his features as you awaited for him to share his response. he had always looked strikingly beautiful, malleus was one attractive man and you would never deny that.

you loved everything about him - those striking green eyes of his, his beautiful horns, the adorable child-like smile he would display every time he was happy, his commanding presence, his voice, his powerful skills and abilities, and so on.

there was something about this man that you promise to serve with your whole life, so it was not a surprise that you had fallen for him over the course of your time together.

you snapped out of your thoughts as soon as malleus cleared his throat, preparing to share his response with a smile, "that's fine... i already have someone in mind..."

ah...

stupid.

delusional.

you were stupid enough, delusional even, to think that the feelings you hold for the man you're serving will be reciprocated.

what a joke.

despite the smiles on lilia, silver, and sebek's faces, you remained indifferent as you felt your heart slightly crack. you didn't want to ruin the happy atmosphere as much as you wanted to sigh out in despair and run up to your room, you didn't want them to suddenly be concerned if you decided to storm out.

so you sat there silently, tuning out the conversation as you were no longer interested to listen to something that you knew will hurt your feelings even more.

with such thoughts in mind, you failed to notice the way malleus was staring at you. he had his eyes on you for a while now after the announcement, but frowned a little as he noticed your silence. lilia, silver, and sebek looked at you as well, noticing that indifferent expression as you cast your gaze on the coffee table before you. lilia then glanced at malleus as he asked in a soft tone, “do they know?” the latter shook his head in response, making it clear that you were not aware of any of this and it may seem that you’re plunging your mind with negative thoughts.

“f/n?”

silver called out to you softly, but you didn’t respond. maybe to you, you believe none of the four would ever address you by your name in such a familiar way, but little do you know about the several missed calls of your name and not your title due to your spacing-out habits. sebek continued to look at you as he called out this time, “mx. f/n?”

a soft sigh left lilia’s lips as he mumbled, “they’re spacing out again…” he continued to stare at you for a bit before calling out to you a little louder than those two did, “lieutenant?” you snapped out of your trance as soon as you heard lilia's voice calling out to you, addressing you in your official title and not your name.

because you were spacing out.

"yes...?"

you replied softly, finding no energy to speak after feeling so downhearted. you noticed the hint of concern in your comrades' eyes whilst your future king looked over at you with curiosity as lilia spoke, "you haven't said a word ever since we started sitting on the lounge. is there something on your mind? we've been calling out to you for a while now, but you didn't respond."

"oh... um..."

you couldn't think of a proper excuse as silver asked, "are you tired, lieutenant? you can retire for the night..." you hummed in response as you shook your head, "i'm not tired yet. my apologies for being in a trance and spacing out."

"hmm... well, that's fine since you're with us, but you must remain vigilant when on guard duty. it is troubling to think that you might not be paying attention to malleus or your own safety if you're in a daze," reprimanded lilia as he leaned back on the chair. he may have already been retired, but he was still your mentor, he taught you all the sword-fighting skills that you practice today as well as combat tips that are useful in the field.

you meekly nodded as you mumbled, "yes, sir. my deepest apologies."

you went silent once again as the conversation between them continued, but malleus was also silent. his gaze stayed on you as he thought to himself, ‘i wonder what keeps their mind busy… i shall inform them of my interest soon, then…’

and so, you found yourself in the garden of your dormitory as you found the tall man standing by the bushes, eyeing the dark scenery as he waited for your presence. once you arrived, you gave him a polite bow as you spoke softly, “my apologies for making you wait, young master.”

malleus turned to look at you and shook his head in a dismissive manner, replying back to you in that attractive voice of his, “no need for an apology. i simply came earlier than needed. i assume you have received my letter, then?”

there was a small smile on his face as his expression seemed more lighthearted and softer than usual. you couldn’t help but nod in response as you tried to keep your blank expression on, “yes, sir…”

“perfect… and just call me by my name. there is no need for formalities between us, f/n.”

oh my, he addressed you by your name this time. you nodded your head once again as you spoke calmly, “as you wish, malleus.” you then continued to converse with him for a while until he turned his head to look at you with a smile. his smile looked beautiful as it always was and you find yourself smiling back at him.

the prince then handed you a rose, speaking in a tender tone as his eyes stayed fixated on you.

“i would be happy to have you as my spouse if you’d let me.”

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elvieshezza · 3 months ago

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Like Real People Do

Inspector Sullivan needs a shave, but an injury means he can't do it himself. Who better to ask than Sidney Carter?

Sid opens the caravan’s door and stops short on the threshold.

Inspector Sullivan stands on the crate Sid uses as a step, looking – well. Awkward’s a given whenever Sullivan’s around, but this is something else. Hat clutched in his left hand, stubbornly refusing to look Sid in the eye, a pretty blush dancing on his cheeks.

Intriguing.

“Sullivan. What is it I’m supposed to have done this time?” Sid drawls, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “Thought you were off work, anyway?” he asks, gesturing at Sullivan’s other arm.

It’s bound tightly against the man’s chest, supported in an uncomfortable looking sling that seems out of place against his suit. His coat draped over his injured side, his hand sitting loosely in the sling, not clutching a fountain pen and notebook ready to interrogate. It all just looks… wrong.

“I am. That’s not- that’s not why I’m here.” Sullivan says, looking sheepish. Christ, Sid can feel the discomfort radiating off him in waves. The pair of them have managed a sort of truce in the past few weeks, more civil, less likely to antagonise each other.

“Oh? Then what could you possibly want with little old me?” Sid teases. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t enjoying watching the other man squirm.

Somehow, Sullivan manages to look even more uncomfortable, so Sid takes pity.

“Look, come in, would ya? No use standing out here waiting for the grass to grow.” He turns to allow Sullivan entry, though not before seeing Sullivan’s throat bob with a bracing gulp. Nerves? Odd.

Sullivan steps through the door, then reaches to pull his coat off. The action looks awkward, ungainly with only one arm of any use. Sullivan winces, a flash of pain crossing his face, and before Sid can realise what he’s doing, he steps forward to help.

“C’mere.” He says softly, reaching to pull the coat off of his shoulders.

“Thank you.”

Sid waves it off, gestures the other man to one of the seats in the cramped space. He watches Sullivan a second, observes. He looks a little unkempt, a little less put together than he normally does.

A few strands of hair lying out of place, top button of his shirt open, no tie. But most of all, Sid notes with interest, dark stubble lining his jaw and cheeks. A far cry from Sullivan’s normal look, clean shaven and buttoned up. It’s really quite attractive.

He opens his mouth to ask again why Sullivan’s here, but the inspector beats him to it.

“Listen, Cart- Sid. I’m sorry to do this, I really am, but I haven’t got anyone else to ask…” Sullivan trails off.

Sid waits with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t- I don’t- Would you give me a hand with shaving?” he finally blurts. “I know it’s a reach and you really don’t have to, but I can’t do it myself, and like I said, I didn’t know who else to ask.” Sullivan finishes, with a wary but hopeful glance at Sid.

Oh. Well, that’s not quite what Sid expected. At all. The strangest thing is that he doesn’t find himself opposed to the idea of it, of helping the other man shave. No, rather the opposite. To be so close to Sullivan, to hear the rush of his breath, feel the warmth of his skin under his touch. It’s tempting. Dangerously tempting.

Besides, there’s always been something between them. Something more than the petty rivalry they have on the streets. Mutual interest, mutual attraction, neither brave enough to do anything about it. Now Sid thinks about it, this seems like a perfect opportunity.

By the time Sid snaps out of his thoughts, Sullivan is rambling again.

“You really don’t have to, I shouldn’t have asked, I knew it was a stretch, I’m sorry. I’ll go-“

Sullivan rises and attempts to move towards the door, but Sid’s quicker.

“No! No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. Come and sit.” Sid says, blocking Sullivan’s path to the door.

“I really am sorry to impose on you like this. I would’ve gone to the barber, but…”

Some of the tension eases from Sullivan, and he perches back down on the seat.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Nah, don’t blame you. Pete’s alright for trims but he’s more likely to slit your throat than give you a proper shave.”

Sullivan smiles faintly, and fiddles with the edge of the sling as Sid busies himself with digging his shaving kit out.

Besides, Sid could hardly refuse, could he? Especially since it’s mostly his fault Sullivan needs the help anyway.

“How’s the shoulder, anyway?” He asks with a hint of apology in his tone as he heats up some water.

“Sore. Stiff. Painful.” Sullivan replies with a rueful smile.

Well, it wasn’t totally Sid’s fault. Both of them had been in pursuit of Kembleford’s latest killer, feet thundering up the hardwood stairs of the country house. Sid had gone one way, Sullivan the other. Too distracted with sprinting down the long, labyrinthine hallways of the house, Sid hadn’t been entirely looking where he was going.

In his defence, Sullivan hadn’t been looking either.

The pair of them had collided, and Sullivan had been sent flying back down the stairs, landing with all the elegance of a stampeding rhinoceros. Sid, forgetting completely what he’d been doing, had rushed to check on him, but the stubborn bastard had waved him off, instead continuing the chase and making his arrest.

Still, not even Sullivan could ignore a broken collarbone for very long – though Goodfellow had had to drag him near kicking and screaming into getting medical attention.

And now, here they are.

“I am sorry, you know?” Sid says, soaking his cleanest towel in the hot water.

“I know, Carter, you’ve said at least twelve times. Not to mention that I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

“Yeah, but still. Anyway, warm your face up with that while I change the blade.” Sid offers him the wet towel, and Sullivan takes it with surprising gentleness. He’s not sure if the obedience just stems from how awkward Sullivan is, or something altogether more interesting.

Still, Sid intends to do a good job. He’s got out his finest shaving soap, the stuff he normally saves for Lady F’s posh events, and he’s even cracked out an aftershave that he thinks Sullivan might like.

The idea that Sullivan will soon smell like Sid sends a little thrill up his spine – no, control yourself, Carter.

“Come here, into the light.” Sid requests.

“…Okay.” Sullivan replies softly, barely more than a murmur.

The first contact of the shaving brush on Sullivan’s jaw makes the man recoil slightly. Without thinking, Sid brings his other hand up and puts it gently, so gently on the back of Sullivan’s head. He feels the short, close-cut hairs on the man’s neckline, and absently he wonders what Sullivan uses to make his hair feel so soft.

Working up a lather on Sullivan’s skin takes no time at all, even though Sid is trying to drag it out.

“Alright?” He asks as he sets the brush down, swapping it for the razor.

Sullivan’s eyes are half lidded, like he’s lost in a distant memory. He blinks and seems to realise where exactly he is.

“Oh – yes, thank you.’ He says, a little shakily.

“Right. Stay still, then. Don’t want to hurt you again.” Sid replies with a cheeky smile.

The first pass of the razor down Sullivan’s cheek is tentative, careful, barely making contact at all. He wills his hands to keep steady. The second attempt is better, more confident – blade leaving a smooth, clear trail behind.

Sid loses himself in the motion of it – he follows the contours of Sullivan’s well-chiselled jawline with ease, careful and cautious and delicate. Down the cheeks, over the lips, on the chin. He brings his other hand up, cupping the other side of the man’s face to keep him still, and he feels Sullivan lean ever so slightly into the gentle touch.

Interesting.

Abruptly, Sid realises that this might be the only sort of physical touch Sullivan has had in a long while. He’s so professional, so proper and, Sid thinks, rather lonely. He flicks his eyes up to try and meet Sullivan’s, but they’ve gone half-lidded again, like he’s half a world away, basking in a hazy state of bliss. He’s never seen the other man so pliant. Sid feels a little shock of pride that he’s the one to have induced it.

“Tilt your head back.” Sid whispers. Sullivan complies, baring his throat without a second of hesitation. There’s an odd… vulnerability to it, like watching a hedgehog uncurl, like watching a feral cat show its belly.

Sid’s fingers rest lightly on the other side of Sullivan’s jaw. The soft thump of the man’s pulse beats a rhythm on Sid’s fingertips. Sid, moving very slowly indeed, rubs his thumb gently over Sullivan’s cheekbone, swiping away a fleck of soap left behind. The motion draws a delightful little sound from his throat, a tiny little subconscious moan that Sid’ll be thinking about on his deathbed.

He drags the razor down Sullivan’s neck, painstakingly gentle around his Adam’s apple, moving the blade away as he watches his throat bob up and down with a swallow.

He’s nearly finished, and Sid finds himself mourning it. A few more strokes, a few more passes, light and mindful and slow.

One more, and… there.

It’s over too soon. Sid sets the razor back down on the caravan’s table, but leaves his hand where it is cupping Sullivan’s face. He brings the other one up to mirror it on Sullivan’s other side.

Sullivan’s eyelashes flutter, a deep, blissful exhale, then his eyes blink open. Slowly, tentatively, his good hand settles itself on the small of Sid’s back.

Sid leans forward, careful not to crush Sullivan’s injured arm where it rests in the sling, thumb again stroking over Sullivan’s cheek as he presses his lips to Sullivan’s.

It’s slow, it’s sensual, and so deeply passionate. He is kissing Inspector Sullivan, and Inspector Sullivan is kissing back.

It seems to last an age, but unfortunately the pair of them do need to breathe, so Sid pulls back.

“Alright?” He asks again, but this time it’s through a mad grin he can’t seem to wipe off his face.

“I- er- Yes. Yes.” Sullivan laughs, peering up at Sid with startled but deeply pleased eyes.

“We should’ve done that sooner.” Sid says. Sullivan laughs, and instantly it is Sid’s favourite sound.

“I suppose I should thank you.” Sullivan whispers, hand still resting on Sid’s back.

“No need. D’you want aftershave?”

“Oh- yes, please.” Like it’s not a thinly veiled excuse to keep Sid’s dextrous hands on his face.

Sid rubs a little into his palms, and dabs gently across Sullivan’s face, feeling the smooth, silky skin courtesy of his own ministrations. He grins with pride as he manages to draw another one of those little noises from Sullivan.

They look at each other for a moment, then Sullivan stands and reaches for his coat. Sid reaches out and gently pulls his arm down, earning himself a quizzical look.

“Why don’t you stay? S’not like you’re at work – come lay down with me a while.” Sid urges, tugging the other man back.

Sullivan pauses a second, thinking, face unreadable. Just as Sid is accepting that he’s going to go, Sullivan speaks.

“Alright, then.”

A radiant, beaming smile is his reward as Sid pulls him towards the caravan’s bed. He leans in for another kiss, then another, then another.

“Sid?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

ao3

#father brown #inspector sullivan #sid carter #sidney carter #sid x sullivan #fanfic #i miss them both so goddamn much

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screamingcrows · 6 months ago

Text

Gift of Companionship - Albedo x f!reader

Crossposting this from my ao3 to provide context for a request I'm writing. This was originally written as a gift for my beloved mutual @missrhinedottir💙 Tags: fem!reader, mutual pining, first date, pure fluff, friends to implied lovers (the lover part will be obvious in the continuation lmao), hand holding - scandalous I know Summary: "It's a gift, I insist," his voice was filled with such certainty, the words making your heart ache, longing to just accept. Albedo had made a habit of visiting you while you work, the peace and attentiveness he brought with him quickly becoming a necessity for you. Minors, ageless, and blank blogs DNI, blocked on sight. Feed it to AI and get Chlamydia trachomatis

Counting the Chief Alchemist as a friend was a rare honor among the people of Mondstadt, ever polite albeit a little distant in his mannerisms. You'd always found it endearing how he'd dedicate countless hours to painting and drawing, tucked away in the nooks of the city as he immortalized the ordinary. It was how you'd first met, having noticed him hanging around your little shop you'd approached him one day.

He'd been startled at first, dropping several pencils as he'd struggled to gather his papers back into his sketchbook. The small giggle that escaped you had made him sigh, probably realizing he'd made a fool out of himself. The recovery had been swift, him showing his drawings and explaining his fascination with observing and drawing people going about their daily lives. 'Being human', as he'd put it.

The topic of all those pages filled with sketches of you had never passed your lips, the notion oddly endearing even if a little strange.

After that he'd been more open in his interest, pursuing conversation with you whenever he caught you on a break. Seemingly more than content to sit in your little workshop and keep you company as you worked. The work you did wasn't prestigious compared to his, at least by your own standards, yet he never failed to compliment whenever you finished a piece of jewelry or another delicate decoration.

Many weeks passed as you settled into comfortable routine, his company bringing a steadiness you had never noticed you'd been missing. It became apparent in his absence, the days he spent in Dragonspine like a cold rag on your heart. Rumors circulated the city, the Chief Alchemist was spending more time away from the mountain, yet it was still too much for you. The silence of your existence oppressive without the scratching of his pen to accompany you.

He brought a new invention one day, offhandedly placing it on one of your tables. A little machine wielding a combination of cryo and something you couldn't quite recognise to perfectly preserve flowers for your creations.

It was an element you'd wanted to incorporate in your creations since childhood, the imperfections of natural materials having always brought comfort. The excitement in his voice had been tangible, the faint traces of a blush visible on his cheeks as he'd realized you'd gotten lost in all the technical details. Clearing his throat awkwardly as he cut himself off and apologized, hands tucked into his pockets.

You'd been standing there wide-eyed, fighting to hold back tears at the gesture. Not only had he clearly been listening to your chatting all those days he'd spent quietly sketching or looking at all the materials in your workshop, he'd remembered. Before you could properly compose yourself, your arms had already found their home around his neck as you broke down in sobs.

His body had tensed, hands trembling as they found your shoulders and pulled you far enough back that he could look into your teary eyes. Worry was written plainly across his expression, his brow pinched together and his lips pulled into a thin line.

"D-did I.. do anything wrong? My apologies if it wasn't what you were looking for, I simply thought it would-"

"It's perfect Albedo"

Shaking your head and smiling you'd allowed yourself a final squeeze of the confused alchemist before you'd let go. You couldn't help but laugh, pacing back and forth as your hands wiped at your tears.

"No one has ever done something like this for me, it.. It took me by surprise, that's all. How much do I owe you? Oh this is perfect, I can't believe you could make something like this. Or rather, I could because you're a genius and everyone knows that, but I mean, that you'd be doing something to fulfill my wish is just-"

You cut yourself off, paralyzed by the expression on his face. Never had you seen such warmth in those pale blue eyes, his body looking much less tense than it had seconds before. He shook his head, hands waving dismissively in front of him.

"It's a gift, I insist," his voice was filled with such certainty, the words making your heart ache, longing to just accept.

"Albedo, I can't possibly... You must've spent a lot of time making this for me, not to talk about material costs"

He sighed, fingers tapping his lips as he thought. You were clearly too prideful to accept without giving something in return. He nodded solemnly as his mind settled on a compromise.

"In that case, I would like to receive the first piece you make using it, if that's agreeable? I've promised Klee long ago that she could get something from here when she got a little older,"

For some reason that offer only served to stoke your embarrassment, it seemed like a bad bargain on his part. There'd been a little back and forth with you trying to insist upon monetary payment, yet he'd shot you down every time you tried to persuade him that the things you made were hardly worth as much as his work. He'd simply shaken his head, sincerity burning behind his eyes when he kept explaining that it was more than a fair exchange in his eyes.

You'd invited him along for a trip to Starsnatch Cliff, firm in your insistence that he would have to join you in picking the flowers for your first trials. The nervousness in your voice had been tangible, it wasn't part of your shared routine, fear slithering along your spine at the thought of a rejection. Which in itself was silly, considering it was nothing more than a friendly offer.

Relief had flooded you with how easily he'd agreed, suggesting you leave as soon as possible. Nothing of interest was happening with the Knights today anyway, and it had been a while since he'd properly stretched his legs. Questioning his intentions was a game you didn't want to entertain today, wiping your hands on your skirt to calm your nerves.

You hardly felt presentable enough, but how could you tell him. Instead you paced back and forth on the street, Albedo having made you wait there while he went to grab something. Your chest tightened when he turned the corner, holding a woven basket in his hands as he proudly held it up.

"I had Sara pack this up for us," there was an uncharacteristic spring to his step as he closed the distance, offering you his arm to hold on to.

His smile faltered for a moment as you hesitated to place your hand on his arm, but he hid it well, averting his eyes as he started leading you out of the city. It was quiet for most of the walk, both of you slowly relaxing as the bustling sounds died down the further away from Mondstadt city you came. Your mind raced with possibilities, not wanting to say the wrong thing and ruin this... not date, you had to remind yourself, the voice in your head more chiding than you'd have wanted.

"It uh- you didn't have to bring food. I don't want to take up your entire day," you couldn't help but wince inwardly at how pathetic you sounded.

Your gaze flickered to Albedo, hoping his eyes would extend their solace to you. They didn't. His head was turned firmly away. The ground became a more bearable sight before you had the chance to catch the flush extending down his neck.

"You tend to forget to eat when you're focused. Low blood sugar could result in dangerous situations," he had to bite down on his tongue refusing to let on how much the thought of you getting dizzy and stumbling, tripping and falling down the cliff, made his stomach lurch in ways he hadn't thought possible.

The mere thought of not being able to see your sweet smile as you greeted him, your pouting lips when you concentrated, the apologetic look in your eyes when he'd spoken too much or too fast and lost you... He'd rather burn every sketch he'd made of you than resign to only ever seeing your expressions in them.

Nothing could do you justice, the picture of life itself in Albedo's mind. His hand tightened around the basket, and he had to take a deep breath to prevent himself from screaming.

You weren't much better off, cheeks flushed and hand twitching atop his arm. You fiddled with your skirt with your free hand, having no reply to his words. They rang true in your ears, the thought of him having caught on and planned for it making you feel a little giddy. The way he had said it so bluntly pushing down the shame you would've otherwise felt at burdening someone with your own shortcomings.

After spending a couple of hours picking out flowers with Albedo your nerves had calmed down, and the usual comfort he brought had long since flooded your system. Nothing felt wrong in his company, and you relished in the way you could speak so freely to him. He'd been more lively as well, taking your hand to pull your with him on multiple occasions, eager to show you what he found and tell you about various phenomena.

No doubt you would've made for a more interesting conversation partner if you hadn't been close to short-circuiting every time his fingers intwined with yours. He didn't seem to mind, the soft look never leaving his eyes when he looked at you.

You'd sat down against a large rock, having consumed the refreshments he'd brought. A pleasant weariness made your body thrum, the combination of fresh air, exercise, and your favorite meal making you relax. The view was beautiful, yet you noticed Albedo's eyes had hardly left you, his lips parted slightly as if on the verge of speaking. You closed your eyes, wanting a moment to gather yourself as warmth blossomed in your chest.

If only every day could be like this.

A hand tugged on your sleeve, bringing your body closer and adjusting your head so it lay on his shoulder. The soft locks of his hair brushed against your cheek, you couldn't stop yourself from inhaling his scent. Yet you dared not move nor speak, scared that this was nothing but a dream, something fickle that would vanish the moment your eyes opened.

His head came to rest against yours, and you felt his hot breath against your scalp, lips moving against your hair. His arm had snaked around your body, holding you against him.

"Forgive me, but I can't do this anymore," his voice was barely above a whisper, a strain evident as he spoke.

Your heart fell, a disgusting lump forming in your throat that threatened to strangle you. This was not a dream, it was a nightmare. You wanted to laugh at yourself for believing this time would be different.

His lips pressing against your hair and a warm droplet hitting your skin broke you out of your spiral for just long enough to realize that his grip on you had grown almost painfully tight, his voice shaky as he whispered a prayer.

"Promise that I'll never have to let go of you"

#albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader #albedo genshin impact x reader #x fem reader #x female reader #this is just pure fluff okay #crow with a pen #if the banner doesn't work again just know it's a screenshot of cecilias lmao #i tried I really did

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ravennaortiz · 3 months ago

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Avenging Angel

Summary: Follow OC Cori as she works out how to handle her fathers death two years later. To kill or not to kill is not the only question she has to wrestle with. This is the follow up to Revenge but can be read by itself. As always 18+.

Word Count: 2.9k+

Cori sat sipping her water and pretending to be indulged in her book as she the hot Santo Padre sun bore down. The plant filled balcony of her villa giving her the perfect view of the whole street while also blocking her from the eyes of the people who came and went. The roar of motorcycles had her eyes sliding from the shop front of Carniceria Reyes to down the street. Her eyes landing on the approaching bikes and men upon them. Her hands moving to her pen and notebook.

-The younger brother rides what appears to be a custom Softail. Older brother has a deluxe Softail. -

Eyes flicking back up to the two men who she had an arsenal of information about thanks to her Old Man and her own observations over the last couple of weeks. She was nothing if not her fathers daughter. She watched them until they disappeared into the shop front. From her research she knew it was owned by their father Felipe. The building was one story with a front and back door. It consisted of a big room once you walked in with a counter top that ran along one wall. It also had a decent sized walk in freezer and a small office area. It was decorated in the traditional Spanish imagery and décor. A small bookshelf was next to the door when you walked in.

This she had learned from her couple of visits. Felipe by all appearances seemed like a sweet old man who only wanted the best for his sons and missed his beloved wife dearly. Like her own father who had kept her in the dark about a lot of his doings and only wanted he best for his best friend’s kid. He had raised her even though she wasn’t his. But Cori could tell there was a past he held close to his heart like her father had rest his soul.

The similarities between her father and Felipe is what had kept his blood from being spilt during their first encounter when she had first stepped through that door. That and her having never hurt anyone let alone killed someone. What had stopped her the second time was finding out it was the anniversary of Marisols death. How could she kill a man as he remembered his wife she had told herself. That day they had chatted for hours as he talked about his wife who had been killed in the shop. His sons bearing witness and giving chase to the killer before he slipped away. That night is the night his family broke he said. He lost not only his wife but both sons. One to jail and the other to the local Mayans charter.

Cori had been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t heard the footsteps behind her until the pressure of a hand on her shoulder had her spinning. The blade of her knife touching a black shirt right as a hand and voice stopped her.

“Jesus Christ Cori” exclaimed Juice as he latched onto her wrist and jumping back slightly.

“Shit. I’m sorry baby” apologized Cori as she let he knife fall as she stared into the terrified brown eyes of her Old Man. “I didn’t hear you. Startled me…. I …I…so sorry” she continued to ramble shaken from what would have been a horrific event. Not only would she have hurt the one person she loved the most but she would have exposed them both in the center of Mayans territory.

Juice swallowed hard as he let go of her wrist. Nodding his head he closed his eyes and worked on breathing to lower his heart rate. Sliding into the chair next to her before saying anything. This right here is why he wanted to pack it up and leave. The need to be vigilant and act first was at the forefront of their minds.

“It’s okay babygirl” soothed Juice as he reached for her hand and squeezed. “Almost being eviscerated just now really sums up why I should have stayed home. Should have listened to my Old Lady when she told me it was dangerous and I would stand out” he teased making Cori sigh and give him a small chuckle.

“I stand by the danger part.” Huffed Cori as she chuckled. Her own heartrate slowing down. As much as she hadn’t wanted Juice to come with her for fear of him being hurt or killed for simply being a SON, she was glad he had disregarded her reasoning. “What do you think my dad would say?” she whispered as she pushed her sunglasses onto her head, her blue eyes searching his.

Juice rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hand. It was a good question and similar to one he had been asking himself lately. “He would tell you that he is proud of you but then in the same breath tell you not to be risking yourself. That he was already dead, you dying trying to avenge him will not bring him back. Killing won’t bring him back. Then he would turn on me about being a dumbass for letting his daughter put herself here. Let you put yourself not only in the middle of Mayan territory but also sit back and watch as you chatted and exchanged numbers with a couple. Letting you contemplate actually going to the clubhouse for a party. Pretty confident he would have a stern face as he chewed on his tooth pick while chewing us out” he added with a small laugh as he gave her hand another squeeze before pulling it to his face and kissing it.

Cori nodded as she processed his words. He was right, deep down, she know exactly what her dad would say about this. Risk management was something he had drilled into her. Never explained why it was so important but now that she knew about the dark side, the Tacoma Killer side of her dad she got it. He had hid a part of himself to keep her as safe as possible. The risk management he had done is what had not only surprised his killers that dreadful Sunday night almost two years ago but was what had kept her alive. That and the mercy of one of his killers. Coris mind briefly went back to that night and the last words that either Mayan had said to her before her life change forever

"I know this is hard to believe but I truly am sorry about this. You have my word your dads death will be quick and he will be buried properly. You also have my word you will be safe. If you ever need anything and cant get a hold of a SON you can call me and I'll make it happen" stated Angel as he handed her a folded piece of paper before patting her knee and heading out of the house.

“You are right” stated Cori as she tapped her fingers for a moment on the table. Her eyes flickering to the door of the shop as it opened. Quickly she grabbed her phone and opened her contacts scrolling to a number she saved but never thought she would use. Meeting Juices eyes she dialed as he nodded, during his digging he had found out some interesting thigs about the younger Reyes. She was so thankful for him and his willingness to let her do what she needed for her closure within reason.

Angels POV

“Hello” greeted Angel brow furrowed as he hadn’t recognized the number. Waving bye at his pops as he walked to his bike with EZ.

“No reactions. Lets keep boy scout in the dark a bit” stated a female voice that he couldn’t place. Angel stepped away a bit from EZ who was already seated on his bike and watching his curiously.

“How do you know that” inquired Angel the hairs on the back of his neck lifting. He felt like he was being watched.

“I heard it during my recon. Same way I know your father is closing early today to go to a chess tournament. Do you own anything other than flannel?” inquired the woman as Angels eyes darted around. He knew he was being watched. The woman didn’t sound malicious but she could be reading off a script.

“What do you want?” demanded Angel as he began searching the faces off the crowded street.

“Originally your dads death but I think I’ll take your pledge of my protection tonight at the scarpyard. Coco and Gilly both said it will be a hell of a party when they invited me.” Replied the woman. Angel scrunched his face. This conversation was getting weirder by the moment. Was he being pranked he wondered.

“Why?” asked Angel not knowing exactly what he was wanting an answer too.

“Because I can’t get a hold of a SON. Don’t forget to put your helmet on” replied the woman before the call ended. Angels heart practically dropped as he started spinning in tight circles as he searched for the caller. He knew she had to be close. Ignoring EZ who was asking what was wrong he burst back into the shop.

“Pop. Has there been anyone coming in or out who seemed outta place?” demanded Angel as he looked around the shop with his gun out. “No, just the usuals and some tourists” replied his father as he continued to clean the counter top and close up shop. “Why?” he asked as he glanced up frowning at the gun in Angels hands. “Are you sure? No women who don’t seem…..native?” inquired Angel trying to decide how to describe the woman without giving his dad hints.

“I mean there is a white, young lady who just moved here a few weeks ago. I assume that’s what you mean by not native. She’s been very sweet and friendly when she’s been in. We have had lunch a few times” started Felipe as he went back to cleaning as he talked.

Angel felt like he was about to explode. His dads words a few weeks going through his head on repeat. How could neither him or EZ have realized they were being watched. Maybe it wasn’t her though he thought. “Describe her pops” demanded Angel as he stalked over and yanked the rag from his dads hands.

“White, blonde, blue eyes. Wedding ring so I assumed married though I never saw her husband. She has a bird tattoo on her left inner forearm…..” started Felipe as he took the rag back.

“A crow?” inquired Angel as he interrupted his dad who just gave him a look.

“I’m not an expert on birds Angel. I don’t have time for this I need to close up.” Stated Felipe as he glanced at the clock on his wall as he began to push his son to the door.

“You good?” inquired EZ as Angel was shoved out of the shop.

“Yeah” replied Angel as he took one more look around before getting on his bike.His mind was plagued with thoughts and questions as they made there way to the clubhouse. Maybe she just needs help he tried to reason with himself. Maybe something happened. If her intent had been to hurt someone she would have…..right? His dad had said he never saw her husband and if memory served him right she was married to the mohawked guy. No way would he have let her come here alone. Unless she didn’t…..but surely they would have noticed a SON in Santo Padre. How the hell had she linked up with Coco and Gilly? Well enough to get invited to the clubhouse. Surely they would have noticed the tattoo….unless she hid it.

Mayans Clubhouse

Cori’s POV

Cori was thankful that Coco was pulling into the lot finally. Not that she didn’t like to be on a bike but to be on the back of another mans was foreign to her. Besides her dads bike growing up she had only ever been on Juices. Speaking of Juice she really wished he was here to calm her down. She took a deep breath as Coco parked the bike before helping her off. “if your cover is blown, you give me up no ands, ifs or buts Cor. Give up anything you know” Juice had said before she walked out the door.

Angels POV

Angel smiled as he stood and greeted Cori as Coco introduced her to the table. He couldn’t help the chuckle as he recognized the name from the new strip club that had opened up a few months ago. Coco had been raving about the new girl Jewel for a few weeks and how cool she was. He had been clear they were just friends whenever anyone teased him. It was making a lot of sense how Cori had gone undetected for so long.

Angels eyes flickered to his little brother as Coco introduced him and saw no recognition cross his face as he stood and shook her hand. How the hell could he not recognize someone he had been adamant they shoot and kill just because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“I’m going to go talk to Bishop and grab some beers. You keep an eye on her Angel” stated Coco before he disappeared into the crowd. Cori smiled as she sat down across from them. Angel couldn’t help but acknowledge the bravery of having her back to the rest of the clubhouse. He observed her as EZ and her made small talk. His eyes landing on her crow tattoo and the ring she sported on her left arm. He frowned slightly at the silliness to have the tattoo on display.

“That is a nice tattoo, any meaning” he heard EZ ask pulling him from his thoughts.

“Its silly” laughed Cori as she met his eyes. “I just really love crows. They are just so handsome and I love the fact that a group of them is called a murder” she added. “Just a nerd about birds. What about you two?” she inquired as she tilted her head.

Cori’s POV

As each hour passed Cori felt more comfortable. This wasn’t unlike the SAMCRO parties and she felt weirdly at home. The only thing bugging her was the fact EZ had no idea who she was. At first she thought it was just him having a really good poker face. As the night had passed on and she had dropped hints he was still just as naïve as ever. Maybe he had too much on his mind with being an informant to be worried about the daughter of a man he killed sitting in front of him.

Cori had been playing pool with Angel when she felt the atmosphere change. Looking towards the clubhouse door her eyes locked with Marcus Alvarez before slipping to the man behind him. Chibs, she thought as he met her gaze briefly before looking away and following Marcus to the Templo door. The Mayans would not be the only ones being shaken up after the events of tonight.

Angels POV

Angel couldn’t breathe, he felt like the room was spinning as he looked from Gilly to Cori to Coco to Cori and back again. The look of concern on Coris face had him laughing. This had to be a joke a sick twisted joke. No, this couldn’t be true his own brother? No his own brother wouldn’t be a rat. Wouldn’t be planning on tossing the blame on him right?

Angel paced the storage room for a couple minutes. Trying to process everything that had happened and been said in the last twenty minutes.

“Why?” demanded Angel as he spun around pushing Cori into the wall before Gilly or Coco could stop him. Her blue eyes locked on his as she peered up at him towering above her.

“Because you spared me” replied Cori meeting his dark gaze. He hadn’t had to say the whole question for her to know what he was asking. “I could have let him throw you under the bus tonight like he planned to do and then killed him. Both my dad’s killers taken care of but that would be cowardly. If I ever decide to kill you Angel I’m going to look you in the eyes while the life drains out of them” continued Cori calmly as Angel loosened his grip and stepped back.

EZ’S POV

EZ could only cough and sputter as he lay bleeding out on his couch. What had started off as a hookup had led to a betrayal he hadn’t expected “Bet you recognize me now. Too bad you won’t be able to tell Angel you were right” stated Cori as she slipped her top and jeans back on. Careful to not step in the pooling blood. “Where should I put that smiley face tattoo?” she laughed as she watched blood seep from his mouth as she sat on his counter top.

EZ struggled to keep focus but his mind slipped to that night two years ago

"We should have just killed them. You really think she won’t talk, won’t get the SONS to track us down?" whispered EZ angrily as he shoved Angel.

EZ couldn’t help but think how they both had been right

She knows how the MC works and honestly I think if she decided she wanted revenge for what is to come tonight she will do it on her own." Angel had stated.

-The End

#ravennasmasterlist #sons of anarchy #mayans mc fanfiction #juice ortiz #mayans mc #soa fanfiction #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes #OCCoriLowman #fanfiction #imagines #juice ortiz x oc #juice ortiz fanfiction #angel reyes x oc

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